“It has been some time,” the man said.

He could not have been much past forty. Roh thought maybe he was one of the Patron’s sons, sent with apologies for his father’s absence.

“Patron Alaar Masoth Taar,” Dasai said.

“Ora Dasai,” the Patron said.

The Patron stood a head and shoulders taller than Dasai, slender of waist and shoulder, not thin but knotted, wiry. If the Patron were two decades younger, Roh would have called him beautiful. Time had worn the beauty, made it hard and handsome, not pretty. His heavy beard covered terrible scars on the lower half of his face.

“I trust you met with no ill luck,” the Patron said.

“None,” Dasai said, “though I heard it said we were in good fortune to arrive whole.”

“You were.” The Patron’s gaze moved to Roh. “And you have brought another.”

“My assistant,” Ora Dasai said, gesturing for Roh to come closer. “Rohinmey Tadisa Garika, a novice parajista. Excellent dancer. Competent fighter.”

“You have trained with Ora Kimey?” the Patron asked.

Roh barely remembered the correct tense for addressing a Patron in Saiduan and was certain he botched it. Why did there have to be so many titles and honorifics and polite ways of speaking?

“I am the student of one of her students, Ora Ranana. Ora Kimey has retired to Clan Osono,” Roh said.

The Patron’s gaze lingered, as if he were evaluating a dancing partner or a sparring opponent, sizing up their skill.

“Please be seated,” the Patron said. “I’m afraid all is not as well prepared as it should be.”

Roh was startled to see one of the sanisi move forward and lay out six loaves of various types of bread in all different shapes and hues. He never imagined sanisi serving a Patron or his guests. They were assassins, not servants.

The sanisi brought out small bowls of other things – some kind of green slurry that looked like spinach or seaweed, diced fruit coated in cayenne pepper, and twelve kinds of fish dishes: fish heads, fish tails, cubed fish, dried fish, pickled fish. Roh couldn’t figure out what types of fish they were, but the smell made his stomach turn.

Roh waited until the Patron ate. He took a slice of bread and slathered it with the various condiments. Roh filled up mainly on bread and the seaweed-spinach mixture and the spicy fruit. To his horror, Dasai partook of each fish dish in turn. Roh tried not to gag.

He knew from his classes on Saiduan culture that drinks were served after the meal, not during it, but he hadn’t thought about that before eating the spicy fruit. His lips burned and his eyes watered.

The Patron glanced over at him and laughed.

“You’re an adventurous boy,” the Patron said. “I see why Ora Dasai brought you.”

“How much information have your scholars found?” Dasai asked. Roh noticed he had stopped eating or drinking anything.