Only ten feet of stone and the Shogun’s word protected Kuro from the racket of steel and sandals, barked orders and howls and screams cut off too soon.

With Yusuke too busy leading the slaughter, the Shogun’s page had wordlessly abandoned Kuro between the garden gate and the bulwark before rushing off to whatever else the page deemed more important.

Head bowing under the weight of the spirits’ deaths, Kuro swallowed. Hundreds of dogs scurried through the streets, barking and baying and biting and… He shuddered.

“Disgusting, isn’t it?” the Shogun asked.

Kuro jumped pelvis-first, as if the Shogun had grabbed his tail. He spun around, and tried to relax his shoulders again. He hadn’t even heard the Shogun approach.

The Shogun towered over Kuro. Kuro had to crane his neck to see over the human’s shoulder, never mind look him in the eye. Not that the Shogun would allow him to act so familiar.

He expected Kuro to bow, and keep his eyes lowered, and so Kuro did. “Dogs are a travesty against nature.”

“A fox would think that.” The Shogun ambled down the stone path, the hem of his black hakama brushing the moss. “I meant the noise. A garden is meant to be a bastion of tranquillity, the ideal world encapsulated in a single space. Nothing is tranquil about that chaos.”

“You could order the hunt to be stopped,” Kuro said quietly.

“But even on an ordinary day, the chaos of humans filters through the bulwark. One can’t even think, never mind clear one’s mind. I’ve had to abandon the path around the wall. A waste of potential.”

The Shogun led Kuro through a copse of black pine to a serpentine lake. Passing through two lit stone lanterns, the Shogun glided over a crimson bridge. A teahouse overlooked the lake, all its screens removed for the best possible view of Kuro’s ignorance.

No wonder Ren had dismissed Kuro when he’d gone on about what a privilege the teahouse was. Three of those teahouses could have fit inside this one. For Ren, who’d thought a merchant’s house the epitome of poverty, that teahouse was a squalid prison cell.

The Shogun removed his sandals before stepping up onto the veranda. He stopped behind two cushions, a tray with a teapot and cup between them. His brow rose as he noticed Kuro still waited at the end of the bridge. “Come.”

One word, and that was all the Shogun would say on the matter. At least before he grew angry at Kuro’s arrogance. Kuro followed suit.

“Pour,” the Shogun ordered.

Kuro obeyed, the heat of the teapot seeping into his fingers. His stomach rumbled as the sweetness tickled his nose. The Shogun brought the edge to his mouth, sipping a half-mouthful, and closed his eyes. He swallowed, and drank again. And again, and again. Half an hour must have passed before the Shogun ordered him to pour once more. Kuro held his breath. Breathing too heavily would probably bring down the Shogun’s wrath.

The Shogun mustn’t be able to hear the hunt then. He only heard the tinkling water down a small waterfall, and not the sounds of the city — not the barking that set Kuro’s tail on fire.

The Shogun’s words were a shock simply because it was a different noise. It took even longer before those words shaped themselves into meaning. “You must be itching to save your fellow demons.”

Kuro ducked his head, fingers frozen on the edge of the cushion. “Of course not.” He couldn’t save them — more like, he shouldn’t stick his neck out for the samurai’s sword. They wouldn’t return the favour, or even care how Kuro suffered so long as their life was spared.

But he stuck his neck out for Ren. That was a strategic decision, he told himself. Although he had no idea what strategy it was for.

“Good,” the Shogun said. He returned to quietly sipping his tea.

Kuro ventured, “They’re not demons, not really, Your Excellency.”

As if that would save them.

The Shogun opened his eyes only a millimetre, but it made him look like a hawk demon. “If you’re to be a god, little fox—”

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“Kuro.” Not that the Shogun cared.

“—then your every thought and action should be for the good of humans,” the Shogun finished, as if uninterrupted. “Watching over humans is the primary duty of any god.”

Kuro glanced down. The primary duty of a god seemed to be lording it over everyone else. That’s what he dreamed of. A shrine of his own where he didn’t have to deal with humans unless they prayed to him, offering him stacks of mochi and copper coins.

“Humans divide themselves into five different ranks,” the Shogun went on. “At the top are the samurai.”

Kuro coughed. He forgot the nobility layer. But then these days they ranked just above scum water.

“Next are the farmers who grow rice and food to keep the empire fed. Below them are the artisans, who make our swords, our homes, and everything else samurai and farmers need. Then there’s merchants at the bottom.” He wrinkled his nose. “Obsessed with money and contributing nothing of value.”

Besides the coin the Shogun needed to run the government. All the rice fields in Oyashima would mean nothing without the merchants to buy and sell the rice.

“Everyone has their rank. And each rank has their duties. When every human focuses on the duties of their ranks, society progresses smoothly. There are no crimes, no untimely deaths, no famines. The empire is in a perfect, working balance.”

Except for all the humans excluded from the ranks. All the people who starved and bled in the riverbed, because no one of rank would look at them.

The Shogun slammed down his teacup. A crack sliced through the centre. “But the supernatural destroy all that.”

“Spirits and demons have ranks too,” Kuro murmured. Not like human ranks, although they conveyed the same sense of power. But spirits and demons ranked themselves on how powerful they were, not the class they were born into.

“But they have no duties. They have no purpose. They are of no use to society. They only bring death and destruction and chaos. They blight the empire. Listen well, little fox. There is no such thing as neutral spirits. They cannot be neutral. Their very existence unbalances society. They always destroy.”

Kuro breathed in deeply. He cringed for his next words, but he had to say them. He had to see how the Shogun reacted. He needed to know how long he had left. “Like a Dark Kitsune unbalances the empire.”

The Shogun fingered the cup’s lip. “Now that is an interesting subject.”

Kuro always thought so, especially when it was his blood about to be spilled.

“The interesting thing about Dark Kitsune is that they only appear once in a very long time. Human memories are fallible, and even written histories are unreliable. Only one Dark Kitsune has been known, and the first Tendo panicked. The Tendo are all rather sentimental, don’t you think? The Tendo cling to their ideals, but they have no problem stabbing their loyal subjects in the back.”

Kuro flicked his eyes up, watching for any sign in the Shogun that he knew Ren was alive.

“The last emperor liked to preach about the impeccable service of his line.” The Shogun stared at the lake, as if Kuro had ceased to exist. “He hid in his palace like a mouse hides from a fox rather than face the demon threat himself. But despite his cowardice, my master believed in him.”

Master? Ren hadn’t mentioned a master.

“He raised armies and fought the demons. He rescued the empire from hell. He deserved to become its new emperor, but he was too loyal to the Tendo. He believed in rank. The Tendo emperor, pleased at his restored empire, invited him here to celebrate his victories. And after my master knelt in obeisance, the emperor had him butchered in an alley like an animal.”

If only Ren had been listening. But Ren probably knew all this. He could have guessed the Shogun’s anger, but no, he’d probably blown it off. Believed the Shogun knelt before his throne as loyally as the Shogun’s foolish master.

The Shogun focused on Kuro. As if he’d said nothing at all about his former master, he continued, “The Dark Kitsune’s power affects everyone of every rank, human and demon. The Tendo saw the Dark Kitsune as a threat to be destroyed at all costs. But for keener minds, the Dark Kitsune could become a benefit to the empire. What happens, for example, when chaos is thrust against chaos?”

More chaos, Kuro would guess.

“That, little fox, is why I haven’t executed you as the Tendo would.”

He jerked straight. When had this escalated to outright threats?

“You should thank me for calling the hunt.”

Thank him? Kuro stared.

“Every human in the city had heard a Dark Kitsune roamed the streets. Then the Imperial Palace, the last manifestation of their divine protectors, is attacked by the Night Parade. They lost all sense of their station and propriety.” He wrinkled his nose. “Even before we extinguished the last flames in the Imperial Palace, merchants and artisans broke through the gates. They stormed the rice shops and warehouses. Driven by madness, they looted shops.”

“They mustn’t have any faith in the harvest,” Kuro said. Although why he bothered to defend them, he didn’t know.

“This wasn’t simply about food,” he said. “It was about hunger, as the monks would say. A deep desire for more that destroys all reason. They stole silks and lacquerware. They broke into storage houses, stealing family heirlooms. They vandalised the homes of samurai. They even dared to throw rocks at my palace. The monks encourage them, and my political enemies fan the flames. All yammering about how this is punishment for turning my face from the Way of Heaven. For not honouring their Heavenly Sovereign.”

The Shogun paused as he sipped on his tea, as calmly as his words had sounded revolted.

“Restoring order is simple,” he finally said. “All I must do is offer them your blood.”

Kuro tensed, fingers digging into the cushion.

“Instead, I can only offer this sop to appease them. You need this hunt. Those spirits die so you may live.”

Kuro ducked his head before the Shogun noticed his shock.

“After all, they’re only vermin chewing and gnawing our great empire. You will ascend to godhood,” he said. “Your powers will be properly contained and funnelled against the empire’s enemies. You will destroy the Night Parade for me.”