Chapter 13
Haru
It took three days of riding for me to finally begin to relax.
That should have been my first warning.
The trip had been mercifully boring. Autumn painted the hillsides in shades of rust and gold, farmers worked their fields with steady rhythms unchanged by distant wars, and twice we’d even stopped at small villages where the innkeepers bowed and brought us their best food without asking questions.
If I didn’t think too hard about where we were going or why, I could almost pretend this was a grand adventure with companions I trusted and the open road stretching before us.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Esumi observed from beside me.
“What thing?”
He smirked and flicked his hair back. “The one where you forget to frown for five whole seconds. It’s deeply concerning.”
“I’m allowed moments of not-misery.”
“Are you?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Because you’ve been very committed to misery for three days straight. I was starting to worry you’d forgotten how to smile.”
“I haven’t forgotten. I’m just conserving energy.”
“For what? The performance of Imperial grief when we reach Bara?”
“For not strangling you when you get too clever.”
His grin was unrepentant.
Behind us, I heard Kaneko murmur something to Yoshi that made the younger man laugh—an actual genuine laugh that echoed across the empty road.
Giichi rode at the front of our formation with three of the Samurai. The other three followed at the rear, their vigilance constant but unobtrusive. So far, the greatest danger we’d faced was when Yoshi’s horse spooked at a rabbit and nearly threw him into a ditch.
“I think we might actually make it to Heiwa without incident,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Maybe the gods are feeling generous.”
“Or maybe they’re saving the worst for when you’ve let your guard down,” Kaneko replied, earning a chuckle from Yoshi.
“Thank you for that comforting thought. I suddenly miss the days when you two were terrified of my royal wrath.”
“We are here to serve, Your Most Holy and Divine Highness.” Kaneko bowed awkwardly in his saddle. “And, forgive this one, but your royal wrath was never really a thing.”
Yoshi, the traitorous boy, nodded and shrugged.
“What?” I glared, trying to look as stern as, well, an emperor. “I am truly terrible when angered. You should fear my wrath!”
“You’re insufferable, you mean,” Esumi joined the fray.
“That, too,” Kaneko agreed.
“I should have you all beheaded or flogged or at least starved of dinner. I will have your desserts!”
“Yes, Most Exalted One. Excellent options. Starve children so the people may know your grace and favor,” Esumi snarked.
We crested a hill, and the road ahead curved through a thick stand of pines, their branches creating a tunnel of green-filtered sunlight. They were beautiful, in a wild sort of way, the kind of place artists sketched and poets wrote about.
Also, I realized with creeping dread, it was the perfect place for an ambush.
“Giichi,” I called, urging my horse forward. “Maybe we should—”
Wsht.
His horse screamed.
An arrow sprouted from its neck, and the animal went down hard, throwing Giichi sideways. The old monk hit the ground rolling, his hand already reaching for the staff strapped to his saddle.
“Shields!” one of the other monks shouted.
Wsht.
Time slowed, the way it always did when my gift activated without conscious thought. I saw the second arrow arcing through the air toward Giichi’s head, saw the monk too far away to intercept, saw exactly where I needed to be.
I was there before my mind caught up, my hand closing around the arrow mid-flight. The shaft vibrated in my grip, the force of it nearly breaking my fingers.
Wsht. Wsht. Wsht.
“Get down!” I yanked Giichi behind my horse as more arrows whistled from the trees.
Chaos exploded around us.
The Samurai formed a defensive circle, but we were in the open, exposed, and our attackers held the high ground in the forest on both sides.
“How many?” Esumi appeared at my side, his katana already drawn, eyes scanning the tree line with cold calculation.
“I can’t tell. At least six on each side, maybe more.”
Wsht.
An arrow took one of the Samurai in the shoulder. He grunted but held his position, shoving his shield higher.
“They’re trying to pin us,” Kaneko said, suddenly beside us, his face calm in a way that confirmed my suspicions about his hidden training. “Keep us bunched up for—”
A black-clad figure dropped from the trees.
Then another.
Then six more, landing in a circle around us with lethal grace.
Ninja.
“Bloody hell,” Esumi said, falling into a fighting stance. “I take back what I said about the gods being generous.”
“Noted.” I reached for the sword at my belt, but Giichi caught my arm.
“Prince Haru-sama, you must flee. If you die here—”
“I’m not leaving anyone behind.”
“Your life is worth more than ours—”
The nearest ninja attacked, cutting off the monk’s protest.
Everything happened at once.
The Samurai with the arrow in his shoulder intercepted the blade meant for Giichi, his staff blocking the strike with a crack of wood on steel. Two more ninja converged on Esumi, who met them with a smile that was all teeth and no humor.
I caught movement in my peripheral vision—one heading for Yoshi, who stood frozen in terror, his gift simmering just below the surface but not activating when he needed it most.
There was no time for thought.
I moved, my gift burning through my muscles, and I was there between the ninja and Yoshi, my blade singing as it met the assassin’s katana. The impact jarred my arm, but I held firm, spun, and drove my elbow into his masked face.
The ninja staggered back as something metallic glinted in his other hand.
“DOWN!” Kaneko’s voice, sharp with command.
I dropped without thinking.
A silver blur whistled over my head and buried itself in the ninja’s throat.
He fell with a sickening gurgle.
I spun to thank Kaneko, but he was already moving, two more stars flying from his hands toward targets I hadn’t even seen. I hadn’t even known he carried stars.
Both his strikes found their marks with deadly precision.
“Where did you learn that?” Yoshi demanded, staring at him.
“Later!” Kaneko grabbed Yoshi’s arm. “Can you use your speed?”
“I—I don’t know. I can’t control—”
“You can! Do it, now!” Kaneko shoved a sword into his hands. “They’re trying to kill us. Figure it out.”
Something hardened in Yoshi’s eyes.
A scream drew my attention back to the main fight.
Two Samurai were down, their blood darkening the dirt road.
Esumi fought three ninja at once, his blade a blur of motion, but even he couldn’t maintain that pace forever.
“To me!” Giichi bellowed, rallying the remaining Samurai into a tighter formation. “Protect the Prince!”
“Curse protecting me,” I snarled, my gift surging hot and ready. “Protect each other.”
I let myself go.
The world blurred into fragments of motion—strike here, block there, move before the blade falls, feel the pattern of the fight and slip between the gaps. My father’s gift—his dragon’s blessing—was finally useful for something more than training demonstrations.
I took down two ninja before they realized I was among them.
A third barely got his guard up in time, but my blade found the gap in his armor anyway.
He fell clutching his side.
“Behind you!” Esumi’s warning.
I spun, saw the blade coming, knew I couldn’t dodge in time—
Yoshi appeared between us, moving so fast he left afterimages.
His sword caught the ninja’s strike, but the force of it sent him tumbling. He rolled, came up swinging wildly, his speed uncontrolled but effective.
The ninja couldn’t predict movements that chaotic.
Within seconds, Yoshi had driven him back, his blade finding flesh more by luck than skill.
“I’m doing it!” Yoshi shouted, more surprised than triumphant. “I’m actually—”
His celebration cost him.
Another ninja materialized behind him, blade raised for a killing blow.
There was no time to reach him.
No time to shout warning.
I threw my sword.
The blade spun end over end and took the ninja in the chest. He collapsed backward, my sword embedded to the hilt.
Yoshi whirled, saw the body, and understood how close he’d come to death. His eyes found mine across the chaos, wide and grateful and terrified.
“Focus!” I snapped, drawing the tanto from my belt. The short blade wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.
The fight ground on—minutes felt like hours, heartbeats stretched into eternities.
My muscles screamed, my lungs burned, and still the ninja kept coming.
Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over.
The last attacker fell to Giichi’s staff, his head making a sickening crunch as it connected. The old monk stood panting over the body, his robes splattered with blood.
“Status,” Esumi called out, his voice steady despite the cut bleeding down his left arm.
“Two dead,” one of the remaining Samurai reported, kneeling beside his fallen brothers. “Three wounded, one seriously.”
I did a quick count. The four survivors all bore injuries, though most looked superficial. Giichi himself had a gash across his ribs that he was trying to hide behind his robes.
“Let me see that,” I ordered, moving to his side.
“I am fine, Prince Haru-sama—”
“Don’t argue with me. Not today.” My voice came out harsher than intended, but I was done with people dying around me.
I examined the wound. It was deep, but not fatal if we could get it cleaned and bound. “Esumi, medical supplies. Now!”
“Already on it.”
Kaneko checked the fallen attackers, pulling back their masks to reveal faces I didn’t recognize. They were all young, too well trained to be common bandits.
“Ninja, just as I thought,” he said quietly.
“How do you know that?” Yoshi asked.
Kaneko didn’t answer, just moved to the next body.
I finished binding Giichi’s ribs and turned to assess our situation. We’d won, if you could call it winning. Two men lay dead, everyone else was injured to varying degrees, and our horses were scattered or slaughtered.
“We need to move,” I said. “More could be coming.”
“Heiwa is less than one ri north,” Giichi said through gritted teeth. “We can make it on foot if we move quickly.”
“What about them?” One of the Samurai gestured to the bodies—fallen attackers and our own dead.
I looked down on the warriors who’d died protecting me.
They, too, were young men, barely older than Yoshi.
They’d volunteered to escort a prince they barely knew.
They were men with families, probably, parents who would never see them again, brothers, sisters, lovers who would wait for someone who would never come home.
Like my father, whom I would never see again.
“We honor them,” I said firmly. “We carry our own. And we . . .” I looked at the ninja corpses. “We leave theirs for the crows.”
Giichi nodded approval. “It will slow us.”
“I don’t care. We’re not leaving them in the road like refuse.”
It took nearly an hour to bandage the living, gather the dead, fashion makeshift stretchers, and collect what we could salvage.
My fingers shook as I helped wrap the fallen Samurai, their faces peaceful in death in a way that made my throat tight.
One of them had been humming that morning while he saddled his horse.
The other had shared his water when mine ran out.
Now they were little more than cold flesh and empty eyes.
“You did well,” Esumi said quietly, appearing at my side. His sleeve was torn where he’d wrapped his own wound, blood seeping through the makeshift bandage.
“Two men are dead because of me.”
“Two men died protecting the Imperial bloodline because that’s what they swore to do. You didn’t kill them. The assassins did.”
“Semantics.”
“Truth.” He caught my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “You saved Yoshi’s life. And mine, too, probably. You fought like the warrior your father always knew you could be. He would be proud.”
“He would be alive if I hadn’t—”
“Stop.” His voice went hard. “Don’t you dare make his death about your guilt. He was murdered by enemies of the Empire, not by you existing.”
I wanted to argue, but Kaneko called out that we were ready to move.
We limped north like the wounded remnants of a defeated army, which I supposed we were. The Samurai took turns carrying the bodies. Yoshi and I supported Giichi between us, the old monk refusing to admit how much pain he was in.
“You moved well,” he said after a while, his voice rough. “Your father’s gift, yes?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Emperor Takashi could not control it until he reached his twentieth year. You are, what, twenty-two?”
“Twenty-four.”
“And already you move between moments like smoke. Remarkable.” He smiled through his obvious pain. “He would have loved to see it. He would have been very proud.”
Everyone kept saying those words. Why did they not make anything hurt less?
By the time Heiwa’s walls appeared on the horizon, we were all stumbling with exhaustion. The sun had set, painting the sky in shades of blood and fire that felt too appropriate for the day we’d had.
“Halt!” Guards appeared on the walls, torches blazing. “State your business!”
Giichi tried to call up to them, but his voice cracked, so I stepped forward instead.
“I am Akira Haru, third son of Akira Takashi-sama Tennō, the Son of Heaven. We were attacked on the road and carry wounded and dead. By Imperial decree, we request sanctuary.”
The guards disappeared.
For a long, terrible moment, I thought they might refuse us.
Then the gates groaned open, and a flood of soldiers poured out, led by a figure I recognized even in the dim light.
“Prince Haru-sama.” Yumi Kon Daimyo bowed deeply, his face stricken. “Gods above, what happened?”
“Ninja,” I said flatly. “At least twelve, maybe more. They knew exactly where we’d be.”
Kon’s jaw tightened. “Get the wounded inside. Priests, now! And someone find rooms for the Prince and his companions.”
Hands reached for us, voices called orders, and suddenly we were being swept through the gates into Heiwa’s protective embrace. The last thing I saw before the courtyard swallowed us was Esumi’s face, pale with blood loss but determined.
“Stay with me,” I told him.
“Always,” he replied.
Then the chaos consumed us, and there was nothing to do but surrender to it.