Chapter 16 Haru
Haru
Icaught myself fidgeting with the stiff collar of my formal kimono and forced my hands back to the armrests of the Jade Throne.
How had Father, the most powerful man alive, worn such a ridiculously uncomfortable, itchy robe? Why would he allow sandpaper to scrape his skin?
The thoughts came unbidden, only a few of the many rocks breaking free, threatening to dislodge the last of my sanity and tranquil composure in a spectacular landslide of an Imperial mental breakdown.
The generals might not have noticed—too absorbed in their debate—but I did.
Every tiny failure of composure felt like a crack in the impenetrable mask everyone expected me to wear.
“—insufficient intelligence from our scouts in the northern territories,” General Tanaka was saying, his weathered face grave.
“The reports we received are contradictory at best. Some claim the rebel forces number no more than five thousand; others say thrice that. We need better information before we commit additional troops to—”
“And while we wait for better information, Asami’s forces grow bolder!
” my uncle, Ryuji Dai Shogun and warlord of all my armies, interrupted, his voice filled with barely controlled frustration.
“They are moving. They are mobilizing. Our scouts report increased activity near the Takayama Pass, with possible additional movements as far south as Temple Momonoi. We cannot afford to sit idle while—”
“Momonoi?” One general’s eyes widened. The temple lay some twenty ri from the border between the Toshi and Asami, at least two days’ ride by swift mount. “So far into Imperial lands?”
“General Endo is already positioned to respond to any northern incursion aimed at the capital,” General Ishida cut in smoothly, his tone measured and diplomatic as always.
“Fifteen thousand soldiers stationed along the Katsura River. Winter’s bite will stop the Asami from crossing the mountains.
Snows already blanket the uppermost peaks.
It will be impossible for even a small party to cross the spine soon.
There is no time for Eiko to cross an army.
Bara remains safe, and we have many months to reinforce our walls—”
“We cannot even secure our supply lines,” Rei, the Chief Samurai, interjected. “The wakō blockade remains in place, and trade from the island provinces has ceased entirely. We lose thousands in tribute and supplies weekly, and our stores cannot survive a winter.”
“The wakō?” Yamada scoffed. “Those sea rats have been raiding our coasts for years. This is no different—”
“No, General Yamada, this is coordinated,” Rei insisted. “The timing is too convenient. The moment Eiko began mobilizing her forces, the wakō moved against Bara in strength. They are cutting off our access to the seas deliberately.”
“Speculation,” Yamada muttered. “We have no proof the rebels and the wakō are working together.”
They were going in circles.
They had been racing in circles for the better part of an hour, and I still had no idea what I was supposed to do about it. Sit there and listen like Father had? Or interject, show leadership, prove I was more than just a boy playing at Emperor?
What would Father do?
The question echoed in my mind for the hundredth time since I had first sat on his throne. Father had made it look so easy, silent and immovable as stone, letting his generals talk themselves out before delivering his verdict.
But Father had spent forty years learning how to rule.
Father had commanded armies in his youth and knew war from the inside.
I had barely commanded the bottom of a bottle of sake without suffering major losses.
My golden kimono suddenly felt too tight, the fabric too heavy. Or maybe that was just the weight of the crown—metaphorical today, since I had opted not to wear the actual piece for a mere council session.
Had that been a mistake?
Would the generals respect me more if I had worn full Imperial regalia?
Or would they see it as a boy dressing up in his father’s clothes?
“Heika.”
So lost in my own ruminations, I almost missed the man addressing me by the honorific reserved only for the Emperor himself, yet another in the myriad of things I would need to accustom myself to in this insane new world.
General Ishida stared, waiting for a response.
All the generals had turned toward me, their debate suspended.
What had he asked?
Something about troop deployments, about whether to consolidate or divide our forces.
They were asking me to decide about something important, and I had been too lost in my own spiraling doubts to even hear the question properly.
“I . . .” My voice came out uncertain, and I hated the sound of it. “What is the Dai Shogun’s assessment of—”
The doors burst open.
The crack of wood against stone echoed through the chamber like a thunderclap.
Every head whipped toward the entrance, where a man in tattered battle clothing stumbled through, supported by two guards who looked absolutely terrified at what they had just done—interrupted an Imperial war council, disturbed the Emperor himself.
The messenger’s armor was splattered with mud and what looked like the dried blackness of death itself. His face was ashen, his eyes wide and haunted. The man had ridden hard—hard enough to nearly kill his horse, judging by the state of him.
“Heika—” one of the guards began, his voice shaking. “Forgive the intrusion, but he insisted—said it could not wait—”
“Yubi,” the messenger gasped out, not waiting for the formalities of court. He swayed on his feet before falling to his knees and pressing his forehead to the cold stone of the chamber. “Yubi has fallen.”
The hall went absolutely still.
Yubi.
The eastern fortress city, guardian of the coastal provinces, largest and most important of the Toshi lands.
Their capital.
Her walls were thirty feet high, and she boasted a garrison of nearly ten thousand.
“What?” Rei’s voice was barely a whisper.
The messenger chanced a glance upward—at the Dai Shogun, never at me, never at the Jade Throne.
“Heika,” the messenger said. “This one brings word from the eastern provinces. Yubi has fallen to the Asami. The city burns. Daiki Daimyo is . . . The Lord of Toshi Han is dead.”
No, that could not be right.
Daiki commanded ten thousand men behind walls that had never been breached, not in three hundred years.
“How?” General Tanaka’s voice cut through my shock. He had stepped forward without my permission, but I couldn’t bring myself to care about protocol in that moment. “The Toshi had the men, the walls, the supplies. How did they—”
“Siege engines,” the messenger said, his words tumbling out in a desperate rush.
His eyes remaining low but drifted toward the throne.
“Dozens of them, Heika. They came out of the forests at dawn five days ago. Worse, the wakō began blockading the harbor a week before the attack. We thought they were raiders at first, but they were keeping us trapped, keeping reinforcements from arriving by sea.”
“A coordinated assault,” Rei breathed. “The wakō are working with the rebels. There can be no further doubt.”
“They attacked at dawn,” the messenger continued. “Hit three sections of wall simultaneously. They were against the ramparts before Daiki-sama Daimyo could fully mobilize the defense.”
“How many?” Ishida’s face had gone pale.
“Our generals count fifteen thousand at least, maybe twenty. It was an army, Heika, not scattered rebel bands—a huge army.” The messenger’s hands were shaking now. “Lord Daiki-sama fought. He held the inner keep for many hours after the walls fell, but the Asami had the numbers.”
Our eastern stronghold was gone.
“And what of Daiki-sama? Was he captured, or did he flee?” Nakamura asked quietly.
The messenger’s face twisted with something between grief and rage.
“When it was clear the keep would fall, Daiki-sama Daimyo surrendered himself and attempted to negotiate terms. He sought to spare civilians, to arrange safe passage for women and children. He . . .” The messenger’s voice broke.
“Asami Eiko-sama Daimyo met him in the courtyard herself. She listened to his terms, then she executed him in front of his retainers. She made everyone watch. Then she ordered his head salted and sent to . . . to Bara.”
“She murdered a Daimyo?” Grand Minister Satoshi’s voice was nearly a shout. “A lord who attempted honorable surrender? She did not even offer him seppuku?”
The messenger’s head snapped up. “She did, even tossed him a blade, but did not wait long enough for him to accept it.”
“That woman makes a mockery of everything,” Rei said, his normally steady voice shaking with rage. “To execute a Daimyo attempting to surrender, to take his family hostage—this cannot stand, Heika.”
“What of his wife?” Ishida asked quietly. “His children?”
“Prisoners, when last I was there, at least,” the messenger said. “They were taken as hostages—the Lady and her three daughters.”
Something cold settled in my stomach.
This was not just a military defeat. This was an attack on the fundamental order of the Empire—on the bonds between lord and emperor, on the honor that held our society together.
“Where is Eiko-sama now?” I heard myself ask, my voice cutting through the chaos. Using an honorific for such a terrible creature tasted like vinegar on my tongue, but the propriety of the throne demanded no less. I remembered that lesson, at least. “Where are her forces?”
The messenger looked up at me, careful to avoid meeting my gaze. “Still in Yubi, Heika, though our scouts reported part of her forces moving south almost as soon as the walls fell. The roads heading west through the pass were choked with refugees when I left. Panic is spreading, Heika.”
Refugees were flooding into other cities—or worse, dying as winter seized the passes—all while spreading panic and tales of Eiko’s brutality.
“Get this man water,” I said. “Food and rest. He has done his duty.”