Yatagarasu Series
Volume 9:
The Raven's Loyalty
Author: Abe Chisato
Part 1: Natsuka
“Your Imperial Majesty, what are the qualities you look for in a loyal servant?”
Nazukihiko had been leisurely sipping his tea. He flinched at the abrupt question and then set down his porcelain teacup with great solemnity.
“That is a difficult question. The answer changes depending on the asker's perspective. So why are you asking?” He tilted his head, birdlike, causing his loose hair to spill over the shoulder of his sleeping robe. He was too pale, like the center of a magnolia flower. Though he was nearly thirty, he appeared younger, almost untouched by the past ten years of turmoil in Yamauchi. Only his eyes, sharp and forbidding, showed that he was older than he looked.
“Is this a question from a subject of the true Golden Raven, or a question from my brother?” Nazukihiko asked.
Natsuka was Nazukihiko’s older half-brother. For nearly a decade, Natsuka had been raised to become Yamauchi’s next emperor. Then Nazukihiko was born a true Golden Raven, and all that changed.
Nazukihiko’s mother was one of the emperor’s concubines. Shortly after his birth, the priests declared him a true Golden Raven. True Golden Ravens had no choice but to govern Yamauchi. They were not born in every generation, and their rarity generated attention that was close to worship. True Golden Ravens, unlike ordinary Yatagarasu, had magic specifically tailored to protect Yamauchi from threats. Nazukihiko would have been designated the next emperor even if he had a dozen older brothers, not just one.
Emperors who were not true Golden Ravens were formally titled Substitute Golden Ravens in deference to the status of true Golden Ravens.
Natsuka’s entire future had fallen away after Nazukihiko was born. There had not been a true Golden Raven born to the imperial family for almost a century. His birth was a miraculous event. Many nobles had forgotten that true Golden Ravens actually existed.
The empress’s family fumed in private. Empress Oumurasaki was Natsuka’s mother. She’d attempted to foment discontent in her young son, but she had not succeeded. Natsuka stepped down from his position of crown prince quietly and joined the priesthood. He’d never thought it was a hardship. He enjoyed the life and the role he had.
Natsuka’s grandfather had steered Natsuka’s transition from prince to priest with unusual care. He was the retired former emperor at the time of Nazukihiko’s birth. He’d taken Nazukihiko under his wing and taught him how to be a Souke noble and the heir to the throne, much as he had done with Natsuka previously. Natsuka and his grandfather looked very much alike, and Natsuka was always pleased to have the resemblance pointed out. His grandfather was renowned as a wise ruler.
The reason for his grandfather’s unusual investment in his grandchildren’s upbringing was that his own son was such a disappointment to him. The Substitute Golden Raven, Natsumihiko, was nothing like his father. He’d been made the crown prince only because his capable elder brothers died untimely deaths. From early childhood he had often shut himself away, and he had never been a particularly capable person. The nobles who controlled the Imperial Court made him a puppet emperor, and his wife, Empress Oumurasaki, governed Yamauchi in his place.
By the time Natsumihiko became the crown prince, the retired emperor was already worried about his health. He didn’t know when his life would end, but he knew that if he were to die soon, Natsumihiko’s rule would threaten Yamauchi’s peace and prosperity. He chose to abdicate before he was required to and consolidated imperial power into his faction to the best of his ability. At the same time, he zealously educated Natsuka, who so resembled him, to make him a true successor in spirit, which he’d never had in his weak-willed son.
Neither of Natsuka’s parents ever directed anything resembling familial affection toward him, or even real interest. Natsuka thought of his grandfather as his father. His parents were donors of biological material and nothing more. He considered himself fortunate to be raised by his grandfather. His life would certainly have been worse if his parents had attempted to mold him in their image.
His earliest memory was of falling while trying to chase after his grandfather, who was walking ahead of him. He remembered many people rushing over to him in a panic as he wailed after the fall. His grandfather’s gruff baritone had drowned out all of the other comforting voices around him. He’d tumbled down the garden stairs in his attempt to catch up to his grandfather, so it was a wonder he wasn’t hurt worse.
His grandfather had been furious with him. He’d scolded Natsuka for what felt like hours, and then he’d turned his ire on the guards that were supposed to be protecting him. Natsuka remembered being more frightened of his grandfather’s overwhelming presence than his bleeding knees.
From that experience, he learned that his mistakes affected others. He couldn’t afford to make such mistakes, so he became more careful—in everything, not just walking. People told him he was a clever child, and he liked to believe them.
That day also taught him to anticipate and manage expectations. He learned proper conduct toward his subordinates and memorized the Thousand-Character Classic at an early age. He knew that he was special—not intrinsically, not because of who he was, but because of what he was. His life’s path had been selected for him from birth. He didn’t like falling short of expectations, so he followed the path laid out before him and was gratified by the rewards he received.
Natsuka most enjoyed making the people around him happy. He would have made a poor politician for that reason alone, so it was likely for the best that he’d joined the priesthood.
“You are very much like me. That is what it means to be a son of Souke!” Natsuka’s grandfather had often praised him in that way. It was Natsuka’s favorite way to be praised. He wished to be worthy of the effort others put into his education and refinement. He desired to be useful and capable, not just liked.
“You’re nothing like your good-for-nothing parents, who do nothing but run from their responsibilities. You must fulfill your duty to Yamauchi, Natsuka. You must not fail.”
***
Natsuka’s grandfather emphasized one very important duty almost every single time he spoke to him. That duty was deference and obedience to the true Golden Raven in all things.
“The peace of Yamauchi is the highest priority of every ruler. That is why we serve, Natsuka. Every Substitute Golden Raven must understand that he is not a true Golden Raven.
“When a true Golden Raven—our rightful ruler—appears among us, we must give thanks for our good fortune.
“The sons and daughters of Souke swear fealty to the true Golden Raven alone. They must always protect and support him.”
His grandfather’s words became Natsuka’s guiding principles. He aspired to grow up and be just like his grandfather.
Natsuka’s younger brother Nazukihiko was introduced to him by their grandfather when he was a very young toddler, but even then it was obvious that Nazukihiko was a true Golden Raven. They played together like normal children did, but sometimes Nazukihiko displayed a strange sharpness of intuition, grasping complex concepts from different perspectives in a way that was the opposite of childlike. When he asked questions, they were about the nature of reality—what it meant to be noble versus what it meant to be a noble, for instance. He delighted in pointing out hypocrisy and flaws in political ideology. He made their grandfather chuckle with ill-disguised admiration more than once.
He sees things in a way that I do not, Natsuka reflected. The thought didn’t threaten him. He was used to seeing the true Golden Raven in an exalted light. He would have been disappointed if Nazukihiko were ordinary.
Natsuka never opposed Nazukihiko’s claim to the throne. The people who tried to turn him against his brother, including his biological mother, were nuisances. His mother’s family tried to win him to their side, but he knew what that entailed and remained aloof. He was a son of Souke, not of Nanke, and he was proud of that.
So Nazukihiko and Natsuka grew up as allies despite the forces working to undermine their trust in one another.
***
It would soon be three years since Nazukihiko’s formal enthronement. Those years had been full of terror and strife. The end of the war with the Kuisaru had not ended conflict within Yamauchi. The Lords of the Four Families were restless, and there was civil unrest in the provinces as well. Matters concerning the new mountain god remained largely unresolved.
The crises Yamauchi faced made Natsuka doubt himself. Had he done the right thing? Chosen the correct path? He didn’t know.
Politically, things were relatively stable at the moment, but the mountain god’s power was waning. Yamauchi’s very existence was threatened. Even the true Golden Raven could not save Yamauchi from its inevitable collapse. The mountain god had made Yamauchi, and when he died, it would almost certainly be destroyed.
There was nothing Natsuka could do about that. Nazukihiko couldn’t save them all, either. All they could do was prepare for an inevitable ending.
Nazukihiko had few confidants as emperor. When there was a matter he wanted to discuss, he would summon those trusted few, close the doors, and hear their views at his leisure. Natsuka was pleased to find himself among his brother’s trusted advisers. Nazukihiko had summoned him today, though he didn’t know why. It had been a few weeks since they had last spoken at length on any subject.
The Golden Raven’s throne sat in the Imperial Hall, a grand cavern excavated from mountain stone. Every emperor since the first had ruled from this throne in this hall. The Imperial Hall was lavishly decorated, but no amount of decoration could conceal that it was a mountain cave. Spring sunlight shone through the windows and warmed the floor, but the hall was mostly cold and damp.
Nazukihiko greeted Natsuka as he entered, and they shared hot tea rather than the customary rice wine to combat the chill in the air. Natsuka thought nothing of this at the time, but in hindsight, having the true Golden Raven pour tea for him was a great honor. He should have appreciated it more at the time. Or, better, he should have offered to pour the tea himself so that he could be of service. His brother carried such a heavy burden of responsibility. Natsuka often felt like he’d never done a thing to lighten his load.
“Your Imperial Majesty, what are the qualities you look for in a loyal servant?” Natsuka asked as he sipped his tea. He was curious to hear Nazukihiko’s answer. “I ask the question as your brother, not your subject, but I wish you to answer as the true Golden Raven.”
Nazukihiko nodded. “All right. If a subject asked me that same question, I would answer that the main qualities I look for in a loyal servant are intelligence and adaptability. I prefer servants and attendants who make every attempt to understand my commands.”
Natsuka blinked. He hadn’t expected an answer grounded in the classics, but… “That’s a bit vague and subjective, isn’t it?” Natsuka asked.
“We are speaking broadly of personal qualities, so it is difficult to avoid vagueness.” He shrugged. “Think about it. Both you and I have many servants, but they do not all serve the same purposes. Each has their own form of loyalty. I have told you my preferences, and most of my servants possess those qualities in some form, but they are not identical. Their service is not monolithic, but varied. That is why adaptability is so important, I think.”
Natsuka appeared unconvinced.
Nazukihiko smiled. “Let me give you an analogy. What would you do if I suddenly said, ‘I want to destroy Yamauchi?’”
Natsuka was startled. “You wouldn’t say that.”
“You see? We’ve created a discrepancy between the version of me that exists inside your mind and the version of me that exists in reality.” His smile widened. “Who would be loyal to me in this case: the servant who works against me because I am wrong, or the servant who obeys me without question?”
“That’s—” Natsuka swallowed. “Forgive me, but I can’t imagine you ever saying that you want to destroy Yamauchi. I feel like the servant who opposed you in that case would be the loyal one.”
“Really? I understand that it would be more convenient for you if Yamauchi weren’t destroyed. Are you hoping I feel the same way in this analogy?”
His teasing tone made Natsuka tense his shoulders.
“This is an extreme example, of course,” Nazukihiko said. “Loyalty is defined by the servant, not the one served. Each servant’s interests shape their perception of their service. What their lord wants might not matter much in the grand scheme of things.”
“So someone who tries to understand your commands is a loyal servant, from your perspective,” Natsuka said, bringing the conversation back around to the original point.
Nazukihiko nodded. “If a person doesn’t at least try to do that first, then I can’t even have a real discussion with them. What they do after they understand me is largely up to them.”
This way of thinking felt reductive to Natsuka. He contemplated Nazukihiko’s answer in silence for a short while.
“But we can’t deny their loyalty from our side. People serve us because they believe in what we stand for. I can’t be anyone’s ideal lord and ruler. When people pledge loyalty to me, I accept it. Whether it’s the kind of loyalty I need is usually something I discover later,” Nazukihiko said. “That’s the answer I give to you, brother. A loyal servant pledges loyalty, and shows it. It’s a circular answer, but I think it says something about myself that I am willing to accept my servants as they are.”
Natsuka felt strangely gloomy. “As one of your loyal servants, I don’t know what to make of that answer.”
Nazukihiko raised an eyebrow. “Do you dislike serving me?”
“Not at all. You are worth serving,” he said. “I understand your position. I expected you to have a more exacting, specific answer. I accept that your servants have varied capabilities, but with no set standard to live up to, I fear I will fall short of expectations.”
Nazukihiko chuckled. “Never. What prompted your question, anyway? Did something happen?”
Natsuka bit his lower lip. “You could say that. The other day, I was talking to Rokon.”
Nazukihiko nodded in understanding. “I see. And what did you discuss?” His expression shifted, showing his interest.
***
Rokon’s name at birth was Michichika of the Minami Tachibana family. He served as Natsuka’s personal attendant and bodyguard. The Minami Tachibana family was prestigious among the nobles of Yamauchi. Rokon was the eldest son of the family, but he earned his place in the Yamauchishu by sheer merit, graduating at the top of his class at the Keisōin. He swore loyalty to Natsuka, who’d already joined the priesthood. He, too, joined the priesthood, discarding his noble status. He was never far from Natsuka’s side.
Clear Mirror Temple, where Natsuka served as head priest, was one of Yamauchi’s larger sacred temples. Commoners often came there for succor or to petition the Imperial Court for aid.
Naturally, commoners could not meet Natsuka personally. Only documents that had been carefully scrutinized by other priests and judged worthy were brought before him. His role was to bring those petitions to the morning meetings of the Imperial Court. His daily routine consisted of praying to the mountain god and performing religious rites.
When his younger brother had first ascended the imperial throne, the political situation had been unstable. He’d been given many petitions to bring to the Imperial Court in those days. Now, things were much more peaceful.
He had thought that the reign of the true Golden Raven would be peaceful. He’d been wrong.
“Do you ever think it’s too quiet?” Natsuka asked Rokon one day when he was in his office looking over petitions. “Too peaceful?”
“Don’t jinx it,” Rokon said, frowning. “Yamauchi is on the verge of ruin. We have no peace, only lulls like this. The Yatagarasu are destroying one another, and you should be very aware of that.”
Natsuka was stunned by the force of this response.
“Anyway, lulls are boring,” Rokon muttered under his breath.
Natsuka stared at him. “You’re one cold-hearted bastard.” He pushed his shoulder.
“You’re a cruel lord,” Rokon said, miming melodramatic distress.
Natsuka threw the petition before him aside and let his anger wash over him. “You speak as though you are dissatisfied with peace.”
“Sorry. I am, but I didn’t mean to be honest, I swear.”
Natsuka’s eye twitched. “So you long for an age of turmoil?”
“Hm, long for it? No. But the old days weren’t boring. These days, all you do is paperwork. It’s not a very stimulating existence.”
Rokon was often impertinent, but not this impertinent. Natsuka felt a headache coming on.
“Don’t be foolish. And don’t try to twist your desire for violence into part of your service to me. I want permanent peace, do you understand? I don’t need a more interesting existence.”
Rokon looked mildly exasperated and gave a casual wave of his hand. “Fine, fine. I am your loyal attendant and I would never do anything that would go against your wishes.”
“Then we understand each other.” Natsuka huffed out a breath.
Rokon gave him a cold stare that made Natsuka shiver. That was not a look of loyalty. Natsuka had only ever seen him look like that before he was about to act out some form of violence, like beheading traitors or bisecting enemies with his ridiculously large sword. Rokon usually treated him with mild amusement or bored contempt at worst. His icy gaze had never been directed at Natsuka before.
Natsuka remembered Atsufusa, a man who’d claimed to be loyal to him. Atsufusa had plotted to kill his brother, and he’d nearly succeeded. Even so, Atsufusa had called himself loyal. Not for the first time, Natsuka wondered if Rokon’s loyalty was similar. Would Rokon act against his wishes while pretending to be a loyal attendant?
All the blood drained from Natsuka’s face. “Did you expect me to become the next emperor?” he asked. “Am I useless to you if I don’t?”
Rokon raised an eyebrow. “If you wanted to be the next emperor, I’d make that happen. But that isn’t what you want, is it?”
He sounded so nonchalant. Natsuka couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or not.
“You’ve told me before that you serve me for your own purposes,” Natsuka said. “How did you think you would benefit by serving me? Why did you swear loyalty to me in the first place?”
“I’ve told you that before,” Rokon said. “I serve you because you give me orders personally. As long as you do that, I’ll be your loyal attendant.”
That wasn’t an answer. Natsuka felt like he was being stared down by a bird of prey. “I don’t understand,” he said. “You’ve mocked the very concept of loyalty before, and yet you claim to be a loyal attendant. What does loyalty mean to you?”
Rokon grinned, showing all his teeth. “That’s easy! Loyalty is a hobby of mine.”
***
He’s messing with me, Natsuka thought, cursing inwardly. He set his teacup down with more force than was strictly necessary.
“He told me loyalty was a hobby,” Natsuka said. “Is that something an attendant should say to his lord, do you think?”
Since his grandfather had passed away, Rokon had become Natsuka’s hands and feet—his staunchest and most capable supporter. Those who had sworn loyalty to his grandfather were all elderly now; Natsuka needed younger attendants to help him with day-to-day tasks.
There had been others who had tried to usurp Rokon’s place. They had all desperately engaged themselves in political power struggles that Natsuka had never wanted. Rokon had outlasted everyone who’d attempted to take his place, as solid and immovable as a mountain.
Rokon had taken religious vows, but the Minami Tachibana family still claimed him as one of their own. At times, he made use of those connections. At other times, he managed matters using his own capabilities, not least his prodigious physical strength. From the outside, it was impossible to judge him as disloyal. He’d saved Natsuka’s life countless times. He’d spent more than twenty years serving Natsuka, and Natsuka still didn’t feel like he could trust him entirely.
“I see. So you want to know what Rokon is thinking,” Nazukihiko said.
“I can’t figure him out. Why does he serve me?”
Rokon was a capable attendant, but he always remained aloof and detached. Sometimes he seemed to take pleasure in observing Natsuka’s failures.
Natsuka felt ashamed of himself for failing to understand his personal attendant. If Rokon ever decided to defy Natsuka, he could easily destroy everything Natsuka had done in his life. Natsuka wanted to hear his brother’s advice before he made some kind of cataclysmic mistake.
“Who is Rokon, do you think?” Natsuka asked.
Nazukihiko stroked his chin and murmured, “Hmm… Well, he’s not a man who’d swear loyalty easily, I think. He strikes me as more of a leader than a follower. He sees the big picture more easily than details.”
Rokon had served Natsuka since his childhood, when he and Nazukihiko were pretending to be enemies. Believing that Natsuka hated Nazukihiko, he had acted to keep them apart, yet he’d never acted against Nazukihiko on his own initiative. He had only ever followed Natsuka’s direct orders. That was the main reason he was the sole remaining attendant that Natsuka retained from his childhood.
Rokon’s definition of service was to follow Natsuka’s orders: nothing more, nothing less.
“He tries to understand what you desire, brother. If I may put it in my own terms, he seems to be quite a loyal servant to you.”
Natsuka snorted. He hadn’t expected Nazukihiko to offer Rokon words of praise. Natsuka felt misunderstood; Nazukihiko had failed to grasp his own unease at Rokon’s attitude toward him.
“I don’t think so,” Natsuka said. “But I’ll think about what you said.”
Rokon’s motives were opaque to him.
“He says he will follow my orders, but it’s not clear what that means. I don’t understand why he chooses to follow my orders. What if he decided to serve me on a whim? He could easily change his mind.”
Nazukihiko shook his head. “Considering that he has been serving you for two decades, I think that’s unlikely. He described loyalty as a hobby, right? Clearly it is a hobby he enjoys. I can’t understand why you’re so troubled by that.”
Natsuka frowned.
Nazukihiko tilted his head. “Let me turn the question back to you, then, brother. What are the qualities you look for in a loyal servant?”
Natsuka sat up straighter. “Sincerity,” he said without hesitation. “I always wish to be honest. As a Yatagarasu and a son of Souke, I have dedicated my life to serving the true Golden Raven and preserving peace in Yamauchi. If I did not serve you with my whole heart, I would consider myself to be a failure.”
He looked at Nazukihiko earnestly, waiting for his opinion.
Nazukihiko’s expression clouded over. “Hmm. I see…”
Natsuka looked for the flaw in his answer. He’d expected approval. He hadn’t wanted to upset his brother.
Nazukihiko rested his finger along the edge of his teacup and let his gaze drift into the distance. He was quiet for a long time.
Then he raised his head. “Would it be possible for you to accompany me to the upcoming entrance ceremony at the Keisōin?”
“To the Keisōin?”
“I would like to deepen my understanding of the work of the scholars at the academy, but my time is finite. I’d like to ask for your assistance.”
“Of course. I don’t mind.” Natsuka frowned slightly. This invitation had come out of nowhere. “What does that have to do with what we were just discussing?”
“There is an instructor at the Keisōin who knows Rokon well, I believe.”
Natsuka was familiar with Rokon’s academic record. He nodded.
“I’ve heard that he and Rokon were quite close. I think it would be good if you went and asked his opinion of Rokon.”
“Which instructor are you speaking of?”
“Instructor Seiken.”
“Ah.” Natsuka vaguely remembered the man. “And what do you think of Instructor Seiken?”
Nazukihiko laughed. “He is a formidable man and a well-regarded teacher. Enough with the questions for now, or we’ll be talking in circles forever.”
***
“I never thought I’d see the day when you would request a private audience with me, Prince Natsuka,” Instructor Seiken said. “I guess it goes to show that you never know what will happen in life.”
The man the true Golden Raven had called formidable smiled pleasantly as spring sunlight shone over his shoulders. His hair was loosely tied behind his head, a style that was oddly casual for a priest. He looked out of place at the Keisōin. His open countenance and easy way of moving seemed too soft to belong in a military academy.
Instructor Seiken was in his mid-fifties and looked his age, but Natsuka didn’t think his face had changed much since his thirties, when Natsuka had first met him. He had the aura of a hermit or a mountain sage. He wore a long over-robe above his feather robe. The sleeve where his right arm should have been hung flat and empty.
They’d chosen to meet in one of the Keisōin’s empty lecture halls. The entrance ceremony for new cadets was already over. Natsuka had delivered a short speech and then met briefly with the Commandant and the other instructors. He’d been to several Keisōin ceremonies, but he’d never met with an instructor privately before this.
Rokon had been sent off on a suitable errand and wasn’t present. Natsuka wondered if Rokon had noticed Natsuka’s wariness of him. When Natsuka had told him that he was going to the Keisōin on a day that would coincide with Rokon’s errand, Rokon had smiled faintly and made no protest.
“I’ve come to consult you about an important matter,” Natsuka said.
“I have heard a little about it from His Imperial Majesty, I believe. He told me that you are troubled about your attendant, Rokon. Is that the case?”
Natsuka was surprised that Nazukihiko had already been in contact with Instructor Seiken, but he didn’t mind that Nazukihiko had already told the instructor about his concerns. He nodded.
“Please don’t misunderstand,” Natsuka said. “I am grateful to Rokon. There is no question that I am the man I am today because of his service. But I don’t understand what he is thinking. I have never understood it, and that bothers me greatly.”
It was clear that what Rokon sought was not status, wealth, or trust from Natsuka. What did he want, then? It would be so much easier if Rokon wanted only money or prestige, or if he valued Natsuka’s good opinion. Rokon was strangely self-sufficient and independent for an imperial attendant.
“I cannot understand why he attached himself to me,” Natsuka said. “I want to know what he’s actually after.”
“And if you do learn that, what would you do with that information?” Instructor Seiken asked quietly.
Natsuka found himself without an answer. “What do you mean?”
“With all due respect, Prince Natsuka, at this point you do not trust Rokon; so much is apparent. If you did understand why Rokon finds you worth following—why he decided to serve you—what would you do with that knowledge?”
“I don’t know what I would do,” Natsuka said. “I just…” Instructor Seiken’s questions were clarifying his own intent, which he found helpful. “I don’t trust him because I’m worried,” he said. “Knowing what he wants and what he’s thinking would put me more at ease.”
Natsuka had always feared Rokon, ever since that day he’d casually beheaded a man without blinking. That fear had never faded. What he wanted more than anything else was reassurance. He had to know that Rokon would never betray him.
Instructor Seiken gave him a wry grin. “Rokon is clearly loyal to you, Prince Natsuka. You have benefited from his loyalty, but you still do not trust it. I am not sure that any answer to your question will satisfy you. Rokon has proved himself to you with actions, not words, and it is much more difficult to lie with actions.”
Natsuka stared at him, mouth agape. He understood now why Nazukihiko had used the word formidable to describe Instructor Seiken. His mild-mannered exterior concealed a sharp and discerning mind.
“Are you saying that it’s my fault I can’t or don’t trust Rokon?” Natsuka asked.
“Yes.”
Natsuka was briefly speechless.
“It is not your fault alone, however,” Instructor Seiken said. “Rokon has failed to gain your trust. I can’t imagine how, but that seems to be the state of things. This is a problem that you and Rokon must solve together, if you intend to solve it at all.”
“Rokon called loyalty a hobby recently,” Natsuka said. “Don’t you think that’s disrespectful?”
“To whom? You asked him to define loyalty. Such a question could be seen as an insult when asked of such an obviously loyal attendant. His answer to your question tells me that he is trying to satisfy your curiosity. He serves you because he enjoys it. No one practices a hobby regularly without enjoyment.”
Natsuka heard him asking without words, So what are you dissatisfied with? He wanted to leave, but leaving now would be indescribably rude.
He swallowed his temper and calmed himself with great internal effort.
When he lifted his face, Seiken was laughing at him without making a sound. Natsuka had never seen anyone look so amused.
“Is something funny?” Natsuka asked.
Instructor Seiken wiped his expression clear. “My apologies. I feel like I understand what His Imperial Majesty said to me better now.”
Natsuka had no idea what that meant. “And what did His Imperial Majesty say to you?”
“What we have spoken of,” Instructor Seiken said. “But these matters are often complicated by perspective. I understand His Imperial Majesty’s perspective better now, and I believe that I am starting to comprehend your own.” He pinched his fingers together as if he were about to add salt to a dish. “The gap between understanding and not understanding is sometimes small. You have closed that gap for me.”
Natsuka found himself at a complete loss. No one had ever spoken to him in quite this way before. He felt like he was being made a fool of, somehow.
Instructor Seiken rose and bowed. “I am sorry. It was unkind of me to laugh, even quietly. Rokon is one of my former students, you see, so I was predisposed to take his side.”
“He was your student,” Natsuka said quietly.
“Indeed,” Seiken said. “Naturally, I understand his perspective better than yours, but this understanding is not perfect. I am analyzing his behavior and motives through your lens—through what you have told me he has said and done. I know for certain that Rokon is a poor liar. If he told you he believes that loyalty is a hobby to him, I am sure he meant it. If he said that he would follow your orders, then he will do so. If his thinking were to change, he would say so directly to you.
“All that being said, why not simply accept his service? It is honest, and he has served you well so far.”
Natsuka’s mind went blank. He’d come here for advice about Rokon. He didn’t like the trend of the conversation at all.
“My personal attendants are my own affair, and I choose who to take advice from,” Natsuka said.
“That’s all very well and good,” Instructor Seiken said, “but you came here to ask me for advice specifically, and I do think you need it. You don’t trust the man standing behind you—the one who has always supported you. I am encouraging you to accept and trust his service. He deserves that from you.”
That was an outrageous thing to say, but Natsuka couldn’t argue with him. Was he right? He couldn’t be right.
***
A few days later, a document box was delivered to Clear Mirror Temple. There were three letters inside.
The first was addressed to Natsuka. The second was a letter of introduction for a personal attendant. The third was not addressed at all; the envelope was blank.
Natsuka opened the letter addressed to him first. It read:
If he is reluctant to cooperate, please hand him the unsigned letter in person. If you’re curious about the letter’s contents, you may take a peek as well.
The letter was unsigned, but Natsuka knew immediately who it was from. Seiken wrote to him as if he were a cadet at the Keisōin, not a nobleman of Souke. This felt like some kind of test, and Natsuka was not very keen to participate. He decided that he wouldn’t open the unsigned letter or give it to Rokon no matter what happened.
He opened the letter of introduction next, and his eyes went wide. “No,” he said in an undertone. “This cannot be.”
He sent a message for his brother so that they could meet without delay. When Nazukihiko entered his audience chamber, Natsuka put on a great show of lamentation.
“That man—of all things—said I should take that exiled strategist as a personal attendant!”
Nazukihiko’s eyes widened for a moment. Then he nodded to himself and smiled slightly. “I see. You are speaking of the former Instructor Suikan?”
Until recently, Suikan had been hailed as the foremost tactician of the age. Only the greatest strategist in all of Yamauchi was permitted to teach the subject at the Keisōin. In times of war and emergency, he would have had control over all of Yamauchi’s armies. Yukiya of Hokke, one of his young students, had driven him from his post.
Yukiya was one of Nazukihiko’s personal attendants. He’d also usurped Suikan’s role as Yamauchi’s best military strategist. During the war against the Kuisaru, Yukiya had planned and executed the movements of Yamauchi’s Imperial Army and the Aerial Army of Heaven. Suikan had opposed his plans at every turn, to the point where he’d been thrown into military prison. He’d escaped during the decisive battle and saved many civilians, which was why he was no longer imprisoned. Like Yukiya, Suikan was a war hero, in kind if not degree.
Suikan’s refusal to compromise was viewed as a serious problem, and he had been forcibly isolated from command at the start of the war against the Kuisaru. Now that the war was over, he was cautiously respected, but he had no formal place in Yamauchi’s military chain of command.
Natsuka had once been introduced to Suikan—by Rokon, of all people—while the man was in prison. Yukiya had arrived almost immediately and cut the encounter short. Natsuka could recall that brief conversation as if it had happened yesterday. Yukiya had faced Suikan through the bars of his military prison cell and had not flinched. The air between them had been ominous and heavy with unspoken threats.
Yukiya had planned to use nobles who had ignored the evacuation advisory—their wives and children included—as bait to lure in the Kuisaru. Suikan had called that strategy reprehensible. Suikan had declared the nobles who ignored the evacuation advisory to be the enemy’s accomplices and insisted loudly that they be evacuated. Yukiya had refused. His strategies focused on what was best for Yamauchi. He would sacrifice individuals to save a whole territory.
Natsuka could still remember what Suikan and Yukiya had said to one another that day.
“You vile wretch,” Suikan had spat in Yukiya’s direction.
Yukiya had smiled. “I don’t know what that armchair general over there has been whispering in your ear, but I won’t do anything that would put Yamauchi in unnecessary danger.”
Yukiya had shot him a glance, his eyes like ice. Suikan’s, glaring back, were burning.
In the end, even after the Yatagarasu achieved victory in the war against the Kuisaru, Suikan’s opposition to Yukiya painted him as a radical with dangerous ideas. He’d been sent to the provinces to keep him out of Yukiya’s way.
“I cannot possibly take Suikan as a personal attendant,” Natsuka said. “The idea is absurd. People will believe that I am disloyal to you. I don’t think Instructor Seiken understands politics very well.” He sighed.
Nazukihiko shrugged. “I don’t see a problem.”
Natsuka raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“I agree with Seiken. I trust you and know that you’re not disloyal to me, so you can take anyone you like as a personal attendant.”
“That’s absurd!” Natsuka said. “Suikan hates Yukiya. How could I count on him to help me support you?”
“Don’t misunderstand. Suikan opposes Yukiya, not myself. You have no reason to think that he will be disloyal to me.”
“I suppose.”
“Since when would you oppose someone for Yukiya’s sake, anyhow? You don’t always get along, either.”
Natsuka was a little taken aback, wondering if sarcasm simply didn’t get through to his younger brother. Everyone knew how loyal Yukiya was to him. Suikan’s loyalties were unknown at best—and everyone knew that he’d oppose Yukiya at every turn.
Nazukihiko laughed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you so flustered before. You have my opinion; I would like you to take Suikan into your service.”
Natsuka’s face froze into a statesman’s mask. “Is this a request, or are you commanding me to take him as a personal attendant as the true Golden Raven?”
“I request this of you as the true Golden Raven and as your younger brother. I think that Suikan will be a good influence on you.” Nazukihiko swept aside Natsuka’s hesitation with brisk good cheer. “You might not get along at first, but hope you’ll try to cooperate for my sake.”
Natsuka nodded without enthusiasm. He would do anything for his brother, but he had no desire to hire another personal attendant. He still didn’t understand Rokon.
***
Nazukihiko’s prediction proved correct: Suikan and Natsuka didn’t get along.
Suikan was stubborn to an almost exasperating degree. Natsuka hadn’t expected that. He’d received a letter of introduction, after all. He assumed that Suikan would want to be his personal attendant.
He was wrong.
Natsuka sent a letter in response to the letter of introduction. He agreed to hire Suikan for a trial period and waited for a response.
Suikan rejected the offer and wrote that he couldn’t travel to the capital to work because he was ill.
Natsuka was privately relieved. He didn’t want Suikan as a personal attendant. If Suikan didn’t want to serve him, that suited him well enough. They’d never spoken more than a few words to one another in person. He had agreed to honor his brother’s wishes because he always did as his brother asked, but he approached the matter with his usual caution. He could not employ a man if he did not understand his character.
Suikan’s letter was courteously phrased. There was nothing obvious to criticize aside from his refusal to follow orders—and since he wasn’t formally employed yet, that was a bit of a gray area. Natsuka could sense the force of his personality through his writing. If there was something he didn’t want to do, nothing would make him do it—not orders, not threats, and not rewards. Suikan knew his own mind, and he was no one’s servant. He would make a terrible attendant.
Natsuka sent more letters asking after Suikan’s health and commanding him to report to work as soon as he was able.
The replies were always the same, and little by little Suikan stopped concealing his insolence behind politeness. The man had no intention of serving Natsuka. Natsuka wondered why he kept contacting Suikan sometimes.
Natsuka crushed Suikan’s latest letter in his fist. “I cannot abide rudeness,” he said. He should have never needed to ask Suikan to report to him in the first place. He felt humiliated by the situation he was in.
But Nazukihiko had asked this of him. He couldn’t give up.
He also had no idea how to manage Rokon, who had noticed that Natsuka was acting strangely. He never asked why Natsuka was agitated. He smiled more when Natsuka was in a terrible mood. Several of Natsuka’s other attendants communicated through Rokon, so it was unclear just how much of his personal business was circulating through Clear Mirror Temple. Natsuka didn’t like to think of that if he could help it. He didn’t need any more distractions.
Perhaps Natsuka had relied on Rokon too much in the past? He seemed to be the glue that held the rest of Natsuka’s attendants together.
Frustrated and confused, Natsuka decided that he had to act if things were going to change.
***
“Please go home.”
The door slammed shut in his face.
Natsuka stood before it for a moment, speechless. He had come to Ayukuni Province in Touke Territory. Suikan was staying in the lodging house of a nearby mountain temple.
Suikan must have recognized Natsuka. They had met before. But he still turned Natsuka away.
“Y-you! What insolence, to say that to Prince Natsuka!” one of the temple guards with Natsuka protested on his behalf.
Suikan didn’t open the door. “As I stated in my letter, I have taken ill,” he said, his words muffled. “I do not wish for harm to befall your noble person, Prince Natsuka. Go home.” His words were couched in courtly language, but Natsuka heard nothing but contempt in his tone.
Natsuka suppressed his irritation and said, “I have asked the other priests here about your health. You have not so much as caught a cold since your arrival here some months ago. Everyone I have spoken to informs me that you’re in excellent health.”
Silence from behind the closed door.
“Open up. I know you aren’t ill.”
After a moment, the sliding door opened a crack. Suikan peered out of the gap, his shiny spectacles hanging from his pale nose. He frowned angrily at Natsuka and his guards.
“This is a humble dwelling, most shameful to receive the honored Prince Natsuka. I could not possibly allow you or your retinue inside. From a lowly person such as myself, the words I can offer are exhausted in this one phrase: please go home.”
Natsuka was not surprised to be met with the man’s stubbornness once again. Suikan had lost whatever veneer of respectability he’d once had, and he had no fear of offending nobles.
“You’re sending me away before even hearing my business?” Prince Natsuka asked.
“I don’t imagine that I can assist you with your business, Prince Natsuka.”
Natsuka laughed, surprised. The urge to turn on his heel and leave was immediate and overwhelming. Then the image of his younger brother’s face rose in his mind. Natsuka planted his feet.
“Um—I hear you were driven out of the capital, and that you’re teaching martial arts and the Six Subjects to children here.”
“If you intend to follow that with, ‘Don’t you want to return to the capital?’ you couldn’t be more off the mark. I chose to come here.”
His sarcastic comments had the ring of truth in them.
Natsuka hurriedly bit back a retort.
“There seems to be some misunderstanding here, but I wanted to be dispatched to the provinces,” Suikan said. “The only reason I was at military headquarters in the capital was because I was summoned as an army officer, not because I wished to be there. I’ve come here because Instructor Seiken intervened on my behalf.”
Finding a foothold in those dismissive words, Natsuka said, “I am also here because of Instructor Seiken.”
Suikan’s gaze wavered. “Instructor Seiken sent you?”
“That’s right.”
“Why?” he asked, confused and terrified.
I wish you’d tell me, Natsuka thought but didn’t say. “Anyway, take a look at this.”
He directed his attendant to hand over the letter of introduction. Suikan skimmed it. His forehead crinkled and his dark eyes flashed with anger. He looked up at Natsuka from the letter, fury etched in every line of his face.
“Very well,” Suikan gritted out. “Since you are here on Instructor Seiken’s recommendation, I suppose that I cannot turn you away, Prince Natsuka.” He stepped back. “Please come in.”
The quarters assigned to Suikan as an unranked temple priest were shabby and not well-maintained. Natsuka and all of his attendants couldn’t all fit inside the narrow room where Suikan spent his days. Natsuka’s guards protested, but in the end only the bare minimum of attendants was stationed at the door, and Natsuka found himself facing Suikan across the room’s small hearth.
“It has been three years… no, has it been four? That’s how long it’s been since we last met,” Natsuka said.
“Ah. Yes, I believe you’re right.”
Natsuka cast about for a topic to continue the conversation. Suikan wasn’t even trying to conceal how much he disliked him.
Realizing that any preamble would be pointless, Natsuka focused on the reason he’d come here. “I’ll be frank. Do you have any intention of serving me as a personal attendant?”
“I do not.”
The instant refusal was no surprise, but Natsuka had come all this way, and he still wanted answers. “Why? At least give me a reason.”
Natsuka had no desire to hire Suikan, of course, not even for his brother’s sake. But when he returned to the capital, he wanted to be able to give Nazukihiko a good reason why Suikan wasn’t with him.
Suikan gave him a sarcastic smile. “You desire a reason? I hate nobles. That’s why. I especially despise men such as you, who are pompous, ignorant of hardship, and arrogant to the extreme. You are so noble you reek of it. I couldn’t possibly work for you.”
“Is that so?”
The attendants and guards stirred. Natsuka restrained them with a magnanimous, “Cease.” He wanted Suikan to reject him in no uncertain terms so that his brother couldn’t possibly fault his efforts.
“What do you know about me to say such things?” Natsuka asked.
“I know nothing about you personally, Prince Natsuka. But I know a great deal about Rokon. The fact that you keep that thing close at hand without batting an eye means you are abnormal.”
Natsuka gasped.
Suikan didn’t notice. “To make use of Rokon is to sleep in the same cave as a starving bear. You would have been torn apart and eaten long ago if you were not the same kind of beast. I don’t know what Instructor Seiken was thinking when he wrote that letter of introduction, but I have no intention whatsoever of working alongside Rokon.”
He glared at Natsuka, all politeness and pretense gone.
Nazukihiko had never shown any particular reaction to Rokon’s abnormality. Neither had Seiken. Most of those who served at Clear Mirror Temple had been selected with Rokon’s involvement. Natsuka couldn’t remember the last time he’d met anyone who feared Rokon openly.
Those who served him knew of Rokon, by reputation if nothing else. They knew that to serve Natsuka was to serve with Rokon. Suikan seemed to hate Rokon on a personal level, for whatever reason.
Natsuka had never had a companion that he could complain to about Rokon. It was almost a shame that Suikan had no desire to serve him whatsoever.
Natsuka understood now why Instructor Seiken had written the letter of introduction for Suikan. He really was a suitable candidate for the role of Natsuka’s personal attendant. He just didn’t know it yet.
“Wait. Rokon and I are not the same,” Natsuka said.
Suikan sneered. “If you are unaware of your similarity, that is worse.”
Natsuka blinked. Was Suikan right? Were he and Rokon alike in some way that he failed to understand?
“Please go home,” Suikan said in a voice without warmth.
Natsuka scarcely heard him. His interior world had shifted. He should go and examine what he had learned, but he couldn’t possibly leave yet. He still had something he could use to persuade Suikan to come with him.
“As it happens, I have another letter from Instructor Seiken with me,” Natsuka said.
Suikan’s furious frown returned. He said nothing as Natsuka had an attendant bring out his document box. He handed over the unaddressed letter inside to Suikan.
“I was told to hand this to you if you wouldn’t listen.”
Suikan accepted the letter as if he feared it might bite him. He unfolded the paper and read. His frown lifted by slow degrees, replaced by an expression of cunning calculation. A strange sound escaped him that Natsuka couldn’t interpret. He looked back and forth between the paper in his hand and Natsuka’s face.
“What is it?” Natsuka asked impatiently.
Suikan opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked like he’d just eaten something rotten on accident. He removed his spectacles and rubbed his forehead hard.
There was a brief silence. When Suikan raised his face again, his expression was blank. “Have you read this?” he asked. He sounded exhausted.
Natsuka shook his head. “No. I have not.”
Suikan appeared taken aback. “I wish I could tell if you were telling the truth or not.”
Natsuka had been tempted to peek, and he was now relieved that he had not.
“Seiken is testing me,” Suikan said under his breath. “He must be.” He hung his head dejectedly and covered his face with both hands. Then he tossed the letter into the fire in the hearth and watched it burn.
Natsuka couldn’t have stopped him even if he’d known what he would do. He waited with Suikan as the paper burned.
“I understand now why you are here, Prince Natsuka,” Suikan said. He stood up and removed a bag from his small closet. Then he started packing.
“Excuse me?” Natsuka asked.
“I shall accompany you to the capital. I will not promise to stay in your service long, but for the immediate future, I shall serve you.”
“What? Really?”
Suikan paused in his packing and stared hard at Natsuka. “I dislike repeating myself. Before anything can be decided, you must first acquire His Imperial Majesty’s permission to employ me.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Natsuka said. He expected his brother to be pleased. “He suggested that I take you as a personal attendant, albeit indirectly.”
“Good.” Suikan gave him a wry grin. He appeared much younger when he wasn’t frowning. He almost looked like a different person.
Natsuka couldn’t say he approved of Suikan’s stubbornness and disdain for authority, but he was pleased that he’d managed to secure his service. He felt a rush of accomplishment as he waited for Suikan to finish packing.
What had Instructor Seiken written to change Suikan’s mind? It felt improper to ask about that now, but Natsuka was incredibly curious.
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