Chapter 19
Kaneko
My eyes opened to pre-dawn darkness. The faintest hint of light touched the paper screens, turning them from black to deep gray.
A figure stood in my doorway.
“Sakurai?” I sat up, confused. He had never come to my chamber in the morning. That was Hana’s time. Her role. “What—”
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, then he crossed to where I sat and kneeled beside my mat. In the dim light, I could see his expression was serious and focused, but not unkind.
“Give me your hand,” he said softly.
I hesitated, then extended my right hand.
He reached behind my head, slipped his hand beneath my pillow, retrieved the golden coin and set it onto my palm.
My breath caught. He’d seen. He knew. Hells, he even knew where I kept the damned thing. I looked up at Sakurai, and understanding crashed over me like a wave.
“You,” I whispered. “You’re—”
“One of many.” The silhouette of his head nodded. His voice remained low, barely above a whisper. “We are the eyes and ears where soldiers cannot go, where questions would be noticed.” He gestured to the coin. “By holding it now, by not refusing it, you signal your acceptance.”
Holding it? I already had my own coin. I was holding it.
“This, if you accept it, is yours,” Sakurai said. The whites of his eyes were a focal point, two pinpricks reflecting what little light there was in my chamber.
“I thought . . . I said the words last night.” I was confused. Why was Sakurai asking me to repeat my vow?
“Yes, you did, but saying them once in the heat of the moment is not the same as making a true pledge. You must be certain.” His tone was gentle but certain.
“You also decided the moment you kept silent about what you witnessed, the moment fear for your beloved outweighed fear for yourself.” He paused.
“And you were right to choose. Refusal would not have freed you. It would only have made you useless. And useless things are discarded.”
The truth of those words sat heavy in my chest.
“My answer hasn’t changed with one night’s sleep.” I stared down at the coin. “What do I do with this?”
“It is yours, your token of service to the Divine Son of Heaven. But you must keep it hidden, always. Show it to no one, save in the most dire of times, when only the Emperor’s blessing will save you. To the outside world, we do not exist. We must not exist.”
I nodded, a stiff, awkward gesture, then shoved the coin back under my pillow. Sakurai’s eyes crinkled with amusement.
“You will want to find a better hiding place,” he said, barely containing a chuckle.
“Right,” I said, eyes darting about the room. “I’ll do that—”
“Later,” he said. “Now we begin in earnest. I am your contact, your thread. Any information you gather comes to me, and only me. Trust no one else. If something happens to me, you stay silent and wait. Someone will come eventually.”
“What if—”
“No questions, not yet. We have limited time before the house wakes, and you have much to learn.” He shifted his weight.
“This morning, you will learn our first and most important skill, especially for one serving beneath this roof: how to extract information through conversation. How to make powerful men forget to guard their tongues.”
“Forget to guard—?”
“Be still and watch.”
He shifted subtly, and his entire bearing changed. His shoulders relaxed, his expression softened into something almost smug, and he transformed into someone else before my eyes.
“I am a merchant,” he said, his voice now rougher and less refined. “I’ve had minor success, enough wealth to afford entry to this house but not enough to make my mark. I have just enjoyed your company. I am relaxed. My guard is down. I feel powerful and free.”
He looked at me with new eyes, a stranger’s eyes.
“That was wonderful,” he said. “Even better than they said you’d be.”
I stared at him, frozen.
“Respond,” he said, dropping the character for a moment. “Make me want to talk.”
“Thank you?” The words came out uncertain, a question rather than a statement.
Sakurai chuckled and shook his head. “Too nervous. Your body is tense. Your voice is small. Try again. You have just been intimate with this man. You should look at him with warmth, with appreciation—feign affection if you must. Pretend the act meant more than it should have. Show vulnerability, as though he has given you something precious.”
I tried to relax, to soften my expression, and to not think about the vile strangers I would have to perform acts with—and for.
Sakurai slipped back into character. “That was wonderful, even better than they said you’d be.”
“You’re too kind, my lord,” I said, forcing warmth into my voice as I reached up and trailed a finger down his arm to his wrist. “I think you bring out the best in me. There’s something about you . . .”
I let the sentence trail off, the way I had learned to do when serving drinks, leaving space so he could fill it.
Sakurai-as-merchant smiled and reached up to fiddle with my hair. “Is there? What is it?”
“I’m not sure. Your confidence, maybe? You carry yourself like a man who knows his worth.” I paused. “Like someone who has built something.”
“Better,” Sakurai said, dropping character. “You invited him to talk about himself. Men love to do that more than they love to breathe or drink. Now watch what happens as a result.”
He became the merchant again. “I suppose I have done well. You know, I started with nothing but a fishing boat and a dream. Now I have three vessels working southern routes.”
“Three vessels?” I feigned surprise. “That’s remarkable.”
“It is, is it not?” He leaned back, warming to his subject.
“Especially now, with all the trouble up north. Smart captains are avoiding those waters entirely. Just last month, I picked up silk at half price because the merchant was desperate. No one wanted to risk the northern passage, so I took it south, sold it in Koji for triple what I paid.”
He dropped the character and looked at me.
“Do you see? Thirty seconds. He told you about conflict in the north, about trade routes, about economic disruption—all because you made him feel clever and important. He likely never knew the secrets he spilled. He was simply bragging to a lover in an effort to impress.”
I nodded slowly. “So I just . . . flatter them?”
“Oh, no. Not just flatter. Listen, admire, ask questions that invite them to demonstrate their knowledge or success. Men are lonely, Kaneko-san, powerful men especially. They are surrounded by people who always want something from them—or who fear them. Here, they might pretend someone like you desires them for themselves rather than their position.” He paused.
“You give them that illusion, and in return, they will give you secrets, even when they do not realize they are doing so.”
“This feels like . . . like I’m lying or . . . tricking them. It feels . . . wrong.”
“It is wrong, but you are here, and this gives your suffering purpose. Besides, if the information you gather saves lives, is it not a good thing? If it guards the Emperor and his throne, does is not make you valuable?” His eyes held mine.
“Valuable enough to eventually earn leverage, perhaps even your freedom?”
Or death, I thought, though I did not say it.
“Try another. Remember, each man’s motivation is different.
One may seek praise, while the other longs for closeness.
You must learn, understand, and adapt. Every time,” Sakurai said.
“Now, I am a military officer, mid-rank. I oversee supply lines. I am proud of my efficiency and frustrated that my superiors do not appreciate my work. Our lovemaking was lackluster because my mind wouldn’t settle. You did the best you could.”
He shifted again. This time his posture straightened and his expression hardened. He appeared more controlled—more controlling.
“You were . . . adequate,” he said, his tone clipped. “Barely worth the coin, in truth. I have had better.”
The words stung even though I knew this was practice, even though no intimacy had actually occurred. How should I respond? Apologize? That would make me seem weak. Argue? That would make me seem defensive.
I thought about what Sakurai had said: Give them what they need.
This man wanted to feel important. He wanted validation his superiors would not give.
“I’m sorry I disappointed you, honored Samurai,” I said softly. “Perhaps I was . . . intimidated. You have such a commanding presence. It made me nervous.” I paused. “You must be someone important, someone with great responsibility.”
The officer’s expression softened slightly. “I do bear significant responsibility, yes, though it is rarely acknowledged.”
I reached out, this time gripping his arm firmly rather than trailing fingers. Sakurai’s eyes widened at the touch, at how our eyes locked when I held his gaze. “That must be very frustrating, to work so hard for men who do not appreciate your efforts.”
“You have no idea.” He lay beside me, stretching out his legs.
I moved my hand to his chest, tracing circles on Sakurai’s kimono where bare skin would’ve been after an intimate moment.
“I coordinate supply movements for three battalions. Three! My work ensures that soldiers have food, weapons, and equipment. It is complex work. One mistake could cost lives, but do my commanders notice? Do they thank me? Do I receive awards or promotions?” He snorted.
“Never. They expect perfection and complain when there are delays, even ones beyond my control.”
“Delays?” I asked, keeping my voice sympathetic. “I . . . I do not understand. What do you mean by delays?”