Winters of Our War
an excerpt

“... Taishi,” Masao said after a brief moment of silence. “Going to war with Akai Taro will serve nothing but to drain the coffers of the Empire, and to leave good men dead. We win nothing on antagonising House Akai; is it not better to have the kanshô believe that we are willing to listen?”

“If the nightingale will not sing...” Kakemori heard himself saying, sounding out the words of the familiar saying. Masao Itô gave him a sideways glance, empty of any expression, and then looked back up at the Emperor.

Hodei's face was set in a scowl, his short stubby nose wrenched out of shape by the fierce expression, and Kakemori felt a chill stealing over him despite the warm spring air coming in through the wide open sliding doors. For a long moment, nothing was said. Sounds drifted in from the sunny day outside – people speaking in the distance, the rhythmic sound of the waves on the shore; somewhere, someone was playing the flute – and Kakemori held his breath.

“..... Hodei-taishi?” Masao Itô prompted after long moments of silence.

Hodei leaned back on the dais, still silent. Behind him on the wall, a large red banner with the Imperial sigil – a sun with ten rays – embroidered in black hung, crossed by two spears set in iron hooks on the wall. The slanting sunlight caught on the sharp tips of the spears, casting points of light across the floor. It would be no more ominous if he were to draw a sword...

“What House Akai believes of me is of no consequence, Itô.” Hodei said, speaking quietly and calmly. “They have ignored my word and Imperial law, again and again, and now Akai Taro thinks he can make demands of me, as if I were nothing more than his servant. If the nightingale will not sing,” Hodei glanced at Kakemori, who stared back with trepidation creeping up along his spine, “kill it.”