She met the hold’s temporary keeper, Arasia Marita Sorila, one floor up in Ghrasia’s former office. Arasia had stacks of correspondence on the table and books scattered across the floor.

“Have you given up defense for strategy?” Ghrasia asked.

Arasia was a very round woman, at least three times Ghrasia’s size. She held a magnifying lens in one hand and a Tordinian cigarette in the other.

“Thank Tira you’ve arrived,” Arasia said. “Don’t worry about this. We’re working with the parajistas to shore up the west end. Lots of history reading. I didn’t get into this for the reading, you know.”

“What’s happening on the wall?” Ghrasia asked. “Your note was brief.”

“Best you see it for yourself,” Arasia said. She took Ghrasia up the winding stairs to the ramparts. It was nearly dark. Ghrasia went to the edge of the rail and gazed across what must have been almost six hundred dajians camped at the bottom of the wall. She had seen groups of refugees camped before, but none like this. It was even bigger than the group she turned away during the Pass War.

Ghrasia stepped away from the rail. “They’re just refugees,” she said. “You know the policy.”

“Yes, but see that?” Arasia pointed. In the far distance, Ghrasia could see smoke. “They have a tail behind them. You know what a tail with cook fires that size looks like.”

“Hold the wall,” Ghrasia said. “You know the policy.”

Arasia seemed pleased. “I told the others that’s what you’d say. They didn’t believe it, but I knew the history.”

“Only a miracle would have us open these gates,” Ghrasia said. She tried not to think of how many people they just lost in Raona. She remembered Ahkio’s speech. And his mother’s. The same tired story. “Let’s have dinner. I’ll walk the ranks.”

Lilia tried the obvious thing first, just to get it out of the way. She pounded on the little sally port at the gates of Liona and demanded entrance. She called up her name and her place at the Temple of Oma. No one answered.

There was no welcome for her at Liona. There certainly wouldn’t be any welcome for the rest of them. She would have to make one. In a way that was more politic than burning the whole stronghold down.

When the moons set and the sky began to gray, Taigan said, “It’s time for you to dress.”

“Yes,” she said. She took Taigan’s water bag.