Chapter 9

Before

"Hey, stranger."

Hiei froze, his palm pressed to the door of the crossroads inn. He cocked his head a degree, bringing his peripheral vision into focus. Off to his left, Nozumi lounged in the shade of a tree, a book open against her knees, shadows of the shifting leaves dappled across her face. She wore a pale green tunic with gold stitching along its seams (a shirt he'd seen before), and her hair was in its usual messy knot, wisps framing her cheeks. Tension eased from his hackles.

His hand fell from the door. "Hn."

"Eloquent," she said, then patted the ground at her side. "Sit with me? I can bring us drinks if you'd like."

He teetered for a moment, caught on the edge of a forking road, but the constellation of her freckles called to him like a guiding star, and he turned his back on the path he knew, leaving the tavern undisturbed as he padded to her side. He lingered, eyeing the spot she'd indicated, but she grabbed his pants at the knee and tugged, and he gave in, sinking down beside her.

"Drinks?" she asked.

"In a bit."

She nodded, then let her head rest against the tree trunk at her back. "Where have you been?"

"East."

"Oh? Not with the Swords?"

He gritted his teeth. If he'd had his wits about him, he'd have prepped an answer for this. An explanation for why he hadn't returned to his clan (though that would be the Brotherhood, not the Bloodied Swords). Because he hadn't gone back to them. Not for a fortnight. Not since he'd fled the inn and the version of Nozumi he hadn't recognized.

He wasn't ready to face the Brotherhood. Not yet.

For one thing, he hadn't been sleeping well. His nights were fitful at best, nightmarish at worst. Lack of sleep had dulled his reflexes, slowed his wits. Returning to the Brotherhood now would be digging his own grave. Until he got his feet back under him, he had to run solo.

He'd meant for that to mean truly solo. Yet here he was.

Back at the inn.

"They're a loud lot," he said finally. "I needed some silence."

She hummed softly, and he couldn't tell if she bought his answer. Surely she knew what state he'd been in when he'd last been here? Surely she knew he'd fled before she returned, even though Asahi had seen him just the night before, departing the bathhouse? But she didn't press, didn't ask.

(What was he to make of that? Did she care? Or did she not? And… which was worse?)

Two could play whatever game she was getting at, though. "You've been gone often."

"I have." She sighed and rolled her head sideways, bringing her lips mere inches from his cheek. Her whisper reached him like a caress. "I've missed you."

Liquid fire ignited in his veins. Heady. Delicious. He nearly purred as he reached for her, ready to drag her inside, up the stairs, and straight to her bed. But she laughed, batting him away. "Not yet. You're staying the night, aren't you?"

Yes.

Yes, yes, yes.

"Hn."

She leaned into him, resting her head atop his shoulder. "Good."

As it turned out, Nozumi had to work the night shift, and so Hiei took up a table in the corner of the pub, settling into the booth and kicking up his heels. He nursed a single glass of shochu for hours, watching her bob and weave across the tavern, checking on this table, clearing that one, chatting with patrons all the while. Often her gaze flitted to him, and each time, he caught and held it, coveting her attention like a dragon coveted its hoard.

Twice she stopped at his booth, settling onto the bench opposite his and bracing her elbows atop the wood. "Are you alright?" she asked the first time. "I've never seen you drink so little."

In answer, he merely sipped his glass, maintaining eye contact over its rim. She laughed at him, rolling her eyes, and then she was off again, darting to the nearest table and clearing their empty tankards.

On her second visit, she whispered conspiratorially. "My feet are killing me. I need new shoes." As if to prove her point, her left foot appeared in his lap. She wiggled her toes, and the shoe split at its seams, her bronze skin flashing in and out of sight. It was a ridiculous gesture, almost childish, and yet it only stirred his aching need to get out of this room and clutch her close.

When she stood, she leaned down to whisper into his ear. "Finish that drink and wash up. I'll be upstairs in twenty minutes."

She needed to say no more. He drained the dredges of his shochu in one swill and left the glass clattering behind him.

Her laughter trailed him all the way into the bathhouse's water.

He managed to stay away for two weeks longer. From the inn. From the Brotherhood. But eventually, both called too strongly to be ignored.

A month away from his brothers had quieted his world down to his own, haunted thoughts. He couldn't bear it any longer. He needed commotion. He needed a fight. He needed someone (anyone) else to keep him company.

But first, he needed a night with Nozumi.

He was later than he'd planned to be. Twilight had long since bled into dusk, which had in turn given way to midnight. By the time he reached the crossroads, the inn's door was closed, its windows battened shut. He loitered there, upon the intersection, for a torturous minute. He was desperate to sleep. He needed rest if he was to survive amongst the Brotherhood, and what he managed to scrape by in treetops each night hardly counted. Nozumi's bed (her arms) offered the only remedy.

A flicker behind the shuttered windows sent him lurching into motion.

He crossed the stretch of dirt and grass in the span of a breath, arriving at the doorway and pressing his ear against it.

"You're pining," a feminine voice said. (The sister, he was certain.) "Hoping he comes before you leave."

"Shush, Ko." (Unmistakably Nozumi.)

"It's disgusting."

Nozumi's tone was terse. "Sueko."

"He's a bandit. Same as the ones who killed Hideo. Does that not bother you? Do you not care?"

Hiei stiffened, nearly drawing back from the door, but he couldn't bring himself to move. He had to hear Nozumi's answer. He had to know.

"Can we not fight this fight again? Please?"

"He might die, and you'd never know it. He nearly did. Maybe he has. Maybe that's why he hasn't—"

"Enough, Sueko! Go upstairs. I'll finish cleaning up."

A clatter of wood and metal announced Sueko's displeasure, then stomping footsteps, then silence. Hiei remained at the door, forehead pressed to the wood, breathing the quiet into his lungs, fiercely pleased at Nozumi's refusal to back down.

He allowed the seconds to stretch into minutes, listening to her quiet movements within, letting enough time pass that she'd never know he'd heard their argument. Then, at long last, he knocked.

Nozumi went silent.

He rapped his knuckles again. "Any open rooms?" he called. "I've got coin to spare."

A breath later, the door swung outward, nearly smashing into him. He leapt back, his landing kicking up a cloud of dust. Light spilled onto the path, Nozumi silhouetted in the rays.

"Hiei?"

"Nozumi."

Slower than he expected, she waved him inside. "It's late."

"I was farther east than I realized."

He shrugged out his cloak, facing her in time to spot a frown before she could erase it from her lips. She latched the door once more. "You still haven't returned to the Swords?"

"I'm headed back tomorrow."

Her frown resurfaced. This time, she didn't banish it. "Oh."

He glanced about the deserted tavern. It was spotless, the worn bartop polished, glasses in neat rows upon the shelves, every chair square to its table. She must've been wrapping up the final details. The fact that he couldn't sit for a drink threw him off his rhythm. "Is there… a room for me?"

The crease on her forehead only deepened. "Are you still asking that? Is the one you're used to not good enough?"

He swallowed. Glanced away.

Nothing about this moment was right. Minutes ago, she'd been arguing with her sister over him, and he'd thought she'd be as eager to see him as he was her. But all she'd done since opening the door was frown and hesitate. For reasons he couldn't name, her guard was up, keeping him at bay.

"It's fine," he said, refusing to be the one rejected. "I'll go—"

She sighed. "Hiei. No. That's not what I meant." She latched her fingers through his. "It's been a… long day. I'm tired. But I want you to stay."

She tugged and he let her pull him toward the bathhouse. It was empty, as quiet as the pub, and to his surprise, she swapped her grip on his hand for the hem of her tunic, then tugged it over her head. Her undershirt followed, her pants and underwear a moment behind. His gaze caught on the scales at her hips and wrist. Normally lustrous and golden, in the dim light they appeared dull, almost leathery, their edges lifting from her skin in ragged flakes.

Without looking at him, she waded into the pool, sinking below the surface up to her chin.

He stared after her, unable to shake the sight of her scales from his mind's eye. "Are you hurt?" he breathed into the stillness.

She shook her head, smiling ruefully. "I'm… molting. Sorry. I know it's ugly."

He snorted, shucked his clothes, and followed her into the water. "Don't be an idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"It… They… If you're not hurt, none of that matters." You're beautiful. He couldn't say it. He tried, but the words wouldn't emerge. Instead, he reached for her, drawing her against him. They fit together like a matching set, and without quite thinking, he pressed his lips to her temple.

"It'll be over soon," she whispered. "By your next visit. I promise."

He leaned back from her, caught her chin with a knuckle, and tipped it back until their eyes met. He enunciated each word in his next declaration with precision. "I don't care."

"I do."

"Then you're a fool."

"Maybe."

Frustrated, he sealed his lips to hers, cupping her jaw between his palms, trying to convince her with touch as he could not with words. She leaned into him, gripping his shoulders. He ghosted a hand down her side, curling it about her waist, eager to eliminate whatever slivers of space remained between them, but she winced and they broke apart.

"Sorry," she said. "I'm sorry. They're tender."

"Stop."

She bit her lip, clearly holding back more apologies.

"It's fine." After a moment, he added, "What would make it hurt less?"

She sank back into the pool, up to her chin once more. (Hiding herself.) "Being over."

"What else?"

"Bandages so that they don't catch. Ointment to ease the drying. Warm compresses."

"Hot water?"

Her head tilted in question, one ear submerging into the water. "I suppose."

At once, Hiei raised the heat of his core, letting it seep from his flesh into the pool, raising the water's temperature degree by degree. Steam eddied off the surface, drifting around them. Sighing with relief, Nozumi pulled the tie from her bun and leaned back, practically floating, her hair fanning out in a circle about her head.

"It's glorious," she breathed.

Stealing a trick from her book, he ducked beneath the surface. Only then, hidden where she couldn't see, did Hiei grin.

That night, he merely held her. Just as they had in the pool, they fit together like two pieces made for one another. Wrapped around Nozumi, he fell into the deepest sleep he'd managed in ages, into a dreamless escape full of sandalwood and warmth and rest. Precious, fleeting rest.

He woke to rustling cloth and cracked an eye open to find her folding clothes (he spotted more than one powder blue shirt and green sash amongst the pile) and tucking them within a sturdy bag. Rising on an elbow, he studied her, noting flaking scales upon the backs of her elbows and the white strips of cloth she'd wound around her wrists. He wanted to ask where she was going, where her journeys from the inn took her, but doing so felt like an admission he couldn't bring himself to make. To ask was to reveal that he thought of her (often—too often) when he was away from the inn. Call it ego, call it pride, call it shame—regardless of its name, it ruled him.

And he let it.

Instead of posing questions, he made a statement. "You're leaving."

A moment's surprise tensed her shoulders, but then she nodded, still bent over her pack. "The caravan is picking me up in an hour or so."

The same convoy as last time? Was it a scheduled trip? Did she crew the caravan? Perhaps set their course with her precious maps? Or were they a means to an end? A way to reach a destination he couldn't conceive of?

So many questions.

But he asked none of them.

"You said you're returning to the Swords today, right?" she asked. "You could travel with me for a bit. If you'd like."

Because she was headed north and the Bloodied Swords roved the Riverlands to the north. But that wasn't Hiei's destination. It was the Brotherhood to the south that called his name.

He swung his legs out of bed. Working quick, he shimmied into his pants and shoved his feet into his boots. As he laced them, he said, "Hn. I'm not going to dawdle an hour."

"Ah, of course," she said with more bite than he'd expected. "Your time is too precious to eat a proper breakfast, I suppose."

"Hardly."

"Then why the rush?"

He fastened his belts, failing to stifle a scowl. If he admitted the truth, he'd never be welcome back here, but… he didn't want to go. Not really.

His lack of immediate answer was enough to finally still her hands. She twisted to face him, an eyebrow quirked above her hazel gaze, flecks of gold and amber in her irises catching the light of the rising sun.

"Fine. I'll wait."

Her smile flashed like lightning, here and gone in an instant.

It set him ablaze.

He traveled nearly two hours with Nozumi's caravan. They were a boisterous, cheerful group, who'd welcomed her with cheers and hollers when they'd arrived at the crossroads. Not a soul had batted an eyelid at Hiei as he and Nozumi joined their ranks. An elderly demon (the one whose cart Nozumi had ridden in when Hiei had first seen this motley lot) introduced himself with a wink and a nod, and a trio of young whelps not out of their first decade took turns clutching at Nozumi's hands, though they knew better than to grab at Hiei's. It was easy, almost too much so, to settle amongst them, matching his pace to Nozumi's.

More than once, he steeled himself to break away. He'd pretend he was off to meet the Swords, travel into the rushes and marsh until he lost sight of the caravan, then double back and head south. But each time he readied to depart, Nozumi would flash him a smile or comment on the plant life or share a swill of her canteen, and he'd find himself incapable of leaving.

In the end, she was the one who said, "I thought you'd be off by now?"

He lied on the spot, jerking his chin at a bend in the road ahead. "I leave you there."

"Ah."

When they reached the turn, she paused, letting the caravan carry onward. She stepped close, her talons curling into the hem of his cloak. "I'm glad I saw you," she said, "before I left."

"Hn." Likewise.

She bent down and kissed him, firm and unabashed.

"I'll be back in a month," she whispered against his lips. She eased away, hands slipping into her pockets as she backpedaled toward the retreating caravan. "Though, I think Uncle rather loves when you visit and I'm not around, so don't wait for me. He has my key, if you'd like a room."

He blinked, torn between smoldering pleasure and wounded pride.

It wasn't until she waved, turned heel, and trotted off that he found his tongue. And even then, all he managed was: "A month?"

But she was already gone.

Hiei learned from his mistakes. In his experience, demons who didn't never survived for very long.

So, despite the sweltering heat of the season, he donned a scarf before returning to the Brotherhood, wrapping the white cloth about his throat and securing it such that it would be near impossible for his Hiruseki stone to slip free unbidden. His brothers knew of the stone (they'd known since the day they took him in as an infant), but what was out of sight was often out of mind, and if he could keep them at bay—and better yet, remind them of what happened to those who got too close—he could stay safe. Stay alive.

No one spoke of Ichiro upon Hiei's return, but then, no one spoke to him much at all. He ate about their fires. He listened to their banter. He raided amongst their midst. But he was like a ghost walking among them. Unseen. Unheard. Unacknowledged.

In truth, he didn't mind it much. He hungered for their noise, their presence, but he didn't need their companionship. All he required was a place to hunker in a storm. A place (and a people) to call his own. For that, they sufficed.

He remained among them for a two week stint before roving off alone, not to the crossroads inn and its empty, slanting bedroom, but simply into the forest. His travels didn't take him far. If he put his mind to it, really pushed his legs, he could be back among the Brotherhood in less than an hour. For five days, he drifted alone through the dappled shadows, hunting often, snoozing in trees, whiling away the time any way he could.

The Brotherhood's next planned raid brought him back to his brethren. He prepped alongside them, participating in mock battles and honing his katana's blade. On a lark, he even sharpened Nozumi's knife, though in the process he discovered Ichiro's blood staining the leatherbound hilt. Disgusted (with himself? With Ichiro? With the world at large?), he tucked it away and vowed never to draw it in battle again.

Their pillaging was… something, but it was hardly the glorious success of the night Ichiro had made an attempt on Hiei's life. He returned to camp covered in blood (not his own), his coin purse barely heavier than when he'd departed. Bathing in the river that night left him clammy and dissatisfied, and he longed for the steaming bathhouse at the inn. (It would be another week yet before Nozumi returned, and despite her suggestion, he had no interest in entertaining her uncle.)

The days ebbed and flowed, inching past with a slowness that could drive a demon to the brink of insanity. Teetering on the ledge himself, he took to practice fighting, picking battles anywhere he could, working out his frustrations on any fool idiotic enough to accept his challenge.

Until at last (at long, long last) a month had passed.

Still, he lingered among the Brotherhood for three more days. He wouldn't return the same day as Nozumi. He would not allow himself to appear so desperate, so needy, as to appear on her doorstep like a forlorn puppy.

The last night, he settled beside a fire, scaling and gutting a fish he'd poached from the river. Around him, a feathered demon squawked about the oncoming summer storm, and the leather-skinned, broad-shouldered female across the flames rolled her eyes. "Can it," she snapped as the first clap of thunder rolled across the forest.

The complainer's beak snapped shut with an audible click.

Hiei snickered.

The demon opposite him (Risako, Hiei identified) turned black eyes to him. "Not used to you staying around so long," she said.

He spitted his fish upon a stick and held it aloft above the flames. If he worked quick, he might finish roasting it before the incoming deluge extinguished the fire."The rain has kept you lot from reeking too terribly," he answered. "I could stomach you longer than normal."

Risako rumbled a deep belly laugh that never reached her eyes. "Are your sensibilities too delicate to be one of us?" She flung her arms wide to encompass the encampment.

Hiei balled his free hand into a fist in his lap. His fingers itched to curl around his katana's hilt. "I've no interest in picking up whatever disease you're carrying."

The feathered demon clacked his beak. "You're as infested as the rest of us."

A third brute, who sat rubbing a greased cloth across the edges of a set of daggers, piped up. "Can't believe you dared to come slinking back after killing Ichiro."

Risako nodded, one long, slow bob of her head. "Seems to me a proper Brotherhood wouldn't let the likes of you back into our ranks."

Hiei sensed the attack moments before it came. He dropped the fish, seizing his katana at last, and whirled from the flames as the feathered demon hurled a fistful of gravel and dirt toward his eyes. Risako surged to her feet, and Hiei leapt upright, drawing his sword.

This fight wasn't like the one against Ichiro.

Hiei wasn't hampered by the blanket nor groggy with sleep, but it wasn't a one-on-one battle either. The three besieged him as a team, harrying him from all sides. He managed to slash a gaping wound through the wing of the feathered bastard, and the demon staggered back, squawking and screaming in equal measure, but Risako and her brutish second weren't so easily driven away.

They careened through the camp, Hiei blocking blows and striking back with vicious tenacity, but eventually, Risako seized his scarf and yanked him off balance. Her superior size granted her leverage, and she drove him to his knees. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, she tossed aside the scarf and snagged a finger through the leather thong from which his Hiruseki stone hung.

"Time to part with your pretty treasure, boy," she said, cold as frigid ice.

Hiei seized her wrist. His palm blazed like a bonfire, and even her leathery flesh melted beneath the heat. She bellowed, her grip loosening, and he tore free.

Others in the camp were rallying, circling up behind Risako and her second. Hiei was outmatched. This was a fight he wouldn't win. That was writ painfully clear.

Abandoning the belongings he'd left at the fire as lost, he bolted from the camp, sprinting for the forest. A shrieking whistle announced a dagger as it flew past his ear. He ducked, urging his legs faster, but he wasn't quick enough. A second knife struck just below his left shoulder blade. The force nearly knocked him off his feet, but he carried onward, windmilling his arms to regain his balance.

Into the forest. Then north. To the crossroads.

But as he ran, his legs slowed. His vision blurred. The world grew foggy at its edges.

Dully, he forged a connection. Risako's second hadn't been greasing his blades—he'd been poisoning them. And now that poison was in Hiei's system, staining his veins, racing through his heart.

Another foe to outrun.

Hiei staggered into the tavern.

Behind the bar, Asahi tensed at the commotion, a hand reaching for a knife at his waist, but after just one look at Hiei, he dropped the tankard he was filling and rounded the counter. "Nozumi!"

Patrons looked up from their drinks. Chatter died out.

Hiei sagged against the stairway railing. The dagger still protruded from his back.

Asahi reached him just as Nozumi burst from the swinging door that led to the kitchen. The older demon leaned close, peering into Hiei's eyes. "You don't look good, lad."

Careening to a halt, Nozumi gasped. Her surprise morphed into anger when she spotted the dagger. She reached for it, seemingly ready to pull it from Hiei's muscle.

"Poisoned," he warned.

As darkness closed in, he saw Asahi loose a dishcloth from his waistband. He wrapped it about his palm, murmured an apology, and tore the knife free. Hiei's vision swam, his knees buckling. Asahi kept him upright through sheer force. "Get him upstairs," he commanded Nozumi and pushed Hiei into her arms. "I'll be right up."

Trembling, murmuring desperate pleas he couldn't decipher, she swooped an arm around his waist. He collapsed into her, surrendering to her care—and then he stopped fighting, letting the darkness and sandalwood consume the world.

Dark.

It was so dark.

And yet, not as dark as it had been.

Hiei blinked. One shadow took shape, then another. He made out a slanting roof, pale swatches of canvas, and a window beyond which the sky was midnight blue, but blue all the same. Nozumi's room. Her bed.

Warm, humid air (breath) blew across his chest. His skin felt feverish and clammy, but the warmth of the body curled against his side soothed him. He let his eyes fall shut.

He was okay. He'd survived.

She'd made sure he survived.

At that, his eyes flew back open.

How had this happened again? How had he nearly died again? He was better than this. For nearly nineteen years, he'd forged his own way, kept himself alive. He didn't need others to save him. He didn't need someone to patch him up, to tuck him in and keep him safe. He kept himself safe.

He always had.

Until now.

Beside him, Nozumi stirred. "Hiei?"

"Hn."

She rose on one elbow, a hand coming to rest along his jawline, her thumb tracing over the bone. In the darkness, he couldn't read her expression. After a moment, she lowered her head and pressed a kiss to his chest, right at the valley of his neck, directly above his Hiruseki stone.

He froze.

The intimacy of it, the simple, trusting kindness, chilled the blood in his veins. He sat up, his inflamed back protesting vehemently. The force of his movement knocked her off balance, and the back of her head collided with the wall. He didn't allow himself to care, didn't stop to make sure she was alright.

"Hiei?"

He grabbed for a shirt, realizing too late it was one of hers, one of the powder blue numbers she wore when she went away. It was already over his head, and with a seething hiss, he tore it back off, ripping the collar in the process.

"Stop," she said, crawling across the bed on her knees and reaching for his wrist. "Please. I don't know what I did, but—"

"Don't touch me."

Her hand fell.

When next she spoke, her tone was one he hadn't heard in over half a year, the angry, biting hiss she'd used the first night they'd met. "What is wrong with you?"

He ignored her. It was gratifying, almost, to see her true colors emerge. She and Sueko were sisters, after all. No doubt Nozumi could be just as grating, just as wicked as her kin.

He yanked on his own tunic and tucked it into his pants, then fastened his belts.

"Where do you think you're going to go?" she demanded, rising onto her knees, taller than him even when she wasn't standing. "Back to the Swords? Are you kidding me? They've nearly killed you. Twice!" Her voice was clipped, anger coursing through each word. "Do you have a death wish? Is that it?"

"Shut up."

"Screw you." She snatched his wrist, and this time she didn't let go. "Sueko told me what happened last time. You… she said she stayed with you the whole night. Kept checking if you were still breathing. Uncle thought you weren't going to make it. And now, tonight… They poisoned you, Hiei. Your own clan poisoned you."

"Let me go."

Instead, she tugged, trying to draw him closer. He resisted.

"I'm sorry," she said. "For whatever I did. But please. Don't go back to them. Stay here." And then, so fast nothing but regret could've fueled her, she added, "Or don't. But don't go back there. Go anywhere else. Anywhere else, Hiei."

One by one, he pried her fingers from his wrist. Her resistance was pitiful, and with little effort at all, he tossed her hand aside. He strode for the window and heaved it open. "I don't need you. I have never needed you."

He'd meant the words for himself, and it wasn't until after he'd said them that he realized he should've never voiced them aloud. They were true. They had to be true. But they could've been a private truth. He needn't have shared them. He needn't have struck that blow home.

Silence stretched. Infinities collapsed in on the themselves, lifetimes beginning and ending in the seconds before she responded. "Fine, then," she said at last, all the fight gone out of her. The bed creaked, and he half-thought she'd gotten up, but no further sounds followed until she said, plain and clear: "But next time you're bleeding out, next time your heart is failing, don't come back here. We won't save you. Not again."

And so, he left.