“Huh. Well, Sorcha’s always been quick to forgive. You know, I’m not a leper. It’s not contagious.” I looked up at him, trying and failing to find a way to tell him that in my case, with my gifts, it could be contagious. “Dirva thinks you’ve gone. I told him it’s a rare one that up and leaves just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “I told him most people, when they get attached, tend to linger at least a little bit. And here you are. Why have you lingered?”

“I…I want to make amends.”

Liro raised his eyebrows. “You think you can after that?”

“I don’t know. I want to. I can try. It seems worth trying.”

Liro sighed. “You know life is hard for him right now. You know that, and you’re adding to it.”

A wave of shame swept over me. I nodded. I could not bring myself to speak.

“I could wring your neck for doing that to him. But it’s done. And he’s very fond of you. Did you know that? He hasn’t stopped talking about you since he got here. Well, until you came by the other day, but he’s not one to voice his sufferings.” Liro sighed again. He pinched his forehead with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. “He says you know about art. My art.”

“I do, sir.”

He waved at me. “Don’t call me sir. I grew up on the streets. He says you’re Mochai Tzotel’Mosol’s boy.”

“I am.”

“It’s hard to hate a kid born and bred to good taste. Look, I’ll talk to him when he gets here. You should go. There’s no telling how things are with Nuri; it’s touch-and-go day to day, and I don’t think he’d take it well if Nuri had a rough day and you were here lying in wait for him. I’ll talk to him, and I’ll tell him you’re at the squat house. He’ll come find you if he wants to find you.”

“Thank you,” I said. Liro nodded at me, distracted. He looked like he was carrying a weight far too great for him. There was a deep bittersweetness about him, and there was a fierce privacy to him, and I felt I’d trespassed even though he’d invited me in and done most of the talking. I saw myself out without having to be asked to do it.

* * *