Hirokin’s gaze slid from the door to Kagome. Her jaw was clenched. A fine wrinkle had formed between her knitted brows. “Do not worry, my lady,” Hirokin said with a sigh. “I will handle it.” He’d been on the receiving end of Sesshoumaru’s mercurial moods for the better part of a millenium. This one, admittedly,

“Hirokin.” From the crumbled sill where he’d been resting, Hirokin glanced over, straightening his hair in the red glare of dawn. Across from him on the moss-covered stones, Kou still lay sprawled, half-naked below the waist and frowning heavily. “What is it?” “Something is wrong.” “Wrong?” Hirokin snapped. “What do you mean? What is wrong?”

The house of Inoki was cold and drear. Lamp oil and firewood had become precious commodities, not to be wasted. In the once-lustrous dining room, the family sat assembled about their meager meal in dim silence. The fine hangings and sculptures had long since been pawned for the most basic of necessities. Food and fuel.

The autumn breeze brought with it the winds of change. Sumire could no longer ignore the deepening chill within her heart. Like icy tendrils, her misgivings threaded through her, breaking at last into cold and outright dread. It had begun with the death of her long-ailing daimyo. Too many concubines, too many sons. Luckily, her

Long after Saitou had left, Hirokin remained ensconced in the quiet darkness of his study. It felt a close darkness to him now as he glared about. Yet he languished in it still. The bottle was empty. There was not a drop left. He cast it aside to the stones where it shattered and brooded

Under the dark surface of the water her pale, slender hands seemed to glow. As Sumire trailed her fingers before her, they appeared spectral to her, not altogether real beneath that rippling plane. How easily one’s clear view might become distorted. As the water stilled, she peered down at her own dim reflection. This silent

Even in the dark of night, the air was so hot and still it was stifling. Fanning herself before the open window, Sumire waited for the servants to finish filling the tub. When the door whisked shut behind them, she turned and peeled off her light silken robe, approaching the bath on padded footsteps. The

In the garden of the brothel house, the sakura trees were in full bloom. From the pleasant shade of her patio, Sumire gazed out. A soft smile graced her lips as she smoked from her slender little pipe. Watching the breeze ripple through the crenellations of pink and white petals, she felt the blossom of