I had not expected such a vulnerable question. I expected her to trick me or trap me, to edge me into a corner. It caught me off guard. I had to think, fight my through the haze of herb and really think. “It depends on what you want. What do you want?”

She chewed on her fingernail. She looked down at the floor. “I want someone who has given up on these damned ghettos.”

“I didn’t give up on the borough, Shayat, the borough gave up on me.”

“In the end, it’s the same thing if you’re smart. And you are.” She sighed. “I want…I want you. I’m glad you’ve got Sorcha. He’s lucky, and he knows it. I want to be lucky like that, too. I see the red elves do it, these threes and fours, and it works. And I just…I watch them when I’m on the route, in Alamadour or in Bardondour. I see the way the burden is shared, the way all those feelings stretch and fit. If they can do it, I can, too.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

She laughed. “Are you serious?”

“Well, things are different now.”

“No, they aren’t. You two were practically married back on the trip. You think I couldn’t tell? You think I didn’t think about it? Of course I did. I knew no matter what happened that there was you, and there was him, and then there was the rest of the world. I’m not trying to steal you, Ariah. I just want whatever you’ve got left over to give to me. And when you think about it, doesn’t that make the most sense for someone like me? A caravaner? I never wanted to marry. I didn’t want to leave a husband behind for months and months at a time, pining, worrying. And you wouldn’t. You have him. I can come and go from this. And if you have him, I could have others, yes? No reason to keep to myself on the routes. This is a thing that makes sense. Don’t you see that? And I—look, I have thought this through. There’s no one else for me but you, not really, not in a deep way. You understand. The reds, they’re good and all, but they don’t understand what it’s like here. Men here have expectations, restrictions. They are inflexible. I don’t know how you did it, how you managed to turn into who you are, but you did, and we fit.”

She’d grown animated as she spoke. She spoke with confidence, with a sureness. When she was done, she stared at me hard, willing me to speak. Sorcha stared at her, his eyebrows slightly raised. “I…”

“Yes?” she asked—demanded. She demanded an answer. I was drawn to her entitlement, the way she knew she was worthy of an answer.