“Not in the least.” This time, there was no mistaking Lilyana’s warmth. “You’ve had many terrible experiences in so short a time. I understand your uncles are not the most . . . sympathetic of men.”

Rosa shook her head. “I appal them on so many levels it’s hard to tally. I’ll receive more of a welcome if I let today’s uproar fade before presenting myself.”

“Yes, family can be . . . insistent.”

Rosa winced inwardly. She knew Lilyana Reveque had wanted to give herself to the church – to serve Lumestra as a serene, rather than her family as a mother of children. But war and disgrace had thinned her family tree to sparse branches, and need had won out over desire.

“That they can,” she said. “I won’t be in your way long. I took leave from the border to attend Kas’s wedding, and there’s little of it left.”

Lilyana laid a hand on her wrist. “You will stay as long as you need. I’ll hear of nothing else. We’re all in this life together, Rosa.”

Rosa nodded her thanks, but dark thoughts awoke. Together? True enough. But alive? That she wasn’t so sure about. At least she’d saved Sevaka from whatever disgrace Aske Tarev would have inflicted. And the confines of the constabulary’s cells.

Sevaka . . . With everything else, she’d almost forgotten.

“Lilyana, can I ask another favour?”

“Of course.”

“Could you send someone to Freemont? Sevaka Kiradin was with me last night, and I’d be happier knowing she’s returned home safe.”

Malachi poured a generous measure of Selanni brandy and lost himself in the patterns of reflected sunlight. A long day already, and yet scarcely past noon.

“A little early for that, don’t you think?” asked Lily.

He started guiltily and turned from the window. “I’ve had a trying morning. I think I’ve earned it. Plus you’re already mad at me, so where’s the harm?”

She drew closer, expression unreadable. “Who says I’m mad at you?”

Experience. But experience also warned him against saying so. “Sidara.”

She threw back her head and closed her eyes. “Your daughter needs to stop listening at doors.”

“My daughter?”

“Yes, your daughter. My daughter is the one who studies diligently and sings so sweetly.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Your daughter is the one who insists on bellowing those foul dockers’ shanties. She’s also the one who needs to stop listening at doors. Just like I need to break the habit of thinking aloud. Or believing that anything I say or do in this house goes unwatched.”

Malachi set the glass aside. “So you are angry with me.”

She shook her head and looped her arms behind his neck. “No. You always think that, and it’s so seldom true.”

So why did he feel like another polite lecture was headed his way? “Then why does Sidara think otherwise?”