“Is all about healing and trees and beasts,” I countered. “They know less about fighting than the whores in the red district.”
The moment the words left my mouth, I winced.
I knew, better than anyone, that those men and women had teeth. When they looked past their captivity, they were as fierce as any Samurai. Hana might not have worn armor or wielded a blade, but the fire that burned within her was white-hot. I doubted she was one of Sakurai’s shadows, but she would serve the Empire, she would resist invaders, in any way within her power.
And so would many of those around her.
Shame welled within at words that now felt like betrayal.
Yoshi turned to me. “You said you trained in Bara’s darkest corners. Take me there. Train me the way they trained you.”
My heart seized. “Yoshi—”
“I know you have secrets. I know there’s something you’re not telling me about your time in the capital.” His eyes held mine. “Idon’t care what it is. I don’t care if it’s dangerous or forbidden or if you swore vows you can’t break. Just . . . help me. Please. This dragon inside me is getting stronger, and I’m terrified of what will happen if I lose control.”
“I can’t—”
A knock at our door made us both jump.
“Come,” I called, exchanging a wary glance with Yoshi.
Esumi stepped inside, and relief flooded through both of us. Finally, a familiar face.
“Kaneko. Yoshi.” He smiled as he slid the door closed, though exhaustion lined his eyes. “I’m sorry it took so long to come see you. How are you both settling in?”
“It’s . . .” I gestured at the opulent room. “The palace is incredible, like living inside a dream.”
“Nightmares are dreams, too,” Yoshi muttered.
I elbowed him and scowled.
Esumi’s brow furrowed as he moved to the window. “I suppose it differs greatly from Suwa Temple.”
“Different doesn’t begin to cover it,” Yoshi said, and I heard the edge in his voice. “We haven’t seen Haru since we arrived. Is he even still here, or has he forgotten we exist?”
Something flickered in Esumi’s expression—guilt, maybe, or sympathy. “He hasn’t forgotten you. Trust me, you’re one of the few things he still talks about when—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “It’s complicated.”
“Explain it to us, then,” Yoshi demanded. “Explain to us why we left everything to come here with him, and now we’re less than ghosts in this place.”
Esumi sighed and sat on the windowsill, suddenly looking far older than his years. “I barely see him myself. His mother has him from dawn to midday, drilling him on protocol and ceremony. The war council claims every other moment—generals shouting about strategy, demanding troops or suppliesor a thousand other things. Ministers descend like vultures, each with their own crisis. And the courtiers . . . gods, they’re the worst, circling like wolves, trying to figure him out, learn how to best win his favor or marry him off to secure theirhan’s place in the new Empire.” He rubbed his face. “Every word he speaks gets dissected for weakness. Most of the time, I watch from across rooms, standing idly beside bored-looking guards, useless, not even allowed to speak in his ‘divine presence.’”
“That sounds . . . like torture,” I said quietly.
“It is. For both of us, if I read his eyes correctly.” Esumi’s smile turned bitter. “You know who I spend the most time with now? His grandmother.”
“The Dowager Empress?” Yoshi blinked. “They say she’s mad as a moon-struck wolf.”
“Aiya.” Esumi’s face brightened. “Gods, that woman. She was apparently born without a filter between her brain and her mouth. Yesterday, she told the Grand Minister his plans sounded like they were conceived by a constipated ox trying to pass a watermelon.”
I choked on air.
Yoshi’s mouth fell open.
“In front of the entire council. Picture it, all the ministers in their courtly robes, a dozen Samurai and generals, all working through plans and schemes to aid the war effort, and in strides the oldest woman in the palace, uninvited, shooing the guards with her blasted cane as they try to stop her from entering,” Esumi continued, grinning now. “You should have seen their faces. I honestly don’t know how she hasn’t been executed by emperors past for that irreverent tongue of hers. She once told Takashi—may he rest with the goddess—that his poetry was so bad it made her ears bleed.”
“And he didn’t have her killed?” Yoshi asked, fascinated despite his anger.
“Gods, no. He laughed.” Esumi’s voice softened. “That’s the thing about Aiya. She says what everyone’s thinking but no one dares give voice. And she does it with such . . . joy. Such life. I adore her almost as much as I do Haru.”
