Black Arrow

When he peeled back the layers of quilted silk, he uncovered two soft brushes of glossy black hair, each tied with red silk cord, and a small boy’s rosy cheek and silken lashes. Toneo was fast asleep, his round childish hand curled about Akitada’s flute.

He covered the child again, and looked about the room. Where was he to sleep? Then his eyes fell on the game.

When he slipped into Tamako’s room, she was huddled under the bedding. But he knew she was awake and sighed. She sat bolt upright, looking at him, her eyes large and tragic in the light of his candle.

“Tamako?” His voice encompassed all his grief, and guilt, and pain, and utter, utter weariness.

Wordlessly she reached out to him, the paleness of her skin touched by the golden candlelight—and he went into her arms.