Page 2

Chapter 2

Yoshi

B y the time we made it back to the castle, the storm was howling so loud I could barely hear myself think. Shutters were tightly latched on every house we passed, where families huddled and prayed the storm would pass without too much damage. Tooi sat on the northern tip of a massive island and rarely experienced the gods’ ire. Fear flowed as freely as rainwater on cobbles, and I caught myself flinching with each spear of lighting that stabbed from the sky.

Samurai who normally stood outside the gate now sheltered in stone shacks to either side of the entrance. The moment they spotted Takeo and me, backs bent and eyes averted. Kaneko trailed a few strides behind us, bowing deeply to each of the Samurai the moment they raised from their bows toward us.

“Go to your father,” Takeo said. “And you”—he pointed to Kaneko—“go home.”

“But—”

“Go!” Takeo’s bark left no room for debate.

Kaneko’s shoulders slumped as he shot me a quick glance, then turned and strode back out the entrance, bowing one last time to the guards as he passed.

“He could’ve come with me,” I said, not meaning to let a sulky tone enter my voice.

Takeo’s gaze was ice. “He is your friend and training partner, not your equal. Go to your father. I will join you shortly.”

Moments later, I stood at the doorway to my father’s private office. While this chamber was where Father did his solitary work, it held no less majesty than the hall in which he received guests and official visits. Flickering light from candles and two small braziers cast warm glows through the sliding paper panels. The faint scent of lavender hung in the still air. A massive tapestry depicting the mountainous capital of Tooi stretched the full length of the room.

Father sat on a cushioned, knee-high bench before a richly stained table. His back was perfectly straight, making his already tall frame appear even more imposing. In his fourth decade, Father still prided himself on taut muscles and his youthful gait, though gray was beginning to intrude on the inky black pulled into his tight topknot.

From the neat stacks of parchment on his desk by the near-empty inkwell, I knew he was reviewing petitions from across the province he governed. It was a thankless, endless task, the pile of yet-to-be-reviewed missives regularly outpacing those completed.

“You are dripping on my floor,” Father said without looking up, his quill scratching furiously, correcting some lines and obliterating others with the efficiency of a seasoned scribe.

“I’m sorry, Father,” I said, bowing respectfully. “Uncle sent me straight to you. We saw a ship bearing a golden banner.”

Father’s quill froze, and his head snapped up. “Are you certain it was gold? It did not simply contain gold?”

I shook my head. “No, Father. It was a golden banner. I could barely make out the markings, but I’m sure it was his flower.”Father’s posture faltered as he let out a heavy sigh and tossed his quill on his desk. Ink dribbled from its tip, pooling and ruining whatever document he’d been reviewing.

“Father?”

Time stretched as I waited.

Many grew unnerved when Father lost himself in thought, but I was used to his silences. He taught me to think before speaking, a practice he exercised with religious conviction, especially when holding court or council. But this moment, with only the two of us present, stretched beyond any I recalled in years. Before his lips moved again, his brow furrowed, and I saw creases about his eyes that had appeared more often of late.

“How far away was the ship?”

“At the edge of our sight without a glass.”

“We have only hours,” he said, nodding to himself. “Go, send your mother to me. Also, send word to Seiichi- san and Kura- san that I require their counsel. Return with your uncle in a half hour. We will meet in the ōhiroma .”

His formal audience chamber?

Father summoning his deputy and castellan wasn’t unusual. They lived in the castle and attended him most days. And Takeo led Father’s Samurai. He was most often his brother’s shadow. Adding Mother to the mix was unusual—making the tiny hairs on my neck stand up straight—but having this group assemble where he received his vassals and conducted his most formal business sent my head spinning.

“Yoshi, there is no time. Do as I ask.”

His voice was not unkind, but there was steel in his words. This was no game or ruse. Something serious was afoot.

I bowed deeply from where I dripped outside the doorway. “Yes, Father. Right away.”

When I entered Father’s audience hall a half turn later, Father sat in his high seat, its ornately carved back a mirror image of the tapestry that hung behind him. Forested mountains and lush fields flowed from one end to the other, while an undulating ocean tickled a distant shore. No one knew from whence the artist had drawn her inspiration—one of the smaller isles, perhaps—but the piece served as the backdrop for many generations of Anzu Daimyo , and Father loved it. I often caught him standing before the tightly woven piece, examining some boulder or mound while he considered requests or appeals.

I never understood why he spent so much time thinking. Samurai didn’t waste time staring at ancient art and fretting over strategic moves. Their decisions were made with a blade and required swift judgements—and even swifter actions.

Why did a Daimyo have to ponder so?

I wasn’t sure if my musing was more about Father or premonitions of my own future. Did I dread the days to come, days in which so many looked to me for guidance? Was I afraid to lead? Would I be as wise, as considered? Would I be respected?

Father’s voice quelled my inner questions.

“Yoshi- san , come,” he said, turning to motion me into the room.

Father rarely used a revered honorific with me unless we stood surrounded by his court or foreign guests. With only his inner circle in attendance, his sudden formality sent another thrill of fear up my spine.

Mother, Takeo, and our two most trusted officials already stood at the bottom step of Father’s three-tiered dais.

I scurried forward and bowed. “Yes, Father.”

“His Divine Majesty comes.”

Neither Takeo nor I flinched, as we had been the ones to report the arrival of the vessel flying the Emperor’s chrysanthemum. Mother and the ministers blinked in surprise. Seiichi, Father’s younger brother and chief deputy for the past two decades, swayed on his feet and had to brace himself by grabbing Takeo’s arm. The old man barely rose to Takeo’s shoulder, the withered bones of his hand as bent and gnarled as his back.

Father, seeing his advisor’s distress, motioned for all of us to sit, then settled himself onto his throne. Mother climbed the stairs to sit on the top level at Father’s feet. He reached down and held her hand, an oddly intimate gesture in the midst of such formality.

I waited for them to still before climbing to my spot on his right, facing the others.

Takeo helped Seiichi to the floor, where the two men settled onto thin mats, their legs crossed, backs straight—or as straight as Seiichi could sit. Anzu Kura, my portly aunt with the face of shriveled fruit, lowered herself beside the men.

“Is it possible this is only a messenger, that the Son of Heaven does not visit our shores?” Seiichi asked.

“It is possible, but unlikely. If Yoshi saw the golden banner, His Imperial Majesty will be close behind,” Father said. “We have two hours, perhaps less, before his envoy arrives. I suspect he will send his Chief Samurai, Akira Rei, or the Grand Minister of State, Akira Satoshi.”

I couldn’t hold my tongue. “What does he want? Why is he—?”

Mother silenced me with a sharp glare, but Father nodded, keeping his eyes on some distant point beyond where Takeo sat.

“Allies.” His mouth twisted, as though the word tasted of bitter tea. “He seeks allies.”

“Has it come to this?” Takeo asked.

As surprised as Seiichi and Kura had been at news of the Emperor’s imminent arrival, they showed no reaction to Father’s guess at his aims. Takeo leaned forward, as though wanting whatever Father feared.

Father nodded slowly. “I have held nothing from you, Takeo- san . Han Asami and Maria have long sought power in the capital. Their plots and schemes are well known.”

“But to take up arms against the Jade Throne?” Seiichi asked. “Would they truly tempt the anger of the gods?”

“Eiko would sell her own daughter if it gained her the throne,” Mother said.

“If Heaven’s Son comes to our shores, he is frightened,” Takeo said.

“We must prepare, Hiroki- sama ,” Kura said, her first words since the meeting began. She ran the castle, which meant herding the staff, supplying the stores, and ensuring the lives of the Daimyo and his government ran smoothly. A visit by the Emperor would send her already active mind into overdrive. I felt a brief pang of sorrow for the poor men and women who worked in the castle. The storm howling outside was nothing compared to Kura in a crisis.

Father eyed her, then nodded once. “You should go, Kura- san . Assume His Majesty comes, not merely an emissary. We must receive whoever arrives with all the grace of our han .”

Kura bowed from where she sat, an almost comical gesture with her belly in the way, then struggled to her feet, where she offered a more appropriate gesture. “My people will need to get in here—”

Father raised a palm. “We will only be a moment. Make your preparations, Kura.”

She bowed again and hurried out of the hall.

Takeo renewed his questioning. “He will want troops. Will you really consider—”

“I will consider whatever His Majesty asks of us. To do less would be to dishonor His Divine Majesty, the gods, and our han .”

“Of course,” Takeo said, not retreating an inch. “But are you seriously considering entering this war?”

“There is no war yet,” Mother said. “Perhaps, His Majesty comes hoping to secure peace, not preparing for conflict.”

Takeo rolled his eyes, a gesture that would earn anyone else lashes—or a stern reprimand, at the very least. Beside him, Seiichi fidgeted with his arthritic fingers.

Father stood, drawing all of us to our feet.

“Wondering if rain will make one wet is a waste of time. The storm comes, and so we must face it. Seiichi, Takeo, assemble a greeting party of your highest-ranking men. Yoshi, Kita, and I will meet you at the docks in two hours. Hopefully, this squall will have ebbed by then.”

“Just in time for another to begin,” Takeo muttered.

Father eyed his brother as he pinched the bridge of his nose and released a breath.