Makoto shifted his weight back and forth between his feet. He'd known Rin wouldn't like the idea, but he hadn't thought that Haru would join him. "You don't have to do this, Haru."

Haru's face remained impassive, but Makoto could see through to his nervous heart. "Rin needs to know he can rule without us," Haru said, his voice firm. "I'm not a king—I want to be an ordinary person. And ordinary people work outside the palace."

Makoto glanced at Rin, and the hurt in his expression sent a swooping sense of grief through his chest. He hadn't wanted to leave Rin. He hadn't wanted Rin to leave after he'd pushed him and Haru together those long weeks ago. Hadn't wanted him to feel unwelcome. They had missed him the moment he'd disappeared out the door, but neither had gone after him. Instead they'd talked-about what Haru needed, what Rin needed, what they could do to keep each other safe. And then he'd been too afraid to reach out and bring Rin back into the conversation.

He regretted it now.

But the guilt from before—when he'd let the mob into the palace—when he hadn't been able to do anything to talk the villagers down without rage—gnawed at him. The only way to make amends would be to work among them and prove the palace's worth. Prove that they were people, too.

And it was the only way they could keep Rin safe. Assassination attempts had happened every day or every other day for the last three weeks—Makoto knew, even if no one else was well-connected enough to put the pieces together. They'd been summarily foiled-most attempts were little more than a commoner bullrushing Rin with a knife-but the frequency set Makoto's teeth on edge. Just once, a woman had gotten within arm's reach of him with a length of wire and nearly garroted him. Rin had noticed and ducked, kicking her knees out from under her, and his guards had been mortified.

Makoto still had nightmares about that moment.

He couldn't—absolutely couldn't—bear the thought of what might happen if Rin ever got caught alone and unawares.

"I wish he could come with us," he murmured, despite that twisting fear. Even Haru didn't hear him. Clearing his throat, he raised his voice and smiled. "Good luck to the both of you."

Haru might think that Rin wanted to keep them out of fear of his own inadequacies, but Makoto saw something else in Rin's face as they faced one another in the ring.

"Usual sparring rules?" Haru asked.

Rin nodded, and they both assumed their preferred stances.

Makoto had never been one for fights. They frightened him sometimes—too violent for his preferred style of dialogue, too many chances to hurt one another. But he could see the incredible grace of his friends as they moved, dodging and swinging in a rhythm that seemed to flow as smoothly as water from a spring.

It captivated all onlookers—out of the corner of his eye, Makoto could see Rei gaping. Rin's long years of practice and effort paired well with Haru's natural-born talent for finding and exploiting openings in his opponents' defenses. They'd trained together daily for more than a decade of their childhoods, and it showed. Rin knew when to feint to throw off Haru's steady rhythm, and Haru seemed to have an innate sense of where Rin would pull back.

An even match. For Haru, who had so much trouble with words, it had long been the clearest way to communicate with his hard-headed friend.

Makoto could give them the words they needed to hear. But he couldn't give them this—a visceral conversation held with hands and movement. Only they could have this argument on fair grounds.

He flinched every time either of them landed a blow, even though they weren't striking at full strength—a tap just meant a point in either's favor. He worried for Haru's health and Rin's pride and all of their safety.

"Their form is flawless," Rei breathed beside him, awed. "I've never seen anything like it."

"It's like they were made to work together," Makoto agreed. If he unfocused his eyes just a bit, he could pretend they were dancing. "They've always been that way."

Rin's foot skidded on the floor, and Haru took the opportunity to knock him off-balance. Moving too fast for Makoto to easily track, they tussled on the ground until Haru lay astride Rin, pinning him against the clay.

Before Makoto even had a chance to appreciate their sweaty, panting form, Haru rose to his feet and offered Rin his hand. "Good match."

Rin knocked Haru's hand aside and stood on his own. "Fine. Get out."

Pain flooded Haru's face. "Rin—"

"That's what you wanted." Rin's hands tightened into fists at his side; his eyes remained fixed away from the group, and Makoto thought he might be hiding tears. "You won. Get out."

Makoto took a step forward. "We're not really leaving, Rin—"

"And yet you're not really staying, either." Rin breathed deep, and Makoto's heart clenched as his heard his voice shake. "There's a spare house beside the springs. It belonged to my parents before—well. It's in my name. Take it."

With that, Rin turned on one heel and fled the room. His guards had to run to keep up with him—Rei didn't even take the time for a parting glance back at them before darting out the door.

"I'll talk to him," Kou said. "Captain, if you will."

"Of course."

In moments, only Haru and Makoto remained in the room. Silence pressed down on them. Haru remained exactly where Rin had left him, his face unchanged, his hand still half-extended. Makoto laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"That's not what I meant," Haru said, his voice detached.

"He just needs time," Makoto said, squeezing his shoulder. "His pride is a little stung. He doesn't want you to leave."

Haru's face remained still, his eyes fixed on the door, but he slowly lowered his arm.

"He gave us his childhood home," Makoto said. "That has to count for something."

When Haru finally turned to look at him, the grief in his eyes staggered him. He hadn't seen the fight that had sent Haru running into the dunes, but that lost look—he tightened his grip on Haru's shoulder as if to anchor him. He remembered all too well the awful months they'd passed after losing him before. He couldn't bear it a second time.

"Let's go home."