“We do not know for certain,Heika.” Satoshi’s face was ashen. “But the message makes it clear this was meant to be a statement.”
A statement?
Someone murdered my brother, tore out his heart, and returned him in a burlap sack to show what? Their contempt? To show what they thought of our family? Of the Empire itself?
Rage came, hot and clarifying. It burned through the shock, through the grief, leaving something harder in its wake. The dragon had been right.
Heaven would not wait.
I straightened slowly, Uncle Ryuji’s hands falling away as I rose. Around the room, officials watched me with wide eyes, waiting to see if I would break, if I would collapse the way I had every right to after seeing my brother’s desecrated body.
Instead, I reached down and closed Kioshi’s eyes.
His skin was cold—so cold—but I made myself touch him anyway, made myself show everyone in that room that I would not flinch, would not turn away.
“Cover him,” I ordered. My voice came out steady. It felt strange how steady it sounded. “With silk, not burlap. He is . . .wasEmperor, if only for a time.”
“Heika—” Satoshi began.
“Cover him!” I shouted.
Someone scrambled to obey.
Within moments, golden silk emblazoned with the Imperial chrysanthemum was draped over my brother’s body, hiding the hole in his chest and the gray pallor of his skin, hiding everything except the fact that he was dead.
“We need to inform your mother,” Satoshi said quietly. “And . . . the funeral for your father is scheduled for this afternoon. We will need to postpone—”
“No.” The word came out sharp. “We will not postpone. My father’s funeral will proceed as planned.”
The room went very still.
“Heika,” Satoshi said carefully, “with your brother’s body just discovered, surely we should delay to prepare proper—”
“We will burn them together. It is what Father would have wanted. It is whatIwant,” I interrupted, and this time I let steel creep into my voice, let them hear the command in it. “This afternoon, both of them, father and son, emperor and emperor. We will honor them both.”
“But the rituals require—”
“Do you think our enemies will wait for proper rituals?” I turned on my uncle, and he actually took a step back. “Do you think they will pause while we spend days preparing ceremonies? They sent my brother back in a gods-damned rice sack, Grand Minister. They are not concerned with our traditions or majesty or mourning.”
Satoshi’s mouth worked soundlessly.
“The gods warned me. In my dreams, they spoke to me,” I said, and my voice carried to every corner of the chamber. “Heaven will not wait, they said. We do not have the luxury of time.”
I looked around the room, meeting the eyes of every official, every advisor, men and women who’d served my father, who’d watched me stumble drunk through palace halls and dismissed me as worthless.
They were about to learn differently.
“My brother will burn beside my father this afternoon,” I said. “The temple of Kinkaku has already been prepared for the Emperor’s funeral. Send word that Kioshi will join him. Citizens of Bara have been gathering since dawn—they came to mourn one emperor; they will mourn two. And tomorrow—” I paused, making sure they understood every word. “Tomorrow I willbind myself and become what this Empire needs, what Heaven demands.”
“Heika—” Satoshi began.
“I have spoken, Grand Minister.” I let the silence stretch, locking eyes with my uncle until his face went white and his head bowed.
Around the room, men shifted uncomfortably. This was not how princes spoke to their father’s ministers. This was not how things were done. But nothing about this was how things were done. The normal rules died the moment my father was poisoned. They died again when Kioshi was stuffed into that bloody sack.
“Yes,Heika,” Satoshi said finally, bowing low. “We will . . . we will make the arrangements.”
“Good.” I stepped forward and placed a hand on Uncle Ryuji’s shoulder. “Tell Mother. Gently. She should not learn of this from anyone else. Leave my brother here so she might mourn—and clear this chamber. No one enters save the Imperial family.”
