She nodded. “He was very good to me. When I was a child, he used to carry me around on his shoulders. And now he’s gone and I am nothing.” She looked at her work-reddened hands and shuddered.

Akitada exchanged a glance with Masaie, then asked her, “Could you be with child by his lordship?”

She stared at him, turning first white and then red. Forgetting her position, she shouted, “That’s a horrible lie! He was like my father. I would never … I used to think of him as my father. He would never have done such a thing. Never! You dishonor his memory!”

Akitada felt contrite. “Forgive me. I was trying to understand his wife’s anger at you. Do you truly have no family? What about your real father and mother?”

“I don’t have a father. My mother came to work at the Taira manor in the old lord’s time. She died when I was still small.”

Akitada turned to Masaie. “It should be possible to find the mother’s family. I have to return to Otsu, but I think you might talk to people here and at the estate. Someone may remember where her mother came from. There might be relatives.”

Masaie nodded. “I have asked some questions and will ask some more, but I’m afraid there’s nobody. Her mother was a slave, bought by Lord Sukemichi’s father.”

The girl listened with bowed head and murmured, “Thank you, sir,” then turned away to continue her work. Akitada had rarely seen a more poignant gesture of hopeless acceptance of a dire fate. He did not know what to say. He had no right to give her assurances of a better life when he could not promise such a thing. But the sight of her figure bent over her chore haunted him all the way back to Otsu.

∞

In Otsu, work had piled up. They were nearing the completion of their assignment. He was expected to assemble the facts and documents his clerks had gathered and arrive at a legal argument that would settle the continuous litigation between the two temples once and for all.

Over the next two days, he had barely time to eat and sleep, and he slept very little, because at night the ghosts of his failures came to haunt him.

Yukiko, whose love he had rejected;

The weeping maid in Okuni, who had no one in the whole wide world and would surely come to harm;

The dead—Judge Nakano, the sweeper Tokuno, the two peasants Wakiya and Juro, and now also Taira Sukemichi—whose murders remained unsolved;

And the poor fool who had confessed to the Taira murder and would pay the price.

He had failed them all, and all he had left was his duty as an imperial official. And there he had little faith that a decision about the cases would change anything about the war being carried on between the different Buddhist factions and temples. Meanwhile, the dead found no peace and the living, who deserved his help, suffered. Yes, even Yukiko who would marry a man she did not love and who most likely would not love her.

Before dawn on the third day, as he lay awake once again counting up his failures and searching for ways to solve at least one of the problems, he suddenly remembered a conversation with Kosehira. Kosehira had spoken of Sukemichi’s father and mentioned that he had almost missed out on his appointment to the imperial reserve because someone had accused him of having murdered someone. It had all come to nothing, to mere malicious gossip, when the real killer had confessed. The tale was old and probably meant nothing. It must have happened decades ago. But he had nothing else, and he and Takechi had wondered about some old case that might somehow have involved both the judge and the jailer. He had similarly wondered about the connection with the two old peasants in Okuni. It seemed a little far-fetched, but at this point the old murder was the only event that might connect the new murders in Okuni and Otsu. Yes, and it could also link Sukemichi’s death to the others.

Filled with new energy, he jumped out of bed and got dressed. He must wake Kosehira and ask him more questions about this old murder. But when he opened the shutters to the veranda, he saw that it was still dark. Dawn was barely breaking. The sky had turned a silvery gray, but the trees and roofs of Kosehira’s villa stood like black outlines against the shimmering light. Kosehira would still be fast asleep.

Akitada debated the matter for a moment, then decided to go sit on the veranda outside Kosehira’s room to wait for him to get up. Stepping down to a garden path that led from his pavilion to the main house, he found the darkness not quite so impenetrable after all. The first birds were making small, sleepy noises in the branches overhead, and Akitada could feel the cool dew through his slippers as he walked across the moss.

He had almost reached the main house when it occurred to him that he could not very well sit outside his friend’s sleeping quarters. It would be too embarrassing if Kosehira had invited one of his wives to sleep with him. It was not likely, since husbands generally sought out their wives in their own rooms, but such things could happen. He slowed his steps in indecision, then turned around and retraced his way to where another path led to the overlook. He would go there and watch the sun rise over Lake Biwa.

To his dismay, he found he was not the only one who had come to see the sunrise. She was there already, a slender figure with her back to him. He could not retreat without making a sound, and she would surely hate to see him flee like coward. He cleared his throat.

She turned. He could not see her face because the light was behind her. His heart was beating in his throat and he barely managed a whisper: “Forgive me. I didn’t know anyone would be here so early. Shall I go away?”

“No, of course not. I was just about to leave myself.” She sounded tense.

He did not believe her. “I came to see the sun rise and expect you did, too. Could we watch together?”

She hesitated, then stepped aside to make room for him. “If you wish.”

He came to stand beside her at the railing. She was quite close; he could smell her scent but was afraid to look at her.

The view was lovely, much more beautiful than in the daytime, he thought. The colors were softer. All those greens and blues and browns of land, mountains, and city had a silvery sheen—mist perhaps?—and the sky, a much brighter, iridescent silver, was reflected by the lake’s surface as if in a mirror. A thin line of gold had appeared along the ridge of the eastern mountains.

There would not be much time. In a little while, the sun would appear, and they would part. He finally turned his head to look at her.

She had come directly from her bed. A blue silk gown was loosely draped around her. It had caught her long hair, still slightly disordered from sleep, underneath, and one heavy strand half covered her cheek. She held the blue silk together with her hands at the waist, and he guessed that she only wore her thin undergown beneath. She was totally desirable, but only a husband should be allowed to see her like this. The blood pounded behind his temples, and he clenched his hands to keep them from touching her.

In his agitation, he burst out, “I hear you are to marry the chancellor’s son.”

She stared at him. “Did my father tell you?”

“No. Is it a secret?”

“It was meant to be. Who told you?”

“Lord Nakahara. I assumed it was common knowledge in the capital.”

She covered her face with her hands, and the blue gown fell open. He had been right. She was in her bedclothes. A part of him reminded him of the impropriety of his being there, but he could not leave.

“Is it not true, then?” he asked, half hopefully.

She lowered her hands. “He is my cousin. We grew up together. Our parents talked about how well suited we were for each other. I think the idea has been raised again. My father has asked me about it.”

“And will you marry him?”