Chapter 12 #2
“It’s exhausting.” I laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“I want to be like him, and I hate that I want that. I’m relieved I’ll never have to walk in his shoes, and I hate that I’m relieved.
I resent that he’s perfect, and I love him for it anyway.
” I shook my head. “He’s my brother, my hero.
He’s everything I always wished I was and everything I’m glad I’m not. How does anyone untangle that?”
“Maybe you don’t have to.” Kaneko shrugged. “Maybe acknowledging it—and standing beside him—is enough.”
“Maybe.” I grabbed yet another stick. Esumi snatched it from my grip and tossed it aside.
“But I know this—when we get to Bara, when we stand before him, you’ll understand.
Each of you will see it. You won’t be able to miss how he just .
. . commands respect without even trying, how everyone in a room orients toward him like flowers toward the sun. ”
“Back to the original question, tell us about him,” Kaneko said eventually. “Not about how he’s perfect, about who he actually is. The person, not the prince.”
I told them about Kioshi sneaking into my quarters when we were children to teach me the sword forms the masters had shown him that day, about how he used to steal sweets from the kitchen and share them with me when Father said I didn’t deserve any, about the time he got in trouble for teaching me a drinking song he’d learned from the palace guards, one I sung while sitting on Father’s lap during a formal audience.
Kaneko spat tea across the fire, causing it to flare angrily.
“And he has this tell when he’s lying,” I said, a smile blooming.
“His left eye twitches, just a bit; but if you know to look for it, you can always tell when he’s being diplomatic instead of honest.” I grinned.
“Father once asked him if he thought a new minister was competent. Kioshi said yes, but his eye twitched. Father didn’t notice, but I spent the rest of dinner trying not to laugh. The minister was such an idiot.”
“So he’s not actually perfect,” Yoshi said with a smile.
“Oh, he’s still perfect, but he’s my brother, too,” I said. “He gets frustrated when people are deliberately obtuse, he has a terrible singing voice but loves music anyway, and he’s hopeless at calligraphy. Gods, his brushwork looks like a drunk spider got squashed all over the parchment.”
Yoshi covered his mouth with the back of one hand, though I could see his eyes dancing.
“You’re more alike than you think,” Esumi said. “You and your brother.”
“Maybe,” I said, still unwilling to yield too much ground.
“What do you think he’ll do first?” Yoshi asked, bringing us back to the original question. “As Emperor?”
I considered it, pushing past my own complicated feelings to think about what Kioshi would actually do once he wielded ultimate power.
“He’ll try to end the rebellion without more bloodshed.
That’s who he is—a strategist, not a warmonger.
He’ll look for ways to negotiate, to understand why the Asami rebelled in the first place.
” I watched sparks rise from the fire. “If he could have, Father would have crushed them with overwhelming force and called it justice. Kioshi will try to fix whatever broke in the first place.”
“That could be seen as weakness,” Kaneko observed.
“Or wisdom.” I met his eyes. “Kioshi understands the difference between weakness and choosing to not use strength unnecessarily. It’s one of the things that makes him dangerous.
He never wastes force, never acts out of ego or anger.
Everything he does is calculated to achieve the best possible outcome with the least possible cost.”
“You really do worship him,” Yoshi said softly.
“Yeah, I guess I do.” The confession felt easier now, like I’d lanced a wound and could finally breathe.
“I hate it, but I do. He’s everything I wish I was, everything I’ll never be, and I’m .
. .” My voice broke. “I’m so damn proud of him.
How can one person be jealous and proud and resentful and admiring all at once. How is that possible?”
“I think that’s what love looks like,” Esumi said. “When it’s complicated.”
“And messy,” Kaneko added.
“When is it not messy?” Yoshi asked, elbowing Kaneko and earning a chuckle.
“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe it’s just what happens when you spend your whole life in someone’s shadow—you learn to love the darkness while still dreaming of light.”
“Holy hells, he’s getting deep,” Esumi quipped. “We either need more wine or less. I can’t tell which.”
Now it was my turn to throw an elbow. Esumi feigned imbalance, tipping sideways until I reached to steady him, then he shot forward and gave me a peck on the cheek followed by a wink.
I shoved him for good measure, this time actually toppling him to the ground.
Yoshi and Kaneko grinned from across the fire.
“He’ll be a great emperor,” I said finally as Esumi righted himself. “And I’m grateful”—I had to force the words out—“that it’s him and not me, even if part of me is angry about being grateful.”
The fire lost the last of its flames.
Around us, the night deepened, bringing with it the whistle of wind through trees and the distant caw of some night bird. Everything felt heavy, weighted with truths I hadn’t meant to speak aloud.
“I should write to him,” I said, breaking the silence.
“When we reach the next town. I should let him know we’re coming.
I should tell him that . . .” I swallowed hard.
“That I’m proud of him and that he’ll be everything Father should have been.
I should tell him everything and start being the brother he will need once he wears the crown. ”
“You’ve never told him that?” Kaneko asked.
I shook my head. “We don’t really do feelings in my family. We do duty and honor and political alliances.” I shrugged. “But maybe it’s time for all that to change. He should know that his disaster of a younger brother actually believes in him, even if I’m also pathetically jealous.”
“It’s not pathetic,” Yoshi said.
“It feels pathetic, but I’ll write it anyway.” I looked at the dying coals, then at the stars above, then at our small camp. “When we get to Bara, I’ll stand beside him and support him however I can.”
“He’s lucky to have you,” Kaneko said.
“Not really, but I’m what he’s got.” I managed a real smile then. “Come on. We should get some sleep. Tomorrow we ride closer to the heart of my brother’s empire.”
I started banking the fire for the night, watching embers fade. In a week, maybe less, I’d see Kioshi again. I’d stand in his presence and feel that familiar mixture of pride and inadequacy. I’d watch him command rooms and make brilliant decisions and be everything an emperor should be.
And I’d be grateful and jealous and proud and resentful all at once.
Because that’s what it meant to love someone who was better than you in every way that mattered. That’s what it meant to be a brother.
That night, wrapped in blankets beside the banked fire, I let myself imagine our reunion, Kioshi in Imperial regalia, the crown on his head, looking every inch the ruler he was born to be, and me beside him, his little brother, finally accepting my place in his shadow.
It would be enough.
It had to be.
I fell asleep thinking about how I’d spend the rest of my life supporting a man I couldn’t help but worship and envy.
About how much I loved him and couldn’t wait to watch him succeed.