Yeijiro sucked in his breath as the blunted practice blade struck his shoulder, hard enough it was going to leave a bruise.

Roderich pulled back into a ready position. “Too slow. Again.”

Today’s entire training session had been like that—clipped orders and unforgiving blows. Roderich at his most demanding. It was no surprise, given what had happened, but that didn’t mean Yeijiro was enjoying it.

He’d asked if perhaps Roderich might want a few days of break from their training, but Roderich had insisted there was no reason anything should be different. It was clear denial, but Yeijiro wasn’t brave enough to say so.

Roderich attacked again, a butterfly pattern where his sword seemed to be coming at Yeijiro from both sides at once. They’d been working on this all morning, repetition after repetition. Slowly at first, then gaining speed. Roderich’s control was absolute, his blows perfectly placed at any speed. Yeijiro couldn’t keep up, no matter how he tried.

“Small, centered movements,” Roderich reminded him. “I’m faster than you.” Roderich’s sword touched Yeijiro’s elbow, then his opposite shoulder. “In most fights, your opponent will be faster. You can’t waste time by moving your sword a hair further than it needs to go.”

For over a year, these had been Yeijiro’s mornings. They met early, prior to breakfast, for what was invariably the most intense hour of Yeijiro’s day. Roderich was a demanding teacher, with no time for anything less than Yeijiro’s best.

Before these lessons had started, Yeijiro hadn’t had any illusions about his abilities, but he’d considered himself a passable swordsman. Not up to the standards of the duelists who moved through the Imperial court, certainly, but good enough for a marshal.

It had taken him a single session with Roderich to disabuse him of any sense that he knew what he was doing. Only now, after an interval’s worth of training, was he starting to think he might be able to get through a fight without embarrassing himself or the Lord Marshal. Every so often, over the last month or so, he’d even started to receive an unqualified compliment or two.

Not today. Today Roderich was sharp focus and hard energy and nothing Yeijiro did was good enough.

The private courtyard where they trained was mostly taken up by the marked—off practice space, but the walls were covered in flowering ivies and lush green vines. The flowers were always in bloom, here at the Golden Palace. The air was always pleasantly warm. Nature itself reshaped around the will of the Emperor.

The greenery mostly covered the arched entrance, a curtain of vines and flowers that meant Yeijiro didn’t notice Mathisen Idir until he’d already stepped inside.

At the sight of Idir, Roderich pulled up, catching Yeijiro’s sword in a casual-looking gesture that nonetheless twisted it from Yeijiro’s hand and sent it flying. He turned his back to Yeijiro to greet their visitor. “Ambassador.”

Roderich, for the most part, didn’t play the games of the court. He didn’t infuse his words with tone and gesture to give three layers of meaning beyond their surface. Not that Yeijiro had ever observed. Not until now, when there was so much steel woven into that single word that Yeijiro flinched.

Idir didn’t seem to notice. “I need to talk to you.”

Yeijiro had never met the Griffon ambassador, but everyone in the court knew Idir to be a brash, abrasive man. Now, it almost seemed like he was actively trying to provoke Roderich. Yeijiro withdrew quietly, kneeling at the side of the mat, hoping he would be forgotten. Whatever was going on here, he wanted to see.

Idir’s short temper along with the fact he was an excellent duelist made most people inclined to forgive his brusque manner. Beyond that, as Tōru had once remarked in a seemingly offhanded comment, there was value in the ruffled feathers Idir created that allowed Lords Audra and Tariq to step in and smooth things over, winning them friends they might not otherwise have had. But the Griffon lords were dead. Who was going to fix the problems Idir caused now?

Not Roderich, it seemed. His posture hadn’t eased one whit. “What do you need, Idir?” Almost insultingly informal. Only Roderich’s own rank, as both Lord of a clan and as Lord Marshal kept the use of Idir’s name from being a complete breach of etiquette, but it was still familiar in a way that might be a warning to someone with a bit more sense.

Idir didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t know what your intentions are regarding the investigation into what happened to Executor, but I want to formally deliver the Griffon’s intention to see to this matter ourselves.”

“Excuse me?” Roderich was as stiff and sharp as the sword he still held.

“I’m telling you, we will handle this matter internally. We don’t need imperial marshals muddying the trail and getting in our way.”

Yeijiro couldn’t stop his own sharp intake of breath at the insult. Neither of the two men paid him any attention, their glares locked on each other.

“You are within your rights,” Roderich bit out. “But perhaps a more objective perspective—”

“Objective?” Idir barked. “We all know how close the Lords Suri were with many in this court. Don’t talk to me about objective.” His voice raised. “This was no accident. We were attacked! The Griffon were attacked, and it is our duty to find the culprit and see that they answer for it.”

“That is quite the accusation.” Roderich’s voice had gone cold, and Yeijiro burned the sound of it into his mind. This was Roderich struggling to hold his temper.

“Oh, I haven’t even begin with accusations.” Idir smiled, a poisoned expression. “Did you know, Lord Dahle, that the Lords Suri were to disinherit Prince Naveen? That they were coming here to say as much to the Emperor?”

Yeijiro couldn’t stop his head from snapping up. Was he trying to say—

“Is there an accusation you’re trying to make against Lord Suri?” Roderich asked, his tone heavy as an anvil on the title.

Idir’s smile was venom. “Our clan, under the leadership of Lord Mathison, wish to be certain that all avenues are explored. Thoroughly.”

With that, the ambassador left.

For a long while, Roderich didn’t move, staring after him. Yeijiro waited, head once more bowed, but watching Roderich from the corner of his eye. Until Roderich stalked over to the wall and slammed his practice sword onto its rack.

“My lord?” Yeijiro attempted softly.

Roderich answered without turning. “We are finished for the day, Yeijiro.”

That much, Yeijiro had assumed. “May I speak?”

He expected Roderich to deny him, to send him away, but Roderich was a man who lived by his word, and at the Emperor’s estate, an interval ago, he had promised to listen to Yeijiro. It seemed that promise still held. “What would you say?”

“Can they do this? Can the Griffon deny us this investigation?” A year of study with Tōru had taught Yeijiro many things. Among them, that sometimes a question was useful, even if you already knew the answer.

Roderich turned to look at him then, studying him. He took longer to answer the question than he should have had to, and in that silence, Yeijiro heard many things. “Without proof of interference from another clan, they can keep this a Griffon matter. The imperial marshals cannot claim jurisdiction.”

Yeijiro’s brain churned, listening for words beneath the words. This was Roderich, who never said what he did not mean, however…

However.

Yeijiro resisted the urge to insist on Vin’s innocence. He knew, to the bottom of his soul, that Vin couldn’t have done this. But he had no proof. No evidence. Yet.

Instead he asked, “Can the Emperor insist?” Of course she could. She was the Emperor. She could do anything.

“She can. But she will not,” Roderich concluded, dashing Yeijiro’s hopes. “The Emperor does not interfere in clan governance unless it affects the empire.”

Yeijiro leaned down in a full bow. “I thank the Lord Marshal for his time and patience, and ask permission to depart.”

“Go.” Roderich waved him away.

Yeijiro returned his practice sword to its place and retrieved his own sword. He gave one last bow to Roderich, then left the courtyard, his mind full of ideas he didn’t yet dare to face.