Lilia turned Gian’s care over to Emlee long before the woman regained consciousness. She knew it could not be the same Gian, but her heart had swelled at the sight of her, and that frightened Lilia too much for words. A week after seeing Gian again, Lilia sat alone in the meeting house at the center of the camp, huddled in a tattered coat and new mittens Emlee had made her. It was far too late for her to be out alone, but the day after prayer days, members of the camp congregated to drink homebrewed liquor and tell stories. The warmth and camaraderie reminded her of the temple.

As she listened to the drunken rambling of the young man on the stage, she noticed a tall woman walk into the room. She had a bold, regal face and broad shoulders. She was too skinny for her big frame and had the hollowed look of those who had spent some time in the camps. There was something in the kiss of her mouth that reminded Lilia of someone. The woman’s hair was a spill of black knotted at the back of her head, very long and well kept.

It was Gian. A thinner, warier version of Gian. She did not have the same confident walk or lustrous skin as the woman Lilia watched die in the mountains.

Gian came over to her. She wore a skirt that was too short for her, and her ankles were muddy.

Lilia tensed. She looked straight ahead.

Gian sat next to her.

“I know you,” Gian said.

“I’m sorry,” Lilia said. “All the things I did, it didn’t-”

“You’re the one who saved me,” Gian said. Her voice was very soft, much softer than Lilia remembered, and she had a Dorinah accent, the same accent all the Dhai had when speaking the patois of the camps.

Another man took the stage. He told the tale of Faith Ahya’s death. Lilia had heard the dajian version before. It was different from the one in Dhai, where Faith died in childbed, birthing the first Kai and ushering in Dhai’s five hundred years of peace. In the version here, she was betrayed by her lover and confidant, beheaded and spiked up on the ramparts of Daorian long after her child was born. Lilia did not like the story, not until the end. Because at the end of this story, Faith Ahya flew.

“I’m Gian,” the woman said. “You remember me? You and Emlee cleaned me up, my leg. I was half mad, I think.”

“Oh,” Lilia said. “You aren’t Gian.”

“But I am.”

Lilia remembered what Gian had said about her twin having a double in this world. This was, of course, not Lilia’s Gian. It was the twin Gian would have had if she’d been born under a lavender sky.

“I’m sorry. Yes,” Lilia said. “Of course you’re Gian.”