Chapter 14
Haru
“Hold still,” I snapped, my hands shaking as I tried to thread the needle the Shinto priest had given me. The priest had offered to tend to Esumi’s wounds, but something inside me refused to let anyone else patch him up.
“I am holding still. You’re the one trembling like a virgin on her wedding night.”
“I swear to all the gods, if you don’t shut up—”
“You’ll what? Stab me? Someone already did that.” He hissed as I finally managed to press the needle through his skin, drawing the edges of the wound closed. “Though I’ll admit, they had better technique.”
“Gods, I hate you,” I muttered.
“No, you don’t.”
And he was right, damn him.
I could never hate him.
I loved him so much it made my chest ache. His wounds were minor, barely a deep cut, but the sight of his blood on my hands made something primal and terrified claw at my insides.
“The priest offered to do this,” I reminded him through clenched teeth. “I don’t know why I didn’t just let him.”
Esumi winced as the needle dug into his skin. “The priest has twelve other wounded to tend. I’ll survive a few stitches from my beloved prince.”
“Your beloved prince has never done this before.”
“First time for everything.” He managed a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
I wanted to throw something at him. Instead, I focused on the next stitch, trying to ignore how his muscles tensed beneath my fingers, and how his breathing went shallow with each pull of thread through flesh.
We sat in a small room deep in Heiwa’s castle, far from the main halls where Kon’s servants were preparing chambers “appropriate to my station.” I’d refused them all and demanded something simple and private, somewhere I could tend to Esumi without an audience of nobles clucking like restless hens.
“How is Giichi?” Esumi asked, probably trying to distract himself from the pain.
“Stable. The priests say his wound was clean and should heal without complications if it doesn’t go sour.” I tied off another stitch. “He’s already asking when we can continue to Bara.”
“Stubborn old bastard.”
“Takes one to know one.” I grinned and stabbed him again.
“Fair point.”
I worked in silence for a while, the only sounds the whisper of thread and Esumi’s carefully controlled breathing.
My mind kept replaying the fight. I could see the arrows, the blood, and the moment I’d watched the blade descending toward Yoshi.
I remembered the terror that shot through me as I realized I might not reach him in time.
“You saved his life,” Esumi said, reading my thoughts as always. “That throw was impossible, and you made it anyway.”
“I got lucky. We both did.”
“Gods’ blessed skill is more like it.” His good hand found my knee, squeezed gently. “Stop torturing yourself over things that didn’t happen and focus on what did—we survived. All of us who matter made it through.”
“All of us who matter?” I looked up sharply. “Two Samurai are dead, Esumi. They were good men who were only there because of me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like . . . I know.
It’s terrible, and you’ll carry that weight because you’re not a monster.
” He held my gaze. “But if you let that weight crush you, if you start believing you’re responsible for every death that happens in your proximity, you’ll be useless when the Empire really needs you. ”
“The Empire doesn’t—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” His voice turned.
“Don’t say the Empire doesn’t need you, not after today, not after you fought like one of the heroes of old and saved lives with every stroke of your blade.
You want to honor those dead soldiers? You live and lead. Become someone worth dying for.”
His words were daggers in my gut, each one finding a mark I didn’t know I’d left undefended.
“I don’t know how to be that person,” I said, pausing and looking away.
“Then learn. You learned to control your gift. You can learn this, too.”
I tied off the final stitch and sat back, surveying my work. It wasn’t pretty, but it would hold. The priests could check it later, make sure I hadn’t botched anything critical.
“There,” I said, reaching for the bandages. “Try not to tear these open before tomorrow.”
“I’ll do my best, though if you keep being sweet to me, I might swoon and undo all your hard work.”
“I’m not being sweet. I’m being practical,” I grumbled.
“You’re holding my hand.”
I looked down. Damn it, he was right—again. My fingers were laced through his, holding on like I was afraid he might disappear if I let go.
“Shut up,” I muttered, but still I didn’t let go.
A soft knock interrupted whatever snip was on his tongue next. I called permission to enter, and Kaneko slipped inside, his clothes still dusty from the road, a cut across his cheekbone that someone had cleaned but not bandaged.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, though his eyes took in our joined hands without comment. A smile curled his lips at the sight. “Kon Daimyo requests your presence when you’re able. He says there are things you need to know before we proceed to Bara.”
My stomach clenched. “What things?”
“He wouldn’t say. Only that it was urgent.”
Esumi squeezed my hand. “Go. I’ll be fine here. The priests will probably want to fuss over me anyway.”
“I can stay—”
“Haru.” He squeezed once more, then freed himself from my grip. “Go be a prince. I’ll be here when you get back.”
I stood, every muscle in my body protesting. The fight had taken more out of me than I’d realized—or maybe it was grief and fear and the weight of everything pressing down so hard I could barely breathe.
Maybe it was everything.
I didn’t know anymore.
“Come on,” Kaneko said gently. “Best not to keep a Daimyo waiting.”
“Kaneko, you forget, the Emperor is the only man alive who I can’t keep waiting.” I gave Kaneko a weak grin and ignored Esumi’s snort as we stepped out of the chamber.
We wove through Heiwa’s corridors, the walls decorated with tapestries depicting the city’s long history. Servants dropped to their knees as we passed. Guards straightened to attention. Minor nobles whispered behind their fans as they bowed low.
Everyone knew who I was.
The third prince.
The one who wasn’t supposed to matter.
Kon waited in his private chamber, a modest room by Imperial standards but still rich with the trappings of power. Screens painted with cranes divided the space, and a low table held sake and two cups.
“Thanks,” I said, turning my head to Kaneko. “I think I should talk with the Daimyo alone.”
Kaneko nodded, offered a bow toward Kon, then left, sliding the door closed behind him.
“Prince Haru-sama.” Kon bowed when my attention returned to him. I repeated the gesture. “Please, sit. You look like you are about to collapse.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are covered in blood, some of it your own, and you have shadows under your eyes that could hide the secrets of nations.” He gestured firmly to the cushions. “Sit.”
Kon poured sake for both of us, the ritual giving me time to gather my thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy with news he clearly didn’t want to relay.
“I am sorry we did not send an escort as you approached. The roads have been dangerous, but I did not think rebels would dare strike so close to Heiwa’s borders.”
“Ninja care little for borders.”
“True enough.” He sipped his sake. “Which brings me to why they attacked. Have you considered that they might not have been there by chance?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Obviously it was planned. They knew our route, our timing, probably our numbers.”
“Yes, which means someone told them everything.” Kon’s eyes held mine. “Someone knew you were leaving Suwa Temple, knew the path you would take, and someone wanted you dead before you reached Bara.”
The implication chilled the sake’s heat.
“Are you saying there is a traitor in the temple?”
“I am only saying that someone, somewhere, has access to information they should not possess, and that makes your journey from here infinitely more dangerous.”
“Do you know anything more about my father’s death?” I set down my cup carefully. “The truth, not whatever official version is being circulated.”
Kon’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Very well, but it is most unpleasant.”
“I expected as much.”
He rose and moved to a cabinet, withdrawing a sealed scroll. “This is what I received from the Dai Shogun. It is more detailed than the report Giichi shared.”
I unfurled the scroll and read.
With each line, my hands grew colder.
Poisoned darts, yes—but more than a few.
Dozens, fired from multiple positions in the Emperor’s own bedchamber.
Whoever had done this had planned meticulously, infiltrating the palace, positioning themselves in the one place my father should have been safest. The guards outside his door had been found with their throats slit, so quietly that no one had heard them die.
The assassins—there had to be more than one—had vanished like smoke, leaving only death behind.
What made my blood truly run cold was the final line:
The darts were tipped with lotus root extract—a poison exclusive to Asami territory.
“Asami Eiko,” I said flatly.
Kon nodded. “The evidence points to her; though whether she ordered it herself or merely provided the means . . .” He shrugged. “I believe she intended to be discovered. Why use poison from a plant found only in her lands if she wished to remain hidden?”
“Right,” was all I could think to say. “Has the palace responded?”
“The Daijokan met within hours of your father’s death. They have declared war on the Asami and all who ally with them.”
War.
Dear gods.
The word rang like a funeral bell.
“Which han? Who is with them?”
Kon’s fingers tapped against his cup. “At present, Asami and Maria, though we expect Kohana may declare for the rebellion soon.”