Tavi blinked, then seized both her hands in his. “Not between you and me, Kitai. This doesn’t change that.”

She searched his eyes, blinked twice, and a tear rolled down each cheek before she remembered her watercrafting and closed her eyes.

Tavi suddenly drew her hard against him so that he could put his arms around her. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t you dare think you need to hide them from me.”

She turned her face against his chest, and her slender arms suddenly tightened on him. He was abruptly reminded that she was very nearly as strong as he was, despite the difference in their sizes. And she was wearing chain mail. Very chilly chain mail. Tavi winced but didn’t move.

Kitai left her face against his chest for a time, and her tears, warmer than his ever were, made his skin damp.

“I did not know what you would do,” she said a few moments later, her arms never loosening. “What you would think. We didn’t do things in the right order.”

Tavi was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “You were worried about our child being thought of as a bastard?”

“Of course,” she said. “I’ve seen Maximus’s scars. I saw how mad Phrygiar Navaris became. I’ve seen others who are... who are outsiders. Abused. Because they are not legitimate. As if simply by being born they are guilty of a crime. I did not know what to do.”

Tavi was quiet for a time and stroked her hair with one hand. Then he said, “There are two things we could do.”

She made a sniffling sound and listened.

“We could arrange things so that the child was not thought of as a bastard,” he said.

“How?”

“Oh, we lie, of course. We get married at once and simply say nothing else, and when the child is born we marvel that he—”

“Or she,” Kitai interjected.

“Or she must have come early.”

“Will that not be found out? A truthfinder would realize that was a story immediately.”

“Oh,” Tavi said, “everyone would realize it was a story. But no one would say anything about it. It’s what is called a ‘polite fiction’ among people who care about such things. Oh, there might be some sniggering, some remarks made behind our backs, but it wouldn’t be seriously challenged.”

“Truly?”

“Happens all the time,” Tavi said.

“But... but it would still be used against the child. Laughed at behind his back. Used to taunt him—”

“Or her,” Tavi interjected.

“Or her,” Kitai said. “It will forever be a weakness that someone else will be able to exploit.”

“That’s up to the child, I daresay,” Tavi said.

Kitai considered that for a moment. Then she said, “What other thing might we do?”