A bolt of pure agony coursed through Sano as the arrowhead slid forward and broke through tissue and skin. Sano jerked violently. The pain tore a yell from his throat, then subsided. He opened his eyes to Hirata’s relieved face, and Old Carp triumphantly holding up the arrowhead.

“Worst is over,” the servant said. He pressed the wound with a cloth, stanching the flow of blood. “Now I make you feel better. Drink this, please.”

Hirata lifted Sano’s head, and Old Carp held a bowl of steaming liquid to his mouth. Sano swallowed, tasting spicy ginseng to calm the nerves, prolong life, and combat weakness; bitter honeysuckle to detoxify his system; musty turmeric to relieve pain and inflammation; the subtle flavor of saffron, used to prevent shock. He lay back and rested while Old Carp washed the blood off him and bathed the wound with a pungent extract of green onion, a remedy against festering and fever. His strength was returning, but melancholy dimmed his spirits. He remembered the night when soldiers had chased him through Edo Castle and beaten him, and Aoi treating his wounds with these same medicines. She had spread the cooked onion leaves over his skin, as Old Carp was doing now. That night, they’d loved for the first time.

To banish the familiar stab of longing, Sano addressed Hirata more sharply than he’d intended.

“You have my order. Can I trust you to obey this time?”

Hirata stood by the door, giving Old Carp room to work. “Sumimasen—excuse me, but you need my help. If I’d been with you, we might have caught the lights. And I could have protected you.”

Old Carp, recognizing their need for privacy, said, “Young master, if you would please press your hand against the onion leaves like so, I will return soon.”

Sano said, “Tell the groom to bring my horse. I have to go to the governor’s mansion.”

Old Carp sucked in his cheeks, increasing his resemblance to his namesake. “Must advise against riding in your condition, master. Bleeding has stopped, but will start again if you move around too much.”

“Get me a palanquin, then.”

“But … All right, master.” Bowing, the servant withdrew.

Hirata pressed his palm gently against the onion leaves on Sano’s wound. Sano felt warmth and concern flowing from his retainer’s square, blunt-fingered hand. He resisted the urge to accept the implicit offer of comradeship, because it also carried the threat of pain and loss.

“If you’d been with me tonight, it might be you lying here instead of me,” Sano said. “This investigation is dangerous. I don’t want you involved.” He paused, then added the selfish reason that was as important to him as Hirata’s safety. “And I can’t bear your death or disgrace, even if you can.”