He’d screamed at Raiden just this morning. “How have you still not learned the location of the Black Clan? Why is Takeda Ranmaru still free to wander the empire?”

True to form, Raiden had said nothing to defend himself. Done nothing. He’d spared the last of his saving grace to organize this audience.

And it was falling apart before his eyes.

“Answer me, Lord Shimazu,” Roku demanded. “What would you do if you were emperor? Would you go among the people with your hands outstretched, letting them rip the very clothes from your back? What if I let you go in my stead?” His eyes gleamed, and the hint of madness in their depths turned Raiden’s blood cold.

In the far corner—just beyond the series of open screens leading into the throne room—a group of ladies gathered following their afternoon stroll. Mariko and her single courtier—a young woman named Hirata Suke—knelt to one side.

Wishing to put an end to this madness, if even for a moment, Raiden stood. “Lord Shimazu, how dare you criticize your heavenly sovereign. Be gone from this audience at once, for the next word you speak could be your last.”

Lord Shimazu trembled in his silks at Raiden’s cruel tone. Nevertheless, he bowed deeply. As he took his leave, the look he sent Raiden was one of unmistakable gratitude.

Raiden kept his expression cool. Composed. Detached. He sat down once more under the watchful gaze of his emperor.

“Don’t think I am ignorant to what it is you do, brother,” Roku said quietly. “You cannot spare every fool from my justice.”

Raiden bowed his head, his eyes locked on the floor. “I live to serve my emperor. Nothing more.”

Roku snorted. Then returned his attention to his waiting advisors. “Is there anyone else with guidance they wish to offer their heavenly sovereign?”

The sound of heavy silence descended on the space. Even the ladies of court seated outside ceased with their whispers. It appeared none of those in attendance had the gall to posit a single inquiry.

“My sovereign?” a thin voice rang out from the back of the room. It was followed by the careful shuffle of the eldest advisor to the emperor. He was the grandfather of Mariko’s courtier, Hirata Suke. “May I speak?” His back was hunched, his body thin. But his gaze did not waver.

“Lord Hirata.” Roku’s eyes narrowed. “Please step forward.”

With careful steps, Lord Hirata made his way toward the foot of the Chrysanthemum Throne. “My sovereign, as you know, I have been an advisor on matters of communication throughout the empire for the last thirty years.”

Roku waited. His fingers tapped on his bolstered armrests.

“And”—Lord Hirata reached into his shirtsleeve—“I received a most interesting message this morning.” He unfolded a piece of washi paper.

“What is it?” Roku asked.

No one else present could feel it as keenly as Raiden did, but he sensed—in his bones—the threat lurking beneath Roku’s pleasant tone. It almost brought Raiden to his feet. Lord Hirata was an elderly man. One who’d served their father loyally, despite his sadness at the deaths of Takeda Shingen and Asano Naganori. Lord Hirata did not deserve to bear the full brunt of Roku’s wrath.

“Would you like for me to read the message, my sovereign?” Lord Hirata asked.

From his periphery, Raiden could see Mariko’s courtier shift with unease. He watched Mariko place a hand on Hirata Suke’s arm in reassurance.

Roku’s voice turned quiet. “No, Lord Hirata. I would not. Simply convey to me the crux of the message.”

Lord Hirata paused. Then his features gathered with conviction. “It is a letter from the son of Takeda Shingen.”

The entire court took in a breath. The air around Raiden stilled.

Roku laughed as though he were delighted. “And what does the traitor have to say?”

“He offers his condolences on the passing of our heavenly sovereign’s parents. Though he suspects you will not believe him, he wishes to reassure you that he had nothing to do with their deaths.”

Roku leaned forward, his eyes bright. “Go on.”

“And he offers his assistance in helping to quell the … unrest within the imperial city.”

“His assistance?” Roku eased back, steepling his hands beneath his chin. “How does he suggest going about this?”

“He says that he does not need to come near the castle. That he has no designs on the throne. But he has under his command a force of over a thousand men. If you would disburse an equal number of soldiers—or perhaps rally your vassals from the west—then it might be enough to control the spread of violence. He will begin on the outskirts of Inako. He suggests that you start near the castle. Then the looters can be corralled between both your forces.” Lord Hirata took an unsteady step forward. “If you are amenable to his suggestion, he asks that you light the signal fire on the ramparts of Heian Castle.”

Roku nodded. “This sounds wholly reasonable, does it not, Lord Hirata?”

Lord Hirata blinked. “I—I am not certain, my sovereign. I only wished to convey his request.”

Roku stood. “It seems entirely reasonable for me to allow a band of assassins and thieves—the ones responsible for my father’s murder, my mother’s murder—into my city, bearing arms, does it not?”

When Lord Hirata looked Raiden’s way—seeking a measure of reassurance—Raiden shook his head almost imperceptibly. Implored him to say nothing more.

A shadow crossed the elderly man’s face. As though he were supremely disappointed. “It is not up for me to make a judgment, my sovereign.” Lord Hirata bowed. “It is only my duty to deliver you this message.”

Roku nodded. Another moment passed in heavy silence.

“You will be the first to die today,” the emperor said softly.

A gasp emanated from a corner near the entrance of the long room. Mariko’s courtier clutched both hands over her mouth. Her brow creasing with concern, Mariko stood suddenly.

Raiden’s heart missed a beat.

She should not have stood.

But it was too late. Roku’s attention was already caught by Mariko’s movements.

“Please, dear sister, step forward,” Roku said, his voice eerily pleasant. “I see you have something you wish to say.”

“No,” Suke gasped. She clutched at Mariko’s arm. “My lady—”

Mariko shook her off. Moved into the throne room. Every step she took, Raiden’s heart pounded faster. Panic tingled across his skin. He tried to admonish her with a look—to drive her back—but she did not return his gaze. Not once. She paced the entire length of the throne room, her head high, her sight unwavering.

“Please”—Roku gestured for her to move even closer—“share with me your thoughts, as my dear brother’s wife.”

Mariko bowed low. “Please do not execute Lord Hirata, my sovereign. He is not responsible for sending this letter. He has only delivered a message.”

“Ah, how considerate of you,” Roku said with a bright smile. “You do not wish an elderly man to perish simply for doing his job.”

Mariko bowed again. “Yes, my sovereign.”

“So if he is not responsible for delivering this insult, then who is?”

Wisely, Raiden’s wife chose to say nothing.

“I find it interesting,” Roku said, his reedy voice carrying throughout the space, “how the daughter of Hattori Kano always seems to be part of any conversation involving the son of Takeda Shingen.”

Mariko blinked.

Roku snorted. “Brother, it appears your wife has been disloyal to you.”

Color flooded Mariko’s features. “My sovereign—”

“I always suspected she was in league with Takeda Ranmaru,” Roku said, his smile slicing across his skin. “But how mortifying for you to discover her infidelity in such a public manner.”

Raiden kept his features flat. He did not even dare to look Mariko’s way.

“It seems my brother’s wife wishes to offer herself in exchange for Lord Hirata,” Roku announced, his eyes gleaming. “Is that the case, you treacherous whore?”