“That’s a messenger bird,” I said. I glanced at Sorcha; he shrugged. I picked it up and found the pressure plate on its belly. It was bent slightly from the crash, and I had to pry it off with a butter knife. I felt terrible about it; I’ve never been any good with clockworks, and I knew I’d never be able to repair it. It seemed an untoward fate for the thing. The message was rolled tight and slipped into a waterproof sleeve. It took me some time to peel it off. My heart pounded when I had the tube of paper freed from it, waiting to be read. I knew it was bad news. I knew it. A dead parent. An arrested mentor. Revocation of citizenship rights. Something somehow worse than any of those things.

“What is it?” Pan asked.

“It’s…it’s a message. News, probably.”

“Oh.” She laughed. “That bird, it looked alive. You send notes in birds?”

“Only important notes.”

“Read it,” Sorcha said.

“I…” I frowned.

“Ariah, just read it,” he said.

So I did. It was a short letter, but carefully written. I could tell in the sweep of Dirva’s handwriting how much thought had been put into it, how exacting the choice of words was.

Nisa is pregnant. Will you be the child’s falo? Please consider it.

My eyes went wide. Sorcha and Pan pestered me, demanded to know what was in the letter. “I have to go back,” I said.

“To where?” Pan asked.

“To the Empire. To Rabatha.”

Sorcha plucked the letter out of my hand. He frowned. “I can’t read this. Is this Semadran?”

“Yes.”

“What does it say? Are you in trouble?” he asked.

“It, uh…I’m not in trouble. It’s good news. Thank you, Pan.”

“My pleasure.”

I dragged Sorcha out to the street. “What is it?” he asked. “Why do you have to go?”

“Dirva’s wife is having a baby. He wants me to be the godfather.”

It is a rare moment when Sorcha is at a loss for words. He gaped at me, at the street, at the door of the tavern for what felt like an endless stretch of time. He jammed his hands in his pockets and stared down at his boots. “He married,” he said. It came out quiet, private, only half a question.

“You…you didn’t know that?” Sorcha shook his head. “I thought he told Cadlah. He got her to get papers forged for me before the wedding. I thought…I thought he told her, and I thought she told the rest of you.”

“Maybe she did. Maybe she didn’t,” he said. “Caddie can keep a secret. They might all know. I told you I been down here since you left.”

“They would have written to you.”