We journeyed to a small house that I had leased outside of Western Capital. Its owner had been a pharmacist, now retired, and the house had a small apothecary adjacent to the living quarters, where I would resume working on an antidote to my mother’s poison.

The house was nothing—a small, spare cottage with very little space. But the garden, even in its wild, overgrown state, was paradise. Together, we spent happy hours working there. As long as we worked, we preserved a smooth veneer of contentment, but it was surface deep. Any relaxation—any rest at all—brought us into conflict.

It seemed so perverse that after spending half of my life terrified of Furi—even the idea of her—that I should seek her now and come away rejected. In the evening, when returning from the apothecary, I would find the house abandoned, the garden deserted. For a woman who could not shift forms, she hid herself marvelously well.

After returning from a spring bath, slathered in sandalwood oil—an aphrodisiac—I would find the lamps extinguished and Furi sprawled on her futon, long asleep. And then I’d return to the apothecary and curl up in a corner on a thin futon.

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I killed dozens of rats with my mother’s poison and my best attempts at resuscitating them ultimately failed. One lived three days past poisoning. It was a triumph, and I made the mistake of telling Furi that I might be close. She ran away in a flood of toxic tears that withered three of the sapling pines we had planted together when I told her of its death.

I was running out of time. Yasuhiro would die soon, and the Okugawa line would designate a successor. I redoubled my efforts in the apothecary, but there were other measures. I had promised Furi persuasion, and hadn’t quite given up on it.

* * *

After our arrival, I had given Furi the only bedroom in the tiny house, a simple room with a tatami floor and shoji doors. Several cabinets lined one wall. I offered all of them to her, excepting one.

“This one is my private cupboard.” I gestured to a narrow rosewood cabinet. “I would keep it private, but it has no key and would rather trust you than lock it up.”

She returned an untroubled smile. “I have few possessions. I see no reason to invade your private storage.”

I acknowledged her promise, but hoped she would break it.