They arrived at Meyna’s house and sat at the big communal table out back – Ahkio, three of his students, his cousin Liaro, and Meyna’s husbands, who were also brothers – big Hadaoh and skinny little Rhin. The brothers shared a father, and one could see their kinship in their faces, their postures. Hadaoh stood at the outdoor stove, poking at the embers and drinking from a mug of wine. Rhin rubbed Meyna’s swollen feet and told her some bit of gossip from the square about a merchant’s new husband. Meyna was hugely pregnant with her second child. Her first, Mey-Mey, was two and danced around the table with a large day lily stalk, singing nonsense songs about angry sparrows that lived in the bellies of bears.

The night was hot, and moths circled the lanterns along the path to the house. His students were deep in a discussion with Liaro about the virtues of the country’s second Kai, and whether or not Faith Ahya actually glowed when she appeared to prophets and seers.

Ahkio kept his hands tucked beneath his long sleeves. He gazed out past the students to the lights and laughter coming from the families nearby who were doing just as they were – congregating for good food and good company on one of high summer’s last vital nights. He heard someone swear and stab out into the darkness at some flailing thing. The woman came back from the shadow beyond her table carrying a limp flower, its sticky tentacles still seething. She tossed it into her outdoor fireplace. Even from a hundred paces away, Ahkio heard the plant hissing.

“Ahkio?” Meyna said.

He started. “Yes?”

“Go get me wine, love. It’s your turn to fetch drinks.”

Ahkio touched thumb to forehead in a mocking way – an overly formal gesture between kin – and rose from the table. He paused a moment to admire her. She tilted her head, smiled; she was beautiful by any measure and a formidable businesswoman.

“Are we drinking to our engagement?” he said.

“And what would you add to our house?”

“A pretty face isn’t enough?”

“You’re not that pretty,” she said.

Liaro laughed. “Now you’re just playing,” he said. “If I didn’t bring Ahkio along to the tea house, I’d never lure over an accomplished woman.”

“Liaro has the truth of it,” Meyna said. “Those militia women in the house this morning surely kept you quite busy.”

“I’d give it all up for you,” Ahkio said, and though his tone was playful, his heart fluttered when he said it, because it was true. He would give up a great deal to marry Meyna and her husbands. More than he’d admit.

“Fetch us a drink,” Meyna said warmly. “We’ll discuss it.”

He grinned and pushed away from the table. Liaro called after him, “Don’t fall for it, Ahkio! She says that to everyone!”