“Stupid,” he said aloud. He had sent Roh there. The treaty was his idea. The mess was his. He threw the letter onto the desk. He pressed his hands to his face and sat very still. He would have to call on Nasaka to help him fix this. And he hated himself for that. For his own inability to manage the issue himself. Would he have to send another emissary there to apologize? Someone else the Patron would kill?

“Caisa?” he called.

She entered. More often than not, she was the one posted to his door. “I need you to pen a letter to Nasaka. Call her here, please.”

“Should I call her a boar?”

“What?”

She grinned. “Sorry. A joke.”

“Oma’s breath,” he muttered.

“Liaro thought it was hilarious.”

“Have one of the secretaries write it, and I’ll sign it,” he said. “Something simple.” It would be easier if someone else wrote it. Just the idea of writing to Nasaka for help angered him. He should have been prepared for something terrible to happen. The danger was supposed to have been the Tai Mora, not the Saiduan. He’d been so caught up with politics and the mystery of his sister’s death that he was losing his grasp on important matters. And it was costing lives.

“Yes, Kai.”

Ahkio changed his clothes and went downstairs. The common room was surprisingly empty. Night was beginning to fall. In any other clan, the common room would be packed with people and laughter. Instead, he saw only three militia at a table in the back and a very tired-looking barkeep nodding off into her palm.

In the very back, near the fire, he saw a slender figure nursing a cup. It was Ghrasia.

He walked over to her. “I thought you were taking a nap,” he said.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said. “You?”

“Bad news,” he said. He sat across from her in an oversized chair.

“Seems that’s the only kind,” she said.

“Yours was good.”

Ghrasia sighed. “Maybe.”

“How’s the girl you brought back? The… feral one.”

“Still living in some hidey-hole at the edge of the clan square,” Ghrasia said. Her look was so solemn, Ahkio’s heart ached. He wanted to hold her, and far more. Ahkio realized that it wasn’t a drink he’d really wanted. He had spent much of his life drowning sorrow by spending his time in the arms of others.

“You stopped a monster, Ghrasia.”

“I’m worried that catching monsters will turn me into one,” she said.

Ahkio stared into the fire. “None of us could do what these people are doing,” he said.

“You’re wrong,” she said. “Any one of us could. You. Me. Liaro. They are us, Ahkio.”

He leaned forward. “They won’t break us,” he said. He reached out to her. “May I touch your knee?”

She started. Knit her brows. He felt a little foolish. “I apologize if I–”