In the end, Yeijiro had no choice. He never had. And honestly, he hadn’t wanted one. His path led to Tōru. His decision had been made in a pleasure house on Pax, when Tōru had first asked Yeijiro what he wanted. When Tōru had stroked his cheek and asked how, exactly, Yeijiro would serve him.

Yeijiro had never in his life wished so hard for the etheric gift as he did now, making his way through the Serpent palace. Yeijiro had been careful, but if Roderich knew he were here—if Roderich were to ask Yeijiro why…

Yeijiro didn’t know what answer he would give.

Tōru had returned from Tacitus only a day ago, and Yeijiro had immediately sent the message asking for a private meeting. A presumptuous move, but Yeijiro had trusted most to Tōru's curiosity. For whatever reason, Tōru had granted Yeijiro’s request.

Shō waited for Yeijiro, as they had the last time Yeijiro was here. Their masked face betrayed no hint of what they thought of Yeijiro’s presence.

Shō led Yeijiro to the same room as before, but this time Tōru was already there, waiting for him. He stood with arms crossed, imposing, in featureless black from his boots to his smooth, polished mask.

Yeijiro knelt, conscious—for the first time in years—of the ease of the motion. This was the first social gesture any Serpent learned, a habit ingrained almost as soon as a child could walk. Because the first law, always and forever, was subjugation of your own will to the needs of the clan.

Yeijiro had broken that law. Now, for the first time, he was truly here to beg forgiveness.

It was Tōru's place to speak first, but he didn’t. The silence lingered, grew oppressive. Yeijiro held his position, head bowed, waiting. But if Tōru's goal was to make Yeijiro nervous, to set him off balance, he’d failed. The longer Yeijiro waited under Tōru's unflinching gaze, the more Yeijiro’s confidence grew that this was where he belonged.

So he threw caution to the wind. Hadn’t Tōru insisted that as long as Yeijiro was honest, there was nothing he should fear to say? Including, “My lord was wrong.”

If Tōru was surprised by Yeijiro’s words, he gave no indication, without even a pause before he asked, “And what, pray tell, was I wrong about?”

“When my lord says that I cannot serve both him and the Lord Marshal. That I have to decide.”

Tōru's silence spoke volumes, but in a language Yeijiro had yet to learn. Was this indication that Tōru was thinking, or space for Yeijiro to continue? He chose to interpret as the latter. “There is no contradiction in my position as a marshal and my fealty as a Serpent. Because my lords are both loyal servants of the Emperor. Methods may differ, but purposes are the same.”

“Bold words. You even sound as though you believe them.”

“I do,” Yeijiro said with all the sincerity he could summon.

“What if, in this glorious partnership you envision, Roderich and I were to give you orders that conflict?”

Yeijiro had thought about this. He had his answer prepared. “If my lords both give me orders that are in contradiction with each other, then it will be clear one of my lords is operating on mistaken assumptions, which I will endeavor to identify and correct.”

“How very presumptuous of you.”

“It’s my duty.”

“I see. Is that what you came here to tell me?”

The question, delivered with cold, sharp, disdain, didn’t discomfort Yeijiro. He was coming to understand the rhythms of conversations with Tōru, the way he poked and prodded, looking for vulnerability.

Vulnerability that Yeijiro was willing to offer. “I came to make a request. I came to ask Lord Miyōshi to teach me.”

The barest tilt of Tōru's head—a movement that was almost imperceptible. Had Yeijiro imagined it? Or had he actually surprised Tōru? “Teach you what?”

This answer, Yeijiro had prepared. “I made it this far in no small part from being overlooked. But, as my lord said weeks ago, that isn’t going to protect me any more. It will be harder to slide around edges. People are going to be watching.

“In order to succeed as a marshal, as a member of the court, there are things I need to be better at than I am. Skills I don’t have—that the Lord Marshal doesn’t have. Skills the marshals need, even if they don’t realize it.”

“You want me to teach you to be a Serpent.”

Yeijiro bowed his head. “Yes.”

“So you can prove yourself to Roderich and Elena?” Tōru's voice twisted around the question.

“So I can do my job. So I can serve the Emperor. Not by being someone else—not by trying to be what everyone expects. But by being myself.

“Lord Dahle, Marshal Lindsay, they already see what they expect to see. But my lord—I believe Lord Miyōshi sees me as I am. He can help me learn to use that as an advantage. He can help me be better. He can help me succeed.”

Tōru walked forward slowly until he was standing right in front of Yeijiro. He caught Yeijiro’s chin, tilted his head up. “Why would I do this? What do you offer me in return.”

Yeijiro looked up into Tōru's intense gaze and spoke the truth. “There is nothing I can offer that isn’t already my lord’s for the asking.”

Tōru said nothing for a long time. Considering, Yeijiro hoped. Yeijiro waited, unmoving except to breathe. Patience was the one skill of the Serpent at which Yeijiro had excelled.

“Roderich cannot know.” Tōru's voice was soft, considering. Which had to be a good sign.

Yeijiro had already worked that out on his own. Which was a large part of the problem, and why Yeijiro had decided this was the only path forward. Roderich and Tōru at odds were a threat to the Empire. As he and Corinne had talked about.

But if Yeijiro was smart and if Yeijiro was careful, if he kept both eyes open, he could watch out for them both.

“Very well.” Tōru released Yeijiro and took a step back. “I will teach you. So long as you prove to be a worthwhile student.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I expect you will. Now go. You are dismissed.”

Yeijiro bowed from where he knelt. “I thank Lord Miyōshi. I won’t disappoint you.”

“We’ll see.”