Bound by Forever (True Immortality #3) - S. Young Page 0,61

filled her expression. “How could I think that of him when he died because of me?”

“Niamh,” Kiyo said and moved his head closer to hers, “people are complicated. Nothing is straightforward. We’re not all good and we’re not all bad. And let me save you from torturing yourself: Your brother wasn’t perfect. His death doesn’t negate any bad feelings between you, and you’re not responsible for those bad feelings. You loved him. He loved you. You both knew that, and that’s all that matters.”

She lowered her eyes, shaking her head. “You don’t understand. You don’t understand what I owed him. Or what it’s like to not be able to protect the one you love the most and not even be able to take vengeance for him. I’m weak.”

His grip on her turned bruising. “No, you’re not.”

Her eyes flew to his, surprise there, perhaps at his vehemence.

“Niamh, I do know what it’s like. More than you can imagine.” Kiyo studied her tormented expression, and he knew he’d never be able to protect her if she couldn’t let this guilt over her brother go. Fear welled in him as the words he knew she needed to hear climbed toward his tongue. He was about to confide something he’d never told anyone. But Conall was right. This was about the big picture, and to save everyone, Niamh needed to be saved. And apparently that was his job now.

He let out a breath that was annoyingly shaky. “My mother was the only person in this world I cared about.”

Niamh’s body stiffened with alertness and her eyes focused. He had her entire attention.

“She was called Kume Fujiwara. The Fujiwara family had money and status. My Japanese grandfather was a powerful rice broker in the mid-nineteenth century. Even though Japan was changing rapidly at the time with industrialization, my mother’s family still had great influence in their class of society. Kume was seventeen years old, it was 1872, and my grandfather had hopes of a great match for her because she was very beautiful.” His voice trailed off as he remembered her.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Niamh replied, their eyes locking. “You must look like her.”

The compliment caused him to swallow hard. He had his mother’s eyes and coloring, but the rest of him was his father.

“That year an American doctor came to Osaka,” he continued, carefully keeping the emotion out of his voice. “William Morris. He was the second son of a wealthy East Coast industrialist who had enough money to doctor wherever he wanted to. He was fascinated by Japan. All things Japan. Including my mother. He fell in love with her. They fell in love with each other and she fell pregnant. My father wanted to marry her. That’s what my mother told me.” He remembered his time in the States and all he’d learned there. “And I found out enough to know that she wasn’t lying. William would have married her if he was a stronger man. But not only did my mother’s father refuse the suit, the Morris family threatened to cut William off if he didn’t return, alone, to America immediately. My mother wanted to elope, but William was weak and he returned to his family.” Bitterness he couldn’t contain leaked into his words, and his breath caught as Niamh pressed a comforting hand to his chest.

Right over his heart.

There was no pity in her eyes. Just understanding. And compassion.

His heart already beat too hard, too fast. Sweat beaded on his temple but he forced himself to continue. “I grew up very close to my mother. We were each other’s only friend. It was the two of us against a harsh society. Although she wasn’t sent away, the Fujiwara blamed her for bringing shame to the entire family. My grandfather was cold and indifferent toward us. I called him Sofu. I wouldn’t dare call him anything less formal. The same for my grandmother who I referred to as Sobo. Sobo was worse than Sofu. She was physically abusive to both me and my mother.”

Niamh’s fingers curled into his T-shirt.

He lowered his gaze. He wouldn’t be able to continue if he kept looking into her eyes. “One afternoon”—his voice grew rough with the memory—“my mother returned home from an errand and she’d been beaten. I thought perhaps Sobo had lost her temper over something and attacked her. She walked with a cane and had no problem swiping my mother with it. Mother wouldn’t talk to me about it. For weeks after, she