Chapter 24
Haru
The Imperial library felt too small despite being one of the largest private rooms in the Emperor’s personal wing.
I’d chosen it specifically because it had only two entrances, both of which were now guarded by soldiers I’d personally selected.
The windows overlooking the eastern gardens were now shuttered and barred.
The palace was on lockdown.
Because someone had tried to kill me in my own audience hall.
Except they’d tried to kill Esumi while he wore my robe, which somehow made it worse.
Kaneko sat on his knees in the center of the room, his head bowed, hands clenched on his thighs. I’d told him twice he didn’t need to kneel. He’d done it anyway, like he was awaiting judgment.
I sat across from him in one of the reading chairs, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. Esumi stood near the window, still pale, one hand unconsciously touching his throat where the throwing star had missed by mere inches. Yoshi hovered protectively nearby.
“Kaneko,” I said gently. “Look at me.”
He didn’t move.
“Brother. Look at me.”
That got through.
His head came up slowly, and the anguish in his eyes was almost too much to bear. They were red-rimmed, haunted . . . and terrified.
“Tell me everything,” I said. “From the beginning. But first”—I glanced at Esumi and Yoshi—“understand that whatever you say stays in this room and will remain between the four of us. You are not on trial here.”
“Haru”—Kaneko’s voice cracked—“I gave them information about you, about our travel plans, about the palace. I thought I was helping, but—”
“I know.” I cut him off before he could spiral. “Esumi told me what happened, what you said. Now I need you to tell me how it started. How did they recruit you?”
Kaneko drew a shaking breath. “At the House of Petals. I’d been there for months, being trained as a .
. . you know what.” He swallowed hard. “Then one night, a man was assigned to assist with my training. At first, he taught only . . .” He glanced at Yoshi and winced. “The ways of pleasuring another man.”
Yoshi, to his credit, gave no reaction.
Kaneko went on, “His name was Sakurai. He said that I had potential for something greater, to actually be of service to more than other men’s cocks.”
Yoshi blanched at that, though he managed to rein in his composure quickly.
“What did he offer? What did he require?” I asked.
“Purpose.” The word came out bitter. “And training. He offered a way to be useful instead of just being used. He said he represented an organization that protected the Empire from the shadows, one working directly for your father, for the Emperor. He said they needed people like me—people no one would suspect.”
I nodded, keeping my expression neutral. “And you believed him?”
“No. Maybe. Okay, yes. I mean . . . hells . . . I was desperate. I was a fisherman’s son who’d been sold into slavery.
They were training me to be a whore, and I couldn’t find any way out.
When he offered me a chance to do something that mattered, to protect people instead of—” He broke off, looking away.
“Yes. I believed him. At least, I wanted to.”
“What did the training involve?”
“Everything.” Kaneko’s hands tightened. “At first, it was little more than movement in darkness, observation, and memory techniques. It quickly grew into how to listen without being noticed and how to blend into shadows. Later, we covered weapons, mixing and using poisons, and ways to kill quietly.” His voice dropped to barely a whisper.
“He said I was becoming the Emperor’s blade in the darkness that kept the throne safe. ”
Esumi made a small sound.
Yoshi’s hand found his shoulder.
I’d watched Kaneko protect Yoshi with fierce devotion, seen his kindness and his loyalty. Whatever he’d done, he’d done so believing it was right.
“What did you report to them?” I asked.
The silence stretched.
“Everything,” he finally whispered as his head fell again.
“Where we were traveling, who we were with, when we’d arrive at the capital.
I told them about you and Esumi, about tensions at court, about the funeral plans—” His voice broke.
“I thought I was keeping them informed so they could protect you. I didn’t know—”
“That you were actually working for Eiko.” I finished when he couldn’t. “That every piece of information was going to the rebellion.”
He nodded miserably.
I sat back.
This was bad.
Potentially catastrophic.
But Kaneko’s face—the genuine horror, the absolute devastation—told me everything I needed to know about his intentions.
“How did they contact you?” I asked.
“At first, Sakurai appeared in my chambers. He did so under the cover of our . . . other training. At Suwa, through black cranes, origami left in specific locations. I’d find them, burn them, and know to make contact, then I’d leave information at dead drops, or someone wearing black would find me directly. ”
“When was the last contact?”
“The night we arrived.” His voice was hollow. “I told them about the funeral arrangements. I knew little about the palace, hadn’t even had a chance to walk the grounds, but I had spotted a few security weaknesses on the perimeter.” A bitter laugh. “I gave them enough to plan today’s attack.”
The words hung heavily in the air.
“Show me something,” I said. “Some proof of what you’re telling me, not because I don’t believe you, but because I need to understand how they convinced you.”
Kaneko reached into his sleeve with shaking hands and pulled out a small metal disk. He held it up, and even across the room, I could see the dull gleam.
A coin.
“He gave me this when he recruited me, said it was proof the shadows served the Emperor. He said as long as I carried it, I was under Imperial protection, that I was one of the Emperor’s hidden blades. He had a similar coin, as did the woman who’d first suggested I join them.”
I reached out and took the coin from his palm. Its metal was cool and surprisingly heavy. I turned it over, and my breath caught.
It was real, not some clever forgery.
This was an actual Imperial coin—the kind Father kept locked in his private chambers and gave only by the Emperor’s own hand to people who’d performed extraordinary service. Each one was unique, hand-struck, bearing the Imperial seal on one side and Nawa, Father’s dragon, on the other.
This one was old, very old. Its edges were worn smooth from decades of handling.
But the seal was unmistakable.
“Where did he say he got this?” I asked, unable to look away from it.
“He said the Emperor gave it to the shadows long ago, that it was proof of their mandate to protect the throne.”
I turned the coin over again, studying every detail. “These coins don’t leave Imperial possession. They’re never given to organizations, only individuals—and they’re carefully accounted for.”
“So it’s fake?”
“No.” That was the problem. “It’s real. I’ve handled enough to know.” I looked up at him. “Which means someone with access to the Imperial treasury—or to Father himself—gave this to them. Or they stole it. Either way—”
“Either way, they’ve been planning this for some time,” Esumi finished quietly.
I nodded, my mind racing.
An authentic Imperial coin meant the infiltration went back years or decades, long enough to build an elaborate lie, long enough to recruit people like Kaneko with seemingly legitimate proof, long enough that Eiko’s reach was far greater than any of us had realized.
I looked at Kaneko, still kneeling, still waiting for judgment, and I made a decision.
“Stand up,” I said.
He blinked.
“Stand up, Kaneko. You are not a prisoner here.”
He stood slowly, unsteadily. Yoshi moved to his side and gripped his arm.
“You made a mistake,” I said. “You were deceived by people who are very good at deception, but your intentions were to protect the throne. I believe that.” I met his eyes.
“Moreso, you are my friend, my brother. You are Yoshi’s—” I glanced at them, saw how close they stood.
“—you are Yoshi’s, and that makes you family. I refuse to treat you like a traitor.”
“But I am—” Kaneko started.
“No, Kaneko, you were a tool,” I interrupted firmly. “You were a weapon they pointed at us without you knowing. That is not the same as betrayal. That is being used.”
“Haru’s right,” Yoshi said quietly, his hand finding Kaneko’s. “You didn’t know.”
“But now I do,” Kaneko said. “And none of that changes what I’ve already done. The information I gave them—”
“Is done,” I said. “We can’t undo it—but perhaps we can use it.”
All three of them stared at me, brows bunched in an almost humorous unison.
I turned the coin over in my fingers, feeling its weight. “They think you’re still loyal to them. They think you’re still their spy. Sakurai revealed himself today, but only to you—and only because his cowl fell away by accident.” I looked up. “As far as Eiko knows, you’re still one of them.”
Understanding dawned in Esumi’s eyes. “You want—”
“I want to use what they have given us.” I stepped closer to Kaneko. “You have training they provided, access they facilitated, trust they built. Now you have something more valuable than any of that.”
“What?”
“You know the truth.” I held up the coin. “You know they’re working for Eiko. You know how they operate, how they communicate, what they want. They don’t know that you know.”
Kaneko’s eyes widened. “You want me to keep working for them.”
“I want you to work for us while they think you are working for them.” I looked at the coin again.
“Feed them information we want them to have, learn what they’re planning, find out who else they’ve compromised.
” I met his gaze. “Become what they trained you to be—but for real this time. Become a blade in the darkness protecting the throne.”
“That’s incredibly dangerous,” Yoshi said, his hand tightening on Kaneko’s.
“Everything is dangerous now.” I looked at each of them in turn.
“The enemy is inside our walls, apparently has been for years. We need every advantage we can get, and right now, Kaneko may be our best chance at learning what they’re planning—or at least feeding them information that might foil their future plans. ”
“But . . . what if they find out?” Yoshi asked, panic blooming in his voice, growing stronger with each word. “What if Kaneko makes a mistake and they realize he knows? They’ll kill him. They’ll hunt him down and kill him.”
“Then he will run,” I said simply. “He will come straight to us, and we will protect him.”
“They’ll kill me,” Kaneko muttered.
“They’ll try.” I smiled without humor. “But they’ll have to go through Esumi and m—and a palace full of guards and Samurai. I like our odds.”
Kaneko looked at Yoshi, who squeezed his hand. Some unspoken communication passed between them.
“Okay,” Kaneko said finally. “If it helps, if it means I can actually protect you this time instead of—” His voice caught. “Instead of handing you over to them.”
“You will need to be careful,” Esumi said, joining the conversation properly for the first time. “They’ll test you, give you orders that conflict with your true loyalty. You’ll have to decide in the moment what information helps us more than it hurts us.”
“I know.” Kaneko’s jaw set.
“We’ll need signals,” I said, already planning. “Ways for you to communicate with us that they can’t intercept. And most importantly, we’ll need to keep this between the four of us. No one else can know—not the guards, not the ministers, no one.”
“What about the black cranes?” Yoshi asked. “If they contact him—”
“We use them.” I turned the coin over one more time, then handed it back to Kaneko. “Keep this. It’s your proof of loyalty to them, and it’s a reminder of what we’re fighting against.” Kaneko took the coin, closing his fist around it. “I won’t fail you again.”
“You didn’t fail me,” I said gently. “You were betrayed. We all were. There’s a difference.” I gripped his shoulder. “But now that you know the truth, you can choose whom you really serve.”
“I choose you.” His voice was fierce. “I choose the throne. The real throne, not whatever lie they sold me.”
“Good.” I looked at all three of them. “Because we’re going to need each other for what’s coming.
Eiko has been planning this for years. She has people everywhere and resources we can’t even guess at.
But now—” I smiled. “Now we have something she doesn’t know about, an advantage she didn’t plan for.
We have someone who’s going to help us destroy them from within. ”