“We have different tastes,” he said, and laughed.

The laugh attracted the attention of Maralah and her conversation partner. The sanisi at the Patron’s left glanced back at Roh. There was nothing immediately compelling about him. Next to Maralah, he was dark as fired clay. His lean face was lightly bearded. His eyes were a deep blue-black. A long scar began just behind his left ear and disappeared beneath the collar of his tunic. The hilt of his infused blade stuck up along his left shoulder.

Roh chanced a look at the backs of the other sanisi at the high table and saw that they, too, remained armed in the presence of the Patron. They were sworn to the Patron, but to trust all of them, all sixteen, at such a table… The Patron owned these people: blood, skin, bone.

The sanisi at the Patron’s left looked once at Roh, dismissive, then turned away. But Maralah gazed long at Roh. Her flat, squashed nose looked as if it had been broken many times.

“Surely this isn’t one of our scholars?” she said.

Roh felt like one of the servants, one of the women standing behind him: completely visible, displayed overtly, an interesting possession.

“It is,” the Patron said.

“You are using him most… wisely,” she said.

“He is Ora Dasai’s assistant,” the Patron said, and to Roh, it sounded as if he was trying to justify himself. “Rohinmey Tadisa Garika. Rohinmey, this is Shao Maralah Daonia, Blue-Blade Soul Stealer and Sword of Albaaric. Beside her is Ren Kadaan Soagan, Shadow of Caisau.”

Roh stared at Kadaan, who had emptied a glass of wine and now turned back to Roh and the Patron. He should have recognized him as Maralah’s sparring partner.

“Rohinmey?” Kadaan said. “A soft, Dhai name and a mouthful. I think their names get longer over the centuries as they look to configure new ones.”

Maralah turned away from Roh, another dismissal. “Perhaps each time they eat one of their dead, they add a name,” she said, and laughed. She seemed a little drunk.

“Nearly as grotesque as Dorinahs,” Kadaan said. He picked up another glass of wine, turned, eyed Roh. Kadaan dipped a finger into his wine cup. “Tell me, what does that mean, your name? Rohinmey. What does that mean in Dhai?”

Roh hesitated. Abas and the Patron and his son watched them with amusement. Maralah turned to her other dinner companion, and said something that made him snort.

“I would ask you what Kadaan meant,” Roh said, “but I’ve done my studying.”

“Have you? I’ve never met a dancer with a mind that matched his body.”

“You haven’t met many Dhai,” Roh said.

“I’ve killed a great many Dhai,” Kadaan said. “You all look the same.”

“I’ve killed a great many bugs,” Roh said. “It doesn’t mean I understand them any better.”