Chapter 5
Haru
Every muscle in my body ached as Esumi and I finally made our way back to our chambers.
The sun had long since set, painting the mountain peaks beyond our window in shades of indigo and violet.
The temple bells had already rung for evening meditation—which we’d missed again.
The masters would have words for us tomorrow, but tonight I couldn’t bring myself to care.
“I think my bruises have bruises,” I groaned, sliding open the door to our room.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t have insisted on demonstrating the seventh form quite so enthusiastically,” Esumi said, though his own movements were stiff as he followed me inside. “Yoshi needed to see control, not . . . whatever that was.”
“That was artistry,” I argued.
“That was you showing off.”
I moved toward the low door that connected to our private bathing chamber—a luxury afforded to so few at Suwa that I almost felt guilty using it. The door was carved with lotus blossoms, their petals worn smooth by generations of hands.
“Come,” I said, already working at the ties of my training clothes. “Before I collapse where I stand.”
Entering the bathing chamber always felt like stepping into another world.
Steam rose from a stone pool set into the floor as moisture carried the faint scent of minerals and mountain herbs.
Paper screens covered the windows, their frames creating shadows that danced in the lamplight.
The walls were naked stone, worn smooth and dark with age and humidity.
I heard the water before I saw it—a constant trickle that flowed from a carved dragon’s mouth set into the far wall.
The stream ran ice-cold when I tested it with my fingers, fresh from some mountain source beyond the temple’s walls.
Yet somehow, by the time it filled the pool, it steamed with perfect heat.
“I still can’t understand it,” I murmured, kneeling beside the pool’s edge.
The stone was black, polished to a mirror finish, and deep enough that I couldn’t see the bottom even in the lamplight.
“The water enters cold, but the pool is always hot. And where does it drain? It never overflows, yet water constantly flows in.”
“Mahou,” Esumi said simply, setting our clean robes on the wooden bench. “Some mysteries aren’t meant to be solved, only enjoyed.”
I slipped into the water with a groan of pleasure that echoed off the stone. Heat seeped into my bones, unknotting muscles I hadn’t realized remained tense, and steam rose around me like incense smoke. I breathed deeply, feeling the day’s exhaustion beginning to melt away.
“This is almost worth every bruise,” I sighed, sinking deeper until the water lapped at my chin.
Esumi entered the pool with more grace, barely disturbing the surface. The lamplight caught the drops of water on his skin, turning them to amber and gold. He moved toward me. I turned, presenting my back against him without being asked.
His hands were gentle as they worked across my shoulders, kneading the knots from muscles still trembling from exertion. The soft cloth he’d brought was rough enough to clean but soft enough not to irritate the spectacular collection of purple and black painting my torso.
“This one’s turning dark,” he observed, fingers ghosting over my ribs where his bokken had connected during morning practice.
“Whose fault is that?”
“Yours, for dropping your guard.” But as he teased, he pressed his lips to the bruise, his touch so light I might have imagined it. “Though I may have struck a tad harder than necessary.”
The sound of water trickling from the dragon’s mouth provided a constant melody, mixing with our breathing and occasional splashes as we moved.
“Turn,” Esumi commanded, and I obeyed, facing him in the water.
His hands continued their work, carefully around each mark. When he reached a particularly tender spot on my shoulder, he made a sound of sympathy and leaned forward, pressing another kiss . . . then another on my collarbone where a faint purple line marked yet another hit.
“You’re painting me with kisses,” I murmured.
“It’s healing magic,” he replied, lips quirking in that tiny smile I lived for. “Ancient technique. Very secret.”
“Is that what Master Chen taught you?”
“Master Chen taught me many things; but this, I learned on my own.”
The kitchen had given us only cold rice when we’d finally finished with Yoshi, and my stomach chose that moment to voice its complaint. The sound echoed in the chamber, startlingly loud.
Esumi laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Even your stomach has no sense of timing.”
“It’s a family trait.”
We stayed in the pool until our fingers pruned and the lamp oil burned low, casting longer shadows across the walls. The mysterious heat never faded, the water as warm when we finally emerged as when we’d entered.
Back in our chamber, we dried ourselves and collapsed onto our pallet. The mountain air through our window was cold against our heated skin, raising goosebumps along my arms.
Despite my exhaustion, sleep felt distant. I stared at the beams crisscrossing the ceiling with thoughts churning like the streams that fed our mysterious bath.
“What is it?” Esumi asked, turning onto his side and propping himself on an elbow, always attuned to my moods. “I can hear you thinking. It’s distracting.”
“I wish we could stay here forever,” I said quietly, ignoring his jab. “At Suwa. This temple, these mountains, that impossible bath . . . the peace of it all . . . it feels more like home than the palace ever did.”
“Haru—”
“I know,” I cut him off, not wanting to hear talk of privilege and duty, especially from him.
Releasing a deep breath, I went on. “Working with Yoshi today, seeing his potential and helping him discover what he’s capable of—Es, I feel useful, like I have a purpose.
” I turned to face him in the darkness. “Here, I’m not a prince or even much of a royal.
At least, sometimes they let me forget my title.
I’m definitely not a disappointing third son who’ll never measure up to his brothers. ”
“You’re not disappointing,” Esumi said firmly, his hand finding mine. “You’re brilliant and talented and—”
“Es, I’m a spare and you know it,” I cut him off with a bitter laugh.
“Hells, I wasn’t always even a spare. Had my middle brother lived, I would still be the backup to the backup, more of a throwaway than ever.
Father sent me here because he didn’t know what else to do with me.
I was too inconsequential to keep at court but filled with too much Imperial blood to ignore. ”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? Father rules, Kioshi commands armies, and me? I teach children how to hold a bokken and pretend it matters.”
“It does matter. You matter.”
“To you maybe, but to the Empire? I’m furniture with a title. Pretty to look at, occasionally useful for a marriage alliance, but ultimately replaceable.”
“You are pretty,” Esumi grunted a chuckle. He pulled me closer, his arms fierce around me. “And you’re wrong about being useful.”
“Am I? Name one thing I’ve done that actually matters to anyone beyond these walls.”
He was quiet for a moment. I immediately felt vindicated in my self-pity.
Then he spoke, soft but certain. “You are helping Yoshi master a gift that could destroy him. You’re showing him he’s not alone, that he’s not the monster some of those boys think he is.
That matters more than commanding armies. ”
“Right. War is coming, and I’m helping a single boy swing a toy sword.”
“Haru . . .” He seemed to catch himself before settling on a different track. “Yoshi is important. You said so yourself, that you feel something in him, possibly something no one has ever felt before. What if he’s blessed? What if the gods gave him that gift, gave him you, for a reason?”
The gods.
I tried not to laugh.
When was the last time the divine beings who supposedly loved us as children even bothered to show themselves? Hells, when had they last spoken to my father, the supposed link between heaven and the mortal world?
I doubted the gods had anything to do with Yoshi or his magic. They barely had anything to do with any of us.
And yet, there could be no denying that Yoshi was unique.
His powers were . . . unexpected and unexplainable. He had a role to play, though none could fathom what it might be. And I enjoyed being around the boy, helping him discover himself amid this world of darkness and grief.
“We’re on the edge of something with him,” I admitted, allowing the subject to drift. “I can feel it. Something important is happening, but Es, how does he share my gift? We both know that speed, that power—it’s Imperial blood magic. It’s our divine inheritance, and Yoshi is no relation of mine.”
“That’s what you were taught.”
“That’s what Father always said. Only those descended from the gods could carry this power. And yet, there’s Yoshi, a Daimyo’s son from some distant province, moving with the same speed I’ve trained for years to control.”
“Perhaps the bloodlines spread further than the histories claim?”
That was an unsettling thought. “Perhaps.”
But it didn’t feel right.
There was something else, something I was missing. The whole thing felt like trying to see the bottom of that stone pool through steaming water.
“What if everything I’ve been told about our divine nature is wrong?”
Esumi’s voice carried a warning note. “Dangerous words for a prince.”
“Good thing I’m just the spare then. No one expects wisdom from furniture.”
Esumi’s hand found my face in the darkness, his rough thumb tracing my jaw with infinite tenderness. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Diminishing yourself. You’re not furniture. You’re not a spare. You’re Haru, and that’s enough. It’s more than enough.”
“Pretty words,” I huffed, more grumble than laugh.