He waved at me. “I’m going to tell you the situation, and then you can ask me for clarification if you need it. You’ll get tonight to think it over, but you’ll have to make a decision by morning.” The fingers of his left hand drummed against his right forearm. As he spoke, as he explained himself and where he came from, he watched me closely. He wasn’t reading me; I would have felt it if he were. Instead he regarded me with a deep and yearning curiosity. I knew him well enough to know that however I reacted mattered and would have consequences. I was still very Semadran then—as Abira said, Semadran through and through, green eyes be damned—so I pulled out all my silver reserve and showed him nothing at all. My face remained a perfect silver mask while he spoke. Looking back, I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d shown him something. Compassion, understanding, something. I didn’t realize how vulnerable he was forcing himself to be.

“As you may have guessed by now, I grew up in the City. As anyone who has seen me can tell, I’m nahsiyya. I tell you this to say I had a different sort of family than yours, though now that you’ve met Abbie I’m sure that’s another thing you’ve guessed. My mother is nahsiyya. City-bred. My father is a red elf from the mountains. My da is Semadran. You have two parents; I have three. My father’s married to both of them. Ma and Da are not married to each other, but it works out somehow anyway.” Dirva’s dark eyebrows pulled together, and he turned towards the window a little more, a little further away from me. “My da is not well. Abbie is here to bring me back. She’s been here before to bring me back, but she says if ever there was a time to return it’s now. I believe her. I’m leaving for the City tomorrow. You are welcome to come with me. The timing is not ideal for your training, I know. You are welcome to come with me, but I will understand if you choose not to. Sleep on it tonight. Think it over.” He looked at me over his shoulder. “Do you have any questions?”

“Yes, I do.”

He frowned. “Well, ask them.”

His annoyance with me made me flustered. I ran a hand through my hair, stalling. “About your father. He is married to both?”

“Yes.” His answer was short, curt. The way he said it was a closed door, but I ignored it and pushed on anyway.

“He has two wives?” This was a thing I’d heard implied in the stories my mother’s mother told, a thing which had fascinated me, but a thing which I had always believed could not really be true. The truth was actually stranger.