Ghrasia made a face. “Please don’t quote the Book,” she said, and began to roll up the map.

“Did Nasaka put you up to this?”

“Ora Nasaka? No. She is not the only person in this country speaking sense.” Sense of a sort, at least, Ghrasia thought.

“So, she did speak to you?”

“I know you and Ora Nasaka don’t often agree,” Ghrasia said carefully. “I wouldn’t trust her to care for my own child. But her shrewdness has preserved this country during terrible times.”

“I have confidence in your ability,” Ahkio said. “You held back the Dorinahs during the Pass War.”

“With volunteer militia sent from every clan, yes,” Ghrasia said. “There may come a time when we need more than volunteers.”

“When that time comes, we’ll have far larger problems than the size of our military,” Ahkio said. “When children are throwing roof tiles at invaders, there’s another conversation we’ll need to have. But not yet.”

“I’ve heard the reports from Saiduan,” Ghrasia said, standing. “I had an obligation to bring it up.”

“And I appreciate that.”

“We’ll have this conversation again.”

“Find the assassins first,” Ahkio said. “Nasaka has already put the harbor on alert. It’s our most vulnerable point. Clan Sorai is managing security there. We’re bound together by something far greater than empty titles, Ghrasia. That’s blood and tradition. We can overcome this without becoming like our neighbors.”

“You are very optimistic.” He sounded like something from a book of inspiring speeches.

“I have to be,” Ahkio said. He, too, stood. “I’ll see you out.”

“Do we want to capture one alive?” Ghrasia asked.

“If possible. Yes. I’d like to interrogate them and try to come to an understanding. We may be able to find out why they chose to kill who they did.”

Ghrasia made her way to the door, and Ahkio followed her. She paused with her hand on the knob.

“There’s something I wanted to be clear about,” Ghrasia said. “You know how the Pass War really started?”

“The Dorinahs attacked the Liona Stronghold,” Ahkio said. “Then they blocked our harbor. A campaign of aggression.”

“That’s what they teach,” Ghrasia said. “Those are the songs. It wasn’t like that.” It had been a long time since she told this story. But he was Kai, and young, and needed to hear it. “Eight hundred Dorinah-born Dhais from the slave camps came to the gates of Liona pleading for mercy. They said legionnaires were following. But we couldn’t let them in. That’s the policy. They tried to climb the wall, but that’s impossible.