Outside the Western Palace, Hirokin dismounted. For a few minutes, he stood with Ohana in the stream, stroking his nails over her gleaming scales. The dragon rumbled, turning a portion of her partially molted flank toward him. A little chagrined at the imposition, Hirokin complied nonetheless, and assisted her with shedding her sloughed-off skin.

As her spade-shaped muzzle lifted, Hirokin followed the line of her sight. With his youki-enhanced vision, he detected the form of her conjoined elder brothers, soaring high through the darkening sky.

Heralding Sesshoumaru’s return.

“You will have to manage the rest,” Hirokin said to her as he turned, setting off toward the palace.

A disgruntled snort followed after him.

It was true, what his brother Houseki had accused him of—stealing his dragons. Though in truth, only the first theft was legitimate in Hirokin’s mind. He remembered the day he had been visiting the Water Palace. ‘Visiting’ being the right term, for by then, despite Touga’s greater allowances for lords returning to their fiefdoms, Hirokin had made it clear that his home was elsewhere.

Still, it had been a fortuitous occasion to have traveled back.

…

“My children!” Ryuutarou had exclaimed, as Hirokin and his siblings had gradually arrived and assembled themselves along the great stone veranda, in answer to their father’s ecstatic summons. “Gather close—Okouji has brought us a boon this day!”

Above them, the great dragon had loomed, seeming particularly proud of himself at the prize he had brought to his master. Melon-sized and scaled in a shimmering dark greenish-blue, the egg had rested upright on the cobbled marble. From the Lake surface above, light had dappled gently over its jeweled surface.

“A magnificent egg, indeed!” the River Lord had beamed, patting the dragon on his massive snout. “Well done, Okouji, well done!”

As awed as the rest of his brothers and sisters, Hirokin had gazed at the egg with no small amount of fascination. Being of a rather solitary and lackadaisical nature, Okouji rarely bred. Hirokin had been far too young to remember the last—the egg which had given rise to Hiraitou’s fearsome Okashi.

Glancing aside, Hirokin had considered his eldest brother and his dragon, a creature as bloodthirsty and untamed as his master. Bristling beneath Hiraitou’s mount, Okashi had writhed, his feral copper eyes glaring toward the proffered egg in open hostility, and Hirokin had known at once, intuitively, that this unborn dragon was male.

So, too, had Houseki.

Stepping forward, he had said proudly to their father, “I shall have him. As you promised, Chichi-ue, the next of Okouji’s offspring would be mine.”

But a greedy glint had surfaced in the River Lord’s eye. Tapping a claw to his chin, he had lightly replied, “…Did I?”

A dragon’s memory was a fickle thing, yet even Houseki could see that their father had been playing the fool. As his elder brother had gaped in anger, an idea had occurred to Hirokin, and he had also stepped forward to take advantage of Ryuutarou’s slipperiness.

“Father,” he had said just as lightly, “Sesshoumaru-sama has recently come of age. Would this egg not be the perfect favor to offer at the celebration?”

Ryuutarou’s gaze had cut to him then, and Hirokin had known his aim to be true. A slow, indolent smile had stolen over the River Lord’s face.

“Yes,” he had said, his eyes lingering on his youngest son in shrewd appraisal. “Let it be so.”

“Father!” Houseki had cried in outrage, yet the River Lord had waved him blithely off.

“Calm yourself, my boy—there will be another egg for you. This opportunity mustn’t be missed!”

With that, Okouji’s boon had been taken away, and the family had dispersed. Yet Houseki had snatched up Hirokin by the collar the instant he’d turned down the hall toward his room.

“You,” his elder brother had seethed, shoving him into the icy wall. “How dare you speak above me.”

Hirokin had glared back at him, unimpressed, though in terms of physical strength Houseki could easily crush him. “I spoke no louder than you, Ani-ue. Perhaps you should ask yourself why it was Father heard me instead.”

Houseki’s lip had curled, the jagged edges of his incisors glowing green with venom. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

“Cleverer than you,” Hirokin had quipped. “Not that it’s much of a feat.”

The smile had still curved his mouth when Houseki’s fist had smashed into it. The cut of his brother’s ring into his cheek may as well have been a signature—as Hirokin had calculated when he’d turned his face into it, and later when he’d delayed his healing so that his youngest sister had caught a glimpse of it in passing. 

“Houseki-nii struck you, didn’t he?” Himamori had later announced in front of everyone. Pointing toward the faint impression that had remained in Hirokin’s cheek, she had added smugly, “Because he was sore about that egg!”

Hirokin had said nothing, of course. But Ryuutarou had frowned in reproach, Hiraitou had smirked, Hanako had turned up her nose, and Houseki had flushed greenish-red in mortification.

…

On the day of Sesshoumaru’s coming-of-age celebration, Ryuutarou had sent Hirokin forth from the crowd of gathered nobles with a magnanimous touch to the shoulder. As Sesshoumaru’s ‘dear friend’, it had seemed most judicious to the River Lord to let his son be the gift-bearer on behalf of their family—once Hirokin had subtly suggested as much. As he’d gone forward to the hushed murmurs of the rest of those assembled, the wry smile on his lips had matched Sesshoumaru’s own.

Of course Touga’s heir had been reasonably pleased so far with his gifts—and genuinely pleased with the fine set of armor his parents had given him—but as he’d lifted the lid of the resplendent chest Hirokin had presented him, Sesshoumaru’s eyes had gone wide with wonder. Sharply, he’d glanced up at Hirokin, who had nodded in answer to his unspoken question. Snatching it up at once, Sesshoumaru had raised the large egg from its bed of silk. A gasp had gone up from the expectant crowd, as its jeweled scales had caught the light and shimmered.

“It is a rarity, Sesshoumaru-sama, that which I most humbly present to you, on this most glorious of days,” Ryuutarou had proclaimed, unnecessarily, in his smoothest tones of false modesty, “the offspring of our greatest dragon—my own Okouji.”

Hirokin had felt the self-satisfaction radiating from his father in gloating waves. Of course he had expected that Ryuutarou would take all the credit for himself, but Hirokin had paid it no mind. His reward had been the expression of wild joy Sesshoumaru had directed at him alone.

The rest of the gift-giving Touga’s heir had endured in poorly-concealed impatience—to the further delight of Hirokin’s father. Hirokin himself, however, had taken good stock of the unappreciated presents, which he was sure to have his pick of once a suitable amount of time had passed. The moment the strictest of formalities was over, Sesshoumaru had sought Hirokin out and grabbed him by the sleeve.

Still, such a hasty flight from the celebrations had been improper to say the least…

“Sesshoumaru,” Touga had growled after them, a chill seeming to descend over the entire hall.

Annoyance had flashed through Sesshoumaru’s golden eyes, as he’d turned with Hirokin and the chest in hand. Inukimi’s protests had, of course, been more subtly arresting.

“Should you not stay a while, to thank your guests?” she’d asked her son.

“I’ve thanked them already,” Sesshoumaru had replied shortly, turning back toward the door.

“And what of your other fine gifts?” his mother had pressed, with an edge.

Shoving aside the screen, Sesshoumaru had said with brisk impatience, “Have them sent to my room, I suppose.”

Hirokin had felt the simmer of Inukimi’s disapproval burning into his back, as Sesshoumaru had pushed them both through the open door. Alone in one of the castle courtyards, they had sat down upon the moss with the egg gleaming between them.

Sesshoumaru had smiled as the sunlight had sparkled over it, revealing a hint of iridescence in the teal of its shade. “It’s fantastic,” he’d said. “How long until it hatches?”

Hirokin had shrugged. “That depends—every egg is different. You’ll need to warm it with your youki to nurture it, and when it’s absorbed its fill, it’ll hatch then.”

Sesshoumaru’s smile had slipped. Yet though this answer hadn’t satisfied him, he had attended diligently to the egg nevertheless. Hirokin had conveniently forgotten to mention that it often took years for baby dragons to emerge from their shells. And so he had been as surprised as anyone when after only a few short weeks the color of the egg had shifted to an earthy green swirled with black, and then, when mere months later, Sesshoumaru had shaken him awake with a start.

“There’s a crack in the egg,” Touga’s heir had exclaimed, dragging Hirokin along after him. “I think it’s hatching!”

Surely enough, the egg’s jeweled surface had splintered. Before their eyes, the fissure had widened until the shell had at last fallen asunder to reveal a tiny reptilian creature blinking up at them with yellow slitted eyes—

Two pairs of them, to be exact.

Hirokin had recoiled a step. It had been all he could do not to gasp in disgust at the sight. With one scaled greenish body and two dark-maned heads emerging from it, the baby land-dragon had been freakish to him—and yet Sesshoumaru’s smile had only broadened as he’d picked up the malformed creature and cradled it in his claws.

“My dragon,” he had said with pride and affection, and both little heads had chirruped in reply.

Uneasy, Hirokin had sent word to his father. Unhurried though he often was, Ryuutarou had arrived at the Western Palace in uncharacteristic haste. Beholding the two-headed little beast Sesshoumaru had yet to relinquish from his grasp, the River Lord was silent for a time.

“I have never seen its like,” he declared at last, then inclined his head to Sesshoumaru. “You have hatched a rare breed indeed, my prince.”

Sesshoumaru had been pleased at this, yet Hirokin had remained wary. As Ryuutarou had prepared to return to his palace, Hirokin had drawn him aside.

“Father, what do you think of Sesshoumaru’s dragon, truly?”

“It is curious, to be sure,” the River Lord had replied, pursing his lips in thought. “A duality of nature. Yet the little one is strong and healthy. I see no cause for alarm.” Patting his scowling son on the cheek, Ryuutarou had smiled glibly. “Do not trouble yourself, dear boy. An extra head is an asset, if anything.”

…

Approaching Sesshoumaru’s court, Hirokin encountered the now mature, two-headed dragon along the way. Sprawled across the shaded lawn, the slumbering beast occupied the majority of the space. If Sesshoumaru’s dragon had inherited anything from his father Okouji, it was his mild, easy temperament. At Hirokin’s approach, one of the heads lifted drowsily toward him while the other snored on, both rumbling happily when Hirokin paused to scratch behind a pointed ear.

A duality of nature, the demon prince reflected as he looked upon the dozing beast.

It had taken many years for Hirokin to understand the meaning of this—and to learn that his instinctive misgivings had not deceived him. Reconciling Sesshoumaru’s schism of self had been the struggle of both their adult lives.

Only now, near the end of it, did Hirokin dare to wonder—

What, then, would he do?

Frowning, he slid back the screen to find Sesshoumaru standing within, as though in expectation of him. The faint leap his heart usually gave at the sight of his beloved lord now felt to Hirokin like a leaden pang. Yet Sesshoumaru had never looked prouder or more formidable. More in-control. His aura glowed with the power of it, cool and composed and arresting in its tempered force.

“My lord,” Hirokin said with a bow. “You look well.”

“I am well,” Sesshoumaru replied with a smoothness that made a muscle twitch in Hirokin’s jaw. Stepping toward him, the demon lord said dryly, “You, on the other hand, look like you’ve just swallowed a toad.”

Hirokin’s mouth twisted. “Before you arrived, Sesshoumaru-sama, I was afforded the pleasure of paying my father a visit.”

“Well then,” the demon lord said darkly, “that would explain it.”

Hirokin welcomed the sound of a servant’s halting approach. Struggling beneath a massive platter of red butchered meat, the young demon stumbled into the room. Bowing as much in relief as deference, he deposited the huge plate onto the tatami at Sesshoumaru’s feet and hastened away.

“Come,” the Lord of the Western Lands said, seating himself gracefully down before the feast. “Eat with me. I want to hear what you’ve been up to while I have been away.”

Hirokin eyed the platter grimly. Apart from fish, raw flesh was not something he ordinarily consumed. Most dragons preferred putting such a meal first to the flame.

Sensing his reluctance, Sesshoumaru said, “Eat. You could use the iron far more than I.”

Defeated, Hirokin sat down opposite of him and forced himself to chew on one tough, bloody chunk. Fortunately, Sesshoumaru’s appetites were never anything less than monstrous, and before Hirokin had finished swallowing down his slab, Sesshoumaru had devoured all the rest. Licking the last traces of blood from his claws, he sat back while Hirokin imparted the most essential information to him.

The demon prince spoke briefly, and to the point. Generally, Sesshoumaru preferred this sort of conciseness, yet he seemed to be in a particularly sociable mood and kept interrupting with questions or remarks until Hirokin’s blood began to boil. An impatience had gripped him as the sun continued its descent. Each hour whiled away catering to Sesshoumaru’s strange whims was one less spent with Kou, who must by now be awaiting him in the castle by the sea.

Hirokin was accomplished at concealing such impatience. Yet Sesshoumaru knew him better than anyone. It was for this reason Hirokin feared him alone. Feared him and loved him, though now it was the fear that lay at the forefront of Hirokin’s thoughts. If there was one being in all the world who could see through his guises, it was the demon before him.

Perhaps this was why, as Hirokin rose at long last to depart from his lord’s presence, Sesshoumaru grasped him by the sleeve. “Are you in such a hurry to escape me?”

His tone was edged inscrutably, even to Hirokin’s well-honed ear. Whether Sesshoumaru was joking or not was impossible to tell, and so Hirokin turned back to him with an inscrutable smile of his own.

“Escape you, my lord? What an idea.”

“If you’ve taken a mistress, I demand to know about it.”

And now Hirokin knew Sesshoumaru had been jesting. The demon prince chuckled, though a part of him chilled with dread at just how close his lord had struck to the truth.

“I assure you, Sesshoumaru-sama, if that day ever comes, you will be the first to know.”

“Then,” Sesshoumaru said, the glint in his golden eyes cold and hard, “you have no reason not to stay the night with me.”

Even before the trap had closed around him, Hirokin had felt the shadow of its fall. And so his expression was already mild with resignation as he inclined his head.

“As you please, my lord.”

Sesshoumaru glared at him still. “Your courtly formalities grate on my nerves. I want tonight to be like old times, do you remember?”

Hirokin remembered. When they were children, he had often spent the night in Sesshoumaru’s room—even in Sesshoumaru’s bed, locked in the vise of his arm like a plaything, until Touga had discovered them and scolded Sesshoumaru for it. Yet never had Hirokin felt more like Sesshoumaru’s toy than he did in this moment. Without that woman of his to entertain him, the demon lord clearly expected his advisor to amuse him in her stead—and what rankled Hirokin even more than being so obvious a replacement was that not so long ago, he would have yearned for the chance to be just that.

It was his own pathetic wants that rankled him. Not without a trace of sharpness, he replied, “I am afraid you will have to be more specific than that, my lord.”

“Very well,” Sesshoumaru said, his aura sharpening in turn. “I want you to speak to me as you once did, before you began to despise me in your heart.”

Hirokin’s eyes flashed, blue and searing. “I have never once ‘despised’ you—not even in passing thought. Every ounce of my ability I have devoted toward your benefit, your prosperity. How dare you—”

As Sesshoumaru’s eyes narrowed, Hirokin bit down on his lashing tongue, and grimaced in dread.

“There,” the demon lord said, smirking slowly in triumph. “That’s much better. I never thought I’d miss your hissing and nagging, but compared to all this bowing and scraping of late, I vast prefer it.” Both his claw and expression crooked so seductively that Hirokin felt the pull of it like a hook to the groin. “Now, be a good friend, and come back here and mother me some more.”

Recovering himself with an inward shake, Hirokin glowered. “…Don’t you have a mother for that?”

“Yes, but you are so very good at it.” Sesshoumaru’s gaze smoldered. “Did I not tell you just now that I’ve missed you? Humor me, and do as I say.”

Conscious of his own manipulation, Hirokin flushed, retracing his steps all the same. Such was the sheer power of Sesshoumaru’s influence, to dispense with the subtleties Hirokin relied upon to achieve his aims.

No, he had never despised Sesshoumaru—but he had resented him. He resented him now.

Sesshoumaru’s will was absolute, and absolutely self-serving. Once, Hirokin had thought himself set apart in his lord’s eyes. Yet now he knew there was only one other whose existence Sesshoumaru acknowledged, and only then, Hirokin suspected, because he saw her as an extension of himself.

She was conscious of it, too, Hirokin knew—the calamitous force that was Sesshoumaru’s will in exertion. She could sense the threat of it, looming ahead of her in the distance, but could she see how inescapable it was?

Indomitable and inevitable, as the coming of the tide…

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi