Flame in the Mist

Praise for Flame in the Mist : New York Times Bestseller A Spring 2017 Amazon Pick – Spring’s Best Young Adult FictionA PW Best Summer Book of 2017 ★ “[A]n elaborate fantasy set in feudal Japan . . . Ahdieh ( The Wrath & the Dawn ) is immensely skilled at crafting vibrant settings inhabited by sympathetic characters with rich pasts . . . readers will enthusiastically anticipate the next installment .”— Publishers Weekly, starred review “Ahdieh’s first duology (begun with The Wrath and the Dawn , 2015) propelled her to the top of the charts, and this new series starter brings that same blend of history, magic, and sensuality that drew readers in the first place .”— Booklist “This story of female empowerment will resonate with girls today. This novel has something for every reader to savor: a budding romance, invention of new weaponry, and detailed battle scenes. ” —School Library Connection “This story . . . will undoubtedly enthrall readers .”— Kirkus Reviews “Rich in magical realism and cultural nuance of feudal Japan, Ahdieh’s series starter begins with a girl-power bang . . . . A wonderful choice for YA shelves , especially where lush fantasy is popular.”— School Library Journal “[A] fun feudal samurai drama . . . . an action-packed and well-paced young adult novel.”— The Washington Post “ Filled with strong female characters, action and adventure, and beautiful storytelling , Flame in the Mist offers a world you'll want to escape into for a long while .”— BuzzFeed " Romance, action and magic intertwine in this novel likely to keep readers enthralled ."— Deseret News “This richly imagined, action-packed adventure , featuring a feisty heroine and set in feudal Japan, comes from the acclaimed author of The Wrath & The Dawn and The Rose & The Dagger . . . . Ahdieh is a superb craftsman, and this engaging tale of betrayal and revenge ends on a cliffhanger, leaving the reader eagerly awaiting the next book .”— Buffalo News “Rich world-building in feudal-era Japan and plenty of intrigue make this page-turning young-adult novel a winning foray into fantasy.”— Austin American Statesman “[With] Flame in the Mist , Ahdieh has gifted us a new series to obsess over . If you live for books that have lush worlds , swoony romance and non-stop action , you’ll want to read this.”— Paste Magazine “Even in the long line of fictional females who pose as male to thwart patriarchal restrictions, Mariko stands out . . . .xa0The novel’s surprising, tumultuous ending leaves the reader eagerly anticipating a sequel , impatient to find out what iteration of herself Mariko will invent next.”— Chicago Tribune “Set to marry the emperor’s son, Mariko is attacked by hired bandits en route to meet him. To uncover the truth behind the assassination attempt, Renée Ahdieh’s heroine must infiltrate the assailants’ gang —disguised as a man. ”— US Weekly “From the best-selling author of The Wrath and the Dawn duology, comes a new adventure. Set in Feudal Japan, Mariko has long known that despite her talent and intelligence, her future lies in making an advantageous political marriage. Traveling to the capital city for her marriage, she narrowly escapes an assassination attempt. Determined to get to the bottom of the plot, she dresses as a boy and infiltrates the gang sent to kill her. If you liked Disney’s Mulan , you’ll like this. ”— The Newark Advocate “Anyone who has read Renée Ahdieh's The Wrath and the Dawn duology (and if you haven't — get on it!) will be thrilled that she's releasing a new novel this year, called Flame in the Mist . Set in feudal Japan, this story follows a young woman named Mariko, who is the daughter of a samurai. On the way to be married in order to help her family's political standing, Mariko's group is attacked, and she poses as a boy to escape and infiltrate the clan of her enemies ( attention:xa0Mulan-lovers !).”— PopCrush “ Alchemy, samurai, and Renée Ahdieh. Need we say more? ”— Culturess “Beautifully written and masterfully plotted . . . Shades of Mulan and 47 Ronin frame the novel, but the fantasy elements and the vivid characters give the story its own distinct flavor . . . a definite must-read! ”— RT Book Reviews “ As author Renée Ahdieh did with her debut, The Wrath & the Dawn , Flame in the Mist explores a young woman’s power and strength to effect great change in a patriarchal society . And the realistic stories, fascinating culture and complex relationships of Ahdieh’s fictional characters—explored in actual, historical settings—are completely enrapturing. ”— BookPage “Consider us #blessed to have a new series from Renee Ahdieh, because Flame in the Mist has her signature lush and dangerous romantic adventure vibes we loved so much in Thexa0Wrath and the Dawn .”— Bustle “ Swoony dudes, new worlds, and crazy high stakes . . . [ Flame in the Mist is] the kind of book that’ll have you staying up late and calling in sick, just so you can finish it in one sitting .”— Brit + Co “With Flame in the Mist , Renée Ahdieh delivers a vibrant, action-packed historical fantasy that unfurls in Feudal Japan . . . Ahdieh creates characters you long to learn more about. She’s adept at building a world that feels enchanting, hypnotic, real and sensual. Every page shimmers with intrigue and desire. ”— USA Today Happy Ever After “The story is full of palace intrigue, disguises, magic , and Mariko’s search to find a place where she can be herself—not a bargaining chip, a daughter, a sister, or a prisoner. . . . Fans of Tamora Pierce and Kristin Cashore will enjoy this magical feudal tale .”— VOYA Praise for The Wrath and the Dawn: #1 New York Times Bestseller #4 on the Summer 2015 Kids' Indie Next List! An Amazon Best Book of the Year for 2015 – Young Adult A New York Public Library Best Book for Teens for 2015 A Seventeen Magazine Best Book of 2015 A YALSA 2016 Best Fiction for Young Adults Pick “Lushly imagined and powerfully characterized, it’s a potent page-turner of intrigue and romance .”— Publishers Weekly “This book is a fairy tale, a mystery, and … promises to become a classic tale of its own.”— VOYA ★xa0“Set against a backdrop of political intrigue and a simmering revolution, this is a carefully constructed narrative of uncertain loyalties, searing romance, and subtle magic in a harsh desert city.”— Booklist, starred review ★xa0“The rich, Middle Eastern cultural context adds to the author’s adept world building… a surefire hit with teens .”— School Library Journal, starred review ★xa0“Renée Ahdieh's lush debut novel, The Wrath and the Dawn , is a suspenseful and beautiful reimagining of The Arabian Nights , with an edge.”— Shelf Awareness, starred review “Dreamily romantic, deliciously angst-y, addictively thrilling .”— Kirkus Reviews “ Sumptuous detail … satisfyingly steamy scenes, along with some angsty push and pull moments between the two for optimal romantic tension.”— BCCB “Don’t be surprised if the pages melt away and you find yourself racing through warm, golden sands or drinking spiced wine in cool marble courtyards. This is an intoxicating gem of a story . You will fall in love, just as I did.”— Marie Lu , New York Times bestselling author of the Legend series and The Young Elites “In her absorbing debut, Renée Ahdieh spins a tale as mesmerizing as that of her heroine Shahrzad, filled with lush details and brimming with tension. The Wrath and the Dawn is truly an exceptional story, beautifully written .”— Carrie Ryan , New York Times bestselling author of The Forest of Hands and Teeth “Ahdieh weaves a world that is lush with detail . You will want to hear, taste, and touch everything. But it's not just the world that is vividly alive. The characters are fascinating too: I loved the friendships, romance, and shifts in feeling. A beautifully written book , The Wrath and the Dawn is a story I could not put down .”— Marie Rutkoski , author of The Winner’s Trilogy Praise for The Rose and the Dagger : #1 New York Times Bestseller ★xa0“Beautiful, lyrical writing combines with a cohesive plot, richly drawn backdrop, and just the right mix of action and romance to create an undeniable new classic .”— School Library Journal, starred review “Above all there is the shattering, triumphant catharsis of love… In a story about stories, love is ‘the power to speak without words.’ Thrillingly full of feeling .”— Kirkus Reviews “ Fiery romance, a spirited heroine, shifting loyalties … With more than a few heartrending twists and turns.”— Booklist “[Ahdieh’s] prose remains lush and evocative , ideal for sand-swept landscapes and racing hearts.”— VOYA Renée Ahdieh is the author of the #1 New York Times bestselling The Wrath and the Dawn and The Rose and the Dagger. In her spare time, she likes to dance salsa and collect shoes. She is passionate about all kinds of curry, rescue dogs, and college basketball. The first few years of her life were spent in a high-rise in South Korea; consequently, Renée enjoys having her head in the clouds. She lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, with her husband and their tiny overlord of a dog. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. The Beginning I n the beginning, there were two suns and two moons. The boy’s sight blurred before him, seeing past the truth. Past the shame. He focused on the story his uba had told him the night before. A story of good and evil, light and dark. A story where the triumphant sun rose high above its enemies. xa0 On instinct, his fingers reached for the calloused warmth of his uba ’s hand. The nursemaid from Kisun had been with him since before he could remember, but now—like everything else—she was gone. xa0 Now there was no one left. xa0 Against his will, the boy’s vision cleared, locking on the clear blue of the noon sky above. His fingers curled around the stiff linen of his shirtsleeves. Don’t look away. If they see you looking away, they will say you are weak. Once more, his uba ’s words echoed in his ears. xa0 He lowered his gaze. xa0 The courtyard before him was draped in fluttering white, surrounded on three sides by rice-paper screens. Pennants flying the golden crest of the emperor danced in a passing breeze. To the left and right stood grim-faced onlookers— samurai dressed in the dark silks of their formal hakama . xa0 In the center of the courtyard was the boy’s father, kneelxading on a small tatami mat covered in bleached canvas. He, too, was draped in white, his features etched in stone. Before him sat a low table with a short blade. At his side stood the man who had once been his best friend. xa0 The boy sought his father’s eyes. For a moment, he thought his father looked his way, but it could have been a trick of the wind. A trick of the perfumed smoke curling above the squat brass braziers. xa0 His father would not want to look into his son’s eyes. The boy knew this. The shame was too great. And his father would die before passing the shame of tears along to his son. xa0 The drums began to pound out a slow beat. A dirge. xa0 In the distance beyond the gates, the boy caught the mufxadfled sound of small children laughing and playing. They were soon silenced by a terse shout. xa0 Without hesitation, his father loosened the knot from around his waist and pushed open his white robe, exposing the skin of his stomach and chest. Then he tucked his sleeves beneath his knees to prevent himself from falling backward. xa0 For even a disgraced samurai should die well. xa0 The boy watched his father reach for the short tantō blade on the small table before him. He wanted to cry for him to stop. Cry for a moment more. A single look more. xa0 Just one. xa0 But the boy remained silent, his fingers turning bloodless in his fists. He swallowed. Don’t look away. His father took hold of the blade, wrapping his hands around the skein of white silk near its base. He plunged the sword into his stomach, cutting slowly to the left, then up to the right. His features remained passive. No hint of suffering could be detected, though the boy searched for it—felt it—despite his father’s best efforts. Never look away. Finally, when his father stretched his neck forward, the boy saw it. A small flicker, a grimace. In the same instant, the boy’s heart shuddered in his chest. A hot burst of pain glimmered beneath it. xa0 The man who had been his father’s best friend took two long strides, then swung a gleaming katana in a perfect arc toward his father’s exposed neck. The thud of his father’s head hitting the tatami mat silenced the drumbeats in a holxadlow start. xa0 Still the boy did not look away. He watched the crimson spurt from his father’s folded body, past the edge of the mat and onto the grey stones beyond. The tang of the fresh blood caught in his nose—warm metal and sea salt. He waited until his father’s body was carried in one direction, his head in another, to be displayed as a warning. xa0 No hint of treason would be tolerated. Not even a whisper. xa0 All the while, no one came to the boy’s side. No one dared to look him in the eye. xa0 The burden of shame took shape in the boy’s chest, heavier than any weight he could ever bear. xa0 When the boy finally turned to leave the empty courtxadyard, his eyes fell upon the creaking door nearby. A nursexadmaid met his unflinching stare, one hand sliding off the latch, the other clenched around two toy swords. Her skin flushed pink for an instant. Never look away. The nursemaid dropped her eyes in discomfort. The boy watched as she quickly ushered a boy and a girl through the wooden gate. They were a few years younger than he and obvixadously from a wealthy family. Perhaps the children of one of the samurai in attendance today. The younger boy straightxadened the fine silk of his kimono collar and darted past his nursemaid, never once pausing to acknowledge the presence of a traitor’s son. xa0 The girl, however, stopped. She looked straight at him, her pert features in constant motion. Rubbing her nose with the heel of one hand, she blinked, letting her eyes run the length of him before pausing on his face. xa0 He held her gaze. xa0 “Mariko- sama !” the nursemaid scolded. She whispered in the girl’s ear, then tugged her away by the elbow. xa0 Still the girl’s eyes did not waver. Even when she passed the pool of blood darkening the stones. Even when her eyes narrowed in understanding. xa0 The boy was grateful he saw no sympathy in her expresxadsion. Instead the girl continued studying him until her nursexadmaid urged her around the corner. xa0 His gaze returned to the sky, his chin in high disregard of his tears. In the beginning, there were two suns and two moons. One day, the victorious son would rise— xa0 And set fire to all his father’s enemies. Illusions and Expectations Ten Years Later On the surface everything seemed right. xa0 An elegant litter. A dutiful daughter. An honor bestowed. xa0 Then, as if to taunt her, Mariko’s litter lurched, jouncing her shoulder into the norimono ’s side. Its raised mother-of-pearl inlays would undoubtedly leave a bruise. Mariko took a deep breath, stifling the urge to grumble in the shadows like an angry crone. The smell of the norimono ’s varnish filled her head, bringing to mind the Dragon’s Beard candy she favored as a child. xa0 Her dark, sickly sweet coffin, bearing her to her final restxading place. xa0 Mariko sank farther into the cushions. Nothing about the journey to the imperial city of Inako had gone well. Her conxadvoy had left later than intended and stopped all too often. At least now—by the way the norimono listed forward—Mariko could tell they were traveling down an incline. Which meant they’d moved past the hills around the valley, more than halfxadway to Inako. She leaned back, hoping her weight would help balance the burden. xa0 Just as she settled in, the litter halted suddenly. xa0 Mariko raised the silk screen covering the small window to her right. Dusk was starting to descend. The forest before them was shrouded in mist, its trees a jagged silhouette across a silver sky. xa0 As Mariko turned to address the nearby soldier, a young maidservant came stumbling into view. “My lady!” the girl gasped, righting herself against the norimono ’s side. “You must be famished. I’ve been remiss. Please forgive me for neglecting to—” xa0 “There’s nothing to forgive, Chiyo- chan .” Mariko smiled kindly, but the girl’s eyes remained wide with worry. “It was not I who halted the convoy.” xa0 Chiyo bowed low, the flowers of her makeshift hairpiece falling askew. When she stood once more, the maidservant passed along a neatly wrapped bundle of food to Mariko. Then Chiyo moved back to her post beside the litter, pausing only to return Mariko’s warm smile. xa0 “Why have we stopped?” Mariko asked the nearby memxadber of the ashigaru . xa0 The foot soldier wiped the perspiration from his brow, then switched the long pole of his naginata to his other hand. Traces of sunlight glinted off its sharp blade. “The forest.” xa0 Mariko waited, certain that could not be the extent of his explanation. xa0 Beads of sweat gathered above the soldier’s lips. He opened his mouth to speak, but the clatter of approaching hooves stole his attention. xa0 “Lady Hattori . . .” Nobutada, one of her father’s conxadfidants and his most trusted samurai, reined in his charger beside Mariko’s norimono . “I apologize for the delay, but several of the soldiers have voiced concerns about traveling through Jukai forest.” xa0 Mariko blinked twice, her features thoughtful. “Is there a particular reason?” xa0 “Now that the sun has set, they fear the yōkai , and they worry—” xa0 “Silly stories of monsters in the dark.” She waved a disxadmissive hand. “Nothing more.” xa0 Nobutada paused, doubtlessly taking note of her interrupxadtion. “They also claim the Black Clan has been seen near here recently.” xa0 “They claim?” A dark eyebrow curved into Mariko’s forexadhead. “Or they’ve sighted them in truth?” xa0 “They are merely claims.” Nobutada lowered the chin guard beneath his horned helmet. “Though it would be unxadusual for the Black Clan to rob us, as they do not generally attack convoys containing women and children. Especially those guarded by samurai.” xa0 Mariko lingered in consideration. “I defer to your opinion, Nobutada- sama .” Recalling the foot soldier from a moment ago, she attempted a smile. “And please see that the ashigaru have time to rest and take in water soon, as they appear overtired.” xa0 Nobutada scowled at her last request. “If we are forced to go around Jukai forest, it will add a full day to our journey.” xa0 “Then it will add a full day to our journey.” She was already beginning to lower her screen, the awkward smile still pasted across her face. xa0 “I’d rather not risk angering the emperor.” xa0 “Then it is an easy choice. We must lead so that others may follow, Nobutada- sama . You taught me that, even as a young girl.” Mariko did not look away as she spoke. Nor did she attempt to apologize for the sharpness of her retort. xa0 His scowl deepened. Mariko smothered a sigh. She knew she was being difficult. Knew Nobutada wished for her to make a decision. At the very least, wished for her to offer an opinion. xa0 To make a useless play at control. A play Nobutada could then smugly subvert, as her elder. xa0 As a man. xa0 Try as she might, Mariko could not help the resentment simmering beneath the surface. Control is an illusion. Expectations will not rule my days. Not anymore. “Perhaps not easy,” Mariko amended, her fingers toying with the edge of the screen. “But it is simple.” She softened her tone—a pitiful attempt to mollify him. One that was sure to chafe, as her contrary nature so often did. Her brother, Kenshin, frequently gave her grief about it. Frequently told her to be less . . . peculiar. xa0 To conform, at least in these small ways. xa0 Mariko dipped her head in a bow. “In any case, I defer to your wise judgment, Nobutada- sama .” xa0 A shadow fell across his features. “Very well, Lady Hattori. We shall proceed through Jukai forest.” With that, he urged his charger back toward the head of the convoy. xa0 As expected, Mariko had irritated him. She’d offered no real opinion on anything since they’d left her family’s home that morning. And Nobutada wanted her to play at directing him. To give him tasks befitting such a vaunted role. xa0 Tasks befitting the samurai in charge of delivering a royal bride. xa0 Mariko supposed she should care she might be arriving at Heian Castle late. xa0 Late to meet the emperor. Late to meet his second son— xa0 Her future husband. xa0 But Mariko did not care. Ever since the afternoon her father had informed her that Emperor Minamoto Masaru had made an offer of marriage on behalf of his son Raiden, she’d truly not cared about much. xa0 Mariko was to be the wife of Prince Raiden, the son of the emperor’s favorite consort. A political marriage that would elevate her father’s standing amongst the ruling daimyō class. xa0 She should care that she was being exchanged like propxaderty in order to curry favor. But Mariko did not. Not anymore. As the norimono lurched forward again, Mariko reached above to adjust the slender tortoiseshell bar speared through her thick coils of hair. Tiny strips of silver and jade dangled from its ends, snarling with one another in a ceaseless war. After Mariko finished sorting them into place, her hand fell to the smaller jade bar below. xa0 Her mother’s face took shape in her mind—the look of determined resignation she had worn as she slid the jade ornaxadment into her only daughter’s hair. xa0 A parting gift. But not a true source of comfort. xa0 Just like her father’s final words: Be a tribute to your family, Mariko- chan . As you were raised to be. Forswear your childish wishes. Be more than . . . this. Mariko’s lips pressed tight. It doesn’t matter. I’ve already taken my revenge. There was no reason for Mariko to dwell on these things anymore. Her life was on a clear path now. Never mind that it was not what she wanted. Never mind that there was so much left to see and learn and do. She’d been raised for a purpose. A foolish one at that—to be the wife of an important man when she could easily have been something else. Something more. But it did not matter. She was not a boy. And—despite being barely seventeen—Hattori Mariko knew her place in life. She would marry Minamoto Raiden. Her parents would have the prestige of a daughter in Heian Castle. xa0 And Mariko would be the only one to know the stain on that honor. xa0 As dusk fell and the convoy made its way deeper into the forest, the scent of warm, wet air took on a life of its own. It mixed with the iron of the earth and the green of newly trod leaves. A strange, heady perfume. Sharp and fresh, yet soft and sinister all at once. xa0 Mariko shuddered, a chill taking root in her bones. The horses around the norimono whickered as if in response to an unseen threat. Seeking a distraction, Mariko reached for the small parcel of food Chiyo had given her, staving off the chill by burrowing into her cushions. Perhaps we should have gone around Jukai forest. She quickly dismissed these doubts, then turned her attenxadtion to the parcel in her hands. Within it were two rice balls covered in black sesame seeds, along with pickled sour plums wrapped in lotus leaves. After unfolding her meal, Mariko shifted her fingers to light the tiny folded-paper lantern swayxading above. xa0 It had been one of her earliest inventions. Small enough to hide in a kimono sleeve. A special slow-burning wick, suspended by the thinnest of wires. The wick was fashioned from cotton braided with river reeds dipped in wax. It kept its shape despite its size, all while burning a steady light. Mariko had made it as a child. In the heavy dark of night, this tiny invention had been her savior. She’d placed it beside her blankets, where it cast a warm, cheery glow by which she’d penned her newest ideas. xa0 Smiling in remembrance, Mariko began to eat. A few black sesame seeds fell onto the painted silk of her kimono; she brushed them aside. The fabric felt like water at her finxadgertips. The color of sweetened cream, its hem bled through with darkest indigo. Pale pink cherry blossoms crowded the long sleeves, unfurling into branches near Mariko’s feet. xa0 A priceless kimono. Made of rare tatsumura silk. One of the many gifts sent to her by the emperor’s son. It was beautixadful. More beautiful than anything Mariko had ever owned in her life. Perhaps a girl who prized such things would be pleased. When more sesame seeds fell onto the silk, Mariko didn’t bother brushing them away. She finished eating in silence, watching the tiny lantern sway to and fro. xa0 The gathering of shadows shifted outside, growing closer and tighter. Mariko’s convoy was now deep beneath a canopy of trees. Deep beneath their cloak of sighing branches and whispering leaves. Strange that she heard no signs of life outxadside—not the caw of a raven nor the cry of an owl nor the chirr of an insect. xa0 Then the norimono halted again. All too abruptly. xa0 The horses began to pant. Began to stamp their hooves in the leafy earth. xa0 Mariko heard a shout. Her litter teetered. Overcorrected. Only to strike the ground with a vicious thud. Her head smacked against varnished wood, throwing stars across her vision. xa0 And Mariko was swallowed into a void. The Nightbeast Mariko woke to the smell of smoke. To a dull roar in her ears. xa0 To shooting pain in her arm. xa0 She was still in her litter, but it had toppled to one side, its contents smashed into a corner. xa0 The body of a familiar maidservant lay across her. Chiyo, who had loved to eat iced persimmons and arrange moonxadflowers in her hair. Chiyo, whose eyes had always been so open and wide and honest. xa0 The same eyes that were now frozen in Death’s final mask. xa0 Mariko’s throat burned. Her sight blurred with tears. xa0 The sounds of movement outside brought her back into focus. Her right hand pressed into a tender lump on the side of her head. She gasped into full awareness, the sound a stranxadgled sob. Her arm pulsed sharply, even with the smallest of movements. xa0 Mariko shook her head clear. And looked around. xa0 From the way Chiyo was positioned across her—and from the way Mariko’s lacquered zori sandals had fallen from the maidservant’s hands—it was clear the girl had tried to free Mariko from the wrecked litter. Tried to free her and died in the attempt. Blood was everywhere. Splashed across the shining inlays. Spilling from the nasty gash in Mariko’s head. Pooling from the fatal wound in Chiyo’s heart. An arrow had pierced clean through the small girl’s breastbone; its tip dug into the skin of Mariko’s forearm, a trickle of crimson in its wake. xa0 Several arrowheads were embedded in the wood of the norimono . Several more were fixed at odd angles across Chiyo’s body. Arrows that could not have been meant to kill a kind maidservant. And had it not been for this kind maidservant, these arrows would undoubtedly have struck Mariko. xa0 Mariko’s eyes brimmed with more tears as she clutched Chiyo tight. Thank you, Chiyo- chan. Sumimasen . Blinking away her tears, Mariko tried to shift her head. Tried to seek her bearings. The ache near her temple throbbed, keeping time with the rapid beat of her heart. xa0 Just as Mariko began to move, a rumble of male voices drew near. She peeked through a break in the mangled screen above. All she could discern were two men dressed in black from head to toe. Their weapons shone bright in the light of nearby torches, their blades oiled a sinister red. It can’t be . . . But the evidence was irrefutable. The Black Clan had overxadrun her convoy. xa0 Mariko held her breath, wincing into the corner as they moved closer to the litter. xa0 “She’s dead, then?” the tallest one said in gruff fashion. xa0 The masked man to the right considered the overturned litter, his head cocked to one side. “Either that or she passed out from the—” xa0 A howl in the distance swallowed the last of their converxadsation. xa0 The men eyed each other. Knowingly. xa0 “Check once more,” the first man said. “I’d rather not be forced to report we failed in our mission.” xa0 The second man gave a curt nod and moved toward the litter, his torch held high. xa0 Panic took hold of Mariko. She clenched her rattling teeth still. xa0 Two things had become clear as these masked men spoke: xa0 The Black Clan obviously wanted Mariko dead. And someone had tasked them with killing her. xa0 Mariko changed position, ever so slightly, as though it might conceal her from their prying gazes. As though it might shrink her into nothingness. Chiyo’s head slumped forward, thwacking against the battered wood of the norimono . Mariko bit back an oath, cursing her thoughtlessness. She inhaled through her nose, willing her heart to cease its incessant pounding. xa0 Why did it suddenly smell so strongly of smoke? xa0 Mariko’s eyes darted around in alarm. The edges of Chiyo’s bloodstained robe were blackening. Brushing against the crumbled wick of Mariko’s tiny lantern. xa0 Catching flame. xa0 It took all her restraint to remain quiet and still. xa0 Terror pressed in on her from all sides. Pressed her to make a final decision. xa0 If Mariko lingered, she would be burned alive. If she moved from her hiding place, the masked men outside would undoubtedly finish their dark task. xa0 Flames licked the hem of the maidservant’s robe, grasping for Mariko’s kimono like the tentacles of an octopus. xa0 Her panic rising, Mariko shifted once more, stifling a cough in her shoulder. xa0 It was time to make a decision. How am I to die today? By fire or by the sword? The advancing man halted a hairsbreadth away. “The litter is on fire.” xa0 “Then let it burn.” The taller man did not flinch. Nor did he look their way. xa0 “We should leave.” The man just outside glanced over his shoulder. “Before the scent of blood and singed flesh draws the nightbeasts.” He was near enough to touch. Near enough to strike, had Mariko the courage. xa0 The taller man nodded. “We shall leave soon enough. But not before you check to make sure the girl is dead.” xa0 The mournful baying grew louder. Closer. Hemming them in. xa0 When the man nearby reached for the mangled screens, one of the norimono ’s damaged poles split in two. The broken wood struck his arm, sending a flurry of sparks every which way. xa0 Leaping back, he cursed under his breath. “The girl is as good as dead.” The man spoke more forcefully, his torch whipping about in the wind. Heat from the mounting fire sent sweat down Mariko’s neck in steady trickles. The growing blaze near her feet crackled as it seared Chiyo’s skin. xa0 Mariko’s stomach lurched at the smell. Sweat poured onto her stiff white collar. Make a decision, Hattori Mariko! How do you wish to die? Her teeth chattered. With a forceful swallow, Mariko dug her fingernails into her palms, her eyes flitting about the small, shattered space. Bravery did not come to her naturally. She spent too much time weighing her options to be brave. Too much time calculating the many paths before her. xa0 But Mariko knew it was time to do more. Time to be more. xa0 She would not die a coward. Mariko was the daughter of a samurai. The sister of the Dragon of Kai. xa0 But more than that, she still held power over her decisions. xa0 For at least this one last day. xa0 She would face her enemy. And die with honor. xa0 Her sight blurring from the thickening smoke, Mariko pushed Chiyo aside, her hands trembling despite her best efforts. xa0 A shout rang out in the darkness. The man near the norimono twisted around at its cracking toll. xa0 The cries were followed by the snarl of an animal. The growl of several more. xa0 Another shriek. The echo of a death knell. With it came the cries of feasting animals. xa0 “The nightbeasts!” The man with the torch pivoted again, his flame leaping with his motions. “They’re attacking our flank!” xa0 “Check the girl,” the first man insisted. “The girl is more important than—” xa0 “The prince’s bride is as good as dead!” With that, he threw his torch on top of Mariko’s norimono , whirling away as he sealed her fate. “Collect our fallen. Leave nothing bexadhind,” he yelled to men she could not see. xa0 Mariko bit back a scream as clanking metal and rustling bodies converged in the nearby shadows. Chaos grew with each passing moment. The flames in the norimono leapt higher. Faster. Their heat turned her skin pink. She clasped her finxadgers tight, smothering her coughs as she shrank farther into the corner. Tears streamed down her face, leaching her of all resolve. Coward. The torch above crackled to fire against the varnished wood of the norimono . xa0 It wouldn’t be long before Mariko would burn along with it. The lacquered tinder around her popped and fizzed, the melted resin burning into blue flame. xa0 A shuddering breath flew past her lips. I am not a coward. I am . . . greater than this. Her tears stained the front of her kimono silk. She refused to die like an animal locked in a cage. Like a girl with nothing save her name. xa0 Better to die by the sword. Better to die at the mercy of the nightbeasts. xa0 To die in the night air. Free. Her pulse trilling in her fingertips, Mariko shoved Chiyo’s body away in final decision. She kicked open the norimono ’s door. One glossy sandal fell as she struggled to heave herxadself through, gulping air to quench the burn in her throat. Mariko reeled from the ruins, her eyes wild as she glanced about, frantic. xa0 The forest was full dark. xa0 And her kimono was on fire. xa0 Her mind worked quickly. Instinctively. Mariko wrapped the silken material around itself, robbing the fire of the air it needed to burn. Her wrist seared beneath the kimono’s folds, smoke curling from the watered silk in grey wisps. With a rasping cry, Mariko tore at her obi, cursing the way it had been wound about her waist. So intricate. So unnecessary. Stumbling through the underbrush, she ripped the beautiful kimono from her shoulders, lurching away from the burning norimono like a drunken fool. xa0 Her eyes sought the darkness for any beacon of light. All she could see was her litter, engulfed in flames. Her kimono smoldered against the forest floor. If the men return, they will see the kimono. They will know I escaped. Without hesitating, Mariko took hold of the hem and hurled the silk back at the pile of hissing flames. xa0 It flared as it touched the melting varnish. Burning silk and scorching lacquer. Melting Dragon’s Beard candy. xa0 Mingled with the scent of searing flesh. Chiyo. She blinked hard, struggling to remain steady. xa0 All around her were the bodies of her father’s convoy. Maidservants. Samurai. Foot soldiers. xa0 Slaughtered as one. xa0 Mariko stood swathed in shadow, her chest heaving as her eyes flew across the damp earth. xa0 Anything of value had been taken. Swiftly. Efficiently. Trunks had been emptied. Imperial chargers had been yoked as chattel, leaving nothing but their tasseled reins behind. Ribbons of red and white and gold littered the ground. xa0 But Mariko knew robbery had not been the primary objective. The Black Clan tried to murder me. Even though they knew I was to marry Prince Raiden, they still carried out their task. Someone with sway over the Black Clan wishes me dead. Cold shock descended upon her in a sudden rush. Her shoulders began to wilt. Again—as if on instinct—Mariko set them straight, her chin braced against the threat of further tears. She refused to succumb to shock. Just as she refused to grant refuge to her fears. Think, Hattori Mariko. Keep moving. She staggered forward, intent on fleeing without a glance back. Two halting steps were all she managed before she thought better of it. Thought better about the odds of proxadceeding through a darkened wood, unarmed and dressed in nothing but her underclothes. xa0 Shielding herself from the worst of the carnage, Mariko moved toward a fallen samurai. His katana was missing, but his shorter wakizashi was still in its scabbard, bound to his waist. She took the small, wieldier weapon in hand. Pausing only to kick soil across her tracks, she moved through the forest, without direction, without purpose. Without anyxadthing, save the need to survive. xa0 The darkness around her was oppressive. She stumbled on roots, unable to see. After a time, the lack of one sense heightened all the others. The snap of a twig or the scuttle of an insect rang through the air with the resonance of a gong. When the bushes nearby rustled—steel grinding against stone—Mariko pressed into the bark of a tree, terror finally taking the last of the warmth from her blood. xa0 A low growl crawled from the earth, cutting through her like the thunder of an approaching army. It was followed by heavy paws padding over dead leaves. xa0 A savage sort of stealth. xa0 A nightbeast, stalking the last of its prey. xa0 Mariko’s stomach clenched, and her fingers shook as she prepared to meet her end. No. I will not cower in a corner. Never again. She scrambled away from the tree, her ankle catching on a scree of rocks. Each movement jolted through her as she landed on the forest floor, only to claw back to her feet. Her body felt alive, energy rolling beneath her skin in waves, all while her blood coursed through her body. There was nowhere to hide. The white silk of her underrobe did nothing to shield her from the forest’s most sinister monsters. xa0 The growling behind her had become a steady grumble. Undeterred. Moving ever closer. When Mariko spun around to face her attacker, two saurian yellow eyes materialized in the darkness. Like those of a giant snake. xa0 The creature that formed around these eyes was immense, its features resembling a jaguar, its body as massive as a bear. Without further provocation, the beast rose on its hind legs, saliva dripping from its bared fangs. It threw back its head and howled, the sound ricocheting into the night. xa0 Her knees turned to water as Mariko fought to brace herself. xa0 But the creature did not attack. xa0 It looked to one side, then back at her. Its yellow eyes glowed bright. It canted its head, as though glancing past her shoulder. Run! a voice within Mariko cried out. Run, you silly little fool! She inhaled, taking a slow step back. xa0 Still the beast did not attack. It glanced again to the same side, then back at her, its growl rising in pitch and ferocity. xa0 As though it was warning her. xa0 Then—without another sound—the beast glided toward her. Like a ghost. Like a demon of the forest, flying on a whorl of black smoke. xa0 Mariko’s scream tore through the night sky. xa0 The creature disappeared in a whoosh of air. In a swirl of inky darkness. xa0 “Well.” A gruff voice resonated from behind her. “Fortune has indeed smiled upon me tonight.” Read more