Chapter Text
Prologue I: The Blow
Yanagi watched terrible screams shake Yukimura’s thin, resolute shoulders. A great sucking force wrenched vitality through the pores of Yanagi’s skin. The castle floor was surely cold, but he could not feel it. He could not feel anything.
Black crawled from the corners of his view, dribbles of ink blotting away the flashes of life parading before his eyes.
Three boys sat on the window of the keep’s highest chamber as hangdog troops marched their yellow-gold flag through the city in dirty tatters. Victory belonged to the dissenters, who dared and succeeded in cessation from the formerly United Rikkai.
Yukimura’s dead white knuckles bit the windowsill; the display below rubbed dirt in the loss of his birthright.
“I’m sorry about your sister,” Sanada said, when he should have remained quiet. The infant princess had been promised to a newly dubbed prince of a nothing line to forge some peace.
The wind tossed Yukimura’s dark hair on the wind. Yanagi put his hand on his prince’s. “We’re going to win,” Yukimura said. “When I’m King. Or I shall not be King at all.”
Yukimura turned his head back and years flipped by like barely skimmed pages, the years that they spent fulfilling that solemn promise of unification, carrying the flag of United Rikkai as far as their horses could march.
That same promise required years of dank healing rooms. He knew the fierce strength of Yukimura’s grip. Healers worked their magic to draw disease from his body like poison from a wound. They did so over and over again, each attempt less successful than the last.
Even so, Yukimura believed it was his destiny to unite the countries that had once been United Rikkai.
Those memories launched him up into the moment of Yukimura’s victorious grimace as the dragon-born Echizen Ryoma of Seigaku, pleased or intrigued by the Prince’s warmongering, consumed him with flames hotter than anything. The fire licking at Yukimura’s skin forged him anew just as Yukimura himself had recreated his nation. That very deed won him the terrible grin of the dragon-born Echizen Ryoma, who saw a worthy opponent to last as long as his own blessed life. Playing witness to his friend’s death and rebirth gave him a strange thrill made stranger still in that he remembered with the last moments of his consciousness.
That final memory flickered and waned before his eyes until Yukimura’s great and terrible power pulled the colors from his life, leaving him with nothing at all.
—
Prologue II: Three Years Prior
“Tezuka, an emissary from the Tarragon monks to the south seeks audience with you.”
“Thank you, Fuji,” Tezuka inclined his head. The King assumed that the message was from Oishi. His childhood friend had chosen to serve their shared desire for peace by seeking wisdom from the ancient order dedicated to studying dragon-lore and restoring the balance of nature. “Send them in. No need take more time from your wedding preparations on my behalf.”
To that, Fuji smiled and bowed so slightly that it might be considered an insult from any other subject. Tezuka reminded himself to either see to it that Tachibana was in charge of the menu or to come to the festivities with a full stomach.
The enormous doors of the keep opened. As he anticipated, Kawamura, a warrior monk, entered with a long, tubular case that could only be carrying one of Oishi’s long missives. However, he had not expected the slip of a girl standing next to him.
~
Dear Tezuka,
I hope this finds you well. I did not expect to be writing you under these circumstances.
Brother Kikumaru and I had a strange visitor last night. An older woman, shrouded in handsome robes, came to us with a young girl. She came to receive her final rites and, with her death imminent, extracted our promise to look after her granddaughter.
Tezuka – that woman was Ryuuzaki Sumire: the closest and most powerful descendant of the Sumire, last of the dragons! They were followed here. I write this quickly as Kawamura readies the horses.
Ryuuzaki is dead. You must protect her granddaughter Sakuno. We’re not sure, but we think that she might have something to do with the last page of the Great Book, handed down to us monks by the dragons.
Hear my last — for in this tale
Neither man nor immortal can prevail
One hero and one conclusive gift
Destroy the ancient power rift
His child Greed consumes Eternal Fire
And all his race that name acquire
With no flame to warm the frigid earth
No effort can reap infertile turf
But from the paralyzed one King will rise
With righteous anger he unites and dies
Though Princely flame will forge anew
The tragedy of Greed it etches too
The Cicada will trip the Dragon on its shell
And in his name a relic quell
That which wrought a Kingdom’s despair
A burden that only Fortune can bear
And She in one cauterizing blow decide
If those born in flame will live or die
The men and women of my order have spent many years discerning these words. I’m sure that you can tell that some of this has come to pass.
You know the legend. The first four lines are about Echizen Nanjirou’s battle with the sorcerer Dread Smith. Because he wielded magic — energy from lives forcibly taken – with dragon relics, neither man nor dragon could take him down. Many men and very nearly all of the dragons died attempting to do so. The first Sumire, last of the dragons, scouted out Nanjirou and used her heart’s fire to re-forge him with her strength, gifting humans with the first dragon-born to avenge her race.
Nanjirou was…er…fruitful and multiplied. Dragon-born married mostly into royal and noble families across the continent. Slowly, there were more and more people with dragon-like strength. And those dragon-born could use their heart’s fire to make even more like them, dragon-forged. Or they could destroy a town or something. Though dragon-born could only use heart’s fire once, and dragon-forged not at all, the gap between the strength of humans and the strength of dragons slowly started to fill in.
But not everyone can be trusted with power. Eager to prove himself stronger than a dragon, the dragon-born Sasabe slew Sumire, his own progenitor, in the ultimate act of greed. Without the heat of Sumire’s flame over her home, the Great Falls, the river that fed into all of the Kingdoms froze over. The lands became hard and unworkable. The people starved and the dragon-born inherited the flaw of their ancestor from generation to generation.
Now that all happened hundreds of years ago, but we think that Yukimura of Rikkai might be the uniting King and our Echizen the “Princely flame” that made him dragon-forged. If that’s true…the third part of the prophecy will be decided in our lifetime.
The strength of dragons had always played a part in history. Now, that strength, fragmented into dozens of humans, must unite for the next part to unfold. I think every dragon-born, with their heart’s fire, has the power to make that choice: to raise the world up or burn it until there’s nothing left to fight for.
That being said, I leave Ryuuzaki Sakuno to your care. Sumire said that her dragon-born strength blessed her with the most extraordinary luck. So, I’m sure that she and Kawamura made it back safely (please confirm that you received this anyway!!). Whether she’s under our protection or becomes our protection remains to be seen.
Yours in peace and strife,
Oishi Syuuichirou
~
Tezuka closed his eyes for a moment to suppress his annoyance. Only Oishi would try to lecture him, even from afar. Nonetheless, the girl didn’t deserve his ire.
“Come with me, Ryuuzaki-san,” he stood from his throne. “Your clothes are wet from travel. I’m sure something of Princess An’s will fit you.”
—
Part 1: The Fall
For an indeterminate amount of time, Yanagi sat within his own consciousness, unable to move or open his eyes. He listened to Kirihara berate the court physician, cursing him up and down with enough variation to make him wonder if he had underestimated the young warrior’s lexicon.
“Be silent,” Yukimura said to Kirihara.
“This is your fault,” a resounding crash followed by many smaller dings. Kirihara must have kicked over a cart. “Had I not used my heartfire to defeat Fudomine, Yanagi would be just fine right now.”
“It’s no fault of mine that you were unable to defeat Tachibana without that particular gift,” Yukimura’s retort batted Kirihara’s bellowing voice away like a fly. “Your devil mode needs work.”
Kirihara roared with fury. “But this was your fault. Krauser had nothing to do with anything. Nagoya had nothing to do with ANYTHING!”
“That’s enough, Akaya,” Sanada stepped in, both verbally and physically judging by his footsteps. Another pair of boots walked farther away from the room.
“Mada mada dane,” sounded the unimpressed King’s Consort, Echizen Ryoma. That was just fine. Yanagi didn’t need more than one feisty, warlike brat by his bedside. Kirihara caused more than enough trouble by himself.
As if on cue, Kirihara graduated from kicking objects to throwing them. Yanagi tried to open his eyes again, to no avail. But he didn’t need to open them to know when Kirihara ran out of medical supplies and began to push his books around.
His eyes wouldn’t open, but his voice wasn’t broken, merely scratchy from disuse. “Those books are likely older than you grandfather and more valuable than your life, I’ll thank you to cease your tantrum.”
Kirihara paused, more shocked than offended.
Sure, quiet, yet deceptively heavy footsteps approached his right side. Yanagi wasn’t surprised to hear Yukimura, voice thick with all of the regret he could not speak. “My friend,” he said simply. This time, Yukimura put his hand over Yanagi’s. “I’m so glad you’ve returned to us.” Yanagi felt the comforting weight of Sanada’s shadow on his left.
Yanagi sounded his agreement. “I rather doubted that I would.”
Yukimura thumbed his friend’s knuckle and released him, lest anyone see him so emotional. “Does the light hurt your eyes? I will see to it that the room is dimmed.”
With a simple tilt to the head, Yanagi said, “Even if you did, I could not open them. Perhaps in time.”
Doubtful. Neither of them wished to express it.
Kirihara’s brain seemed to catch up. The wild youth all but threw himself onto Yanagi’s bed. Despite the scolding Sanada rained on Kirihara, Yanagi felt some comfort from the bodily warmth and outburst of affection. “You’re okay,” Kirihara said, alto heavy with both relief and guilt. Yanagi imagined that Kirihara fantasized about rescuing him by the power of his lizard breath. Though he wasn’t quite okay, the feel of the wild curls between his fingers almost made it so.
“He will be,” Yukimura said, words as firm as his footsteps. He was still the King that Yanagi would lay down his life for.
“No thanks to you,” Kirihara grumbled to the bedspread. The counselor’s long fingers curled tightly in his locks, warning silence.
The King saw to it that Yanagi received water and treatment before sitting by his side to pry further. “How much do you remember about the Battle of Nagoya?”
“Our attack plan was betrayed. When we arrived to the river, the bridge was cut. We were given no choice but to fall into their strategy, barricading ourselves in the castle-”
The screams. The terrible screams that continued until the victims lost the ability to do so.
“Go on,” Yukimura urged him.
Yukimura’s scream had been the most terrible of all of them, though the King need not so much as make a sound to strip a man of all sensibility.
“Our guard was outnumbered. We both understood that the only way to live another day was for you to use your power.”
The mighty yips ¬¬— the King’s dragon consort liked to comment with heavy sarcasm.
“Did we have any survivors?”
“Most of ours died before that. And then just a few of those that fell to Yukimura’s power lived. …A couple are up and about, but most of them are…” Kirihara trailed off. Unconscious, like Yanagi had been. There was no telling how the effects of Yukimura’s power at full blast might manifest. “But they had no survivors after I was through with them. I put Krauser’s head on a spear in our King’s garden.”
Yukimura hummed approvingly. “It should keep the birds from my sunflowers.”
“Is there anything that I can do?” Kirihara said, as earnest as he had been ruthless just a few seconds before. “To be of comfort to you? Anything.”
Yanagi smoothed locks under his fingers. “I would have you read me all court accounts of everything that occurred while I slept, both official and unofficial.”
Kirihara groaned just considering the duty, but reluctantly did as requested. Yukimura excused himself to a long day at court.
—
“Report,” Sanada said, staring down the guards as his own words bounced around the throne room. Yukimura watched just as intently at his side.
“I don’t bring good news, Commander,” Kuwahara said, standing with Marui before his kneeling regiment.
Sanada nodded, willing the castle’s defense to speak.
Kuwahara continued, “The two men you returned to me, the ones who fought with our King in the Battle of Nagoya. They had been fit two days ago, ready to start building stamina again. The first day they did half of basic training with the new recruits.” It was impressive, considering their previously comatose state. “The second day, they were only able to spar with the lightest blades. I thought them tired. But today they were barely able to put on their armor.”
Urayama, the court scribe, scribbled furiously to keep up with Kuwahara’s account. Marui watched with open hunger as his ice cream swirl hair bobbed over the desk. Kuwahara elbowed him.
“And now,” Sanada asked, pulling the attention of both of his guards.
“We brought them to the healer, of course,” Marui continued where his partner left off. “One of them, Ushiro, collapsed on the way there. Just stopped breathing. And the other, Shinya. He’s in pretty bad shape. Paralyzed. It’s not good and getting worse fast.”
This time, Yukimura spoke. “I want a full statement from Shinya, everything you can get out of him.”
Everything they could get out of him before it was too late.
Kuwahara and Marui bowed. Their regiment bowed yet lower, then stood to march in file from the King’s receiving room.
“He’s going to be all right,” Yukimura wanted so badly to be sure. “The three of us are going to win.”
For the first time in Sanada’s memory, Yukimura’s voice shook. They had a purpose again in fighting for Yanagi, but what were they fighting against?
—
“I thought that I might find you here,” Fuji entered the greenhouse and stood behind Yukimura.
“You thought correctly,” he favored his flowers with water. They only needed his attentions and the right environment to flourish; he couldn’t say the same for his hard worn kingdom.
Fuji sat on the bench, quite unperturbed by the severed head just behind it. If anything, he appreciated the backdrop of the corpse’s gaping maw. “Kippei and I appreciate your hospitality. We know that this is a difficult time for you.”
Yukimura shook his head. “I would not cancel the progressing peace talks with Seigaku for anything. Even if I tried, Tezuka would show up anyway.”
Fuji chuckled, but did not deny it. His Lord could be rather single-minded. “It’s unfortunate about the Counselor Yanagi. I understand that you’ve used all of the heartfire at your disposal.”
“For the moment,” he answered neutrally.
“The kingdom of Hyoutei is not very far away. I hear that jolly King Atobe hasn’t burned out his fire. Yet.”
Yukimura continued to garden. “Oh?”
Fuji hummed and leaned back, letting the warm sun dance over his eyelids. “I went to Hyoutei myself just after the thaw. Those western borders of his suffered terribly this winter, especially so close to the Great Falls. You wouldn’t believe the state of that wall. I’m sure it’s being rebuilt as we speak.”
And therefore weak.
Though his hands stilled, Yukimura did not turn around to regard Fuji. “I understand that your business in Hyoutei was to exchange hostages. An insurance of peace…Princess Tachibana for an army captain. Shishido-kun, if I’m not mistaken.” Yukimura was rarely mistaken.
“Correct,” Fuji’s smile grew. “I’m quite confident that she will remain unharmed.”
“I should hope so,” Yukimura said pleasantly, turning to meet that grin with one of his own. “I had the pleasure of her acquaintance.” When his young Lieutenant nearly killed Fuji’s husband.
“She’s a sweet girl, very observant, and clever enough to stave off Keigo,” and sure to have a great wealth of information from that experience.
Yukimura doubted that the girl was in any real danger from the King of Hyoutei, but favored the comment with a hum. “Come here, Syusuke. I’d like to show you how well my flowers have come up with this fertilizer that Renji has concocted.”
“I would be delighted.”
Kirihara’s fist tightened on the scrolls that he had been sent to fetch for Yanagi. The King of Hyoutei would bow to him. Bow to him and save Yanagi if it were the last thing Kirihara accomplished.
—
Kirihara never returned the scrolls to Yanagi’s room. Instead, he barreled up a narrow stairwell to an office sparsely decorated with weaponry and heavily hung with maps and calligraphy. Last time he had been here, he was listening to Yanagi’s briefing on Nagoya. The colored pins, indicative of rank, were still pushed into the map where Yanagi left them.
Jealousy built up in Kirihara. He couldn’t save Yanagi directly. But if they needed that Hyoutei bastard, he would drag that peacock forcefully from his icy keep and deliver him before Yanagi on a silver platter.
“Sanada!” he called. On receiving no answer, he rummaged through the piles of maps to discern the sorting system. His tongue popped from the corner of his mouth as he pulled out drawers and searched organizers for a map of western Hyoutei. Certainly between Sanada and Yanagi, they had one.
“Akaya!” Sanada shouted, regarding the mess the young captain made of his office. “What is the meaning of this?!”
Kirihara jumped, sending scrolls and ink flying with the mighty flap of his flail. “Sanada — Commander. I’m…”
Sanada stepped forward to loom over Kirihara from the other side of his desk.
The intimidated technique solidified rather than frazzled Kirihara. “I’m looking for a map of western Hyoutei, commander.”
“And why would that be.”
Kirihara puffed out his chest. “My men and I are going to raid it.”
Sanada’s thick eyebrows rose to the center of his broad forehead.
“I overheard the King talking to Fuji in the gardens. He…” Kirihara didn’t need to explain the whole thing. “King Atobe’s heartfire is Yanagi’s best chance. I’m going to pound on the doors of his nation until he lets us in and gives us what he wants.”
“And Yukimura agreed to this?”
“He didn’t…disagree. Do you?”
Sanada remained silent. He walked around the desk and shoved Kirihara aside to take his rightful seat. “Hyoutei isn’t Fudomine, you realize. They have a peace treaty, but that doesn’t mean their armies are on an equal level.”
The last thing Sanada wanted was a special delivery parcel from Hyoutei, Kirihara’s head in a basket of fruit.
Kirihara deflated a little. “I know that. I just…I have to do this. You don’t understand.”
Sanada locked eyes with Kirihara for a stern, terrifying moment. Then, he reached into his desk and unraveled a map of Hyoutei’s kingdom. “Don’t presume that you understand either.”
Kirihara looked from the map to Sanada, eyes widening with eagerness. “…Sanada-san…”
“Prepare your army. Don't move until I give my command. I will send summons to Hyoutei first,” which would obviously be refused.
“Yes!”
“And one more thing.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t lose.”
The devil reflected back from Kirihara’s eyes. “Aye.”
—
“The bridge has been cut!”
The sea of murmurs from below ebbed and flowed, but retained full pressure beating down on him.
“My lord!”
“My lord?”
“What shall we do my lord?”
“Seiichi.”
Yukimura turned to Yanagi, who called his name. He gathered his courage, letting it flow behind him like a wild train as he made for the half-crumbled outpost of a keep.
Yanagi rode at his side, straight, shoulder-length hair seeming to move in slow motion with the horse. Neither of them needed to say that it was a trap. They both knew they had been betrayed. The United Rikkai had been betrayed.
The next moments flash forward and back, replaying every death, every rally, every mortal scream until he felt sick to his stomach. He watched his men die, his dream smeared, and the very heart of him strangled and choked.
“Seiichi,” Yanagi called to him, eyes wide open.
As usual, Yanagi was right. They had no choice but mutually assured destruction.
Yukimura reared his head back and exploded, indiscriminately robbing life from both friend and foe.
With his throat hurt from screaming, he realized that he was now awake. Sticky with sweat and chest heaving, he turned to Ryoma.
“You woke me up,” he accused, bite quite removed by the hands smoothing damp hair from his forehead. Nonetheless, Yukimura did not favor this with a response. He shoved the dragon-born on his side and spooned up behind him, arms wrapped around his neck. Unalarmed, Ryoma asked, “The Battle of Nagoya?”
Yukimura hummed his confirmation against Ryoma’s hair.
Ryoma leaned back against him and turned to nip at his arm, wordlessly demanding that he speak.
“So many dead, even more dying. When I get my hands on that traitor…”
“Surely they’ve been smuggled from Rikkai by now. You knew that this campaign was unpopular. Asking for too much after you already united the country.”
Ryoma’s King had certainly been against it, but not enough to go to war over it.
“Do you think that one of Seigaku’s delegation warned them of the attack’s specifics?”
Ryoma’s silence was pensive, not guilty. “Not likely,” he conceded. Not impossible, but subtle wasn’t Seigaku’s style.
Yukimura bit Ryoma’s ear and slid his hands farther down his body. “Unhelpful. You realize this is all your fault for setting me on fire in the first place.”
Squirming ticklishly, Ryoma pushed at Yukimura’s hands and parried back, “You were pathetic when I found you. ‘Meh, I’m Yukimura, Unifier of Broken Nations. I just beat seven armies at the same time but now I’m too sick to stand, woe is me.’”
“The only pathetic thing is that voice of yours. Do I really have to deal with it for eternity?”
“If only I had a second fire so I could destroy you this time.”
“Oh,” a note of a smile entered Yukimura’s voice. “You’re going to destroy me now?”
Ryoma turned in Yukimura’s arms and shoved him on his back. “Nah. I went through the trouble of keeping you alive. I wanted to fight you again and again, and I’m going to do just that.”
Yukimura smirked and sat up to meet Ryoma as he straddled him. “What kind of sick freak challenges a King to a duel moments after he’s finished a civil war?”
“You looked like you were having fun,” Ryoma stole Yukimura’s lips. “I never did like to just watch.” And like most other things stolen by dragons, they were never recovered.
—
A man in a billowing purple cape stood strong against the howling wind and snow. He stared from his perch out toward the iced over river and the majestic frozen waterfall that loomed threateningly above it. When he held a finger to his nose that gaze skated on ice and pushed out beyond the mountains to pierce country borders and peruse their deepest secrets as a matter of entertainment.
Oshitari knew that the dragon-born Atobe could use his insight just as well from his bedchamber. The young King had a flare for the dramatic.
“Are you spying on King Aoi and Queen Yukimura? I heard they had a girl.”
“Hardly.”
“Quite rude, my King. Just because the babe is not yet a woman,” he clasped his hand over his chest.
“Oh shut up, we have a pressing matter.”
“Besides your outfit for dinner with Princess An Tonight?”
“Yes, besides…” Atobe narrowed his eyes on the counselor. “What is the problem with my outfit?”
“Nothing at all. As you were saying?”
Atobe scowled, but spoke, “Rikkai did not take well to my refusal of their summons. Their brat intends to attack our western border.” Which was odd, considering that it wasn’t quite the most direct route from United Rikkai. Perhaps the famed Kirihara feared passage on the mountains separating their lands.
He thought that Oshitari might illuminate the matter, but his counselor merely hummed. “I sent additional men to refresh Ohtori’s team. But they’re still recovering from losing Shishido from the ranks with the hostage exchange. And there’s the matter of the wall.”
Nodding, Atobe said, “Our other defense might be in order, should the attack come to pass.”
“I’ll make the preparations,” Oshitari agreed, after all, there was no foul for readiness. “And you ought to make yours. You were watching for a long while. The hour is late and the lady awaits.”
Oshitari remained in company with Atobe as he readied himself, and left slightly before to announce the King’s arrival. He arrived some two minutes after, his leopard-hide cape trailing along the stone steps as he descended them.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting, Princess.”
“It is of no consequence. I had longer to pray that you were off getting frostbite,” An parried, taking sip of her wine. In a show of insolence, she had started dining without him. But Atobe did not take the empty bowl of soup against her. He wanted no guest, or hostage, hungry in his care.
His dungeons were another matter entirely. Or at least, the parts of them that were not included in Oshitari’s suite.
“Ahn, you freely admit that you think of me in my absence,” Atobe liked his dinner with a side of insolence.
“I don’t know. Maybe you should give me more of your absence and we’ll see what I make of it,” she said coolly.
Atobe sipped at his soup, drinking down the insult. “I wouldn’t risk that. After a whole day without my presence, you may just want to marry me.”
An’s look of total repugnance might have been insulting to anyone else. Atobe crooked a finger, calling for the next course to be served on his plate. “I’m curious. Is there any proposal you might consider?”
“If you would be so kind to take a knee and put your head on the chopping block, I might reconsider your first draft of the peace agreement.”
“Oh? You’re not satisfied with the agreement? I suppose that I could always fall back on the peace making strategy of my late father, Sakaki, and raze your little kingdom to the ground.”
Though it was a useless gesture, An clutched at her meat-knife.
Atobe sighed and cut into his steak. “Calm down, woman. You know that neither of us would profit from that,” which was exactly why he buried Sakaki’s strategies with him. When they interred Sakaki under the frozen river Fortuna with all of Hyoutei’s war-dead, Atobe privately hoped that, as King, he could achieve more than violence. “Wear that dress I bought for you tomorrow and I’ll forgive your remark.”
An crossed her arms, but it was the usual talk-back. “Never.”
“I’m fond of it, you ought to wear it.”
“Wear it yourself, King Atobe. It might convince me to marry you.”
Atobe guffawed and Oshitari slunk away from the table. There was much to prepare.
—
Yanagi kneeled over the floor, ear pressed to the ground. He had taken advantage of the changing of the guard to escape the healer’s den. Now, he relied on his ability to count the footfalls. Right now, one of Kuwahara’s men guarded the wing. Fukada was strong and capable, but also predictably efficient in that he covered the most amount of ground with the smallest amount of motion.
With Fukada’s stride (0.8 meters per step), it took him exactly eight steps to put himself in front of the entrance to Yukimura’s quarters, incidentally just three doors down from his own. And with the intimacy going on in Yukimura’s chambers, no doubt the guard would go the other direction…
He heard a sound different than a step, more of a pivot and pause, and then the paces grew fainter in the other direction. On the seventh step, Yanagi stood and eased the door open, wary for the creaky second piece of wood.
Not that anyone would hear him over Yukimura’s ruckus. He had Echizen to thank for that.
Even blind, he knew the corridors of the keep like the palm of his hand. He patiently moved room to room, taking a route both indirect and necessary to avoid prying eyes. At least, unless anyone knew to look for him.
A gust of wind blew by Yanagi’s ear and whispered, come in. He was passing by the guest wing; a command like that could only have come from one room. Yanagi considered the potential consequences of ignoring the words. There really wasn’t much to consider.
The fourth floor down, just beyond the great window that made the air just a little chillier. He didn’t knock.
“Good evening,” he bowed. “How may I be of service to the Cyclone of Seigaku?”
Though Yanagi had no desire to call Tezuka his King, he thought that calling the wind lord a blowhard might cross the line.
Ignoring the nickname, Tezuka said, “You’ve heard, I presume. Atobe has refused the summons and Kirihara marches on Hyoutei at dawn.”
Yanagi inclined his head slightly.
“And where are you going, as such a war is waged on your behalf?” Tezuka narrowed his eyes, not that Yanagi could see it.
“I think that should be obvious to you, Lord Tezuka,” Yanagi said diplomatically. He had no intention of letting such a war happen, and he couldn’t very well stop it under the watch of a royal baby sitter.
“Aa,” that was answer enough for Tezuka. “In that case, you will do me a service.”
“If it is possible, I will not refuse,” he said politely.
“You will take my ward with you to Hyoutei. She has business regarding Princess An.”
Having met Tezuka’s shy slip of a girl, Yanagi was inclined to refuse. “I appreciate your situation. However, I’m not sure that I am suited to protect such a lady in my current state.”
“Don’t misunderstand,” Tezuka looked down his nose at Yanagi. “She will be protecting you.”
Tezuka made a valid point. It was at least 37.8% safer to travel under a passport with the seal of Seigaku. They had many alliances and peace treaties with nations across the continent, including Hyoutei. However, that didn’t do them much good against brigands and highway thieves. Ryuuzaki’s presence wouldn’t hinder his current strategy to deal with that problem, merely increase the risk involved.
Besides, if Tezuka held him another eleven minutes, all hope of escape would be lost.
“In that case, I would be grateful for her company.”
Though Tezuka made no reply, the King’s light footsteps illustrated his walk to the adjoining room.
“Are you prepared, Sakuno-chan?”
“Y-yes!” Sakuno all but squeaked.
Yanagi inhaled and exhaled. Despite how she sounded, she was a ward of Tezuka. Since he had little opportunity to observe the girl, he would have to rely on the King’s judgment.
Unfortunately, he rather hated relying on the calculations of others. They weren’t nearly precise enough for his purposes.
“Please follow me, Lady Ryuuzaki. Silently, if you please.”
Yanagi led Sakuno down the staircase toward the lower keep. Once they slipped past the alert, highly trained guard here, risk of capture or abort mission dropped to less than five percent.
“Don’t worry,” he told Sakuno, who had been shaking nearly the entire time. “Our total chance of success is 71.1%.”
Almost no sooner than he calculated that, Sakuno tripped on the last stair and screamed like a banshee.
Eight voices in reply — the eastern rampart guard.
Yanagi grabbed Sakuno by the hand and pushed her into the wall behind the door. He planted his hands on either side of her head and braced himself for impact. As expected, the door swung open and hit his back. He pressed his lips together and heard part of the guard fly up the steps in search of potential intruders.
It was good that he kept Sakuno’s hand, for he now used it to drag her through the courtyard to the only exit of Rikkai’s keep. Their chances of escape were slim and shrinking with every passing moment. They could only hope that the soldiers assumed they fled indoors.
“They’re trying to escape!” Yanagi ran with his chin pulled to his chest, willing his hood to stay on. He couldn’t sense anyone near the gate and could only run, dragging Sakuno along to keep in front of the heavy footsteps at their back.
More footsteps joined those. Six men trailed them. With his vision, Yanagi could have defeated them quite soundly.
Just when their chance of escape had whittled down to less than one percent, he heard a scrape of boots and a rush of air from above.
“Puri.”
A high-impact collision rattled metal and sent heavy vibrations Yanagi’s way.
Sakuno called out in disbelief — Yanagi understood that one of Yukimura’s own knights leaping from the top of the keep to take soldiers down like bowling pins might be cause for shock.
“Quiet, woman. Do we need more friends to come play?” The voice and diction suggested Niou, but data from the impact and vibration of the collision matched another, “Hiroshi. We appreciate your timely assistance.”
Yagyuu bowed, “As expected from one of the three monsters of Rikkai.”
Some monster — he could barely escape his own nest. “At the moment, consider me more of a bug,” he took Sakuno by the hand once more. “Tell Seiichi that it’s summer. Time for me to come up from under ground.”
From under his protection, to sing his last song in with the vain hope of preventing the total ruin of everything they worked so hard to build. He would not have the reputation of Rikkai destroyed, even if it meant his death. There would be no silly wars on his behalf.
“We’ll be listening.”
Yanagi turned his back on Yagyuu and on Rikkai. He and Sakuno started on the road.