The next day was devoted to preparations for Kazuchiyo’s coming of age ceremony. He was fitted for a new wardrobe, particularly the handsomely embroidered robes he would wear before Lord Aritaka. He was given extravagant meals he barely touched and introduced to a dozen different generals. Though he thought to look for the man that had severed his father’s neck, his memory could not place him, and in the end he only took particular note of General Ebara: a squat but muscular man with a woolly beard and wide-set eyes. The sternness of his frown made it easy to picture that he had been the one to strike Yagi down from his fevered state.

Then came the advisors. They tested him on history and calligraphy, asked him all manner of questions about his home province, his family, his father’s vassals. Iomori was present for much of it, judging his responses. He answered dutifully. By the time evening drew close and Lord Aritaka himself summoned him, he was exhausted and buzzing, like a sleeping limb struggling to draw blood back to it.

“I’ve been told that you’ve given no trouble to anyone in your time here,” said Lord Aritaka as they shared supper together. “I am pleased to hear it, though it also makes me suspicious. I want to know what’s on your mind.”

“My only concern is for the ceremony tomorrow, Lord Aritaka,” Kazuchiyo replied.

“So you say.” Aritaka regarded him stoically over the lip of his sake cup. “Well. You’ve given me no reason to doubt you. And after tomorrow, you’re to address me as Father.”

His wife, the Lady O-ran, had deliberately avoided looking in Kazuchiyo’s direction even once throughout the meal, but she glanced to her husband then. Her eyes were heavy with resentment. But Kazuchiyo still had no choice but to reply, “Yes, Lord Aritaka.”

“I’ll relieve the guards that have been following you about all this time,” Aritaka carried on. “You’re free to move about the keep only, for now. I trust you already understand what the consequences would be, if you were to overstep your bounds.”

Kazuchiyo pushed his rice bowl aside. “Yes, Father.”

After supper, Kazuchiyo was escorted to his room. He stayed as long as he could stand to, listening to the guards returning to their normal patrols. The buzz was spreading through him, leaving numbness in his limbs. If he let it settle any deeper he was sure he would never be able to expel it again. And so once the night was at its darkest, he lit a candle lantern and snuck out of his room to head for Yagi’s.

He wasn’t there. Kazuchiyo shuddered with panic, but it wasn’t long after that he heard a familiar voice groaning in complaint. He followed it to the southern corridor where the rooms faced the outer wall, and there discovered Yagi in fresh bedding, enduring the same nightmares.

“Yagi,” Kazuchiyo called, hushed, placing the lantern far out of reach as he made a careful approach. He had not forgotten the threat of a broken arm. But he had no idea what Aritaka’s men would think of finding him out and about in the castle so soon after being unleashed, and he was eager to wake the young warrior before he advanced to howling. “Yagi.” He knelt a little ways away and stretched his arm out to tap the back of his hand. “Wake up.”

Yagi immediately lashed out, and he might have caught Kazuchiyo by the wrist if he wasn’t already expecting it. His eyes snapped open a moment later, wild like an animal’s. Then he spotted Kazuchiyo, and after a momentary confusion, he sobered. Shame flashed across his face as he drew his hand back. “It’s you.”

Kazuchiyo edged closer. “Do you always have nightmares?” he asked quietly.

Yagi got his arms beneath him, and though it took visible effort on his part, he sat up. He was still breathing hard, sweat on his lip, but when he looked to Kazuchiyo something in his regard of him had changed. The pinch of his eyebrows was strained and sympathetic. “Should you be here?” he asked, keeping his voice low as well. “Don’t get yourself in trouble for me.”

His concern was encouraging, though Kazuchiyo could not enjoy a full appreciation for it. “Someone told you about me.”

“One of the generals—Ebara. He told me what Aritaka plans to do.” Yagi scowled and twisted the bedding between his knuckles. “Fucking samurai. What kind of man would demand this of a boy? If only he’d come down here, I’d cut his throat for you.”

“No,” Kazuchiyo said quickly, and then hushed himself, fearful of nearby ears. “No, please. If anything happens to him or to me, it’s my mother and brother that will suffer for it.”

“Cowards! If only….” Yagi looked plenty ready to continue his rant, but a glance at Kazuchiyo held him back. “If you don’t want me to take his head for you, why do you keep coming here?” he asked instead.

Kazuchiyo lowered his eyes. He was certain he could not put his true thoughts into words without exposing himself as a childish fool. “I don’t know. There isn’t anywhere or anyone else. And you….” He took a deep breath. “I feel safer with you here.”

He expected sarcasm or scorn, but when he peeked, Yagi was sighing, his jaw working anxiously. “You shouldn’t,” Yagi said. “I killed just as many dragons out on that field, you know.”

“Why?” Kazuchiyo edged closer. Of all the mysteries he had yet to solve, this was closest to his pounding heart. “If you’re not a soldier for either side, what were you doing there?”

Yagi did not answer for some time. He stared fixedly at his knees as the muscles in his face and neck constricted, then relaxed, then constricted again, battling through anger and guilt and confusion. “I was…” he started, but then his face screwed up again, and to Kazuchiyo’s surprise his eyes were glossy with furious emotion. “Something happened to me,” he tried again. He touched his chest, and upon being reminded of the o-fuda still sealed there, he dug his fingernails into it. “Something...broke, in me. I don’t remember most of it after storming the field.”

“And before?” Kazuchiyo prompted, half expecting Yagi to confess that he crawled out of some supernatural portal from the afterlife.

Yagi clenched his fists, and again took his time answering. “I was out hunting fowl along the riverbank, with a few men from the village,” he said carefully, as if it took effort to remember. “A troop of soldiers stopped us—ronin working for Aritaka, I think. They stole everything we’d caught.” He jabbed angrily at the healing gash in his side Kazuchiyo had bound for him the day before. “Gave me this. The old man begged me not to fight back. But when we returned to the village….” His lips pulled back in a sneer. “We found out they’d already been there—they’d already beat that old man’s son half to death stealing their harvest. I wasn’t going to let him talk me down again—not again, never again. Not after everything I’ve—”

Yagi took in a deep breath. He looked ready to storm out of the castle and recreate those moments on the muddy field, and Kazuchiyo watched, transfixed. Then he let it out again. “Samurai,” he muttered. “Hypocrites and butchers, but I’m the oni. I guess that’s not wrong.”

He collected himself then, scraping the back of his hand across his face. “Fuck. That man Ebara that was here—he said he wants to adopt me.”

Kazuchiyo straightened his back. “General Ebara wants you as a son? What about your home?”

Yagi shrugged raggedly and then winced, rubbing his shoulder. “The village wasn’t my home. It was just a place to earn food—they’re probably happy enough to be rid of me.” He snorted. “Aritaka was never going to let me leave anyway, not if they can get some use out of me. That woman said she wanted me alive but she didn’t say anything about becoming a samurai, the fox.”

Kazuchiyo licked his lips and waited until he had caught his breath to reply. “Then you’ll be staying,” he said, relief making him nearly faint. “Even if you...don’t like us, a son of a general is—”

“It wouldn’t be here,” Yagi interrupted. He looked to Kazuchiyo with an apologetic frown. “Ebara serves at Ninari Castle on the western border. He’s taking me there.”

Kazuchiyo’s hopes melted away, and he felt that prickling buzz creep back into his fingertips. All morning they had tested him on his knowledge of geography and he suddenly could not remember how far castles Gyoe and Ninari were from each other. “So you’d...become an Aritaka vassal,” he said, clawing after his better sense. “West of here is Kibaku Province. Is he already planning on attacking them? Is that why Master Iomori wanted you alive? To fight in another war?”

“If I refuse they’ll probably just execute me,” Yagi said. “Compared to that, killing more samurai isn’t so bad. Or I’ll kill my way out if I don’t like it—I’ve done it before.” He eyed Kazuchiyo with curiosity. “If you do become Aritaka’s heir, I’ll be taking heads in your name after all. What will you do?”

The realization had Kazuchiyo cursing himself for not being more astute; he wasn’t losing an ally after all. Once he was lord of Castle Gyoe he could order Ebara and his sons to any post or command of his choosing. All he need be was patient. The thought of being separated from the only man he could begin to trust was a bitter one, but he took a breath and recited silently to himself: all he need be was patient.