Again, I found no words. I stared out in the direction she’d gone and laughed. Sorcha threaded an arm around my ribs. He shouldered what was left of our things. “All right,” he said, “let’s go see what we came here to see.”

We walked slowly through the streets of Rabatha in the hand-me-down robes of the trip. We were dusty from travel and smelled of the elvish compartments of the train: a mix of sweat and fear and stale food. Sorcha was so obviously nahsiyya, and standing next to him brought out the nahsiyya in me. He held me with incriminating tenderness. We were stared at. We were stopped by Qin agents and asked for papers over and over and over. I had to explain my injuries a half dozen times. Two different policemen wanted to see the wounds for themselves. It took an absurd amount of time to get to Dirva’s house. I was tired, worn, hungry, and thirsty when we found his door.

Dirva had moved to a small house deep in the borough. I laughed when we found it. Sorcha shot me a curious look. “It’s a shaper’s house,” I said. “The way it’s built, it’s got doors on both sides. It’s a shaper’s house. And she doesn’t even know.”

“Who doesn’t know?”

“Nisa. His wife. I’m sure she doesn’t know.” Sorcha took a step towards the house, but I held him in place. “Do you really want to do this?”

“Well, hell, Ariah, it’s a bit late for me to back out now.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Sorcha sighed. He shook his head and glanced out at the narrow street. “Fuck, I don’t know. But, look, you got a duty. And I’m here. For better or worse, I’m here, right, so let’s just get this over and done with.”

I grew oddly nervous as we approached his door. I couldn’t explain why, but there was something nerve-wracking about seeing Dirva again after two years of separation. I tried to imagine what he would see when he opened the door, how I’d changed, and whether it was for the better. I knocked on the door, and Dirva answered it.

I don’t even think he saw Sorcha. I was passed straight from Sorcha’s arms to Dirva’s. Dirva held me tight and seemed not to hear when I winced. He held me by the shoulders and smiled. He read me in his gentle half-red way. His smile faltered. “Are you all right? Are you in pain?”

“Yes, I ran into some trouble on the trip.”

“At the border?”

“No. Bandits. I’m all right.”

“You should sit though,” Sorcha said quietly. He stood very close to me, protective and territorial, but he could not look away from Dirva. “You should drink some water.”