Kinslayer

A slow nod. “It took me over a month to get this far. A few more minutes won’t kill me.”

“Wandering the Iishi alone might have, though,” Yukiko said. “You were traveling the wrong way. Headed right toward Black Temple. You could have run into an oni, or gods know what else. The Kage village is northeast of here.”

“I know,” he nodded. “Once I realized the ironclads were on my trail, I tried leading them away from the stronghold. I didn’t want to put anyone else in danger.”

Yukiko smiled, reached down and squeezed Kin’s hand. She should have known. Just as selfless as always. His own safety ever a distant second. Her thoughts were all a-tumble, emotions jostling for position in her chest; joy they’d found him, guilt it had taken so long, genuine fear at how close he’d come to death. Underscoring it all, the feel of his body pressed against hers, his hand about her waist, the tumult of confusion and adrenaline and Buruu’s fading bloodlust thudding in time with her own racing pulse.

She drew one shuddering breath, let it out slow.

“Try to get some rest, Kin-san. You’re safe now.”

They flew on toward the Kage village, the smoke of the ironclads they’d torn from the sky still hanging in their wake. Kin rested his head against her back and closed his eyes, his breath slowing, exhaustion getting the better of him. Buruu’s muscles seethed beneath them, his eyes narrowed, amber and gold, glittering like embers in a forge’s belly. Sleek feathers and thick fur, the color of melting snow on the Iishi’s highest peaks, his hindquarters wrapped in long, snaking bands of deepest jet. Thunder tiger. Arashitora. The last of his kind in all of Shima.

His thoughts were intertwined with hers, images echoing in each other’s skulls, the pair of them linked by a bond deeper than blood. Yukiko and Buruu. Buruu and Yukiko. Harder and harder to tell where one ended and the other began these days. The ability to speak to the minds of beasts was called the Kenning in old folklore, but to even give it a name seemed to lessen it now. The truth was, it was more than a thing of weak and clumsy words. It was her father’s legacy, his gift to her, forging a friendship that had defied a Shogun, ended an empire.

It was a reminder. A birthright. A blessing.

A curse?

THE BOY IS LUCKY WE FOUND HIM BEFORE ANY DEMONS DID.

She winced as Buruu’s thoughts filled her own, just a touch louder than they’d ever been before. The sky seemed a little too bright. Her skull a fraction too small.

I know. The western slopes are crawling with them lately.

FOOLISH OF HIM. STILL, I AM GLAD HE IS SAFE.

You must be. You didn’t even call him “monkey-child.”

WELL, DO NOT TELL HIM THAT. I HAVE A GRUFF DEMEANOR TO MAINTAIN.

Laughter died on her lips almost as soon as it had begun. Yukiko pushed up her goggles, pressed her fingers into her eyes. Pain throbbed at the base of her skull, the echoes of Buruu’s thoughts sending barbed tendrils up and across her temples. Ice-cold and burning.

YOUR HEAD STILL HURTS?

Only a little.

YOU ARE A TERRIBLE LIAR, GIRL.

There are worse character flaws. All things considered.

THIS PAIN HAS LINGERED FOR WEEKS. THIS IS NOT NORMAL.

I have more important things to worry about than headaches, Buruu.

FORTUNATE THEN, THAT I DO NOT.

You fret too much.

AND YOU NEVER ENOUGH.

You know what they say. Kitsune looks after his own.

Yukiko pressed against the mighty beast beneath her, felt the blood-red percussion of his pulse, the smooth motion of his flight. She ran her hands through the arashitora’s feathers, following the glass-smooth lines down his shoulders until her fingertips brushed the metal framing his crippled wings. The feathers clipped by a madman, barely a month in his grave.

At least now Kin is back and he can adjust your wings for you. This contraption looks ready to fall apart. How long until you molt?

YOU CHANGE THE SUBJECT AS ARTFULLY AS YOU LIE.

You’re becoming quite the master at avoiding questions, though.

The thunder tiger growled in the back of his throat.

I WILL HAVE NO NEW PLUMAGE FOR MONTHS. NOT UNTIL MY WINTER COAT GROWS IN.

Yukiko curled her fingers through sleek feathers, right where neck and shoulder met. His favorite spot.

And then what?

I DO NOT TAKE YOUR MEANING.

I mean what will you do after you can fly again under your own power?

WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO?

I don’t know. Go home, maybe? Leave this place behind.

LEAVE YOU, IS YOUR MEANING.

… Yes.

AFTER ALL WE HAVE BEEN THROUGH?

This isn’t your fight. This isn’t your home. You could fly away right now and forget any of this ever happened.

YOU KNOW THAT IS A LIE.

Do I?

YOU KNOW ME. AS YOU KNOW YOURSELF.

I don’t know anything, Buruu.

THEN KNOW THIS. BETWEEN AND BENEATH AND BEYOND ANYTHING ELSE I MAY BE, I AM YOURS. I WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU. NEVER FORSAKE YOU. YOU MAY RELY UPON ME AS YOU RELY UPON SUN TO RISE AND MOON TO FALL. FOR YOU ARE THE HEART OF ME.

She rested her head on his neck, wrapped her arms around him and breathed. The burn scar on her shoulder was a distant, nagging ache. The last few weeks with Buruu had been like something from a dream— flying to the clan capitals and speaking to the people, watching the fire grow in their eyes as she spoke. In Kigen, the citizens had laid out hundreds of spirit stones in the place where her father died. In the Dragon capital of Kawa, their arrival had kicked off five days of rioting. In Yama city, home of her own clan, the Kitsune, they had been treated like heroes. The whole country felt ready to rise. To throw off the shackles of the old Imperium and forge something new.

And still, the memory remained. Grief turning to slow and smoldering rage. Her father’s death. His blood on her hands. Dying in her arms. She hadn’t attended his funeral pyre. Hadn’t watched the flames consume the swollen, bloated thing his body had become. Hadn’t visited his grave in the days since, to burn incense or pray or fall to her knees and weep.

She hadn’t shed a tear since the day he died.

She glanced over her shoulder at the boy pressed against her, his breath soft, eyelashes fluttering against smooth cheeks. One hand seeking his, the other pressed to Buruu’s feathers. Surrounded by those who cared for her. And still …

And still …

Part of me feels like I’m still trapped in Kigen, you know. I can see Yoritomo looking at me over the barrel of that iron-thrower. Hands stained with his own sister’s blood. It makes me want to scream. To reach inside his head and kill him all over again.

YORITOMO CAN HURT NO ONE NOW. HE IS DEAD. GONE.

He’s still all around us. In red skies and black rivers. In soldiers’ graves and blood lotus fields and dying soil. The Kazumitsu Dynasty is shattered, but even without a Shogun, there’s still the Lotus Guild. They’re the cancer at this nation’s heart.

She shook her head, felt the warm swell of rage in her breast. Sudden and seething, curling her hands to