Her husband had made the contract with her family through intermediaries. He’d needed a wife quickly; there was a newborn to care for. Everyone had told her she was fortunate. It was the best life she could hope for.

He’d been a gentle man, patient and kind. Everyone in the village had said so, reminding her again and again that she was fortunate. And it was even true.

She wasn’t gentle or kind or patient. Everyone had said so, and it was true.

She had no obligation to stay with Avisha and the little ones. But she had nowhere else to go. That had been her husband’s last, if unwilling, gift to her: a reason to keep going and not just walk into the hills, lie down in the grass, and die.

THEY WALKED FOR half the morning, and at length halted to let the horses water at a pond ringed by mulberry trees. The children peed, and got a scrap to eat and a swallow of old wine. Then they walked on.

Avisha moved up to walk alongside the man. She tried to draw him into conversation. When he wouldn’t talk about himself, she talked about her old life, about her father, about her mother; she chattered about plants and their uses.

“She’s a pretty girl,” remarked Zubaidit over her shoulder, addressing Nallo. “She seems knowledgeable about herbs.”

“Her mother taught her.”

“That’s a good piece of knowledge to have. She’s old enough to think of marriage.”

“We’re too poor to think of marriage. We’ve no kin. We’ve nothing.”

“Perhaps you can find a man willing to look no farther than youth and herbcraft.”

“One who is desperate enough to take on a destitute girl with no marriage portion and no kinfolk to sweeten the net of alliance? It was hard enough for my family to find a man willing to marry me.”

“Why is that?”

“I’ve got a bad temper. I say things people don’t want to hear. I ought not to, but they just slip out.”

“Which god took your apprenticeship service?”

“The Thunderer. After my year was up, my kinfolk asked if the temple would take me on for an eight-year service, but they didn’t want me either.” She hated the way she sounded, like a child whining for a stalk of sweet-cane to suck on. “Never mind. It wasn’t so bad. My husband treated me well. The work wasn’t so hard. We didn’t go hungry.”

It had been a good life. She saw that, now it was gone.

“It’s a hard path to walk, away from what you can never go back to.”

“Is that how it is for you and your brother?” Nallo asked boldly. Since she could not see the hierodule’s face, she watched her walk instead.

The woman wore a plain linen exercise kilt, tied with a cord at the waist, and a tight sleeveless vest. Her limbs, thus displayed, were smooth, sculpted, and strong. “I’m not sure where this path will lead us.”