“I’ve always wondered. What are you reading? In the painting, what book is it that you’re reading?”

Dirva looked up at me. “That’s your question?”

“Yes?”

“That is an odd question.”

“Well, it’s, uh…it’s my question.”

Dirva smiled. He stood up from the table and went into the other room. I followed closely at his heels. He studied the painting and began to laugh. “I’ve never looked. You know in all these years, I never looked. It could have been anything. It’s not really a book.” He covered his mouth with his hand and looked over at me. His eyes were bright; they crinkled happily at the edges. It brought out a warmth in him that I had not thought he had. When he looked at me like that, conspiratorial, surprised, that was when I began to trust him. That’s when he became my mentor, and I became his student. He laughed again. “I am not proud of this. I can’t believe he painted me like this. That’s not a book. That’s my brother’s diary. I’d stolen it. I used everything I read in there to get under his skin. He never knew I read it.”

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Dirva did not have the patience to mentor me conventionally. I had expected to do the cooking and the cleaning during the day, to run his errands and do his shopping while he worked. I had expected to have some time to myself. My expectations were not met.

Dirva was employed as a translator to the Rabathan Office of Foreign Relations. He worked closely with the Qin bureaucrats who developed suggestions about foreign policy, which eventually filtered up to the Emperor. The Qin did not quite trust Dirva—no one quite trusted Dirva, not even the Semadrans—but they valued his skills with something that approached respect. He transcribed foreign documents. He worked as an interpreter for diplomats. He was conscripted with regularity to teach language classes at Ralah College for the sons and daughters of well-to-do Qin families who were interested in foreign politics or foreign trade.