Page 5 of The Tainted and the Tamed
To his chagrin, the chairman of Kaiden and former daimyo found himself spiraling into one of the ladies’ dormitories.
How was he going to explainthis?
He softened his knees as his feet made contact with the flooring, hoping for a graceful roll. Instead, the tatami mat snapped beneath Haruki’s knee, and he damned near came to a stop with his limbs punching straight through the wall. As it was, he thunked against the supporting frame.
It was possible she hadn’t heard him. His sharp hearing caught no gasp from the neighboring room.
Just as he was collecting himself, brushing off his dark clothing and righting his hair—albeit not very well—he heard her voice.
“Is someone there?” There was a rasp to it, as if she overused tobacco—or perhaps it was that poisoned air of the big city she smelled of.
“Excuse me, is everything alright?” the voice tried again. It was far closer this time.
Haruki stilled. His mind, however, was racing. There was no place to hide. So he became utterly still, tamping down the slow rhythm of his breaths and hoping she would go away.
As if Haruki did not know he had poor luck, the door slid open a crack. Every part of him urged him to flee.
Instead, he knelt down. Short, dark lashes shaded her eyes as they peered through the inch of open door.
“Don’t mind me,” he said, adopting the rougher mountain accent he’d worked so hard to lose. “I’m just here to see about a broken mat.”
The door slid open wider. She wore a formal kimono, and had a lovely heart-shaped face above it, her chin small and pointed. As she tented her fingertips and bowed, her hair appeared thick despite being pulled back in a mercilessly tight bun.
A classic beauty, he thought, picturing himself lifting that chin with the pad of his finger. He administered a mental slap to himself.What is wrong with you? Chiyo’s body is barely cold.
“Excuse the interruption,” she said. “I’m Mukai Murasaki. I’ve just joined the staff this morning.”
“Indeed?” A low rumble left his throat as he returned her bow, meeting its level. He hoped the lighting was dim enough that she would not notice his fine attire. Or that he had not given her his name. “You’re no bother. I’m sure you’re wanted elsewhere, though. Ms. Tanabe runs a strict household.”
Her eyes widened just a hair. “Of course. I should be going.”
As she slid the door shut, she hesitated, briefly biting her lip. A scent reached his nostrils then. She smelled like the rain.
Close the door. Just close it.
The door trundled shut.
Haruki waited until he heard her footsteps squeaking upon the trick floors before himself preparing to leave. First, he had a mission to fulfill.
Sliding open the closet to search for Chiyo’s possessions proved how ill-conceived his plan had been—and how desperate. Even by putting his nose to the baskets where each maid kept her personal effects, he struggled to tell which ones belonged to her. Their scents commingled too thoroughly from the closeness of their living situation. Out of desperation, he took the decorative hair comb and brush that smelled the most like her.
As if that would help anything. Tanabe was far savvier than that.
The creaking of footsteps had long-since receded. He could leave now, and plan what to do with Chiyo’s remains once night fell again. Though there was also the question of what to do about the broken tatami mat. He couldn’t just leave it like this after claiming to be seeing to it.
With barely any strain, Haruki lifted the mat and finished snapping it almost completely in two. After opening the door to the hall, he hoisted it over his shoulder.
Positively nothing about the past day had gone as planned. His attempts to save Chiyo—to save her by damning her to immortal life as a vampire—had come too late. The castle maid lay dead in his rooms. He trudged down the hall, careful to trigger the floors as regularly as possible, and went to find Tanabe.
Despite his efforts to ignore her, Ms. Mukai kept turning up throughout the castle, usually with Tanabe guiding her. Even when Haruki walked the hidden passages beneath the castle, he caught her scent of factory and train smoke.
As the days went on, despite himself—despite the growing pool of guilt in his belly—he was eager to see what else he could learn of this woman.
Perhaps a friendly stop in at Tanabe’s office would suffice. Once again, Haruki reached for his mask.
He made his way from his quarters to the room with the imposing desk, and the imposing woman still behind it. Unsurprisingly, Tanabe was hard at work at this late hour.
“I’m sure you heard earlier,” Tanabe said without looking up from her scribbling. “One of our maids has disappeared on us.”
