28. The Red Path
Chapter twenty-eight
The Red Path
Kenji
Minutes later, the scent of iron was thick enough to taste. Not just in the air, but on my tongue and in the back of my throat.
Tet lay sprawled on the marble. His face was slack, pale, almost peaceful if one ignored the river of red soaking his shirt. His blood had crawled across the floor in thin streams, pooling between the veined cracks in the stone.
His severed ear—what was left of it—had been wrapped in a dirty napkin and tossed into the bin.
The knife’s handle ran hot in my palm. The blade wept steady tears of red onto the floor. With a flick of my wrist, I dropped the knife. It clattered onto the stone. “Get him the fuck out of here.”
Four Scales rushed forward, lifted Tet, and carried him away.
Tet’s head lolled to the side, mouth open, blood spilling from the side of his face and leaving a trail of drops.
I stared at the red path the piece of shit had made.
Interesting.
Tet had triggered the first blood splatter for my new war room. Those stains would remain long after tonight, no matter how much bleach the cleaning staff poured over them.
Blood had memory.
In the old stories, our ancestors called it akairo no michi —the red path. It was the road only the worthy could walk, paved with the stains left behind when loyalty was tested and betrayal answered.
My father believed that a war room’s floor with no blood on it, was cursed ground. He swore empty stone attracted bad fortune and drew defeat into its walls.
I was sixteen the first time I saw my father’s ritual in lifting the curse.
My father had been at war with the Inagawa-kai, led then by Fujioka—a man who wore a necklace strung with his dead father’s finger bones and kept a pit of starving dogs beneath his home, feeding them only the flesh of his enemies.
Rumor had it that the dogs’ howls seeped up through the floorboards at night, keeping his wife awake for weeks. When her pleas to silence them became too much, Fujioka answered by tossing her into the pit.
They say her screams were instantly swallowed by the dogs’ hunger.
Under Fujioka, the Inagawa-kai abandoned the old gambling dens and moved their power to the ports, taxing every shipment that came in from the south.
Their men were always dressed in dark coats that were embroidered with a single silver wave.
They struck only at night and left their enemies’ bodies tied to mooring posts at low tide.
To my father, they were vermin that needed to be exterminated immediately.
In the Fox’s war room, a man knelt in front of us, crying and begging for his life. Five other men held him down.
Father pointed a knife at the pleading man. “A new war room’s floor must be christened with violence, its veins fed with blood. If not. . .the empire will rot from the inside out.”
I swallowed.
Father held a knife just inches from the pleading man’s face. “Would you like to do the honor, Kenji?”
I widened my eyes. “M-me?”
Jobon frowned on the other side of us. “Father, I do not think Kenji needs to be in here. He’s a teen, but still young. Mother would not be pleased.”
“This is our way.” Father shook his head. “He must see this and your mother is a woman. There is no place for a woman’s presence or voice in war.”
“Yes, Father.” Jobon gave a slow bow. “However, Kenji will not be a part of our world. I believe that he should be spared—”
“No one knows the future, son.” Father turned back to me. “Take the knife, Kenji.”
“No, Father.” My voice shook. I was close to pissing myself. “I. . .don’t want to do it.”
Father let out a disappointing breath. “I fear your mother has ruined you.”
Completely ashamed, I lowered my gaze to the floor.
He looked past me and put his focus on his desk. There, Hiro sat on top, munching on candy. He must have been thirteen then. Since I’d known that I would see him that day, I’d brought him a big bag of Konpeitō and surprised him.
Father shook his head. “Hiro? Can you put the bag of candy down long enough to participate?”
Hiro popped a small pink ball into his mouth, chewed once, and hopped off the desk. He didn’t let go of the bag of candy. He just walked up to the kneeling man and started whistling an unnerving tune.
My heartbeat picked up.
Whistling louder, Hiro took the knife from our father’s hand and with no hesitation, he drew the blade across the man’s neck. So fast, I hadn’t been able to blink.
The sound was wet, the spray immediate.
The man gurgled and sagged forward.
I desperately wanted to look away, but knew if I did, Father would yell.
Softening his tune, Hiro slapped the bloodied knife back into our father’s palm.
Droplets landed on Father’s sleeve.
For the first time ever, I saw the Fox recoil.
And with that, Hiro turned on his heel, walked back to the desk, and jumped onto it with the same casual grace as before. A second later, he was popping more candy into his mouth with now bloody fingers.
Jobon stared at him, startled like he’d just seen something in our brother he hadn’t accounted for.
I was shocked too. But somewhere in me, I knew Hiro had it in him.
Our father stood there longer than necessary, looking at Hiro. His expression wasn’t simple approval—it was a tangle of awe, disgust, and something colder.
Fear.
I returned my thoughts to the present.
How odd that my Tiger’s little challenge with Kiko had gotten me to initiate the forgotten ritual.
Fed stone wins wars.
I smiled to myself.
Thank you, Tora.
I pulled off my black shirt. Too much blood had sprayed all over it, making the fabric soaked. Air cooled my damp skin. My muscles eased under the temperature shift, but the faint stickiness of blood still clung to my chest and arms.
Yoichi approached me with a dark gray towel.
I gave him my shirt, took the towel, and wiped the blood from my hands. The towel grew darker with each pass across my palms and knuckles. “Dismiss the Fangs and Scales. I want every man fed and asleep within the hour.”
Yoichi nodded. “And the Claws?”
I checked them.
Hiro now sat in a chair next to my desk with one leg hooked lazily over the armrest, as he twirled a new lollipop in his hand.
This one was white and sparkling blue. Upon seeing me watching him, he popped the lollipop in his mouth and his jaw worked slow on the candy.
Meanwhile, his eyes—half-lidded and sharp—never left me.
What do you want, brother?
The Claws had sat down too. Beside him, they shifted in their seats, shoulders squared, boots planted wide, and their hands resting just a little too close to the hilts of their blades. None of them spoke, but the air around them was heavy with the weight of unsaid words.
Whatever this is about. . .it will be stupid.
“I’ll deal with the Claws, Yoichi. You handle everyone else.” I rolled my eyes. “Also, tell the guards on the outer gates to double the watch until dawn. Then rotate them out for rest.”
Yoichi gave a short nod. “Got it.”
“The outer perimeter of the island stays tight. Put a curfew up for all families to keep the guards night shift easier. Also, I don’t want anyone inside this house past midnight.”
“No problem.”
“At first light, call the captains. We convene at nine.” I yawned. “By tomorrow, I want updated maps of every port and all Fox-controlled territories on my desk.”
“Got it. See you tomorrow.” Yoichi gave another short nod and began gathering the Fangs and Scales to the other side of the room.
I remained there and put my view back to my desk.
In no time, Hiro had left the chair and headed my way.
The Claws followed him.
When they got to me, I leaned my head to the side. “What’s wrong?”
“Your Tiger left.”
“I saw.”
“I had hoped to speak with her.”
I quirked my eyebrows. “Why?”
“The Claws and I still have our grievances to address.”
My tone was sharper than it needed to be. “She’s not cooking for you all, so drop it.”
“Now that she is the Dragon’s Heart, she must cook for us.”
“What the hell would give you that idea?”
Hiro tilted his head like I was the idiot here. As he delivered his next words, his lollipop moved from one corner of his mouth. “The Dragon’s Heart keeps the body alive.”
I stared at him. “And?”
“We are the Claws that hold your blades. We strike in your name. If the Heart beats for you, it beats for us too. Without her attention, the body weakens and weak Claws drop weapons.”
“Is that some sort of threat to protest? If you do not get fucking cornbread, you will not fight?”
“If she is the Heart, then it is her duty to keep us strong through food.”
“How long did it take you to come up with that argument?”
Hiro shrugged. “A few minutes.”
The war room hummed around us—low voices breaking apart into hallways, boots crossing stone, the hush of doors as Yoichi shepherded my men to rest.
Hiro spoke, “I have another line too. This took me longer to come up with.”
“Oh.” I held out my hands. “Please tell me. It would bring me joy.”
“Through food,” Hiro pulled the lollipop out of his mouth and pointed it at me. “A Heart feeds the body.”
“No. The Heart’s job is to pump blood, not stand in a kitchen.”
“Blood and food are the same in spirit, Brother. Both give life. If the Heart cooks for the body, it binds us together. Brings warmth to cold steel—”
“My chef has won awards. I can have him cook anything for you and have anything you all may desire flown to this island. We could sprinkle fucking edible gold on everything and make sure your chopsticks are decorated with diamonds.”
Hiro and the Claws didn’t stare at me, they glared.
Then, Hiro placed the lollipop back in his mouth. “You think this is trivial?”
“I don’t think this is trivial. I think this is fucking bullshit and the most unimportant thing I have had to hear today—”
“You’ve never fought on an empty stomach with no warmth to return to. You’ve been the Dragon for too long, and before that you were Kenji. And Kenji was well-fed by others, served by others too. . .all his life. . .”