Part I
Chapter 1
Haru
Five years ago
Apack of half-drunken men howled as I held the dice high above my head. I spun them around my fingers, like some mummer about to perform a trick, then hurled them across the table. Everyone leaned closer, watching as two six-sided ivory dice danced across rough wood.
“Cho!” some yelled.
Others shouted, “Han!” in reply.
When the dice settled on five and four, those who’d chanted “han” cheered and banged fists on the table. The dealer gathered the dice, paid out coins to the winners, and cleared the board of lost bets.
My nineteen-year-old grin widened as I guzzled wine from a cup in one hand and grabbed a pouch of coins from the dealer with the other. I’d won a year’s worth of wages for any farmer or fisherman—and had drunk nearly my weight in sake.
Here, in the smoky bowels of the Crippled Crab, no one knew me as the Emperor’s third son. No one expected me to sitthrough endless councils debating whether the rebellion would turn from bitter words to bloodshed. No one chided me for my irreverent tongue or youthful indiscretions.
“Kanpai!” I shouted, raising my empty cup, and the crowd echoed my toast as the serving maids rushed to fill everyone’s cups. I grabbed a handful of coins and tossed them into a bowl carried by one of the servers, and the men’s roar swelled.
Wine burned away the memory of my father’s hollow stare.
You are only my third son, Father had said, his voice flat as winter stone.Leave strategy to those who understand it.
I was loath to admit it, but Father’s words still stung.
“Mask!” a man called from the back of the pack.
My head swam upward as my eyes searched for the voice. Through the haze of alcohol and pipe smoke, I glimpsed movement near the room’s edge—a figure in a bronze lion mask who’d been watching me all evening. The man hadn’t stared like the others who recognized wealth when they saw it; he’d simplyobserved.
The way palace guards watched my every twitch.
The Crippled Crab was the capital’s most notorious gambling den and pleasure house, boasting a wide menu of men, women, and every form of forbidden entertainment one could imagine—and a few I found unimaginable. It was exactly the sort of place that would horrify my father’s Grand Minister and send my tutors into apoplectic fits.
Which made it perfect, a home away from home for a wayward, irrelevant prince.
Guests in the Crab commonly wore an eyepatch or mask, giving the place a festive air and protecting the privacy of its patrons. Most were little more than scarves with roughly cut eye holes, though some chose elaborate ceramic masks depicting an angry god or snarling beast. I opted for a simple cloth covering that tied about my head and draped down my neck.
“Take off your mask. Let us see who wins everything this night.” The persistent voice carried an edge.
I bristled. The last thing I wanted was to be recognized—to be seen.
“Mask!” the voice cried out again, this time joined by a few others.
I laughed and held up both palms, but others took up the chant. “Mask, mask, mask” rang through the gambling hall.
I grabbed my purse, tucked it into my sash, and tried to turn, but drunkenness and a room filled with furniture didn’t mix well, sending me toppling. My purse slipped out, and coins scattered across the sticky floor. In a blink, every gambler in the place crawled on hands and knees, scooping coins and cheering their good fortune. I tried to fend them off, but none wished to help the hapless drunk who’d spilled his winnings.
“Stop. Give that back,” I shouted.
Someone laughed.
Another shoved me in the back.
I fell into the table, then tumbled into several others who were scurrying across the floor.
A large, shirtless man with angry tattoos shoved upward, sending me sailing into another group.
