Flame in the Mist - Couverture rigide

The Beginning
 
In the beginning, there were two suns and two moons.
 
The boy’s sight blurred before him, seeing past the truth. Past the shame. He focused on the story his uba had told him the night before. A story of good and evil, light and dark. A story where the triumphant sun rose high above its enemies.
 
On instinct, his fingers reached for the calloused warmth of his uba’s hand. The nursemaid from Kisun had been with him since before he could remember, but now—like everything else—she was gone.
 
Now there was no one left.
 
Against his will, the boy’s vision cleared, locking on the clear blue of the noon sky above. His fingers curled around the stiff linen of his shirtsleeves.
 
Don’t look away. If they see you looking away, they will say you are weak.
 
Once more, his uba’s words echoed in his ears.
 
He lowered his gaze.
 
The courtyard before him was draped in fluttering white, surrounded on three sides by rice-paper screens. Pennants flying the golden crest of the emperor danced in a passing breeze. To the left and right stood grim-faced onlookers— samurai dressed in the dark silks of their formal hakama.
 
In the center of the courtyard was the boy’s father, kneel­ing on a small tatami mat covered in bleached canvas. He, too, was draped in white, his features etched in stone. Before him sat a low table with a short blade. At his side stood the man who had once been his best friend.
 
The boy sought his father’s eyes. For a moment, he thought his father looked his way, but it could have been a trick of the wind. A trick of the perfumed smoke curling above the squat brass braziers.
 
His father would not want to look into his son’s eyes. The boy knew this. The shame was too great. And his father would die before passing the shame of tears along to his son.
 
The drums began to pound out a slow beat. A dirge.
 
In the distance beyond the gates, the boy caught the muf­fled sound of small children laughing and playing. They were soon silenced by a terse shout.
 
Without hesitation, his father loosened the knot from around his waist and pushed open his white robe, exposing the skin of his stomach and chest. Then he tucked his sleeves beneath his knees to prevent himself from falling backward.
 
For even a disgraced samurai should die well.
 
The boy watched his father reach for the short tantō blade on the small table before him. He wanted to cry for him to stop. Cry for a moment more. A single look more.
 
Just one.
 
But the boy remained silent, his fingers turning bloodless in his fists. He swallowed.
 
Don’t look away.
 
His father took hold of the blade, wrapping his hands around the skein of white silk near its base. He plunged the sword into his stomach, cutting slowly to the left, then up to the right. His features remained passive. No hint of suffering could be detected, though the boy searched for it—felt it—despite his father’s best efforts.
 
Never look away.
 
Finally, when his father stretched his neck forward, the boy saw it. A small flicker, a grimace. In the same instant, the boy’s heart shuddered in his chest. A hot burst of pain glimmered beneath it.
 
The man who had been his father’s best friend took two long strides, then swung a gleaming katana in a perfect arc toward his father’s exposed neck. The thud of his father’s head hitting the tatami mat silenced the drumbeats in a hol­low start.
 
Still the boy did not look away. He watched the crimson spurt from his father’s folded body, past the edge of the mat and onto the grey stones beyond. The tang of the fresh blood caught in his nose—warm metal and sea salt. He waited until his father’s body was carried in one direction, his head in another, to be displayed as a warning.
 
No hint of treason would be tolerated. Not even a whisper.
 
All the while, no one came to the boy’s side. No one dared to look him in the eye.
 
The burden of shame took shape in the boy’s chest, heavier than any weight he could ever bear.
 
When the boy finally turned to leave the empty court­yard, his eyes fell upon the creaking door nearby. A nurse­maid met his unflinching stare, one hand sliding off the latch, the other clenched around two toy swords. Her skin flushed pink for an instant.
 
Never look away.
 
The nursemaid dropped her eyes in discomfort. The boy watched as she quickly ushered a boy and a girl through the wooden gate. They were a few years younger than he and obvi­ously from a wealthy family. Perhaps the children of one of the samurai in attendance today. The younger boy straight­ened the fine silk of his kimono collar and darted past his nursemaid, never once pausing to acknowledge the presence of a traitor’s son.
 
The girl, however, stopped. She looked straight at him, her pert features in constant motion. Rubbing her nose with the heel of one hand, she blinked, letting her eyes run the length of him before pausing on his face.
 
He held her gaze.
 
“Mariko-sama!” the nursemaid scolded. She whispered in the girl’s ear, then tugged her away by the elbow.
 
Still the girl’s eyes did not waver. Even when she passed the pool of blood darkening the stones. Even when her eyes narrowed in understanding.
 
The boy was grateful he saw no sympathy in her expres­sion. Instead the girl continued studying him until her nurse­maid urged her around the corner.
 
His gaze returned to the sky, his chin in high disregard of his tears.
 
In the beginning, there were two suns and two moons.
 
One day, the victorious son would rise—
 
And set fire to all his father’s enemies.
 
 
Illusions and Expectations
Ten Years Later
 
On the surface everything seemed right.
 
An elegant litter. A dutiful daughter. An honor bestowed.
 
Then, as if to taunt her, Mariko’s litter lurched, jouncing her shoulder into the norimono’s side. Its raised mother-of-pearl inlays would undoubtedly leave a bruise. Mariko took a deep breath, stifling the urge to grumble in the shadows like an angry crone. The smell of the norimono’s varnish filled her head, bringing to mind the Dragon’s Beard candy she favored as a child.
 
Her dark, sickly sweet coffin, bearing her to her final rest­ing place.
 
Mariko sank farther into the cushions. Nothing about the journey to the imperial city of Inako had gone well. Her con­voy had left later than intended and stopped all too often. At least now—by the way the norimono listed forward—Mariko could tell they were traveling down an incline. Which meant they’d moved past the hills around the valley, more than half­way to Inako. She leaned back, hoping her weight would help balance the burden.
 
Just as she settled in, the litter halted suddenly.
 
Mariko raised the silk screen covering the small window to her right. Dusk was starting to descend. The forest before them was shrouded in mist, its trees a jagged silhouette across a silver sky.
 
As Mariko turned to address the nearby soldier, a young maidservant came stumbling into view. “My lady!” the girl gasped, righting herself against the norimono’s side. “You must be famished. I’ve been remiss. Please forgive me for neglecting to—”
 
“There’s nothing to forgive, Chiyo-chan.” Mariko smiled kindly, but the girl’s eyes remained wide with worry. “It was not I who halted the convoy.”
 
Chiyo bowed low, the flowers of her makeshift hairpiece falling askew. When she stood once more, the maidservant passed along a neatly wrapped bundle of food to Mariko. Then Chiyo moved back to her post beside the litter, pausing only to return Mariko’s warm smile.
 
“Why have we stopped?” Mariko asked the nearby mem­ber of the ashigaru.
 
The foot soldier wiped the perspiration from his brow, then switched the long pole of his naginata to his other hand. Traces of sunlight glinted off its sharp blade. “The forest.”
 
Mariko waited, certain that could not be the extent of his explanation.
 
Beads of sweat gathered above the soldier’s lips. He opened his mouth to speak, but the clatter of approaching hooves stole his attention.
 
“Lady Hattori . . .” Nobutada, one of her father’s con­fidants and his most trusted samurai, reined in his charger beside Mariko’s norimono. “I apologize for the delay, but several of the soldiers have voiced concerns about traveling through Jukai forest.”
 
Mariko blinked twice, her features thoughtful. “Is there a particular reason?”
 
“Now that the sun has set, they fear the yōkai, and they worry—”
 
“Silly stories of monsters in the dark.” She waved a dis­missive hand. “Nothing more.”
 
Nobutada paused, doubtlessly taking note of her interrup­tion. “They also claim the Black Clan has been seen near here recently.”
 
“They claim?” A dark eyebrow curved into Mariko’s fore­head. “Or they’ve sighted them in truth?”
 
“They are merely claims.” Nobutada lowered the chin guard beneath his horned helmet. “Though it would be un­usual for the Black Clan to rob us, as they do not generally attack convoys containing women and children. Especially those guarded by samurai.”
 
Mariko lingered in consideration. “I defer to your opinion, Nobutada-sama.” Recalling the foot soldier from a moment ago, she attempted a smile. “And please see that the ashigaru have time to rest and take in water soon, as they appear overtired.”
 
Nobutada scowled at her last request. “If we are forced to go around Jukai forest, it will add a full day to our journey.”
 
“Then it will add a full day to our journey.” She was already beginning to lower her screen, the awkward smile still pasted across her face.
 
“I’d rather not risk angering the emperor.”
 
“Then it is an easy choice. We must lead so that others may follow, Nobutada-sama. You taught me that, even as a young girl.” Mariko did not look away as she spoke. Nor did she attempt to apologize for the sharpness of her retort.
 
His scowl deepened. Mariko smothered a sigh. She knew she was being difficult. Knew Nobutada wished for her to make a decision. At the very least, wished for her to offer an opinion.
 
To make a useless play at control. A play Nobutada could then smugly subvert, as her elder.
 
As a man.
 
Try as she might, Mariko could not help the resentment simmering beneath the surface.
 
Control is an illusion. Expectations will not rule my days.
 
Not anymore.
 
“Perhaps not easy,” Mariko amended, her fingers toying with the edge of the screen. “But it is simple.” She softened her tone—a pitiful attempt to mollify him. One that was sure to chafe, as her contrary nature so often did. Her brother, Kenshin, frequently gave her grief about it. Frequently told her to be less . . . peculiar.
 
To conform, at least in these small ways.
 
Mariko dipped her head in a bow. “In any case, I defer to your wise judgment, Nobutada-sama.”
 
A shadow fell across his features. “Very well, Lady Hattori. We shall proceed through Jukai forest.” With that, he urged his charger back toward the head of the convoy.
 
As expected, Mariko had irritated him. She’d offered no real opinion on anything since they’d left her family’s home that morning. And Nobutada wanted her to play at directing him. To give him tasks befitting such a vaunted role.
 
Tasks befitting the samurai in charge of delivering a royal bride.
 
Mariko supposed she should care she might be arriving at Heian Castle late.
 
Late to meet the emperor. Late to meet his second son—
 
Her future husband.
 
But Mariko did not care. Ever since the afternoon her father had informed her that Emperor Minamoto Masaru had made an offer of marriage on behalf of his son Raiden, she’d truly not cared about much.
 
Mariko was to be the wife of Prince Raiden, the son of the emperor’s favorite consort. A political marriage that would elevate her father’s standing amongst the ruling daimyō class.
 
She should care that she was being exchanged like prop­erty in order to curry favor. But Mariko did not.
 
Not anymore.
 
As the norimono lurched forward again, Mariko reached above to adjust the slender tortoiseshell bar speared through her thick coils of hair. Tiny strips of silver and jade dangled from its ends, snarling with one another in a ceaseless war. After Mariko finished sorting them into place, her hand fell to the smaller jade bar below.
 
Her mother’s face took shape in her mind—the look of determined resignation she had worn as she slid the jade orna­ment into her only daughter’s hair.
 
A parting gift. But not a true source of comfort.
 
Just like her father’s final words:
 
Be a tribute to your family, Mariko-chan. As you were raised to be. Forswear your childish wishes. Be more than . . . this.
 
Mariko’s lips pressed tight.
 
It doesn’t matter. I’ve already taken my revenge.
 
There was no reason for Mariko to dwell on these things anymore. Her life was on a clear path now. Never mind that it was not what she wanted. Never mind that there was so much left to see and learn and do. She’d been raised for a purpose. A foolish one at that—to be the wife of an important man when she could easily have been something else. Something more. But it did not matter. She was not a boy. And—despite being barely seventeen—Hattori Mariko knew her place in life. She would marry Minamoto Raiden. Her parents would have the prestige of a daughter in Heian Castle.
 
And Mariko would be the only one to know the stain on that honor.
 
As dusk fell and the convoy made its way deeper into the forest, the scent of warm, wet air took on a life of its own. It mixed with the iron of the earth and the green of newly trod leaves. A strange, heady perfume. Sharp and fresh, yet soft and sinister all at once.
 
Mariko shuddered, a chill taking root in her bones. The horses around the norimono whickered as if in response to an unseen threat. Seeking a distraction, Mariko reached for the small parcel of food Chiyo had given her, staving off the chill by burrowing into her cushions.
 
Perhaps we shou...

Praise for Flame in the Mist:
New York Times Bestseller
A Spring 2017 Amazon Pick – Spring’s Best Young Adult Fiction
A PW Best Summer Book of 2017
 
★ “[A]n elaborate fantasy set in feudal Japan . . . Ahdieh (The Wrath & the Dawn) is immensely skilled at crafting vibrant settings inhabited by sympathetic characters with rich pasts . . . readers will enthusiastically anticipate the next installment.”—Publishers Weekly, starred review

“Ahdieh’s first duology (begun with The Wrath and the Dawn, 2015) propelled her to the top of the charts, and this new series starter brings that same blend of history, magic, and sensuality that drew readers in the first place.”—Booklist 

“This story of female empowerment will resonate with girls today. This novel has something for every reader to savor: a budding romance, invention of new weaponry, and detailed battle scenes.”—School Library Connection

“This story . . . will undoubtedly enthrall readers.”—Kirkus Reviews 

“Rich in magical realism and cultural nuance of feudal Japan, Ahdieh’s series starter begins with a girl-power bang. . . . A wonderful choice for YA shelves, especially where lush fantasy is popular.”—School Library Journal

“[A] fun feudal samurai drama. . . . an action-packed and well-paced young adult novel.”—The Washington Post 

“Filled with strong female characters, action and adventure, and beautiful storytelling, Flame in the Mist offers a world you'll want to escape into for a long while.”—BuzzFeed 

"Romance, action and magic intertwine in this novel likely to keep readers enthralled."—Deseret News

“This richly imagined, action-packed adventure, featuring a feisty heroine and set in feudal Japan, comes from the acclaimed author of The Wrath & The Dawn and The Rose & The Dagger. . . . Ahdieh is a superb craftsman, and this engaging tale of betrayal and revenge ends on a cliffhanger, leaving the reader eagerly awaiting the next book.”—Buffalo News
 
“Rich world-building in feudal-era Japan and plenty of intrigue make this page-turning young-adult novel a winning foray into fantasy.”—Austin American Statesman
 
“[With] Flame in the Mist, Ahdieh has gifted us a new series to obsess over. If you live for books that have lush worlds, swoony romance and non-stop action, you’ll want to read this.”—Paste Magazine
 
“Even in the long line of fictional females who pose as male to thwart patriarchal restrictions, Mariko stands out. . . . The novel’s surprising, tumultuous ending leaves the reader eagerly anticipating a sequel, impatient to find out what iteration of herself Mariko will invent next.”—Chicago Tribune

“Set to marry the emperor’s son, Mariko is attacked by hired bandits en route to meet him. To uncover the truth behind the assassination attempt, Renée Ahdieh’s heroine must infiltrate the assailants’ gang —disguised as a man.”—US Weekly
 
“From the best-selling author of The Wrath and the Dawn duology, comes a new adventure. Set in Feudal Japan, Mariko has long known that despite her talent and intelligence, her future lies in making an advantageous political marriage. Traveling to the capital city for her marriage, she narrowly escapes an assassination attempt. Determined to get to the bottom of the plot, she dresses as a boy and infiltrates the gang sent to kill her. If you liked Disney’s Mulan, you’ll like this.”—The Newark Advocate
 
“Anyone who has read Renée Ahdieh's The Wrath and the Dawn duology (and if you haven't — get on it!) will be thrilled that she's releasing a new novel this year, called Flame in the Mist. Set in feudal Japan, this story follows a young woman named Mariko, who is the daughter of a samurai. On the way to be married in order to help her family's political standing, Mariko's group is attacked, and she poses as a boy to escape and infiltrate the clan of her enemies (attention: Mulan-lovers!).”—PopCrush
 
“Alchemy, samurai, and Renée Ahdieh. Need we say more?”—Culturess
 
“Beautifully written and masterfully plotted . . . Shades of Mulan and 47 Ronin frame the novel, but the fantasy elements and the vivid characters give the story its own distinct flavor . . . a definite must-read!”—RT Book Reviews

“As author Renée Ahdieh did with her debut, The Wrath & the Dawn, Flame in the Mist explores a young woman’s power and strength to effect great change in a patriarchal society. And the realistic stories, fascinating culture and complex relationships of Ahdieh’s fictional characters—explored in actual, historical settings—are completely enrapturing.”—BookPage
 
“Consider us #blessed to have a new series from Renee Ahdieh, because Flame in the Mist has her signature lush and dangerous romantic adventure vibes we loved so much in The Wrath and the Dawn.”—Bustle
 
“Swoony dudes, new worlds, and crazy high stakes . . . [Flame in the Mist is] the kind of book that’ll have you staying up late and calling in sick, just so you can finish it in one sitting.”—Brit + Co
 
“With Flame in the Mist, Renée Ahdieh delivers a vibrant, action-packed historical fantasy that unfurls in Feudal Japan . . . Ahdieh creates characters you long to learn more about. She’s adept at building a world that feels enchanting, hypnotic, real and sensual. Every page shimmers with intrigue and desire.”—USA Today Happy Ever After

“The story is full of palace intrigue, disguises, magic, and Mariko’s search to find a place where she can be herself—not a bargaining chip, a daughter, a sister, or a prisoner. . . . Fans of Tamora Pierce and Kristin Cashore will enjoy this magical feudal tale.”—VOYA 

Praise for The Wrath and the Dawn:
#1 New York Times Bestseller
#4 on the Summer 2015 Kids' Indie Next List!
An Amazon Best Book of the Year for 2015 – Young Adult
A New York Public Library Best Book for Teens for 2015 
A Seventeen Magazine Best Book of 2015
A YALSA 2016 Best Fiction for Young Adults Pick
 
“Lushly imagined and powerfully characterized, it’s a potent page-turner of intrigue and romance.”—Publishers Weekly 

“This book is a fairy tale, a mystery, and ... promises to become a classic tale of its own.”—VOYA

★ “Set against a backdrop of political intrigue and a simmering revolution, this isa carefully constructed narrative of uncertain loyalties, searing romance, and subtle magic in a harsh desert city.”—Booklist, starred review

★ “The rich, Middle Eastern cultural context adds to the author’s adept world building... a surefire hit with teens.”—School Library Journal, starred review

★ “Renée Ahdieh's lush debut novel, The Wrath and the Dawn, is a suspenseful and beautiful reimagining of The Arabian Nights, with an edge.”—Shelf Awareness, starred review 

“Dreamily romantic, deliciously angst-y, addictively thrilling.”—Kirkus Reviews

“Sumptuous detail ... satisfyingly steamy scenes, along with some angsty push and pull moments between the two for optimal romantic tension.”—BCCB

“Don’t be surprised if the pages melt away and you find yourself racing through warm, golden sands or drinking spiced wine in cool marble courtyards. This is an intoxicating gem of a story. You will fall in love, just as I did.”—Marie Lu, New York Times bestselling author of the Legend series and The Young Elites

“In her absorbing debut, Renée Ahdieh spins a tale as mesmerizing as that of her heroine Shahrzad, filled with lush details and brimming with tension. The Wrath and the Dawn is truly an exceptional story, beautifully written.”—Carrie Ryan, New York Times bestselling author of The Forest of Hands and Teeth

“Ahdieh weaves a world that is lush with detail. You will want to hear, taste, and touch everything. But it's not just the world that is vividly alive. The characters are fascinating too: I loved the friendships, romance, and shifts in feeling. A beautifully written book, The Wrath and the Dawn is a story I could not put down.”—Marie Rutkoski, author of The Winner’s Trilogy
 
Praise for The Rose and the Dagger:
#1 New York Times Bestseller

★ “Beautiful, lyrical writing combines with a cohesive plot, richly drawn backdrop, and just the right mix of action and romance to create an undeniable new classic.”—School Library Journal, starred review 

“Above all there is the shattering, triumphant catharsis of love... In a story about stories, love is ‘the power to speak without words.’ Thrillingly full of feeling.”—Kirkus Reviews 

“Fiery romance, a spirited heroine, shifting loyalties... With more than a few heartrending twists and turns.”—Booklist 

“[Ahdieh’s] prose remains lush and evocative, ideal for sand-swept landscapes and racing hearts.”—VOYA