Hands shaking, she handed him the bowl of rice, cold by this time. He took it, as they had all been instructed to do, carefully ate half of the rice, then returned the bowl. Its curve rested in her cupped hands, the weight of her future not so very heavy when measured in rice.

The other women had eaten and gotten up to laugh and talk with friends. Here no clans showered them with flower petals or set out a betrothal feast for the village. The Qin had no such customs, and the women had no family nearby to carry out the proper rites.

She could be the wife of an important man. She could expect to live in a substantial house, exert considerable influence over the settlement as it grew, and raise her children to positions of prominence.

Beyond the council benches, Mai smiled sadly. A few more soldiers had come, curious to see their chief catch himself a wife, but Jagi turned to walk away. A boy dashed up from the settlement, carrying an eating bowl covered with a warming lid. He said something to Jagi, then looked beyond the young soldier to see Avisha and Chief Tuvi sitting together. It was Jerad, of course, staring at her with a look of such accusation as he tugged on Jagi’s sleeve to move him to Avisha. Jagi refused to budge.

Chief Tuvi followed her gaze with his own. “He’s a good lad, is Jagi. If he can work his way up through the ranks, then he has a hope of getting what he wants.”

But not before. Not if a man wielding more influence wanted it instead.

She thought of her father, braiding cord and rope day after day, year after year, investing the humble labor with something akin to prayer because he cared that his work itself be an offering.

She set the bowl down on the bench without eating.

Voices murmured, startled and speculating. Has the pretty clan-less girl turned down the chief? Impossible!

She hadn’t thought the Qin could look surprised at anything. The chief’s eyes widened as he looked at the bowl, her empty hands, and her face, which she knew was flaming. What if he was angry?

But he shrugged in good part, rose with the faintest of smiles, and left, scratching his chin as if trying to figure out where he had gone wrong.

Tears bloomed. She choked down a sob, felt it lodge in her heart. Was she simply too afraid to go through with it?

She had to cling to the one thing she knew: Her father had been a good man, a gentle man, a kind man. He had treated her mother well. They had been fond of each other. He had treated Nallo with the same kindness, and even Nallo had found a bud of kindness in herself, not much of one, but her surly nature had tempered in the house, only to surface again in its full fury after his horrible death.