It was nearly spring. The wedding was to take place in two days time.
Byakuya's grandfather had returned to the house. The two of them had come to some understanding. He would attend the ceremony, Byakuya had told her, and would bless the union. She wanted to look forward to it, like any bride; she wanted to be nervous, to have doubts, to worry. Yet, when she tried to imagine it, there was only an absence of anticipation. Because it would change nothing. It would not bring Rukia back. It would not allay her conscience. She would go on lying and the hours spent in the ceremony would be hours lost from Rukongai.
She was changing out of her nightclothes when the door to the bedroom she now shared with Byakuya slid back and he stood there. She had assumed he had already left for the barracks. A few minutes more and she would have put on the dull hemp kimono she always wore into Rukongai. Luckily, she had only got as far as pulling on a juban. Byakuya, for his own part, was not dressed in uniform, but, instead, wore a pale green kimono with a white obi. There was an elaborate gold chain at his throat. It was something she could not get used too: that he dressed this way when there was no formal occasion to attend, while she felt more comfortable in the sack-cloth and hemp than ever she did in his fine silks.
"Are you going out?" he asked.
"It's a fine day and the plum trees are in blossom. It would be a shame to miss them," she lied, hoping that he might leave.
"I thought we could do something together."
"Don't you have to report in?"
"I'm off duty."
"Oh." Her heart sunk: "For how long?"
"At least until after the wedding. What would you like to do? If you want to see the blossoms, we could walk down to the shrine."
"Yes," she said: "Of course. That would be nice."