“I am,” she said, and waved away the dajian. She knelt beside the girl. Put her hands to the girl’s cheeks.

Zezili heard her mutter something, and a warm vortex of air moved over Zezili’s hands where they met the girl’s body. Zezili pulled away. That was a parajista trick, not a tirajista. As Zezili watched, the water on the blanket evaporated, and the girl’s skin began to regain some color.

“I came here looking for my husband,” Zezili said. “He thought I was coming to Lake Morta.”

“And why would you do that?”

“To find Isoail Rosalia. Are you her?”

“May I ask who you are?”

“Zezili Hasaria.”

“Your reputation is well known.”

“My mother is Livia Hasaria.”

“Of course,” the woman said. “I’m Isoail, but we’ve seen no men here since the leaves fell. What did your husband want with me?”

“I expect he thought to find me here. My mother recommended you.”

“For what, may I ask?”

“She said you’re the best jista in the country.”

The girl on the floor opened her eyes. Zezili glanced down at her. “You alive?” Zezili asked. “You best get your papers together. What were you doing out there?”

But the look on the girl’s face reaffirmed that she had no papers. Zezili had seen that look of terror on many dajian faces. She sighed. “Listen, girl–”

“Mam,” the girl said in Dhai. Zezili realized she was looking not at her but at Isoail. “Mam!” The girl grabbed at Isoail’s dress. “I promised.”

Isoail took the girl’s wrist as if to push her away.

“I thought you were dead,” the girl said. “But I promised I’d find you. I promised. I did it. I’m not a coward, Mam.” She began to weep.

“Is she yours?” Zezili asked.

Isoail shook her head. She pulled the girl’s fingers free and said, in Dorinah, “I don’t know this dajian. Call the enforcers.”

After the girl was sedated, Zezili went downstairs for a drink and information.

It was still early enough that the innkeeper had hot food on order. Zezili ordered some and asked the innkeeper if an unescorted man had arrived at the lake.

“Man? Rhea’s tears, no,” the innkeeper said. “You pursuing a runaway? I didn’t think that was up to the legion.”

“He belongs to me,” Zezili said. “I’d pay well for his return.” She gave his description. “You hear anything of him, contact me at the Hasaria estate outside Daorian. Easy enough to get post there.”

“I’ll remember,” the innkeeper said, “though I expect you’ll be disappointed. The weather’s worse this year than usual. I’m not sure a housebound boy could survive it.”

“He had some currency,” Zezili said, and wanted to add that he was very pretty, but the idea of him using his prettiness to survive angered her, so she let that go unsaid.