She stared at him and, this time, truly drank in his features. In the muted light of the sitting room, Ariel appeared to be in his midtwenties⁠—younger than Laya had initially thought him to be. But she could sense a weariness in him that belonged to a man twice his age. The Orfelian was lying about what had brought him to Maynara. He was not who he said he was. But something he said struck a chord with Laya. Maybe Hari Aki was right. They did have much to learn from each other after all.

Laya did not know what overcame her when she reached across the desk and cupped her hand over his. The slight touch alarmed them both, but Ariel did not pull away. “I am sorry, Ariel⁠—about your friends,” she murmured. “They were brave to fight. And what happened to them was awful.”

Her words did not encapsulate half of what Laya wished to say, but to make amends, they were enough.

Ariel swallowed. “Thank you, Dayang . . . It was awful,” he said, his voice tight.

He was still in pain, she realized. She did not want to press him any further. Instead, Laya leaned back and reached for her pen. Something told her that would please him.

“If you don’t mind, Ariel,” she said gently, “I suggest we continue with our lesson.”

Ariel continued to plague Laya’s thoughts until she retreated to her chambers after supper. The evening’s festivity had been an intimate affair involving the Gatdulas, cousins from Hari Aki’s bloodline, High Shaman Maiza, and a handful of the queen’s closest, crustiest advisers. Her father had invited Maynara’s most exclusive troop of dancers and musicians to perform for them while a singer narrated their ancient myths. Normally, this was the feast-day event that excited Laya the most.

But throughout their performance, Laya did not pay attention to the gongs and flourishes, nor to the story of Mulayri, who’d sent his birds down to earth and pecked mankind into creation. Her mind wandered to the Orfelian’s fallen rebel friends. She imagined them to be as young as Ariel, wide-eyed fools who dived headfirst into a battle they knew they could not win. A vision of Ariel charging alongside them, a saber in his scholar’s hands, his wire-framed spectacles splattered with blood and soot, broke her heart, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Was it Maynara’s responsibility to balance the odds in those unwinnable fights? To bolster the scrappy rebels scattered about the world? That was what Ariel had implied. His words echoed in her mind as she shut the door to her bedroom behind her. So absorbed was she in their conversation earlier in the eastern wing, she did not realize she was not alone.

“Laya.”