Himil’s hand was still in the passageway of the wall. She asked, “Does it hurt?”

“Yes. It was worse when I was growing. Like having ropes trying to hold you back while you’re stretching to be taller. If I don’t stretch and exercise, the scars grow tight and limit my movement. And it hurts when that happens.”

“And the poxplague?”

Himil sighed, the sigh of someone who has had to explain something a thousand times over. “I’m not contagious.”

“But Father said—”

“Rumors and lies. One only needs to see all the people I work with at the smithy to know I’m not contagious, haven’t been for over ten years.”

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“And therein lies everything wrong with Silendar and the lands beyond—not knowing the truth. Or maybe it’s not believing the truth.”

Yuna wanted to say, Life is easier sometimes just being afraid. But she was afraid even to say this. Zizi pecked at Yuna’s cheek and yawned, shaking out her feathers and stretching her stinger. “We should all go to sleep.”

“Yes. The fires need me.” Himil sounded tired, but not in the usual way. More like his soul had been wrung out.

“Cooks need their rest,” Yuna said, pretending to be wise.

“Maybe I’ll make you something sometime.”

“I should like that,” Yuna said.

“Come back tomorrow?” Himil asked.

Yuna had hardly any words left. As if she’d been compiling conversations in her head her whole life and had just spilled them all out. But she had one word left yet tonight.

“Yes.”

The next morning, Yuna slept in so late that Father made the morning porridge with eggs and spicy cowcumber salad for breakfast, leaving the bowl outside her door. Still, she woke up at moonrise to steal away to the wall. Himil was there, also tired but with eyes open and eager to see her. He slipped her a delicious garlic chive bun through the hole, and after gobbling it up, Yuna stood up and patted the extra flour off her hands.

“Going to sleep already? Has my bun incapacitated you with such a full belly?” Himil teased.

“No, I’m not tired at all. But I’m tired of talking through this hole.”

“As am I. Why don’t you let me in through your gate?”

“The gate is always locked. Only Father has the key.”

“You could climb over the wall. I could show you around the smithy! I could cook more for you in my kitchen.”

“No!” Yuna said quickly. “If the Master Smith sees us, you’ll be fired.”

“They’re all asleep. Nothing wakes them up—not even a rakkon licking butter off their faces. They sleep like boulders.”

Yuna stayed stubbornly quiet.

“All right. Then I’ll have to come over there.”

“Oh! Can you climb over the wall?”

“I don’t think . . . I can’t,” Himil said.

“Is it your scars?”