“I had nothing better to do while you murdered that perfectly good fire.”
Across from us, Kaneko laughed quietly. He and Yoshi sat close together, close enough that their shoulders brushed. They’d been like that since we’d stopped for the night. It would have been sweet if it wasn’t so painfully obvious they were trying to be subtle about it.
The forest around us was alive with the sounds of night. Crickets chirped in endless rhythm, their song rising and falling like gentle waves, something rustled in the underbrush—probably a rabbit or fox—the horses snorted and shifted where we’d tethered them to a nearby tree, their tack jingling softly.
It was beautiful in a wild, untamed way, so different from the carefully manicured gardens of the palace or even Suwa’s ordered grounds.
“For the love of the gods, leave the fire alone, Haru,” Yoshi said, his voice carrying that amused tone he got when he was trying not to laugh. “It’s suffered enough.”
I dropped the stick into the flames with more force than necessary. “Everyone’s a critic.”
“Only when you’re being ridiculous,” Esumi said, but he was smiling.
The fire had burned down to comfortable coals, radiating steady warmth against the night’s chill. The temperature had dropped significantly since sunset. I pulled my traveling cloak tighter around my shoulders, grateful for its weight.
Our guards camped some distance away. Giichi already slept, bundled into a nest of blankets atop his bedroll. That left only the four of us, a small fire, and an ocean of darkness pressing in from all sides.
We were heading home.
Well, two of us heading home.
Yoshi and Kaneko were heading into the unknown, but they seemed glad for the journey anyway. They’d said something about owing me a debt, about wanting to help. I suspected it had more to do with wanting to stay near each other and away from masters’ reeds, but I wasn’t going to say that out loud.
The road to Bara would take at least a week, maybe longer depending on weather and how often we stopped. I pushed that thought away and focused on the fire instead, on its warmth and the familiar comfort of Esumi sitting beside me and the quiet companionship of our friends slouched across the flames.
An owl hooted somewhere in the distance, its cry lonely and haunting.
For one blessed moment, everything felt peaceful and safe.
“Can I ask you something?” Yoshi’s voice broke the silence. He’d been quiet most of the evening, lost in his own thoughts. Whatever divine power had awakened in him was still new, still frightening, and I recognized that look—the uncertainty, the fear of what he might become.
“Always,” I said.
“What do you think Kioshi-samawill do? As Emperor, I mean.” He glanced at Kaneko, then back at me, his face half in shadow, half painted silver by moonlight. “I know it’s not . . . I know this isn’t easy to talk about. You just learned . . . about your father . . . but we’re riding toward the capital to support your brother, and I just realized I don’t know anything about him except that he’s your older brother.”
The question settled over me like a shroud. I’d been so focused on getting home, on the fact that Father was dead and everything was falling apart, that I hadn’t really let myself think about what came next.
About Kioshi wearing the crown and taking Father’s place.
“He’ll be perfect at it,” I said, though the words came out more bitter than I intended. I caught Esumi’s glance and forced a smile. “I mean, he’ll be good, probably better than Father—better than anyone, really.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I poked the fire again.
Esumi sighed but didn’t comment.
I tried to find words for the complicated knot in my chest.
“Kioshi is . . .” I paused, gathering thoughts. “He’s three years older than me, which means that by the time I was old enough to start training, he was already the masters’ star pupil. He was always the perfect heir—and everyone compared us.”
Memories slammed into me.
The pair of us standing in the training yard at four and seven years old, the wooden sword too heavy in my hands, while Father watched withthatlook, the one that said he was mentally comparing me to Kioshi and finding me wanting.
“That must have been hard,” Yoshi said quietly.
“You’d think so.” I laughed, but it sounded hollow even to me. “The thing is, Kioshi is actually everything they say. He’s a skilled warrior, a brilliant strategist, and a dutiful son. He can quote poetry and philosophy, knows the name of every provincial lord and their heirs, can debate theology with priests and economics with merchants.” I grabbed another stick and jabbed it into the fire, angering the coals into brightness. “It’s actually infuriating how perfect he is. It’s as though the gods took all the princely qualities and gave them to him, then made me out of a half empty bottle of sake and a pile of dung.”
