“I’ll have my dajians keep a close eye on him,” Zezili said.

“If you are to keep him here, I suggest that one of my order come to check on him, especially if, as you say, you are to be deployed on a long campaign.”

Anavha heard a rustling. Someone standing. He moved away from the door.

“Thank you for your counsel,” Zezili said. “I will take it under advisement.”

Anavha hurried through the morning light streaming into the courtyard and hid in his room. Daolyn and the house dajians had removed his old bed and set a temporary mattress in its place. He toed the scorched floor. They had not been able to scrub the marks out. The stones themselves had melted.

He sat in front of his vanity mirror and scrutinized his face. Zezili was right, of course. He wasn’t gifted. It had to be some accident. Some trick. Zezili had many enemies. He opened the drawer at his side. Stared at the bloody knife and kerchief there. Perhaps he just needed to be more careful for a while. There was no telling who would want to hurt him to strike at Zezili.

When the door opened, his heart leapt. He expected Zezili. But it was just Daolyn. She closed the door and came up behind him. She began to unplait his hair.

“Where’s the usual girl?” Anavha said. It had been many years since Daolyn took the time to do his hair.

Her strong fingers loosened the tiny plaits. He watched his dark, twisted hair come free, one lock at a time.

“You’ll need to be careful now,” Daolyn said.

“Why?” Anavha said. “Zezili will take care of me.”

“Only so long as you are useful to her,” Daolyn said. “Only so long as she believes she controls you.” She began to knot the front of his hair up, to create a crown that ran from his left ear to his right.

“I am hers,” Anavha said. “She knows that.”

“Perhaps,” Daolyn said. “But perhaps things will change.”

“They won’t change,” Anavha said.

“The only constant is change,” Daolyn said. “Be ready, child.”

“You don’t understand what it’s like,” Anavha said. “I’m all alone here. All I have is Zezili.”

Daolyn tied off his braid and began forming a new one, her face neutral. She smoothed the back of his head, like his mother had done when he was a child. “It must indeed be difficult,” she said, “to be so alone.”

“It is,” Anavha said.

She completed the rest of the hairstyling in silence, the perfectly obedient dajian Zezili always said she was.

But her words unsettled him. He wanted to take the knife from the drawer and throw it away. What would happen if he cut himself again? What would happen if Zezili was wrong?

Chapter 14

14