Page 201 of Mercy Written in Blood

Renji lowered his gaze. The line described an argument. Masato had refused to allow one of the Takahara children to enter a fever house. Renji had accused him of cowardice. Masato had struck him across the mouth. The entry ended:

He apologised before sunset. I did not. Emi says this proves I am the more childish of us. I told her age has nothing to do with maturity. She laughed for so long that Masato asked whether she required treatment.

Renji touched the edge of the page. He remembered fever houses — not this one, but smoke rising from villages, bodies laid beneath woven mats, the heavy sweetness of herbs burned to hide the smell of death. He remembered carrying water. Blood on his sleeves. Hunger. But not Masato. Not Emi laughing. Not being struck. Not refusing to apologise.

The journal contained a man who resembled Renji in outline and contradicted him in detail.

"You were difficult," Haruki said softly.

"I remain difficult."

"You were worse."

"That is an unprovable conclusion."

"You argued with a physician treating plague victims because he wouldn't let you risk yourself."

"I may have had a valid reason."

"You wrote three pages complaining that he was right."

Renji looked at him. Warmth flickered briefly across Haruki's face — not mockery, an attempt to offer Renji something ordinary inside a room that had become impossible. Renji appreciated it. He did not know how to say so.

He turned another page. The next entry had not been written by him. The hand was smaller and more decorative, the ink faded to brown. Takeda had identified the writer as Renji's sister, Hana.

Renji remembered Hana — the exact curve of her face, her black hair reaching below her waist, a scar across the first knuckle of her left hand from stealing his sword when she was eleven.He remembered her death. What he did not remember was her writing.

The entry began without greeting.

Renji says Father is wrong. Father says Renji is young. Mother says both are stubborn and forbids them from speaking at supper. Renji speaks anyway.

Haruki read beside him. Renji felt each sentence enter like a needle beneath the skin.

The argument concerns the western settlement. Lord Shibata says the humans must be moved before winter. Renji says they should be allowed to stay because they have nowhere else to go. Father says sheltering them will be seen as weakness. Renji says strength that cannot survive kindness deserves to fail.

Haruki stopped reading. Renji did not.

They shouted until Mother struck the table. I thought Father would order Renji confined. Instead, he asked how many houses would be required.

The entry continued. Six human families had been displaced after a landslide destroyed their village. The Takahara had taken them in — not as servants, not as livestock, as residents. Renji knew the western settlement existed; he remembered its stone foundations beyond the tree line. He had always believed it belonged to retainers. The journal said otherwise. It described homes repaired by Takahara craftsmen, shared wells, children educated together, a human carpenter teaching vampire soldiers how to build roofs better suited to heavy snow, a Takahara midwife delivering a human infant during a storm. Arguments followed — over food, land, marriage, blood, fear. None of it sounded peaceful. It sounded real.

Renji sat back.

"The official Accord record states the western settlement housed bonded labourers."

Haruki looked at him.

"Bonded?"

"Humans retained for agricultural work and feeding."

"That isn't what this says."

"No."

"You knew the official history was incomplete."

"Incomplete is not the same as false."