As the sun sank toward the world’s edge, she surveyed the storm looming on the northern horizon. Lightning arced across the clouds and Buruu turned to watch, melancholy staining his mind a somber blue. She reached out to touch it, still unsure of the Kenning’s strength, and as she smoothed it away, she recognized it for what it was.
The question rose unbidden in her thoughts.
Her senses sharpened at the word, feeling his hackles rise in sharp peaks. Staring toward the horizon, squinting in the growing gloom, ears straining for the sound of engines.
She slipped into the warmth behind his pupils, saw the world as he did, flaring too bright for an agonizing moment as she wrestled for control. She could feel her nose bleeding, slick on her lips, narrowing her eyes as if staring at the sun. The details were picked out in brilliant relief; the shapes of the clouds, of every curling wave and foaming breaker. And to the north, she spotted a shadow, tiny as an infant lotusfly, stark black against iron- gray. The unmistakable snub-nosed silhouette of a Guild sky-ship.
Yukiko looked toward the northernmost tip of Seidai, then back toward the tiny silhouette. She knew they should be flying back to the Kage. They had to plan the strike on Hiro’s wedding, Lady Aisha’s rescue. But if they let the Guild ship go, the opportunity might never arise to find out what they were up to again. And she
She gripped Yofun’s hilt, remembering Daichi’s words. Remembering the endless miles of deadlands they’d flown over during their visits to the clan capitals, the Guild’s stain seeping through every province. The rusted pipelines. The blacklung beggars. The Burning Stones.
Whatever the Guildsmen were doing, she’d bet her life it was no good.
She nodded.
Mechanical marvels they might be, but in the end, sky-ships suffered most limitations of their sea-bound cousins. The truth is, any dirigible is at the mercy of the Wind God Fujin, no matter how powerful her engines. Heading directly into a gale consumes enormous amounts of fuel, and as the charred remains of three Guild ironclads and the
They’d been flying for almost a day, and Buruu was showing signs of fatigue. He caught sleep in fits and starts, gliding high on ocean-born thermals, drifting in a kind of sleepwalker state. Yukiko kept watch while he dozed, slowly rebuilding the wall inside her head, but he showed a remarkable ability to remain aloft despite being, for all intents and purposes, fast asleep. Yukiko nibbled on the rice cakes at the bottom of her satchels, sipped water from her last gourd. She watched the horizon, gaze fixed on the ship she could now see with her own eyes.
The Guildsman was headed directly into the storm. Thunder rocked the skies, lightning splitting the horizon in hairline fractures. The distance between them was narrowing; the arashitora cut through headwinds a dirigible couldn’t. Yukiko fancied the ship wasn’t an ironclad—it looked too small to be a warship, and moved faster than a gunboat should.
The gale grew stronger as day descended into night, the storm reaching out to them with eager hands, adrenaline coursing through Buruu’s veins. The thunder was a rumbling hymn in his ears, and each lightning strike birthed a tiny blue-white thrill of delight in his belly.
A long, whining growl rumbled in his chest, adrenaline kicking along his veins, pupils dilating. A feeble mote of scent hung on the air; a half-remembered sliver stirring something primal inside. For a second, Yukiko was overcome; Buruu losing all control and flaring bright inside her splitting head, an impulse traveling down the Kenning and filling their mouths with saliva, making their hearts beat faster, breath come quicker. Butterflies in their stomach, face and neck flushing with heat, thigh muscles quivering. They dug her fingers into his fur, felt every strand across their palms, goosebumps thrilling their skin.
With a gasp of effort, she pulled away, drew back from his mind and slammed hers shut, pawing at the blood dripping from her nose. She realized he’d put on a burst of speed, muscles taut, talons curled into fists. She could feel his heart pounding, taste the lingering rush in her veins. Recognizing the sensation from her nights in Hiro’s arms, the anticipation of that moment each evening when their lips would first touch after a day of longing, feeling the warmth spread from her stomach down between her thighs. The way Kin had made her feel in the graveyard, her body pressed against him, breathing him in like oxygen and fire.
It was lust.
No, something worse.
Something further from desire and closer to madness.
She reached into the Kenning, trying to expose only the smallest sliver of her psyche, as if opening a door just the tiniest of cracks. His heat burned brighter than the sun. The headache lurched about her skull, a stumble-
