“You,” the fierce samurai said, jabbing a finger at Reiko. “Come with us.”
Alarm struck Reiko. “What for?” Her voice shook with the fear that sickened her heart.
During the hours that had passed since the kidnappers had captured her outside the castle, she’d had little to occupy her except trying to predict what they would do to her and the other women. Common sense told her that the kidnappers couldn’t just keep them here like this forever. The leader she’d met must have another purpose. Reiko’s instincts warned that something worse would happen. Now it seemed the time had come.
“Don’t talk back,” the fierce samurai ordered. His scowl deepened. “Just do as you’re told.”
Midori whimpered; Lady Yanagisawa emitted an ululating groan like a cat’s growl. Reiko felt them clutch her hands, trying to prevent her departure.
“She’s not going,” Keisho-in said with panicky bravado. “Get out. Leave us alone.”
The samurai sneered, then nodded to his comrades. They seized Reiko and tore her from her friends’ grasp.
“Oh, Reiko-san,” Midori wailed.
Lady Yanagisawa made inarticulate sounds of protest. Keisho-in shouted, “Let her go, you filthy, disgusting beasts!”
As the men roughly propelled Reiko toward the door, she glanced backward at her friends. Their faces expressed their horror at losing her and their hope of salvation.
“I’ll be back,” she told them with a confidence she wished she felt. “Don’t worry.”
Outside the door, two peasant thugs crouched. They leered at Reiko as her escorts urged her to the stairway. One of the younger men descended first. Their leader positioned himself behind Reiko, gripped her shoulders, and forced her to walk down the stairs ahead of him. The third man followed. Splinters from the rickety steps needled her bare feet. On the lower levels, more guards lounged, smoking tobacco pipes. As Reiko and her escorts neared the door, the cruel samurai took hold of her right arm, while one comrade restrained her left. The other dogged her heels. The tip of his sword pricked her back. Her heart hammered and her stomach churned.
Where were they taking her? Did they mean to finish the assault that their leader had interrupted?
They dragged her from the keep. The clouded sky darkened the afternoon. Rain pelted her face; the stone landing felt cold and slick under her toes. The men led her past still more guards who loitered on the steps, and along an unfamiliar path through the forest. Three more samurai joined their procession. The trees dripped water; moisture saturated the air, which smelled of loam and decaying leaves.
Reiko barely noticed the sharp twigs that gouged her feet, because an awful thought occurred to her.
The kidnappers intended to murder their victims. They’d chosen her to be the first to die.
Panic compressed Reiko’s chest; her breath emerged in wheezes as she tried to control her fear. She longed for Sano, but three days had gone by since her abduction, and he hadn’t come. He would not come in time to rescue her now.
Suddenly the forest was behind her, and the path edged the lake, a dull silver mirror of the sky, rimmed by misty woods and mountains on the opposite shore. Would the kidnappers drown her? Reiko imagined Masahiro never knowing why his mother didn’t come home. The panic swelled, dizzying Reiko; she stumbled. Borne along by the men, she passed a ramshackle dock that extended into the water. She spied three boats secured to the pilings. The boats were simple wooden shells, with oars laid inside. Her will to survive outbalanced her fear of death, and her spirits momentarily rose. Now she knew that here were her means of transport across the lake, if not how to gain them.
The cruel samurai hustled her past the boats. His grin said he’d read her thoughts and scorned her hope.
On their right loomed what appeared to be the main palace. A paved square, and a crumbling wall studded with ruined guard turrets, fronted the lake. Beyond the wall rose a building crowned with tile roofs whose gables boasted tarnished copper dragon crests. Reiko’s captors led her through portals where a gate had once hung. Moss-coated stone lanterns flanked the path through a wilderness that had once been a garden. The buildings seemed intact, though the plaster had flaked off them, exposing weathered wood. Ivy entwined the foundation posts and window grills. The quiet seemed alive with the ghosts of warlords from a bygone era. A shiver chilled Reiko as the men marched her up a flight of steps, into the palace through an open doorway, and along a dim corridor. Torn, moldy paper hung from the lattice walls. Dark stains marred the floorboards, and Reiko sensed that blood had been shed where she now walked. The place breathed a wicked miasma that increased her dread.
Would her blood soon spill here?
They turned a corner and entered a reception chamber. The smoky, bittersweet scent of incense laced the atmosphere. Jagged cracks in sliding doors along the wall gave a view of a veranda outside. Beyond an expanse of rotting tatami, the man in the dragon kimono stood waiting on a dais. Behind him stretched a faded mural that portrayed a fanciful underwater scene of blue waves and green seaweed flowing over gardens and pavilions. He watched Reiko and his men cross the chamber and stop before him. Again his sinister, brooding stare burned into Reiko. Again the peculiar longing in his eyes disturbed her.
“Leave her with me, Ota-san.” He flicked a glance at her erstwhile attacker, who seemed to be his chief henchman. “You can all go.”
“But she’s dangerous.” Ota stood firm, his hand still gripping Reiko’s arm. His comrades also held their positions. “She killed four of our men during the ambush. She attacked Jiro and me this morning. You shouldn’t be alone with her.”
Nor did Reiko want to be alone with him. Although she feared her escorts, she wished they would stay.
Angry impatience flamed in the man’s eyes. “Then wait outside,” he ordered his men.
Ota spoke quietly to Reiko: “Behave yourself, or your friends will be punished.”
Then he released her. He and his fellows walked out the door, but Reiko sensed him loitering nearby. She saw the other men line up on the veranda, ready to protect their master.
He descended from the dais and approached Reiko. His flared nostrils twitched as though scenting prey; saliva gleamed on his pursed lips. Reiko folded her arms across her bosom and stepped backward. Her heart beat an escalating rhythm as she eyed the swords at his waist.
Had he brought her here so that he could kill her? Had he kidnapped her and her friends because he enjoyed slaughtering helpless women?
He advanced nearer with that proud yet hesitant swagger. The odor of incense was stronger around him, as if soaked into his skin and clothes. “What’s your name?” he said, his gaze intent on her face.
She didn’t want to tell him, but she was afraid of what he would do if she didn’t answer. She opened her mouth. No speech emerged. Swallowing the dry lump in her throat, she tried again. “Reiko,” she whispered.
A shadow of displeasure crossed his features. “That name doesn’t suit you. I shall call you… Anemone.” He lingered on the word, savoring it.
Reiko hoped she wouldn’t be here long enough for him to call her anything, but if he bothered to rename her, then perhaps he intended her to live awhile. Her mettle revived, emboldening her. “Who are you?” she said.
His brows rose in surprise, as if he thought she should have already known. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “You can call me ‘Dragon King.’ ”
She frowned, baffled by his strange talk. Why would he name himself after the legendary spirit? She was also perturbed that he wouldn’t tell her his real identity.