“I’m sure.” I met Kaneko’s eyes, then Yoshi’s. My tone took on a formality, as though I’d just slipped on some badge of office—or crown. “Yoshi, your power is still too raw for you to handle on your own. The monks can try to help you gain greater control, but none of them know yourmahoulike I do. I can help you learn control. This will help you grow and protect those around you. Kaneko, you are more skilled than you let anyone see. I have watched you closely. I see how you move, like someone taught you to fight in the shadows, like the shadows themselves were your instructors. And yes, Iknowwhat that means.”
Kaneko’s expression shuttered, but he didn’t speak or deny my words.
Yoshi looked at him, eyes narrowing, but Kaneko only shook his head.
“The Empire is going to war,” I continued. “My father is dead, my brother is gods-know-where, and I am about to walk into a nest of vipers who will smile while plotting my downfall. So yes, I am bringing people I trust to Bara, and that includes you two.”
They exchanged another look, another of their silent conversations I’d grown used to.
Finally, Kaneko nodded. “Of course, we’ll come.”
“Thank you.” I turned back to Esumi. “We leave at dawn. I need to . . .”
What? What did I need to do? Prepare for a journey? Pack my few possessions? Try to sleep knowing my father’s body was lying in state in Bara while assassins roamed free?
“You need to breathe,” Esumi said, reading my face. “And let me help you do that. Kaneko, Yoshi, be packed and ready to leave at dawn.”
Without another word, Esumi took my hand and led me from Giichi’s chambers.
We strode past gardens and corridors I’d traversed a hundred times, to the room we’d been sharing for more than a month. Inside, he closed the door and pulled me down to sit on the sleeping mat, then took my hands in his.
“Tell me about him,” he said before I could open my mouth to object. “Tell me about your father. A memory. Any memory.”
“Esumi, I don’t—”
“Please.”
I drew in a deep breath and eyed him.
His jaw was set, eyes hard. There was no escaping this snare.
So words began, a trickle at first, growing into a gale that threatened to wash me away.
I told him about the time Father found me, age seven, trying to climb the high palace walls because I wanted to see if I could. Instead of punishing me, he’d had a ladder brought and climbed with me, all the way to the top, where we sat with our legs dangling over the edge. We looked out at Bara spreading below like an ocean of buildings, streets, and people.
I told Esumi of the year I decided I wanted to be a fisherman instead of a prince, and how Father had arranged for me to spend a month working on a fishing boat. Esumi laughed as I remembered the calluses that had formed on my hands and feet, and how I’d hated every seasick moment. Ironically, I returned home with new respect for people who worked beneath the baking sun every day of their lives.
I talked until my voice went hoarse.
Esumi listened to every word, holding my hands through all of it.
Outside the window, the sun drifted below the mountains.
And I let myself grieve the loss of a man who was divine, not because of his crown or the kiss of a god, but because he was my father.
Sleep, when it finally came, was thin and fractured. I woke in the darkness, disoriented, reaching for something I couldn’t name. Each time, Esumi was there. His presence was steady and warm, anchoring me through the worst of it. When dawn finally grayed the windows, I felt like someone had scooped out my insides and left only the shell.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered into the quiet.
Esumi’s arms tightened around me. “One moment at a time, one breath at a time.”
“What if that’s not enough?”
“Then we’ll find another way. Together.”
The word settled something in me.
Together.
