And then she was wrapping her arms around me and I was burying my face in her shoulder, still damp with the rain, smelling all the things that reminded me of home: scallions, ginger, sesame oil and that musky scent beneath I couldn’t describe but knew it meant I was in my parents’ house in Anau.

“Seven years and you never wrote.” Her voice was muffled against my shirt. “Not until now, and only the one letter.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again. I could apologize for several lifetimes and it still wouldn’t make up for what I’d done or the hurt I’d caused. “I didn’t want to draw attention to you. I didn’t want the Ioph Carn to seek you out.”

She patted my back the way she always used to when I was sick. “Fine,” she said. “Fine. I’m still mad.” She drew back from me, sniffed, wiped her eyes and seized my shoulders, took in and released a deep breath. “Captain of the Imperial Guard. I told both your aunties, you know. And Eina, who makes the scallion pancakes. Can you believe she said I was lying? When the news came through by other means, she was very embarrassed. Wouldn’t say a thing to me, though. No apology!”

“How excessively rude,” I said. My heart felt both full and hollow. “Emahla… she’s dead, you know.”

My mother took my hand. “I know. We all knew, Jovis. When you’re young, you think you can change the world. You think you can bend it to your will. When you’re old, you learn to change your small corner of it and live with the rest.”

“So am I old now?”

She gave me a narrow-eyed look. “Older.”

Mephi nudged my elbow. “I can meet her?”

My mother’s face went pale as she regarded this speaking creature. But I’d learned one thing from all my days of smuggling: if you acted as though something were normal, everyone else would start believing it was so as well. “Uhhh, yes. Mephi, this is my mother. Mother, meet Mephi.”

Mephi sat on his haunches, placed a paw over his chest, and inclined his head.

My mother, bemused, did the same. “It’s good to meet you, Mephi.” She turned her questioning gaze to me. “I heard stories that you had a talking pet, but wasn’t sure what to believe. Like the old sea serpents in the stories, hmm?”

“He’s not a pet. He’s a friend I picked up,” I said. “Near Deerhead. I’ve raised him since he was small.”

She finally regained her composure. “I hope he’s given you as much trouble as you gave me.”

I laughed. “Oh, that he has.” I searched behind her. “What about Father? Is he here with you?”

Her smile slipped.