House of the Kami — Another Snippet!

House of the Kami is coming mid-April… and I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer.

In this episode, I'm sharing what love looks like after loss… and what it takes to keep going anyway.

This story takes you deeper into the lives of the Endo, the Chaichana, and the Kang—where empires are tested, families are built, and love is something that must survive both softness and fire.

If this moment pulled you in… there’s more waiting for you.

I’ve created a limited special edition book box for House of the Kami—featuring a signed hardcover, exclusive artwork, character-inspired details, and more.

The waitlist is live now, and those on it will get early access when pre-orders open (plus a chance at exclusive gifts).

Join the waitlist + read an exclusive preview:

Come a little closer… you’re only seeing a piece of it.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:02

Hello everyone, I am back again with another House of the Kami preview. If you didn't hear, last week I announced book two of the Yakuza's Jewel titled House of the Kami. This novel takes place two years after the events of the Yakuza's Jewel. The dust has settled, the power has shifted, and now we see what it truly costs to hold an empire. This story moves deeper into the lives of the three ruling factions, the Indo, the Chaichana, and the Kong. The Indo sit at the top, but power like that doesn't stay quiet for long. As the Dragon Lotus Triad begins to stir unease across Asia, Haruki Indo is forced to make a choice, one that will secure his empire in blood and fire, or watch it fracture beneath him. But this isn't just a war. This is family. The Chai Chana are newly married, building something steady in Thailand, balancing power with fatherhood, loyalty with love. And the Kong? After everything that fractured in Anai, Ella has stepped fully into herself, into her power. And Chiang, he doesn't resist it. He kneels. This book isn't just about what happens next. It's about what happens after the choosing. When love, power, and legacy have to live in the same house, and whether any of them, Andromache, Perseus, and Ella, can survive what they've built. Now there will be a special edition book box containing assigned hardcover, exclusive art you won't see anywhere else, to be exact eleven pieces of exclusive art. Pieces you can wear, keep, hold on to, and my favorite part, you will be able to choose a member of the Inner Five, Akata, Kinzo, Haruki, Ichiro, or Kyoshi, and your box will carry a scent tied to him. The wait list is live on my website, www.tierathenovelist.com. Head over there to show your interest. And finally, the part you've been waiting for. Here is an exclusive preview of House of the Kami. Love doesn't just give. Sometimes it takes. And sometimes it leaves you learning how to live with what's gone. For context, this is one year after Andromache and Akata lost her. She says yes, but I can hear the quiver in her voice, that edge of fear and guilt. It's not her fault. It would never be Andromache's fault, because even if it were, I would take the blame and shoulder that burden for her. My wife leans her head on my arm, her hand is cold, and her steps are shaky. The first anniversary of a death is called Ishuki. One year of quietly carrying our grief. Hours has festered, and that's my fault. I wasn't there when she needed me. And by the time I got there, she didn't want me around. I made Kenzo tell me what he saw. Every detail. I needed to see it for myself. I had to know what happened, what I couldn't stop. Andromache on the bathroom floor, her hair spread around her head, lips pale, blood pooling beneath her. She was unresponsive when he found her, barely conscious, burning with fever. She thought he was me, cried that it was her fault, begged him to save the baby. When I finally got to the hospital, she wouldn't look at me, eyes blank, mouth pinched. I was dirty, sweaty, streaks of some bastard's blood still glistening on my skin, and I held her hand between mine and begged for her forgiveness. I didn't need a god to hear me and make a plea on my behalf. I was already talking to my commie, Andromache, petitioning her with every fibre of my being to acknowledge me, requesting my goddess to look at me even if it was with malice in her eyes. I'd burn under her gaze just to feel a little warmth from her. I deserved whatever she felt was necessary for me to have. I'd take it all, feed on it, harbor it, whatever it took just to make sure she remembered my name. Now here we are, one year later, one year stronger. One year of weakness burned away into the people we are now. The air is clean and still, the morning mist is pale and crisp, sticking to our faces like baby kisses. The soft smell of incense clouds our noses, and farther along we go, Andromache's grip tightens on my arm. The rows of shrines look very much alike, grey, mossy green, undisturbed, some marked by white flowers, others in quiet celebration of a life that was white chrysanthemums, yellow lilies, and pink carnations. The gravel clicks under our shoes, shifting beneath our footing as we head down the rose. The Ikados of so long ago line the rose, marking a path where the youngest of us now waits. Then I see it. The Jizo statue Haruki had commissioned. The smooth granite is grayish white, round and cheerful, a smiling face and crescent moon eyes and quiet mirth. The hands are clasped in front of the chest, and across it rests a fresh red bib. Kiyoshi's doing, along with the pink and white lilies in a gold vase. The little bamboo wind chimes from Ichiro are engraved with her name Himari. A small carved wooden horse with a silver saddle rests against the tablet. Andromache lets go of me and kneels in front of the statue. She reaches out, her fingers barely touching the Jizo. I'll clean it, she whispers. I pass her the bottle. The water slides over the granite, and I take my place beside Andromache, watching as she runs the linen cloth over the stone. She wipes the moss away, as if afraid of hurting it. When she finishes, I take the cloth from her, and we place a rattle and pacifier in front of the Jizo. The incense smells of Baikudan and Jinko, earthy and calming. Smoke drifts around the statue, settling low before curling upward, and Andromache watches the plumes as they dissolve into the sky. She doesn't say anything, and for Andromache that's rare. She always has something to say. But at the same time, I cannot imagine this pain. To carry the life we made, to be so excited, so ready to be a mother again only to have it snatched away. I blame myself. I blame my hesitation. I was content being called papakata by Keiko, and then to know I was next, not Kenzo, not Hiroji, not Kiyoshi. Me? I knew it could happen. Andromeki wanted it that way. The others and I we take turns, were careful. But that fast? I didn't expect it. And I wonder if Himari knew that. If she sensed my apprehension. If she knew I didn't deserve her. Akada, Andromache rubs my thigh. Didn't you hear me calling you? It's my fault, I say in a rush. I didn't deserve her, and a lot of the time I don't think I deserve you. It's stupid luck and sheer audacity that keeps you by my side. What? Andromache leans closer, her hair falling over her shoulder thick and dark. What are you talking about? When you got pregnant with Hermari? There are only a handful of times I've been truly afraid in this life, and most of them have had to do with Andromache. I didn't think it would happen so fast. I was happy playing spare dad with Keiko. I can't look at her. I don't want to see her face. It was probably my fault. Maybe she felt that. Andromache sighs. Her lips are warm on my arm, even through the fabric of my shirt, I can smell her perfume. The one Dido brought her, and I refuse to admit I love. She's warm next to me, fingers sliding gently over my skin. It was a natural occurrence, Akada. It had nothing to do with that. She lifts her hand and places it against my cheek. Really? Is this what you've been thinking about? She pulls my face towards hers. Look at me, Ikato. She's so beautiful. Full lips, round eyes. Andromache smiles at me. Yes, because what if it was and I put you through that? Sora said something once. She continues softly. To be born is to no loss. This is the nature of the world, not a failing of the heart. Buddha teaches that. I nod. I know the teachings. It hurt then, she says, clutching the lapel of my shirt. I was angry and upset with you, yes. I was upset for a long time. But there was nothing we could have done. I still have you. And it's a miracle that you still have me. I do. Himari may be gone, but she left her mother intact. She knew she had a sister who still needed care. Wrapping my arms around Andromache, I breathe into her hair. Our love is a lantern, I whisper. Even if she walks a different path now, that light still reaches her. She sniffles, and her tears wet my shirt. No one has ever seen me cry. I don't cry. I've never needed to. My grief usually becomes anger, something I burn through exercise or violence. But right now, Andromache has seen every hard and disturbing facet of who I am, what I can be, what I have done, and will surely do again because I protect what's mine. But in this moment, in every moment that belongs to her, she gets the best of my love. She never says the words, but as she cries in my arms, tears fall from my own eyes and soak into her hair. And in that quiet shrine, we mourn our daughter together. And I pray for another chance. House of the Kami is coming mid-April. And if you want the rest, of course, you know where to find me.