Page 9

Chapter 9

Yoshi

O n the Emperor’s third day in Tooi, His Imperial Majesty’s Grand Minister announced the Divine Will to visit the nearby Ashina Shrine to honor the gods.

Unfortunately, moving a living god from the castle to a shrine some three ri away required monumental planning and effort. Everything the Son of Heaven might need was required to be at hand. It did not matter if he traveled across a room, a town, or a continent. The Emperor’s comfort and harmony were paramount, so his army of attendants kicked their work into a higher gear, one I had never seen in our humble province.

In addition to the carriage in which His Divine Majesty rode, every courtier, guard, soldier, monk, and servant who might attend on the Emperor also made the trek. To add hundreds to an already ridiculous caravan, Anzu Han was also required to attend His Imperial Majesty’s whim en masse. Dozens of house guards flanked Father, Mother, Uncle Takeo, our castellan, and any minimally important lord of our province who happened to be nearby. The net effect of moving half the known universe was born out in a snaking trail of horses and humans that stretched nearly a half ri behind where His Imperial Majesty rode.

Prince Haru and Esumi rode horseback behind the Emperor’s carriage. The Dai Shogun followed, riding alone, while the Grand Minister chose a more traditional palanquin for his transit. Father rode next on horseback, while Mother accepted the Grand Minister’s offer to ride in his servant-carried carriage. I rode behind Father. Kaneko was somewhere in the middle of the caravan, likely wedged between Samurai and house servants.

I didn’t see Nawa walking or flying nearby, though my gaze often strayed to the clouds in search of a bronze-gold blur.

A ri from the shrine, I felt the shift in the air.

It was always this way with the priests’ magic—subtle but undeniable, like stepping into a world still half dreaming. The breeze smelled of wet earth and camellias, the scent so thick it coated my tongue. Birds trilled in a chorus above us, and leaves shimmered with an iridescent glow, bending toward the Emperor as if even the trees themselves knew Divinity himself walked among them.

The shrine loomed ahead. Despite my family’s many visits, the place still stole my breath, as though this visit was yet again my first.

The torii gate at its entrance, freshly painted in a deep crimson hue, stood starkly against the lush emerald of the surrounding forest. Deeply stained wooden beams bore delicate carvings of dragons and sacred sigils, their grooves worn smooth by time and reverence.

The stone steps leading to the shrine were ancient, their surfaces uneven from centuries of footfalls. Moss and small flowering vines crept along the edges, neatly trimmed and shaped by the priests’ diligent efforts, weaving the man-made path seamlessly into the embrace of nature.

Priests in robes of deep green and brown waited at the top of the stairs for the Emperor’s arrival. They dropped to their knees and pressed foreheads to the stones as the procession halted. The only sounds were the rustling of silk and the soft clank of armor as the guards took position.

Emperor Takashi stepped forward, regal as ever in his layered robes of deep gold and blue. Yet, for all his grandeur, he moved without excess, a man aware that each step he took shaped the world before him.

The place felt different than in my previous visits—more alive, more watchful.

The priests moved in a slow, measured rhythm, their hands sweeping in careful gestures as they welcomed the Emperor. Their magic flowed through the land like an unseen river, weaving into the roots of the trees and the veins of the petals that bloomed in response to their presence.

“Our Divine Imperial Lord honors us with his presence,” the head priest intoned, his voice a ripple through the hush. “The gods hear you, Heaven’s Son, as always.”

The Emperor inclined his head, then whispered to the Grand Minister.

“His Divine Majesty will commune with the gods and offer what wisdom they allow,” the Grand Minister relayed.

The priests led the Emperor into the inner sanctum, leaving all of us—including the Grand Minister—to stand outside beneath the unburdened sky. Still, the shrine seemed to listen, every leaf and petal leaning in, a nearby stream whispering its secrets to the rocks below. Even the wind stilled as the Emperor vanished within.

The Grand Minister muttered loud enough for those of us close by to hear, though I doubted his words were for any but his own ears. “I’ve never seen him like this, so . . . moved .”

Now that the Emperor had absented himself from our caravan, I let my gaze take in the full beauty of the shrine and ponder the Minister’s words. Emperor Takashi had surely visited hundreds of sacred places in his lifetime; yet here, at this remote northern shrine, something held him captive. Perhaps it was the way the flowers opened as he passed, how they grew brighter when his gaze fell upon their petals, or how the ancient cypress stood taller, as if drawing strength from his presence. Or perhaps it was the priests’ magic, so interwoven with the land that it made everything feel alive.

But that was ridiculous, too.

The Emperor was magic, if legends could be believed. Why would he be so moved by something as simple as Shinto herbalism?

An hour passed before the Emperor reemerged.

The air coalesced around us, as if the gods had spoken and left their words hanging in the spaces between us. Emperor Takashi stepped forward, but his gaze remained distant, his eyes filled with an odd pearlescence. He cocked his head, and his eyes narrowed.

I knew that look—the Emperor was listening .

But to whom?

No one spoke. No one dared give voice to thoughts without leave from Heaven’s Son while in his presence.

So who spoke? In his mind, no less?

Nawa.

It had to be.

I dared to turn my head, searching the sky and the nearby tree line. There was nothing, save woodland creatures and uncountable birds.

Then I felt the ground shudder.

And again.

Nawa’s glimmering scales appeared around the side of the shrine. She lowered her snout and rested her head on the ground. Takashi smiled, the first sign of pure, uncontained joy I’d seen on our monarch’s face since his arrival. He loved this creature.

Descending the stone stairs, Takashi crossed a gravel path to stand before his bond mate. Their eyes locked, and they stared so long I wondered if either would ever tear themselves away. At last, Takashi reached up and placed a hand on Nawa’s snout. The dragon’s eyes closed, and she gently pressed into his touch.

I had to look away. The moment felt far too intimate, too personal, and no one dared intrude on His Divine Majesty’s space.

Then the Emperor wheeled about, and his eyes locked onto me .

It felt as though a thousand soldiers had pinned me to a wall with spears.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

The Emperor’s gaze was sunlight and moonbeams and the wrath of the ocean, all crashing into my spirit. I felt his presence, not before me but inside my chest, filling my spirit and . . . searching .

The Emperor sought something within me.

By the gods, why? And what did he seek? I was just a boy, almost a man, but still far too young and insignificant to attract a celestial eye. His gaze was a physical weight, fixing me in place and threatening to crush me beneath its might.

My mind spun and thrashed.

Then something flickered over the Emperor’s shoulder, and I caught Nawa’s eyes, golden orbs with their slits of midnight, unblinking, seeking as Takashi did.

Their combined wills drove me to my knees.

Father started for me, reaching out with one hand, but then drew himself upright, as the Emperor had not given him leave to move.

Behind me, Mother gasped.

Silence stretched between heartbeats.

“The Trial of Five Virtues begins at sunrise,” Emperor Takashi declared suddenly. “It will take place beneath the Eye of Heaven.”

Dear spirits of my fathers, the Emperor spoke to everyone—directly!

A murmur swept through those gathered, though no one dared voice their surprise outright.

The Trial of Five Virtues was an annual rite as old as the Empire itself, a test of endurance, wisdom, and spirit meant to forge boys into men. Every village, town, and city crafted their own version. And yet, despite differing regional traditions, each Trial was a celebration where whole towns gathered to honor the boys who would one day lead, the youth who would carry on as the world continued its eternal turning.

Except this time, for my Trial, His Divine Presence, well, he would be present for the event!

The Emperor himself would oversee my Trial.

It was all too much.

The Emperor’s gaze. The priests’ magic. Nawa speaking in my mind.

The world began to spin, and I fought to remain conscious.

The Emperor spoke again, shattering any thought of passing out.

“For the youth of Tooi, both boys and girls,” the Emperor continued, his voice the distant roar of a dragon, “the gods will witness your strength, your wisdom, and your honor. With the Divine Will present, you will prove your honor . . . or you will not return.”

No one spoke. No one dared.

The Emperor’s last words echoed in my mind, “ . . . or you will not return.” The Trial was a celebration, not a battle. Sure, participants faced challenging tests, but none were lethal. The most anticipated part of each Trial was the feast that followed, a time when everyone raised cups and bowls to honor the ascending youth.

Injuries were rare, often the result of a clumsy candidate tripping over his own feet in the forest. The worst one might expect was a hangover following a raucous night of gluttony and drunkenness as the event concluded.

No one had ever died in a Trial.

Then, a shift in the air—a presence pressing against my mind like a shadow slipping over the moon. I lifted my eyes and found Nawa blinking. Her gaze was a forge’s heat, searing through every barrier I possessed.

She was not merely watching me—she was seeing me. Measuring me. Weighing whatever it was she sought in my soul.

I swallowed hard.

The Trial of Five Virtues.

My Trial.

The silence after the Emperor’s proclamation stretched taut like a drawn bowstring. Even the wind seemed to hesitate. My pulse pounded in my ears, an erratic drumbeat against the stillness. Then my brain began working once more, and I thought of others for whom this year meant entering their own Trials: Soga, the son of a farmer whose land stretched across the southern end of Tooi; Niiro, the daughter of the blacksmith who made Father’s swords.

And Kaneko.

Dear gods. Kaneko was of age.

He would face his own Trial this year.

He would either emerge with honor or . . . no! The Emperor couldn’t . . . he wouldn’t . . . not Kaneko.

My hand flew to my throat, begging air to pass into my lungs. I still hadn’t figured out why Kaneko’s touch sent shivers through my body, but I knew, in the marrow of my bones, that seeing him hurt would destroy me. I needed him to be safe, to survive, to thrive.

I should have been worried about my own fate, about the dozen ways things could go wrong, sending me to meet the gods long before my appointed time; but all I could think of was Kaneko, his brilliant eyes and his smile that felt like sunlight streaming through even the darkest clouds. He affected me so deeply, as though a part of him had burrowed beneath my skin and nested within my very essence. Knowing him, being close to him, such that we had been, had changed me in ways I could scarcely grasp. Sitting there, on my knees before the Emperor, his dragon, his court, and my own family, I found myself paralyzed by the thought of losing the one I’d come to trust, the one I hoped to share days with, the one I . . .

My mind refused to complete that thought. It refused to acknowledge or admit whatever fiendish hope it sought to plant in my conscious mind.

My mind refused . . . and yet I felt it still.

I felt it all.

And I knew.

The shrine spun again, forcing me to brace myself against the cold, mossy stones.

At a gesture from the Grand Minister, the priests lurched into action, their murmured prayers filling the air like the whisper of leaves in autumn. They would make the proper preparations, calling upon the gods to witness the Trials, to bless—or curse—those who stepped forward.

Nawa’s gaze remained fixed.

It was a strange thing, to be watched by a creature so ancient and powerful. She was not simply observing. She was assessing, judging. Always judging.

I knew better than to make direct eye contact, but I couldn’t look away.

The Emperor turned, the head priest lowered himself to his knees, and with one final gesture, His Divine Majesty led our procession back toward Tooi.