Lesson 14 – Betrayal

“Ryojin—give these to him, Sayo.”
That was the night she first came face to face with Ryojin Kagemori—the most dangerous of the Tokugawa’s former samurai. Once trusted with missions that demanded silence and unquestioning obedience, an assassin by necessity rather than desire, he now carried enough truth to expose the shogunate’s atrocities to the newly formed Meiji government.
Her brother, Toshiro, had sacrificed himself under Shigemori’s blade so that she could deliver the damning papers he had stolen from the sealed archives of the Tokugawa shogunate—the very institution he had bled for, year after year. He had held on just long enough for her to reach safety.
Forcing herself not to look back, Sayo had run as fast as her legs would allow, despite her kimono’s long hem tangling around her ankles, despite her sandals slipping with every stride.
When she reached the abandoned shack her brother had sent her to, Ryojin—who had been expecting Toshiro, not her—looked at her with a gaze so intense it burned with both fire and grief.
As soon as she handed him the papers, she collapsed, her body giving in after hours of evading Shigemori’s men. Ryojin nursed her back to health and, perhaps out of pity, took her in.
That had been months ago. They had been on the run from Shigemori ever since.
Until that evening.
Ryojin had gone out to the woods to train men for an upcoming battle, and—perhaps by pure chance, perhaps not—Shigemori managed to corner Sayo in a narrow alley on the outskirts of Kyoto.
Having thought herself safe from his grasp, she had been followed by Shigemori’s men on her way back from the market.
“I know you know.”
His voice grated against her ears as she trembled, her back pressed to the stone-cold wall, his blade resting lightly against her throat.
“I won’t kill you now,” he said quietly, “but I will not hesitate should you fail to bring me those papers.”
“I don’t—”
Shigemori closed the distance between them, pressing the blade closer, his voice low, lethal.
“Don’t lie to me.” He lifted her chin roughly, forcing her to meet his gaze. “If you don’t bring them to me tonight, I’ll have that traitor killed in front of your eyes tomorrow morning.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Shigemori sniggered. “Do you really think I do not know what—or rather, who—his weakness is, Sayo?”
She swallowed hard.
“I can make him come to me,” he continued, his gaze dragging over her, “given the right incentive.”
Her eyes widened. He knew.
“Unless, of course, you care to bring me the documents you delivered.”
No. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
How could she betray the man she had come to love—the man who had taken her in when she had no one, the man who had sworn to protect her with his very life?
Yet—
How could she let him die?
She clenched her fists.
“You cannot possibly defeat him.”
Shigemori laughed softly.
“Oh, really? Is that what you think?” He leaned closer, close enough to make her stomach twist. “I’ve recruited the finest assassins the shogunate ever produced—men who have been on your trail for some time now. And foolishly enough,” he murmured, “dear Sayo has been cornered.”
She trembled against the wall, her face drained of colour.
Shigemori stepped back at last.
“Time to decide which side you’re on,” he said calmly. “Betray the man you love…”
He sheathed his katana and turned away.
“…or he dies.”