“Oh yes. So there we are, the Emperess’s grand birthday feast, all the nobles and dignitaries assembled, and the court musician starts playing the ceremonial flute—”
“Twenty-sevenpeacocks,” Haru interrupted, tears of laughter in his eyes. “Twenty-seven peacocks burst into the throne room screaming like demons, chasing the Minister of Finance around the hall because Esumi had been training them with treats hidden in robes that looked exactly like his.”
“He ran straight into the birthday cake,” Esumi added proudly. “Face first. It was a joke made art.”
“Father was furious,” Haru said.
“Your divine father was struggling to keep from laughing his royal ass off,” Esumi corrected. “I saw him covering his mouth with his sleeve and turning away.”
“That was horror, not laughter.”
“It wasdefinitelylaughter.”
I was wheezing, imagining the scene. “What happened to you?”
“Three months of dawn meditation with the most boring monk in existence,” Esumi said mournfully. “Brother Tadashi. He could make the story of the world’s creation sound like tax documentation.”
“You deserved worse,” Haru said.
“I regret nothing,” Esumi declared. Then, conspiratorially to me: “I’m training crows now. They’re smarter than peacocks.”
“Please don’t,” Haru begged. “I’m running out of excuses for your ‘incidents.’”
“That’s what makes it exciting. The challenge of—”
I touched my neck absently, fingers seeking something that wasn’t there—
The laughter died in my throat, as a chill raced through me despite the warm morning sun.
My horse snorted, ears flicking back, dancing sideways.
Around us, the forest had gone completely silent. There were no birdsongs. No insects buzzing. Even Esumi had frozen mid-sentence.
“Something’s wrong,” I whispered.
Esumi’s entire demeanor shifted, the jokester vanishing as his hand flew to hiskatana. “What do you—”
The whistle came first.
Then the wetthunkof impact as the guard beside me jerked, an arrow sprouting from his throat. Blood sprayed across my face, hot and copper-thick. The man toppled from his horsewithout a sound, hitting the ground with a noise like dropped meat.
“To the Prince!” a guard yelled.
“RIDE!” Haru roared. “FORWARD! NOW!”
The world exploded into chaos.
Our horses lurched as arrows filled the air, their whistles becoming a symphony of death.
Men screamed. Horses shrieked—worse than human screams, high and terrible. Bodies fell with bone-shattering cracks, their final sounds.
I pressed low against my mount’s neck, her mane whipping my face. The taste of blood—not mine, gods, not mine—was thick in my mouth. Beside me, Esumi drew his sword, the ring of steel sharp against the chaos, as he batted away an arrow that hummed past my ear. Behind us, our attackers gave chase. The thunder of their horses mixed with our own, the ground shaking, dust and blood misting the air.
Gods, there were so many.
More guards fell.
The man directly in front of me pitched sideways, three arrows in his back, their feathers still vibrating. His horse veered into mine, and for a terrifying moment, we tangled—legs and reins and screaming animals fumbling together. I felt us going over, saw the ground rushing up, then my mount found her footing and leaped over the falling guard.
