“I am not interested in hearing any excuses for his behavior. I tried to make him understand. And he mistreated me harshly for it. Kenshin believes these things are a matter of honor, and not of what is right. He cannot be trusted with anything I value.”

“You are”—Tsnuneoki appeared to search for what to say—“not wrong, Mariko. But after hearing him speak, I do think there is something amiss with him. Something that is not his fault.”

Yumi’s eyes darkened. “Mariko, I’m afraid some misfortune has fallen upon Kenshin. Your brother does not remember things he’s done, and it appears he loses control over his thoughts. I’ve sent for a healer to speak with him, but he’s … quite troubled.”

“Be that as it may, I no longer want to waste my time persuad him to change his mind. My brother wishes me to be somebody I am not. He’s always wished it of me.” Mariko’s expression turned grim. “If any member of my family ever needs assistance, I will do whatever I can to provide it.” She grasped the layers of light silk that made up her kimono. The worst kind of frippery. Fragile and impractical. “But I will not see Kenshin.”

Tsuneoki bowed. “I understand,” he said softly. “I will convey your wishes to him.” With a sidelong glance at his sister, he left.

Yumi regarded Mariko. The sigh that passed the maiko’s lips was soul deep. “It was … difficult hearing what you said about your brother.”

“It was difficult for me to say it.” Mariko swallowed. “But it is my truth. Kenshin hurt me. Deeply. He believes in his ridiculous code of honor more than he does anything else.”

Yumi nodded. “I’ve felt the same way about my brother for years. Yet—when I heard how unforgiving you were just now, how final it sounded—it wounded me. Not because I thought you were wrong, but because, for the first time, I thought about what this life must have been like for my brother.” A furrow collected above Yumi’s brow. “He loved Ōkami for years, you know.”

“I know.”

Yumi shook her head. “No. Not the love of a friend. More.”

It took Mariko a moment to process Yumi’s words. When she did, understanding warmed within her. It made sense. In the farthest reaches of memory, Mariko recalled the things Tsuneoki had said to her about love during their first journey to Inako. About how he had suffered in love.

“I’ve always known this about Tsuneoki, even when we were children,” Yumi said. “I only resented him so much because he chose Ōkami over me. Over and over again, he chose to be free rather than to remain with his family. But it must have been so difficult for my brother. To lose everything and still know there could be so much more you might have to suffer. Things no one else would ever think to suffer.” Yumi turned toward the intricate folding screens. “It must have been so lonely for Tsuneoki,” she said softly. “Maybe even lonelier than it was for me.”

“Yumi—”

“I understand more than you know what it feels like to lose faith in your brother. It is something I struggle with every day of my life, as you’ve undoubtedly noticed.” She reached for Mariko’s hands. “You don’t have to forgive Kenshin. But try to feel his pain, too. Suffering is never fair to anyone.”

“I’m not sure it’s possible for me to even begin understanding him.” Mariko took a deep breath. “But I promise I will consider it.”

“Good.” Yumi smiled. “I promise I will try to do the same.”

Mariko squeezed their grasped hands. “I should go, before anyone misses me.”

“I understand,” Yumi said. “Let me find Tsuneoki so that he can pass along the letter he wishes you to deliver.”

“Of course.” Mariko followed Yumi outside, beneath a small tunnel of wisteria, its pastel blossoms suffusing the air with a musky perfume. Yumi opened another set of sliding doors and led Mariko inside a smaller chamber that smelled of cedar and silk.

“Wait here,” Yumi said. “I’ll return soon.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” The maiko floated away like a swan, a knowing smile on her face.

Mariko glanced around the darkened chamber. It was simple and clean. A place in which Yumi displayed many of her most precious kimono, on cedar stands meant to keep wrinkles at bay. These garments were most likely gifts from wealthy men attempting to entice her into choosing them as her benefactor.

Mariko paused at one. Studied the herons as they glided across the golden silk.

“That one is hideous,” a voice murmured from behind her. “It reminds me of death.”

She turned. “Oh.” The word fell from her lips. Immediately she regretted it.

I sound like a fool.

Determined to overcome her misstep, Mariko moved toward Ōkami with the intention of embracing him. But she halted in her tracks. Threaded her hands together. Let her awkwardness and uncertainty win out.

How do I embrace the boy I love after I’ve willingly married another?

Ōkami smiled as though he could hear her thoughts. Her eyes drank him in as he shifted before her. Most people would not have noticed—for he did an admirable job of concealing it—but Mariko knew his movements still caused him pain.

Even absent any light, it was clear bruises lingered on his face. One eye was still swollen. But as soon as he drew close, Ōkami’s features curled upward in a teasing fashion. “After all we’ve been through together—after all the lectures you’ve sent my way—don’t I deserve more than that?”

“I … am not sure what you mean.”

His black eyes danced with feeling. “Truly?”

It wasn’t an innocent question. Nothing Ōkami ever said was innocent.

Mariko cleared her throat. The happiness she felt at seeing him alive—at seeing him free—made it difficult for her to find the right words. “No. I mean, yes. I mean … there is much I would like to say. Much I would like to do.” She cleared her throat again.

“Such as?”

“I’d—I’d like to run away with you,” she whispered. “Right now. And never turn back.”

Ōkami lowered his voice to match hers. “I’d like that as well. Where would we go?”

“To the coast perhaps?”

“On a ship taking us far away from this cursed place.”

Mariko frowned. “Of course you would wish to leave.” She did not hide her disappointment.

“I did wish it before.” Ōkami paused, his expression soft. Searching. “But not anymore.”

Surprise flashed across her features. “You would stay in Inako if given the choice? Even after everything you’ve lost?” Mariko waited for him to vacillate. To equivocate or make a joke, as he usually did. To her shock, Ōkami nodded without hesitation.

“Why?” she asked. “What made you change your mind?”

“My mind hasn’t changed. It’s only unearthed a truth.” He took a careful breath. “The measure of any life is not in greatness. But in goodness.”

“And you wish to be good?”

Ōkami’s laugh was warm. “For now.” His expression sobered. “But I would choose otherwise if you truly wished to leave. I would go anywhere with you.”

“And I would go anywhere with you,” she replied. “But I must stay. I must return to the castle. Tsuneoki asked me to help him.”

“I know.” All signs of amusement faded from his features. “I hate that we’re sending you back to the castle.” Ōkami grimaced. “Back to … him.”

Mariko inclined her head in consideration. “Raiden is not what I expected. Not good. But not what I expected.”

Ōkami stepped closer to her. Close enough to touch. Mariko’s entire being ached for him to reach out so that she could feel the warmth of his skin. Breathe the warm stone and wood smoke of his hair. But she knew if she touched him now it would only bring her pain. There was so much for them both to accomplish. So much for them to lose.

A light flared in Ōkami’s eyes. “Has he …” The muscles in his neck tightened as though anger had stolen his breath. “Has he treated you with respect?”