“Haru-sama, please, you need to understand the political situation before you walk into that viper’s nest.” Kon’s hand shot out, gripping my wrist. “Listen to me. Your father held the Empire together through force of personality and the respect his reign commanded, but he is gone, and with him, so is that respect. Kioshi should have been a seamless transition—he was trained for it, prepared for it, accepted by all the major factions, but with him missing . . .”
“I’m all that’s left,” I finished numbly.
“And you, Prince Haru-sama, are an unknown quantity—and what they do know of your past does not exactly inspire confidence.” He sucked in a breath, as though pausing to decide how far to press, how honest to be. “You have spent years avoiding court, avoiding responsibility, making it clear you had no interest in governance. The ministers barely know you as anything beyond a lost, drunken boy, the generals do not trustyou, and theDaimyoare wondering if an empire at war can afford an emperor who . . .” He trailed off.
“Who what? Who spent his time drinking and whoring instead of learning statecraft? Who treated Imperial protocol like a joke? Who made it abundantly clear he was the spare, never the heir?” My voice cracked. “Say it.”
“Whoisyoung,” Kon said, his grip on my arm firm. “And untested and walking into a crisis that would challenge even the most experienced ruler. But also . . .” He released my wrist and sat back. “I know this man to be loyal, and that loyalty has earned him companions who would die for him. This man possesses his father’s gift—and by all accounts, he used it to save his friends when faced with impossible odds. Iknowthis man has a good heart, even if he tries to hide it behind jokes and deflection.”
“A good heart won’t win a war.”
“No. But it might hold an empire together long enough to find a way through one.” He refilled both our cups. “You are not your brother, Haru. You are not your father. You are going to have to find your own path, if it comes to that. I fear it may come to that very soon.”
I drank the sake in one burning gulp. “What if I fail?”
“Then the Empire falls, and everything your father built crumbles to dust.” Kon’s brutal honesty was almost refreshing. “So no pressure.” He grinned and raised his cup before downing his sake in one gulp as I had.
Despite everything, I laughed. “You’reterribleat comforting speeches. You know that, right?”
“I know. I’ll leave that to the poets and priests. I deal in truth, even when it is sharp.” He studied me for a long moment. “Your father was my friend. Did you know that? Not just my emperor—but my friend. We hunted together, drank together, arguedabout philosophy until dawn. I knew him as a man, not just a symbol.”
“I didn’t know.”
“He spoke of you often. He worried about you, yes, wished you would take more interest in governance, certainly, but he loved you, Haru.” His voice was so genuine, so heartfelt, I barely registered his lack of honorific. “He loved your spirit and your refusal to be molded into something you weren’t. He once told me that Kioshi would make a fine emperor, but you . . . you would make a better man.”
My throat closed around words I couldn’t speak.
“I do not know if goodness will be enough for what comes, but I do know that your father believed in you, even when you did not believe in yourself. So maybe . . .” He raised his cup in a toast. “Maybe you should try believing in yourself a little, too.”
He refilled our cups, and we drank in silence, the weight of unspoken things hanging between us.
Finally, I set down my cup and stood. “When can we leave for Bara?”
“Dawn. I will provide fresh horses and an armed escort. The roads between here and the capital are safer, but safer does not mean safe, not anymore.”
“Thank you, Kon-sama, for everything. For the shelter, the truth, the sake . . .” I struggled for words. “Most of all, for the honesty, even when it hurts.”
He stood, then dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the floor. “I serve the Jade Throne and the gods’ Divine Son.”
I tried lifting the man off the ground by his shoulders, but he refused to budge. “Sleep well, Akira Haru-sama. May the sun rise on your reign with warmth and light.”
Gods, I hoped not. With everything in my being, I prayed this man was wrong.
But my heart . . . it knew he spoke truly.
Kaneko had waited outside the door. He said nothing as we made our way back through the castle in silence. My mind churned with every word Kon had uttered, every implication and possibility and terrible potential future.
“Kaneko,” I said as we reached the corridor leading to Esumi’s room. “Today, in the fight . . . those stars you threw. That’s not something taught at Suwa Temple.”
He tensed but didn’t deny it. “No, it’s not.”
“I’m not asking you to explain, not tonight, but I want you to know . . .” I met his eyes. “Whatever you’re hiding, whatever secrets you’re carrying—I trust you. You saved our lives today. Esumi’s, mine, the others’. That’s what matters.”
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “That means more than you know.”
“Just promise me one thing. When the time comes, when whatever you’re tangled up in finally surfaces—let me help. Don’t try to carry this burden alone.”
He looked away, refusing to hold my gaze, as his words came out in barely a whisper. “I promise to try.”
