Lord Aritaka awaited him not in his usual audience chamber, but in the courtyard. Kazuchiyo wondered as he approached if he had summoned him after hearing the flute, perhaps even as a means of silencing him. But there was no consternation in his expression as they greeted each other.

“You look very well this morning,” Lord Aritaka said as they made a slow circle of the grounds. “I wondered after you last night. I know you are not fond of the rain.”

Perhaps he thought he was being considerate. Certainly five years was long enough for a prisoner’s malice to dissolve. Kazuchiyo didn’t bat an eye. “Thank you for your concern,” he said, “but if I lost any sleep it was only because I’ve been looking forward to today. I could see the caravan approaching.”

“Oh?” Aritaka glanced to the southern wall even though there was no chance of him being able to see them himself. “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen your siblings. There’ll be a feast tonight. I hope you’ll help me keep them on their best behavior.”

“Of course.” For almost a year Aritaka’s three children with O-ran had been sent to the eastern border, aiding in Sakka’s defense against their seaside neighbors—an area that had long been controlled by the port town merchants more so than any samurai lord, its wilderness teeming with bandits and thugs. The remoteness of the post well suited Lord Aritaka’s cubs, though there was little glory in it. Though Kazuchiyo spoke in earnest in claiming he looked forward to seeing them, there was only one among them whose company he would enjoy.

“Have you heard any news from Ninari Castle?” Kazuchiyo asked. “I heard a rumor that they’ve apprehended Kibaku spies at the border.”

Aritaka cast him a sideways glance. “Your ears are as keen as ever,” he said. “The rumors are true. There’s no doubt that Lord Koedzuka is searching for weaknesses in our new defenses. So much for his claims of wanting peace.”

“If he were expanding his border defenses, I would want our spies to investigate as well,” Kazuchiyo reasoned. “Maybe you should let them find some weakness, if only to draw out their true intentions.”

“That’s bold of you,” Aritaka said, though he smirked with approval. “You’re learning more all the time.” He regarded Kazuchiyo silently a moment, thoughtful, before continuing. “The construction will be completed in three week’s time. I intend to oversee the finalization in person. That may be the best test of Koedzuka’s resolve.”

Kazuchiyo’s breath caught, though he quickly regained his composure. “Who will you leave in charge of Gyoe?”

“O-ran can handle the daily administration,” he said. “And Hidemune will remain here as well. It will be good for him.”

The prospect of remaining behind with Aritaka’s eldest son and his mother made Lady Satsumi’s advice all the more potent. “Father, with your permission I’d like to accompany you to Ninari Castle.”

“I thought you might,” said Aritaka. “Though I’d like for you to tell me why you want to.”

“I haven’t been outside this town in five years,” Kazuchiyo replied. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

Aritaka smirked again. “I suppose it is. Though maybe you’re also thinking you’ll get a glance of Suyama along the way.”

“The road to Ninari doesn’t go south enough to see the Suyama border. Even if it did I wouldn’t recognize it.” Kazuchiyo stopped walking so that he could fix Aritaka with an even look. “You don’t have to test me anymore, Father. No one from Suyama has come for or asked after me since I’ve been here, and I’ve never tried to leave, because we’re all under one banner now. We’re all Aritaka.” He narrowed his eyes with determination. “And I want to know the state of our western border before Kibaku decides to go to war.”

Aritaka eyed him, but Kazuchiyo had spent the years by his side well, and it did not take much to convince him. He nodded, pleased. “I’m looking forward to the day you take the field with me,” he said. “And it may be sooner than later.” With a grin he jostled Kazuchiyo’s shoulder. “I have high hopes for you.”

A bird called from just beyond the wall that wasn’t a bird—his first mornings at Gyoe Kazuchiyo had woken to unfamiliar songs, and he still held resentment toward them, enough that he knew each by heart. He looked to Aritaka. “Was I not the only one you summoned?” he asked with eyebrows raised.

Aritaka grunted with amusement. “Go on down to the town, Kazumune,” he said. “You ought to greet your brother and sister.”

“Yes, Father.”

Kazuchiyo bowed to him and then turned to leave. He had nearly reached the courtyard gate when he heard a quiet thump, and Aritaka saying, “There you are. What do you have for me?”

“My lord,” said a man’s voice, and Kazuchiyo stopped in his tracks. “I have news from the western border.”

He knew that voice. It seized him by the throat, and he knew that if he turned, he would see a young scout with a heart-shaped face, telling his father lies. But he couldn’t turn. The two voices blurred into a deafening roar and he couldn’t breathe let alone move. He told himself to turn, commanded it of himself. It wasn’t until he heard Aritaka dismissing the man that he was able to jar himself to motion, and he turned just in time to see a figure leaping to the courtyard wall. He caught a glimpse of brown robes and dark hair pulled back, and then the stranger disappeared down the other side.

Kazuchiyo ran. He streaked through the courtyard exit and followed the wall as quickly as he could, tracing it back to where the man had crossed over. He caught another glimpse of silky, black hair whipping around a corner, and he gave chase, only to find the man gone again. Kazuchiyo continued regardless, following the twisting paths through the castle grounds toward the town. As he reached the final gate he saw him again, crawling through one of the windows meant for archers. A sheer drop lay beyond, and once again, as Kazuchiyo raced to look through, he found no trace of him.

Cursing, Kazuchiyo hurried to the gate. It might have been wiser not to pursue a creature of such obvious skill but his heart was thundering in his chest, overriding all reason. He was compelled, and he ran, ignoring the curious stares of guards. There was no one clinging to the outer wall, no one in the street below. Kazuchiyo ran to the nearest shop, and using a cart freshly returned from the market, he climbed to the roof. It may have drawn a few eyes, but Gyoe was mostly used to his rooftop antics by then. He hopped from one building to the next and finally spotted the dark robes and darker hair again: the man was strolling down a lane toward the west, unhurried and unaware.

Kazuchiyo hurried to the edge of the roof and dropped down to a parallel street. He had no reason to think the man was less familiar with the city than he was, but he hoped he still had surprise on his side. What he intended to do with it, he still did not know, but he rushed down the line of shops anyway. As soon as he found an opening he turned down it, and he spotted the man heading away from him, down an alleyway across the road. It was the best opportunity he could have hoped for.

Kazuchiyo approached, slowly at first, making an attempt to mask his footsteps. As soon as he was clear of the main road, he charged. He was confident in his speed, and he caught the man before he could turn, digging his fingers into his brown robes at the shoulder. But just as he found his mark, the man went limp, sliding out of his grip. The robe came off in Kazuchiyo’s hands and his target rolled, propelling himself backwards and out of range.

“Well, shit,” the man said, unimpressed. “If it isn’t the tamed dragon.”

Kazuchiyo spun toward him. The man was not very different from what he remembered: older, but still in possession of a youthful, heart-shaped face, and pale, gray eyes. He didn’t look at all disturbed to have been attacked in the open, showed no sign of appreciation for the significance of their meeting. It boiled Kazuchiyo’s blood, and he charged again, throwing the man’s robe back in his face.

That caught him off guard, if only a moment—just long enough for Kazuchiyo to take advantage. He threw his weight into the man’s chest and shoved him back against the alley wall. It wasn’t any different than his years of training, he told himself. He was taller—he had the advantage. But as he pinned the man to the shop wall, he felt something jab at his abdomen, and he glanced down to see the man pressing the tip of a kunai into him.

The man shook his head to free himself of the robe and let out a huff. “I guess you recognize me after all,” he said, doing a very good impression of unconcerned despite Kazuchiyo’s hand on his throat. “I didn’t think you would.”

“You were at Shimegahara,” Kazuchiyo said, and despite his own efforts his voice shook around the words. “Your lies to my father got him and all his men killed.”

“I was following orders,” he retorted, a roughness to his voice, an almost buzzing that grates on the nerves. “Not my fault your old man fell for it.”

Kazuchiyo tightened his grip, and the man tensed, the corner of his eye twitching. With the two of them pressed so close together Kazuchiyo could feel his body coil in readiness of having to fight, and it sent his heart pounding. Despite my abridgements to his tale, for him it had been years since he’d been embroiled in any kind of real combat outside the sparring room, and he was eager to test his adult mettle against a true opponent. That it could be one of the instruments of his family’s demise heightened him all the more.

“Okay,” the man said, and he touched Kazuchiyo’s wrist—gently, as if to soothe him. “Okay, I’ve said too much. But I was only doing what I had to, just like you do now.”

“Who are you?” Kazuchiyo demanded. He couldn’t feel the kunai against his stomach any longer but he wasn’t about to break eye contact to search for it, not when the slippery weasel was watching him in return with such cautious intensity. “Tell me your name.”

“Let go of me first, won’t you?” The man relaxed into the wall at his back. “It’s not like you’re going to kill me, so we might as well have a conversation like men.”

He started to withdraw his hand; in the process his fingertips skated along the inside of Kazuchiyo’s wrist, and the slow, deliberate caress of rough to tender skin spread goose bumps up Kazuchiyo’s arm. Suppressing a shiver, Kazuchiyo at last withdrew.

“All right,” he said. “Now tell me—”

The man jabbed him hard in his diaphragm, and for a moment Kazuchiyo thought he felt the kunai slice through flesh and muscle, but it was only the blunt of the handle. Even so the breath rushed out of him, and a kick to his shin brought him to his knees. Before he could gather himself let alone retaliate, the man had snatched up his robe and, bracing his foot to Kazuchiyo’s shoulder, vaulted up to grab the roof of the shop and pull himself up.

“You may be Aritaka’s ‘son’ but you’re no one’s lord yet, let alone mine,” he taunted as he tugged his robe back on. “Touch me again and I’ll be collecting a fat reward for your head. There are plenty willing to pay for it.”

“Wait!” Kazuchiyo wheezed as he struggled upright. “Your name!” But the man only turned his back and disappeared over the roof.