Jay Kristoff - Kinslayer

Not enough left for even a Phoenix to rise from.

How easy would it be?

They dug their knuckles into her temples. Bloodlust pounding in their (her) skull. They had been here before. The sight of three ironclads tumbling from the sky in her (their) mind’s eye. Ayane’s terrified gaze. Takeo’s letter. Her own tears. Kin’s voice echoing in their thoughts.

“And piece by piece I see the Yukiko I know falling away…”

They blinked.

Too easy.

And they saw true. The hundreds of lives aboard the Phoenix flagship. The men and women who were not soldiers or clanlords, samurai or butchers. The servants and engineers, the cabin boys and deckhands. The people who dreamed of beloveds’ arms or children’s smiles, not growling swords and empty thrones—all of them would die if she let the flare fall. If she let herself slip beneath the flood. If she gave anger its head.

Is that what she was? Is that what she’d become?

What her father had died for?

The Floating Palace groaned, her inflatable crumpling under its own weight as hydrogen hissed into the burning night. And with a fierce cry they hurled the flare, not toward the sinking sky-ship, but out into the bay, down into the black water beneath them, the tiny trembling spark swallowed in the dark. The flagship fell, slow if not graceful, the bladder that had once kept her afloat now streaming behind her in tatters. And their voice echoed in their own minds, uncertain where hers ended and his began, his gentle smile on her lips.

LET US HOPE THIS FLOATING PALACE LIVES UP TO ITS NAME.

Kaiah called, a roar filling the empty space before the ship’s thunderous impact into the mouth of the Junsei, the black foaming flow gushing up over the banks in a great rushing wave and dousing the smoldering houses at the water’s edge. The Palace sank down to its railings, scummed water flooding the decks and streaming back out in a hundred waterfalls as the hulk resurfaced, her balloon falling over her like a shroud, steam rising from the banks. Wallowing in her own ruins as the Phoenix corvettes scattered like rats when the corpse runs out. The Phoenix princelings on their knees, smeared in black and screaming with impotent rage. But alive.

Alive.

Through the smoke and billowing flames they wheeled, falling back inside one another again, Buruu and Yukiko, Yukiko and Buruu, the city’s pyre setting their eyes aglow. Lightning flickered in the clouds overhead, through the haze of bitter-black smoke, a pulse setting their own pulses to quickening. The remaining Guild ships had gathered in tight formation, bristling with death—awaiting the girl they all feared. Bated breath, bellows falling still, dry mouths and sweat-soaked flesh hidden beneath skins of gleaming brass. Chattering mechabacii. Chattering mouths. Setting their teeth on edge.

Hackles rising. Smoke in their mouths. Decks crawling with chi-mongers. Bloodlust pulsing, swelling, wanting, spilling from each thunder tiger into the Kenning, amplified and purified, doubling and trebling and feeding upon itself. They stared at this tiny pack of metal insects, blind grubs who thought themselves so far above the hell they forged that its flames would never reach them. Each ship crewed by soldiers and Lotusmen; no innocents here, just killers, all. And through the smoke, they saw it, saw it for the first time—the hulking ironclad daubed in Tiger red, three flags streaming from its stern marked with the Daimyo’s seal.

Through his eyes they gazed, sharp as new pins and twice as bright, onto the choked deck. Through the crowd of little boys in their smoking armor, stained with the color of death, there, there to the littlest boy of all. The boy they had given themselves to. The boy they had loved (she had loved) and the sight of him, daubed corpse-white with his ashen face, set the bloodlust swelling again, gripping her tight, dragging her in. Buruu’s need to kill, pure and primal, rushing over her like a flood. Filling her. Fighting her. Dragging her down to drown.

But she kicked. Fought. Seethed. To pull herself free, rip herself out, back from the oneness and into herself, the taste of her own blood on her lips and the pain flooding through the cracks in her wall. Just herself again. Just Yukiko.

Unwhole.

Buruu reared up into the air, metal wings spread wide, Yukiko sitting up tall on his back. Delirium and vertigo, the sense of her own body for a moment utterly alien, her flesh shivering and cold. The thunder tiger beneath her roared, time slowing to a crawl as she felt the blood flee her face, lips parted as she struggled for breath. Eyes fixed on the tall figure standing on the bow, even now drawing his swords, pointing his chainkatana at her, screaming challenge.

“Hiro,” she breathed.

Lips peeled back from her teeth. Eyes locked with his. The green of Kitsune jade. The green of lotus fronds. But not the green of the sea, no, not the green she had named them for. Because the seas around this island she called home were red, red as lotus, red as blood, poisoned scarlet by these bastards and their stinking, wretched weed.

She could see Hiro’s face, twisted with rage, gesturing for his samurai to clear a space on the foredeck. To back away, let him stand alone. His words were lost in the drone of the engines, the howl of the flames, but his gestures made his intent clear. Calling Yukiko out. Demanding a duel. Satisfaction. Vengeance. He beat one fist upon his chest—an iron fist—gestured for his samurai to step farther back. Holding his arms wide, eyes locked on the girl and her thunder tiger. Actions speaking louder than any words.

Come on.

He bellowed, pointing his chainkatana at her again.

Come and get me.

Buruu growled, low and long, their hatred spilling into each other and gleaming in his eyes. It could all end. The Guild’s ambitions for Hiro’s rule. The threat of war still looming large over Shima. The storm clouds gathering on distant horizons. All of it could end, here and now.

WHY DO WE FALTER?

Buruu’s thoughts in her head, as always, echoing the deepest recesses of her own.

THE PHOENIX I UNDERSTAND. THERE WERE INNOCENTS ABOARD THAT SHIP. BUT HIRO WANTS YOU DEAD. THE GUILD BACK HIM TO THE HILT. THIS IS KILL OR BE KILLED, YUKIKO.

She struggled for breath, clawing her hair from her eyes.

And then what? If we kill him, the Guild will just choose another puppet. Another thrall.

THIS IS THE PATH YOU CHOSE. THIS IS THE RIVER OF BLOOD I PROMISED.

And weren’t you afraid I would drown in it?

ALL YOU NEED DO IS DIVE IN AND SWIM.

I …

She wiped her fist across her nose, brought it away bloody. Kaiah wheeled through the sky, circling them, roaring again, fairly trembling with anticipation.

Her hand strayed to her belly.

I don’t think I can, brother …

WE KILLED HIM ONCE. WE CAN DO IT AGAIN.

Yukiko sat tall on his back, katana clutched in her hand.

I let anger and vengeance cloud my judgment before. We’ve killed hundreds of people and what has it gotten us? Where has it led us? We killed Yoritomo and simply made more chaos. We had a hand in all of this, Buruu. We helped set this city, this whole nation, on fire.

We have to be more than this. More than rage. More than revenge. Or else we will drown, Buruu. You. Me. All of us. Just like you said.

The beast growled, hackles rippling.

HE DESERVES IT FOR WHAT HE DID TO YOU. THIS BOY DESERVES TO DIE.

Yukiko sank down on his shoulders, a fire wind whipping hair across her eyes.

Everything dies, brother.