I cross my arms. “I can’t say that’s the most flattering request I’ve ever received.”

“That’s not what I meant!” He puts his hands up in protest. “I mean…you are the only woman I know, but…” He stops when he sees that I’m smiling. “You know I’m glad to know you, Zivah.”

A pleasant warmth settles in my chest. Next to us is a small plot of land I’ve started working into an herb garden. I pluck a puzta flower and hand it to him. “I may have been able to do better with more warning, but why don’t you take this. It’s a puzta flower, and it’s both useful and pleasing to look at. It’ll crumble when it dries, but the scent stays for days. It also helps close up wounds, if you sprinkle the dried blossoms on the bleeding. I’ll feel better if you have one on you during your trials, but don’t lose it. I don’t have much to spare.”

He holds the bud to his nose. “This is the first thing you’ve given me that doesn’t smell like something died on it.”

“You sure know how to flatter the maidens, don’t you?”

He flashes me one last grin. “You won’t regret this. Someday, when I’ve made Neju’s Guard, and women everywhere are begging me to accept their trinkets, I’ll tell them no, because the lovely Zivah has believed in me from the beginning.” He pauses. “Actually, I’d probably still take their gifts. But I promise I’ll keep yours closest to my heart.”

I push him toward the door. “Off with you.”

He looks quite pleased with himself as he leaves.

I stare at the empty entryway long after he’s gone. It’s still striking to me how different this Dineas is, the way he jokes, the way he smiles. It makes me wonder what experiences made the real Dineas what he is, and the thought saddens me.

I hear the door of the house open and close behind me.

“He’s fond of you,” says Mehtap, coming to stand next to me. “Are you fond of him?”

“He’s my first patient to recover completely. That’s something special.”

Mehtap gives me a sly look out the corner of her eye. “That’s not what I meant.”

I give her my best impression of Leora’s big-sister glance. “He’s my patient,” I say.

“If only all patients were so pleasing to the eye. You’d think the umbermarks would mar his face, but they don’t.”