Taro was unusually quiet at supper that evening, but no one pressed him for interaction.
No one besides Sakue, that was. But she gave up after a few failed attempts.
Taro had no sooner finished eating than he excused himself and left the house, pulling his mask up over his face.
Arai. He had to find Arai.
The streets were darkening by now. Taro's steps were fast as he made his way to the fortress.
He stopped in the courtyard, glancing around as he realized abruptly that he had no idea where Arai was sleeping.
The barracks, maybe, but Taro would rather die than go near the place.
But it wasn't quite nighttime yet. Surely Arai would still be around…
Sighing, Taro headed back into the streets and towards the tavern.
The building was bright and loud as always. Tonight, however, the jeers and shouts only hurt Taro's ears.
And Arai was nowhere.
Crestfallen, Taro slipped back outside and found himself scuffing the brick street with his boots.
He nearly yelled in frustration. But then an idea came to him.
He didn't know where Arai was. But he knew who some of Norema's apparent rebels were.
Taro found himself nearly running towards the other bakery in town. It belonged to Kazu Nii, one of the most outspoken loyalists in town.
She had practically finished closing shop by the time Taro got there, but the boy didn't care.
"Miss Nii," he gasped out, breathless from his run. "I–hello."
Her hand paused over a tray of small cakes that hadn't sold.
"Hello."
Taro swallowed down the rest of the air he was missing and immediately realized he had no idea what he wanted to say.
Kazu's hand started moving again.
"Do you need something?" she asked dryly.
The blond-haired boy blinked.
"Kind of," he admitted.
She tilted her head slightly.
"Well?"
Taro had no idea what words were about to spill from his mouth, but they spilled anyway.
"I want to join the resistance."
Her eyebrows shot up so high he caught his breath.
For a moment, she didn't answer. And when she did, Taro almost wished she hadn't.
"You? Taro Zayasu?" Her lips curled in scorn. "Go play your tricks on someone else."
Taro took a step back, his face burning beneath his mask.
"You…you don't understand."
He locked eyes with her. Surely she hadn't meant it.
"Don't understand what?" Kazu laughed. "That your family has welcomed the tyrants from day one?"
"You–"
Taro broke off. What was he trying to say?
"My parents have never welcomed Hoshara," he gritted.
"Huh." Kazu's eyes flashed as she dumped the tray into a container. "They haven't been noncompliant, either."
He stood still as he watched her. With an angry movement, Kazu shoved the container beneath the counter and started brushing crumbs onto the bricks of the street.
"What do you want with the resistance, anyway?" she growled some moments later.
Taro's eyes widened slightly.
"I–" he began, but he never got a chance to finish.
"Don't you know the entire town saw you riding the valoren's horse yesterday?" Kazu went on. "You, wanting to join the resistance! Ha!"
Taro's mouth closed firmly, just before she jerked the shutters down between them.
"Get lost, rakhai!" was the last thing she said.
The boy froze.
Rakhai. He knew the word–a Hosharan expression used for a despicable enemy. Most often he had heard it used in context with the myth of Hiyashi forest.
Never had it been used for himself.
Taro shuddered once, then began walking slowly back towards his home.
So the resistance didn't want him after all.
Was it too late, then?
But it had been early enough that morning.
Taro shook his head stubbornly as he walked.
No. He…he was King, after all. The resistance…
The resistance needed him, didn't they?
~~~
"Bring that powder over here," Rii called out. The boy was so startled he nearly dropped the box.
"Kish'tar Rii!" he gasped. "You're…you're still here?"
The rebel leader laughed. "I'll be here as long as there's work to do, Saemon."
He smiled weakly as he set the box of black powder down next to her. "I thought you slept sometimes."
"Ghosts never sleep," she whispered.
Saemon bit his lip. Clearly Kish'tar Rii had been up long enough that her mind had started to flow away, as he liked to think of her unusual speech habits.
"Can I help you?" he asked cautiously.
She shrugged as she snatched up the box and set it on a bench behind her.
"Not much to do tonight. I'm going to try blowing some rocks tomorrow."
Saemon's eyes widened. "I thought you already decided it worked."
The woman smiled beneath her mask. "Yes, but we still need to determine how much we want to use." Brushing the sweat off her forehead with her sleeve, she took a moment to talk to him seriously. "We don't want to blow up ourselves at the same time as the castle wall, do we?"
"I guess not," the boy muttered. "Well…I'll go to bed myself, then."
"Sleep well." Rii's eyes danced. "And don't worry about me."
Her heart was heavy as she watched him go. Saemon's parents had been killed in the war, as had so many other children's. Now the boy was nearly fifteen. Once, he had called Rii "mother," but…then he had found out that she wasn't his own.
Humming lightly to herself, Rii set the room in order quickly before she left it, locking the door securely behind her. No one was allowed in here–the gunpowder room. Because very few knew what the black powder was and what the rebels planned to do with it.
The secret didn't have to last much longer, though.
Because soon there would be war.
~~~
Taro found it hard to fall asleep. He had thought he would be tired after a day like today, but…somehow, he was not.
Moonlight sifted through the window, falling silently onto the bedcovers and creeping across the room to the hilt of the sheathed sword.
Taro twisted uneasily.
Then suddenly he swung his feet out of bed and set them hard on the floor as he sat up.
Why couldn't he sleep?
Running his hands through his hair, Taro thought for a moment.
Then, sighing, he tiptoed out of his bedroom and down the stairs.
The bakery was empty, as it always was at this time of the night. The shutters were closed, the room unresponsive to the creak of the floor underneath Taro's bare feet.
It made no sense for him to be here.
Grumbling under his breath, Taro crept back up the stairs. He paused outside the door to his sisters' room. He could hear their breathing–barely. Soft. Relaxed.
His sisters were fine.
He wasn't scared, anyway.
There was a tiny strip of light underneath his parents' door. There was probably a candle still burning. But there were no voices.
Taro ran his hand across the supper table. There were no splinters–the wood was old. The table had been in the family forever, Taro remembered.
But not his family.
The mantelpiece looked empty without the sword that waited in his room. Taro stepped over to the plain fireplace, almost as if he expected the floor there to be warm. It wasn't.
Taro frowned as he stepped back into his room and eased the door shut. The moonlight had faded now, but he didn't need its light to find his way back to the bed.
But he didn't lie down. He found himself sitting again, his body blocking the window.
A puff of wind whispered past his ears. Taro found himself kneeling on his bed, his hands gripping the windowsill as he looked out.
Norema looked so different at night. It was so quiet, too.
Quiet enough that his mind was overwhelmingly loud.
He didn't tell himself again that he didn't want to be King. He already had, and besides something felt wrong about the thought now.
Taro shook his head in despair. He should be sleeping. He would be hunting tomorrow.
With the sword.
Taro glanced back across the room to where the hilt reflected the starlight ever so faintly.
Twenty seconds later, he was holding it, still sheathed, on his bed. It felt warmer than he had remembered.
Gradually Taro leaned back, still holding the sword.
His head fell on the pillow, but he didn't notice. His eyes were already closed.
Thoughts drifted through his mind. So many of them. Too many.
"It is yours, Taro. Yours and no one else's. It does not belong to this house anymore."
Taro's eyes flew open.
Sunlight bathed him.
Him and the sword.
Blinking, Taro sat up with a start.
The sword?
Morning blossomed over Norema, but Taro sat on his bed, staring blearily at the long sheath beside him.
So he had slept with the sword.
No wonder he felt terrible.
Biting his lip, Taro left the weapon on his bed and began to dress slowly.
Stockings. Tights. Shirt. Tunic. Dagger.
"Taro!" Sakue shouted through the door.
Taro slammed the buckles of his belt together, then clipped on the sheath.
"I'm coming!"