They were runaway slaves, who had brazenly raided the master’s strongbox. Wasn’t there a penalty, assessed at any assizes court, for those who aided or abetted slaves running away from their contract?

At dawn, Nallo took the children and their few possessions aside. She saw, in the man’s face, a rush of relief at the thought of being rid of them, and she supposed that Zubaidit’s complicated frown disguised relief as well.

“Our thanks for your aid,” Nallo said politely. “May the gods watch over you and grant you the same courtesy you have shown others.”

Zubaidit snorted, and her brother looked alarmed.

“Can’t we go on this way together, Nallo?” Avisha asked plaintively.

“No. We’d just slow them down.”

“Let’s go.” Keshad was already looking up the path as the sun rose.

The hierodule’s gaze was a terrible thing; she might see anything with such a stare, that pierced right through you as though she could read your every thought just in the way you scratched a bug’s bite in the crook of your elbow because you were uncomfortable and embarrassed. How could you ask two armed and strong adults if they were runaway slaves? It was better to remain silent.

Zubaidit nodded. “It’s true we’ll make better time not burdened with you. Yet are you sure?”

“We’ve been traveling on our own for days now,” snapped Nallo. “I know the Soha Hills well enough. There won’t be many folk traveling, if there are any traveling at all in days like these with so much trouble on the road. We can take care of ourselves.”

The brother left without more than a barely polite fare-thee-well. The hierodule offered them a pouch of food, another bottle of old wine, and five precious leya, just as if they were beggars, which they were, so Nallo took it and with thanks. Jerad wept to see the ginnies go.

As soon as the horses were out of sight, Avisha burst into tears. “Why did you make them leave?”

“They’re runaway slaves, and thieves in the bargain. We’ll get fined if we’re caught with them, and that will throw us right into slavery. Is that what you want?”

The little ones hunkered away from her temper.

Avisha sniveled, wiping her eyes, but the tears kept flowing. “Eiya! The slave mark on his face. How he was so anxious to get on. He wouldn’t talk to me. You’re so clever for seeing it, Nallo.”

But she wasn’t clever. She was angry, and embarrassed, and she couldn’t stop thinking about that woman. She couldn’t stop hating herself for never having once in three years as a wife looked over her kind and patient husband with the kind of unexpected and thrilling desire that had hit her smack between the eyes the moment she had seen Zubaidit. Who had treated her with respect and courtesy, but nothing more. Nothing more.

“Where are we going, Nallo?” Jerad asked.

She swung Zianna up onto a hip. “Just walk!”

THAT WAS THE day everything began to go wrong. Not that it hadn’t gone all wrong from the day the army marched into the village and killed her father, but Avisha had begun to hope they would escape, find a safe refuge, and make a new life. Keshad and his sister had appeared, as though sent by the gods, to help them across the river. He was so handsome! But not very talkative. Burdened with doubts and concerns, most likely. Why should he want to hear the chatter of a dreary, irritating girl who couldn’t keep her mouth shut? Avisha was so ashamed of herself, knowing she had prattled on trying to impress him, when after all a man as good-looking and intense and experienced as him couldn’t possibly be interested in her.