Page 23

Chapter 23

Yoshi

M other pressed a cool, moist cloth to the priest’s eyes, more to soothe than heal. Two of his brother priests had attended him without success. The god of death had stolen his sight, and no mere mortal could restore it, not even those blessed with command of mystical powers.

“Please stop pacing.” Mother shot Father an annoyed glance. “He needs calm now.”

Takeo shook his head. “An assassin shot an Imperial messenger, then the spirit of a legendary god blinded our priest. We are well past calm.”

Father looked up from his desk where he stared at the Emperor’s scroll. His voice was steady and quiet but brooked no argument. “Enough. Takeo, report.”

Uncle turned and bowed crisply. Gone was his usually flippant banter, replaced with the rigid professionalism of a lifelong soldier. “Brother, Tooi is secure. The councilmen and han representatives are guarded by our best men. The streets are empty, and a curfew is in place. Our Samurai search for the killer, but he has yet to be found.”

“Fine.” Father’s eyes returned to the scroll. He slumped back and pressed his palms to his temples.

“That is not a good look, brother,” Takeo said.

“War stands on the Emperor’s doorstep.”

Takeo snorted. “What of it? Asami Han have taken a few villages and farms, maybe a shrine or two, but all in Toshi lands. Toshi Han ’s major cities are on the eastern side of the mountains, and the Emperor’s capital is far from Toshi’s eastern shore. The Asami would have to cross the continent to reach him, and surely his dragon—”

“I know the geography of our Empire!” Father snapped. “The Asami are not trying to capture Toshi cities. They march toward the capital and the Emperor. That bitch Eiko seeks to put her fat ass on the throne.”

“Husband, please!” Mother snapped, motioning with her eyes to where Kaneko and I stood at the edge of the room.

Father waved her off. “She is a bitch, and she is fat. The boys are now men and must learn to speak the truth.”

“The boys must learn to speak with respect ,” she countered.

“I have no respect for that sow. Her ambitions have killed thousands over the years and may force us to enter a damned war.”

“What? Anzu enter the war? Brother, why?” Takeo stammered. “Those people will fight until the world ends. It does not matter whose backside warms the Jade Throne; the mainland han will never stop killing each other. Besides, we owe the Emperor nothing. What has he ever done for our island? We are an afterthought, barely worthy of his attention. Therefore, he is barely worth ours—and certainly not worth the lives of our men.”

Father glared up at his brother.

Takeo lowered his head. “Forgive me, brother. I spoke rashly.”

“No, Takeo, you spoke only what many think, yet never speak.” Father hesitated, then rolled the scroll and stood. “But the Emperor is more than just a man. He is the Son of Heaven, and he is my friend. To threaten him threatens us in ways most will never—”

Father caught himself and clamped his lips tight.

The room stilled.

Water dripping into a bowl was the only sound to be heard as Mother wrung out her cloth, then pressed it back to the priest’s eyes. Kaneko and I stared at Father. I was sure the sudden silence carried more weight than words but could not fathom what it meant.

A commotion outside drew everyone’s eyes as the shoji slid open. A young servant bowed and spoke in frightened, clipped words. “My Daimyo , another guest has arrived.”

Takeo stepped forward. “Another guest? Who is it now?”

“A messenger from Asami Eiko Daimyo .”

“Asami?” Takeo said, his eyes wide.

Before the messenger could respond, Father had already gathered the Emperor’s scroll and was on his feet. “Takeo, Yoshi, with me.”

“Father?” My eyes flitted from Father to Mother, then back.

Father gripped me by my shoulders and let his gaze bore into me. “Son, you are ten and eight now. These will be your lands one day, your people. It is time you stood by my side in all things and learned what it truly means to be Daimyo .”

He glanced to the side where Kaneko stood, clearly drowning in the tension of the moment.

“You may come with Yoshi, but do not speak. Neither of you. Not one word.”

Without waiting for a reply, Father turned, nodded stiffly to his wife, and strode out of the room. Takeo gave me a sympathetic glance, then guided Kaneko and me down the hallway after Father.

Samurai and house servants threw themselves out of the way, some pressing against the paper walls of the hallway to clear a path. A moment later, we entered the formal receiving hall where Father ascended his dais. The ceiling soared high enough to allow a pagoda’s roof to suspend above the dais, lending weight and permanence to the poetic backdrop. There was no seating in the room. Audiences were meant to be polite but direct and brief.

The lord of this han spared little time for pointless prattle.

“Yoshi, take your place. Takeo, have a handful of our most notable Samurai join us along the walls. Be sure they wear both swords. I would like to greet our guest properly.”

Takeo chuckled as he bowed. “Yes, brother. An excellent idea.”

Only then did Father notice Kaneko standing awkwardly before him. He grunted, and his eyes narrowed. “You, stand near the door. Do not move or speak. Understand?”

“Yes, Daimyo ,” Kaneko said, bowing deeply, then taking his place.

Takeo returned a moment later with a half dozen heavily armored Samurai in tow. Each still wore their ceremonial armor from the festival, some highly polished while others bore the dull finish of blackened leather. Takeo directed the men to stand at various positions throughout the room.

Once the stage was set, Father settled onto his throne, then leaned down and whispered, “Pay close attention, son. You will learn more about statecraft today than in all your years of attending peaceful councils.”

Why had he compared this audience to peaceful councils?

My heart raced. Something in that distinction stood the hairs on my arms and sent a thrill of terror through my chest. The Asami had been a pebble in the Emperor’s sandals for decades, always seeking more land, greater share of rice, Imperial intervention in provincial squabbles of their own instigation .

But petty bickering and border skirmishes were not war. Sure, they had threatened the Throne, but to act on such threats was . . . It was treason. It was insanity.

Were the Asami so arrogant to challenge the Emperor himself?

Whatever happened that day, I knew I witnessed a stone that would change the flow of time’s great river.

A drum boomed three times outside the chamber.

The double shoji slid open.

A servant clad in crimson Anzu silks stepped inside and bowed at the waist.

“Anzu Hiroki- sama Daimyo , receive Asami Katsumi- san , First Daughter of Asami Eiko- sama Daimyo .”

Takeo looked up at his brother in surprise and mouthed. “Her daughter ?”

Father raised a brow, a shrug. “The flames burn ever brighter. Takeo, take the lead. I will remain silent until—”

The sound of heavy boots slapping against the polished stone floor ended their conversation as a girl rising no higher than Father’s shoulders strode purposefully in. Dressed in Samurai armor and carrying a plumed kabuto under one arm, her inky black hair was pulled tight behind her head in a braid mocking a Samurai’s topknot. Her face bore a far sharper edge than the katana rising from her waistband.

When she was a few paces away, she stopped and offered a quarter bow to Father, well below the level of honor required when received by a senior, especially one of Father’s rank, and in his own home, no less.

“Welcome, Asami Katsumi- san . You are too late to attend the Daimyo ’s celebration, though I am sure he appreciates your mistress’s homage.” Takeo’s voice dripped with irony.

Katsumi snorted, though her eyes held no humor. Her gaze never left Father, as though ignoring the insignificant men to his right and left.

“Asami Eiko- sama sends her regards, Anzu Hiroki- sama , but not in celebration. The time of your neutrality must end. The farce of this Imperial line must end. The Anzu must choose the victorious side of history or be crushed by its weight. There is no middle ground—or in your case, middle sea.”

Father steepled his fingers, his face impassive, as Takeo replied. “By our count, the Asami have only one ally: the Maria. All other han are either loyal to the Emperor or remain neutral. Please enlighten us on how you will achieve such glorious victory. Last we checked, our seas remain calm save for your ship disturbing our waters.”

Katsumi’s eyes narrowed at the barb, but her voice remained measured. “We are allied with the Maria. Everyone knows this. What is not widely known is the treaty being signed this night with both the Chu on the isle to your east and the Kohana on the southern tip of the mainland.”

Takeo failed to hide his surprise.

Katsumi grinned.

“And let us not forget the wakō .”

“The wakō ? What of the pirates?” Father leaned forward and spoke for the first time.

Katsumi’s wolfish grin widened, revealing black-painted teeth.

“The wakō have agreed to provide—how did Mother put it?—naval support. Very soon, Bara will be under siege by land and blockaded by sea. I only hope I return in time to see that worm of a dragon bleed.”

A Samurai near the dais drew his sword at her blasphemy, but Father barked a reprimand. The sound of metal sliding back into its scabbard echoed through the hall.

Takeo took a step forward and lowered his voice, which was somehow more menacing than if the towering man shouted in anger. “While I understand your feelings , as you are at war with the Jade Throne, your health and longevity would be much improved by refraining from such . . . rudeness. Should your family be victorious, you would be a lady of the Imperial Court, a princess. Perhaps practicing politeness might be in order while a guest in another Daimyo ’s home, would it not?”

Katsumi smirked. “Join us, or you will feel the politeness of my heel against your throat—so says Asami Eiko- sama .”

Takeo took another step forward.

“Stop!” Father’s whip-crack stilled his angry brother.

Father rose and stepped down to the first level, locking his hands behind his back while studying the insolent girl before him.

She glared up, her eyes never wavering.

“Return to your mistress. We have nothing further to discuss,” Father said.

“What are you saying, Daimyo ?” For the first time, something other than smug satisfaction crossed Katsumi’s face. “What is your answer? Will you join us?”

Father laughed and looked down at her with pity in his voice. “Oh, child, a dragon would never sleep with a rat. Scurry home before something singes that pretty feather on your helmet.”

The Samurai lining the hall struggled to stifle their snickers. Tossing insults about was one thing, but to insult a Samurai’s blade or armor was beyond degradation. Had this occurred anywhere but in the Daimyo ’s audience chamber, Katsumi would have been honor-bound to challenge him for such an affront—and the look on her face told everyone in the room that she wanted to.

Katsumi snapped a shallow bow, spun, and exited with her back to the dais, her own personal affront to the Daimyo and all who followed him. When the shoji clanked shut, Takeo turned to his brother with a broad grin.

“A dragon and a rat? Seriously? That’s the best you could come up with?”

Father glanced around the room at his Samurai. They now watched as the Daimyo ’s brother teased him with familiarity.

“Takeo- san , enough!” he snapped.

Takeo dropped to both knees and pressed palms and forehead to the floor.

Father stood firm and let the Samurai see his brother’s subservience, demonstrating his power and command, even within his own family— especially within his own family.

In a whisper only Father and I could hear, Takeo chuckled from where he prostrated himself and said, “Rat and dragon. Remind me, brother, which are you?”

Father released a sigh, sank back onto his throne, and pinched the bridge of his nose.