The scarred man at the border did not recognize me at first. He stood against the wall and directed his men through curt gestures: Dirva was to go with one group, and I was to be brought to him. He separated us before he had even seen our papers. His green eyes shown with suspicion, wariness, when he saw me. The border guards shoved me into a cell; my papers were ripped from my hand. This treatment, which would have left me cowed and pliant before, hardened me. When the man with the desert scars came in, I stood leaning against the back wall. My arms were crossed against my chest, and this time, I looked at him. The guard sat at the table. He gestured for me to sit across from him, but I refused.

“I saw you,” he said, “and I thought to myself what a bother it is when the City-born try to cross this border. No good ever comes from a City-born nahsiyya coming into the Exalted’s lands.” He fished my papers out of his pocket. “But you are not City-born. A man from Ardijan dressed like that. A ring in your ear. A jaw as naked as my own.” He pulled the hood of his robe back. I pretended not to notice, but it intrigued me that he did it. I had made him for a religious man. With his fingers, with slow deliberateness, he snuffed the flame of the lantern, which lit that windowless room. In the dark, he could see, and I could not. I swear I could hear him smile. “I remember you, Mr. Lirat’Mochai. I am kept awake some nights by the drums that brought you freedom.”

“I have nothing to buy my freedom with this time,” I said.

“You had nothing to buy it with last time, either. They weren’t your drums. Just a few months and you come out of that place looking like that.”

I suspected I was to be detained. Dirva had warned me to change into Semadran clothes before we got there, but I, bitter about nameless things, obstinate, and willfully careless, stayed in Sorcha’s hand-me-downs. Looking back, I think I know why I did it. Ambivalence tends to drive me to self-sabotage. I do not do well with internal conflict; I do not do well when I am unmoored. I suspected I was to be detained, and I was. Dirva tried to buy my passage, but the scarred captain of the guard could not be bought.