29. Kaneko
Kaneko
Kazashita’s body against mine felt wrong.
It wasn’t unpleasant—gods help me, not unpleasant at all—but it felt wrong in the way a perfectly executed kata felt wrong when performed with the incorrect weapon. Every point of contact between us burned with a heat that wasn’t mine to feel, wasn’t his to claim.
I tried to pull back, but his warmth was gravity, and I couldn’t escape its strength.
He kissed me again.
Then told me he loved me.
Over and over.
I gripped his tunic, unsure how to brace myself or what to do. His eyes flared at the touch.
Damn it, I’m encouraging him.
This time, I pushed back, pulled away, managed to put some small measure of space between us.
I did so gently, not violently or cruelly, but with the careful precision I’d learned by scaling rooftops—controlled and deliberate—final.
My hands came up between us, pressing gently against his chest once more, keeping him at bay.
“Kazi—”
His eyes searched mine, desperate and wild, still wet with tears. The hope in them nearly shattered me.
“My heart belongs to another.”
His hope broke first, then his joy, then something deeper—something that had been holding him together for longer than I could imagine.
“Kaneko—” His voice cracked on my name.
“I’m sorry, Kazi. I care for you, but I could never be yours.” I kept my voice steady, even as something twisted in my chest at the devastation spreading across his features. “There was someone before. There still is. There always will be.”
He staggered back as if I’d struck him. His mouth opened, closed, opened again.
In another life, perhaps—one where wakō had not burned my home, where I’d never met a boy with thoughtful eyes who knocked me into the harbor and laughed—in that life, I could have loved Kazashita, could have let myself fall into the fierce devotion he offered, the protection, the desperate need.
But this wasn’t that life. It never would be.
“Who?” The word was barely a whisper.
“That doesn’t matter—”
Shadows moved at the park’s edge, drawing my eye.
Samurai.
Three of them, emerging from the darkness with katanas already drawn, their faces hidden behind the fearsome masks of the Imperial Guard.
“Kazashita, First Mate of The Emperor’s Worm,” the lead guard called out, his voice carrying across the park with practiced authority. “By order of His Imperial Majesty, you are commanded to surrender yourself for crimes against the Empire. The Emperor will not have pirates in his capital.”
Kazashita’s hand went to where his sword would be—an instinct, nothing more. He was trapped, we both knew it. Three trained Samurai against one half-starved wakō—they were impossible odds, even for him.
“Run,” I whispered.
He looked at me, confusion mixing with the heartbreak still raw on his face.
“Run!” I shoved him, hard, toward the alley behind us.
The guards charged.
Kazashita ran.
And despite everything—despite what I’d just told him, despite the truth that burned between us—I ran, too.
Because I couldn’t watch him die.
Not here. Not like this.
Not when some part of me recognized what it had cost him to love me so completely.
We sprinted down an alley, our feet pounding against packed earth. Behind us, the guards’ armor clanked and rattled—they were fast despite the weight they carried.
My training with Sakurai had taught me to move in shadows, to climb and hide and observe; but this—this was different. This was flight, desperate and graceless.
“Left!” I grabbed Kazashita’s arm, yanking him into a narrow passage between buildings.
We emerged onto another street, momentarily free of pursuit, but Kazashita was already struggling, heaving, gripping his back.
Years aboard ship as Kichi’s first mate hadn’t prepared him for this.
The year of deprivation that followed only made things worse.
His body, ravaged by guilt and whatever he’d done to reach Bara, couldn’t maintain the pace.
He stumbled. I caught him, pulled him upright.
“Can’t—” He gasped, chest heaving.
“You can and you will.”
The guards’ voices echoed behind us, closer now.
They called out positions, coordinating, hunting us like wolves.
“Oath breaker!” one shouted.
We ran again, Kazashita’s breathing increasingly ragged beside me. I knew these streets, had memorized every curve, every bend during my nights training with Sakurai.
There—a stack of crates against a building’s wall.
“Up,” I commanded, already climbing.
Kazashita followed, his movements clumsy where mine were fluid.
His fingers slipped on the third handhold. I grabbed his wrist and hauled him up through sheer will. Kazashita collapsed immediately, his legs trembling.
“Get up,” I hissed, pulling at his arm. “We have to keep moving.”
“Why?” He looked up at me, his face gaunt in the moonlight. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because—”
Because I admired him.
Because in another life, I could have loved him.
Because he’d protected me when he didn’t have to, saved me when it would have been easier to let me drown.
Because I couldn’t bear to see him die for the crime of loving me.
“Just move,” I said instead.
We made it across three rooftops before the guards found us again. They had split up, one climbing while the others circled below. The one on the rooftops was fast—faster than Kazashita could ever hope to be, especially in his condition.
We dropped back to street level, Kazashita barely managing the landing, his ankle twisting as he hit the ground.
He went down hard.
“Stop!” a voice boomed above us.
I pulled Kazashita to his feet, threw his arm over my shoulders, half carrying him now.
But we were too slow.
The guards were converging, their footsteps thundering closer.
There was an intersection ahead. If we could just reach it, lose them in the maze of streets—
Movement to our right.
A fourth guard stepped out from an alley. This one carried something different.
Not a katana.
A crossbow.
Time slowed to nothing.
I saw the guard raise the weapon, saw him sight down the bolt.
Saw his finger move to the trigger.
“No—” I screamed.
The twang of the bowstring split the night.
Kazashita jerked against me, a sound escaping his lips, more surprise than pain.
We both looked down, both saw the bolt protruding from his chest just below his ribs, blood already spreading dark across his shirt.
His legs gave out.
I went down with him, catching his weight, lowering him as gently as I could. His blood was hot against my hands. There was so much of it, too much, pooling beneath us and soaking into the earth.
“Kazi—no, no, no—”
I pressed my hands against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but the bolt had gone deep, too deep.
Samurai surrounded us, swords still drawn, but I didn’t care. I looked up at them, at their masked faces, and screamed, “Get help! Get a physician! Now!”
They didn’t move.
“He’s dying!” My voice broke. “Please!”
“He is wakō,” one said simply. “An oath breaker. Death is the Emperor’s justice.”
I turned back to Kazashita. His eyes were open, fixed on mine, and there was something almost peaceful in them.
I caught his hand in mine, and my thumb traced over the scar across his palm—the one he’d gotten cutting me free from my bonds on the island, the first time I’d seen him as something more than just another wakō, the first time I’d seen him as someone who would bleed for another’s freedom.
“Worth it,” he whispered. “Every moment . . . worth it . . .”
“Don’t talk. Save your strength. Someone will come. Someone has to—”
A weak, rasping laugh escaped him, more air than sound. “Irie . . . she’ll be so disappointed.”
“What?”
“She wanted . . . wanted to see us happy together. Said she’d never seen anyone . . . love like I loved you.” His eyes crinkled with something that might have been humor if not for the blood on his lips. “She loved you . . . almost as much as . . . as much as I did. Joke’s on me . . . right?”
My chest constricted.
Irie waited on her island, probably preparing herbs for our return, believing in a love story that could never be, that never truly was.
“Kaneko.” He coughed, blood speckling his lips. “Need to . . . need to tell you . . .”
“I know.” The words came out choked. “I know, Kazi.”
“No.” Another cough, weaker. “Listen. Kichi . . . still alive. The Worm . . . looking for you. Be . . . be careful . . .”
His warning dissolved into labored breathing. Then, with what must have been the last of his strength, he reached up, his bloody palm cupping my cheek. The gesture was so tender, so careful, as if I were something precious he still needed to protect.
“I love you, Kaneko.” The words were barely breath now, his eyes starting to lose focus. “Always . . . loved you . . . from that first . . . first day . . .”
“Kazi—”
“Would do it . . . again . . . all of it . . . to save you . . . one more time . . . a thousand more . . .”
His thumb moved against my cheek, and I felt the wetness—his blood mixing with my tears, marking me, leaving his stain on my skin like a final claim. Even in death, he marked me as his, even knowing I could never be.
His hand grew heavy against my face but didn’t fall—I held it there, pressing it against my cheek, feeling the warmth leave his fingers.
His chest rose once more.
He drew a shallow, stuttering breath.
Then released it.
Then stillness.
“No.” I shook him, gentle at first, then harder. “No, Kazi, gods, please!”
But he was gone.
I kneeled there in his blood, cradling his body, as the Samurai watched in silence. The man who’d loved me with a devotion I didn’t deserve, who’d crossed oceans and given up everything for a chance I could never offer him, was dead.
Because of me.
Tears fell freely then, hot and bitter, as I pressed my forehead against his and whispered the truth I couldn’t say while he lived: “In another life, Kazashita, in another life, I could have loved you, too.”
The guards let me mourn for exactly three breaths before one spoke: “You will come with us now, whore. The magistrate will want to question you about your . . . association with this pirate.”
My head snapped up, at these men who’d just murdered someone I . . . someone I cared for. Something cold and dangerous crystalized in my chest.
“I am Prince Haru’s consort,” I said, my voice steady despite the tears. “I serve under his protection. You will answer to him for this.”
The guards exchanged glances, but I didn’t care what happened next. I looked back down at Kazashita’s face, at the man who’d been both my captor and protector, who’d shown me kindness when the world offered none, who’d loved me with a purity that transcended the darkness of his troubled life.
The night wind picked up, carrying the scent of blood and jasmine from the park’s gardens.
Somewhere in the distance, a temple bell tolled.
And I kneeled in the street, holding the body of a man I could never love the way he deserved, whispering apologies to the gods who’d crafted such cruel fates for us both.