“That’s why the militia’s with you,” he said. “I expect Yisaoh is going to be waiting for us in the square. They know we’re coming.”

“Why would she want to talk to you?”

“So she can tell me she’s right and I’m wrong,” Ahkio said. “If you go to my sister’s rooms or Yisaoh’s and you meet resistance, turn back.”

He watched Caisa and the six militia members break off from the group. Caisa started humming the opera again.

Ghrasia leaned over on her bear, said, “She’ll be all right.”

“She has a better chance than we do, certainly,” Ahkio said, and waved the procession forward.

The Garikas waited for them in the amber-tiled square of Clan Garika, tucked five miles inside the textured webbing that kept out the worst of the plant life. The massive, gnarled bonsa trees surrounding the square were draped in red. Garikas came out onto their doorsteps or stood under the awnings of their shops and trading places. The weather had turned, and a warm, drizzling rain fell. The sky was a gray wash, heavy and oppressive. Outside the square, fog moved among the trees. Ahkio was not ready for low autumn; he wanted summer to last forever.

Clan Leader Tir Salarihi Garika stood in front of the council house. He wore one red armband, all he had given over to mourning. His broad frame was clothed in a black tunic and dark trousers, and a gray overcoat stitched in silver. He had a thick beard and the same heavy brow Ahkio remembered.

Yisaoh stood just to the right of her father, smoking and smirking. Ahkio recognized Yisaoh’s mothers as well – Alais, Gaila, and Moarsa. All as formidable as their daughter. He felt like an animal being sized up for slaughter.

The militia Ahkio had brought fanned out ahead of him. Ahkio slid off his bear. Liaro said, low, “You sure you don’t want me next to you?”

“Just me,” Ahkio said, and patted Liaro’s bear. Liaro’s injuries from the week before had been minor. He had strutted about the temple with three stitches on his brow and some bruised ribs, but had otherwise escaped the fray unscathed. If anything, Ahkio suspected it had hurt his pride more than his flesh. Liaro was not a man made for conflict.

Ahkio saw none of Tir’s other sons, though they may have been among the crowds lining the square. His blood quickened. He wondered if he would be the first Kai torn apart by his own people.

Ahkio pressed thumb to forehead. “Clan Leader Tir,” he said. Because though he suspected Yisaoh and her mothers were the true instigators of this particular plot, it was Tir who bore the title of clan leader.

Tir did not return the gesture. “Ahkio,” he said.