Page 202 of Mercy Written in Blood

Haruki studied the journal.

"Did the Takahara keep humans as servants?"

"Yes."

"Did they feed from them?"

"Yes."

"Against their will?"

Renji's first instinct was certainty. The Takahara had not been monsters. His father had been severe, but not cruel. His mother had treated the sick. His brothers— He stopped. Memory was not evidence. That was the lesson the Archive had forced upon him from the beginning.

"I do not know," he said.

Haruki looked at him. Renji's voice sounded distant to his own ears.

"I thought I did."

The admission remained between them. Haruki did not offer reassurance. He knew better.

Renji turned another page. This entry described a tribunal. A human farmer named Daichi had killed a vampire youth after finding him feeding from his daughter. The Accord histories recorded the event; Renji remembered studying it decades later.According to the official account, the Takahara executed the farmer and expelled his family.

The journal told another story. Daichi had been brought before Renji's father. The dead vampire's family demanded blood. The human settlement threatened to leave if Daichi was punished. Renji had argued for a trial in which both communities would be represented — his eldest brother had called the suggestion humiliating, his mother had supported it. The trial lasted four days. Daichi was not executed. The feeding had been non-consensual; the vampire youth had broken Takahara law. Daichi was sentenced to exile for taking a life rather than bringing the matter before the household. The dead youth's family was denied compensation. The decision nearly divided the bloodline.

Renji read the final lines twice.

Father said law means nothing if it exists only to protect those who write it. Lord Shibata left before the judgement was complete. I believe he will report this to the council. Father knows. He says we cannot fear consequence more than injustice.

Renji's hand had begun to tremble. He removed it from the page. Haruki noticed. He moved his chair closer, the legs scraping softly against the floor, but did not touch Renji. Not yet.

"Lord Shibata," Haruki said. "Was he Accord?"

"There was no Accord as it exists now."

"One of the early councils?"

"Yes."

"Powerful?"

"Very."

"And opposed to humans receiving representation."

Renji nodded. Haruki looked through the translation.

"There are several references to him."

"He advised my father."

"For how long?"

"Most of his reign."

Renji remembered Shibata, or believed he did — tall, elegant, always dressed in dark blue, a voice that could make cruelty sound like caution. He had been present at winter ceremonies. He had taught Renji strategy. He had once given Hana a carved bird that moved its wings when a string was pulled. The memory arrived clearly. Too clearly. It floated alone, disconnected from everything written before them.

"What happened to him?" Haruki asked.