He led the way out. The young elf trailed after him, then Dirva, then myself. I could not help but peek over my shoulder two, three times. Deep in the pit of my stomach I expected the agent to come back and arrest me. But he didn’t, and soon enough the four of us were in the station. The rank-and-file policemen patrolling the station had been briefed; they gave Vathorem respectful nods and let us pass without incident. The younger elf carried two very full packs, neither of which looked like they’d been ransacked.

Dirva and Vathorem walked in perfect rhythm through the Qin streets. There was a current between them, a conversation they seemed to have without speaking. The young elf and I eyed each other, both curious, both a little wary. When the streets narrowed and the houses began to cluster tight together, Vathorem looped his arm through Dirva’s. “Ah,” he said. “Ah, you’re all grown, now.”

Dirva grinned. “And you! You just keep refusing to die, eh?”

Dor stared at Dirva. Vathorem patted his arm. “Marriage,” Vathorem said.

“Yes.”

“A nice Semadran girl, I take it?”

“Yes.”

“Look at that. My lad. My lad a grown man.”

“I was grown when you got to me, Vathorem.”

“The hell you were.”

Dirva laughed.

There was a pause, and then: “Oh, I’m fine. I’m fine. Battle wounds, you know.”

“Vathorem.”

“I’m fine.” Vathorem glanced over at me. “So, this is your boy?”

“He is, yes.”

Vathorem held out his hand to me. When I took it, he looked right in my eyes. He read me through and through. I felt like I’d been turned inside out. Dirva laughed gently on Vathorem’s other side. “Well met, Ariah Lirat’Mochai. Well met.”

“A pleasure.”

“A pleasure?” Vathorem’s eyebrows jumped up. He glanced at Dirva over his shoulder. “He’s polite.”

“He is losing that particular virtue.”

Vathorem turned back to me. “We’ll talk later, you and I, feel each other out.” He reached for Dor. Vathorem caught his hand and pulled him close, grinning, affectionate, parental. “Dor, do you remember that one at all?” he asked, pointing to Dirva. The boy shook his head. His face was carefully composed, a mask as silver as my own. It made me curious. “You fawned over him when you were little. You did. Followed him from room to room.”

“I’m sure I did.” Dor spoke very good Semadran, and he glanced at me while he did it. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Dirva da Alama.” Dirva nodded at him, a smile half-hid behind a hand. He and Vathorem laughed the same laugh at the same time.