Tatsu wasn’t sure why the thought always made him smile, but there was a sense of satisfaction in it, even if not wholly for himself.
Drel found an old book in Runonian that Hesch had used as a study tool with notes and translations in the margins. What parts of the journal he couldn’t read they would compare to the symbols in the book, sometimes stumbling across a passage that Hesch had annotated.
Slowly, week by week, they made their way through the passages up to and after Tatsu’s birth.
Later, when he was alone in his cabin listening to the cool spring rain, Tatsu would read their translations over and over until he knew the words by memory, and even then, he would read again, as if the words could fill in all the holes left in his past.
I could feel the child stirring inside me today—it must be nearly time. It’s getting harder and harder to make excuses for my absence from court, but the troubles at the pass with Joesarian splinter forces keep the king occupied, and my servant Hida weaves tales of crippling head pains. Sometimes I press a hand to my belly and whisper to the child, hoping that they can hear me through the magic that binds us.
The entries before his birth were easier to read, because Nota hadn’t known yet about Tatsu’s lack of magical abilities. He always turned the pages anyway, despite the ache the words summoned inside.
I performed a test with the baby today, and my worst fears are true—the baby has none of my abilities. I placed him between the candles as we do with all infants of the court and whisked the fire with my magic until it was nipping at his ears. He should have reached out with his own magic in fright, the skill manifesting to protect himself, but he did nothing but cry. He wailed until I had to stop for fear of being caught.
If the king discovers the baby’s lack, all my work will be lost. There will be no hope of convincing the king of how wise it would be to marry a mage in order to produce magical children. I have to get rid of the baby, or I will lose everything I have fought for.
But when I steel myself for the horrible task, his tiny hand wraps around my fingers, and I can’t bring myself to go through with it.
As the season fully blossomed, the forest floor grew a carpet of tiny white flowers and ball-like berry buds. Tatsu expanded his hunting circle. The renewed life of the land lacked the promise it used to hold, but still, something about it felt right as he slunk silently between tree trunks while tracking a hare. The pain when he thought of Yudai had subsided enough that he could go through his day without being directly impeded by it. It was a victory that, for a while there, he hadn’t thought he’d get.
It took a long time for him to get back out to the high cliffside overlooking the Turend Mountains and the spikes of coniferous trees between them, and when he finally did, he wasn’t sure what to expect. The last time he’d seen the sloping hills, the trees and brush had been gnarled and withered, drained dry of life and left to fester.
Standing on the edge of the drop, Tatsu surveyed the still brown and drooping land. Then he knelt down by the sickly line that divided the drained foliage with the healthy parts, still a stark contrast beneath his boots. The grass across the line was dead, but nestled beneath the remains, there was something green.
Tatsu dug at the earth and grass until he’d cleared a small patch of the withered stalks. There, poking through the soil, were tiny green buds of new, healthy growth.
He sat back on his heels, staring out at the rest of the destruction. Out there beneath the dead plants were the signs that the land would eventually return to the way it had been, even without any of the stolen energy being returned. The sides of the mountains would eventually revert back to their living state and invite back in the animals that had fled. Over time, the trees would splinter and fall, and in the decaying trunks, new sprouts would emerge to tower proud and tall.
Tatsu ran his fingers lightly over the green buds protruding from the dirt, took a deep, steadying breath, and smiled.
Epilogue
The insects of midsummer were in full chorus around him in the woods, their calls a heavy sort of sound that he often thought he could reach out and touch. They helped to mask his footsteps as he slipped between trees to check his snares, though the silence that followed his path also tended to give his location away. Luckily, he’d already caught what he needed with his traps, and resetting the wires wasn’t a task that necessitated stealth. His pack was weighted with a ground squirrel and a pheasant unlucky enough to be landing while Tatsu was crouched with his bow ready, along with a handful of bright summer berries and some edible green roots.
Once he finished resetting his lines, he hefted the pack over his shoulder and started back towards his cabin. The last of the evening sunlight filtered through the tree canopy and painted the ground with its yellow-orange hue, and the air was just reaching the point of being sticky. It was a hot summer, and there were probably still several months before the temperature would start to drop. As difficult as it was, the uncomfortable stuffiness would keep his hunting lucrative well into fall, and the assurance was worth dealing with the humidity.
Overhead, several white songbirds circled one of the larger tree trunks. and Tatsu watched their erratic loops around the branches until they chose one that they liked and disappeared within the green of it. He didn’t bother trying to disguise his footsteps on the way back, which quickened the return, but as he neared his cottage, the chirping of the insects abruptly faded off. Tatsu stilled, waiting for it to start up again, and when it didn’t, he leaned in closer to the grass and weeds growing wild from the soil.
Bits of the brush were bent and flat, evidence of being walked across by someone wearing boots heavy enough to sink down into the soft upper layer of dirt and embed the stalks. Tatsu stayed for a moment in his crouched position, hoping the fuzzy-looking tops of the weeds hid the majority of his body. He waited, listening for the sound of armor clanking through the woods. It took a few moments to pick out, so whoever it was had to be attempting to be quiet, though it wasn’t entirely working—the sound was to his left, perhaps three minutes away if he was moving slowly.
Tatsu rose, fingers tightening around his full pack, and crept diagonally away from the soldier to come around his cottage from the back side.
On his way there, he found two others lingering in the trees, and neither of them seemed to notice him. The smooth iron of their chest plates was out of place in the green of the trees and easily spotted when the dappled evening sun reflected off the metal. When he came across two boot prints in the dirt, undisguised by trampled leaves, there were small, deeper holes dotting the print—iron clamps welded to the soles.
Tatsu trailed a finger across the bumpy dirt and the marks, huffing out a short, breathy laugh.
As he reached his cabin and pushed the front door open, he wasn’t surprised to see a figure seated in the chair nearest to the unlit fire pit.
“Your guards aren’t very good at hiding in the trees,” Tatsu said, surprised that he could make his tone so light. He dropped his pack and the carcasses down onto the repaired table without glancing over at the fire pit, afraid that doing so would shake all his courage free.
“They haven’t had much practice with creeping around through the woods. I’ll put it on the next training to-do list.”
Tatsu turned to face him, clasping his hands behind his back. Yudai was sans crown, and Tatsu wasn’t sure if the lack had more to do with traveling in relative secrecy or hoping to appeal to Tatsu as an equal. His clothes had been upgraded to a darker-colored shirt that seemed to be made out of a slick silk, and the white ends of his hair had finally been cut off so that the black strands were the only thing falling across his forehead. He looked healthy; there was more color in his cheeks than Tatsu could ever remember seeing.
Tatsu had seen Yudai’s face every night since he’d left Yuse, but the real thing before him still stole his breath away.
“You look good,” Tatsu said.
“So do you.”
“What
brings you here to my cabin?”
Yudai’s tongue darted nervously out to wet his lips, and then he looked away, taking in the stack of smooth skins Tatsu was going to take to the traders in Dradela during his next visit and the pile of still-drying wooden bowls and plates on the far cabinet. He stood up before he met Tatsu’s gaze again.
“I know that you left because you thought it I needed you to in order to keep control of the court,” he began, “and I suppose that you believed you were doing the right thing—”
“I was.”
Yudai rolled his eyes, but the action seemed good-natured enough. “But I’ve come here to report that things have settled down and most of the issues with the nobles have been resolved.”
“You fixed everything in only four months?”
“More or less.” Yudai shrugged. “Some of them required more persuading than others.”
“Tell me that you didn’t magically throw any of the nobles into the rafters and leave them there to prove a point.”
A genuine grin spread over Yudai’s face, though he didn’t deny it.
“The point is, your reason for leaving is no longer a reason,” he said.
“You told me that you never wanted to see me again,” Tatsu pointed out, shifting his weight to his left heel and crossing his arms over his chest.
“Yes, I know what I said.” Yudai waved his hand in front of him, an action no doubt used often with advisors he wished would stop talking. “And you know me. You know I was angry and that I didn’t mean it.”
When Tatsu didn’t answer, Yudai ran a hand through his hair, eyes flitting around the room again. He looked more nervous than Tatsu had ever seen him—more nervous than standing on the hill overlooking Yuse and knowing he had to face Nota, and more nervous than waiting for Hysus and his mages to push his head beneath the water of the pool. Seeing Yudai rattled and knowing that it was his doing made Tatsu want to smile, but he tempered the action down. Better to let the other man stumble his way through whatever he was trying to say.
“Look, I… I’m not happy without you there,” Yudai said. “I mean, I’m doing what I need to do and things are under control, but it’s not… I’m not happy. You were the only thing that made it all worth it, and I want you to come back.”
Again, Tatsu kept quiet, and the silence made Yudai even more visibly agitated.
“I know I’m not the easiest person to be with,” he continued, “and I know that I’m… complicated with my situation and the crown, but you were able to look past all that at one point, and I’m hoping that you can do it again.”
Tatsu pulled his gaze away, which caused Yudai to cross the distance between them and then pause, lingering just out of reach as if he weren’t sure if he should continue.
“If you come back to be with me, I’ll give you a title and everything.”
The silence stretched between them, tense and heavy, meaningful in a way Tatsu had missed in his long months alone.
“I’m prepared to beg,” Yudai said, quieter, “but please don’t make me do it. It’s not very becoming of a king.”
Tatsu looked at him again, at his dark eyes desperate for an affirmative answer and the shiny black of his hair that looked so unfamiliar after so long with the bleached strands. Yudai was a fool to think that Tatsu had ever been able to stop thinking about him—his pendulum mood swings and razor-sharp wit and bright smile. Yudai was a fool to believe that his ghost hadn’t haunted Tatsu’s days for all the time they’d been apart.
Tatsu took a step forward, bridging a little of the space between them.
“The day you left, you told me you loved me,” Yudai said, almost a whisper.
“I did.”
“Do you still?”
Tatsu pulled Yudai in for a searing, needy kiss that Yudai returned with enthusiasm for some time before pulling away, lips pink and swollen.
“That wasn’t really an answer,” he said. “Do you still love me?”
“Yes,” Tatsu told him, curling his hands around Yudai’s face. “Always.”
“Good,” Yudai exhaled, a rush of air, “because I seem to be so hopelessly in love with you that I’m unable to properly function alone. Say you’ll come back to Runon with me.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Yudai’s expression smoothed itself over, all the lines and worried tension easing away.
“How angry will the court be with my return?” Tatsu asked.
“So angry.” Yudai laughed, and it said a lot that his reaction was of glee instead of frustration. He really had gotten the advisors under control and the kinks worked out if he was happy to put up with their condescension. “How much time do you need to pack?”
There was little in the cabin that Tatsu would mind leaving behind, and all of the important things would fit into his pack. “Not long. How much time do I have?”
“As much as you need,” Yudai said. The answer was accompanied by another airy wave of his hand.
“Won’t the court be expecting you back?”
“I’m the king. I’d like to see them try and scold me. Besides, this gives me plenty of time to come up with your official title.”
Tatsu sighed, dumping out the berries and greens from the pouch and pulling free his mother’s journal from the lopsided bookshelf. “Please don’t make it anything embarrassing.”
“Oh, come on, where’s the fun in that?”
Yudai sat back down in the chair and stilled, face growing more serious again. “I missed you.”
“Yeah,” Tatsu replied, a pleased warmth bubbling up from his stomach. “I missed you too.”
“Well, hurry up so we can get on with this,” Yudai said. “I have so much to tell you about the last months.”
“I’m more anxious to hear about how you stuck advisors up in the ceiling beams.”
“That only happened once, and it was entirely provoked,” Yudai said, and Tatsu let the lightness in his feet carry him around the cottage to collect his things as the sun slid down the painted sky and disappeared behind the horizon.
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Acknowledgements
The Life Siphon duology was a real labor of love, and perhaps even moreso as I reached the end of the story. It’s bittersweet to know that this is the official end of Tatsu’s journey, but I’ve never been very good at knowing when to say goodbye, so there will likely be companion novellas or even novels coming out in the future when I start to miss these characters too much.
The biggest thanks goes to Caroline Ziegler, who is still my initial first draft beta reader. Having someone you trust to point out weaknesses is something you can’t put a price on, and I’m so grateful that Caroline was excited to be on the second part of this tale with me. Thanks also to Miranda Van Minnen, who sorted through the early chapters and gave her feedback on how to improve the beginning.
Again, thanks to my editor, Beth Lynne, who is fast and efficient with her sharp eyes. She found all the mix-ups and inconsistencies that I’d missed.The marvelous Jenny at Seedlings Design Studio did a fantastic job with the cover, and the two books complement each other so well! And a massive thanks to Rob Rowland, my unofficial publicist slash weird brother-twin, who convinced half my colleagues to read the first book when I was still too self-conscious to even mention that I’d written it. (At least I know now that I shouldn’t try to write anything after wine nomihou!)
To my family and friends, who don’t defriend me on Facebook when all I talk about is books and writing and try to convince them to buy a copy for everyone they know: you are the best for putting up with me all the time! Thanks for reading what I write, even if you aren’t particularly interested in the subject matter.
And my husband, Masaki, the rock that keeps my feet steady on the ground: all the thanks in t
he world. You’re always my number one.
About the Author
Kathryn has a B.A. in Art & Design and an M.A. in Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages. She lives with her husband in Japan, where she teaches high school and shapes the next generation of young minds. When she’s not working or writing, she can usually be found hiking, crafting, and attempting to level up her poor cooking skills.
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