Just don’t hit my face. Kill me quickly. Please kill me quickly. He had no idea what Masaru intended or who the kitsune might kill.

Unaware of their exchange, Tsukiya cocked his head. “Well . . . if it isn’t our dear old friend Koichi.”

Mizuki pursed her lips. “He looks much better than the last time we saw him, Brother. I do believe he might actually be sober.”

Tsukiya nodded in agreement. “Smells better too.” He twisted the red ribbon on his mask around his finger as he eyed Koichi. With a wave of his hand, he indicated Keiko and Masaru. “It seems failure travels in a group, Sister.”

“I believe so. Or perhaps my eyes deceive me?”

He shook his head, which was extremely exaggerated, given his ornate mask. “Nay. Rather, I think our favorite samurai has befriended two failed kitsunes. The useless Keiko and treasonous Masaru.” He pulled the side of the mask back so that only Mizuki could see his expression. “What fun, eh?”

“What fun indeed.”

Koichi ground his teeth at their endless digs. They so enjoyed mocking others. Each word was designed to be a dagger, making slashing wounds through their victims’ jugulars. It was what gave them their greatest—and probably only—joy. Tearing everyone down. No matter how great someone’s reputation was, the twins could always find fault. Always find a way to make someone feel unworthy and small.

At least that was what they thought.

He wasn’t so easily rattled. Really, he pitied the childhood they must have known if this was all they’d been taught. Mockery. Shame.

Humility.

Like Ryuichi . . .

Only his charge had never allowed it to steal his soul. Never allowed such horrors to make him mean.

That was why they had to save him—before life and cruelty turned him into these pitiful creatures. For that was the worst crime of all. To surrender one’s soul to bitterness and hatred.

Koichi softened his grip on his charge, more determined than ever to reunite the boy with the part of him that gave him his compassion. “We’re just passing through. If you’ll excuse us . . .” He started forward.

Tsukiya cut him off. Tilting his head with that expressionless mask concealing his mood, he swept out his arm, leaving his sleeve to pool around his feet. “Passing through? Why, good Koichi, one does not simply pass through our realm. You know this. There are protocols and traditions to be followed.”

Here we go . . .

Mizuki stepped forward and stiffened noticeably. “Do you think yourself better than us?”

“Of course not, my lord and lady. I merely⁠—”