“I’ve brought you your sons,” Ahkio said, “and your militia.” His voice sounded steadier than he felt. Summoning the courage to speak was like pitching himself from some great height.

Ahkio gestured to the militia. They unloaded the bodies. Lined them up neatly in the square. Four rows of five, including Lohin. As Ahkio watched the bodies laid out, he wondered how it had come to this. He had spent a decade hiding from Dhai politics while old wounds and rivalries festered until his sister was dead and half of the most powerful families in Garika lost kin.

“Those that survived have been exiled from Dhai,” Ahkio said evenly, “as set down in The Book of Oma.” He waited, but Tir said nothing. Ahkio did not look away, though his left hand started to tremble. He pressed the offensive hand into his tunic pocket.

Ahkio nodded to Yisaoh. “I’m certain your daughter told you when we spoke that if your house threatened mine, I would exile you and your kin. I am here to make good on that promise.”

“The Oras have given you much power,” Tir said.

“No,” Ahkio said. “The people did, and you sought to usurp them. This could have ended differently. I could have married into your family, Tir. We could have been friends and kin.”

“You will break ties of kin to keep to a code made for former slaves,” Tir said. “We are no longer those people who fled Dorinah five centuries ago. You must know by now that change is coming to Dhai. We will need strength. A new way of doing things.”

“According to–”

“Don’t quote the Book at me, boy.”

“I will quote the Book all I like,” Ahkio said. Every old person in the country wanted him to keep quiet, to take a seat and die for it, but do it quietly. “You broke our kinship with your betrayal. Tell me what other fate Faith Ahya and Hahko would have for you.”

“You are no Kai.”

“You think we need a new government,” Ahkio said. “You think I’m unfit for what’s coming. You aren’t the only clan leader to express such concerns. That’s why I’ve called for a circle of the clan leaders, in Osono. We’ll discuss changes peaceably, as Dhai do. Not like bloody Dorinahs.”

A flicker of something – surprise? – crossed Tir’s face. “I would sit in that circle.”

“Perhaps you don’t understand,” Ahkio said. “You will not be sitting in this circle. You and your family have forfeited that right. I’m exiling you to Saiduan, to the third degree.”

The crowd gasped. Even some of the militia looked unsettled. The third degree meant Tir and his wives, their children and children’s spouses, and their children’s children would be banished. Ahkio held up a hand for quiet.

“You have an apprentice,” Ahkio said. “Where is she?”