I was disheveled and introspective when I arrived at the tailor’s shop. The bitterness of having my precious lingering sleep snatched away still hung heavy on me. I was late. I knocked on the door, and Shayat answered it. She raised her eyebrows at me. “You’re a mess. Is that a new stain on your pants?”

“I can go if you’d rather.”

“Don’t be an ass. You’re getting free clothes out of this, which you obviously need,” she said, waving me inside. She led me to a narrow corridor and up two flights of stairs. The attic was small, with one large, bright window, and low ceilings. A sleeping mat took up most of the available space. The room was spotless: the bed was impeccably made, the books on the shelves were meticulously straightened, and not a single stray sock was to be found. A low table against the far well held a camp stove. A kettle whistled to a boil just after we came in. “Do you want some tea?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“You do look like you need help staying awake,” she said as she poured the boiling water over the tea leaves. It was fragrant, good-quality tea, I could tell by the smell alone. I was still mired in thoughts of Dirva, which by then had turned into thoughts of myself and the reasons why I’d returned to the Empire. I barely registered her jab. My apparent lack of reaction irked her. “If you have something more pressing to attend to, professor, don’t let me keep you.”

“What?”

“You seem distracted.”

“Oh.” I let out a nervous laugh. She sat on the floor, and I sat down across from her. “Oh, it’s nothing. So. Would you like to start with Athenorkos or Lothic?”

She narrowed her eyes at me and handed me my cup of tea. “You don’t even look thirty-nine. You look like you just finished school.”

“I finished my training!”

“You can’t even grow a beard, professor.”

“I can. I shave.”

“Why?” She said it with disgust and impatience. She leaned forward slightly. “Are you about to grow your hair long and wear a hood? Do you think they’ll take you in?”

“You are very judgmental, you know.”

She smirked. “Yes, I know. That’s not an answer.”

“I’m not here to answer personal questions. I’m here to teach you Athenorkos and Lothic. Let’s start with Athenorkos,” I said quickly. She smirked wider. It was maddening. “Why are you learning these languages?”

“Oh, who’s asking personal questions now?”

“It’s not a personal question! It would help to know what kind of vocabulary to teach you.”

“Mercantile reasons. Caravaner reasons,” she said.

“Fine. Good. We’ll start with that.”