Chapter 23
Kaneko
The audience hall stood empty, save for the three of us lounging in it like we owned the place. Which, technically, Haru did. Or would.
It felt surreal.
“I’m just saying,” Esumi was in the middle of explaining, “that if I have to bow one more time today, my spine is going to snap. How do people do this? The bowing and scraping and ‘yes, your highness’ and ‘of course, your grace’ every five minutes?”
“Practice,” Yoshi said from where he sat on the steps leading up to the dais. His posture was perfect despite his casual words. Apparently, years of noble training were hard to shake. “You learn to bow without thinking about it.”
“I think about it constantly, mostly about how much I hate it.”
I laughed despite myself. We’d been in the palace for only a few days, and the weight of protocol already felt crushing.
Every step had rules. Every word had consequences.
Even this moment—three friends killing time in an empty hall—felt vaguely illicit, like we were children playing in a place we shouldn’t even be in.
Haru was with the Grand Minister and other advisors planning funeral rites and discussing the succession crisis.
He’d been in meetings almost constantly since we’d arrived, emerging only late at night looking exhausted and haunted.
This afternoon he’d actually told us to “go find something to do” because he couldn’t stand us hovering in his quarters like worried nursemaids.
So here we were. Finding something to do. With nothing to do.
“Where is he anyway?” I asked. “I thought the meeting was supposed to end an hour ago.”
“The Grand Minister is probably lecturing him about proper Imperial dignity,” Esumi said, rolling his eyes. “That man could make breathing sound like a moral failing.”
“You shouldn’t talk about him like that,” Yoshi said through a wry smile. “He’s one of the most powerful men in the Empire.”
“He’s a pompous ass who treats Haru like he’s still twelve years old.”
“Well, Haru does act like he’s twelve sometimes.”
“Only because the alternative is acting like an emperor, and he’s not ready for that yet.” Esumi stood, stretching. “I’m not sure any of us are ready for what’s coming.”
The words hung in the air.
Because he was right.
In hours, Haru would be crowned Emperor. The rebellion would escalate. War would consume everything.
And we’d be expected to . . . what?
Support him? Fight for him? Die for him?
I pushed the thought away and stood, suddenly needing to move. The hall was magnificent in a way that made me uncomfortable. There was too much gold, too much silk, and too much space that existed solely to intimidate. The throne sat on its raised dais like a judgment, empty and waiting.
“You know what this room needs?” Esumi said suddenly, a dangerous gleam in his eye.
“Oh, gods. Please no,” Yoshi warned.
“A little irreverence.”
“Esumi, no—”
But he was already moving, climbing the steps to the dais with deliberate casualness.
On a side table near the throne lay one of Haru’s formal robes—deep blue silk embroidered with gold dragons, the kind of thing that probably cost more than our entire homeland.
Esumi picked it up, held it against himself, and grinned.
“What do you think? Does it suit me?”
“Put that down, please,” Yoshi hissed, looking genuinely alarmed. “If someone sees you—”
“Who’s going to see? We’re alone. The guards don’t even bother guarding this room when Haru’s not here.” Esumi draped the robe over his shoulders, striking an exaggerated pose. “Behold! I am the Emperor! Bow before my magnificence!”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
“Kaneko!” Yoshi turned to me, scandalized. “Don’t encourage him!”
“I’m sorry, but look at him.” Esumi was now strutting around the dais, the robe’s hem dragging behind him, doing what I assumed was meant to be an impression of Imperial dignity but looked more like a drunk rooster. “He’s—” I dissolved into laughter again. “He’s terrible at this.”
“I’m amazing at this,” Esumi corrected, climbing onto the throne itself. “This is exactly how Haru’s going to look: uncomfortable, overdressed, and deeply regretting his life choices.”
“Get down from there!” Yoshi was standing now, actually distressed. “That’s—that’s sacrilege! If the ministers catch you up there—”
“The ministers are busy boring Haru to death.” Esumi lounged on the throne like it was a common chair, one leg thrown over the armrest. “Besides, I’m doing everyone a favor. Someone needs to test if this thing is actually comfortable before Haru has to sit in it for hours at his coronation.”
“And?” I asked, still grinning.
“It’s possibly the worst chair ever, like sitting on an ornate torture device.” He shifted, the silk robe shimmering in the afternoon light streaming through the high windows. “How is anyone supposed to rule an empire while their ass goes numb?”
“Esumi—” Yoshi started.
Wsht.
A flash of silver streaked past Esumi’s head and embedded in the wooden wall behind the throne.
Behind a pillar at the far end of the chamber, a shadow coalesced, becoming solid.
My training kicked in before conscious thought. I dropped into a crouch, my hand finding the knife at my belt with muscle memory so ingrained I didn’t have to think about it. “Down!”
Another throwing star whistled through the air where Esumi’s head had been a heartbeat before. It clanged off jade and fell to the floor. Thankfully, he had already rolled off the throne at my shout, the robe tangling around him.
Time slowed.
Then sharpened.
This was what Sakurai had trained me for—the moment when everything crystallized, when instinct took over, when you stopped being a person and became a weapon.
Yoshi’s power surged.
I could feel it like pressure against my skin, the air itself crackling with energy. His eyes went wide, pupils dilating as divine force flooded through him.
Esumi finally tore free of the robe and came up balanced on the balls of his feet.
The assassin stepped from shadow into light. All in black. Head to toe. Face covered by a dark cowl and mask, only eyes visible—cold, calculating, professional.
I knew that stance. I knew the way they held their weight, ready to move in any direction, knew the slight cant of the shoulders that meant throwing weapons were ready.
I knew because I’d been taught to stand exactly that way.
My hand tightened on my knife.
My body moved into position without conscious thought—weight distributed, knees bent, ready to dodge or strike.
Behind me, Yoshi’s breathing changed, becoming deeper and slower, power building like a storm.
The assassin moved.
Fast. Professionally fast. Shadow-trained fast.
The figure was a blur of black that seemed to fold space, crossing half the hall in a heartbeat.
Another throwing star flew—not at Esumi this time, but at Yoshi.
He was the divine guardian.
He was the true threat.
I moved without thinking, knocking Yoshi aside.
A star grazed my upper arm, hot pain blooming but shallow.
I came up slashing with my knife at where the assassin would be.
Had been.
My blade met only air.
The assassin had already moved, flowing around my strike.
A kunai appeared in his hand.
I barely got my knife up in time to deflect it. The impact jarred my arm, sent shock waves up to my shoulder.
The shadow was strong and skilled.
Just like me.
The realization slammed into me. This wasn’t some desperate rebel or hired thug. This was someone from the organization, someone who’d been through the same training, learned the same movements, sworn the same oaths.
Someone who should be on our side.
Esumi attacked from the other side, his dagger low, going for kidneys.
The assassin spun, deflecting with a short sword that appeared from nowhere.
I knew that draw. Sakurai had taught me that draw.
The blade sang as it met Esumi’s dagger, metal on metal echoing through the empty hall.
They exchanged three strikes, fast and precise.
Esumi was good—better than I’d seen in the practice ring—but the assassin was better.
Shadow-trained better, each movement economical, perfect, and deadly.
Then Yoshi moved.
Not moved. Blurred.
One moment he was behind me. The next he was across the hall, tearing an ancient sword from its mounting on the wall. The blade was ornate and probably hadn’t tasted blood in a century or more. In Yoshi’s hands, powered by divine force, it became something else entirely.
He crossed the distance faster than I could track.
The assassin barely got their guard up.
The impact of their blades shook the floor, rattled windows, sent decorative urns tumbling. Mahou radiated throughout the hall, Yoshi its epicenter.
I’d seen Yoshi spar at Suwa. I’d watched his power manifest in controlled bursts, but this—this was Yoshi unleashed.
Divine speed and strength channeled through every movement, every strike.
He was a fog of violence, the ceremonial sword swinging and slashing in arcs of light and steel that left afterimages burned into my vision.
The assassin gave ground.
Step by step, they were driven back by the sheer impossibility of Yoshi’s attack.
Esumi and I flanked, trying to cut off their escape, but it was like trying to corner smoke. The assassin was too fluid, too skilled, finding gaps we didn’t even know were there.
But Yoshi was relentless.
An overhead strike made the assassin stumble.
A thrust drew first blood.
A sweep forced a desperate leap backward.
For the first time, the assassin faltered.
Yoshi pressed.
Three strikes, four, five—each faster and stronger than the last.
The assassin’s defense began to crack.
Movements became more desperate, less controlled.
A throwing star flew wild.
A smoke pellet hit the floor, but Yoshi’s divine wind dispersed it before its cloud could expand and provide cover.
Then Yoshi stopped holding back. Dear gods, he’d been holding back!
Golden light erupted around him, and I had to shield my eyes.
His speed doubled—no, tripled.
I couldn’t follow individual strikes—could only see the result as the assassin’s blade shattered, as black cloth tore, as blood sprayed across marble floors.
The assassin cried out—sharp, pained, and surprised.
They stumbled backward, clutching their side where Yoshi’s blade had opened a deep wound.
Their other hand fumbled at their belt.
They were retreating toward the darkness, to the space between pillars where shadow-trained could vanish if they were skilled enough—where I’d learned to disappear.
“Stop him!” Esumi shouted.
But the assassin was already moving.
They hit the shadow and began to dissolve, to blur, to—
Their cowl caught.
Torn cloth tangled in decorative metalwork.
It pulled, tore, then fell away.
I saw his face.
He was a man.
He was Sakurai.
Our eyes met.
For only a heartbeat, maybe less.
The space between one breath and the next.
Then he was gone, vanished into darkness as though he’d never existed.
Only blood on the floor and throwing stars embedded in the wall proved he’d been real.
The silence that followed consumed everything, just as shadows had consumed Sakurai.
My arm burned where the throwing star had grazed me, and my heart hammered so hard I thought it might crack my ribs.
Gods, my mind raced, stumbling, trying to process what I’d just seen.
It was Sakurai.
The man who’d sworn me to service, who’d told me I was protecting the Emperor, who’d trained me to be a weapon in the darkness that kept the throne safe.
Sakurai had just tried to kill someone under the future Emperor’s own roof.
“Kaneko?” Yoshi’s voice sounded distant, muffled by the roaring in my ears. “You’re bleeding.”
I looked down at my arm. The cut was shallow, already clotting. It was nothing serious, but my hands were shaking. My whole body was shaking.
“Did you . . .” Esumi was staring at where the assassin had vanished. “Did you know him?”
Every instinct I’d been trained to follow screamed at me to lie, to deny, to protect the shadows because that’s what the shadows did.
It was the first rule, the most important rule; but I’d just watched Sakurai—the man who’d taught me that rule, who’d made me swear to it—try to murder people in the Imperial palace, try to kill someone under Haru’s protection.
Guards began pouring into the chamber, the clatter of armored boots echoing off stone walls. The captain shouted orders, then directed a series of rapid-fire questions at Esumi. He sank onto the bottom stair of the dais and buried his face in his hands.
“He thought I was Haru,” I heard him mutter. Then he repeated in a clearer tone, “The assassin thought I was the Emperor-in-waiting. This was an attack on the throne.”
The guards, already an angered nest of bees, redoubled their efforts to search for shadows that no longer lingered.
“Kaneko.” Yoshi was in front of me now, hands on my shoulders, divine light still fading in his eyes like dying embers. His whispers held an urgency I’d never known from him before. “Talk to me. What was that? Who was that?”
The truth felt like poison crawling up my throat, like admitting it would make it real in a way that silence couldn’t.
“I think . . .” I whispered. “I knew him.”
“Who was he?” Esumi stumbled from the dais to kneel beside Yoshi, hovering over me in a way that shielded me from the guards.
I met Yoshi’s eyes, saw the trust there, the love we’d only recently learned to put into words, and I knew that what I said next might change everything.
“His name is Sakurai,” I said quietly. My voice sounded strange, hollow. “He’s the man who recruited me while I was a . . . a slave. He’s . . .” The words stuck in my throat like broken glass. “He swore me to serve the Emperor, to protect the throne, to die in darkness to keep the Empire safe.”
I watched understanding dawn in Yoshi’s eyes.
Then horror.
“But he just tried to kill us,” Yoshi said slowly. “He thought he was killing Haru.”
“I know.”
“Which means—”
“Yosh, I thought I was serving the Empire. I thought I was doing something good with my life, with what little I had—”
I couldn’t finish, couldn’t say it out loud, couldn’t make it real.
But Yoshi said it for me, his voice at once gentle and terrible.
“You’ve been working for the rebels all along.”