Haruna said quietly, “Hayato is dead.”

She had half expected this news, yet it left her reeling with shock and grief. You must remember how good it was-his last words came back to her. She did remember, she remembered everything good about him, and began to weep unrestrainedly for the pitifulness of his life and death and for the life that they might have had together.

“I saw him yesterday. I feared he would take his own life.”

“He did not kill himself. It would have been better if he had. Lord Masahiro had him killed. His retainers cut him down outside my place.”

“Masahiro?”

“Lord Shigeru’s uncle. The youngest brother. You know him, Akane.”

She knew of him, naturally, and had seen him on occasion-the last time was at her father’s entombment. His reputation throughout Hagi was not good, though few dared express their opinions openly. In a city that was not easily offended, he was considered lecherous, and, more gravely, people said he was a coward.

“Why? What had Hayato ever done to offend Masahiro? How could they have even crossed paths?”

Haruna moved uncomfortably and did not meet Akane’s gaze. “Lord Masahiro has been visiting us from time to time. He gives another name, of course, and we all pretend we don’t know him.”

“I had no idea,” Akane said. “What happened?”

“Hayato was quite drunk. He had been drinking since he saw you, I gather. I tried to get him to leave quietly, but when he finally went outside, he noticed Masahiro’s men in the street. He began to rail at them, to curse the Otori lords, in particular Lord Shigeru-Forgive me for telling you such a terrible thing. They were very forbearing, tried to get him to calm down: of course, they were all in unmarked clothes; it was easy to pretend they were not personally insulted. Everyone knows Hayato, he’s always been well liked, and they would have ignored him, but Masahiro came out and heard his remarks, and then it was all over.”

“No one will blame Masahiro,” Akane said, weeping again at the sadness of it.

“No, of course not, but he has gone further: he has given orders for the family to be turned out of their home, their lands to be given to him, and for the sons to be killed as well.”

“They are only children!”

“Yes, six years old and eight. Masahiro says they must pay for their father’s insults.”

Akane said nothing. The harshness of the punishment chilled her, yet it was Lord Masahiro’s right to act as he pleased.

“Will you go to him, Akane? Will you plead with him to spare their lives?”

“If Lord Shigeru were here, I might approach his uncle through him, but he is away in the East. Even if we sent the swiftest messenger, it would be too late. I don’t suppose Masahiro would even receive me.”

“Believe me, I am sorry I am asking you. But you are the only person I know who has any influence at the castle. I owe it to Hayato to try to save his children’s lives and their inheritance.”

“Masahiro will be insulted by my even requesting an audience. He’ll probably have me put to death too.”

“No, he is interested in you. He has often been heard to express his regret that you are no longer at my house. He compares all the girls to you.”

“That could be worse,” Akane said. “I will be putting myself at his mercy: if he spares the children, what will he want in return?”

“You are under Shigeru’s protection. Even Masahiro will not dare take advantage of you.”

“I am afraid it will displease Shigeru,” Akane said, wishing he were there so that she could speak to him directly.

“Lord Shigeru has a compassionate nature,” Haruna replied. “He would not exact such a punishment.”

“I cannot do it,” Akane said. “Forgive me.”

“They will die tomorrow then.” Haruna wept as she spoke these words.

AFTER THE OLDER woman had left, Akane went to the altar to pray for Hayato’s spirit, to ask his forgiveness for the part she had played in his tragic fate and the disaster that his love for her had brought upon his family. He loved children, she thought. He wanted me to have his children. Now he is to lose his sons; he will have no one to carry on his line; his family will become extinct. There will be no one to pray for his soul.

People will blame me. They will come to hate me. What if they find out I used charms against Shigeru’s wife? They already say I have bewitched him…

Her thoughts continued to writhe and twist like a nest of adders, and when the maids brought the midday meal, she could not eat.

As the afternoon wore on, it grew hotter and the cicadas’ shrilling seemed more oppressive. Gradually her turmoil gave way to a numbness and lassitude: she felt so weary she could hardly move or think.

She asked for the bed to be prepared, changed into a light summer robe, and lay down. She did not expect to sleep, but almost immediately she fell into a kind of waking dream. The dead man came into the room, undressed and lay down beside her. She felt the familiar smoothness of his skin; his smell surrounded her. His weight covered her as it had when they had first made love and he had treated her with such tenderness, and the day her father died, when her need for him had been so intense.

“Akane,” he whispered, “I love you.”

“I know,” she said, feeling the tears spring into her eyes. “But you are dead, and now there is nothing I can do.”

His weight changed against her, no longer the comforting solid-ness of the living man but the dead weight of the corpse. It pressed down on her, squeezing the air from her lungs, forcing her heart to pump frantically. She could hear her breath gasping and feel her limbs flailing uselessly.

Suddenly she was awake, alone in the room, dripping with sweat, panting; she knew she would never be free of his ghost-he had come to possess her-unless she made some kind of retribution.

Now she was seized by a feverish anxiety that it would be too late. Despite Haruna’s words, she had no confidence that she would be allowed to speak to Lord Masahiro. She called for the maids, took a bath, and prepared herself while she tried to think of the best way to approach him. Her impatience, her sense of the rapid elapse of time, made her realize her only path was to write to him directly. It was the boldest thing she could think of: if it failed, there was nothing else she could do. She called for ink and paper and wrote swiftly-her father, who could write as easily in stone as most scholars on paper, had taught her, and her handwriting was strong and fluid, reflecting her character. She used the phrases of courtesy but nothing elaborate or flowery, simply asking if Lord Masahiro would permit her to come to speak to him.

He will never allow it, she thought, as she handed the message to one of the guards. I will hear nothing, and this time tomorrow Hayato’s children will be dead.

Dressed in her finest clothes, she could do nothing but wait. Night had fallen, bringing a little relief from the heat. Akane ate a bowl of cold noodles with fresh vegetables and drank a cup of wine. She was afraid to sleep, afraid of Hayato’s spirit. Again there was thunder in the distance, but no rain fell. The shutters were open and the scent of the garden flowers, mingled with the smell of the sea and with pine needles, drifted into the room. In the east, the moon was rising behind massed clouds, lighting their wild shapes as though they were shadow puppets in a play.

A huge flash of lightning had just lit up the southern sky when she heard the tread of feet and low voices outside beyond the wall. A few seconds later, one of the maids came in and whispered, “Lady Akane, someone has come from the castle.” Her voice was tinged with alarm.

“A messenger?” Akane stood, trembling.

“Maybe… or maybe…” The girl laughed and her face twisted. She hardly dared to speak his name. “You know, the uncle…”