Chapter Twelve—Deception

The rain was falling heavily now, the winds outside so strong the fronds on the palm trees were swaying about. The storm had come so thickly, Shiro and Jessamine had considered not leaving the Gakorifa.

“I’m surprised the driver is taking us in this,” Shiro said.

“Do you think a little rain will stop the rich and the powerful from getting where they need to be?” Jessamine asked.

Shiro quirked an eyebrow at her.

“I don’t mean us, dear. I mean the general culture of Darshuun.” She waved a hand to indicate the city at large, though the perforated sliders were closed as the coach wheeled along.

There was a flash and moments later a thunderous crack that travelled through the sky sounded. It almost made Shiro jump.

Jessamine smiled indulgently.

How did she know that had scared him? He hadn’t done anything outwardly to reveal that the sudden crack had affected him. He still needed to ask her about that—if she could feel what he felt somehow.

But will she answer me?

She had spoken about keeping secrets before. The few days past where she had issued a fireball from her fingertip to light his fire came to mind.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nani?”

“You’re narrowing your eyes at me,” she said. “What are you thinking about, Shiro?”

“I was just wondering how Ali came into his fortune,” he lied. He wasn’t deceiving her—Shiro just wasn’t ready to reveal his thoughts to her. He would in good time.

“Perhaps you should ask him at dinner.”

Shiro nodded. “Mm.”

“What a curious cultural quirk,” she said.

He looked at her questioningly.

“The way you nod and make that noise.” She demonstrated with a nod. “Mm.”

“It is just the way we are in Mikuma.”

“Tell me about Mikuma, Shiro.”

“Hmm,” he mused. “It is a large empire. I do not know where, but I do believe it is of this world.”

“You’ve told me that before,” she said. “Because of the demi-humans you’re accustomed to seeing there.”

He nodded. “Mm.”

She smiled.

“Who is the ruler of your empire?” She asked. “Perhaps I have heard of him.”

“Nonsense.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve never seen anyone from my lands.”

“How do you know?”

“Do you forget our first meeting in the temple?”

“Ah,” she said. “You’re right, of course. I’m just making conversation.”

“Then why give reasons with strange motives?” he asked.

She smiled enigmatically.

“Not going to tell me?”

Somehow she shrugged with nothing more than a subtle turn of her head, her smile deepening.

And then the carriage stopped.

“We are there?” he asked. “Already?”

The door slid open, revealing a brick wall. “Your stop!” the coachman said, his oiled cloak streaming with water.

Shiro glanced out of the door down the alley and the coachman pointed to a veranda and a door.

Why hadn’t he stopped near the door?

It was no matter. The eves above left a line of dry cobblestones leading to the door. The rains they were experiencing were much the same in Shiro’s lands, but where the streets were paved and cabled here, often the streets were nothing more than dirt that turned to thick squelching mud, requiring the use of raised clogs to get by without soiling ones tabi socks.

Shiro offered a hand to help Jessamine down the step. “Oh, how gallant of you.” Her words did not sound insincere.

As the coach wheeled away, Jessamine made a sound of discontentment. “Why didn’t he take us to the door?”

Shiro shrugged and they walked along.

When they reached the veranda a tall man with black skin stepped into the alley. He was shirtless, a scimitar slung at his side.

“Shiro,” Jessamine said, her tone one of quiet alarm. “Something is wrong.”

“Shiro Takeda,” the man said, his voice deep and carrying, his eyes that of a snake’s.

Shiro narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

“I have come for the item you carry,” he said. “Give me the bag.”

Shiro and Jessamine glanced at each other.

Then he took a step back and unsheathed his katana, his blade issuing a metallic hiss as he pulled it free of his scabbard which he had belted to his waist.

The black man stepped forward, his muscles well defined, his voluminous white trousers and upturned shoes marking him as some kind of strong arm.

“Who are you?” Shiro demanded.

A moment passed as rain poured over them, though neither man moved in the slightest in regards to getting wet.

“Some call me the Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul.”

Shiro’s heart nearly stopped.

“You are…”

“Yes.”

“Who?” Jessamine asked.

The words didn’t need to be said between the isekai and the adventurer. Shiro knew who he was. The Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul.

The legendary top-tier adventurer.

“Be gone! You fool!” Jessamine ordered.

“I can’t beat him,” Shiro said quietly.

He is a legend among adventurers, he conveyed to her.

Searching outward for Shiro’s thoughts, she became aware of his concern, of a feeling of defeat.

The man who had called himself the Black Cobra was completely at ease. Confidence didn’t even come into play. This was a simple task for him.

Oh no, Jessamine thought as fear came over her for the first time in over fifty years. He’s right. He can’t beat this man.

In her haste, she forgot to convey her next words silently.

“Shiro! Run!”