«You’re here,» said Jinadh. He sounded relieved. Her schedule lately had required more last-minute changes of plan than she knew he preferred. And he was still adjusting to life in Amberlough; she sometimes caught resentment in his words, like the faintest trace of smoke on the wind. At least in Asu they had both been unmoored from familiar society. In Gedda she was on reasonably comfortable ground; he had no frame of reference, and it made him apt to snarl.

She climbed out of the car and stretched before dipping to kiss his cheek. “Have there been any calls? Cables?”

«It’s three in the morning.»

“I know.” She took a steadying breath of clean country air, and when she exhaled, it turned to steam. They had left the rain behind, and the skies over the estate were patchy with silver clouds. Bands of stars crossed the pristine sky.

“There has not been anything,” said Jinadh, as if saying it in Geddan would convince her more thoroughly. «Come inside. Come to bed. It’s freezing.» It was colder here than in the city, where the closely packed buildings sheltered most streets from the wind. Jinadh, born in the tropics, wore a flannel-lined dressing gown over a cabled sweater, and still shivered.

“You go,” she said. “I just want to pop into the library for a minute.”

He scoffed. «Don’t be ridiculous.»

“I’m not.”

Martí jumped at the hard turn Lillian’s voice took. Jinadh stepped back. «One night without this would have been nice.»

“I’m sorry.” She put her palm to her forehead, as if she could smooth her thoughts into order. Her marriage had not borne up well beneath the strain of yet another immigration and a badly mannered teenage son. This latest development would likely do no wonders for it, either. “I just don’t think I’ll be able to sleep. I had some news. Just before I left the city.”

“Work can wait a few hours, surely,” said Jinadh. “Please don’t ring them until morning.”

“It wasn’t—” She stopped herself, conscious of Martí moving bags, of Bern the footman hovering at the open door. “Later.”

That softened the irritation in his face to curiosity, which was worse because it was unfamiliar. «If you’re going to the library,» he said, and she resigned herself to company.

“Just leave the bags in the hall, Martí,” she said. “Get yourself to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” Martí tipped her cap and dragged back out to take the car to the garage.

“You, too, Bern.” Lillian waved the footman off when he tried to take her suitcase. “I’ll deal with it.”

“Ma’am,” he said, and stifled a yawn.