“I’m sorry,” said Akitada, and meant it. There was nothing he could do to help them. “Don’t worry. Any master will be glad to get as good a pair of servants as you and your mother.”

Junjiro drew himself up proudly. “We’ll manage, sir. I’m clever. Perhaps we could serve you?”

Suddenly utterly fatigued, Akitada wanted to get his distressing visit over with as quickly as possible. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “But you can take me to your mistress now.”

There was some delay at the door to Lady Tachibana’s apartments. When he was finally admitted, Akitada saw that the room was empty except for himself and the big nurse. The woman, more deferential today, took Akitada to the same low screen, placing a silk cushion for him. “We did not expect your honored visit,” she said, bowing for the third or fourth time. “The mistress will come in a moment.” She left by another door, presumably to help Lady Tachibana with her toilet.

The moment she was gone, Akitada searched the room. It looked unchanged from the last time he had seen it. The thick, patterned carpet was underfoot. The scroll of cranes hung between its two stands, one displaying the tall Chinese vase, the other an artificial tree with jade leaves and gold blossoms. Though, come to think of it, the tree had not been there before. Akitada went to look at it. It was a pretty bauble, but this stand had been empty on the day of the funeral. He recalled noticing the lack of symmetry and being bothered by it. Two matching stands required two matching vases.

And then it clicked. The vase was green.

He went to the remaining vase and took the shard from his sash. Yes, the same color and glaze. One of the pair had been used to kill Lord Tachibana. He hefted the vase by its slender neck. It was heavy and made an excellent club. Had not Junjiro complained that the servants were being blamed for breakage when they had been innocent? It should be easy enough to find out if someone had been accused of breaking a green vase the morning of the murder. Replacing the survivor of the pair, he got on his hands and knees to inspect the Chinese carpet. He found the spot almost immediately. Near the outside border was a rough and matted area. It felt faintly moist. He parted the thick threads. Yes, there was a brownish residue farther down. He touched his finger to it and then smelled it. Blood. Head wounds bleed copiously, and there had been only a small stain in the studio. Lord Tachibana had died here. He had his proof.

Hearing a sound from the next room, Akitada managed to reach his cushion and sit down barely in time to watch the widow enter.

Lady Tachibana tripped in. She wore a dark gray silk gown as prescribed for mourning, but over it was a lovely rose-colored Chinese jacket embroidered with butterflies. The pattern reminded him of the first time he had seen her, of his image of a poor butterfly caught in a wintry garden. Against his better judgment, he softened a little toward the small, childlike beauty as she approached with lowered lashes, her beautiful hair trailing behind her. Life with an elderly husband who devoted all his time to his garden and his studies was difficult for a spoiled young girl who had never tasted the pleasures of love.

He bowed.

Much had changed in his own life since he had seen her last. Ayako had taught him that women could be passionate and desire men. Little wonder the poor butterfly had succumbed to temptation. Her beauty was the epitome of a standard that celebrated youth and frailty in women. Many men would be attracted. Yukinari had been, and so had he himself. To his relief, he no longer felt at all tempted by the soft, perfumed creature seating herself behind the screen.

The nurse poured wine for Akitada, then left them alone. Though he knew the wine would make his headache worse, he drank thirstily. His throat hurt, and the wine soothed it a little. He wondered for the first time if he might be getting sick—at the worst possible time.

“I am touched by your kindness,” the soft voice said from behind the screen. “You must forgive my note. It was written at a moment of unspeakable grief and loneliness.”

“Not at all. It was charming. I regret that important matters kept me from fulfilling my promise earlier.”

“My only wish was to withdraw from the world to mourn my husband’s passing, but I find I cannot do so when suspicious people raise questions about the manner of his death.”

Ah. She had picked up some gossip. Probably from the servants. It would explain their sudden dismissal. He hardened against her again. Knowing what he knew now, he ignored the pretense of grief. The room seemed much too hot, causing perspiration to bead up on his face. Wishing he had remembered to carry a paper tissue, he decided that there was no sense in protracting the matter any further.

“Your husband was murdered, madam,” he said brusquely. His voice sounded strangely muffled to his ears and he could feel moisture trickling down his temple.

A wail sounded behind the screen and then another, followed by a gasp. “Oh, I have been afraid of this. And I’m all alone in this evil world.” She suddenly folded aside part of the screen, looked at Akitada from huge, tear-filled eyes, and stretched out her arms beseechingly. “You are my only hope, my lord,” she sobbed. “I’m afraid. I’m left completely without protection. My husband’s servants are gone and no one is left in this house but two weak women. What if the killer returns? Please take me away from here.”

Akitada, irritated by her dramatics, gave her a long stare, watching as her lower lip began to tremble and two small teeth caught it. She reminded him of a mouse. Under normal circumstances, he might have enjoyed playing cat and mouse, but his head was aching abominably now and he wished for another cup of wine. He said, “I might be of more assistance if I knew who it is that you are afraid of.”

“But I told you. The monster who killed my beloved husband,” she wailed. Her small white hand touched his beseechingly. Akitada folded his arms, and she let it fall on his knee instead. “Why are you so...distant? You were kind to me before,” she pleaded. When he said nothing, she said, “This big house is empty. You cannot be very comfortable at the tribunal. If you were to stay with me, I would feel safe.” The hand squeezed his knee gently. “I would serve you with all my heart. From the first moment I saw you, I knew ...”

If he had felt better, he might have laughed, but as it was, Akitada regarded her with rising disgust and moved his knee out of her reach.

She cried, “Why do you dislike me so? I have been told that I am beautiful to look at.” She paused, then said softly, “I know how to please a man. My late lord was not interested in matters of the pillow, but you are young. From the moment I saw you I knew it was my karma to serve you or die.” Crawling to Akitada, she clasped his knees, burying her face in his lap. Her action was so powerfully erotic that Akitada rose abruptly and stepped away from her. She stood up. Her eyes on his, she loosened her sash, letting both gown and Chinese jacket slip off her shoulders to reveal the nakedness beneath. “Do not abandon me, my love,” she whispered.