foreign horses, all of which were exhausted from the ride over the Cobalts. It was there that I released my lord, catching his arm as he stumbled and gasped shallowly for breath.
“Kouje!” he cried, still wide-eyed with fear. “You nearly scared the life out of me. What are you doing?”
I wished that I could tell him without harming him. I wished, too, that I knew fully what I was doing.
Instead, I bowed as low as I could—as low as I knew how to. The straw littering the ground scratched at my nose and the smell of horse overwhelmed me, but I pressed my hands flat to keep them still.
“Forgive me, my lord. I would not do such a thing—I would never have dreamed of it—only…” I trailed off, for I could not find the words to tell him. After all, I knew, better than anyone, perhaps, how deeply Mamoru admired his brother. One would even have to say that Mamoru loved Iseul. If that day had never come, I might never have had the need to express my own, more private concerns about the reciprocity of those feelings. I had always known that Iseul was cold, ruthless in a way that his father had not been, and hard in a way that was difficult to understand. Perhaps in giving him the benefit of the doubt—any man my lord loved as much as Mamoru did Iseul could not be without merit—I had missed the signifiers up until that point. I had failed in my duty to protect him from the closest threat of all: that of his own brother.
I could not find the words. My lord had only just lost his father. To eliminate what family he had left in one fell swoop, with a handful of overheard words, was truly too cruel.
It was not a servant’s job to abide by what he found the most desirable, however. It was a servant’s duty to live only for his lord’s existence. To do what he could to ensure that existence. To keep his lord strong.
I could hear Mamoru’s breathing begin to even out and the soft sound of his slippers against the straw as he paced, confused and upset at having been so disrupted.
“Kouje,” he said, imploring me with everything in his tone to offer some explanation for my actions. He knew that I was not prone to flights of fancy. In fact, on more than one occasion, he’d rebuked me for being overly serious. Perhaps he thought now that I’d gone mad. It had happened to other, stronger men during the course of the war. “Kouje, please.”
I had to give him some explanation. I’d known that all along, but I hadn’t prepared myself properly; I hadn’t had the time.
“My lord,” I said, lifting my head, “your life is in danger. We must leave the palace at once.”
Mamoru shook his head, his face clouded with bewilderment. It took him a moment to speak—how I longed for the days when he was too young and my duty was to shield him from knowledge of the attempts, not inform him of them. “We must tell my brother,” he said at last. “The Emperor must be informed of all such threats. He’ll protect me. I know Iseul hasn’t been emperor very long, Kouje, and he’s been distracted with the negotiations, but… I still trust him to execute his duties. We must go to him, and you will tell him what you know.”
The words clogged my throat, threatening to choke me. I could not speak, not yet.
“Kouje,” Mamoru tried again, more gently. “If it troubles you, then I can speak with Iseul. You may tell me, and I will have an audience with him.”
I shook my head. Something in my eyes must have frightened him then, for he took a step away from me.
“It isn’t a member of the delegation,” he said, his own eyes widening. “It couldn’t be that you think—Oh, Kouje, the talks—the treaty—it will all be ruined!”
I could not let him labor under misimpressions any longer. If I did, the subsequent truth would be crueler still. At last I stood, and took my lord by his thin shoulders. I could say it all at once; they were only words. “My lord,” I said, willing my voice to be like iron, without flesh or blood behind them, “the Emperor is the one who made the decree.”
For a moment, Mamoru looked at me as though I had gone mad. Then his features changed from disbelief