Chapter 1
Haru
Five years ago
Apack of half-drunken men howled as I held the dice high above my head. I spun them around my fingers, like some mummer about to perform a trick, then hurled them across the table. Everyone leaned closer, watching as two six-sided ivory dice danced across rough wood.
“Chō!” some yelled.
Others shouted, “Han!” in reply.
When the dice settled on five and four, those who’d chanted “han” cheered and banged fists on the table. The dealer gathered the dice, paid out coins to the winners, and cleared the board of lost bets.
My nineteen-year-old grin widened as I guzzled wine from a cup in one hand and grabbed a pouch of coins from the dealer with the other. I’d won a year’s worth of wages for any farmer or fisherman—and had drunk nearly my weight in sake.
Here, in the smoky bowels of the Crippled Crab, no one knew me as the Emperor’s third son. No one expected me to sit through endless councils debating whether the rebellion would turn from bitter words to bloodshed. No one chided me for my irreverent tongue or youthful indiscretions.
“Kanpai!” I shouted, raising my empty cup, and the crowd echoed my toast as the serving maids rushed to fill everyone’s cups. I grabbed a handful of coins and tossed them into a bowl carried by one of the servers, and the men’s roar swelled.
Wine burned away the memory of my father’s hollow stare.
You are only my third son, Father had said, his voice flat as winter stone. Leave strategy to those who understand it.
I was loath to admit it, but Father’s words still stung.
“Mask!” a man called from the back of the pack.
My head swam upward as my eyes searched for the voice.
Through the haze of alcohol and pipe smoke, I glimpsed movement near the room’s edge—a figure in a bronze lion mask who’d been watching me all evening.
The man hadn’t stared like the others who recognized wealth when they saw it; he’d simply observed.
The way palace guards watched my every twitch.
The Crippled Crab was the capital’s most notorious gambling den and pleasure house, boasting a wide menu of men, women, and every form of forbidden entertainment one could imagine—and a few I found unimaginable.
It was exactly the sort of place that would horrify my father’s Grand Minister and send my tutors into apoplectic fits.
Which made it perfect, a home away from home for a wayward, irrelevant prince.
Guests in the Crab commonly wore an eyepatch or mask, giving the place a festive air and protecting the privacy of its patrons.
Most were little more than scarves with roughly cut eye holes, though some chose elaborate ceramic masks depicting an angry god or snarling beast. I opted for a simple cloth covering that tied about my head and draped down my neck.
“Take off your mask. Let us see who wins everything this night.” The persistent voice carried an edge.
I bristled. The last thing I wanted was to be recognized—to be seen.
“Mask!” the voice cried out again, this time joined by a few others.
I laughed and held up both palms, but others took up the chant. “Mask, mask, mask” rang through the gambling hall.
I grabbed my purse, tucked it into my sash, and tried to turn, but drunkenness and a room filled with furniture didn’t mix well, sending me toppling.
My purse slipped out, and coins scattered across the sticky floor.
In a blink, every gambler in the place crawled on hands and knees, scooping coins and cheering their good fortune.
I tried to fend them off, but none wished to help the hapless drunk who’d spilled his winnings.
“Stop. Give that back,” I shouted.
Someone laughed.
Another shoved me in the back.
I fell into the table, then tumbled into several others who were scurrying across the floor.
A large, shirtless man with angry tattoos shoved upward, sending me sailing into another group.
The race for coins devolved into a brawl, and most of the mob’s anger turned against me. Three men landed punches before I was able to free myself from the mass and press my back against a wall. I dodged another punch, then slammed my fist into the belly of a slender man wearing a crimson scarf.
I tried to slip out when the slender demon doubled over, but three more stood in my path.
“Got him!” one yelled.
Others rose and joined the trio blocking my way.
“Gods, where are the guards when you need them?” I muttered to myself.
Then I realized—palace guards would be worse than angry gamblers. If word reached Father that his third son had been found drunk and brawling in a pleasure house . . . again . . .
A loud whack turned everyone’s heads, and a burly member of the mob crumpled.
A second whack, then a third.
The ring surrounding me thinned.
“Go! That way!” The bronze lion materialized beside me, pointing toward a side door with one hand while the other gripped the broken and bloodied leg of a chair. “I’ll hold them off. Get out of here.”
The voice was younger than I had expected, cultured despite our surroundings.
I bolted through the hall and out the door.
Men avoiding the melee milled about, still drunk and dazed. None seemed to notice me as I slinked against the building and down a darkened alley to hide behind several casks.
The clamor inside the gambling house sounded like war had returned to the mainland.
I nearly jumped from behind the barrels as furniture slammed against the nearby wall. Twice, men emerged, angry and calling for others to help them find “the cheater in the rag.”
I thought my escape had sobered me up, but after thirty minutes of hiding, the sake won the battle with my waking mind, and I drifted into a fitful sleep.
“Gods, you stink,” I heard through a half-awake daze.
“Wha—? Jus let me sleep, a-right?” I stammered.
“Listen, most everyone’s gone, but the three who started the fight are still looking for you. We’ve got to get out of here.”
I shook my bleary head and dared a peek. It was dark in the alley, but moonlight caught the bronze gleam of the lion mask.
“What the—” I startled and shoved myself back against the wall.
“Easy,” the lion laughed through a whisper. “I’m going to get you out of here. Just—”
“I don’t know you. Where’s the guard?”
“Guard?” The lion’s head cocked. “The city watch isn’t here. They wouldn’t help us out of a fight in any case, but I will.”
Something in the man’s tone made me look closer. The stranger moved with the fluid grace of someone trained in combat. He positioned himself to watch both ends of the alley simultaneously.
“You’ve been watching me,” I said, some clarity cutting through the wine fog. “All night. Why?”
The lion went still. “Put your arm over my shoulder, and let’s go.”
“Answer me first. Are you palace guard? Or a spy?”
A laugh, genuine and surprised. “Nothing so dramatic. I followed you because—” The lion reached down and grabbed my wrist, pulling my limp body over his shoulder.
“Because someone needed to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed in a place like this.
Hells, did you drink all the wine they had? You reek.”
“I was t’irsty.” I belched.
And drowning, I didn’t add.
“Right. No more talking. I might die from your breath before we get out of here.”
Without another word, the lion hauled me to my feet and dragged me down the street. I tried to walk on my own but stumbled and slammed into the side of a building. We made it three blocks before I could totter forward with only a little support.
The stranger’s voice carried the accent of the noble districts, his movements spoke of formal training, and his presence at the Crab suggested someone comfortable operating outside of official channels.
He appeared to be the kind of person who might have reasons to track wayward princes.
But what kind of man did that make him?
A quarter hour later, we entered a shop whose sign bore no lettering, only the carved image of a white-painted bowl.
“Where are we?” I asked as I scanned a room filled with shelves covered in plates, bowls, and cups of every shape and color. The craftsmanship was exquisite—too fine for common trade. “Please don’t fill one of those. I can’t—my head can’t—”
“No more sake for you tonight.” The lion laughed as he lowered me onto a cushion on the floor. “This is my grandmother’s shop. She’s . . . traveling . . . and won’t be back for some time.”
The pause was careful and practiced.
Another lie, then, or at least not the whole truth.
I crossed my legs, then leaned forward and planted my elbows on my knees and held my head. I groaned and tore the cloth from my face.
A gasp from my unknown companion lifted my eyes.
“My prince,” the lion said, dropping to his knees and pressing his masked forehead to the floor.
So much for anonymity.
“Please, stop that. You saved my ass. I think we’re well past courtly niceties.” I rubbed my aching temples. “And take off that mask before I think lions actually roam the streets of Bara.”
The man straightened, and the lion vanished.
The face of a young man little older than my own twenty-some years peered back.
Beneath a patchwork of bruises and scrapes, I saw smooth skin and an angular jaw. The man’s hair was pulled back in a tight, perfectly tied topknot, giving his near-feminine features a proud form.
The lion-turned-man grinned. “Your ass needed some serious saving, that’s for sure.”
I tried to stand but wobbled as I grasped for the nearby wall. The man’s arm was beneath me in a flash. “Please, Highness, let me help you.”
“No more of that ‘Highness’ shite, all right. My name is Haru, nothing else.”
Once I could manage standing on my own, the man took a step back and bowed low again.
“I am Esumi, Your—Haru-sama,” Esumi said, unable to resist the ingrained need to attach a nearly-deific honorific to my name.
I started to protest the show of extreme reverence but stilled my tongue when I noticed a hint of a smirk at the corner of Esumi’s mouth. My rescuer was mocking his own formality even as he performed it.