Taro hadn't expected Kishi's arrows to be this solid.
Maybe the one he had broken out of Nishida's hand had been thinner. Or maybe he had simply been stronger that day. High on adrenaline. High on anger and humiliation and the need to prove something to someone.
He definitely wasn't anything of the sort now.
He was sitting very still in the grass with his back against a rock, his left leg stretched awkwardly in front of him. The ground beneath him was damp from the rain that had fallen through the night. The moisture crept slowly through the cloth of his trousers, cool and unpleasant, but he barely noticed.
Kishi knelt in front of him.
She had snapped one of her arrows cleanly in half. Now the two pieces of wood lay along either side of his ankle. The broken ends were surprisingly smooth, the shaft straight and firm. She held them in place with one hand while the other worked the strip of leggings she had taken from her bag.
Taro watched her fingers.
They moved quickly. Efficiently.
She wrapped the cloth once. Twice. Pulled the fabric tight.
Taro flinched despite himself.
The pain was sharp and immediate, shooting upward from his ankle like a bolt of lightning.
Kishi didn't even look at him.
She tightened the binding again, drawing the cloth snug around the makeshift splint. The pressure forced the bones into a position that felt both wrong and necessary.
Taro sucked in a breath through his teeth.
Still she said nothing.
When the knot was finished she tugged the binding once, testing it. The pull sent another flash of pain up his leg. He gripped the grass beside him to keep from reacting.
Kishi leaned back slightly, staring at the splint almost suspiciously. As if she didn't trust it.
Then she rose.
The motion was fluid, balanced. Taro had seen animals move like that—foxes slipping out from brush, deer stepping through trees. Nothing wasted.
Her shadow fell across him as she stood. For a moment he could only see the dark outline of her against the pale morning sky.
Taro shifted.
He rolled onto one elbow, then onto his side, dragging his injured leg slightly across the grass. The movement made his ankle throb again.
Slowly he pulled his feet beneath him. Standing felt like an enormous task.
His hands pressed into the ground. His arms trembled. He pushed upward anyway.
It took several seconds, but eventually he managed it.
He stood there uncertainly, balancing his weight between both legs.
Carefully, cautiously, he flexed his left foot.
The motion was stiff.
Pain flickered through the joint.
But it moved.
Not broken.
The realization came slowly.
Then relief swept through him so quickly his knees nearly gave out.
Abruptly Kishi shook her head.
"Sit down," she said. "Wait."
Her tone allowed no argument.
Taro lowered himself again, this time more carefully. The ground felt colder now that the sun had climbed a little higher. Moisture soaked into the back of his cloak.
He watched her.
Kishi turned without another word and slipped toward the gorge.
She moved the way she always did—quietly, precisely. Her boots barely disturbed the stones beneath them.
Within seconds she disappeared between the narrow walls.
Taro stared after her. Then he leaned his head back against the rock and closed his eyes.
Another wave of pain rolled through his ankle. Not as sharp as before. Still unpleasant.
He clenched his teeth and waited for it to pass.
At least his clothes were almost dry now. The thought surfaced unexpectedly, and he clung to it.
The fabric of his cloak still smelled faintly of smoke and river water. His boots were stiff with dried mud. But the morning air had warmed enough that the dampness no longer seeped into his skin the way it had earlier.
Small things. Small things mattered.
Genjo had stayed behind.
The thought came back to him again.
Kishi must have gone to see what had happened.
Taro opened his eyes.
She had better come back.
The thought tightened something in his chest.
His eyes snapped open fully.
She could go.
That was obvious.
Kishi belonged to no one. She had never said she would stay. She had never promised anything at all.
They had no agreement. No plan. No reason to trust each other beyond the strange circumstances that had pushed them together.
If she left him here–
The fear gripped him suddenly.
He twisted around, searching the horizon.
The land stretched unevenly beyond the ravine. Patches of grass, broken stone, low slopes rising toward distant hills.
Somewhere out there lay Norema.
Farther than it looked. He could never reach it alone.
Except Genjo hadn't told them to go to Norema.
He had told them to go to the capital.
Taro groaned quietly.
The capital was days away. Days of walking.
If Kishi came back. If they walked together at all.
They had no food. No supplies. No real plan beyond the last instructions of a man who was probably already dead.
Taro stared down at the grass between his boots.
This was impossible. They couldn't reach the capital. They–
His throat tightened unexpectedly as tears blurred his vision.
He wiped his sleeve across his face once before giving up.
There was no one here to see.
They couldn't do this. Not alone. Not when he still wasn't sure she didn't want to kill him.
She couldn't, though. Not now.
Could she?
Had Genjo realized Taro was actually the heir?
The question drifted through his mind again.
He must have known. Otherwise he wouldn't have stayed behind and faced Tadashi and his soldiers with nothing but a sword.
Taro pressed his palm into the grass.
What good was it?
He might be the heir. But that didn't change anything.
He was still no one. And now he could hardly even walk.
The air shifted beside him. Taro felt it before he saw her.
Kishi stood there.
He jerked upright immediately, dragging his sleeve across his face again.
When he looked up his eyes were still red.
Her expression hadn't changed. Cold. Normal in a way that bothered him in its familiarity.
"We have to wait," she said quietly. "They're leaving."
His eyes widened.
"Did Genjo—"
"He's dead," she interrupted.
The words landed flat between them.
Taro froze.
He had already known. Of course he had. But hearing it–
He stared at her.
Something about her face suggested there was more.
"They just left him there?" he whispered.
His vision blurred again, and he looked away.
Kishi laughed. The sound was short.
"No," she said.
Taro turned back sharply.
His eyes dropped to her side.
One of her sword hilts sat slightly displaced in its sheath.
Her breathing was deeper than usual. He noticed that after a moment.
"You killed them," he said.
The words came slowly. Carefully. They hung between them.
Kishi met his eyes. Then she nodded.
"Only two," she added. As if that made it better.
Taro wasn't sure it was worse in the first place.
She stepped back suddenly, planting her feet firmly in the grass.
Then she held out a hand.
Taro grabbed it. Her grip was strong.
She pulled him to his feet.
When she released him he swayed slightly, testing his balance.
The splint held. The pain remained. But it was duller now. Manageable.
"How does it feel?" she asked sharply.
He caught his breath.
"Okay," he said.
Maybe she knew what "okay" meant.
He didn't.
Her mask shifted slightly. Probably a frown.
"We have Genjo's horse," she said. "We'll wait until Tadashi is farther away. Then we'll ride for the capital."
Taro's mouth dropped open.
"That–that was Tadashi?" he stammered.
She laughed again. This time the sound was colder.
"How do you know?" Taro demanded, heat rising into his face.
Kishi tilted her head slightly.
"Soldiers talk."
~~~
Runa set the warm loaf on the counter. A little too warm, yes–but it would do no good to keep customers waiting.
Steam still curled faintly from the split in its crust. The smell of it filled the small bakery, mixing with flour and the faint dampness the rain had left in the air.
The woman across the counter smiled as she reached for it.
"Thank you. I was hoping you'd have something fresh."
"You came early enough," Runa said.
The woman laughed softly and brushed a strand of hair from her face while she counted out the coins.
"Children won't wait once they smell it," she said. "You know how it is."
Runa nodded and slid the coins into the small wooden tray. The woman tucked the loaf under her arm, but she didn't leave immediately.
"Runa," she said after a moment, her voice quieter now. "I meant to ask you something."
Runa looked up. The woman hesitated, then leaned a little closer across the counter.
"I heard something at the gate earlier. The soldiers were talking."
Runa felt the stillness settle in her shoulders.
"Oh?"
"They were saying your Taro…" The woman frowned slightly, as if the words felt strange in her mouth. "That he's the heir. The Karunic one."
Runa did not move.
The woman hurried on.
"I don't believe everything soldiers say," she added gently. "But I thought…you should know people are starting to hear it."
Runa blinked once.
"Thank you," she said simply.
The villager woman's eyes widened.
Then she turned and left.