He entered and closed the door and promptly began pacing. Three steps one way, turn, three steps back. Over and over. I hadnever seen him like this, never seen him lose the iron control that defined his every movement, every word, every breath.
“Sakurai-san?” I ventured. “What’s wrong?”
He stopped pacing and looked at me. For the first time since I had known him, I saw something unguarded in his expression.
Fury, barely contained.
“Three,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “Three potential targets visited the house this week.”
I waited, not understanding.
“A military officer whose job is coordinating supply lines to the northern garrisons, a merchant with known connections to rebel sympathizers, and a noble whose family has been funding the insurrection under the guise of ‘charity.’” He resumed pacing. “Three men whose pillow talk could have revealed troop movements, supply routes, and funding networks, intelligence that could prevent the next attack and save lives.”
Understanding dawned cold and heavy in my chest.
“But I couldn’t—”
“No, you could not.” His voice was acid. “Because instead of serving your purpose here, you spend your nights alone . . . because a prince purchased your time and refuses to allow others to . . . All while the Empire’s enemies—his enemies—move freely. People are dying—hisfucking people!”
I had no words.
“I sent other courtesans, of course,” he continued, and I had never heard him speak so freely, so without control. “I tried to salvage what I could. They missed everything. One of them didn’t even realize the merchant was discussing anything significant—thought his complaints about ‘northern difficulties’ were just business grumblings. She recalled a vague outline of the conversation, but value only lies in details. The information wasright there, and she let it pass because she hasn’t been trained, because she isn’tyou.”
He stopped, pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, and sucked in a breath.
“I tried to speak with the mistress. I even suggested she might . . . reconsider the arrangement or find some diplomatic way to offer your services to others while maintaining the Prince’s interest.”
“What did she say?”
“She dismissed me, smiled her feckless, painted smile and told me the Prince ispleasedwith his arrangement, and that his continued patronage ensures the house’s reputation with the nobility. She said his gold spends as well as any other customer’s—better, since he pays twice your rate.” Sakurai’s hands clenched, then unclenched, then clenched again. “She said royal disfavor carries a higher price than any loss of revenue, and that I should be pleased with the arrangement rather than questioning it.” He laughed, sharp and bitter. “Pleased, as if revenue matters more than—” He cut himself off and started pacing again.
I sat there, frozen. This was not Sakurai, the calm, controlled teacher who never showed emotion, who never vented, never complained, never showed weakness. Hells, he never trusted anyone enough to do any of those things, not even me.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I didn’t ask the Prince to—”
“I know.” He stopped and looked at me. “I know you didn’t. And part of me . . .” He paused. “Part of me even understands why he did it, is grateful that you . . . is grateful.” His expression hardened. “But the part of me that serves a higher purpose understands that your comfort—anyone’s comfort—does not outweigh the Empire’s security.”
He stopped pacing and let his hands unfurl, stretching his fingers a few times.
“I considered reporting the situation,” Sakurai said finally. “Letting them assign me to another operative, someone more . . .accessible.” He shook his head. “But replacing you would take months, perhaps longer. Training someone from nothing, building their skills, establishing their position in a house like this. We don’t have months. Every week we wait means more attacks, more deaths.”
He resumed pacing. I held my tongue and watched him work through the problem in real time, weighing and discarding options.
“I could request reassignment to external operations. Leave the house entirely.”
Three steps. Turn.
“But my position here provides cover. Access. Abandoning it would raise questions.”
Three more steps. Turn.
“I could attempt to compromise the Prince, find leverage to make him release you.” He stopped. “But he is royalty. A scandal might also destroy you, the house, and everything we’ve built.”
He stood very still for a long moment.
“Unless . . .” His voice dropped. “Unless we change your function entirely.”
That sounded . . . ominous.
