It had been a while since Taro had had so much fun riding a horse.
Still, he wasn't sorry when it was time for him to return Yazawa's steed to the stables.
That is, he wasn't sorry until Sakue jumped out at him.
"Gotcha!" she smirked as he caught himself just before he permanently damaged her smile.
"Sakue!" he gasped. "Don't do that!"
"Aw, you put the horse away," the seven-year-old sulked. "Come on–"
"No," Taro bit out shortly. "We're going home. Isn't it supper time? Why are you here?"
"Daddy's late," she returned, twirling through the stable doorway before him.
"Well, so are we," Taro muttered.
Home was only a short distance away, but the blacksmith was sitting at the head of the table by the time Taro and Sakue appeared at the top of the stairs.
"There you are," their mother mumbled as she set a steaming dish on the table. "Sit down. Taro, go get rid of that mask. And wash your hands. You smell like a horse!"
Taro nearly choked as he made his way to his room. When he returned, the others had already started eating.
Taro slid into his chair before he looked pleadingly at Nene.
"Can you please pass the potatoes?"
"Hmph," she snorted as she passed the dish to him.
"Thank you, my Lady." Taro mock-bowed, laughing as his sister's disgusted face threatened imminent consequences.
"Where have you been, Taro?" his father asked.
Taro glanced up from his no-longer-empty plate.
"Valoren Yazawa asked me to exercise his horse for him–"
Taro would have pinched himself, hard, had not his hands already been occupied with dishing out food to himself.
"Valoren Yazawa?" Heizo Zayasu raised his eyebrows.
Taro's voice dropped to something like a whisper.
"Yeah…he's in town. But…I think it's some kind of secret."
"Hm."
Taro managed a vague smile in return to his father's thoughtful grin. Heizo might be "only" Taro's adoptive father, but Taro loved him like no other man.
Though Heizo still intimidated him sometimes.
"Father…"
Taro hesitated. It wasn't often he called Heizo "father."
"Yes?" The dark-haired man's eyes met Taro's hazel ones.
"May I take Hanae on a hunting trip, the day after tomorrow?"
Taro swallowed as he waited for the answer.
Heizo frowned. "Taro, I told you not to ask me anymore, the day you turned eighteen. Hanae is yours."
Taro bit his lip. "But…"
He stared at his plate.
"Thanks, Dad."
Well, he wouldn't even ask about the sword, then.
"Lucky Taro," Sakue sniffled.
Nene nudged her younger sister. "You wouldn't want to go hunting, anyway."
"I would too!" Sakue stabbed her fork into her plate. Well, tried to. It glanced off.
"Sakue!" Their father's eyebrows shot up.
"'M sorry," Sakue mumbled, eyes downcast.
Taro laughed so hard he started to choke.
"Taro?" Runa glanced at her son, her eyes wide.
"Nothing," Taro gasped out once he could breathe again. "I just…"
He glanced around at the family, his cheeks red.
"I'm glad you're all my family," he said before he had time to think.
No one cared, apparently. His mother smiled.
"We're glad, too."
Taro's mouth dropped into something very much like a smile as he hurriedly took another bite.
"Taro's silly!" the youngest child sang.
"Sakue, do I have to ask your teacher to give you a lesson in manners?" their father asked sternly.
The girl went very still.
"No, sir!"
~~~
The records room was quiet until the door creaked as Arai pushed it open slowly. Grimacing, he shut it again behind him, his candle lighting his footsteps across the room.
He set the candle on the table, careful not to let the wax drop onto the large book that lay there, open.
The town registry. To tamper with it was a criminal offense against Karunic law.
Not against Hosharan law, though, apparently.
Wincing, Arai sat down and began to flip backwards through the pages.
Ten years. Something like two hundred pages.
Norema wasn't a small village, after all.
Finally Arai found what he was looking for. An entry with no surname. A date that was conveniently perfect for his purpose.
Taro.
Adopted by Zayasu Family. Abandoned as a child of seven. No family name given.
Arai's mouth dropped open as he scanned the surrounding lines of handwriting.
Nothing. There was nothing else.
There was nothing for him to change.
Arai realized his hands were shaking again.
Slowly, he turned the book's pages back to where it had been left open. By the time he finished, his fingers were stained with dust. He blew them off after looking at them in the flickering light of the candle.
Then he sat very still, despite the cold that lingered in the stone-walled room.
Taro Zayasu…
He had been adopted ten years ago. Over ten years ago.
And no one knew what family he belonged to.
It was almost as if Valoren Yazawa's wishes had become reality.
Arai gripped the table, his knuckles whitening.
Could it really be that…
No. It couldn't. There had been plenty of orphans left after the war. Plenty of children torn from their parents.
Taro was no different.
He was only…
a decoy.
The word sent chills down Arai's spine as he remembered the boy's bright face and roguish hair.
The boy was Karunic, that was for sure.
Arai could not betray a countryman.
But…
Taro had already been betrayed.
Only one thing could save the boy now:
Full acceptance of his assigned worth in the eyes of Hoshara–
and of Karun.
~~~
Stars lit the night sky. Perhaps they were hoping to see the boy's face that evening as usual. But tonight they could not find him.
Taro was rather sure both his sisters were asleep by now. His mother was cleaning up in the bakery shop downstairs, and his father had gone back to the smithy.
Now Taro slipped out of bed and to the kitchen-living room, candle in hand. He set it on the family table. A splash of wax bit his hand, and he wrung it for a moment, silently.
Then his gaze flew up to the blade above the mantel.
The bench scraped the floor as Taro dragged it over to the high mantel. Muttering under his breath, the boy froze for a moment.
No sound from his sisters.
Hopefully his mother couldn't hear him from downstairs.
Moving carefully, Taro stepped onto the bench, testing it under his own weight for a moment before he added the weight of the sword.
His fingers curved around the hilt. It felt strangely cold. Taro hesitated.
Then he took a deep breath and retrieved the blade.
It was lighter than he had thought it would be.
Stepping down from the bench, Taro wiped the long blade on his tunic. The dust clung to the fabric, leaving the steel brave and brilliant.
Sharp, too. Taro ran his finger along one edge and winced as it came away bloody.
He took a step away from the table, from anything that could break.
Then, his heart beating fast,
he swung the longsword with both hands.
Once. Twice.
A smile lit his face, though he was sweating and there was no mask to cover his reaction. Taro stood in quiet awe for a moment until he saw that the tiny trickle from his finger had crept down the hilt to stain the blade that had once drowned in the blood of Karun's enemies.
Gasping, Taro jerked his hand away and used the sleeve of his tunic to wipe it away.
A soft chuckle startled him. Taro's head jerked up, towards the stairwell.
"It suits you," Heizo Zayasu murmured, his eyes smiling.
Taro felt the blood rush to his face, but he said nothing. Instead, he leapt back onto the bench to replace the sword.
Another word from his father stopped him.
"Don't."
Turning slowly, Taro glanced back at the blacksmith. At the dark-haired man with calloused hands and a filthy apron.
"It is yours, Taro." His father's voice seemed strangely wavery. "Yours and no one else's. It does not belong to this house anymore."
Taro bit his lip, hard. He glanced down at the steel and then back at his father's smoke-darkened face.
"Father…"
He didn't know what he wanted to say.
Heizo crossed the distance between them and set his hand on Taro's shoulder.
"You're a man, Taro," he whispered.
Now Taro could see the tears in his father's eyes. Salty water stung his own.
"You're a man, and more than a man. Hoshara may call you metai. Norema may call you brother. I may call you son."
The blacksmith shook his head.
"But you are none of those. You are King."
Taro felt his blood run cold. He couldn't move at first, but then he shook his head.
"No," he choked, "I'm… I'm not."
His vision blurred as he clutched the sword tightly. His father's hand weighed on his shoulder as it never had before.
Then the blacksmith pulled him into a hug, dirty apron and all.
"King first, son second," the man murmured. "You can't lie to yourself anymore, Taro."
Taro tensed as his father's tears wet his own cheek. His unmasked cheek.
Then the man pushed him away almost roughly.
"Khur," the blacksmith growled. "Crying like a woman, I am."
Shaking his head, he turned back towards the stairs.
"Goodnight, Taro. And don't you dare put that sword back."
He was gone now. Taro stood alone, his own tears streaking his face.
Why…
Why did this hurt?