Jimmu could not take in his father’s words. How could Jimmu possibly leave and never see his parents again? The house was where they all lived.

Lord Kensu looked down at the dagger, and when he spoke again his voice was thick with shame.

“I have brought disgrace on our family,” he said. “So much disgrace that the Emperor has decreed that the name Shimomura no longer exists, and all my property must be forfeited. I cannot bear such humiliation, and I have no choice but to commit seppuku.”

An expression of pride crossed Lord Kensu’s face.

“My wife, your mother, Lady Izanami, has gone on before me to prepare my place,” he said. “I am looking forward to joining her.”

Jimmu frowned.

“Where will you join her, Father, and what is seppuku?” he asked.

Lord Kensu loosened the belt of his kimono, opened the robe, and pressed his hand against his stomach.

“This is the center of my body, where my spirit lives,” he said. “Only by cutting myself open can I show others that my spirit remains courageous and pure in the face of dishonor. When Nichiren judges that my agony is too great for me to stand, he will put an end to my suffering.”

Jimmu’s head whirled. What was his father saying? How could he talk so calmly about agony?

“When it is over, you must go with Nichiren,” Lord Kensu said. “He will take care of you.”

“Caring for your son will be a privilege, My Lord,” said Nichiren.

“What will you tell him about me, Nichiren?” Lord Kensu inquired softly.

Jimmu observed the two men exchange a look that he could not fathom.

“I will tell him as much as he needs to know, My Lord,” said Nichiren.

Lord Kensu nodded, then picked up the dagger and unsheathed it.

This can’t be real! Jimmu told himself. This is another dream.

He saw the dagger flash, saw dark blood spurt in the lantern light. He heard the hoarse, strangled noise of his father holding back a scream.

Nichiren stepped forward, drew his sword with both hands, and swept the blade up toward Lord Kensu’s neck.

Jimmu shut his eyes.

Something thudded onto the floorboards.

Jimmu tried to believe that, if he kept his eyes closed for long enough, he could unmake what had happened, but it was too true to be unmade.

Nichiren led Jimmu into the garden. Jimmu no longer recognized his surroundings or himself. Something inside him had frozen. He was not even aware that he was crying until Nichiren barked, “Stop sniveling!”

The harshness of his tone made Jimmu start; a sob turned to a hiccup.

“Listen to me, boy!” Nichiren growled. “Your father has committed seppuku. Your mother drank poison and died an hour ago. You have no parents and no home. All you have is me. I’m your father now.”

“Yes, Nichiren,” said Jimmu.

Nichiren glowered. “What was that?”

“Yes . . . Father.”

“That’s better,” said Nichiren. “Always call me Father from now on, and never tell anyone your family name. The soft life is over for you, boy. We’re going to pick out two horses from the stables, and then we’ll ride away from here.”