Anyway, Kirya did not want to lose her. “Kontas,” she said, calling to her brother. “Pack our things, and sit by mother. Sing to her, will you? She likes your voice. Mine is such a croak!” She made frog sounds, and that got him to smile a little, but his serious face troubled her as she went out to help Uncle Olig with his gear.

“What did we do wrong, Uncle?” she asked in a low voice as she bound a dozen green staves and placed the bundle in the wagon. “It doesn’t seem right that Orphan is punished for it.”

“His eyes are demon eyes,” said Uncle, but no force animated the words. Like all of them, he was too sick at heart to fight Aunt’s proclamation. They could not confront the Singer. They had no choice but to leave.

AS TWILIGHT SETTLED over the grass, Kirya slipped away to a tangle of late-season wildflowers that the sheep hadn’t trampled. She plucked a handful of pinks and whites, humble flowers, nothing special, just like her.

Sometimes your position is so bad that the worst thing you thought you could do no longer seems bad at all. Clutching the flowers, she went in search of Orphan. He’d had his talk with Aunt and been given his sad bundle and banished from camp, but he hadn’t gone far. He’d hunkered down within sight of their tents.

He saw her coming but did not move or speak. She sank down on her haunches beside him, slung her quiver off to one side, and offered him the flowers.

Ei!

He swayed back, visibly startled. He did not open his clenched hands.

“It’s rude not to take them,” she said, not sure whether to grin or to slap him.

He stared at the flowers. “You don’t want me,” he said in his hoarse voice.

“Aunt forbade me, not in so many words, but you know how she is. But I’ve changed my mind about obeying her. It’s my Flower Night. The gods say I can choose who I want. Now are you going to take them?”

As though they were precious, he took them from her. He brought them to his face, inhaled their scent. Then grinned, twisting a finger into the tangle and pulling out a green stalk with triple-pointed leaves. “These sour-root leaves are edible. Did you know that? Orphan’s food.” He sank back onto the ground, one leg crossed before him and the other with knee up so he could prop an elbow on it. He plucked the leaves, chewed several, and touched the rest to her lips. “I’ve been teaching the children to recognize which plants they can eat.”

The idea of Kontas eating ground-digger’s food made her flush with shame. “Like we’re no better than—?”

“They’re sweet.”

His hands were warm, and his smile warmer. She parted her lips and licked at the leaves. The leaves had a snap, but a sweet aftertaste that lingered in her mouth. He chuckled. She leaned toward him, brushed his cheek with her own. She blew softly at his ear, and he cupped her neck in his hand and pulled her closer.