He knew what he had to do.

Their allies waited under an open pavilion. The three Silvers—two old and one young—turned toward the approaching company. With punctilious courtesy they greeted Mai, Anji, Marshal Joss, and Jonit. The resemblance between the young Silver man and his sister was noticeable, the same straight brow and full lips, but the brother lacked the intangible boldness of spirit that animated the young woman. Eliar cast a look at Kesh as venomous as the snarl of an enraged lilu thwarted of her prey, so Kesh hung back on the steps, using one of the pavilion’s pillars as a shield. The older men pointedly ignored him, but he knew who they were because they worked with Mai on various mercantile pursuits: Isar, and his elderly cousin Bethen, both with forearms entirely ringed with silver bracelets.

On the other side of the pavilion, across from the Silvers, a curtained palanquin rested across two benches. A youth dressed in vest and kilt bent to tie back the curtains, revealing the Hieros sitting on pillows within. The old bitch greeted Anji and Joss, acknowledged the Silvers with a polite gesture as cold as it was correct, nodded at Jonit to include her, and paused to look at Keshad and then deliberately away. The slight did not disturb him. Nothing disturbed him now, except the memory of her face.

Last, she examined Mai. “Captain, is this your wife?”

Before the captain could reply, Mai stepped forward with a smile and a courtesy. “You are the holy priestess, the Hieros, who presides at the Ushara temple outside of town. I give you greetings, holy one. I am Mai.”

“Prettily spoken,” said the Hieros. “You have not come to the temple to worship.”

“No offense is intended, holy one. I pray at the altar of the Merciful One, who is not known in these lands.”

“Gone altogether beyond. An odd philosophy, if you ask me, but there is no accounting for the thinking of out-landers. There was an orange priest who lived for many years on the Kandaran Pass, begging for alms. He also dispensed healing and—so folk said—wise advice on the topic of household troubles. But he is gone now, to wherever his kind go after their spirit departs the world.”

“You have heard of the Merciful One!”

“Do not look so surprised, verea. It is my business to keep my eyes and ears open. That is why your husband and I must meet. To exchange information.”

“Of course, holy one.”

“There, now, Captain Anji. I have satisfied myself as to her beauty and her good manners. You are a fortunate man.”

He lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender to the inevitable.

“When I was a child, folk would talk about me as if I wasn’t there,” said Mai in a sweet voice.

“And with a bite, too,” added the Hieros. “You may come to visit me, verea, if you wish it.” She smiled, seeing the captain’s expression transform from a pleased smile to a sharp frown. “Come directly to me, I mean, without walking in Ushara’s garden, Captain. I have no hidden motives. You outlanders have peculiar customs, binding to yourselves what is meant to be shared freely according to the will of each person. But in any case, I am merely interested in talking to an outlander woman who walked into these lands of her own free will. The few outlander women who come here, come as slaves. They are often ill used. While I accept that those with debts must sell their labor to survive, I agree with my Ri Amarah colleagues, even if they remain suspicious of our gods and of the Devourer in particular. Those who have no choice in the act of devouring are being abused, not honored. Indeed, I say so especially because it is my life’s service to honor the path of the Merciless One, the All-Consuming Devourer.”