Chapter 20 Asami Eiko #2
“You, too, daughter. I need to think.”
For a moment, I thought she might argue; but she bowed, deeper than necessary, and departed. The door closed, and silence flooded in like water into a sinking ship.
I slumped back in the throne, feeling every one of my forty-eight years pressing down on my shoulders.
When had I gotten old? When had caution started making sense?
There was a time I would have led our armies through the mountain passes myself, dared winter to stop me, and laughed as the snow tried to claim what fire had already forged.
But that was before I’d buried a husband and three sons, before I’d learned that bravery and stupidity wore the same face when viewed from a grave.
My hand drifted to the scar that bisected my left eyebrow—a gift from Takashi during the war that made me Daimyo. We’d been young then, both of us, him fighting to unite the Empire under his father’s banner, me fighting to prove a woman could rule as well as any man.
We’d faced each other across a battlefield near Seto River, his father’s dragon breathing flame while my troops held their ground with iron discipline.
I’d nearly killed him that day. My blade had opened his shoulder, and for one beautiful moment, I’d seen fear in his eyes.
He was beautiful, even then, even as death stared at him through the shimmer of my steel.
Then his father’s reinforcements arrived, and I’d had to choose between death and retreat.
I chose retreat, wearing the scar from the dragon’s claw as a permanent reminder of how close I’d come.
Beautiful Takashi with his poet’s soul and emperor’s burden, who’d promised me forever, then married another for political gain, chose duty over love, empire over us, and left me with nothing but memories and rage.
I’d loved him once. Truly, deeply, stupidly loved him.
Now I’d killed him, and I felt nothing but satisfaction.
But empires weren’t built on what-ifs and maybe-shoulds. They were built on bodies and betrayals and the willingness to take what weaker people called impossible.
“Daimyo.”
The voice came from across the hall, near a tapestry filled with flowering fields and brilliant sunlight. The voice was quiet, genderless, and barely disturbed the air.
I didn’t startle. I’d been expecting this.
“Come out where I can see you.”
A figure emerged from the darkness where no human should have been able to hide.
Black clothing absorbed the torchlight, leaving only the suggestion of a human shape and two eyes visible through fabric wrappings.
I’d employed these shadows for years, using their networks and skills where conventional forces couldn’t reach.
They had no loyalty to empire or han, only to coin and contract.
They killed with equal efficiency regardless of target, and they never asked questions.
They were perfect tools, if one could afford them.
“Report.”
“Akira Takashi is dead.” The voice held no emotion, no pride. It simply stated a fact. “It appeared as ordered—an assassination that cannot be definitively pinned to any one source, though evidence strongly suggests Asami involvement.”
“Good.” I’d paid enough for that ambiguity. Let Bara’s court tear itself apart trying to determine which enemy had struck. “And the Crown Prince?”
“Akira Kioshi departed your territory as reported but did not make it past the foothills.”
I moved to the window, looking out at Yubi below, a conquered city, subdued but not broken, my first step toward the Jade Throne.
But only the first step.
Behind me, the shadow waited with the patience of Death himself.
“Akira Haru will become Emperor soon.” I kept my voice low, though we were alone. “His coronation must fail.”
“What is your wish, Daimyo?”
“I wish . . .” I turned to face the darkness. “I wish you to kill Akira Haru before he can take the throne. Before the ceremony. Before the—” I nearly said ‘tether,’ but the shadows didn’t need to know everything. “Before he might raise a banner for others to rally behind.”
Another pause, longer this time.
When the shadow spoke again, something had changed in that neutral voice. I didn’t think it was fear, exactly. Respect, maybe. Or understanding of the magnitude being requested.
“The third prince is in Bara, surrounded by the palace guard, protected by the remaining Imperial forces, watched by every soldier and servant loyal to the throne. The palace was once vulnerable, its security lax. Now, it is the most fortified location in the Empire. Even with the passes clear, infiltrating the palace itself would take weeks of preparation.”
“We both know you have infiltrated it.” I smiled without humor. “You killed the Emperor in his own bedchamber. Do not tell me the son is impossible when you already slaughtered the father.”
“Emperor Takashi was old and comfortable, surrounded by peace. Prince Haru knows his father was assassinated. He suspects the same of his brother. He will be paranoid and careful, protected in every way. The palace is on war footing now. Every shadow is suspect. Every stranger is presumed an enemy.”
“Then stop being strangers.” I moved closer until I could see my reflection in those empty eyes. “Isn’t that your specialty? Becoming the trusted servant, the loyal guard, the invisible hand that strikes from within?”
“That takes time—”
“We have no more time!” My voice rose despite my control, fury breaking through strategic calm.
“Every day that passes, Haru grows more established. Every day, the court rallies around him, forgets that he is little more than a lost, drunk boy swimming in waters far too deep for his skill. Every day brings us closer to a coronation that will undo everything I’ve bled for. ”
I took a breath, forcing composure back over rage.
“I do not care how you do it. Poison, blade, accident, or illness. End him before he takes the throne. Use whatever resources you have in the capital. Activate every agent. Call in every favor. This is not a request for a price we negotiate.” I pulled a scroll from within my robes—already prepared, already sealed.
“This is a command with unlimited funding. Kill Akira Haru. Nothing matters more. Nothing else matters at all.”
The shadow took the scroll and tucked it into darkness that seemed to swallow substance.
“It will be difficult—”
“Everything is gods-damned difficult,” I cut through the excuse. “You killed one emperor. Now you will kill the Emperor-in-waiting. Or I’ll find shadows with sharper teeth.”
A bow, slight and mocking in its brevity. “It will be done, Daimyo.”
“See that it is.”
The figure melted back into shadow, disappearing so completely I might have imagined the entire conversation.
But the scroll was gone, and my hands were shaking.
Not from fear. Never from fear. From anticipation.
Because winter might cage my armies, might freeze my advance, might force patience I didn’t possess, but winter couldn’t stop a single blade or star in the right hands. It couldn’t prevent poison from finding lips.
It couldn’t hold back the darkness.