Jay Kristoff - Kinslayer

“Where are we going?” she asked with someone else’s voice.

“North,” Akihito said. “To the Iishi Mountains.”

“How will we get there?”

He squeezed her tight and the sound of his voice made her smile.

“We’re going to fly.”

The night sky was the color of autumn days, a roll and swirl of reds and oranges and yellows, tasting of burning fuel and blackest smoke.

Michi retreated across the palace rooftops in only a silk slip, the thirty-odd pounds of her jûnihitoe abandoned before she’d made the climb. Little Tomo squirmed under one arm, her chainkatana clutched in her other hand. She listened to the chaos in the city beyond, the bushimen clambering up onto the roof after her. Their armor and weapons slowed them down, but it would only be a matter of time before they had her.

The guest wing was fully ablaze now, a flaming maw swallowing mouthfuls of tile and timber, creeping ever closer. Michi swung her chainkatana at a bushiman trying to scramble onto the roof, divesting him of his fingers, watching him scream and kiss the ground forty feet below.

The tiles shook, harder than the earthquake that had struck moments before, the vibrations accompanied by thunderous explosions. Michi looked toward the sky-docks, saw the Floating Palace of the Phoenix Daimyo looming above Docktown, spilling dozens upon dozens of barrage barrels from its innards onto the buildings below. Timber was reduced to kindling, metal to shrapnel as the Fushicho flagship emptied its payload onto the Tiger ships stranded at the sky-spires and the Dragon ships in the bay. The air was filled with Phoenix corvettes, firing with seeming abandon into the burning streets, strafing lines of Tiger bushi’ with shards of spinning steel. It took Michi a moment to understand what was happening, and as realization dawned, she felt her lips curl into a grim smile.

The Phoenix clanlords have heard news of Aisha’s death. No Kazumitsu. No oath.

“Treacherous bastards,” she whispered.

She tore her eyes from the carnage unfolding on the bay, back to her own world of hurt. Squinting through the roiling scrim of woodsmoke, she saw a half-dozen bushimen pulling themselves onto the rooftops at the other end of the royal wing—too far away to intercept. She heard metal biting into cedar, four grappling hooks digging into the gutters, silk line pulling taut as more guards ascended. Too many to stop. Too many to fight.

Michi backed across the roof, toward the burning guest wing, hoping the smoke might give her some concealment. Her heart sank as more and more red tabards appeared over the rooftops around her, the bushimen gathering and marching forward, one grim step at a time, naginata at the ready; a glittering wall of polished steel, gleaming with the light of the flames.

“I’m sorry, little Tomo.” Michi put down the puppy, raised her chainblades. “You might have to make your own way home.”

Forty feet away, the guards halted at a shout from their commander. The front row fell to one knee, blades outthrust. Michi saw the rear line drawing crossbows, loading them with quarrels thick as broomsticks.

“Cowards!” she screamed. “Come and get me!”

The commander raised his sword, and the crossbowmen took aim, expressions hidden behind black glass and red kerchiefs. Michi held her breath, stance spread, feeling the chaindaishō motors as a rumble in her chest. But as armored fingers tightened on triggers, the rumble became a roar, a blast of wind and smoke from propeller blades, a black rain of arrows sailing through the air. She caught a glimpse of bold kanji running down a wooden prow, thick white letters on polished black: KUREA.

The sky-ship thundered down on the rooftop, the sound of her four great motors shaking the very skies. Splitting the tiles asunder, the Kurea interposed its hull between the girl and the bushimen’s rain of crossbow bolts. Ropes were tossed and Michi thrust her chaindaishō into her obi, scrabbled about on the roof, trying to scoop up Aisha’s terrified puppy. The crew above screamed at her to get aboard, the ship beginning to rise. Engines bellowed with the strain, compressors shuddering as they were pushed into the redline, her inflatable groaning like it was about to burst.

Michi finally seized the pup’s scruff, grabbed hold of a swaying, knotted line with her free hand. The crew hauled her up as the sky-ship ascended, the air full of smoke and crossbow bolts. Hard, callused hands dragged her over the railings and she slumped to the floor, breath burning in her lungs as the puppy scampered off across the deck. Propellers carved the air to ribbons, the ship trembling beneath them as they shed gravity’s shackles, the light and noise of the burning capital fading away below.

Michi pulled herself to her feet, staring at the crew dashing to and fro.

“Who the hells are you people?”

“Michi-chan,” said a voice.

She turned and saw a tear-streaked face, pale with grief and anger, steel-gray eyes, a long scar cutting from brow to chin.

“Kaori?” Michi reached out as if the woman were an apparition. “Gods…”

And they were in each other’s arms, holding tight, as if the whole world might fall away beneath their feet. Michi blinked back the tears, looked at the smoke-stained faces of the folk around her, grim and drawn—faces that spoke of defeat, not victory. Her heart swelled in her chest as she caught sight of Akihito slumped against a far railing, a teenaged boy crouched beside him. Blood-soaked and exhausted, but the big man was alive at least, and for that, she closed her eyes and gave thanks. Aisha’s puppy was snuffling about the boy’s feet, the shell-shocked lad blinking, reaching down to him with one trembling hand.

“We were expecting to have to fight our way in for you.” Kaori stepped back, their hands still entwined. “Where is Aisha?”

“Gone.” Michi shook her head. “She’s gone.”

Kaori closed her eyes, looking for a moment as if she might fall. She dragged a feeble breath through gritted teeth, shoulders slumping.

“Then it was all for nothing…”

“How did you know where to find me? That I was still in the palace?”

“I told them.”

A girl sat alone against the railing nearby, clothed in shadow and blood. A pale face, painted red. An unruly bob of ink-black hair, one eye covered by a blood-soaked bandage, the other glowing the color of rose quartz.

Michi blinked. “Who are you?”

The girl managed to smile. “Call me No One, Michi-chan.”

“You…” Michi knelt by the girl’s side, concern and gratitude filling her with equal measure. The girl looked battered, bruised, bloody. But unbroken. Michi hugged her fiercely, a clumsy, feeble thanks forming on her lips.

“Guild!” A cry rang out from the crow’s nest. “Guild on our tail!”

Michi looked aft, squinting through the exhaust haze. The skies over Kigen were ablaze, a handful of Guild and Tiger sky-ships locked in deadly battle with the traitorous Phoenix fleet. The Floating Palace was laying down a wall of shuriken fire to stave off the assault, slowly cruising toward the Shōgun’s palace, its retinue of corvettes blurring the sky around it. The entirety of Docktown seemed to be on fire. But a few Guild ships had somehow noticed the Kurea in the melee and had turned to pursue. Even with the capital of the Imperium in flames, the chi-mongers had set their sights on the Kagé and intended to run them to ground.

Michi released No One, ran up to the captain’s deck, Kaori beside her. Cloudwalkers were gathered at the railing, cursing beneath their breath.