This is the first of two chapters which will end this series of stories and finally bring Hiko and Hikaru back together again, this time for good.

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Hikaru had done the best she could with the room. She kept it spotlessly clean, doing most of the work herself to spare Toshiro the disturbance of many different faces around him. She brought fresh flowers and greenery every day, plants that filled the air with fragrance as well as pleased the eye, and she placed them in the best of the new bowls and vases from the shop. She had rearranged the house so that from this room, even from his bed, Toshiro could see the garden, where spring had brought forth the bursts of cherry and plum blossoms, and he could also see the back of the workrooms and shop, where the artists bustled back and forth. She limited visitors, maintaining a careful balance so that her husband would be neither bored nor fatigued. She arranged screens to keep the chill spring breeze from him without shutting out the brightening sun. She worked hard without ever losing her appearance of serenity, at least not when Toshiro might see. Her life had contracted to a small place and time, where, despite her will and all her effort, her husband was dying.

She was only beginning to absorb the truth of it now, after so many weeks. He'd had a high fever, but she knew what to do about those, and she'd nursed him well. The fever broke, and except for being weak, he seemed well. But he remained weak, and grew weaker and thinner with every day, until finally, pale and gaunt, he was unable to rise at all. A wasting disease, the doctors called it, and could offer no cure. She'd handled the doctors, too, bringing in the best, and then the priests, anyone who offered her hope. But as her newly planted cherry trees bloomed, her heart accepted. She couldn't keep him with her. She could only make his last days as pleasant as possible.

He was not in pain. That was a blessing. His appetite was meager, but she was still able to coax him to eat delicacies she had prepared herself. He slept most of the day, but when he was awake, he knew her and could speak, weakly, but sounding completely himself. He was still the master of his home, and he would be until the day he chose to leave it for good. But that day was approaching fast. She knew, and she feared that he did, too.

In those rare moments when she was alone, she sometimes went to the altar in the garden and prayed for the patience not to curse the fate cruel enough to take him just when his life was once again whole and right. The war was over, and Toshiro had brought them all safely through it. They'd been back at the house in Kyoto less than a year. The house, shop and workrooms were fully repaired. The gardens were beginning to take shape again, and the kilns were finally being used to capacity. The hard work was finished, and now there was nothing for them to do but learn what day-to-day life would be like in this shaky peace and this new Meiji era. Toshiro had ideas for the future of Kimiyama Ceramics, including the possibility of trade with the Westerners eventually. It wasn't fair that he should die before being able to enjoy all the blessings he'd worked so hard to give them. But she took those thoughts only to the altar and to her unknown ancestors. The rest of the time she kept up the illusion of hope, for Toshiro's sake and for everyone else as well.

Still, Toshiro's last day took her by surprise, because he seemed better. When she brought him his breakfast, he was already awake and propped up on his pillows, and his eyes were bright and smiling. He teased her about fussing over him when she insisted on feeding him, to be sure that he ate. As she poured tea, he said, "I had a dream, Hikaru. I dreamed about my grandfather."

Until this illness, he'd almost never dreamed, and his grandfather had died when he was a boy. She stared at him. "What did he say to you?"

"Not a thing. We were fishing, and I was complaining because I couldn't catch anything, and he just smiled at me. It was a good dream, though, and very clear."

Keeping her face and hands calm with an effort, she said, "It is always good fortune to dream of a smiling ancestor."

"That's what I think," he said cheerfully, and began to ask her questions about the shop. Later that morning, he sent for Tomiji Watanabe and spent nearly two hours talking business and art with him. Tomiji had been Toshiro's favorite apprentice and was now a master, but instead of going off on his own, he had stayed with them and was in charge of many of the operations of the shop. Toshiro looked on him as a partner and almost as a son. Tomiji loved Toshiro equally and would never do anything to harm him, so Hikaru didn't concern herself about the length of their meeting, trusting Tomiji to end it if Toshiro showed signs of being tired.

When they'd finished, Tomiji found her in the garden, and by the look on his face and the depth of his bow to her, she knew something important had been decided. She set aside her spade. "What is it?"

He kept his eyes lowered and his head bent, and he all but stuttered when he spoke. "Hikaru-san... My master, Toshiro-san, he says..."

She suspected she knew what he was going to say. "He says?"

The dark eyes lifted to hers, humble and even a little frightened. "He says he is leaving me half interest in Kimiyama Ceramics, and that I am to run the company when he is gone. Hikaru-san, I did not ask for this! I did not think it, or even dream it!"

She put out a consoling hand. "Don't be afraid, Tomiji. I know all about it. My husband and I discussed it, long ago, during the war. I know that you and I can deal well together. The shop and kilns should be your realm. I think it is right and fitting. Both Toshiro and I trust you to carry on the Kimiyama name with honor." Overwhelmed, he bowed again, but when he would have babbled more gratitude, she sent him to the shop. "Naturally no one is to know until the day comes..."

"And may that be many years!"

"Yes," she sighed. "But you should still go back to the shop thinking about how you will eventually take on your new responsibilities, and where you would like your offices. It doesn't trouble you that I would keep the house?"

"No, Hikaru-san! Of course not!"

With a little more difficulty, she got him going in the right direction. Then the smile faded from her face and she whirled and walked back to the house, to her husband's room. "Toshiro? I just spoke to Tomiji."

He smiled up at her, cheerful but wan. "Was he coherent? He wasn't when he left."

She knelt beside him and took his hand. His fingers were cold. "No. Yes, almost. But..." She couldn't say it.

Toshiro only smiled again, but this time with a fond sadness. "I know as well as you do what my dream probably meant, love. I don't have much time left to settle things. I thought it wise to begin."

The strain of the past weeks from the effort to keep things walled away suddenly caught up with her, and even biting her lip didn't keep it from quivering, or keep the tears from overflowing. "Toshiro."

"You don't want me to leave you," he observed.

"No, of course I don't!"

"I was never entirely sure. No, I was," he amended, "I never truly doubted you. Yet in a tiny place in my mind, I sometimes wondered."

She took his hand and laid her cheek on it. "How can you say such a thing? Let me prove it to you. Don't leave me."

"I don't think I have a choice. But I'll join my grandfather with a lighter heart, knowing you'll remember me."

"Everyone who has ever known you will remember you. And grieve for you. But me most of all."

"I don't want you to grieve," he said. Then the smile returned. "Well, not for too long, anyway." The fingers under her cheek opened and stroked her skin. "I don't think I have to worry about you. He'll take care of you."

Shocked, she realized he meant Seijuro, and that she hadn't thought of Seijuro once since Toshiro had become ill. "You have already given me everything I will ever need," she protested.

"If you think so, you don't know yourself very well. But," he sighed, "all is good. I know you'll treat Tomiji kindly."

"Stop. Please stop."

"My love, your tendency to hide from things that upset you has always amused me, but you can't do that today. We have things to talk about, practical things, and my strength is leaving me. For my sake, now, be calm and we'll just talk."

With a painful effort, she drew herself together, sinking into her geisha-trained control like slipping on another kimono. The tears dried. Still holding his hand, but now resting it in her lap, she obeyed him, helping him with brisk efficiency to finish putting his affairs in order.

As usual, he was right. That night, while she slept unknowing beside him, Toshiro slipped away to join his ancestors, so quietly and peacefully that she never even wakened to witness it.

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With his death, Toshiro's family relented in their enmity toward him. They still wished to have nothing to do with Hikaru, which suited her completely, but they agreed to inter his ashes in the family burial ground. Hikaru's feelings were mixed. She felt the honor, but she didn't want to send Toshiro's protective spirit away from the home he'd made for himself. In the end, however, she allowed it, because she knew that's what Toshiro would have wanted. For herself and the house, she had a stone made for him and created an altar in the garden, in the place he'd loved best, near the bench which looked onto the workrooms, beside the pond from which Kenshin had once pulled a giant koi. Sitting there, she felt less alone, and talked to him, and sometimes she even thought she heard him answer. Certainly she could always make wiser decisions after consulting with his spirit there.

And there were so many decisions to make. Despite all he had done, Toshiro couldn't smooth everything over. Adjustments had to be made, and until Tomiji Watanabe was firmly established as the new head of Kimiyama Ceramics, most disagreements and all decisions were deferred to her. She wanted peace, and she got responsibility. Yet, despite all the people around her, she was somehow still alone. Not even when Fujio Murasaki had died, and she'd been forced from her home altogether, had she felt so alone.

She should not have been surprised, on a day when she sat on the bench by the altar, trailing her fingers in the water and missing Toshiro, remembering Kenshin, and generally feeling sorry for herself, that she felt a presence and looked up to see Seijuro Hiko standing there watching her.

He looked hopelessly out of place in her garden. He was so huge that even the stones of the garden seemed frail in comparison, with his head at the level of the cherry tree branches and his white cloak making him seem like a single block of granite until the breeze fluttered the edge. He was scowling, his brows drawn down, and against his stern face, the contrast of the delicate petals that had blown onto his shoulders and into his hair was almost ludicrous.

She was so glad to see him, she didn't care about his expression. She didn't even think. She simply lifted her arms and let him pull her into his. Against his chest, she went limp and rested everything on him, closing her eyes and imagining for a little while that she had disappeared.

Finally, she took a deep breath and sighed.

He said, "It was a very good funeral."

Somehow, he always seemed to know exactly what she needed to hear, no matter how odd it was. She pulled away from him and found her strength and a smile. "Were you there? I didn't see you."

"I didn't want to be seen. But yes, I was there. He was a good man, and I liked him."

"He said you would take care of me. I don't think he ever liked you, Seijuro, but he trusted you. Will you sit and talk with me a while?"

He shook his head. "I'm not going to stay, not unless you need me."

She didn't, oddly enough. Not now that she'd seen him. But his company braced her, and she wanted it. "Why not?"

"It hasn't even been two weeks. That's far too soon for me to be here. You would know that, if you were thinking."

"Yes," she admitted.

He touched her face, ran a thumb along one cheekbone. "You are grieving." It was an observation, without the least trace of tenderness. Another woman might have been offended, but she knew him. And she could still feel the gentle touch of his hand. He went on in the same dispassionate tone, "I don't want to interfere with that. But I don't intend to hover here like some lovesick teenager, either. If you need me, send for me. You know you can, whenever you want, for whatever reason. Otherwise, you know where you can find me when you're ready."

She took a step backward, away from him, because that was what he wanted. "You are right, Seijuro, of course. When I see you again, I will have taken all the time I need."

He nodded and said, "Be well." Then he turned on his heel and left.