Jimmu was awestruck.

“How did you do that, sir?” he asked.

“Answer me this first,” said the captain. “When you had the bow, what were you trying to do?”

“To hit the target.”

“Sloppy thinking!” said Captain Muraki. “A samurai should aim his arrow at the center of himself. He must wait until his inner world is at one with the outer world, and then his center and the target will coincide. He’ll be able to hit it on foot, on the back of a galloping horse, or in the darkness. Think, Jimmu! Find your center.”

The captain put down the bow.

“That’s enough for today,” he said. “Meet me here at sunrise tomorrow.”

Jimmu frowned deeply as he left the archery hall. He had been confident in his ability to center himself, but his clumsiness with the bow suggested that his confidence was misplaced. It was dismaying and a little irritating to discover that Nichiren’s training was not as thorough as it might have been.

Jimmu was given his own room on the ground floor of the castle. The other members of Lord Ankan’s bodyguard were accommodated in the same corridor. Jimmu’s room was small. His only possessions, his sword and sleeping mat, were brought from the barracks by a servant.

Jimmu pushed open the shutters and lounged against the sill. He could see the bridge over the pool where he had met Takeko in the moonlight. The sky was overcast, the air cold and still.

Where is my center? thought Jimmu.

For many years, his center had been Nichiren. He had followed Nichiren’s orders, borne Nichiren’s beatings, and treasured the rare occasions when he had earned Nichiren’s approval. Everything had been done according to Nichiren’s rule. Jimmu had never had to think for himself—until now.

Are you in Mitsukage Castle because you want to be, or because it’s where Nichiren wanted you to be? thought Jimmu. Do you really want to avenge your father, or are you trying to please Nichiren? Is killing Lord Ankan really the best way to redeem your family’s honor?

Jimmu had never questioned himself like this before, and he could not find the answers to his questions.

Snow began to fall. Silent flakes drifted lazily on the breeze.

A figure moved across the lawn, toward Jimmu. It was Takeko. She was wearing a long padded coat, leggings, and a pair of mittens. Snowflakes caught in her hair.

Seeing her made Jimmu feel excited, and calm, and . . .

“I wish to speak with you,” Takeko said.

Jimmu clambered over the sill into the garden. His feet were bare, but he did not notice the cold. He was only aware of Takeko.

“I came because I knew you would appreciate the opportunity of thanking me,” Takeko said.

“Thanking you for what, My Lady?” Jimmu inquired.

Takeko glared in disbelief.