The white fire did not rely burn. It scread.
The instant that sickly, unnatural yellow energy thrust itself into the Path of the White Lotus, the divine weave shattered completely. The pocket of cool air I had been aiming for collapsed with violent force.
A towering pillar of roaring fla surged up like a striking serpent, aid straight for my chest.
I’m dead, my mind supplied helpfully. I am truly about to beco basent rat barbecue.
I threw my arms over my face and squeezed my eyes shut. I could not dodge. There was no longer any space left.
The heat struck first, a blistering wave that singed the edges of my white silk kosode at once. But the fatal blow never ca.
Instead, a searing pain flared over my heart, sharp as a brand.
Behind my closed eyelids, a blinding flash of blue light burst outward. The Consort Mark. The soul-bond Akira and Yuki had accidentally anchored to tore itself raw, raising a desperate barrier of blue spirit-energy, thin as paper, directly between and the corrupted fire.
It was not a shield. It was a tether. It was Akira’s power, filtered through the mark, screaming, ’NO.’
The collision between the yellow-stained fire and the blue mark unleashed a concussive shockwave.
BOOM!
I was hurled backward like a discarded doll. I struck the scorching white gravel hard, rolled twice, and scraped to a stop. The breath was ripped violently from my lungs. My ears rang so loudly I could no longer hear the crowd.
I coughed, tasting blood and ash. My left sleeve had been burned away completely, and the skin beneath it was red and furious, but I was alive.
I forced my eyes open, dragging in air.
The Path of the White Lotus was gone. It was no longer a corridor. Under the influence of that yellow energy, the sacred fire had twisted into a raging vortex of white and gold flas, sealing the way entirely.
Then the ringing in my ears was split by a sound that froze the marrow in my bones.
It was a roar.
It did not sound human. It sounded like a mountain splitting apart. It was a demonic, earth-shaking bellow of pure and unrestrained fury.
Through the whirling wall of altered fire, a vast shadow erged.
"Akira, no!" I scread, my voice breaking. "The wards! It’s holy fire!"
He carried yokai blood. To step into the divine fla of a Grand Shrine without purification seals was no different from stepping into a pool of boiling poison. It would burn the soul itself.
Akira did not care.
The wall of fire parted violently.
Kurogane Akira did not simply enter the inferno. He tore it apart with his bare hands.
His heavy black armor was already smoking. Holy white flas lashed over him, climbing his dark indigo silks, striving to purge the demon blood running in his veins. The air filled with the sll of burning silk and sharp ozone.
But Akira did not flinch. He did not summon his own blue fire in answer. He simply endured the soul-searing agony and kept walking.
His pink hair lashed wildly in the superheated wind. His amber eyes had gone empty of pupils, blazing like twin suns of terrible wrath.
He crossed the twenty paces between us in three imnse strides.
Then he dropped to his knees in the very heart of the firestorm. He did not ask whether I was hurt. He did not speak at all. He only tore off his heavy black-and-indigo outer cape, woven to resist fla, and flung it over at once, shrouding in darkness and sandalwood.
Before I could understand what was happening, his great arms closed around and drew tight against his iron-plated chest. Then he rose, lifting from the gravel as though I weighed nothing.
"Hold your breath, wife," he said against my ear, his voice low and rough, drawn tight by contained agony.
I buried my face against his neck and clutched at his armor.
Akira turned, keeping hidden beneath his cape, and simply walked the remaining length of the fire with in his arms.
We crossed the threshold of the blazing path. The brutal heat vanished at once, replaced by the cool mountain air of the courtyard.
Akira did not set down. He kept enclosed against him, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths. Small embers still ate holes into his sleeves, but he paid them no mind.
The Imperial Court had fallen silent.
Hundreds of nobles stared at us with mouths gone slack. Even the elite guards looked shaken. They had just witnessed a man of yokai blood endure a divine execution fla with no shield at all, rely to carry a common-born girl out of it.
"Lord Kurogane!" Emperor Shirakawa finally shouted, rising from his throne. The mask of grandfatherly benevolence had vanished entirely. He looked furious. "What is the aning of this?! You have profaned a sacred trial! The girl has failed!"
Akira turned slowly, deliberately, to face the Emperor.
He lowered to my feet, but kept one heavy, protective arm firm around my waist. The cape still rested over my shoulders.
"Failed?" Akira repeated. His voice was no longer a roar. It had beco a low, vibrating whisper that sohow carried to the furthest edge of the courtyard.
He raised his free hand.
Between his calloused fingers, he held a crumpled scrap of yellow paper, half-burned and blackened at the edges.
"My wife was crossing the weave without flaw," Akira said, his amber eyes locking directly onto Crown Prince Ryu, who abruptly looked ready to be sick. "Until so coward cast a minor Disruption talisman into the divine currents and forced the flas to collapse."
The court burst into frantic whispers.
"Tampering with a divine trial?"
"That is treason against the gods!"
"Did soone truly try to rig it?"
Akira cast the burnt talisman onto the white gravel. It landed at the base of the Emperor’s stair.
"Your divine fire is fouled by human filth, Shirakawa," Akira spat, discarding all royal honorifics. "My wife survived your snare. She bears my mark. The trial is finished."
"You dare speak to the Son of Heaven in that manner?!" Ryu shrieked, his hand flying to his sword.
Akira smiled. It was a bloody, dreadful smile. A thin line of dark blood slid from the corner of his mouth, proof of the damage holy fire had done within, yet it only made him seem more like so wrathful war-god descending to punish mortals.
"Draw it, cousin," Akira said softly. "I dare you."
Ryu froze. His hand trembled against the hilt, but he did not pull the blade. He was a coward. He had always been a coward.
The Emperor lifted one hand, silencing his son. His cold, appraising gaze moved from the charred talisman to Akira, and at last to .
"The trial is indeed over," the Emperor announced smoothly, changing course at once to preserve his dignity before the court. "Lady Kitsune has survived the Path. The gods have given their answer. The marriage is acknowledged."
He smiled that dreadful smile, thin and patient as a spider in its web. "We wish you both a very... long life together, Nephew."
"Do not summon my wife again," Akira said coldly.
He did not bow. He did not request leave. He simply turned, pulling close against his side, and walked straight down the center of the courtyard.
The nobles parted before us like water before a ship’s prow. No one breathed. No one whispered. They only watched in absolute fear as the Demon Prince departed with his bride.
We descended the hundreds of stone steps. We passed the ranks of ard guards. We made our way to the spectral-wolf carriage waiting at the foot of the shrine.
Akira opened the heavy wooden door and helped inside. Then he climbed in after and pulled it shut with a solid click.
The carriage was sealed with onmyodo wards that swallowed all sound. The instant the latch settled, the world beyond vanished.
"Akira," I breathed, pushing the heavy cape from my shoulders. "Are you..."
I never finished.
The terrifying, undefeated warlord collapsed completely.
All tension vanished from his massive fra in a single instant. He pitched forward, eyes rolling back, his broad chest falling straight into my lap.
"Akira!" I shrieked, catching at his heavy shoulders.
He was burning. His skin felt like iron left in a forge. The holy fire had not rely scorched his clothing. It had seared his spirit core. He had poisoned himself with divine energy simply to drag out of a rigged death.
"Akira, wake up! Please!" I begged, shaking his armored shoulder in panic. I touched his cheek. It was scorching. He did not move. He did not even groan.
"Yuki!" I cried to the fluffy white cat who had just materialized from the shadows along the carriage floor.
The nekomata no longer looked pleased with himself. Yuki’s turquoise eyes were wide with real feline terror. He leaped onto Akira’s back and pressed his glowing paws against the warlord’s armor, but the blue light only sputtered and died against the lingering residue of holy fire.
Yuki looked up at and gave a helpless, desperate ow.
He cannot heal divine burns. He is a yokai too.
I stared down at the most dangerous man in the empire, unconscious and bleeding across my lap.
He had just risked everything to save . He had opposed his own blood, endured a divine execution, and nearly torn apart his own soul to keep the promise he made.
"Okay," I whispered, my vision blurring with hot, frightened tears as the carriage lurched into motion. I tangled my fingers in his pink hair and pressed my forehead to his burning skin. "Okay, you stupid, wonderful idiot. You saved . Now it’s my turn."
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