“Haru—” Esumi growled.
“No, it’s true.” The words spilled out, faster now. I couldn’t have stopped them if I’d tried. “According to Mother, the greatest scorekeeper the Empire has ever known, Kioshi was walking at nine months. I didn’t walk until I was halfway through my second year. He was reading at four. I struggled with it until I was seven. He mastered every sword form on his first try. I had to practice for months just to get the basics right.” I could hear the edge in my voice, that old familiar resentment bubbling up. “Even our births were compared. Kioshi came exactly on the day the astrologers predicted and during an auspicious hour. I came three weeks early, screaming my lungs out during a thunderstorm. The priests said it was inauspicious, if that’s even a thing.”
“Stars aren’t everything,” Kaneko offered.
“They are when you are Imperial princes.” I stared into the flames. “Everything Kioshi touches turns golden. Everything I touch . . .”
Silence settled over the fire.
I could feel everyone watching me, probably pitying me, which made it worse somehow.
“But you admire him,” Yoshi said carefully. “I can hear it in your voice, even when you’re angry.”
And there it was.
The truth I’d been dancing around.
“I guess I do.” The admission was painful—and oddly freeing. “Maybe that’s the worst part, you know? I can’t even properly hate him. He’s a genuinely good person—and that’s a lot rarer than you might think within an Imperial family.” I shook my head and stirred the coals, no longer trying to kill whatever lived within the flames. “It would be so much easier if he was an asshole, if he lorded over me or used his position to make everyone miserable, but he doesn’t. He never has.”
“He sounds like a good man,” Kaneko said.
“Gods, he is. He’s brilliant and compassionate and everything an emperor should be.” The words felt like they were being dragged out of me. “That’s why it’s so gods-damned frustrating. I want to resent him. I’ve spent my whole life in his shadow, being compared to him, being found wanting, but I can’t hate him because he’s actually worthy of it all: the praise, the expectations, the crown.” I looked up at the stars, cold and distant. “He deserves to be Emperor, and I deserve to be . . . whatever I am.”
“You’re more than you think,” Esumi said softly.
“He protected you, though,” Yoshi said. “Right? You said he always protected you.”
“He did.” I nodded slowly. “That’s another thing—Kioshi never made me feel less than, even when everyone else did, even when I deserved it.”
After a moment’s silence disturbed only by the crackling of the fire, I continued, “I’ve spent my whole life being angry that he’s better than me, but I’ve also spent my whole life knowing the Empire is lucky to have him, knowing that I was the luckiest brother in the whole world.” I looked around at their faces, fire-lit and attentive. “When he becomes Emperor—really becomes it, with the crown and the ceremony and everything—the Empire will have a ruler who cares about people, whoseesthe servant boys and fishermen and farmers, who understands that power is a responsibility, not simply a birthright.”
“That’s high praise,” Yoshi observed.
“It’s the truth.” I forced myself to say the next part. “I’m jealous of him. I’ve always been jealous. But . . . I also worship him, I think. Is that pathetic? To worship your own brother?”
“It sounds human to me,” Esumi said quietly. “Especially if he is everything you say.”
“It’s exhausting.” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I want to be like him, and I hate that I want that. I’m relieved I’ll never have to walk in his shoes, and I hate that I’m relieved. I resent that he’s perfect, and I love him for it anyway.” I shook my head. “He’s my brother, my hero. He’s everything I always wished I was and everything I’m glad I’m not. How does anyone untangle that?”
“Maybe you don’t have to.” Kaneko shrugged. “Maybe acknowledging it—and standing beside him—is enough.”
“Maybe.” I grabbed yet another stick. Esumi snatched it from my grip and tossed it aside. “But I know this—when we get to Bara, when we stand before him, you’ll understand. Each of you will see it. You won’t be able to miss how he just . . . commands respect without even trying, how everyone in a room orients toward him like flowers toward the sun.”
“Back to the original question, tell us abouthim,” Kaneko said eventually. “Not about how he’s perfect, aboutwhohe actually is. The person, not the prince.”
I told them about Kioshi sneaking into my quarters when we were children to teach me the sword forms the masters had shown him that day, about how he used to steal sweets from the kitchen and share them with me when Father said I didn’t deserve any, about the time he got in trouble for teaching me a drinking song he’d learned from the palace guards, one I sung while sitting on Father’s lap during a formal audience.
Kaneko spat tea across the fire, causing it to flare angrily.
“And he has this tell when he’s lying,” I said, a smile blooming. “His left eye twitches, just a bit; but if you know to look for it, you can always tell when he’s being diplomatic instead of honest.” I grinned. “Father once asked him if he thought a new minister was competent. Kioshi said yes, but his eye twitched. Father didn’t notice, but I spent the rest of dinner trying not to laugh. The minister was such an idiot.”
“So he’s not actually perfect,” Yoshi said with a smile.
“Oh, he’s still perfect, but he’s my brother, too,” I said. “He gets frustrated when people are deliberately obtuse, he has a terrible singing voice but loves music anyway, and he’s hopeless at calligraphy. Gods, his brushwork looks like a drunk spider got squashed all over the parchment.”
Yoshi covered his mouth with the back of one hand, though I could see his eyes dancing.
“You’re more alike than you think,” Esumi said. “You and your brother.”
