«What about Stephen?»

«What about him?»

«You don’t think your brother might be a … that he might not be the best role model?»

Lillian rolled her eyes. “They’ll probably get along like dogs.” Then, seeing Jinadh’s confusion at the idiom, she added, «Um, friendly as a wick and a match?»

«Lillian, I’m serious,» said Jinadh. Firelight reflected from deep within his eyes—as deeply as he hid his anger.

«I know.» She put her hands over his. «I’m sorry.»

He shook his head. «No. No, I should be. This is your weight. I’m supposed to help you carry, and I’m scolding.»

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” she said. “I can’t tell you what I plan to do right now.”

He nodded, somber, turning his hands palm up to take hers where they lay together on his lap. With an air of resolve, he said, «It will be good, if he comes. I always … it hurt, that you had no family for me to meet, and you could not meet mine.»

«I don’t think it will be like that. Not … not like a happy reunion. I don’t know what it will be like. I don’t know what he will be like.»

«He’ll be your brother,» said Jinadh. «No matter what he’s like, I’ll be glad to have met him. Especially at Solstice.»

CHAPTER

THREE

“I will warn you,” said Asiyah. “He is not … he is not looking so good, maybe, as you remember him.”

They stood in the courtyard of a family compound in the outskirts of Dadang. A fat bottle palm squatted by a well, casting crosshatched shade. Colorful tunics and shawls hung to dry on lines strung between semiseparate houses. Aristide wondered who they belonged to. Surely no one lived here. Still, the illusion was admirable. And focusing on the tradecraft kept him from thinking about what he was about to do.

“He spent a long time in enemy territory,” Asiyah continued. “He … bah.” Dropping into Porashtu, which Aristide understood poorly but far better than Shedengue, Asiyah said, «Lived by his wits?»

Aristide nodded, wondering where Cyril had learned to do that. Thinking of all the questions he never asked: about that livid scar that crossed his middle, the odd habits of watchfulness that haunted his steps as he moved through the world. Where had a desk-bound son of privilege learned such things? What other ways had life marked him now?

“Are you ready?” asked Asiyah.

Aristide hated that he was so transparent in this. He glowered at Asiyah. His anger hid nothing, but it made him feel a little better.

“Come,” said the prince, and swung open the door.