“Thanks to Captain Anji and his company. And that reeve my friend Jonit cannot stop talking about.”

“Marshal Joss is charming and handsome, I’ll have you know, although he is pretty old.”

Miravia laughed. In lamplight, the courtyard glowed. Mai brushed the last glistening tear from her friend’s face. She wanted to assure Miravia that all would be well, but who could ever know? It was better to be honest, and remain silent.

Several women emerged from the weaving hall, walking the length of the porch around to the living quarters, where they disappeared inside. Girls carried heavy ceramic pots on trays across the courtyard and went in after them. Miravia tipped back her head and inhaled. “Ah! Can you smell it? Warmed cordial.”

“It must be time for me to return to the guesthouse.”

“Yes, it is, just when families gather in the evenings to exchange their news of the day.” She snuffed out the taper. “I’m sorry you always have to go back to the guesthouse alone.”

“Never apologize to me, Miravia. That you are here is what makes my days tolerable.”

“A sad tale, to be sure, if listening to me complain is the best part of your day!”

Companionably, they strolled across the courtyard on one of the gravel paths, brushing against the waxy leaves and soft petals of night-blooming paradom. Fumes from the hearth fires and the lingering smells of clove-spiced meats and sharp khaif roiled out as they passed the kitchens.

“Miravia? Is that Mai, with you?” The mother of Eliar and Miravia crunched toward them down an intersecting path. “Come with me, Mai, if you will. Miravia, please fetch warmed cordial and a pot of khaif and bring it to Grandfather’s rooms.”

Miravia gave her mother a startled look, but she released Mai’s hand and hurried off.

Puzzled, Mai asked, “Isn’t Grandfather dead?”

“So he is, but his rooms will go to Eliar when he marries.”

“That’s a notable honor.”

“Eliar is Grandfather’s eldest living male grandchild, although naturally my husband and his brothers hope for more sons. However, since Eliar has not yet married, the rooms remain unoccupied and therefore available.”

Available for what? Her worst fears intruded. Barely able to speak, she choked out words. “Is there somewhat amiss?”

“Not at all. Your husband is back.”

“Anji?” The drowsy languor of falling night vanished as quickly as droplets of water steam off a hot brick.

“This way. Your hirelings have already been informed that you won’t be returning to the guesthouse tonight.”

On the porch, Mai slipped off her sandals and found cloth slippers that fit well enough. Public rooms faced the courtyard. Beyond them lay a warren of inner chambers separated by papered walls, sliding screened doors, and corridors. Some rooms lay dark and quiet, or alive with the excited whispering of children who everyone pretends are asleep. Other rooms were lit. As Mai followed Miravia’s mother, turning left and right and right again, she heard voices chatting in the companionable way of families catching up on their day.