Rage seized Akitada. “How dare you accuse me of lacking honor?” he snapped. “You who gave herself to a mere sergeant who had wandered in off the street looking for a place to hide from the law. How can you think that he will not discard you when he gets the urge to move on? To a man like that you are just a convenience, a livelihood, and a warm bed at night.”

She flinched at his anger and turned to face him. “Forgive me,” she said sadly. “I had not meant to hurt you so.” Her voice was thick with tears, and she pulled her robe around her more tightly as if to fend off the coldness of his contempt. “I heard about the child and wished I could help you.”

“Ayako,” he begged, immediately contrite. “It is not too late. Come with me.” He paused fractionally, then added, “Be my wife.”

“No. It is much too late,” she said. “It was too late when we first met. I knew it, but I could not help myself, and for that I ask your forgiveness. I can never live with you as your wife without forcing you to become as we are. That is why I must choose Hidesato.”

“No!”

“Yes.” She stood, sharply defined against the snowy world beyond, black hair framing the narrow pale face with its strange eyes. Her body was tense, the shoulders squared, the hands clasped so tightly around the red-lacquered balustrade that he could see the bones through the skin. But her voice was calm and very clear in the silence of the place. “Hidesato is a kind man with more honor than you allow him, for he has never touched me. I shall become his wife after you leave, because it would have been my father’s wish, and so it is mine. Together we will make a home for Otomi and a life for ourselves.”

Akitada stood in silence, looking at her. Snowflakes gathered in her black hair, turning to beads of crystal. Then he nodded, defeated by her firmness, her sense of duty.

“You must go now,” she whispered. “Please, Akitada! Please go quickly!”

He stretched out his hand to brush away her tears, then dropped it and left.

♦

For the remaining daylight hours of this, his last day, Akitada walked the streets of the city. From the Temple of the Merciful Goddess he wandered to Squatters’ Field, then drifted northward to the garrison, where he stood at a distance, watching Yukinari drilling a troop of foot soldiers. The captain would see them off the next morning, and Akitada left without speaking to him.

He went to the residential quarter of the wealthy, turning into the alley behind the Tachibana residence. The back gate of the empty mansion swung loose in the wind, and he stopped in for a look at the garden. The studio slept under a mantle of white. At the small pond, Tachibana’s fish rose from the black depths at his approach, still expecting their owner’s hand dispensing food. But only snow fell and melted on the black water. One by one the silver and gold shapes turned and sank again to the bottom. When Akitada left, he looked back. His steps marred the pristine white paths, perhaps never to be swept again. He latched the gate behind himself.

In the gathering dusk, Akitada drifted toward the colored lights and bustle of the market, uncaring that his feet had become numb from the cold. He went down a street of pleasure houses, of powdered faces and smiling eyes, of inviting fingers on his sleeve, barely answering the offers whispered to him. In the falling snow he heard the music of zithers and lutes, the thin, reedy voices of the women and the rough laughter of their customers. Then he walked the poorer streets, where urgent couples ducked into alleys or embraced furtively, leaning in the covered doorways of closed shops. And he felt like a ghost watching the living.

It was dark when he finally returned to the tribunal—wet, cold, and too tired to feel.

Tora and Seimei were packing boxes. Tea simmered on the brazier, and on his desk stood a tray with covered dishes of food. Akitada realized he had not eaten since morning.

“Have you been waiting long?” he asked Tora.

“Don’t worry. Seimei’s been telling me all about your mother and sisters.”

Akitada winced. What awaited him in the capital was the life he had sought to escape. His widowed mother ruled him and his sisters with an iron hand and a bitter tongue.

“You look tired,” Seimei said sympathetically. “Paying farewell visits is always depressing. I saved your food for you, in case you were not invited to dinner.”

“Later, Seimei. I must settle with Tora first.” Akitada looked at Tora sadly. How handsome he had become. He suddenly noticed that Tora was wearing his blue robe again. “I thought you traded that away,” he said, nodding at Tora’s clothes.

Tora looked down at himself. “I decided to get it back. The color and cut suit me pretty well. Besides, there’s something to be said for making an impression.” He winked at Seimei, who chuckled.

“I see,” Akitada said heavily. “You will do very well whatever you do and whatever you wear, Tora. I shall miss you.” He turned away to hide his emotion. Opening his document box, he muttered, “Here are your wages. I have added a bonus for your efforts and advice in solving the tax case. And there is a present to help you get started in your new life.” He held out a package to Tora.

Tora stared at it, making no effort to take it. “You don’t need me anymore?” he asked tonelessly.

“I told you once before that you are free to leave at any time. Now that you have plans and my work here is done, I will not hold you any longer.”

“What plans?” Tora’s voice rose angrily. “You’re still sore because of what I said about officials. And I thought you’d given me another chance.” He snatched the money from Akitada’s hand, tore open the package, and glanced at the contents. “Very generous,” he sneered, then flung the gold bar and silver coins at Akitada’s feet. “Take care of yourself, old-timer,” he called to Seimei and stalked out the door.

Akitada stared after him. “What...?” he began.

“He was hoping you’d take him back with you,” said Seimei, dropping dejectedly onto a cushion. “That is all he has been talking about, wanting to know about the capital, about the family, what kind of house you live in, what kind of work he would do. He was afraid you might let him go, but I told him you would never do that, that you would find a way to keep him. It was wrong of me to give him hope.” Seimei wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Such a short time we had together,” he said. “It is true what they say: ‘Every meeting is the beginning of a parting.’ I shall miss that boy.”

Akitada shook his head. Had he missed something? Then hope sprang suddenly, and he ran after Tora.

He caught up with him just outside the tribunal gate. Tora stood in the swirling snow peering at the message board, his wide shoulders in the blue robe hunched up. He seemed to be checking the notices.

“Tora,” said Akitada, “I did not know you wanted to come.”