Someone screaming a name I couldn’t quite hear.
Then it was gone, leaving only the coin’s burning presence and a certainty that chilled me to my core.
The shadows weren’t asking or granting permission. They commanded me to join the Prince. For what, I had no idea, but the directive was clear.
“Give me five minutes,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
Haru’s relief was palpable, but his next words carried weight: “Pack only what you can carry. And Kaneko, bring whatever tools of your trade you might possess. All of them. The temple has its own ways of training warriors, but I suspect your education has been unique.”
Haru then rose to leave, but Esumi paused, studying me with his sharp Samurai gaze. “That night,” he said quietly. “The pirate who died. He meant something to you.”
The pirate. Kazi. How in Amaterasu’s glory did he know about Kazashita?
But it wasn’t a question. It was a command to answer. So my heart did. “Once. In another life.”
“We all have other lives we’ve left behind.” Esumi nodded slowly. “Sometimes they follow us anyway.”
And with that, the Prince and his lover departed, leaving me alone in the veiled alcove with three cups of sake and a future I hadn’t expected.
My mind struggled to catch up.
Temple Suwa. Where monks trained warriors and princes learned discipline. Where the shadowswantedme to go, for reasons I couldn’t yet understand—though that flash of vision, that image of blood on temple stones, suggested their reasons might be written in blood.
I downed the remaining sake—mine, Haru’s, and Esumi’s—then stood.
Five minutes to gather my meager possessions, my hidden weapons, and the tools of a trade I’d never asked for. Twentyminutes before the gates closed and trapped us all in a city brewing with assassination and conspiracy.
The coin still burned against my thigh, its heat—real or imagined—a constant reminder that I wasn’t making this choice freely. The shadows had plans within plans, and I was merely another blade to be positioned where the cutting needed to be done.
As I left the alcove, whispers followed me through the common room.
Let them wonder and gossip and scheme, I thought, lifting my chin and striding out with a confidence I’d never felt within.
Chapter 32
Yoshi
The convoy attack had shattered Temple Suwa’s neutrality like a stone hurled into a sheet of thin ice. I stood in formation with my classmates, trying to focus on the morningkata, but across the yard, two Samurai faced each other with unveiled suspicion and naked hostility.
“Yourhanborders Asami territory,” one snarled. “Howconvenientthat you were absent during guard rotation that night.”
“And your cousin serves in the capital,” the other shot back. “Perhaps he whispers in more ears than just the Emperor’s.”
Steel rang as a blade cleared its sheath.
CRACK.
Master Hachan’s staff slammed between them. “ENOUGH!”
But the damage was done. Trust had died in that mountain pass, along with the monks who’d guarded the rice. Someone within these walls had betrayed them. Everyone knew it. And everyone suspected everyone else.
I moved through the forms—block, strike, pivot—but my focus shattered when Daichi “accidentally” stepped too close, forcing me to stumble. Yesterday, someone from the northern provinces had questioned whether southernhanloyalists could be trusted. Daichi, whose family held lands in the south, had simmered ever since.
The master’s reed found my shoulder. “Your stance is too narrow, Yoshi-san.”
I adjusted, but the correction felt hollow.
How could we perfect our forms when we couldn’t even stand beside each other without suspicion?
