Bloodline, 6/10

[astrangestorm]

Sho returned with news later the following evening. He spoke in his overly polite, diplomatic tone. The tone Nino had asked him repeatedly to drop in his presence, but it seemed to be the only way Sho could manage to get his words out. At least where Jun was concerned.

“Prince Jun will meet you in the private baths a week from tomorrow.”

“A week?” He didn’t even want to complain about the planned venue. The baths?

Sho bowed his head in apology. “He leaves the capital tomorrow for a holiday in the north. To get away from the heat here.”

Nino narrowed his eyes. “And how long has he been planning this trip? I thought you heard all the gossip around here, Sho.”

Sho raised his head, perhaps a little annoyed that Nino found him lacking in some way. It was obvious that Yukio had never given Sho as much trouble as Nino did. “There was quite a lot of activity in his apartments this afternoon. Packing and such. Given the frenzied state of it, I’d say this was a rather impromptu holiday.”

Nino took this in, pacing the room. Jun had seen what Nino could do. He was still the heir in name, but how much longer would that last? Nino was illegitimate, but he had the power that Jun lacked. So Jun was likely fleeing the capital to determine his next steps or to find new allies since Nino supposed the ones he had at court might abandon him.

“What about Masaki? What happens to him when Jun runs away?”

Sho made a face at Nino’s tone but otherwise spoke without emotion. “Princess Mariya will care for him. She is not accompanying the prince on his trip. And before you ask, yes, you can trust her in that regard.”

He chuckled. “My paranoia is that obvious to you?”

Sho offered a small smile. “Just a bit.”

“How long before he recovers?”

“Another day or two. I’m sure he’s endured far worse over the years than this.”

Nino wished Masaki didn’t have to endure anything at all, but that all depended on whether Nino could make quick progress or not.

He’d spent the better part of his day in the library, unraveling other scrolls and putting them aside to convince any spies among the library staff that his historical interests were eclectic. His remaining hours had been spent looking at a few of the unmarked shelves housing Raku’s notes. There was one phrase in particular he was looking for, perhaps the key to unlocking other mysteries.

He was looking for the symbols carved onto his skin. Or he was looking for their meaning written out, whether it was “the wind blowing down mountains” or simply the more modern character for “storm.” If Nino could find documents where Raku had written about the tattoos, then it might point him to other solutions.

The language was the thing, Nino had realized. He’d likely have to break the curse by speaking in the language of the gods. The language that nobody knew, at least nobody alive today. Sorcery had fallen out of favor, Rumiko had explained. Of course she’d somehow managed to teach herself bits and pieces, but she was the last person Nino could ask to advise him.

But he had a few ideas.

“Sho, I have another thing to ask of you.”

“Of course.”

Nino grinned. “How do I get onto the roof?”

-

The following night he put on the red servants’ robes that Sho had provided for him, dutifully covering up his tattoos and tying the black mourning ribbon around his sleeve. Sho’s room was on the third and top floor of the servants’ quarters, and a ladder to the roof was housed in one of the rooms nearby. In case of a fire or other emergency, any servants not assigned to a noble or royal dwelling on the palace’s ground floor were expected to climb the ladder and escape onto the roof.

The robes made him a person of little interest as he carefully walked down the corridor with his head down, heading for the stairs. Sho said that princes had been known to disguise themselves in this manner to meet with servant girls. Sho hadn’t bothered to speculate whether those dalliances were always consensual on the servant girls’ side. Nino shoved away thoughts of his mother. Even if her affair with Yukio had been a result of mutual attraction, that wasn’t necessarily a guarantee for others of her occupation.

It was likely best that any servants who might recognize his face in passing just assumed he was sleeping around. It was the better excuse to have if the king or Rumiko inquired about his nightly whereabouts.

Instead Nino made it up to the third floor landing, finding Sho standing in the doorway of his tiny bedchamber. Unlike the lower floors, the servants were tightly packed up here, sharing bathing facilities and living in rooms that could fit little more than the mattress they slept on.

Sho only offered him a nod before going into his room and shutting the door. He obviously didn’t approve of what Nino wished to do, but this was one area where Nino had decided not to rely on Sho’s counsel.

He moved swiftly down the hall and into the empty room with the ladder, shutting the door behind him. Unless there was a fire tonight, nobody would follow him. He climbed the ladder carefully, doing his best not to step on the flowing red material of the borrowed robes as he headed for the roof.

It wasn’t much more than a square wooden door with a hinge, and he turned the latch, pushing it up. The roof of the royal palace was flat stone and lacking in elegance. After all, most people viewed only the beautiful facade, its marble arches and the courtyard fountains. Nobody found themselves up here too often, save for whichever servant had the unpleasant task of cleaning bird shit from the stone.

The palace stretched on for acres, the roof interrupted here and there with rectangular or square openings, the fountains and courtyards and pools of the royal family and their privileged guests three floors below. He was a bit turned around, given the unnecessarily convoluted layout of the residential wing. It took him a few minutes to find the gap in the roof that allowed a spying god to look down on Nino’s own sitting room.

Helpfully, the god was doing just that, perched at the edge of the roof with his bare feet hanging over the side. Nino made no effort to disguise his footsteps as he approached, warmth crawling up his arm as he came closer. Satoshi made no effort to move either. Perhaps he’d expected Nino to come find him.

Without excusing his intrusion on the god’s nightly spying (or introspection), he sat right beside him, trying not to feel intimidated by the sheer drop to the pool in the courtyard below. He sat with a gentle sigh, crossing his arms.

“Good evening,” he said in greeting, knowing he was unlikely to get an answer.

And he didn’t.

Nodding in amusement, he looked aside, taking in the sight of the god beside him. Satoshi’s clothes were just as sloppy and old as the ones he’d been wearing that day in the storage room. Nino was almost reminded of some of the clothes he’d worn back in the caravan, when money and earnings might be better used to obtain food or plants he could use for healing rather than replace a stained pair of still functional trousers.

Satoshi sat, legs hanging over the edge, stretched back comfortably with his hands resting behind him. He was looking up at the moon, almost in another world. It took Nino by surprise a few moments later when Satoshi actually spoke.

“Your Highness.”

The voice of another god. There was nothing powerful about it. Just as Masaki’s voice had sounded like that of an ordinary man, calm and controlled, so was Satoshi’s. Although Satoshi made little effort to enunciate his words. He probably had little motivation to chatter, given how he’d been mistreated for so long.

“He speaks,” Nino joked softly, trying to ignore the warmth spreading beyond his tattooed arm and into his chest. He remembered the change that had come over Satoshi when Nino had given his command. The stubborn, resisting god’s face becoming the most beautiful, heartbreaking thing Nino had ever seen.

The silence continued this time. Perhaps Satoshi only acknowledged him because he feared retaliation if he didn’t. Though Satoshi didn’t strike Nino as someone who was afraid very often. Nino decided it was on him to communicate.

“As I said to you the other night, I won’t force you to talk to me. But I was under the impression that you might someday wish to,” he said quietly. “Since you’ve likely been spying on me ever since I arrived here.”

He looked over again, saw that Satoshi’s expression hadn’t changed. He kept going anyway.

“I don’t know how often you speak with your brother, but he and I…he and I have had our ups and downs so far. You see, Masaki provided me with a very rare plant to ease my suffering after the words of your language were stabbed into my skin. And to return the favor, I did as my grandfather commanded, forcing your brother to provide water until he passed out in exhaustion. I nearly killed him.”

Satoshi exhaled hard, as though keeping up his silence was becoming more difficult.

“The curse of my family, it’s a strong one. I can sit here by your side, at the side of a god, and tell you how I hurt your brother and yet you can’t do anything. You can’t even give me a shove, let me drop and crack my skull open down there. You can’t have the satisfaction of seeing my brains splattered across the stone, can you?”

He was rewarded this time with a smirk. Perhaps Satoshi spent most of his nights out here envisioning just that, Nino’s gruesome demise. Nino couldn’t fault him for it if he did.

“I’m sorry for that,” he said. “I’m sorry for all of it. A little more than a month ago, you were only a myth to me. A character in a childhood story. The two sons of the God of the Waters who came to this place to save us all. I’d half forgotten it, to tell you the truth, because it mattered so little to me. I grew up in a caravan, traveling the desert. I could never picture water like this, I couldn’t imagine water filling a pail or a cookpot or a pool by sheer magic. All the water I’ve known has been precious, hard-won. Not something to decorate your palace, but a commodity more valuable than gold.”

He uncrossed his arms, still feeling the warm throb of pleasurable pain in his tattooed flesh. He leaned back just as Satoshi did, mirroring him.

“You’ve been watching me, sitting up here who knows how many nights. Perhaps you’ve drawn your own conclusions about me. Or perhaps your brother has sought to influence your opinions. I have a brother now too. I didn’t have that before either, though he and I have not been properly acquainted yet. Either way, the reason I’ve come up here tonight, Satoshi, was to tell you that you don’t have to rely on whatever your godly ears pick up from what I say three floors down. You don’t have to rely on your brother’s impressions of me. I’m here if you have any questions or anything to say.”

The silence hung in the air for a solid minute. It seemed like Satoshi wasn’t terribly interested in talking to him. Which Nino felt was fair. But that didn’t mean he planned to stop trying. Satoshi had been watching him for a reason. Something about him had gotten the god’s attention.

He sighed, getting to his feet. Sho wasn’t going to like it, but he wasn’t getting those borrowed robes back any time soon.

“Prince Jun is leaving the palace for a holiday,” he continued, standing back a little from the edge to keep his fears at bay. “I’ve been told that his mother will be caring for your brother while he’s gone. I’m sure you already knew that, but, well, I’m still a newcomer here and I don’t know how quickly word spreads around about these things. Wanted to make sure you knew.”

Satoshi didn’t move a muscle, his dark and uncombed hair ruffling in the breeze.

“Okay. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll come visit with you another time. Good night.”

He was several paces away when he received a reply that warmed his arm (and the rest of him) once again.

“Good night, Your Highness.”

-

Nino made his way to the rooftop every night for the next week. No matter what time he left his room wrapped up in the red servants’ robes, Satoshi was already perched in his usual place, staring up at the night sky. He did little to change up his routine. He greeted Nino politely and bid him farewell politely. He never otherwise spoke. He never otherwise moved from his place.

Nino sat alongside him for hours, chatting about harmless topics until his tongue was heavy and his mouth was dry. Though he got zero response, he told Satoshi about life in the caravan. The constant moving from town to town. Living in a tent. Watching the Water Finding ceremony. Standing with townsfolk, helping them to dig through hard-packed soil or heavy sand to try and find new water sources. He could have told Satoshi the most outrageous lies, since it seemed like nothing he said made a bit of difference to the god.

Perhaps it was cruel in its own way, chattering away like a fool and forcing Satoshi to put up with it. But Satoshi never made an attempt to move, no matter how long Nino sat there talking about himself. At first it had been difficult, speaking his words to the wind and getting absolutely nothing in return. But it grew easier in time.

He had his reasons for doing so. Logically, he was opening himself up to a presumed enemy. He held power over Satoshi, true, but he didn’t use it. He didn’t use any of their quiet nighttime sessions to brag about his tattoos or what he could do. Instead he talked about the past, about his life before the complication of Amaterasu. He wanted Satoshi to know that he was a thinking and feeling person, not a monster like his ancestors. He thought that if he let himself be vulnerable around Satoshi that maybe it would help. He couldn’t do much about the imbalance between them, but he wanted Satoshi to know that he was real. That this wasn’t the life he’d envisioned for himself.

His other reasons were less logical. His guilt clung to him, suffocated him. He hated the idea that Satoshi might fear him. Well, perhaps not fear him but rather fear what the curse of his blood could do. He wanted to ease those fears as best he could. And then there was the other reason, the reason lingering in the back of his mind, where he thought about the first time they’d met. The time when he’d seen Satoshi cry. When the anger had fallen away, the heaviness of his life here in Amaterasu. In that moment, Nino had seen a different person.

Selfish as it was, Nino wanted to meet that Satoshi again. He just hoped it would be under better circumstances. He wasn’t quite ready yet to digest what that might mean and how it might complicate his more noble-minded mission.

Either way, his evenings on the rooftop were a rather refreshing break from most of his conversations downstairs with Sho, going through the notes that he had snuck inside his clothes and smuggled out of the palace library. He’d found a few references to storms in one scroll, but after going over the antiquated language with Sho, they realized that it had only been about a series of freak storms in the Empire of Salt to the north. Nothing useful yet.

When he wasn’t in the library, vision blurring during hours of squinting at ancient text, Nino had been in “training” with Rumiko. Masaki had recovered a few days earlier, but thankfully he nor his brother had been called upon to test Nino’s powers again. Instead Rumiko had taught him a few more words. Combined with those already carved into his flesh, he could exert his will in different ways.

They walked the palace and the gardens together. With only “the wind blowing down mountains,” Masaki and Satoshi would fill whatever was before them, whether it was a pot or an elaborate fountain. With more targeted language, Nino could offer more specific instructions.

He learned the words for north, west, south, and east. The words for up and down, near and far. Combined with words in his own language like fountain, well, or pipe and even numbers, he could order Satoshi or Masaki to attend to things without him having to be present. It was a crude combination of languages, the common tongue and the divine, but apparently the Matsumoto royals had relied on it for generations since those who had properly studied the language of the gods had all died off. Or perhaps they had been killed by a king gone mad and jealous of sharing his power, sharing the words that were his to use and not the purview of scholars.

None of the words Rumiko taught him would likely break the curse.

Come morning, Jun would return and Nino would meet with him privately for the first time. In Jun’s absence, Nino had taken the time to go into the underground passages beneath the palace. The passages had been here long before the rest of the palace, cool caves that offered a welcome respite from the desert heat. The exits had been closed off, sealed so that entry was only possible from the palace above. Unlike the rest of the palace grounds, the water in the baths was all natural, coming from a spring deep within the ground rather than from the sacrifice of the gods.

With Sho at his side, he’d taken in the grand pool that dominated the main chamber, the water lying still under the high, arched ceilings. The walls were painted red and yellow, looking bloody in some areas, sickly in others. Aside from the main pool, there were smaller grottoes down twisting paths, hidden away for more private pursuits. There were heated pools and cold ones depending on who wished to use them. But they largely sat empty, intended only for royal use.

Nino wasn’t sure what to think of his brother’s choice of venue. Tomorrow would be a time to be cautious, to gauge what Jun thought of him and how it might affect his plans moving forward.

But that was for him to worry about in the morning. For now, he could mostly relax.

He climbed the ladder to the roof as he had so many nights already, looking forward to the peace and quiet offered. Even with the bustling palace underfoot, Nino was almost reminded of the quiet of the vast deserts away from the capital. The sands he’d traveled for year after year, thinking only of when he might escape them. He longed for that now, for that simpler existence. For the stink of a camel under him, the swaying motion lulling him in and out of sleep as the caravan progressed beneath a sea of stars. The only sea Nino had ever known.

Satoshi probably had a different sea in mind when he looked up into the sky, silent and alone.

Nino made his way across the roof, wondering if he’d been turned around by accident. Because the roof was empty. Wasn’t this where Satoshi sat? Wasn’t that his own courtyard down below? He looked around, confused. Perhaps he’d been foolish to expect Satoshi to endure him and his stories for yet another night.

He turned when he heard a hissing whisper in the distance. It wasn’t Satoshi. It was Sho.

“Come quickly,” Sho was calling out to him, still standing near the open door above the ladder. “Nino, come quickly!”

He rushed over, not caring if there might be servants in the rooms below wondering what was happening up top. He reached out, grabbing hold of Sho by his arm.

“What’s wrong?”

“The king had need of Satoshi tonight. I’ve only just learned…”

Nino’s heart sank.

“Where is he now?”

“If he’s weakened, I’m not sure. He’s been known to hide in these situations…”

“Sho, make an intelligent guess.”

“It seems the king was dissatisfied with one of the garden fountains. He had it totally drained so it might be refilled. Satoshi was sent out before sundown, but those fountains hold a great deal of water.”

“There are things I will need first,” he said, mind racing at what he might be able to do.

“What kind of things?” Sho reached over, resting his hand against Nino’s shoulder. “You must be careful. Satoshi is acting on the king’s orders, and you cannot interfere.”

“Then nobody can find out, can they?”

Sho sighed. “Very well.”

-

An hour later they found Satoshi kneeling before a fountain in the southeast quadrant of the palace gardens. Nino had walked the gardens with Rumiko the last several days and knew how to best dodge the Kingsguard’s patrols. Night was an added challenge, but their patterns remained predictable.

Nino felt that now familiar burst of heat rush up his arm as soon as he came close enough. Satoshi had his hand pressed against the stone rim of the large fountain, but his grip faltered in the instant that Nino approached. Perhaps the feeling worked in each direction.

“Serve as lookout,” Nino told Sho. “Just around that bend. Whistle if someone approaches.”

Sho wasn’t pleased with the order. “Be quick about it.”

Nino smirked at Sho’s attitude, amused. His bossiness was rather endearing. Sho did as told, though, setting down the basket of items from the storeroom of the palace physician. The guard standing outside had not objected to Nino entering, and it was unlikely the man had known what Nino was taking with him.

With Sho gone, Nino hoisted the basket into his arms, moving to sit on the edge of the fountain with Satoshi kneeling just beside him. He could hear the gentle rush of the water as it sloshed behind him. Draining the fountain had likely been unnecessary, an act performed only by a sadistic fool like his grandfather. It was a waste of Satoshi’s talents, forcing him to remain here until the job was finished to Kotaro’s satisfaction.

“You weren’t in your usual spot,” Nino said quietly, setting the basket down beside him. He took out a mortar and pestle, squinting in the faint starlight to find the packets of herbs that he needed.

“Your Highness,” Satoshi acknowledged, his voice utterly exhausted. But still he held tight to the fountain, concentrating on the task at hand.

“I’m not sure any of the things I’ve brought will work on a god, but I suppose it doesn’t hurt to try.”

At that, Satoshi removed his hand from the fountain, looking up from where he was kneeling. For what might have been the first time since they’d started their late night meetings, he looked up into Nino’s face.

“What are you doing?”

Nino tried desperately to ignore the way his tattoo throbbed as a full sentence dropped from the lips of the god beside him. It hadn’t felt like this when Masaki had spoken to him. He worked through the pain, opting for one of his most reliable powders. Four ingredients in equal portions, pounded to dust, mixed with a few mint leaves and some sticky Callavan oil. Not the most pleasant taste.

“This is called Callavan’s Revival,” he explained. “Might have mentioned it to you the other night.”

Satoshi hadn’t moved his hand back to the fountain. He was so unnerved by Nino’s arrival that he was now directly violating what the king had ordered. He wondered if Satoshi’s pain increased the longer he delayed.

“In case you’ve forgotten, which is likely given that I probably told you every single concoction I can make the other night, Callavan’s Revival is often fed to horses suffering from exhaustion in the desert. Not that I’m comparing you to a horse, Satoshi, but I’ve seen how overexerting yourself can be damaging. Instead of seeing you pass out here so you might bake under the sun tomorrow until this fountain is full, I’m hoping that swallowing this will revive you somewhat.”

He finished mixing the solid ingredients, reaching into the basket for the mint, tugging a few leaves and sprinkling them into the mortar. The night’s darkness didn’t slow him down. Nino was certain he could make dozens of things without needing his eyes open. Such was the expertise of a healer.

“I’m just going to mix this with the Callavan oil, and it will be ready in just a moment.”

“No.”

He looked over, seeing that Satoshi had turned back to his task. His hand was back on the fountain now and presumably he had resumed filling it. Nino frowned.

“No?”

“I don’t need your charity.”

“I don’t even know if it’s going to help you. Indulge me.”

“If you tell me to take it, then I will take it.”

This was the most Satoshi had spoken, but it wasn’t the type of response Nino had expected. He stopped grinding the ingredients together, reaching a hand out, stopping just short of resting it on Satoshi’s shoulder. “I’m not forcing or ordering. I just want to help.”

“I belong to this family so do as you must.”

“You don’t belong to anyone. What’s been done to you is wrong, and I’m doing my best to fix it.”

“I’ve said what I think, Matsumoto Kazunari. But if you insist I take it, then I will take it.”

“You’re misunderstanding me,” Nino pleaded, wondering if his weeklong exercise in opening himself up to Satoshi had been pointless.

“You’re the one who is misunderstanding,” Satoshi said, his voice sharp and menacing.

“I just want to help you feel better!” he hissed.

“You want to make yourself feel better!” Satoshi shot back, raising his voice for the first time.

The mortar slipped from Nino’s hand. Before it could hit the paving stones, Satoshi had reached out a hand, catching it deftly. The reflexes of a god, even a weakened one. He set it on top of the fountain at Nino’s side. A bit had spilled over the edges, but the majority of the Callavan’s Revival had been saved.

He shut up, dropping the wet pestle into the basket beside him with a heavy thump. Since Sho hadn’t whistled or come to chide them for being loud, he assumed that Satoshi’s outburst had thankfully gone unnoticed.

Nino sighed in frustration, resting his elbows on his knees, holding his head in his hands. Had Yukio ever felt this way?

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked uselessly, voice shaking. “What the fuck am I supposed to do here?”

A few moments passed, and he tried to breathe, to clear his mind. This was stupid. This wasn’t working. He wasn’t going to save Satoshi or Masaki by being friendly. It didn’t really matter how he treated them. Releasing them was the only thing that mattered. Once freed, they’d likely never give him a second thought. After hundreds of years of torment, Nino’s actions, Nino’s time in Amaterasu would be like the time between breaths, the time between heartbeats.

Short. Meaningless.

He was startled then when he heard Satoshi let out a soft laugh, a chuckle under his breath.

“What?” he asked quietly.

Satoshi’s shoulders were shaking in amusement, and he reached forward, grabbing hold of the mortar he’d caught. Nino watched as he swirled his finger around in it before bringing it to his lips and swallowing Callavan’s Revival down.

Nino waited for an answer. He almost thought Satoshi wasn’t going to give him one, but finally the god flexed his fingers, repositioning his hand against the fountain.

“You’re the first one I’ve ever yelled at like that. The first one I’ve been able to tell what I really felt and I…”

Nino leaned forward, watching the awkward smile cross the god’s face. It changed him completely, that smile. Made him look gentle, kind. Different. Different in the way that made Nino’s stomach tie itself in knots.

“You’re laughing because you were able to tell me to go fuck myself, is that it?”

Satoshi turned the smile to him, letting it fade slightly. He still seemed a bit shocked by his own reaction. “Yes.”

Nino narrowed his eyes. “Terrific.”

“You don’t…you can’t possibly…” Satoshi chuckled again, a whimsical sound that made Nino realize that he was in danger. Not the danger faced by a young royal in the Amaterasu court.

Rather, the danger and the anxiety that came with finally admitting to yourself that you care for someone.

“I’m forbidden to harm you,” Satoshi explained. “Not just physically. When someone in your bloodline gives an order, I obey. When your family’s tattoos tell me to give water, I obey. Until now, all I could do was obey. You’re the strongest in generations and I just…”

Nino listened to Satoshi’s astonished, almost arrogant laughter, torn between the embarrassment that came with being teased and the sheer delight that was hearing Satoshi laugh, showing his feelings so openly.

“I was able to tell you no,” Satoshi said, still laughing.

It was the most incredible sound Nino had ever heard, the laughter of a stubborn god.

“Tell me something…” When Satoshi’s laughter died down, Nino cleared his throat. “Sorry, I shouldn’t phrase things like a command. Let me instead just ask. Did the Callavan’s Revival help?”

Satoshi was focused on the fountain. “Not really.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Satoshi said. His voice was lighter now. “Thank you.”

He was grateful Satoshi could not see him blush. “It was arrogant of me,” Nino mumbled. “Feeding horse cures to an immortal.”

“Masaki is right about you,” Satoshi admitted, though he didn’t bother to elaborate on what that meant.

The moment between them was finally broken when Sho came around the corner, voice hushed. “Fairly certain the patrol will pass this way to check on his progress.”

“Then I’ll leave you alone,” Nino said, getting to his feet and gathering up his items and putting them in the basket. The last thing he wanted to do was get Satoshi in trouble. “Good night.”

“Good night, Your Highness.”

-

He used what influence he’d gained over the Kingsguard to ensure that nobody else entered the private baths underground while he and Jun met.

Nino brought Sho with him, taking the stone steps back down to the pools beneath the palace. The main pool was empty, and Sho led him down one of the narrow side paths. Coming around a corner, they arrived at one of the hot private baths, the chill in the cave lessened by the steam. It was carved out of the cave wall, a deep pool with a ledge jutting out for bathers to sit within. More hot water gushed out from a crevice in the wall to the side of the pool, the bubbling noise not likely to block all conversation but perhaps some.

He wasn’t surprised to find the heir to the throne relaxing in the hot water, resting his back against the stone with his arms out to his sides, perched out of the water. If he feared Nino, he was attempting to convey the opposite, as he’d chosen to bathe without a stitch of clothing on. Nino’s brother was finely formed, muscular and strong, and he knew it. His dark hair was wet, slicked back from his face, and he had a young woman to either side of him. Upon Nino’s arrival, one of the women leaned over as if on cue, pressing her mouth against Jun’s neck. The prince chuckled in amusement, leaning back to expose more of his skin to her.

The other woman’s hands were under the water, perhaps otherwise occupied.

“Brother,” Jun declared, making no attempt to get up. His voice was clear and joking as it had been the first day they’d met. “At last.”

Nino looked aside, saw that Sho was behind him, eyes down, on his knees in deference to the prince. “Am I interrupting?” Nino inquired, standing at the edge of the pool opposite Jun and his elaborate charade.

“I cleared my busy schedule just for you,” Jun replied.

Nino raised an eyebrow. “And your friends?”

Jun grinned, licking his lips. “Well, perhaps I didn’t clear everything.” He turned to the woman beside him, letting her kisses find his mouth instead of his neck. Nino looked away, trying not to laugh. Jun likely thought this would put him off, send him away. After all, it worked on everyone else, this playboy act of his.

“Perhaps Sho was imprecise when I sent him to you last week. I requested a private meeting with you.”

Jun finally let out a heavy sigh, breaking away from his companion. With only a look, he dismissed the two women. They made no effort to move with any speed, and Nino ignored their lithe, wet bodies as they came out of the water, reaching for their silk robes. Instead he looked at the inside of his brother’s bared left arm. The tattoos there looked no different from Nino’s, even after fourteen years.

When the women finally disappeared around the corner, Nino waved a hand for Sho. “Please make sure Prince Jun’s companions find their way to their rooms.”

Jun smiled as Sho quietly rose to his feet. “Do come back, Sho,” he said teasingly. “I know you’ve missed me.”

Sho said nothing as he left, heading off to ensure that Jun’s companions didn’t stick around to eavesdrop. When they were alone, Nino sat down on the ground, watching Jun from across the pool.

“You don’t want to get in?” Jun brought a hand down to the water, splashing gently. “It’s rather nice.”

“No, thank you.”

Jun sighed, leaning back and shutting his eyes. He didn’t seem to mind his vulnerable position. “I’ve spent the last week pondering what you want from me. At first I thought you wanted to ask me to step aside. After that ridiculous show you put on in Grandfather’s chamber, I thought I should expect it. But then I thought a bit more. You’re quite powerful now, Little Usurper. You don’t need to ask.”

“Isn’t that the king’s decision to make?” Nino asked carefully. “Who succeeds him?”

Jun still hadn’t opened his eyes, his hand gently skimming across the steaming water. “Grandfather has Rumiko’s poison tongue by his ear. She loathes me, and now she’s pulled you from a sand dune, fully formed and ready to carry on the family legacy. Bit scrawny for a king, but it’s not as though your people will ever see you.”

“You think I’ve come here to brag?” Nino wondered. “You think I’ve come to tell you that your time is at an end?”

Jun opened his dark, clever eyes. “Haven’t you?”

He spoke plainly. “No, Jun, I haven’t come to brag. I’ve come to meet you.”

Jun raised his arms, droplets scattering as he waved them. “Here I am.”

“No,” Nino replied. “I’m not here to meet Matsumoto Jun, the indifferent prince. I’m here to meet the real Matsumoto Jun.”

Jun lowered his arms, crossing them over his chest. “There is only one me, brother.”

“And I would argue that’s not true. Out of favor with your grandfather. Out of favor with your father. The powers of your birthright never materializing. It’s enough to drive any man over the edge, surely. Any man might revolt against such injustice, get himself exiled or killed after fighting to regain his pride. Instead you’ve fashioned this character, this farce, and you wear it well. A man of apathy, a man of decadent pleasures.”

Jun said nothing, waiting for him to finish.

“You wear it to hide your real agenda, to hide your intelligence. And to hide your heart.”

“You’ve got it all figured out then?” Jun spat.

“You could have let Sho die,” he said sharply. “A Matsumoto descendant of Sorcerer Raku doesn’t look upon a servant and see a human being. He sees a tool to be used, an object. He doesn’t argue for a traitor to live. And the man you pretend to be, who cares only about the next mouth around his cock, why would he argue for a traitor to live? What does he care about the life or death of a servant when there are hundreds here?”

Nino tilted his head, smiling.

“You hid your heart well, Jun. You cloaked yourself in protocol, asking for a stay of execution in honor of Yukio’s death. You didn’t dare ask for the death sentence to be lifted entirely, you’re not stupid, but you found a way to save him without having to look weak.”

“Why do you dwell on the subject of my father’s loyal lapdog? He means nothing to me.”

“Then why did you save him?” He laughed. “If he means nothing to you, then why did you save him?”

Jun’s irritated look assured him that he was right. Had nobody else ever bothered to really understand him?

“As I said, I’ve come to meet you. Not overthrow you. If this is the person you’re going to be every time, this…pathetic narcissist, then I don’t think we will ever meet again, brother. But if you show me the real Matsumoto Jun, then I will show you the real Ninomiya Kazunari.”

He got to his feet, turning his back on Jun and walking away.

“Matsumoto.”

Nino paused, not turning around.

“You may have lofty aspirations, but you are a Matsumoto the same as me,” Jun’s low voice threatened him. “The same as our grandfather, and the same as that witch. The same as Raku centuries ago. I watched what you did to Masaki. Whatever your excuse, however you managed to justify it to yourself, you are complicit in the suffering of the gods. That is the real you.”

He took a breath, acknowledging the truth of Jun’s words. For the first time, Nino had heard the real Matsumoto Jun. He wanted to hear more. But he had to leave that choice to Jun.

“Enjoy your bath,” Nino replied, walking away.

-

Rumiko sent Masaki to the fruit groves with Nino just before dawn a few days later. Target practice, his aunt had said, a way to test Nino’s evolving skills.

They walked the extensive palace grounds in silence, Nino with a bag slung over his shoulder and Masaki always deliberately a step behind him to assure the Kingsguard that he knew his place behind royalty.

The air was perfumed with the scent of orange and grapefruit. Later that morning servants would gather fruit that had fallen during the night or pick what was ripe on the trees. For now, they’d have a few hours alone. It spoke of Rumiko’s trust in him, sending them off to the groves alone. He decided to at least take advantage of it.

Inside his bag he had ingredients for at least a dozen different curatives. Even though the Callavan’s Revival had done nothing for Satoshi, Masaki seemed willing to test alternative solutions. Unlike his brother, Masaki was happy to accept Nino’s charity, even if nothing worked.

When Nino tried to apologize for what had happened in the audience chamber, Masaki had shaken his head. “My eyes are open, Ninomiya Kazunari. My eyes have always been wide open.”

Masaki knew the difference between Nino’s predecessors and Nino himself. That didn’t ease his suffering, Nino knew, but the god was insistent about making that distinction.

Nino practiced his new words. He asked for the wind blowing down mountains and he asked for it to come from above a tree, to fall down through its branches. Masaki did exactly as commanded. But instead of moving on to the next test, Nino ground up herbs and dried berries, stirred in liquids of all sorts, from the bile of a desert footworm to the milk from a coconut.

After each command, he had Masaki try something new and offer feedback. With the frequent breaks, he also hoped that Masaki wouldn’t tire as quickly regardless of what cures Nino was feeding him.

When Masaki had made water soak into the roots of a tree, turning the soil wet and heavy all around them, Nino sighed. “Perhaps I should have specified the amount of water.”

Masaki seemed to be having fun, under orders or not. Nino stirred a medicinal powder and honey into a cup of water, handing it over before cleaning mud from between his toes.

“This is good!” Masaki cheered, his friendly voice a bit scratchy, tired from their long morning together.

Nino’s spirits lifted. “It’s good? It’s helping you?”

Masaki chuckled, shaking his head. “No. Sorry. It just…tastes quite lovely.”

“Oh.”

“It’s probably from the honey,” Masaki added.

“Thank you for your unnecessary comments,” he grumbled. He had to start over.

Masaki grinned. “There was a servant girl, many many years ago. She always gave me massages when her mistress, the Queen, wasn’t around. To ease my tired muscles.”

Nino raised an eyebrow. “And did they work?”

“She was a very sweet girl.”

“Bad, huh?”

The god laughed. “She poked around in places that weren’t as sore as others, if you follow me.”

Nino dug around inside his bag to keep from blushing. Masaki and Satoshi had been here for a very long time. Kings, queens, servants…they’d lived and died and been replaced. The stories about the gods had always been so pure in tone. As a boy, Nino had learned of the two sons of the God of the Waters, obeying their father’s command and going to Amaterasu. He wondered if there were other stories, stories of the gods without a pure moral message.

If the gods looked like humans, or rather, if humans were made in the image of the gods, then did the gods have the same needs? They didn’t need sleep, but they needed rest. He didn’t know if Masaki ate often, but he seemed to enjoy the concoctions Nino was giving him. Did the gods ever want companionship? Or was that forbidden to them here?

He didn’t want to consider the other side of that coin. If his ancestors had used and abused Masaki and Satoshi for their water-creating abilities, what other uses might they have found for a handsome god who had no choice but to obey them?

“Let’s move to the next row of trees, and I’ll try something new,” Nino said instead, shaking away the idea.

They found a ladder, and Nino put a tin bucket used for fruit-picking up in the tree, balancing it against a thick branch. He asked for the wind blowing down mountains, requesting that Masaki fill the bucket overhead with enough to make it topple out of the tree. By the time that was done and the bucket fell, splashing water all the way to the ground, Nino had something new for him to try.

He’d merely filled a cup with water from the jug he was carrying, stirring in a pinch of salt. He held it out, determined. He spoke the words his aunt had taught him, but he chose to use them in a different context, combining them with a command in only the common tongue.

“Masaki. Drink of the far place.”

This time, when Masaki brought the glass to his lips, swallowing, Nino noticed the change almost instantly. Masaki held the glass away from him in shock, his eyes filling with tears of surprise.

“What’s…what’s in this one?”

“Water. And salt. That’s it.”

“Water and salt,” Masaki mumbled.

“Sea water. I commanded you to drink of ‘the far place’. I thought maybe the taste of that coupled with my order might help you to imagine your home.”

Tears fell from Masaki’s blinking eyes and he laughed. “It’s…it’s close. It’s been so long, I thought I’d forgotten but…Ninomiya Kazunari…”

He rested a hand on Masaki’s shoulder, his command as gentle as he could manage. “Drink of the far place again.”

Masaki obeyed, tears spilling out with a fierceness that brought tears to Nino’s own eyes. “It’s helping. It’s…truly helping.”

It wasn’t the salt water alone. It was the word that held power. It was the far place.

“What are the words in your language for healing?” he pressed. “Can you tell me? What about medicine? Or soothe, maybe soothe would be good for me to know…”

Masaki drained the glass, handing it back and shaking his head. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t? I know you’ve been living here a long time, but it’s your language…”

“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying,” he replied quietly, eyes still swimming. “I honestly can’t tell you.”

It ached to hear it. “That’s part of the curse, too? You can’t speak your own language here?” He remembered the day that Masaki had referred to him as a “last hope,” but it had been in the common tongue.

“The only time I hear the words of my people are when they roll off a Matsumoto’s tongue. Ninomiya Kazunari, don’t you think that I would have said something all these years? If I could have taught a human the words for healing or even curse-breaking that I wouldn’t have tried?”

He looked down. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking…”

To his surprise, Masaki leaned forward, embracing him. His body was cool, even as the sun had arrived overhead. Why was he the one offering comfort? Nino couldn’t understand it.

“Don’t apologize,” Masaki whispered. “You are the first to use my language here for something positive. The first.”

“Not even Yukio?”

“He didn’t think the way you do. He was not a healer. He provided us safe haven when we were exhausted, but he never thought to do more than that. ”

He let Masaki go, not wanting the Kingsguard to see and misinterpret. He wiped his eyes, irritated that another possible solution had slipped away.

“Both you and Satoshi are forbidden to speak your language?”

“Yes.”

“Even with each other?”

“Of course,” Masaki said, smiling even through his tears. “They would have assumed we were plotting against them. And they’d have been right.”

“I can’t even imagine,” he mumbled.

He’d grown up speaking the common tongue, then reading it when his parents had taught him. He didn’t know any other languages, maybe only a handful of words from the countries along the Sun Kingdom’s borders, but those were only words for bartering and trading. Sorcerer Raku had been cruel in the extreme. Stealing the sons of the God of the Waters. Abusing their powers. Trapping them inside the palace walls. And taking away their language, their identity. Taking that language and using it to subdue them. He wondered if Masaki or Satoshi had come to hate the words, hate how they’d been twisted.

“When we first arrived here, my brother wanted to see how far it went. After all, they’d used our language to trap us here. I remember him sitting at a table night after night, a piece of paper before him and a pen in his hand. He tried to write the simplest characters. Water. Home. Even his name. And nothing. No matter how hard he pressed that pen to paper, he couldn’t move his hand. It wasn’t easy seeing him like that, when he finally understood the full extent of what had been stolen from us.”

“He’s your older brother?”

Masaki grinned. “In a manner of speaking.”

“I’m guessing it would be rude to ask how old you both are?”

“It wouldn’t.”

Nino let out an irritated sigh. Masaki liked to tease. “How old are you? And your brother?”

“We’re not old, at least not the way you’d expect when you wonder about a god. That’s a silly word, god,” Masaki mumbled. “All I knew growing up was the sea. We didn’t really think of ourselves as powerful. There were many of us, many of Father’s children. We were all the same. I…I guess you could say we looked a bit different, back home.” Masaki placed a hand to his chest, exhaling. “We didn’t need lungs quite like these.”

Nino put the empty water glass and his other supplies back in his bag. They’d done enough training for now. He started to walk, Masaki following one step behind until they came upon a fountain, sitting down on a bench to watch the water flow freely.

“We aged as you do, back home, but at a different pace. We were born, we grew up, we grew old. You had a few choices when you grew old. You could stay as you are, old as the ocean. You might fade away peacefully, but it takes ages. Father…Father was the oldest of us all. You could ask to be reborn, to return again as one of our kind or as a creature of the deep. Few people chose that last one. It’s always strange to consider living a full, long life and then willfully choosing to return instead as an eel.”

Nino listened intently. He wondered how many times Masaki had told this story over the centuries. Surely Nino was not the only one who’d ever been curious.

“So when you ask me how old I am, Ninomiya Kazunari, that’s not rude. But it’s not simple. When Father sent me and Satoshi here, I’d been living for only thirty-four years. Satoshi for thirty-six. Compared to Father, compared to so many others, it was as though we’d only just been born. Our lives until that point were a blink of an eye to my father.”

Masaki smiled sadly.

“We were just kids, I suppose, but Father sent us here with bodies that matched our ages in human years. And since we’ve been here, our bodies have not changed. They haven’t aged. Only our minds, our souls. We had to grow up quickly.”

“And if I’m able to set you free? You will go back to the sea?”

“I know that’s what Satoshi wants. It’s why he’s always looking east. It’s a view I doubt he’ll ever tire of.”

Nino nodded in understanding. Satoshi always sat in the same spot on the roof, he realized. He faced the night sky, but specifically, the eastern sky. The Great Sea lay thousands of miles away. Perhaps that spot on the roof had been Satoshi’s usual spot for decades. Nino moving into the rooms below might have just been a coincidence.

“I’m sure I’d want to go back, too.”

“I’m of two minds myself,” Masaki admitted. “The human world…I’ve seen so little of it. Yukio took me with him that one time, but that’s really the only time I’ve been beyond these walls. What would be the harm in having a look outside? But then there’s the sea. There’s my home.”

“Satoshi doesn’t have much interest in our world.”

Masaki shook his head. “He was always curious, but only about the things that interested him. Otherwise, he could be rather…lazy. He was bold, stubborn…well, that much hasn’t changed about him, as I’m sure you’ve witnessed…”

Nino couldn’t help chuckling softly, almost missing that warmth that signaled that the god was near.

Masaki’s voice was shaky when he spoke again. “But he was so kind and so gentle. Father chose him for a reason. Father wanted to show the humans that we were kind.”

Nino looked down, ashamed.

“This place killed that person, squeezed the joy and the curiosity and the sweetness out of him,” Masaki insisted. “What’s left is a shell. I wonder if Father will even recognize him if he returns.”

“That’s not true,” Nino whispered.

“You’ve seen him…he’s…”

“He laughed,” Nino confessed. “I…I heard him laugh the other night.”

Masaki reached out his hand, taking hold of Nino by the chin, turning his head so he could look into his eyes. His grip was cold, but Nino didn’t budge or protest. He wasn’t afraid.

“You speak the truth.”

“He was laughing at me, if you’re wondering.”

Masaki let him go, looking embarrassed for having touched him without permission once more, even though Nino had quite liked the feeling of a god’s embrace, his touch. It seemed as though both brothers had been able to slightly bend the rules set upon them so many years ago.

“You’ve made him cry and you’ve made him laugh. Sounds I haven’t heard from him in…well…”

Nino waved his hand.

“I thought I had truly lost him, long ago,” Masaki admitted.

“Then I’ll do my best to make a fool of myself from now on so he might always have reason to laugh.”

Masaki jostled his shoulder playfully. “You are a peculiar human, Ninomiya Kazunari.”

Matsumoto, he heard Jun’s voice say in the back of his head.

Nino got to his feet, determined. “We should get back to work.”

Part Seven