Page 15

Chapter 15

Kaneko

A shina Shrine was older than the village of Tooi itself, its wooden beams dark with age, its tiled roof curved like the wings of a crane. It stood at the top of a long flight of stone steps, half shrouded in mist, the morning sun breaking through the trees in thin, golden rays. A light breeze rustled the prayer strips tied to the torii gate, their whispered blessings lost to the wind.

On any other day, my eyes would have refused to settle in one place, lost among the brilliant flowers, lustrous trees, and enchanting wildlife tended by the priests and their magic. On any other day, I would have filled my lungs with the sweet scent and taste of the forest’s glory, reveling in the perfect gift of our gods.

But this was not any other day.

This was a day for another Trial.

I should have been focused.

And yet—

I could still feel Yoshi beside me, his presence a steady, unshakable thing. I snuck a quick glance—not for the first time—enjoying how his dark hair, always unruly despite his best efforts, caught the morning light in a way that made it seem almost soft, almost touchable. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his lips slightly parted as he listened to the Grand Minister’s words.

Had he always been this easy to watch?

I knew I should look away, but my gaze lingered, caught in some ridiculous pull I barely understood.

Yoshi cocked his head, his sharp gray eyes catching mine.

My eyes snapped forward, heat creeping up my neck.

Focus. Gods, Kaneko, focus.

The Emperor sat on his throne, together with his court, yet apart as a god among men must always be. Nawa lounged on the ground near where the mountain rose and the forest began in earnest. She appeared disinterested, though I suspected the ancient beast was far wiser and more observant than most believed possible.

The Grand Minister stood before the shrine’s great bell, his voice measured and deep. “The Trial of Wisdom is not a test of knowledge,” he intoned. “It is a test of discernment, of judgment, of seeing beyond what is given.”

A priest stepped forward, kneeling as he unfurled an ancient scroll before us.

“Listen well,” the Grand Minister said. “For this is a tale as old as the shrine itself. It has no ending. That is for you to decide.”

I clenched my hands at my sides, forcing myself to listen as the monk began to read aloud.

There was once a merchant who traveled far and wide seeking wealth and fortune. One evening, as a storm rose, he sought shelter at a small village inn where he carried with him a great treasure—a silver fox pelt said to be a gift from the gods themselves.

That night, the merchant was found dead. The pelt was gone.

The village elder investigated and found three suspects:

The innkeeper, who had many debts,

The innkeeper’s daughter, who was seen near the merchant’s room that night, and

A passing traveler, who arrived at dusk and left before sunrise.

Each denied the crime.

Each had a reason to be suspected.

But there was only one truth.

Who was guilty, and what is justice?

The scroll was placed before us on a tatami mat.

The Grand Minister and the priest stepped back, their hands folded in sleeves.

“Discuss. Decide. You must not only answer, but defend your answer before the gods,” the Grand Minister said before falling silent.

I took a slow breath, my thoughts still scattered, my heartbeat louder than it should have been. I hated riddles. Stories weren’t much better, but at least with stories someone told you the blasted ending.

Who tells a story and then demands the listener create the ending? What kind of farcical drama was this?

And why now could I not focus on whatever task the Emperor devised?

Of all times, of all places—why now, when I was supposed to be proving myself, did my thoughts insist on drifting back to Yoshi?

I forced myself to look at the scroll. The riddle.

Focus on the riddle.

The four of us stepped away, forming a loose circle beside the torii gate. The scent of cedar and incense hung in the cool air, but my senses were still tangled in the warmth of Yoshi’s breath.

Think. Gods, think.

Yoshi was already speaking, his voice low. “We should start with motive. The innkeeper had debts—that’s an obvious reason to steal.”

Soga crossed his arms. “Too obvious. If he had taken it, why not hide it better? Why would he let himself be a suspect?”

Yoshi nodded. “True. If it were just about money, he would have been more careful.”

His voice had always been like that—so steady, so certain, like a piling holding a pier against unfathomable storms.

I felt myself watching the way his lips moved when he spoke and—

Stop it!

I cleared my throat, trying to drown out the hum of distraction in my mind. “What about the daughter?” I said, forcing my voice to sound normal. “She was seen near the room. That has to mean something.”

“Or nothing,” Niiro countered. “It’s an inn. She could have been working.”

Soga exhaled sharply. “And the traveler? Seems convenient that he came and went in the same night.”

“But if he was the thief, why would he kill the merchant?” Yoshi asked. “Theft doesn’t always require murder.”

I almost got lost again, watching him think. The way his brow furrowed, the way he pursed his pink, luscious lips—

Kaneko, for the love of the gods—focus.

I turned abruptly, forced my thoughts back into place, and stared at the scroll as if the inked words themselves would set my mind on a proper course.

And then, suddenly, something clicked.

“What if the pelt wasn’t the reason for the murder?” I asked.

The others turned.

“Go on,” Yoshi said.

I traced a finger through the dirt at our feet, thinking aloud. “The pelt was valuable. That’s why we assume it was stolen, but what if it was just a distraction? What if the merchant was killed for another reason and the pelt was taken to make it seem like simple robbery?”

Yoshi’s eyes sharpened. “Then the most suspicious person isn’t the one who needed money.”

Soga frowned. “It’s the one who needed the merchant dead.”

Niiro tapped her chin. “And that would be . . . ?”

I exhaled, my mind finally clear, the fog of my own ridiculous infatuation momentarily lifting.

“The traveler. He wasn’t just passing through—he was running from something. The merchant must have known. Maybe he recognized him. Maybe the man was a courier carrying information, a letter, something dangerous. The traveler killed him, took the pelt to make it look like a theft, and vanished.”

A long silence.

Then Yoshi smiled.

“That makes sense,” he said. “And it explains why the daughter said nothing. Maybe she saw the traveler but was too afraid to speak.”

I swallowed, that single look unraveling me all over again. Yoshi’s approval, his support, it filled my soul to overflowing.

Stop it, stop it, stop it!

“What about justice? What is his sentence for the crime?” Niiro asked.

“Yoshi will want to set him free, give him land, maybe make him noble,” Soga taunted. “The bigger the crime, the bigger the reward, eh, Yoshi- san ?”

My blood boiled.

Who was this lump of meat to insult my . . . my . . . to insult Yoshi? How dare he. Yoshi was the Daimyo ’s son and would one day rule. To insult him was to insult the han and . . . well . . . it pissed me off!

Yoshi, undaunted, inclined his head as if about to instruct a child. “The man, once caught, would be executed by honorable Samurai who guard the village. Murder is a scourge. It must be seared from society without mercy. Otherwise, there would be no society left to protect.”

Niiro’s eyes widened, then she nodded.

Soga grumbled, looking away in surrender.

I resisted the urge to shout how proud I was that my . . . damn it . . . that Yoshi had come up with the perfect answer. My chest swelled, and I felt like the gods themselves had chosen to inhabit my spirit. I wanted to wrap him in my arms, spin his spindly legs about, and listen to his glorious laughter as it rang through the wood. I wanted to—

“Kaneko, are we agreed?”

Well, shit. He’d been asking me something.

“Uh, yes, of course. I agree.”

I had no idea what I was agreeing to, but if Yoshi asked for it, he had my consent. Whatever it was. No matter the cost.

Gods, I was Imperially screwed.

We turned back to the shrine, presenting our answer before the Grand Minister.

He listened, silent and still, before exchanging a glance with the Emperor, then looking back toward us.

“Your reasoning is sound,” he said. “This Trial is complete.”

I let out a slow breath, but my thoughts weren’t on the Trial anymore.

We had made it through this one, but it felt as though the trial in my heart was just beginning.