InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Peace Treaty ❯ Uncertainty ( Chapter 42 )

If over a century of plotting to retake his birthright had taught him anything, it was that patience is essential. And in Lord Okuri's mind, the failed attempts were lessons that, no matter how careful one's preparation, the Fates were the ultimate arbiters. As he waited until nightfall, the few hours while darkness deepened and the manor grew quiet, he decided the Fates had finally looked favorably on his machinations.

 

It had to be, he reasoned, given how perfectly everything had turned out. Enticing Kagome to insist on accompanying them had been easy; her need for validation was a simple target. The blowing snow, which confused their sense of smell, was a gift. His greatest challenge in setting up the ambush had been separating Sesshoumaru from his father and mate during the hunt, and the Boar Youkai played their part perfectly. They would have to be well compensated. Akeno, of course, had been invaluable, first as his eyes and ears inside the stronghold, then later as the writer of the damning letters. But only the Fates could have provided the besotted maid, Akeno's link to Kagome. Though the assassination was not successful, he didn't worry. Gina's vigilance at the infirmary door told him there was something to hide—the Lord of the West would soon be dead.

 

This time it had to be. This time he would be victorious.

 

Okuri silently slipped into the private infirmary room and walked to Akeno's bedside.

 

The injured Youkai was awake. “You told me Sesshoumaru would be killed.” Despite his obvious weakness and pain, his tone was cold and dripped accusation.

 

“Yes, a lie, I confess. It was unavoidable. You wouldn't have agreed to assist me had I not dangled a great prize before you, and no one else here had access to my cousin's chief advisor and your skill at forgery.” He picked up a blanket from the floor and idly fingered the texture of the cloth. “But lines of succession are untidy things, and my daughter must take Sesshoumaru for a mate. Akeno, he is far too powerful a Youkai to lose. The West will need him in the upcoming struggle with the humans.”

 

Akeno realized that Okuri had played him for a fool from the beginning and felt like a caged animal. All his work, the deceit, the risks he took were for an imaginary reward. He knew any threats of exposure were impotent. His role in the treachery would mean immediate execution and disgrace his family. “And now what? Do you intend to offer some other, lesser payment?”

 

Okuri shook his head sadly. “I offer my thanks. I have not been privy to them, but apparently your letters were most convincing. The entire manor is speaking openly about Lady Kagome's betrayal. And I offer my apologies…but really, dear boy, you've no one to blame but yourself.” He put a knee on Akeno's chest and gently, almost reverently pressed the blanket over his face. “You should have known better than to trust a traitor.”

 

Odd that Akeno's last thoughts were not of survival or even regret; he only agreed—he should have known better, but at least this death would bring no shame to his parents.

 

The frantic, jerking movements stilled eventually, and Lord Okuri refolded the soft blanket and laid it down. Its innocent appearance belied its use as a weapon. He had been in the room earlier that day paying a visit with Gina and Lady Sato, so his scent was to be expected, and Akeno's face showed no sign of bruising. His death would be blamed on his wounds. It was fated that this work, he told himself. He hated to do it, but an unhappy accomplice was a liability he could ill afford. Akeno was capable…and expendable. Okuri was inside now, with no need of a spy, and though he wasn't trusted, neither was he suspected. The fewer loose ends, the better, after all; now only a handful of Boar Youkai and two Ningen generals, none of whom were at the stronghold, knew of his involvement. He exited the room and strode down the hall making use of the shadows. The servants who remained loyal could give no more than silence. He suddenly felt truly alone, but he reminded himself, the Fates smiled on him.

 

XXXXX

 

Gina left the infirmary and immediately went to Sesshoumaru's quarters, hoping he hadn't already begun morning inspections. She found him in his study, staring vacantly at scattered correspondence.

 

“Akeno Sato died last night.”

 

Sesshoumaru swore and stood abruptly. He had been waiting for Gina to pronounce Akeno strong enough to withstand an interrogation and planned to talk to him that morning. He wanted to hear in Akeno's own words an account of the attack that killed so many and injured his father. Now he was denied the chance. “You said you thought he'd recover.”

 

“I thought he would,” she said, shaking her head. “I also said his wounds were grave. Sesshoumaru, I'm sorry. I know you wanted to question him.” She crossed the space to stand next to him. “When the General wakes, he can tell us what really happened.”

 

He sighed. He had spent most of the previous night with his father, holding his mother while she cried. At one point she agreed to try to sleep, and in the brief period of silence, his anger, which had been so hot and sure when he first learned that his father's sword was missing, quieted, and he became aware of a small spark of hope still within that refused to die. The letters, the ring, the sword became less important. Her scent, the way she fit in his arms softly asserted. Uncertainty clawed at him—should he feed the spark of hope, or smother it? Seeing his father lying as if dead was no help, and daybreak brought no answers, only decisions to be made, responsibilities to shoulder…memories to ignore. “Gina, I know you don't believe she did it. If I have ever asked you not to lie to me, I'm doing it now. I have the safety of the West to consider and this crime cannot go unpunished. Will he wake?”

 

Gina knew too well the pressure Sesshoumaru was under and how valuable the General's testimony would be, but the hard fact was that she had no way to tell when and if he would ever be able to give it. He was breathing on his own, yet unresponsive to pain. “I don't know. Head injuries like his are unpredictable. He could wake today, he could wake in a month…and given food and water and care, he could remain as he is for years.”

 

“And likewise he could die tomorrow, in a month, years from now?”

 

“Yes.” She laid a careful, certain hand on his shoulder. “Cousin, she didn't do this.”

 

Kagome.

 

He took her hand from his shoulder, but didn't let go. “Gina, I, more than anyone, wish to believe in her innocence…but offer me an explanation of her letter.” He gestured to a small, loosely rolled scroll on the desk. “You yourself recognized her writing yesterday. Didn't you read it?”

 

“I only glanced at it enough to determine it could be hers,” she admitted. He picked it up and gave it to her.

 

As she read, Gina felt like she was sinking. The hand belonged to Kagome. The voice—sorrowful and modest—rang true, but the words were all wrong. It was as if her friend were next to her, speaking a different language, one neither would recognize. Gina was stubborn by nature and need. “It has to be a fake.”

 

Sesshoumaru, despite their past disagreements, couldn't tell her how ridiculous her obstinacy was in the face of the evidence. She was the only one vocally defending the spark. He reached into his haori and pulled out an object, tightly enclosed in his fist. “You know as well as I that she wasn't a gossip. No one else would know about this.” He opened his hand to reveal the bracelet of their twining hair. “How can I, with scores of Youkai dead, Taiyoukai among them, with my father facing death, with possibility of my mother staring at him as he wastes away, with War looming again…how can I allow myself the luxury of doubting this letter?” His voice was raw and desperate. “How can I believe anything else?”

 

The sight of the white and the black hair, twisting into a silver circle, hurt more than reading the letter. Gina had no idea how to answer, no explanation other than an irrational belief that truth would reveal itself and at least one aspect of their nightmare would end. “May I show the letter to Masako…Lady Inoue? She has read it, but I don't believe she has scrutinized it yet.”

 

Sesshoumaru nodded. “If you are willing to accept what she tells you.” His tight self-control returned. “I will meet with the Advisors in three days. We should have the responses from the other Houses and the spies' preliminary reports on the Ningen Council by then. I'd like you to attend and update the Advisors on my father. I needn't remind you of the importance of your words. Okuri will be there.”

 

Gina understood. She bowed and turned, heart heavy with the anguish her cousin must be feeling. Decades ago, when they were carefree and invulnerable children, War was present daily, but death had been like a tapestry hanging on a distant wall, occasionally glanced at, largely ignored. Now adults, they were woven into the inescapable destruction.

 

As she exited, she saw Jaken directing several servants in carrying out Kagome's belongings. “What's going on?” she asked.

 

“Lord Sesshoumaru wished to be rid of the miko's possessions,” Jaken said.

 

Gina followed the servants out and when beyond earshot, she said, “Take everything to my quarters.”

 

They dared not disobey. The order had come from Jaken, not Lord Sesshoumaru directly, and despite the Youkai's stature as important manservant, the niece of Lady Seiobo by far outranked him.

 

Gina watched as Kagome's trunk was deposited in her sitting room. She dismissed the servants and carefully opened the lid. The items on top were Kagome's everyday clothes, the things that Kagome defended as practical, the things she and Azami had criticized as too plain. You should wear something that doesn't look like vegetable sack! You are the mate of the Heir of the West and you look like a commoner. Kagome's response always was similar. I'm not used to fancy dresses, I consider them completely impractical, and Sesshoumaru finds delight in shredding my clothes…the plainer, the better. Gina remembered the flush on her cheeks, love and lust tempered by practicality and amusement. She let the lid fall. The contents could wait until she had the necessary stomach to look again. Right now the loss of Kagome was a wound too fresh.

 

As she returned to the main area of the infirmary, a servant stopped her. “Excuse me, Lady Gina. I just finished cleaning out the room Lord Sato was in and found this.” He gave her a ring.

 

“I've never seen it before.” Gina held it up to the strong morning light streaming through the window. It was a signet, thick and emblazoned with an intricately carved tree. The craftsmanship was superb, indicating the owner was a member of the nobility, though this perplexed her. The crest was not of the Sato clan, nor of any Inuyoukai family. “Thank you, Kichirou. I'll take care of it.” The servants who tended the infirmary would never think to claim ownership of such an object merely for finding it, and she was grateful they were so trustworthy—for the time being General Inutaisho's condition was a carefully guarded secret.

 

Gina entered the infirmary and saw that Seiobo, lying next to her mate on the narrow mattress, had finally succumbed to sleep. She backed out slowly, then remembered that Lord and Lady Seiryu stayed in the room where the ring had been found while Haruto recuperated. Perhaps it belonged to them, she thought. She hurried to the aviary, eager to have an errand and a brief distraction.

 

XXXXX

 

“Leiko, this is absurd. Let me untie her.” Hiroko, the miko who had taken on the task of helping Kagome eat and drink, quickly wiped the spilled broth from Kagome's clothes before it could soak in. “Just while we eat. I'll keep an eye on her.”

 

“No,” Leiko said as she warmed her hands in the heat of the campfire. “She'd kill half of us before we even blink.”

 

“And then be killed immediately by the survivors?” Kagome asked. Being fed by another was awkward and messy, an exercise in frustration for both, and after days of it, she wanted nothing more at that moment than the ability to feed herself. “Leiko, be reasonable. I've been untied during piss breaks and didn't try anything.”

 

“You had a knife at your throat the entire time.”

 

“So do the same. I give you my word I won't hurt anyone. I simply wish to eat without becoming covered in food.”

 

Leiko wished for the hundredth time that she had convinced Kaede to teach her the art of making subjugation beads. “Fine, but understand that if you make one odd move, I'll cut your hands off.”

 

The leader of the soldiers, seated across the fire from Kagome, bristled. They had been given strict instructions that the Higurashi girl be brought alive and, if possible, unharmed. His commanding officers were plotting how best to make use of her. The most powerful miko in generations, despite their Youkai conspirator's wishes, was not to be squandered. However, he said nothing. He would intervene if the bellicose Leiko seemed intent on following through with her threat, and if Kagome believed she was in danger, so much the better.

 

Kagome clenched her teeth against the stabs of sickening pain as Hiroko freed her pinned arms and circulation returned. She would have loved to use her powers to heal her sore shoulders, but knowing it would only give Leiko an excuse to tie her up again or even do worse, she instead simply picked up the bowl of broth and drank deeply. The warmth in her icy hands and on her parched throat was a blessing, and the simple act of eating on her own power returned a tiny bit of her stolen dignity.

 

As members of the group eased into sleep and joked around, no longer on such high alert with half of them standing guard, Kagome realized they must now be in Ningen territory, though where precisely she had no idea. They were in a thick forest. She could see no discernable landmarks, no mountains, no wide rivers, and they, for obvious reasons, had stayed away from settled areas and main roads.

 

It had been three days since the hunt, since she had been taken. Three days of traveling blind with her arms wrenched behind, slung over the back of some nameless Ningen soldier. While the hood covering her head had muffled sound, she tried to stay sharp and glean as much information as possible. She discovered that many of the men were clearly uncomfortable with the abuse Leiko enjoyed inflicting on her and that meant her father's memory was still respected. The soldiers were highly disciplined, and she would be an idiot to try to tempt any into helping her escape, but she had faith that they would not let Leiko actually hurt her. Leiko and the man who commanded the soldiers, Manzo she learned was his name, continuously competed for the last say in decision making and more than once had nearly come to blows. They did not trust each other, a fact that she wasn't sure she could exploit but nonetheless kept at the back of her mind. Several times the two had argued about Kurono and Akagawa, alluding to plans they had for her—she was a valuable captive, not yet ready to be discarded. One thing that kept despair at bay: as long as they let her live, she had a chance at escape, a chance at going home.

 

Her chance, she had learned while they traveled, most likely lay with Hiroko. They had not been part of the same circle of close friends at the Sisterhood. Age and class difference, even in an egalitarian setting, were ever-present, a stubborn feature of a stratified Ningen society. But the older miko, as she guarded Kagome, never acted with the malice that Leiko wore like a badge of honor. She was patient, almost tender when she had to retie her arms, and Kagome thought she saw sincere regret and apology in her eyes. Sympathy. An ally, albeit a marginal one, was hope. And a possibility of future escape. So she tempered her urge to flee—it would mean instant death—she stayed cooperative and quiet, hoping with each passing hour she would be regarded as less of a threat. One lapse in vigilance was all she required.

 

As the people around the fire relaxed and stopped staring at her, she allowed herself to indulge and focus on the calm fire of Sesshoumaru's Youki circling in her veins. His presence and their reunion, she felt, kept her sane, gave her reason not to act rashly. The connection, deep within yet so vivid, was a treasure, but with it came the pang of physical separation clouding her vision with tears. Tears that she wanted more than anything to let fall, to feel them on her face instead of hot and dangerous in her eyes. I don't cry I don't cry I don't cry. She repeated it until her emotions were numb again. The others were not to see her weakness; it was too dangerous for them to see her discontent.

 

The first night they traveled, Kagome had prayed to the gods for Sesshoumaru to suddenly appear and save her. She almost dared to expect it, so sure was she that he would not let them carry her off. Every odd sound, every howl of the wind made her heart race. He had found her. But he didn't find her and with the sun the next morning came doubt, and that doubt hardened like rock as time dragged on. The General was injured, maybe dead; the manor was in chaos. There would be no rescue. She would have to save herself. And now, after three days, miles and miles away, she clung to the small bit of his essence in her, bided her time, and continued to hope. To believe.

 

“Kagome,” Hiroko said, forcing her from her reverie, “it's time to sleep. I'm sorry. I need to bind your hands.”

 

Kagome leaned forward, dreading the pain of having her shoulders forced into that unnatural position, but instead Hiroko knelt in front of her and laid her palms against her elbows. As Hiroko wound the rope around her forearms, Kagome gave her a small, secret smile of thanks—both for taking pity on her and for trusting her, praying the confidence didn't show overtly on her face. If she was nurturing a reluctant ally, she needed to be careful.

 

She lay on her back and looked up at the stars shining high above the tops of the trees. The past few nights, lying on the ground face down, brought little sleep and much cold and discomfort. Perhaps she would actually get some rest that night. And maybe in her flitting, disturbing dreams she would not be buried alive, time and again. Her need to fly was fierce.

 

Sesshoumaru, she thought before sleep claimed her, why haven't you come for me? Uncertainty continued to haunt her.