Even having set down the truth of the revolution and my uncle’s ambition for a bloodless transfer of power, I couldn’t shake the guilt of having deceived Furi.

But how did a man reveal himself to a woman beginning with the worst of himself? If he approached a woman post battle, covered with gore and begging?

I’d ridden the tension between honesty and persuasion closely enough to win her conditional acceptance. But there was the rub. Furi had insisted upon binding limitations on our marriage contract. Honesty had earned me only this limited acceptance. And this conditionality was gradually strangling the life out of me. And there was no blaming Furi, nor was there any moving her.

Furi had known repression—but that wasn’t it. Repression was for victims, and Furi set all the boundaries herself. She wasn’t repressing. She was self-disciplined beyond calculation. What became increasingly clear was that she could hold me at a distance forever.

I couldn’t seduce her, couldn’t reason her into loving me. I couldn’t lie—not now. I had no leverage, had given her everything.

I worked for an antidote, but this was a problem demanding many years of work. Decades perhaps. I couldn’t offer Furi any more than false hopes that an antidote would resuscitate me, but it became one more frontier where deception tempted me.

Deception and my mother.

I could never hide any shame from my mother, not even as a dismissed bridegroom. I flushed when she appraised my failures with her eight probing eyes.

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“You did well to be honest with Furi, but your courtship is a farce.”

“What am I supposed to do? She won’t look at me.”

“Of course, she won’t. You’ve been the honorable one and told her everything. She might have been more willing to kill you if you hadn’t.”

“I won’t discuss this with you. And remember you approved my decision to tell her.”

“Yes, but you might let her be angry with you over something. I know you can be provocative. Provoke her.”

“You think I can irritate her into killing me? She’s Orihime’s daughter, not yours.”

“Certainly. I don’t claim to have all the answers. But I am familiar with a doomed situation. And I know how they work. Matters never improve. Think of an answer. You’re an Earth Kumo’s son. You have a million traps at your disposal.”

“I should trap her? After all that honesty?”

“A trap is honest when executed by an Earth Kumo. What else can she expect? You’re inventing boundaries, Ansei. And at this moment, I am ashamed of you.”

“Mother. You had best leave us to find our own solution. Remember what happened when you last handled matters?” It was bold to throw this back at Riyo, but so was her appearance here.

“I mean what I say, Ansei. You are Earth Kumo. And ultimately, it is this nature that dictates your course. Be who you are. Don’t imagine a marriage to Furi makes you more human, or any less mortal. The child is all important. Your life is secondary. Time is closing in on you anyway. Have the child or you will have nothing!”

There was truth in what my mother said, but it was always these partial truths that were cropping up to harass and confound me. I was Earth Kumo, yes, but not only that. The complexity of my identity was always trailing behind me, biting my heels, and making me a fool. I couldn’t be both human and Earth Kumo immortal. The two were irreconcilable creatures. And I couldn’t escape the suspicion that I would be at war with myself to the end of my life and quite possibly beyond.