Masazumi woke late. He would have rolled over and closed his eyes again if Okimoto hadn't nudged him with a toe.

"I don't want to disturb you," the strategist said, "but it's important that you get up right now."

Yawning, he turned his head away. "How important?"

"My father wants to see you. That important."

Scrambling out of bed, raking a hand through his hair to work out the small kinks, he ran off to wash his face. When he returned to the room, Okimoto offered him a fresh kimono and his jinbaori, wherever that had come from. Now that Masazumi was presentable, they set off together to the audience chamber.

Hiromoto was on a raised platform at the end of the hall, reclining on a large seat that could pass for a throne, but straightened once his guests arrived. The Mouri must fancy themselves kings, Masazumi thought as he and Okimoto stopped at a respectful distance. Then again, Hiromoto was daimyou of an enormous portion of the west, and wielded tremendous power. The Ishida knelt down and bowed his head, only slightly, while his companion remained standing.

"Morning, Otou-chan," Okimoto said, and Masazumi rolled his eyes—it was the way a little child would address his father, not a grown man in his twenties.

Hiromoto heaved an exasperated sigh. "How many times have I told you not to address me so informally when we are conducting business?"

"But there's nothing formal about this meeting."

Ignoring his son, the daimyou turned his attention to the Ishida warrior. "Perhaps you would like to introduce yourself, young man? Formally, if you please?"

"Ishida Masazumi of the Toyotomi. I stand together with my brother Ishida Mitsunari as the Left Arm." Masazumi avoided looking into those mismatched eyes. His spine jittered every time.

"You mean you are a retainer for your brother."

Masazumi would not let this pass. His head snapped up. "It is true that my brother has gained the favour of the Toyotomi and ascended to his position. But we will always be equals. Do not speak of us as though one is superior to the other."

"I wonder if your brother would say the same thing."

"He would."

"Is this blind faith, or love?"

Allowing a derisive sneer to spread across his face, Masazumi fired back. "Is he your brother, or mine?"

Hiromoto stared at him, then laughed. "I can see why Okimoto wanted you as his pet. You certainly have wit, something we appreciate. Perhaps I have underestimated you slightly, and you are not the dullard I thought you were. But your audacity is irritating."

"Any soldier you pull from the barracks would bow their heads and allow you to beat them with your words. Not me. If you want to insult me and make snide remarks, you should be prepared to receive some in return. That's only fair, isn't it?"

Leaning his chin on a fist, Hiromoto narrowed his eyes. "I don't know whether to admire your evident courage, or your brazen arrogance."

"Believe what you want about me. But don't blame me when I'm not what you expect."

"Okimoto, listen to this creature. You are willing to put up with such impudence?"

"I don't make him upset," Okimoto remarked, "so he doesn't talk to me that way."

Hiromoto ignored him. "Tell us, Ishida. What are the Toyotomi's plans for handling us?"

"I won't speak."

"Did I give you a choice? No, I gave you an order. Talk."

"Orders can be disobeyed."

Those eyes flashed. "Okimoto is well-versed in the arts of torture and breaking the most brutish warrior into a gibbering pile. I am curious to know if he will be able to succeed with you."

Steeling himself, he glared back. "I won't betray my lords."

"We shall see when your fingernails are cut off and each bone in your hand is broken one by one."

He chose not to respond.

Hiromoto leaned forward, a smile gracing his features. "Oh? I see that talking about what pleasures await you has stilled your insolent tongue."

"Do what you like. I won't talk."

"If you are absolutely determined not to speak, then perhaps we shouldn't waste the effort." Reaching towards his obi, Hiromoto drew out a sheathed dagger and examined it lazily as if it were the first time he'd seen it, forcing his captive to watch until he spoke again. "We won't return you to the Toyotomi no matter what they do. I should just slit your throat right now. Your body will be cremated and your ashes scattered to the wind. No one will ever find you, and no one will ever know what happened to you."

Masazumi lowered his head, feigning hesitance to buy himself some time. Think, think! Hiromoto had changed tactics abruptly, first speaking about torture and now saying that they should just kill him outright. Something wasn't right. What was he trying to do?

"I have a better proposal," Hiromoto said, as if he had read the warrior's thoughts. "Perhaps we'll lure the Toyotomi here. They will send their most reliable warriors to deal with us. I wonder which ones? The Left Arm, perhaps?"

Masazumi struggled to keep his face motionless, but his heart crawled with icy dread. That was why the daimyou made those remarks about Mitsunari, to determine the strength of their relationship. With eerie accuracy, he guessed that Mitsunari was what Masazumi held most dear, and was now using that knowledge to its fullest.

"If we catch the Left Arm as well, that will leave the Toyotomi crippled. Their strongest warriors will be eliminated. After that, it's just a matter of time."

He wasn't telling them they'd forgotten about Masatsugu. "You'll be dead before you best Hideyoshi-dono and Hanbei-dono."

"You know nothing of our capabilities. And that idea is beginning to sound better and better. Wouldn't you agree, Okimoto?"

"I'm not sure I could handle two attendants. But it would be cute to have a pair of brothers under my thumb."

He gritted his teeth. Hiromoto wanted him to talk, in exchange for Mitsunari's safety.

No, he told himself. Hanbei-dono would know that any suspicious activity from the Mouri would be a trap.

Besides, Mitsunari no doubt told the strategist about the darts. Hanbei would not be so foolish as to allow his best warriors to depart again without the necessary precautions, if at all. He mustn't allow the uncertainties to take over, as Hiromoto wanted, and instead trust in everyone back home.

"I won't talk," he said.

"Are you sure?" Hiromoto seemed slightly surprised. Slightly. "You would allow your brother to come to harm? We are not above torturing him in front of you, you know."

Masazumi met his gaze, and grinned. "For now, these are empty threats. I'll take you seriously if you can catch him first. Then we can discuss this again."

Silence. But instead of anger, Hiromoto burst out laughing. "You continually surprise me! Indeed, you're a spirited young man. Would that we had an elite warrior like you in our army."

"I won't betray the Toyotomi. No matter what kind of offer you make me."

"I'm well aware. You're stubborn and unyielding to the last." Waving a hand, the daimyou smiled. "I haven't had such an amusing conversation, with a prisoner no less, in quite some time. Consider this an honour, Ishida Masazumi. Not many have spoken to me like you have and lived, or kept their tongues."

"Rest assured, if I ever escape from here and return home, I will boast far and wide about my battle of wits with the most feared daimyou of the west."

"I'm sure. Okimoto, we are done here. Take this man back to your room."

A hand patted his shoulder. "Come on, then. We'll be going, Otou-chan."

In silence, the two returned to Okimoto's suite.

"You have guts," Okimoto said once they were inside. "You were lucky that my father seems to like you. But you are much too intelligent, too good at playing games, and I don't like that. Don't misunderstand. We just need to find a way to put you to good use for us."

"Good luck," Masazumi remarked, stretching out on the floor.

"I expect he'll want to talk to me further, so I'm leaving. Behave yourself."

"Don't talk to me like a child!"

The strategist ignored him and left. Masazumi waited for a few minutes, then sprang to his feet and stretched before prancing into Okimoto's study. Now was the time to execute his little plan. Sitting down at the desk, he rifled through the papers on it, and then the drawers, but couldn't find what he was looking for. Leaving no page out of place, he tried the bedroom instead. It didn't take long to track down a stack of poems in one of the small shelves.

Taking them out, Masazumi sat and looked through the pile. The sheet on top was the one Okimoto read to him. He must be quite the poet, to have written so much.

Masazumi skimmed the poems at first. But the writing and brushwork was so beautiful, so captivating, that by the time he finished the stack he'd almost forgotten why he searched for them in the first place. Some of the poems were alluring, celebrating beauty, the joys of nature, and the intensity and sensuality of love, but others were heartrending pieces describing forbidden affection, unrequited feelings and isolation. Just like that first poem.

He said it was a way to express his feelings. Masazumi straightened out the stack. Surely these can't be lies too. There is something genuine about his poetry.

Replacing the stack, he made sure to take the bottom sheet, leaving it on the floor nearby, then returned to the study. He fetched a book and settled down in the main room to read.

Okimoto returned after some time, and went into his bedroom. The Ishida waited for a reaction, but there was none—just the sound of a shelf opening and a stack of papers being reorganized. Then the strategist came back out, but without saying anything, went into the study instead.

Too good at playing games, indeed. Masazumi wondered when Okimoto would confront him.

After lunch, the strategist called him into the study. Leaning his chin on a hand, Okimoto gazed at him. "Why were you in my room this morning?"

"You said I could look around anywhere," he answered. "You can't expect me to stay out of your room when it's your suite I'm living in."

"Don't play dumb with me. I know you went through my poetry."

"I admit it."

"There's one thing I don't understand. You aren't stupid. Why did you leave a sheet there on the floor to tell me what you did?"

"Oh? I must have missed it."

"Stop that! I know you did it on purpose!"

Masazumi smiled. "Did I?"

"You're trying to test me, aren't you? Perhaps you want to determine the limits of my patience?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Spit it out!"

"All right then. If you've figured out that much, then why do you think I chose to read your poetry?"

Okimoto stared at him, a blush blooming across his face, eyes wide. In response, the other man merely grinned and got up to leave.

"Perhaps," Masazumi added in the doorway, "you should learn to appreciate the finer things."

The strategist didn't call him back. Returning to his spot in the main room, he stretched out on the floor, picking up the book again, but stared at the pages. So it was true. Okimoto had lost his composure just now, and was unable to prevent the heat from rising to his cheeks. A blush couldn't be faked.

But that left one question—what now?

Use Okimoto. Take advantage of those feelings, get the death trap off his neck, and find some way to escape the castle. And yet, even though it was the most sensible plan, Masazumi hesitated. Breaking someone's heart didn't sit well with him, even though it could be his only way to freedom. Besides, Okimoto had treated him well, and repaying him with treachery, though ironic, wasn't...right.

Masazumi was both flattered and embarrassed, that though they had met only twice Okimoto liked him enough to blush. For years Masazumi accepted the fact that Ishida warriors were not accepted among common men. No one could love creatures whose talents, whose very purpose lay in butchering others. What, then, did this strategist see in him? Enough to act like this? His mind scurried away before he could restrain it. If they were not enemies, what would have happened?

A couple hours later—perhaps because he needed to regain his composure—Okimoto walked out of his study. Masazumi ignored him, but the footsteps changed direction towards him, closer and closer. His heart beat faster. Then, the strategist sat down, leaning lightly against him.

Heat prickled the back of his neck. He rolled away and sat up. "Don't touch me."

"I am shocked," Okimoto said quietly, "and humbled, that you were able to beat me at my own game."

"You think too highly of yourself. Any fool could have arrived at that conclusion."

"Really?" Those green eyes lifted to meet his own. "You are being too spiteful, Ishida. I made some mistakes, and that made it easier for you. It is difficult to be careful where matters of the heart are concerned. Regardless, your moves were admirable."

"So answer me honestly, then. You...actually like me?"

"You must think me shallow."

"I will wait before I judge."

Sighing, the strategist collected his thoughts before answering. "When we first met, so long ago, it was like I finally found what I had been looking for. You were strong and intelligent, perhaps dangerously so." A sad smile. "You see, I am the heart of this family. Everyone comes to me with their problems, I do my best to help them, to love them. But I am lonely, because when I need protection, there is no one I can turn to. I want someone who can be my bodyguard—to protect both my body and my heart. It's obvious that no woman can provide this for me. I have known this for a long time. It can only be another man."

"I'm sure there are many more eligible men out there for you to choose. Why me? I am your enemy."

"Well," Okimoto said dryly, "I don't expect someone like you to understand."

Masazumi snorted. "Love at first sight?"

"With you, who wouldn't? A deadly warrior with an equally deadly mind, with a powerful physique and a handsome and proud mien. No other combination could possibly make me happier. But what's the point of telling you all this? You don't even care. You just want to go home, don't you?" Okimoto's gaze turned brittle. "I know what you're thinking. You've discovered my weakness and you're going to use it to your fullest advantage. I'm not so blinded by my heart that I can't see that. You are too clever for your own good, Ishida Masazumi."

"How are you so sure that I would manipulate you that way?"

"Because that's the only logical conclusion. You are selfish, after all. You told me yourself, that you don't care about affection. And you're too damn intelligent."

"Listen, Mouri. I'm not like you. I don't do whatever is necessary to get something I want. I am an Ishida, and we abide by honour. If I really wanted to seduce you and use you to help myself escape, I wouldn't have made it so obvious. I won't lie, the thought did cross my mind, but I won't do it. Because you saved my life once before, and you saved me again, by making me your servant so I would be spared from torture. I still don't know what your motivations are. But I know it would be wrong to repay your kindness with heartbreak. That is the worst kind of betrayal, and I'll not bear a stain like that on my conscience or my reputation."

Okimoto did not respond, only narrowed his eyes.

"Believe what you want," Masazumi said. "I've said my part."

Getting to his feet, the strategist cast him yet another glare. "Too intelligent and too silver-tongued for your own good. That's what you are."

He allowed the corner of his mouth to perk up. "You should have known what you were getting into when you chose me."

"Yes," Okimoto said quietly, turning to leave. "I should have known."