Chapter 37 #2
“He moves differently now. Someone trained him, and not as Samurai train, as something else. They trained him well.” Takeo’s eyes narrowed. “No kata flows in that manner.”
“We’ve all changed, Uncle,” I said, unsure what he meant, where he was leading me. “We can’t all learn at the feet of the honored masters.”
Takeo studied me for a long moment, then his expression shifted to what reminded me of . . . amusement?
“Still knocking each other down, I see,” he said dryly. “Just differently now.”
My face burned. “Uncle—”
But Takeo shifted his aim toward Kaneko, who’d stopped walking and turned back to watch us. “Over a year apart, and you show up here . . . with Prince Haru, no less.” His expression grew serious again. “That’s quite a story, boy, one I’ll want to hear in full.”
“It’s . . . complicated,” Kaneko said, his eyes failing to meet Uncle’s gaze.
“It always was with you two.”
Before I could respond, Takeo stepped past Kaneko and continued following the Prince down the hallway.
Kaneko’s head swiveled as we walked, taking in the temple for the first time—the ancient stonework, the weapons racks scattered everywhere, the meditation gardens glimpsed through windows.
His eyes lingered on the training grounds where tomorrow we’d spar.
“This place is so much bigger than I imagined,” he said.
“Everything’s bigger on the mainland,” I replied, then flushed at Esumi’s snickering.
“Oh, this is going to be fun,” the Prince’s consort sniped from a dozen paces ahead.
Haru’s chambers were indeed the “lotus suite”—spacious by temple standards, with actual cushions instead of bare floor and a single window that somehow peeked over the temple walls to offer a clear view of the mountains rising in the distance.
We settled around a low table. The moment we did, questions burst free, Kaneko and I competing to gain answers first.
“What happened in council?”
“How many knew about the attack?”
“How many survived?”
“Do you think they’ll be back?”
“Is the temple in danger?”
“Susanoo’s balls,” Haru sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Can’t a man take a sip of sake before being assaulted?”
Esumi chuckled. “You usually love being assaulted.”
Haru rolled his eyes, but there was more affection than irritation in the gesture. He took a sip, sighed, and said, “Master Giichi called every senior monk and all Samurai above third rank to council. Forty men crowded into the chamber.”
“It was chaos at first,” Esumi added, uncharacteristically serious. “Everyone spoke at once, accusations flying.”
“Master Sato actually suggested I’d led the rebels here intentionally,” Haru said bitterly. “That my presence was a trap to destroy the temple’s neutrality.”
“That’s absurd,” I protested.
“Is it?” Takeo asked quietly. “The rebels knew where to attack. They clearly had inside information. Is it such a foreign path that the royal house might use a prince to lure their enemies into the open, to encourage old friends to join their fight?”
“Seriously? You think Prince Haru would do something like that? That he would endanger us all? For what? To bait monks into fighting for his father?” Kaneko snapped, then quieted as he thought more deeply. “Oh . . . gods . . . you think there’s a spy at the temple?”
“I think,” Takeo said carefully, pulling a scroll from his robes, “that this web of betrayal spreaders farther than anyone cares to admit.”
He unrolled the scroll on the table. It was a letter, the ink still fresh, the seal broken.
“This arrived by hawk an hour ago,” Takeo continued.
“It is from your father, Yoshi. The Asami have openly declared themselves enemies of Takashi Tennō and the Imperial Han. They no longer hide behind rebel bands, wakō ships, or false flags. They claim the Emperor has lost Heaven’s mandate and the gods themselves demand his removal. ”
My stomach dropped. “But that means—”
“War,” Takeo confirmed. “The northern provinces will follow the Asami. The south remains loyal.”
“The islands?” I asked.
“The island provinces . . .” Takeo glanced at Haru. “Wait to see which way the wind blows.”
“Cowards,” Esumi muttered.
“Pragmatists,” Haru corrected. His dispassionate assessment surprised me, given we spoke about the utter destruction of his entire family and all they’d built. “They know whoever loses will be erased. Entire family lines will end. They wait to pick the winning side.”
“But there is more,” Takeo said, producing another document.
“This is a report of testimony gleaned from the questioning of a captured wakō. He confirms what I suspected—the Asami ordered the attack on Tooi. Asami Eiko has been in league with the pirates for more than two years. They wanted our ports weakened, our defenses scattered. They wanted to force us into either neutrality or siding with their cause.”
“They succeeded,” I said bitterly.
“No, they did not.” Takeo’s eyes flashed. “They revealed themselves. Now your father knows our enemy.”
“The council argued for hours about how to respond,” Haru said. “Some wanted to fortify the temples and remain neutral, to keep every Buddhist monastery out of the conflict. Others sought to declare for the Emperor immediately.”
“And Master Giichi?” I asked.
“He said nothing,” Esumi replied. “Just watched and listened, like he was waiting for something.”
“Or someone,” Haru added meaningfully, glancing at me.
Before I could ask what that meant, Takeo stood. “I leave at dawn. Yoshi, your father needs my counsel. I expect he will declare for the Emperor within the month, and the seas will only grow more dangerous.”
“I should come—”
“No.” His tone brooked no argument. “You do well here.”
His praise was a taste I barely recognized. None of the monks offered such, and my uncle had always been sparing with his own. Given how difficult my temple journey had been, I was startled—and more than a little pleased—to hear it.
He went on. “You must stay. Train and grow stronger. Your father needs a warrior, not a half-trained boy racing home to hide behind his mother’s kimono.”
And there was the uncle I knew and loved. His words were harsh though not wholly untrue.
“Which brings me to our announcement,” Haru said. “Esumi and I have decided to remain at Temple Suwa for a time.”
“What? Really?” I couldn’t hide my excitement.
“Officially, we will continue our martial education,” Haru confirmed. “Unofficially, we remain because the capital is a death trap and my father wants me far from it.”
“I’ve been putting Yoshi in the dirt since we were children,” Kaneko said casually, picking up his rice bowl. “Nice to know I’ll be able to continue the tradition.”
“Excuse me?” I turned to him in mock outrage. “You got lucky a few times on a slippery dock—”
“Every time.”
“That’s not—you didn’t—” I spluttered. “Tomorrow. Training grounds. We’ll see who puts whom in the dirt.”
“Nice grammar, smart boy. Think your bokken can keep up with your mouth?” Kaneko’s grin was exactly as I remembered—confident, teasing, irresistible.
“This should be entertaining.” Esumi grinned at Haru. “Young love expressed through violence. How romantic.”
“Says the man who courted me by repeatedly stealing my desserts at formal dinners,” Haru replied dryly.
“There’s no violence in stolen tarts,” he said, popping a piece of pickled ginger into his mouth. “Besides, it worked, didn’t it?”
Takeo shook his head, but I caught him stifling a smile.
We ate, chatting and laughing as though the world weren’t about to burst into flames.
Takeo remained solemn and silent throughout most of the meal, but the Prince and Esumi were in rare form, telling one bawdy joke or ridiculous story after another.
Being with Haru, Esumi, and my uncle—especially with Kaneko grinning at my side—felt so natural, so intimate.
It was the first perfect moment I could remember in many, many moons.
After dinner, I walked Kaneko back toward his quarters. He’d been given a small room near mine, though we both knew he wouldn’t be using it much. The corridors were quieter now with most students attending their evening meditation.
“Your uncle doesn’t trust me,” Kaneko observed.
“He doesn’t know you like he used to. And with everything going on, it’s hard to trust anyone. Being cautious is what’s kept him alive this long.”
We turned a corner and nearly collided with Daichi and Kenta.
“So,” Daichi said, not moving aside, “this is the distraction you’ve been mooning over for so long?”
“Daichi—” I warned.
“We’re about to fight a war,” he continued, ignoring me, his eyes on Kaneko. “We need warriors, not lovesick fools who abandon their training the moment their whore shows up.”
Kaneko moved so fast I barely saw it. One moment he stood casually beside me, the next Daichi was against the wall, Kaneko’s forearm across his throat, a blade I hadn’t seen him tuck into his sash now pressing into Daichi’s skin, drawing as single bead of blood.
“Call me—or Yoshi—that again,” Kaneko said softly, pleasantly, “and we’ll see how well your training holds up against someone who learned to fight in places darker than your nightmares.”
“Kaneko,” I said, stunned.
For a moment, Kaneko didn’t move. Daichi gulped, causing the droplet of crimson to fall. Then Kaneko stepped back, smooth as silk.
Daichi rubbed his throat, eyes wide. “Tomorrow,” he rasped. “In the ring. Let’s settle this properly, like Samurai.”
“I am no Samurai, and neither are you. With a mouth like that, you might not live long enough to become one, either,” Kaneko said in a sickly pleasant tone that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. “But I will gladly teach you who to fear.”
Kenta pulled Daichi away, and we resumed our walk.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I said.
“Probably not.” Kaneko didn’t sound sorry. “But I’m tired of being called a whore, and I’ll be damned if I stand by as someone insults your honor.”
The word “whore” seemed to float in the air before us.
I wanted to ask why everyone used that word, why some implied he belonged to Haru—or was on his leash—but I couldn’t bring myself to face those truths.
We’d only just been reunited. The last thing I wanted was to taint a beautiful homecoming with the trials that had kept us apart.
We arrived at my chamber—our chamber now, really—forgoing the ruse of even visiting the one assigned to Kaneko. As I reached for the door, Kaneko caught my hand.
“Yoshi,” he said softly. “This is really happening, isn’t it? We’re really here. Together.”
“It’s happening.” I smiled and pulled him close. “And you’re never getting rid of me. You get that, right?”
Our lips met, soft at first, then deeper. Years of longing—more than the year we were separated, years when we were too young or ignorant or stupid to see our love clearly—poured into that kiss. The desperate need to confirm this was real, we were real, we’d found each other again—
“Ahem.”
We broke apart to find Master Hachan standing in the corridor, reed in hand, looking deeply unimpressed.
“Evening meditation, Yoshi-san. Now.”
“Yes, Master,” I said, my face burning.
As the master walked away, Kaneko whispered, “Just like old times. You, me, and someone interrupting.”
I laughed, the sound bright in the dim corridor. “Tomorrow, after I destroy you in the ring—”
“You mean after I leave you face-down in the dirt?”
“Whatever. After that, I’m going to destroy you in my chamber again.”
“Promises, promises, monk boy.”
One more quick kiss, then I headed to meditation, feeling lighter than I had in months.
The knot was gone.
Kaneko was here.
War might be on the horizon, but somehow, impossibly, I was no longer frightened.