Page 7

Chapter 7

Yoshi

B y noon of the next day, the Emperor’s entourage, which numbered over two hundred, had erected a massive pavilion under which were set hundreds of cushions precisely laid before long wooden tables. At the far end, a smaller awning, complete with netting that could offer His Imperial Majesty privacy, held the Emperor’s traveling throne and a single table from which he would eat. Paper lanterns bearing the Imperial mark hung in perfect intervals from beams high above. Servants dressed in the uniform of the Imperial house scurried about, ensuring every detail was perfect for our Divine Lord’s entertainment.

“A banquet?” Kaneko whispered.

We stood at the entrance opposite the Emperor’s throne, watching the intensity with which the Emperor’s staff worked.

“What? We all have to eat, man or god.”

Kaneko rolled his eyes. “He comes all this way, first time in generations, says no more than a few words to your father, then throws a banquet? Is this how the Empire runs itself?”

“Banquets are part of diplomacy,” I said. “The gods know I sit through enough of them with Father. Every one of his vassals wants time— private time—in which they ask for all manner of outrageous things. Doing so over a meal tends to make those requests go down easier.”

“Sake would do that without all this work,” Kaneko quipped.

I grinned. “There should be plenty of that tonight, too.”

“Think our Prince will stay sober?”

“Kaneko!” I hissed. “Keep that talk out of here. If someone overhears you—”

“They might ask you to sit with them.” Prince Haru’s voice vibrated through my chest, startling me so badly I nearly knocked Kaneko over by turning around.

The moment my eyes landed on Haru, I threw myself to the ground, grabbing Kaneko’s arm and forcing him into a forehead-to-ground posture.

“Stand,” Haru commanded, and we reluctantly rose, each of us careful not to make eye contact. It was only when we’d fully straightened that I noticed the Prince’s friend, Esumi, standing nearby, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Are you busy helping with preparations?” Haru asked.

“No, my Prince, we . . . Kaneko will not be attending,” I said.

Haru glared. “And why not? Does Kaneko not wish to dine with his Emperor?”

“Oh, I do, very much, um, mighty Prince, but I am not worthy to sit in his Divine Presence. I am but a fisherman’s son, not a member of an exalted house.”

“Nonsense.” Haru waved a hand. “You are a friend of Yoshi- san , son of the Daimyo , which means you are a friend to me. Friendship knows no house. You will attend tonight and sit at a table with me, both of you.”

Kaneko was the bravest boy I knew. I’d never seen him flinch or his face drain of color, but in that moment, I thought he might pass out right there.

“My Prince.” I gulped down a mountain of emotions. “My place is by my father’s side. He would—”

“He will do as I ask,” Haru said with all the confidence of one born to a throne, despite being third in line at his birth. “And I wish to dine with you and Kaneko, assuming you consent to being seen in public with the royal family’s rogue son.”

Kaneko spat a laugh. I elbowed him and tried to calm my racing heart.

“Forgive Kaneko- san , Imperial Highness. He was dropped on the dock as a child.”

From his leaning spot a few strides away, Esumi barked a laugh. I looked up enough to catch a grin on Haru’s lips, too.

“It is settled then. The rogue, his erstwhile companion, a brain-addled fisherman, and a Daimyo ’s son will dine this evening. It sounds like the beginning of a mummer’s farce, which means it should be most enjoyable.”

Haru turned and strode away so quickly he was gone before Kaneko and I could drop to our knees again.

“Mother of seas, what just happened?” I asked. “And was it a blessing or the curse of all curses?”

Kaneko’s shoulder brushed mine as he grunted. “No idea. At least we know one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Given the Prince’s, um, reputation, we’ll have better wine than even your father.”

A breeze carried the sea’s salty tang as it blew through the pavilion, cooling the hundred or so drowning beneath their finest robes and sitting as erect as spines would allow. Father and Uncle Takeo stood at a table positioned one level down from the Emperor’s throne. Beside them was the Dai Shogun and other dignitaries. The Grand Minister of State stood nearest the Emperor’s throne, presumably to relay Heaven’s words should the Emperor wish to speak.

Servants and Samurai lined the perimeter, one group prepared to leap into action to ensure guests were served to perfection, while the other stood ready to defend their Emperor against whatever might come.

Prince Haru’s table was set up on the same level as Father’s but positioned to the Emperor’s right, the place of greater honor given the Prince’s status in the line of succession. I had never felt more out of place in my life, standing behind a high table, looking out at those who helped raise and train me.

And beside me was Kaneko, a commoner, a fisherman who was kept out of our castle as often as he was let in. I had to loan him another set of clothes so he wouldn’t offend the court by wearing the same thing he’d donned during the Emperor’s audience.

It felt odd, having him by my side at a formal function. Normally, ritual dictated I sit by Father, attend his words, heed his commands. Kaneko’s presence was—well, I didn’t know what it was. Comforting? That wasn’t the right word, though I did feel a certain comfort knowing his shoulder brushed mine.

Only then did I realize our shoulders were brushing. I jerked away.

Kaneko looked sideways, his gaze giving nothing away, before returning his stare to the opposite side of our table.

The whole dinner was disconcerting. Between the Emperor’s presence, his ominous request—command, really—and being seated just below His Divine Majesty at his son’s table, I barely knew what protocol to follow. There was no ritual for any of this.

I was a fish floundering on sand.

Even Father’s place was subordinate to ours, for the gods’ sake.

How had any of this happened?

“How long will they be? They know we’re standing here, right?” Kaneko whispered, careful to avoid moving his head or lips. “The least they could do is let us sit while we wait.”

“Shh,” I hissed. “Royals come when they come.”

As if beckoned, a gong sounded, and I could feel the Samurai guarding the tent stiffen.

“I think my butthole just puckered,” Kaneko whispered.

“Shh!” I hissed, desperate to not laugh.

A herald barked, “Esumi- san , Samurai of Akira Han .”

From the corner nearest our table, Esumi, the man I’d seen by Prince Haru’s side virtually everywhere he went, entered. I hadn’t paid him much attention until that moment, but something about the way he strode into the pavilion drew my eye.

Esumi was not the kind of man who commanded attention like Haru or his divine father; yet somehow, his presence lingered just at the edges of notice. He carried himself with the quiet ease of a shadow, never stiff, never rushed, always moving, as if the world would bend to make space for him.

His face, smooth but sharp-boned, held the kind of beauty that was rarely spoken of in men—too refined to be called handsome, too sharp to be delicate. His jawline was a sculptor’s finest cut, his cheekbones high and pronounced, carved from the same stone as the statues guarding the palace gates. And yet, there was a softness to him, something disarming in the way the corners of his lips twitched when amused, a smirk that never fully formed into a smile but always threatened one.

His hair, black as lacquered ink, was pulled into a tight topknot, not a strand out of place, and his eyes, dark and narrow, carried the weight of knowing too much, seeing too far. In the torchlight, they flickered like polished obsidian.

He was lean, his frame neither broad nor imposing, but there was a strength in him—not the kind measured in bulk and weight, but in precision. Esumi wasted no movement. His was the body of a man who understood the art of stepping where others stumbled and striking only when it mattered. His was a swordsman’s restraint, a thief’s grace.

And yet, beneath his discipline, there was an energy to him, a restless undercurrent that made me think when duty and caution fell away, his true self would emerge in laughter and teasing banter.

“Yoshi- san ,” Esumi said, bowing as he reached our table. Then, turning toward Kaneko, he offered a shallow nod. “Kaneko- san .”

As we returned his bows, the gong sounded again.

“His Imperial Highness,” the herald called. “Third son of the Divine Voice of Heaven, Akira Haru- sama Daiji Ouko .”

The moment Haru appeared in the entrance, every guest, save the Samurai, averted their eyes and dropped to their knees. Once the Prince returned everyone’s bow, the guests rose to their feet to wait on the Emperor’s arrival.

Haru’s outer robe was again the color of the deepest waters, this time embroidered with golden threads in the shape of a dragon coiling around his shoulders and down one sleeve. It was a bold choice, for the dragon was the symbol of the Emperor himself, and while one other living heir stood before Haru, the suggestion of his ascendency lingered in embroidery so fine the dragon seemed to ripple as if alive.

A second layer of white silk peeked out at Haru’s collar and wrists, crisp and unblemished, a reminder of his noble birth. His under-robe was bound at his waist with a broad obi of crimson, woven with interlocking patterns of waves and cherry blossoms—symbols of fleeting beauty and quiet strength, an unusual combination for a warrior prince, one more suited to a courtier than a fighter.

But that was Haru: a man at odds with the path before him.

Haru reached our table, and we repeated the bows we’d performed with Esumi.

Then the gong sounded once. Then again. Then a third time.

“Heaven comes!” a herald cried. “Bow before the Son of Heaven! Make way for His Radiance, Keeper of Eternal Balance, Living Vessel of the Divine!”

Four Imperial Samurai stepped forward, then parted, forming a path where none existed before.

Then Emperor Takashi appeared.

“Akira Takashi- heika Tennō , Emperor of the Mugen Empire, Guardian of the Jade Throne, Lord of the Seas, and Heir to the Will of the Gods, now graces this hall with his presence!”

Everyone, save the Emperor’s personal guards, dropped to their knees and pressed palms and foreheads to the floor.

The air in the massive tent stilled.

Only the distant crash of waves on the shore and the occasional call of gulls broke the silence.

None dared move.

When the Emperor was seated, the Grand Minister said in a cool tone, “Rise and take your place at His Divine Imperial Majesty’s table.”

As one, we stood, bowed toward the Emperor again, then lowered ourselves into a cross-legged position on our cushions.

No one reached for chopsticks or cups.

No one looked aside.

Few dared to breathe.

Then, at last, Emperor Takashi reached forward, gripped his bowl of sake with both hands, raised it toward the assembled guests, and took a sip.

It felt as if the entire world had been caught in amber, unable to think or twitch or move, until some unseen hand pulled a lever, and everything lurched into the motion of normal life.

Servants rushed forward so quickly I thought they might stumble into the tables. Samurai shifted into more comfortable positions, some leaning slightly against polearms. Father smiled at the Dai Shogun and spoke in low tones, while the Grand Minister whispered to the Emperor.

Haru and Esumi each downed their bowls of sake faster than Kaneko or I could sit forward. I caught the Grand Minister giving the Prince a narrowed, annoyed glance. Father followed his gaze and gave me a slight shake of the head, a warning to maintain proper decorum and respect, no matter what the wildcard prince did.

The first wave of food arrived, and, while everyone’s motions remained carefully contained, a low murmur of conversation began to flow throughout the pavilion. Kaneko looked to me. My eyes darted toward Haru, then I shrugged, unsure whether to speak or wait. Protocol dictated no one break the silence until the Prince did so; but with Haru, rules seemed to be more suggestions than laws.

“Speak freely,” Haru said, reading my mind. “We have our own table, far from listening ears and wagging tongues. Let us enjoy our evening together.”

As he watched Haru speak, Esumi’s smile widened and his eyes lit with a flame that outshone the nearby braziers. When the Prince turned to meet his gaze, Esumi’s entire posture melted into what I thought resembled the adoration in Father’s eyes when he looked upon my mother.

It suddenly felt as though Kaneko and I intruded on some private moment.

Kaneko shifted on his cushion.

I sipped sake.

“How long have you two . . . you know?” Haru asked in a low voice, his eyes darting between Kaneko and me.

“Uh, us? You mean Kaneko . . . and me? Um, what?”

“Been together?” Esumi clarified Haru’s question.

“Together?” I repeated stupidly.

Kaneko sputtered, “We, uh, have been friends since childhood. We spar and train and do friend stuff, you know, like friends do.”

Haru’s laugh was as immediate as it was infectious. Hearing it felt like the first rays of a warm sun on a winter’s day. I wanted Haru to laugh until he could hold no more breath, to hear his joy until I took my last.

How could any sound be so overwhelming, so enveloping?

And yet, despite his siren’s song, the Prince had asked an entirely inappropriate question at a banquet honoring his father, the Emperor. There was no right place to set my foot, no correct path to walk or proper answer to give. To refuse an answer was insolence. To reply to such . . . whatever it was . . . would be—well, I wasn’t sure what it would be, but it felt improper, too.

Hells, I didn’t even know my own heart, much less how to express it to another.

Esumi leaned toward me in a complete breach of etiquette and whispered, “You are together , are you not?”

Kaneko and I exchanged a panicked glance, then in unison shook our heads and said, “Absolutely not.”Esumi sat back, his own laughter adding harmony to Haru’s melody. They shared a grin, then resumed eating, as though nothing awkward had just been asked.

I suddenly felt the urge to check my small clothes for accidents.

From the look on Kaneko’s face, he was taking the same self-inventory.

And yet, when he turned a nervous glance my way, his gaze lingered a moment longer than . . . than . . . holy Mother, I didn’t know.

As I was dreaming of ways to run from the banquet without causing an Empire-threatening incident, a voice, the sound of wheels on gravel or the grinding of gears, crept into my mind.

“Yoshi,” the voice whispered.

My head whipped around.

Kaneko’s brow furrowed.

Both Haru and Esumi stared.

Those at Father’s table were lost in conversation, and the Emperor looked like he was half asleep. Deciding I must’ve been hearing things, I turned back to our table, smiled, and raised my bowl.

“Yoshi, hear me.”

I leaped up so quickly, I nearly overturned our table.

Samurai stationed near the Emperor took a step forward, hands on their hilts.

The Dai Shogun looked up.

Father’s eyes followed.

I scanned the room. No one looked to have spoken. Only those drawn by my movement stared.

I’d heard my name. I was sure of it. Someone had called—

That’s when I saw it.

A bronze-gold mountain resting on the platform behind the Emperor’s throne. The pavilion wall had been lifted enough to allow Nawa, the Emperor’s dragon, to stick her snout inside and rest her head beside the throne. Golden eyes split by black irises stared, unblinking, directly at me .

My blood chilled.

“Hear me, Yoshi. The gods call your name. You must prepare yourself.”

I felt myself falling as darkness wrapped her arms about me and pulled me down.