“I understand your reasons,” she said, because if he used his warm voice to talk any longer about how the fate of her line now rested on her thirty-six year-old brother’s ability to seed heirs, she might betray her annoyance. Her brother’s interest in women was generally only incited by strong drink, and then only if there were no strapping men about bearing traders’ tattoos. No doubt he would settle in with a family eventually, but with events taking shape around them, odds were their line died with them. She had given up seeing anyone of her blood survive the season. Her hope now was far less – that when it was all over, a single Saiduan person still lived. Maybe even a whole village. Somewhere remote. It was possible.

“I apologize,” the Patron said. “I still treat you as a colleague, not a subject.”

“We won the contest for the seat,” Maralah said. “No doubt your sons would have treated mine differently if I had them.”

“You know I rely on your loyalty now,” the Patron said. “More than ever.”

“I promise you, Patron, whatever I do, I do with your interests at heart.”

“And what you keep from me?”

“If I were to ever keep information from you, it would be for your protection,” she said.

“But you would keep it?”

“To save you? And Saiduan? Yes.”

He walked to the fountain. He washed his hands, then his face. Murmured a prayer to Para, Lord of the Air. Para was not his satellite; he was a tirajista, but Maralah had caught herself praying to every god in recent days. She had never spent so much time calling Oma’s name.

“Are the Dhai meant to kill me?” the Patron asked. He still had his back to her.

“No,” Maralah said. “I’m sorry I set that in motion so quickly. It was a desperate effort. I knew Aaraduan was lost.”

He straightened. “The Maralah I know would have died on the wall at Aaraduan.”

She rolled that over. He had been distant and dismissive since she crawled back from Aaraduan alone, bleeding out from a wound that should have killed her. She might have died, even with the soul of the hold to keep her upright, if Kadaan had not come back through the upper tiers of the hold before their final retreat, doing one last sweep as she’d taught him, and hauled her out the rest of the way.

“I’m yours, Patron.”

“I wonder,” he said. “It wouldn’t be the first time one of these invaders replaced a woman I trusted with her shadow.”

“I’m the Maralah you know. No other. We’ve been over this.”

“Is Taigan yours or mine, Maralah?”

“We’re all yours,” Maralah said. “I burned that ward into Taigan to make sure Taigan was yours. If they replace one of us again, you’ll know.”