Rikuya recovered with surprising speed, yet his thoughts remained lodged on one question: Who was the man who could stitch open wounds and strip fever from a body in a single night? The skill grated against Rikuya's pride the way a blade would. He had no shame in scheming; his heart was rotten with ambition and the memory of Nozomi's easy charm sat like a stone in his throat. No one who could so easily win people's hearts should stand between him and the throne.
He smiled coldly as he calculated. He would not leap blindly into risk, but he would carve a path that removed Nozomi as quietly as ink fades beneath water. No matter the cost, he would preserve his advantage.
Meanwhile, the seventh day of the seventh lunar cycle approached — the palace prepared for the lesser-known but sacred New-Moon Year that followed the Red Moon. In the old rites, that moon was believed to have conquered a lingering evil and returned to the sky anew. The festival was small and secret in origin, but in the Hiean courts it had grown into an honored occasion: lanterns, offerings, and quiet, ritualized hope.
Reika threw herself into the preparations with the tenderness she always showed the people. She busied herself with decorations, with distributing food and clothes to the poor; the kingdom prospered under her care, and even Kagegiri felt the warmth of celebration. Nozomi did what he could too — handing out essentials, giving what little he had away — though many of the villagers accepted his gifts only to later return them to the Palace out of habit or loyalty. He understood; he never interfered. Let them feel safe, even if it cost him.
That afternoon, in the garden pavilion of Kagegiri, Nozomi sat by the pond. The grass was damp beneath him; his gaze traced the still water as if seeking meaning in its quiet reflection. Hishori, his most trusted general, approached at a measured pace.
"Several responses have come from across the province," Hishori reported softly. "Outsiders have offered men to take part in our army. We could begin recruiting to restore His Majesty's guards."
Nozomi managed a small smile. "Very good. Begin the selection. Send me a report at dusk." He hesitated then, voice gentler. "Are there any petitions? Letters that need my attention?"
"No, my lord," Hishori answered after a moment. "Most of the people are occupied with the New-Moon celebrations."
Nozomi nodded and let the sound of the garden fold around him. For all its quiet, the day felt like a small reprieve.
At Tsukiyomi Palace, in Rikuya's chamber, the mood was very different. Two generals stood at attention while Rikuya drummed his fingertips on the polished table, a predatory gleam in his eye.
"Bring me everything you can find about that healer in Giramuzi," he ordered. "I want his name, his habits, his friends—especially his weaknesses. If he has a vice, a child, a debt—anything. And summon him to the palace. Invite him to the New-Moon banquet. Make sure he comes."
The guards bowed and hurried from the room, their footsteps staccato down the corridor. Rikuya watched them go, the corners of his mouth tightening into a smile that did not reach his eyes.
"To think," he murmured into the silence, "that a solitary healer might be the one to tidy my path. We will meet soon, doctor. And whether he knows it or not, he will help me achieve what I must."
The words hung in the air like a vow — a plan set into motion.