“He moves differently now. Someone trained him, and not as Samurai train, as something else. They trained him well.” Takeo’s eyes narrowed. “Nokataflows 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 hereintentionally,” 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 thatthe 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? Thathewould 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 TakashiTennoand the ImperialHan. They no longer hide behind rebel bands,wakoships, 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—”
