When we got to Alamadour, we sold the horses. Vathorem gave me the money he got for them. “You’ll need a place of your own,” Vathorem said. “The palace is crowded. I’ll need space from you, and you’ll need space from me if the training’s to take.”

“You think so?” I was dubious; remember, Semadrans live with their mentors. I had lived and eaten and slept at Dirva’s side for years.

“I know so,” Vathorem said. “Especially you. You got to stake out who you are, what your roots are. You’ll not be able to do that with me around. I pull your focus. So, look, I’ve a friend who keeps a place here, but he’s retired to the City more or less, so it’s just sitting there wide open. You spend your days with me, at court, and your nights are yours to do with what you will.”

I looked out at the street. The people were uniformly red. I felt them staring at me, like a thousand pinpricks. I did not want to leave his side. “Are you certain this is the best way?”

“I am.”

“Because I…”

He patted my shoulder. “You’re a quarter red. Let that quarter rise to the surface,” he said. “Dor, I’ll meet you back at the palace. Tell your ma I’ll be there direct. Ariah, you come with me. I’ll get you settled.”

He led me four blocks east of the palace. There was a bar, the Pickled Bear, three doors down from the Alamadour Library. It was hardly a library, actually; certainly it was not Magi-made. It was a low building, wide and languid, built with stark right angles in some lazy approximation of Magi architecture. The Pickled Bear was a dark, fragrant place lit by oil lanterns. It seemed quaint until I realized there was no electricity in Vilahna. Vathorem went to the counter and bought a small jar of pipeherb. He handed me a key, told the bartender I was taking the apartment, and pointed to a set of stairs at the far end of the bar. “Isn’t there a separate entrance?”

“Why would there be a separate entrance?” the bartender asked.

I blushed. I stammered. Vathorem gave me a gentle push and told me he’d see me in the morning. I mounted the steps slowly, one at a time. I felt so profoundly alone then. The panic was close to overwhelming me. A single thought repeated in my brain—I’ve made a mistake. I should’ve stayed behind, this is a mistake—circled around and around, cutting a little deeper every time, slicing me to ribbons. I slipped the key in the door and let myself in.