She heard footsteps on the stone floor outside just then, and the door creaked open. “So here’s where you’ve been hiding yourself,” said a harsh voice behind her. “Warrior bless! It’s like a cave in here! What are you doing, turning yourself into a bat?”

“It has to be dark,” Kero explained without turning, wondering what had brought the formidable old fighter here. “A lot of herbs lose potency in the light.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” The Shin‘a’in edged carefully into the narrow confines of the stillroom, and positioned herself out of Kero’s way. “My people don’t store a great deal, and that little only for a season or two at most. Don’t tell me you like it in here.”

“Sometimes,” Kero told her. “It’s better than—” she bit her tongue to keep from finishing that sentence.

“It’s better than out there, with the hens and chicks clucking disapproval at you,” the Shin‘a’in finished for her. “I know what you mean. The only reason they keep their tongues off me is because they’re pretty sure I’ll slice those wagging tongues in half if I find out about it.” She chuckled, and Kero turned to look at the old woman in surprise. “We never have been properly introduced. I’m Tarma—Tarma shena Tale‘sedrin, to be precise—Shin’ a’in from the Hawk Clan. I’ve been your grandmother’s partner for an age, and I’m half of the reason your father disapproved of her. ”

“You are?” Kero said, fascinated by the hawk-faced woman’s outspoken manner. “But—why?”

“Because he was dead certain that she and I were shieldmates—that’s lovers, dear. He was dead wrong, but you could never have convinced him of that.” Tarma hardly moved, but there was suddenly a tiny, thin-bladed knife in one hand. She began cleaning her nails with it. “The other half of the reason he disapproved of her was because he was afraid of both of us. We didn’t know our place, and we could do just about any damned thing a man could do. But that’s a cold trail, and not worth following. ”

“Are you the reason we could get Shin‘a’in horses to breed?” Kero asked, suddenly putting several odd facts together. “

Tarma chuckled. “Damn, you’re quick. Dead in the black, jel‘enedra. Listen, I’m sorry I was so hard on you, back on the road the other night. I was testing you, sort of.”

“I‘d—figured that out,” Kero replied. The knife caught the light and flashed; it looked sharp enough to wound the wind.

The Shin‘a’in nodded, a satisfied little smile at the corners of her mouth. “Good. I was hoping you might. I want you to know I think you did pretty well out there. About the only time you started to dither was after everything was over and done with. You know, you’re wasted on all this.”

“All what?” Kero asked, bewildered by the sudden change in topic.

“All this—” The Shin‘a’in waved her knife vaguely, taking in the four walls of the stillroom and beyond. Kero hid her confusion by turning her attention to the salve, watching her own hands intently. “This life,” Tarma continued. “It’s not enough of a challenge for you. You’re capable of a lot more than you’ll find here. My people say. ‘You can put a hawk in a songbird’s cage, but it’s still a hawk.’ Think about it. I have to go beat some of those hired guards into shape, but I’ll be around if you need me.”