“I think so. Without speaking Droma it’s hard to tell, but they read better.” She sighed. “I wish you’d give me something less depressing to read.”

“What? They’re not depressing.”

She looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “Slave songs, Ariah. There’s nothing not depressing about them.”

“I think they’re beautiful.”

“They are. In a depressing way.”

“I know what this is about. Nisa, we’re all just elves to them. Slave status, how is that anything more than a technicality? How are we not slaves, too?”

“We are not slaves.”

“How much choice did you get in your assignment?”

“I,” she said with audible pride, “was recruited.”

And I couldn’t help it; I grinned at her. “You didn’t pick it, then. It was handed to you.”

“Oh, it wasn’t like that.”

“You know I’m right.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re so dramatic. We have rights. We have papers. The slaves…”

I laughed. She sighed at me.

“Those rights are a mirage! I was detained, Nisa!”

“I know, I know, you never stop going on about it. ‘Nisa, they held me at the border! Nisa, Dirva rescued me!’ I know. But the papers got you out.”

“It was a technicality. I was lucky.”

“You were.” She leaned forward, a sly smile on her face. “But here’s the thing, Ariah: we have technicalities to exploit. The slaves don’t. How are those not rights?”

I admit, she stumped me. She did that often. Once the courtship became a betrothal, Nisa came to our apartment nearly every day after her shift at the prototype lab ended. We spoke often, disagreed nearly every time, but it was playful and it was warm. I waved at her, dismissive, still full of righteous ire, and went into the kitchen. She laughed at me as I walked away.

Dirva was waiting for me in the kitchen. He sat at the table, reading the borough’s newspaper, drinking tea. “So,” he said. He spoke Vahnan. “This is not a day you usually tutor your student.”

“All right, it wasn’t her.”

He looked up at me over his cup. “It was not the law, I hope.”

“No, it wasn’t.” I took a seat next to him at the table. “Can we declare it personal? It’s fine; it’s done. I’m fine. I promise.”

He nodded. “Yes, of course. We can leave it. Have you thought about Vilahna?”

“Dirva, I don’t know.”

“Just consider it.”

I wanted him to decide for me, to tell me what to do. He’d made his suggestion, but I wanted him to lay it out for me. I was not brave enough to take responsibility for my own life. I changed the subject. “Can you believe the things she says sometimes?”

“Who says?”

“Your betrothed.”

“I don’t listen when you two talk politics.”