Zezili wasn’t too keen on that analogy but understood something of what she was getting at. “So, let’s say you peel up enough layers, and in some reflection, the Dhai aren’t slaves anymore?”

“To put it mildly, no. The Dhai are not slaves here.”

“There’s something I’ve been trying to figure out,” Zezili said. “Why kill a bunch of slaves on another world, especially if they look like you? I mean, you’re working for Dhai who are killing their… what, reflections? Isn’t that like killing yourself?”

“You’ll have to ask the Kai,” Monshara said.

“The Kai?” Zezili said. “You have got to be joking.”

Monshara did not answer. She slid off her mount and tied off the reins at a broad silver hitching post outside the tower. The tower itself was not as grand as it appeared from the other side. Just four stories tall, ringed in silver-rimmed windows that shimmered with little rainbows of light, as if inlaid with the wings of dragonflies.

Zezili followed Monshara up three broad flights of stairs. The tower was empty of possessions. Zezili saw a spot of blood near the door. The rest of the interior was scoured clean. Not even any dust.

As they came to the top of the tower, Zezili heard voices. Four figures dressed in chitinous red armor stood around an amberwood table. A large map lay at the center. Four red vases sat next to each leg of the table.

It took Zezili a moment to realize she actually understood what they were saying. They spoke Dhai.

The woman farthest from Zezili glanced up at their arrival. She was a dour, hard-faced woman a handful of years younger than Zezili, with a strong jaw and sloped nose. She looked vaguely familiar. Her companions turned. Two men, two women.

“Welcome back,” the hard-faced woman said to Zezili, in Dhai.

“Do I know you?” Zezili asked.

“I’m sure of it,” the woman said.

“You have me confused with someone else, then.”

“I think not,” the woman said.

Zezili tried to remember where she had seen this woman – the title, Kai, decided her. Zezili had killed any number of dajians over the years and interacted with hundreds more. But something about this one reminded her of burning flesh. And she remembered a man she murdered one day calling for his wife, calling for the Kai, the honorific for the Dhai leader.

“You’re the girl from that camp uprising I put down,” Zezili said. “That was… twelve, thirteen years ago? You pulled your brother out of that fire. He was lit like a torch. I remember.”

“Is that what happened?” the woman said. She looked amused. “Perhaps that’s what happened where you’re from. It was different here. We met very differently.”

Zezili glanced back at Monshara. “Is this a joke?”

Monshara shook her head.