Now he said, “Don’t joke, Mama.” His tone was serious, reproving, and adult. “You could have been killed.”

Sano hadn’t wanted Masahiro to know about the attack, had wanted to shield him from adult problems. But Masahiro had a way of finding out what happened; his sharp ears and his nose for information rivaled those of any spy in the government intelligence service. And he’d matured a lot during his experience in Ezogashima. Having survived it by his own wits and courage, he’d earned himself a new place in their family. Sano beheld his son with a mixture of love, pride, and sorrow.

He could see Reiko in the shape of Masahiro’s eyes, and himself in the set of his jaw; but Masahiro was his own, unique person, and he was growing up too fast. There was little room for childhood in their harsh world.

“Masahiro is right,” Sano said to Reiko. The boy sat straighter, gladdened by his father’s approval. Sano remembered looking up to and aspiring to be like his own father, now dead eleven years. How long before Masahiro became aware of his failings and the hero-worship ended? “You can’t go out again.”

“Yes,” seconded Masahiro. “You have to stay home.”

Reiko had opened her mouth to object, then closed it, taken aback by his authority. Sano hid a rueful smile. She would need to get used to having two men telling her what to do. This time she conceded. “For how long?”

She spoke as if she didn’t expect Sano to answer, and he didn’t. He only wished he knew how long this feud with Lord Matsudaira would go on.

Unhappiness shadowed her beautiful face. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to see Lord Matsudaira,” Sano said.

“Are you going to declare war on him?” Reiko asked.

Excitement charged the air as she and Masahiro waited for Sano’s reply. They thirsted for a showdown as much as Sano did. But Sano knew the odds better than they, and he said, “No.”