Awa nodded. She wiped a squall of tears with the bandaged arm and gazed at him defiantly. He put the viper’s necklace back around her neck. A recent kill, the venom sacs were full. She could have poisoned him and ridden off on Fannie.

“That arm will heal, but the bones in your leg have grown crooked—potions and mesh won’t fix that.” He handed her a pair of Vandana’s boots. “Stuff in rags if they’re too big.” He turned to the horse with a brush from his bag. Using firm, gentle strokes, he cleaned away the journey’s dirt and debris. “Did they break your leg in the huts?”

She slipped the boots on. “No, before the huts, a wedding gift from northlanders.”

“Which people?”

She furrowed her brow. “Zamanzi.”

“Mmendi and Thalit’s desert clan, freedom fighters, harrying the Empire.”

“Zamanzi stole me from a Green Elder enclave, not an Empire village.”

He combed Fannie’s mane. “Zamanzi wouldn’t have sold you to Hezram. They despise Hezram more than they hate vesons.”

“Open-minded thief-lords raided the Zamanzi and sold me to Hezram.”

“Of course.” The crack in his heart throbbed. He shook grain and sweetgrass from his bag. Fannie buried her nose in the food. Awa eyed the rough oats and straw, spit drooling from her lips. “I’m surprised the boots fit. Vandana is … or was a tall woman.” He held out nut bread and hunks of mango for her.

She grabbed the food. “Everyone in my family has big feet, tall or short.”

“Tell me how you managed not to lose yourself in the huts.”

“You need much heart spirit to hear such a story.” She swallowed great chunks, barely chewing. “You’re not eating?”

“Food dulls my senses. I’ll eat again when we’re out of danger.”

“You should eat before then. I’m sure you’re well stocked.”

Laughing, he threw off cape, pants, and a sweaty tunic of leather and copper-mesh. He even removed the glove from his left hand and stood naked in the water pouring into the tree cave.

A polyrhythm of emotions played on Awa’s face. She pointed at the wheel of flames tattooed over his heart. “Vie who sees every direction.” Interlocking stars formed the wheel’s center and glowed in the dimness.

“And vie who does not burn out, who shines ever bright.” He gingerly touched the signs. “Vévés to call down the gods of the crossroads.”

“We should all fear you.” Unafraid, Awa crammed a last hunk of mango into her mouth. She nodded at the leather-and copper-mesh tunic. “I thought conjure armor from the Anawanama had been outlawed and their spell-scrolls burned.”

“I’m an outlaw who traveled to the floating cities where Iyalawos and Babalawos aren’t witches and witchdoctors, where many are vesons, and no one burns wisdom. Yet.” He gave her more nut bread and donned pants and smock of Aido spider-weave cloth.