Chapter 17
Kaneko
Ifollowed on numb legs. We walked in silence.
I had so many questions.
Who was that woman? What did she want? What was I being offered? Who was Sakurai, really? What was he? What game was he playing, and why was I now a piece on that board?
But every time I opened my mouth, words died on my tongue.
Finally, we reached my chamber, and Sakurai slid the door open and gestured for me to enter.
“Sakurai-san,” I said, turning to face him, hoping the honorific might throw him off just enough to resolve some of my confusion. “Who was that woman? What did she want from me?”
He stared for a long moment. Something moved behind his eyes—conflict, perhaps, or fear.
“I cannot answer that,” he said finally.
“Cannot or will not?”
“Both.” He glanced down the corridor, as if checking for listeners, then slid my door closed. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper. “Do not speak of this to anyone. Not Hana. Not the mistress. Not even me. Do you understand?”
“No!” I snapped, immediately regretting it. Sakurai was only trying to help. I closed my eyes and gathered myself, then said, “No, I don’t understand what’s happening. What she was asking—”
“You will understand soon.” He met my eyes then, and I saw something there I had never seen before. Genuine emotion. Possibly even sympathy. “In time, you will understand. For now, just . . . think on what she said. Continue your training. Trust in me. I will guide you.”
“Trust?” I nearly spat. “You won’t tell me anything. You don’t even know what she offered?”
“I know enough,” he said quietly, and the steel in his eyes said he knew far more than he would reveal. I’d known this man wore a mask but had no idea his mask also wore one of its own.
As I grappled with shredded thoughts and opaque words, Sakurai stepped out and slid the door closed, leaving me alone. I collapsed onto my mat. My body wouldn’t stop shaking. The tremors ran so deep they felt like they might crack my bones.
I knew the kitchen still stirred, but I couldn’t eat. The thought of food made nausea surge. My stomach was a knot of ice. Every shadow seemed too deep, too dark. I checked them compulsively, expecting to see eyes staring back, expecting her to materialize from the darkness like smoke taking form.
What was she asking me to do? Who did she want me to become?
Serve the Son of Heaven, she had said. But how?
Didn’t we all serve the Emperor?
She had mentioned shadows and seeing and being unseen. She had spoken of my training, my ability to slip into the desires of others.
Was she asking me to spy?
To gather information?
To betray the customers who came to this house?
Why would someone serving the Emperor need that?
Unless—
Unless the Empire was more fractured than I realized.
Unless there were threats even here, in the capital, in the pleasure houses where powerful men came to forget their troubles—or to plan the troubles of others.
I thought of the conversations I had overheard in the common area.
Talk of rebellion. Of unrest. Of the Emperor’s absence.
Was she truly one of the Emperor’s agents? One of his shadows? Or was she something else entirely?
And that power I’d felt—that pressure—what was that? I had never experienced anything like it, never even heard of such a thing outside of temples or shrines. Of course, I knew of the power of the monks and priests. Everyone did. But this? This was something altogether different.
And if that steely-eyed woman in black was a religious woman, I was a dolphin.
Mahou.
The word kept returning, kept circling my thoughts. I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, making myself small.
How had she known about Yoshi? She had spoken his name. Described him. Used him as . . . what? Leverage? A threat?
That kind of pain makes you valuable.
What did that mean?
Hours passed. The house grew quiet. Sleep would not come. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw hers: unblinking, all-seeing, watching me even now from whatever darkness she inhabited.
Somewhere in the house, a floorboard creaked. I flinched so hard I nearly fell off the mat.
The night stretched on, endless and cold, and I did not sleep.
Morning arrived, as did Hana. Our lesson commenced, and the world resumed its turning.
After midday meal, I worked in the common room. Neither the Prince nor his consort returned. Sakurai was nowhere to be seen.
After dinner, Sakurai slipped into my chamber.
His kimono slid free, as it did every night, and our lesson began with his lips brushing mine.
I knew this man, or I knew the image of him he chose to share.
I felt his body writhe before he knew it would.
I heard him moan before the sound left his lips.
I knew exactly where to press, how to thrust, when to pull back—all to intensify his pleasure, to imprint the memory, the scent, the taste of me on his mind.
He was, above all, an excellent teacher.
And I had become a brilliant student.
Never once that night did he mention the woman, her offer, or the unanswered questions that hung like a sharpened blade above my neck. He slept by my side, one arm draped lazily across my naked chest. His breath tickled the tiny hairs of my chin, and oddly, I didn’t resent his presence.
That realization pained me more than any wound.
I should have hated him, despised his teachings, resisted his touch.
For Yoshi, I should have felt anything but .
. . a connection. Even knowing that this man’s affection was likely feigned—an act designed to elicit compliance and nothing else—his embrace comforted me, offered me harbor in a world of storms. And now, in a way I could never have imagined, he offered hope.
Hope of a life beyond the mistress’s walls.
Hope of a life with purpose.
Hope of finding meaning in a world going mad.
I had no idea what was truly being asked of me, only that it would be difficult and likely dangerous. But it would be mine.
My path.
My choice.
And to a slave, choice was everything.
Careful not to wake Sakurai, I moved his arm and sat up.
Instinct had me check the shadows, every corner of my chamber, every nook between shelves and tables and chairs.
Satisfied, I replayed the conversation in Momoko’s office one last time.
I saw the sternness in the woman’s gaze, the conviction in her voice, the iron will permeating every part of her being.
She believed in the Empire. She fought for its people. She served the Emperor.
With a final nod, more to myself than my empty room, I whispered, “I accept.”
The moment the words left my lips, a golden shimmer caught my eye, and a coin bearing the Emperor’s visage, a coin worth ten times my life in the market square, appeared on the pallet before me.