Sano dismissed the guards. “It’s all right, I’m here now,” he told Hana. “What’s wrong? Is it my mother?”

His mother had seemed in good health the last time he’d visited her-when? Almost three months ago? But she was nearly sixty years old. Sano feared the worst.

“She’s been arrested!” Hana cried.

“Arrested!” Shock hit Sano. “By whom?”

“Tokugawa soldiers. They walked into the house this morning and dragged her out of bed.”

Sano’s widowed mother lived in the humble house where he’d grown up. When he’d begun working for the shogun and moved into Edo Castle, he’d brought her with him, but she’d been so homesick, and so intimidated by her new surroundings, that she’d been unable to eat or sleep. Hana, who’d come with her, had told Sano, “If she stays here, she’ll die. You must send her home.” Sano had, and she’d lived there contentedly all these years. But now he regretted leaving her on her own. He felt bad because he saw her so seldom and hadn’t kept her safe.

“I had to beg them to let her dress,” Hana said. “I tried to stop them, to tell them she hadn’t done anything wrong, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“There must be some mistake,” Sano said. “Did they say why they were arresting her?”

“For murder!”

Incredulity resounded through Sano. His mother was a good woman, incapable of hurting anyone. She was always calm, gentle; he’d never seen her lose her temper.

“This is insane,” Sano said. “Who did they say she murdered?”

“Someone named Tokugawa Tadatoshi.”

Enlightenment struck. Sano realized what had happened. He felt even worse. His mother had been swept into the whirlwind of political intrigue that surrounded him and his investigation.

“You have to help her,” Hana pleaded. She grabbed Sano by the front of his white martial arts practice jacket and shook him, the way she had during his childhood when he’d misbehaved. “Do something!”

“I will,” Sano said, “but first I need to know where my mother is. Where did the soldiers take her?”

“To the palace. They said they had orders to bring her before the shogun.”

Sano was already halfway out of the room. “You wait here,” he called over his shoulder to Hana. “Don’t worry.”

Striding down the corridor, he ordered the servants, “Bring my guest some food and drink and make her comfortable.” He told his troops, “Go tell Hirata-san to meet me at the palace.”

Detectives Marume and Fukida fell into step behind Sano as he hurried toward his room to change into the clothes required for a meeting with the shogun. He tore off his martial arts jacket with an angry gesture and spoke between clenched teeth: “Lord Matsudaira is not getting away with this.”

“Where are you going?” Midori asked.

“To meet Chamberlain Sano at the palace,” Hirata said as he donned his shoes in the entryway of their house.

“Why? What’s going on?”

Hirata took down his swords from the rack on the wall. “Something to do with the murder investigation.”

“And after that?” Suspicion inflected Midori’s voice. “Where are you going next?”

The atmosphere between them had been tense since he’d returned home from Ezogashima three months ago. Before that, he’d been gone much of five years while studying martial arts and roaming the country. The long periods apart had changed her as much as him. She was no longer the sweet, docile girl he’d left. While raising their children by herself, she’d grown a strong will of her own. She’d missed him, but she’d come to resent his absences, his abandonment of her.

“I don’t know.” Hirata hung his swords at his waist, deliberately uncooperative. He understood Midori’s need to keep track of him and her fear that he would leave again, but he chafed at her questions. It was his right to come and go as he pleased. A wife shouldn’t infringe on her husband’s freedom.

“When will you be back?” Midori said, but she didn’t wait for Hirata to brush her off again. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to wait and see, won’t I?”

They regarded each other with mutual antagonism. Hirata felt a pang of sorrow for the young couple in love they’d once been. Now they were almost strangers, always at odds. They’d not even had marital relations since Hirata had returned. He’d been busy, his strenuous martial arts practice diminished his sexual desire, and Midori was too angry.

From the corridor came the sound of children’s quarreling voices and running footsteps. Their little boy, Tatsuo, grabbed Midori’s skirts and cried, “Mama, she touched me!”

“I didn’t,” said Taeko. She tapped her finger on his head and giggled.

“See? She did it again,” Tatsuo whined.

Midori said, “Taeko, behave yourself, or I’ll lock you in your room. Tatsuo, if you don’t stop complaining, I’ll touch you, and I can promise you won’t like it.”

She raised her hand at the boy. Hirata was dismayed because Midori had vented her anger at him on their children. They didn’t deserve to suffer for what he’d done, and he felt guilty because he’d abandoned them as well as his wife. He and they were strangers, too. He tried to smile at them, but they retreated behind Midori. Tatsuo sucked his thumb; Taeko eyed Hirata warily.

“Your father is leaving,” Midori said. “Say good-bye, in case you never see him again.”

“Good-bye, Father,” mumbled the boy and girl.

“You’ll see me tonight,” Hirata said, vexed by Midori’s sniping. “I’ll be back then.”

“Go play.” Midori turned Tatsuo and Taeko around, swatted their behinds, and sent them running. She focused on Hirata a gaze filled with bitterness. “Don’t make promises to them that you can’t keep.”

Hirata knew how unreliable his promises were. His duty to Sano and his commitment to the martial arts must always come first. He felt torn because he missed his family and wanted a happy life with them. He wanted Midori to give him a chance to start anew. But his own anger and stubbornness prevented him from asking.

“I’m going,” he said, and walked out of the house.

Spring graced the palace with blooming azaleas, trees resplendent in new green leaf, and dewy grass. The sun shone on its gabled roofs and half-timbered walls. But scenic beauty was lost on Sano as he and his entourage joined Hirata at the entrance. They barreled past the doors, through chambers filled with officials, and down the passages, and burst into the cavernous main reception room. There Sano found his mother kneeling before the dais, her gray head bowed, her hands tied behind her back with coarse rope. Her frail, bent body, clad in an old brown kimono, trembled. The shogun stood over her.

“Did you kill my cousin?” he demanded. When she didn’t reply, he smacked her face. She cringed. He looked excited and proud of himself, a weak person tormenting a weaker one. “Answer me!”

Lord Matsudaira sat nearby on the dais, brimming with evil enjoyment. A few allies knelt behind him, come to watch the fun. Sano noticed a new face among them: Lord Arima, daimyo of Kurume Province. Lord Arima’s topknot was gray, but his face was ageless, as if his skin were preserved in oil. His expressions were so fleeting that they never left a wrinkle. The Matsudaira troops, positioned with the shogun’s along the walls, watched impassively. The scene so enraged Sano that he forswore the required courtesies. He strode up to the shogun and pushed him away from his mother.

“Leave her alone!”

The shogun reeled backward. Everyone else stared, shocked that Sano would lay a hand on their lord. Even Lord Matsudaira appeared flummoxed by Sano’s nerve.

“This woman has been accused of killing Tadatoshi,” the shogun huffed. “I’m, ahh, interrogating her.”

“She’s my mother,” Sano said, furious.

Hands on his hips, the shogun said, “I don’t care if she’s the Buddha’s mother. If she killed my cousin, I’m going to make her confess.”

“Mother, are you all right?” Sano asked.