The talk of marriage had settled Isar’s mind. “We’ll put forward the coin for the expedition.”

“I want my own share,” said Keshad. “My own profit.”

Marshal Joss pressed a hand to Kesh’s shoulder, forced him to look into his eyes. For the first time, Keshad shrank back. The Silvers were strict, everyone knew that. Captain Anji was a soldier, a dangerous man who knew how to kill. But Joss, for all his careless charm and his flirting ways and—so it was whispered—a tendency to drink too much, had the gaze of a man whose honesty could not be bought or bargained with. He would walk with you every step of the way, until you crossed his line.

“Are you sure you’re doing this for the right reasons? That you want to proceed?”

“I’m doing this,” said Kesh. “And you can take my offer, or leave it.”

“Bold words,” said Joss. “Spoken passionately.”

“Eliar,” said Mai, “are you really going to sacrifice her happiness in exchange for being allowed to go, when if you would only wait and be patient—?”

Eliar turned away, bracelets jangling. Shoulders heaving, he stamped down the steps and strode off into the garden.

“Mai,” murmured the captain, “this is Ri Amarah business, not ours.”

Bowing her head, she hid her eyes behind a hand.

Kesh knew. They all did. It might as well have been shouted. In exchange for getting to do what he wanted, run away—the best phrase for it!—on an adventure just to scratch his own festering itch, the cursed Silver would acquiesce to forcing his sister into an unwanted marriage no doubt with some old goat of a lecher eager to seize on her astounding beauty. No one would squeak, because that was what people did: They married off their young ones according to what benefited the clan.

Not if he had anything to do with it. The roads to Nessumara were not safe, and might not be safe for many months to come. They couldn’t haul her off yet. He had time.

One way or another, he would find a way to save her.

36

They camped on rough ground several mey outside the city of Horn where, years ago, a battle had been fought. An overhang sloped deep into an outcropping of rock, giving enough shelter that they dared build a fire and boil rice. Shai whittled. Zubaidit cleaned se leaves with a scraper. Tohon fed the fire one dry stick at a time to keep the heat even under the pot. Edard was on watch. The other three had crept away to another nook in the outcropping, but even so, Shai thought they were being awfully noisy, all that giggling and enthusiastic panting.

“I have a question,” said Tohon, twisting his ear as he studied the flame.

When he faltered, Zubaidit looked up. “There’s little you could say that would offend me, Tohon.”

The scout probed the fire with a green stick, maneuvering a hot flare under the belly of the pot. “Sometimes it is hard to know what I am asking. Among the Qin, we are not so—well—so free with all this.”