Well, I thought to myself, I am not a ghalio. I am not nahsiyya. I don’t belong here, and I’m not like Sorcha. I am Semadran, I told myself, and I am everything that entails. But still, I sat there in Sorcha’s clothes, freshly shaved by his hand. I sat there and could not help but wonder how I’d hurt him when I’d run. “Dirva, can I stay here with you? Tonight, at least, can I stay here with you?”

“I…we’ll have to ask Liro. But, yes, I think so.”

I drank the rest of the water. I felt better, more like myself. I needed more guidance. I needed a sympathetic ear. I looked over at Dirva, shocked at what I was about to tell him. I couldn’t do it while looking him in the eye. I was afraid that if I did I’d read him, and I was afraid of what I would read. I dropped my face into my hands. “It was Sorcha. It was your brother. I didn’t—it didn’t get far, I don’t think, but I—Dirva, it was with him. I’m not…I’m no deviant. I can’t understand…he charmed me, but then he stopped, and the gift pushed me to it anyway. I don’t understand. I can’t stay with someone like that. I can’t.”

I waited for a protective hand on my back. I waited for gentle words. All I got was silence. The couch moved slightly as he pulled himself up. He stepped away from me. “Given what you’ve said, Ariah, this is not the place for you.” His voice was cold and opaque.

I thought it was judgment. It was judgment, but not for what I thought. I looked up at him. “No, no, it wasn’t me. It was him! He’s the ghalio, not me.”

“Ariah, you should go,” Dirva said.

“Go where?”

He turned to face me. “You should go back to the Empire. It seems I have overestimated you.”

The words cut deeply. His voice, his face, everything about him told me he knew exactly what he’d said, that he knew exactly how it would affect me. He had considered it, this choice of words, and he had made the conscious decision to wield them as weapons. I felt nauseous. I felt desperate. I was on the verge of tears. “I have no money. I don’t know the way back,” I said feebly.

He held the door open for me. The street outside was desolate and frightening. “We are not cut from the same cloth.”

“No, we are. We are! I’ve upset you. I’ve offended you, but I don’t know why,” I said quickly. I had stood, taken two steps, and couldn’t make myself go further. I burned with shame. “I told you, I’m not a ghalio,” I said very, very quietly.