But because of a moment of anger, her father had ruined it all.
“You ever miss your brother?”
Her uncle had followed her from the chambers. Now he approached, the same sad look in his eyes she’d seen before.
“I didn’t know my brother,” she said. “He was a baby.”
“And yet,” he said, “you mourn him. You mourn your family. I do, too.”
She wouldn’t look him in the eye. Instead, she stared at the painting, the arc of the arrow in the monster’s breast, the smoke and the clouds of doom that surrounded the rendering of her uncle as he was, thirty years before.
“How old were you, in this picture?” she asked abruptly.
“About your age. After that, everyone knew my name. Those days are long gone now… Now people only know me as the Gensei brother who didn’t take part, when his elder wanted to be king.”
“You were loyal to the Ten’in.”
“That may be, but enough people outside these walls hate me for it, too. I did what I had to do to survive. And yet I mourn, like you do, Kai. Let us walk.”
The west gate: silent, cold and gray. The famous trees, orange and cherry, stood as lone watchers in the courtyard. No one wanted to go out. They passed snow-covered halls, the little fence-line with the bell that rang in splintery air, and went to the pine garden on the other side. Here Yora sat on a bench, looking at the falling snow in the mute, stone-colored sky.
“I enjoy this little grove,” he said. “Close as we’ll ever get to the woods, when we’re here. In the capital.”
“I like it too.” They were quiet for a moment, watching light, cottony tufts among the evergreens, pine needles glistening with ice. Her uncle looked at his hands. The scars, the thick fingers. Tough skin, callused and strong from practice. And yet, as she glanced at Yora now, she thought he seemed so old, sitting heavily on the bench. So tired. He massaged his fingers, and let the moment go on. Somewhere, a bird called, a blue-winged magpie darted from the camellias.
“I haven’t seen my daughters in more than a year,” he said. “So much time has passed. They’ve been training with your cousin Tokuon in the mountains near Yamakaji. After their arguments with the chancellor’s sons, they couldn’t stay.”
“I wrote to them, before they left.” She kept her eyes downcast. “I told them not to go.”
“Well, my daughters will never do what you tell them.” He smiled softly. “Seikiyo offered them a choice. The same choice he demanded of me: stay loyal, or die. My daughters could not stay loyal. And of course, they would not die. So it was exile.”
“Just like all of us,” Kai said.
“But not your father.” Yora did not look so tired anymore. He looked angry. “You may be limited here, but you are alive. You have your rank.”
“What rank? I have nolands. They gave our lands to Zusho…”
“You have your life. Sometimes that is enough.”
“Thank you for the lesson, uncle,” she said, souring. “But I have things to do, excuse me.”
“Patience, Kai. Please. It’s the only way we have survived. The only reason we still have what few things we do.”
“And while you were being patient, uncle, Seikiyo was the one taking everything we had. Think about it.”
He said: “Don’t you think I have? Kai. Do you know why people say we need a man like him? Seikiyo? They think the emperor and the monks are not enough to lead us through an age of plagues. When things get bad, you need someone who can use a bow.”
Frustrated, she shook her head. “Why do all these terrible things need to happen,” she muttered.
“We’re human. We have the beautiful, and the terrifying, in us, both.”
“I’ve received a letter from the monk Moro, of the Gate. He wants to meet me. Did you know that?”
A pained look crossed her uncle’s face. “No,” he said. “I did not.”
“Why do you think he wants to meet? It’s because he’s at war with the monks of the Mountain, and they are backed by Seikiyo. He means to move against them.”
“That would not be wise.”
