The Blood Burns in My Veins by Megan Derr

 

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

"Peace? I hate the word as I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee."

― William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

 

 

Naoki called for another bottle of saké and drained the last sip from his cup. Around him, the bar was fairly quiet—but it usually was, just one of the reasons he favored it. If he were anywhere else in Verona, there'd be people clamoring to congratulate him or start a fight to save Selinah from him. Never mind he was the one who needed saving from her.

One of the barmaids brought his saké, offering an inviting smile as she set it on the table. Naoki smiled back but shook his head slightly. Even if he'd felt like tumbling in a back room, he was so drunk he'd only embarrass himself.

He poured a fresh cup and sipped. One of the other reasons he liked this place was they made their own saké—a pleasant hanjozo style that was easy to drink throughout a whole evening. Or afternoon and evening, as Naoki preferred.

Something else he'd never get away with in any other bar. This one, though, was located well outside the main parts of the city, on a tiny scrap of island that was more dump and crabs than viable land like the rest of the islands. The gondolas wouldn't even come out this far; the only way to it was a rickety bridge or a brisk swim—and only a fool swam in waters with nightshade eels. Unless, of course, they were a famed Ishikawa.

Naoki finished off a bite of fried octopus and chased it with saké. Before he could ask for more octopus as he should have when he ordered the saké, a different barmaid arrived with it. "Dōmo, bella."

She scoffed and bustled off. Naoki went back to eating and drinking, idly watching the rest of the bar's few patrons. He should be at home, and he'd get a blistering earful from his stepmother when he did stumble in, but he had every intention of passing out in a ditch first. Or getting arrested for public intoxication. All things considered, the city jail had relatively comfy beds.

A couple of the bar workers gave him looks, whispering amongst themselves. They must be new, to worry about what this drunk don in their midst might do. The proprietor didn't even spare him a glance anymore, not when Naoki kept a full account and was generous with his tips.

Or, more likely, he'd taken one look at the scars on Naoki's arms and decided it didn't matter whether he was a problem or not—nobody was going to trifle with or impede a stregone dell'acqua. His blood spilled on a ship guaranteed safer travel, and the very presence of his family in Verona ensured it would never suffer the brutalities of the ocean the way other islands did.

So even a drunk like Naoki wasn't likely to get thrown out for anything less than murder—and then only if the corpse had been someone important. Or a Ferro. Naoki's lips curled, but the reaction was habit. Ishikawa hated Ferro the way water hated fire.

When he bothered to push past habit, all he really felt was a dull, tired indifference. Hate was exhausting, and the long-running feud had already taken his little brother.

"Resolving" it once and for all was going to cost him his life. Figuratively and probably literally. Carac had killed Asata, and Selinah was a nasty little malmignatta.

But given how Naoki's stepmother, Izumi, ranted at him and beat him as often as she could get away with, she was probably counting on Selinah making herself a widow. Izumi had never forgiven the world for taking Asata instead of one of her stepchildren.

The only thing Naoki and his stepmother agreed on was that the world would burn before they let any harm come to Haru, the youngest Ishikawa and the only one who wasn't a complete and total bastard.

As though summoned by Naoki's thoughts, Haru stepped through the half-heartedly curtained door and glanced around, a hopeful look on her face. She had Izumi's breathtaking looks, with the moon-pale skin Izumi never let be touched by the sun, large eyes the soft, silvery blue of the ocean in the early morning, fine-boned features that seemed rendered by an artist's brush, and hair the fine blue-black that could go for five yinn a measure.

Naoki was nothing like Haru, or even like their sister Mineko, who were nearly comparable in beauty. No, Naoki took after his mother, Chouko, plain of face, with darker-than-fashionable skin, and hair that was a dark, muddy reddish-brown with dull brown eyes to match. Just one of his many failings.

Haru's gaze finally found him, and her hope turned to relief and disappointment.

"Go away," Naoki said as she reached his table.

"Ciao," Haru said dryly, staring down at him. "It's well past halfnight."

Naoki lifted his cup in a toast and threw back the saké. "Time aplenty left for drinking, then." He ate more octopus and chased it with the light, dry and fragrant saké.

Haru's disappointment grew, pinching her face and putting lines around her eyes. Naoki was inured to such looks, though, even from Haru. He'd been the family disappointment all his life. He was a handy pawn, that was it. Haru and Mineko were the ones that really mattered.

"Don't force mother to send someone to fetch you. She wants you sober and rested in time for the betrothal ball and you know she'll do whatever is necessary to make that happen. Just come home with me now, please."

Naoki laughed. "She wants me sober and rested by the day after tomorrow?" He drank more saké. "She wants in vain. I intend to be neither, and even that hag won't prevent me."

Haru looked pained at his word choice, but only said, "Come on, Naoki. Don't be like this. It's—"

"If you say 'it's an honor' I will break this bottle over your head and continue drinking while you lay on the floor like a slapped fish."

Haru huffed but said nothing.

Naoki continued drinking. He hadn't shown up sober to a single important function in the past ten years, and he saw no reason to break with tradition now. Given his betrothed, all the more reason to stay drunk.

"Please, Naoki," Haru said after several minutes. Her voice was soft, pleading, and when Naoki looked up all the alcohol in Verona could not banish the fear that was in Haru's eyes. "Mama has been angry all night, and if you're not at breakfast, even hungover, she will take it out on all of us."

Biting back the bitter retort on his lips, Naoki finished off his saké and threw coins on the table for the barmaids who'd served him all night. He swayed and wobbled as he heaved to his feet, knocking askew the cushion he'd been sitting on.

Haru caught him before he could slam into the floor, heaving a long sigh as she slid an arm around Naoki's waist and dragged one of Naoki's over her shoulders. "You're going to put yourself in an early grave."

"By marrying that spider? Yes! Finally someone agrees with me."

"By drinking like this almost every single day."

"I should be so lucky," Naoki said.

Haru sighed again but said nothing further.

They slowly made their way out of the bar, the world dull and fuzzy, all its sharp edges softened by saké. Naoki hated when the edges returned; all they did was make him bleed—for ships, for amulets, for family, for country. Everybody wanted a piece of him, and no one cared about the damage all their hacking did.

All around them insects buzzed and chirped, their chorus punctuated by the eerie tune of songfish and the splashing of much larger creatures. The air smelled of salt and smoke, pleasantly cool on his overheated face.

The only thing ruining it was Haru and her oppressive silence. "Spit it out, whatever you're stewing on. Your dithering is interfering with my drunk."

"I wish you'd stop drinking."

"I wish I wasn't getting married. I wish Arata was still alive. Wishing doesn't go very far in life, Haru. If you want something, you must earn it, buy it, or steal it."

Haru just sighed again, the sigh of a sixteen-year-old going on fifty.

"Oh, leave off, old woman. At least I'll soon no longer be your problem." Their father was giving the newlyweds a beautiful villa in the heart of the city's main island, only a short ride from the Ishikawa house and a slightly longer one from the Ferro house. No one had shut up about Ishikawa-don's generosity.

That was only because no one knew the things Naoki did. His father wasn't quite as evil as his stepmother, but only in that an octopus was not much like a squid. The differences mattered to very few, and not everyone could tell you what the differences were.

He shoved away from Haru, stumbling a few paces before gaining his balance, and began to sing a fishing song horribly offkey.

"Oi, oi, Naoki!" Haru jabbed him in the ribs. "It's late! You'll bother people."

"Out here? I'll bother some fish, maybe." He pulled away from Haru's sharp fingers and resumed singing. "Oooone fish for a yinn, one kiss for a yinn, and for the miss one fuck—"

"Naoki!"

"I told you—"

"No! Look!"

It was the terror in her voice that finally registered. Naoki turned to face her, then turned again, nearly toppling, to follow where she stared.

A figure had slunk out of the cluster of rocks and scrubby trees, dressed in dark clothes with something wrapped around most of his face. "Ciao, Tani-don, bella-donna."

Naoki moved to stand in front of Haru. "We want no trouble. We're just trying to go home." He reached inside his jinbei and drew out his few remaining coins. He tossed them at the bandit's feet. "Take it and go."

"I think you've got more to offer than that," the thief said, and brandished a long knife.

Despite the years that had passed, the number of fools that had accosted him as he ambled his drunken way home, Naoki never stopped being terrified of bandits with knives. He'd long ago started leaving his rapier at home because having it drew more trouble than not having it, but that came with its own risks.

Was this the night he'd end up like Arata? A knife in his gut, his blood soaked into the ground? Better him than Haru. Hopefully she'd get a chance to run for safety.

"I spent it all on booze," Naoki said. "What I gave you is all I have left. Just let us go. What good will come from hurting us?"

"One less nobile around, for starts. The bella-donna—"

"Do not finish that sentence," Naoki hissed.

Behind him, Haru pressed close, trembling against his back—and pressed something into his hand. A dagger. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

Naoki had one more thing left to try. "Do you know who you're messing with?"

"Do I care? One nobile is much like another."

"Even if they're stregone dell'acqua?"

The man laughed. "I still don't care. Remove your clothes."

Naoki nudged Haru slightly, hoping she understood it was time for her to run. "Eat my ass, harbor rat." He lunged, thrusting the knife forward, sending the man reeling back in shock.

Haru ran, screaming for all she was worth to hopefully draw attention—or at least convince the bandit that might be a problem.

He'd just dodged a counter parry when Haru's screams abruptly cut off, and a new voice joined the night. Both Naoki and the bandit looked where she had run and stared at the man holding her.

It was far too dark, and Naoki entirely too drunk, for him to make out details, but the man didn't need details to be imposing. He was tall, with shoulders that spanned for leagues, long hair that fell around him in unfashionably plain waves.

"Who the fuck are you?" the bandit snarled.

The man gently set Haru aside, then smoothly drew the sword at his hip—a beautifully wrought broadsword from the way it handled, even in the weak moonlight. "I suggest you depart, sir, before your night takes an unpleasant turn."

The bandit hesitated a moment, then snarled several curses, scooped up the coins on the ground, and fled into the scrub and rocks from which he'd come.

Naoki relaxed his stance, but kept the dagger ready. "I'm grateful for the help, but who are you, Tani-san?"

"Shall we wait until we're somewhere safe for introductions?" the man replied. "Or at least back across that sad excuse of a bridge?"

Despite everything, Naoki laughed. "As you wish." He beckoned to Haru, who returned to his side, straightening her skirt and the yukata-style jacket she'd put over it. Naoki reached up and pulled the ornate jade and pearl comb from her hair, caught up the strands that had come loose, twisted them back into place and pushed the comb back in. "Gomen, caro."

"Let's just go home," Haru replied, but squeezed his hand and tangled their fingers together.

The man swept them an elegant bow, then walked ahead of them across the sandy island and over an arching bridge that was probably one more storm away from collapsing. When he was alone, Naoki didn't even bother with it. He stripped, swam the distance, and then put his clothes back on. What was the point in being a stregone dell'acqua otherwise?

Thankfully, they made it across the bridge without incident, and came to a stop in a small square, in front of a water fountain framed by lanterns sustained by magia del fuoco.

Haru drew a sharp breath, and Naoki blinked at her flushed face before turning to look at the stranger.

He was undeniably handsome, but Naoki was too exhausted and fuzzy headed to much care. "Dōmo again for the rescue, Tani-san."

"It is my honor to be of service," the man replied. "I am Amore Dante, Conte di Esposito, newly arrived in Verona in hopes of making it a home. I was doing a bit of ill-advised exploring when I came upon you."

Naoki laughed. "So perhaps not entirely ill-advised." He swept as good a bow as he could manage without falling over because of his spinning head. "I am Ishikawa Naoki, and this is my sister, Haru."

"An honor to make your esteemed acquaintance," Amore replied.

"Not all that esteemed," Naoki said, then grunted when Haru kicked his ankle.

Beaming at Amore, Haru said, "You must let us repay you, Esposito-don."

"That's not necessary, not for doing what anyone would."

Naoki was fairly certain most people would pretend they hadn't heard or seen anything, but a sharp elbow kept him from saying so. Ignoring the pointed look Haru was giving him, he said, "What drew you to Verona? We are not the most interesting city in the empire, not even close."

"You are the only city-state they permit, and interesting is in the eye of the beholder," Amore replied with a smile that caused Haru to make a funny noise.

"We insist," Haru said. "My brother's betrothal ball is the day after tomorrow; you should come as our guest. We can introduce you to practically the whole city."

Amore held up his hands, sending his stupidly long hair tumbling about. "I would never intrude on such an important occasion. That is a time for—"

"It's Verona," Naoki interrupted, smiling wryly. "Trust me, there will be at least twice the number of people we actually invited. If not, my stepmother will be highly offended. There's no better time or place to meet Verona than at one of our bloated parties. You saved our lives tonight; you must be our guest. It's the very least we can do, please."

"As you wish, then," Amore replied. "I would be honored to attend. Omedetō on your pending nuptials. Were you out celebrating tonight?"

"Something like that," Naoki said.

Haru clucked, but didn't otherwise comment. "Do you live nearby, Esposito-don?"

"I am renting rooms at the Golden Chalice."

"That is close to our home. Let us all walk together, then."

"As milady desires," Amore replied, and offered his arm to a delighted-looking Haru.

Naoki was more than happy to trail behind them and roll his eyes at her flirting. With a near-stranger. In the dead of night. After being accosted by a bandit. Oceana save the Ishikawa from themselves.

He tucked the dagger he still carried into the sash of his jinshei, shivering as the warm buzz of alcohol faded enough the chill of the night became impossible to ignore. Thankfully he'd worn slippers instead of raised sandals, anticipating having to sneak into the house so his stepmother wouldn't know exactly what time he tipped into bed. Not that it really mattered, but he liked frustrating her, and she liked all the details she could gather.

Despite protestations, Amore insisted on walking them all the way to their front door, where he gave another gallant bow and a ridiculous kiss to Haru's knuckles. What sort of continental nonsense was that? Ugh, he hated gaijin.

Then Amore turned to him and bowed his head. "Ishikawa-don, an honor to meet you. I look forward to seeing you again. Sleep well."

"Dream pleasantly," Naoki replied reflexively. He watched until Amore was out of sight, then followed Haru into the house. "Hussy."

Haru rolled her eyes.

Naoki grinned. "I thought you knew how to be subtle."

"Subtlety is lost on men. If you were sober enough to see him properly, you wouldn't have bothered to be subtle either. I'm delighted I am the only one neither married nor betrothed."

"Ugh, don't remind me," Naoki replied. "I'm going to bed before the hag finds me. Buona notte, old maid."

Haru kissed his cheek. "Stop drinking so much, please?"

"I'll try," Naoki said, and kissed her cheek in turn. He pulled the dagger from his sash and handed it over. "Here. Next time, carry a sword."

"Mother would have noticed that. It was hard enough sneaking out of the house to find you as was."

"You shouldn't have snuck out at all. I always come home eventually."

"We were worried you'd wind up locked up again."

"That hasn't happened in weeks. I do intend to show up to the stupid ball, you know."

Haru frowned. "Yes, but how much of it will you remember?"

"Hopefully none of it." Naoki hugged her tightly, then shoved her lightly away. "Worry about yourself, not this lost cause. Don't come looking for me again. Next time, some stupid, handsome conte might not come to our rescue."

Haru rolled her eyes and headed off in the direction of the kitchen.

Naoki sighed and headed through the house to his room at the back, attached to a private garden that had a small pond of ocean water so he could practice his magia whenever he liked.

He pushed the door open, then slid it shut behind him before stripping out of his clothes. Leaving them in a pile by the door to deal with later, he went to the chamber pot to take a piss, then used the soap and water someone had left out to clean up. Combing his hair out, he swiftly braided the heavy mass back and tied the end securely. Then he knelt, opened the secret compartment in the floor, and pulled out one of the bottles of wine he kept there. Not as good as saké, but contraband was contraband. He took what he could take.

Pulling the cork out, he crawled over to his bed, settled in the middle of it, and drank straight from the bottle, sighing as the dull, fuzzy warmth steadily returned. When the room was spinning and his head insisted he'd had enough, Naoki set the half-empty bottle aside, fell over in bed, and pulled the blanket up.

Across the hall, he could hear Haru preparing for bed, humming softly as she paid way more care to her hair and clothes than Naoki could ever be bothered. Beyond the house, he could hear the sea, feel the pulse of it in his blood, moving in time with his heart. Sinking into the sensation, soothed and steadied by it, Naoki slowly drifted off to sleep.

*~*~*

Sadon paced around the small clearing, nearly whacking his head on the bit of rock that jutted out from one of the many towering stones that formed a loose circle. Where was the bastardo? He was late. Sadon didn't have all day. Night. Morning. Whatever the Sun it was.

Bastardo. He'd let the matter draw out far too long. That spoiled brat had almost knifed him! He wasn't getting paid to be a pincushion for a whiny, drunken don and his contessina.

He came to a stop in the middle of the clearing, swearing softly. Honestly, how much longer was this going to take? He'd done his part—and quite well, in fact—and he shouldn't have to wait around to get paid.

Unfortunately, he needed the money badly enough he had no choice. Sighing, Sadon went over to the rock where he'd left his satchel and the scarf he'd worn to hide his face, and sat down. He curled and uncurled his left hand, trying to ease the phantom ache in a finger he hadn't had for fifteen years. Speaking of bastardo and stregone, that little vermin never should have been able to slice through a finger so easily, but a blade in the hand of a stregone di ferro…

Sadon shook his head sharply, banishing the old memories. If only he still earned that kind of money. At least he was earning something tonight.

The sound of boots scuffing on dirt jerked him to his feet, and he snatched up the dagger set amidst his belongings.

Then a familiar figure stepped into view, just barely identifiable in the moonlight, and Sadon relaxed. "It took you long enough, signore. Where's my money?" He tensed as the man drew close without saying a word. "You'd better not be trying to cheat me. I'll gut you like a fish in a kitchen."

"I have no intention of cheating you," the man replied, lifting his hands.

Sadon didn't relax. "Let's see the money."

"Oh, I don't intend on paying you, either." The man rushed him, grabbed Sadon's wrist, and spun him around, pinning his arm to his back.

"Bastardo," Sadon hissed. "I did the job! I did exactly what you wanted, and that little contessina panted over you just like you were probably hoping."

"I've no complaints on your performance," the man replied—then slammed something heavy down on his head, muffling Sadon's scream with his hand.

Sadon was still screaming when the bastard broke his arm, then dumped him on the ground to lean against the rocks. He picked up the dagger Sadon had dropped, then crouched in front of him. The cheap knife gleamed and shimmered with yellow-orange light. A stone dropped into Sadon's stomach. He'd seen that very color, that very shade, only once before. Only powerful stregone had magia that manifested in such a way. "You…"

"Oh, you recognize me now," the man said, chuckling low.

Blood dripped into Sadon's eye, and his arm hurt badly enough he struggled not to puke. "They said you were dead. I heard the criers."

"Oh, Ferro Carac is quite dead. I am what was forged from the remains, and I've waited a long time to gut you the way you gutted Arata."

"It was just a job!" Sadon said, voice catching, breaking. "It wasn't—" he choked on pain as the dagger was driven deep into stomach and screamed as it was twisted. He coughed blood. "I'm not your enemy. I was just doing what I was paid."

"Tell that to Arata." The man yanked the dagger out, cleaned it meticulously, then pushed it into a sheath in his own boot. "But don't worry, you're just the first. The ones who paid you will soon follow you into the Deep."

Sadon tried to say more, but the words wouldn't come, blocked by blood and pain.

He watched as the man rose, collected Sadon's belongings, and slipped away into the dark.

Thankfully, blood loss pushed him into unconsciousness shortly thereafter.

Sadon died as the first hints of morning began to turn the sky gray.