Sorgatani’s black hair was braided and pinned up against her head, and she wore as a crown a net of delicate golden chains that fell past her shoulders to brush her robe of golden silk. The simple beauty of that fabric put the gaudy embroidery of Hanna’s tunic to shame, and she had a sudden uncomfortable insight that what had seemed a rich garment to her inexperienced gaze might not be one in truth when compared to the fineness of Sorgatani’s garb.

Hanna advanced cautiously to the central pole. There Sorgatani met her and extended both hands, palms up and open. She did not touch her. She kept a hand’s breadth of distance between them, air that felt alive to Hanna’s skin, as if it had the same breath and soul that animated all living things.

“We are met after long apart,” said the Kerayit woman. “My luck has been taken prisoner by others, but now I have reclaimed you.”

“I am not your slave!”

Sorgatani withdrew her hands. “Did I say you were? I forget you do not know the customs of the Kerayit.”

“Forgive me. I do not mean to offend. Yet I must ask—is it true you traveled with Liath? Is she alive? Where did you first meet her?”

“Far east, in the grasslands, we met. I accompanied her because it was thought my sorcery could assist her, but it proved not to be true.” She sighed. “I liked her.”

That sigh, her expression, the slump of her shoulders: all these touched Hanna in a way no other claim could have. Impulsively she grasped Sorgatani’s hands in hers. The other woman’s hands were callused and her grip, like Hanna’s, was strong. “She is my friend, too. If yours as well, then we are sisters, are we not? In friendship, at least.”

Sorgatani’s dark eyes widened, and her mouth opened, but only a gasp came out.

Hanna released her. “I beg pardon.”

“No. None is needed. It is just—I am not accustomed to being touched.”

“So Brother Breschius told me.” Compassion spilled like light. “It must be difficult, living so alone.”

“It’s true I am lonely, Hanna.” She smiled shyly. “When are you going to bring me my pura?”

“Ai, God! I’m not sure I’m fit for such a duty! There is much I do not know. I am the King’s Eagle, but your luck as well. I do not know what it means. A man cannot serve two masters.”

“You do not serve me! You are my luck, that is all.”

Hanna set a palm to her forehead. “I’m dizzy. Is there any place I may sit down?” She began to move to the broad couch to the left of the door, but Sorgatani steered her to a similar couch set on the right side of the door. “Women don’t sit or sleep on that side. Here.” She seated her on an embroidered cushion, then clapped her hands.

The door slid open and Breschius entered, carrying a tray in one hand which he balanced adroitly with his stump. It contained a fine porcelain cup steaming with an aromatic brew and a bowl of leek-and-venison stew. He placed the tray on the bed and retreated to the opposite side, where he knelt on a layer of rugs.