“I will do what I can,” he said. “This is a temporary measure, but I have decided. There will be no more discussion.”

35

Despite living for twelve years as a slave to one of the most prominent men in Olossi, Keshad had never set foot inside the council hall. As a lad he had often waited outside in Fortune Square for half the day, slumbering in the heat with his master’s umbrella tipped over him to keep off the sun, waiting for Master Feden to emerge so he could shade him on the walk back to the clan compound.

Situated at the city’s highest point, Fortune Square offered a view over tile rooftops and the steep peaks of raftered halls, over narrow alleys and broad avenues, courtyard gardens and humbler courts where washing was hung out. The noise of construction rose out of the lower city, where buildings were rising in the gaps where the fire had eaten holes. The light was muted today, pearly beneath clouds. No one was carrying shade umbrellas.

A pair of militiamen stood guard at the door to the stone watchtower with its open roof and fire cage. A line of supplicants, rain cloaks slung over their shoulders or draped over an arm, waited with varying degrees of patience in front of the council hall. Here a free man could bring a grievance, although no slave ever could. In Captain Anji’s company, Kesh walked past the supplicants and up the steps. The soldiers took up positions on the porch as he followed the others inside. An entry chamber stretched the width of the hall. It was empty except for a clerk sitting at a low table among a disorganized scatter of tablets and scrolls. Looking up, she spattered ink from her brush onto the table.

“Marshal! Captain. Verea.” She offered Kesh a puzzled nod, not sure how to place him, then bent to wiping up the stain. She was a bit older than he was, nicely curved but nothing special to look at even if the cursed reeve flirted with her.

“I’m glad to see you well, Jonit. You and your family survived the assault unscathed, I hope.” The grin flashed.

The woman blushed. “I did, thanks to the Qin.” She smiled nervously at Captain Anji.

Mai smoothly interposed herself into the breach. “Jonit! We’ve met once before, in the guest house of the Haf Gi Ri. Aren’t you a dear friend of—” She hesitated, glancing at the men. “—Master Eliar’s sister?”

Keshad knew that her name must never be spoken aloud. He still did not know it. He closed his eyes, and at once recalled her face, the subtle smile, the moist red lips, the searing gaze that had cut right through him until he could see nothing else.

“Keshad. This way.”

The captain’s voice was as good as a yank on a chained man. Kesh stumbled up another rank of steps, looking over his shoulder at the chamber they were leaving behind. The central screen depicted a lovingly painted Ladytree beneath whose branches lay a pair of abandoned orange slippers. How appropriate! Every council hall ought to ornament its entry hall with the tale of the Silk Slippers, which featured much lying and conniving and brutality, even if the innocent girl did triumph in the end. They crossed under a stone archway that opened onto the council garden. Here council members might while away the heat of the afternoon before an evening council session. Here allies might plot among the troughs and terraces of flowering shrubs and ornamental trees ruthlessly pruned back. Here enemies might agree to agree as they undertook to stab a third party.