Yagi flinched suddenly, his nostrils flaring. His head whipped toward the door and he yanked at Kazuchiyo’s robe. “Get behind me,” he said, but Kazuchiyo had no idea what had triggered his caution, until the door slid open.

A man and a woman stood in the opening, dressed in close-fitting robes and pleated trousers of Aritaka’s colors, hair slicked back beneath peasant scarves. They might have been mistaken for castle servants if not for the man cleaning blood from the blade of a short sword. As the woman came forward, Kazuchiyo caught a glimpse of a third man behind them tying Aritaka armor over his chest.

Yagi gave him another tug, but before either of them could properly brace themselves, the woman dropped to one knee before them. “Master Tatsutomi,” she said with hushed urgency. “Please come with us, quickly.”

“What?” Kazuchiyo glanced to her belt where her own kodachi was sheathed. “Who are you?”

“I can explain once we’re away from the castle,” she said, offering her hand. “But we have to go now, before the next patrol comes.”

“This is some kind of rescue?” Yagi said incredulously. “Who sent you?”

“One of father’s vassals?” Kazuchiyo guessed, and without thinking he took the woman’s hand, allowing her to draw him to his feet. “My mother’s family?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the woman said, with such hurried carelessness that it served as its own answer. “We need to get you out of here before tomorrow.”

“But Yagi—” Kazuchiyo stumbled as he tried to look back; Yagi was struggling to his knees, watching in bewilderment. “He has to come with us.”

The man with sword still unsheathed grabbed him by the arm. “There’s no time. Just go before we’re all caught.”

They propelled Kazuchiyo toward the door, and the hands digging into him, their bruising insistence, reminded him too clearly of the gnarled man dragging him from his army’s tent. A terrible weight tried to settle in his limbs and for an instant he was completely helpless, just as he had been watching his family slaughtered before him. His breath caught several times before he could give it voice.

“My brother,” he gasped out. “My mother—if I leave Gyoe, Lord Aritaka will have them killed!”

“That’s not our concern,” said the man. He gave Kazuchiyo a shove to keep him moving and then turned back into the room, fingers flexing around the handle of his weapon. “Go on,” he told the woman. “I’ll take care of this.”

Yagi was on his knees, but he was watching Kazuchiyo, looking to him to know how to react. As much of a beast as he was, his movements were stiff with recovery and the stranger within easy striking distance. There was so little time to react and Kazuchiyo felt so heavy. But he could not bear to stand by and do nothing yet again. Yagi’s voice—not again, never again—thundered out of his chest and before he was aware of his own actions, he snatched the kodachi out of the woman’s sheath and spun about, stabbing it into the man’s back.

He didn’t cry out. He arched beneath the blow and Kazuchiyo shuddered at the impact of blade to flesh that swept up his arm. As he started to twist about, shocked, Kazuchiyo wrenched the sword free. The stench of blood that should have turned his stomach only heightened his determination, and he swung again.

The woman yanked him back. They tumbled out into the hall together and grappled for the sword, hitting the far wall. But she was taller and stronger than him, and her fist across his temple knocked him to the ground. The kodachi skittered out of his grip. “You crazy fool!” she shouted at him, blurring in his rattled ears. “We hate Aritaka as much as you do!” She took fistfulls of Kazuchiyo’s robe and hauled him to his feet. “Come on before—”

Yagi barreled out of the room with a roar, and in the next moment the woman was gone, ripped away as Kazuchiyo was thrown again to the ground. With strength and momentum in defiance of his many injuries he heaved her straight off her feet, and then flung her, sending her crashing through the nearest barred window. Wood snapped with an incredible percussion and she screamed as she rolled down the tiled eave and out of sight.

The last of the trio gaped at them openly. When Yagi turned toward him with a face contorted in rage, he panicked and lunged with his sword. Yagi batted it aside with his already bandaged forearm and punched him in the face hard enough for bones to break. The man hit the floor and met his death on the end of the sword he had stolen.

Kazuchiyo grabbed up the kodachi once more and clawed to his feet. His lungs heaved and his hands shook but both sensations were dulled, like distant echoes, as he took in the scene. The castle was already shouting in answer to the commotion and soon the soldiers would come seeking explanation.

“Kazuchiyo,” said Yagi. It was the first time he had said his name since the field, and Kazuchiyo shivered. “Do you know who they were?”

Kazuchiyo looked to dead man in stolen armor, to the shattered window, to the man back in the room who was still alive and struggling to his knees. For them to have infiltrated Gyoe at all was a tremendous feat, and could only mean they were shinobi of some skill that Kazuchiyo and Yagi were lucky to have survived at all. They could have been sent by a Tatsutomi bannerman, outwardly submitting to Aritaka’s will while cultivating revenge; they could have been from a neighboring province, hoping to steal away the North Bear’s new pawn before he could solidify his power any further; they could have even been sent from within, meant to drag Kazuchiyo away from the castle so that their master had an excuse to have him and his remaining family done away with for good. There were many options, but only one that could be cast in Kazuchiyo’s favor. It startled him how clearly he could see it now that he held a bloodied sword in his hand.

The guards were rushing forward. “Yagi, please, get on your knees,” Kazuchiyo said quickly. “Please, this once, bow your head and don’t say anything.”

Yagi eyed the approaching men with their spears warily, but he lowered himself to his knees. “What are you going to tell them?”

“Please, just keep your head down and don’t speak.”

Kazuchiyo returned to the room. The man he had stabbed had been stabbed again by his own sword, this time through the throat—Yagi’s doing, no doubt—but he was clinging to life, blood pouring from his mouth. His eyes rolled up as Kazuchiyo stood over him, confused and hateful. But he had no strength left with which to fight, and with his nerves steeled, Kazuchiyo stabbed him through the heart. The force of it rattled the small bones in his wrist but that, too, reached him only as ripples from the far end of a pond.

“What goes on here?”

Kazuchiyo immediately released the kodachi. He turned from the body and stretched to the floor in a full bow. “We’ve killed two men,” he answered dutifully. “And a woman was thrown from the window. I think she’s dead but someone should confirm, just in case.”

He expected a volley of questions, but none came. Thankfully, neither did the sound of Yagi getting himself killed for sneering at Aritaka soldiers when one wearing their armor lay dead at his feet. Some time passed, and Kazuchiyo’s sight began to blur, but then a new set of footsteps joined the baffled soldiers, and a deep voice said, “Kazuchiyo. What have you done?”

Kazuchiyo let even the echoes and ripples fall away. “These three were wearing my lord’s colors,” he said, “but they were not acting in my lord’s interest. They were sent to kill me.”

“Kill you?” Lord Aritaka repeated. “Sent by whom?”

“That I do not know, as they wouldn’t say.” He took in a deep breath through his nose, slowly, and placed his wager. “But I find it hard to imagine they were intruders. The mighty Castle Gyoe has never been breached.”

Aritaka went silent, and with Kazuchiyo cooling his forehead against the floor, there was no way to gauge his reaction. At length, he cleared his throat loudly, and Kazuchiyo took that cue to lift his head. Their gazes meet across the short space and he felt the old bear judging him. Then Aritaka’s lip curled in a subtle, dry smile.

“That’s much better,” he said, and he continued to judge a few beats more, waiting for Kazuchiyo’s composure to break. It did not, and by the time he turned away, that smile was gone.

Lord Aritaka ordered his men to investigate the bodies and dispose of them, and to fetch the physician for Yagi’s freshly wounded arm. None could have envied the position Kazuchiyo had put him in: whether to admit his beloved Gyoe’s impenetrable defenses had been breached by an outside enemy, or to admit his own confidence had been breached by an enemy within. More than one eye would turn to the Lady O-ran and those loyal to her in the aftermath. To sow discord between a lord and his wife was quite bold for Kazuchiyo’s first foray into politics, and I am exceedingly proud of him for that.

Kazuchiyo and Yagi were herded into another room where they were tended, wounds cleaned and bandaged, fresh clothing brought to them. They had only moments of privacy, but Kazuchiyo took full advantage, leaning in close to Yagi’s ear.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “If anyone asks, please tell them they were here to kill us and you don’t know anything else.”

“As far as I’m concerned, that’s the truth anyway,” Yagi replied. He squirmed, his nose wrinkling. “You probably saved my life.”

“I know you saved mine,” Kazuchiyo replied. “Thank you.”

Yagi looked even more uncomfortable, and he scraped his fist across his mouth. “Whoever this was, it won’t be the last time they try to kill you. What will you do?”

Kazuchiyo glanced to the hall where the soldiers were milling about, occasionally looking in their direction. All were in Aritaka colors but there was no telling which could be trusted, if any. He was certain Lord Aritaka and Master Iomori were somewhere close beyond them, conspiring, Ladies Satsumi and O-ran plotting somewhere above. Every one of them had already claimed his life as theirs one way or another, and he could not allow himself to be numb any longer. Not even for one moment longer.

“I have to be stronger,” he said, facing Yagi with all the conviction he could muster. When his hands threatened to shake, he took a deep breath and twisted them in his hakama to keep them steady. “I’ll be as strong as you, and as clever as—” He gulped and shook his head. “And more clever than my father. No one will be able to say I’m only alive because of them. Never again.” He quaked with emotion broiling just below his surface, saving and savoring it. “Until the day comes I can finally ask you to take Aritaka’s head.”

Yagi stared back at him. To Kazuchiyo he was steadfast and inspiring, but I like to think he was overwhelmed then, and a little in awe of this mysterious young boy trying so hard to take hold of his destiny. Whatever misgivings he harbored were pushed aside and he nodded to Kazuchiyo seriously. “I’ll be ready,” he promised.

The next day, Kazuchiyo was washed and fed, and dressed in the handsome robes prepared for him. He followed a procession of Aritaka loyalists to the city’s largest shrine where the ceremony would take place. All the generals and advisors he had met were in attendance, as well as O-ran and Satsumi, Master Iomori and a slew of others. Even Yagi was there in the company of his soon to-be-father, pale but alert, his robes a bit too short for his long limbs. His brows were tightly knit and Kazuchiyo took great comfort in his sympathetic frustration.

He said not a word through the ceremony. He drank the saké given to him, accepted his Aritaka armor and a pair of handsome swords. For the last time that he would ever allow, he stayed still and silent as they cut his hair.

At the end of it, he faced his new father and their vassals as Aritaka Kazumune. But in his heart his name never changed.