Padrigan looked down at them, and little flakes of grief ash fell off his brow to dust the wet sheets. “You’re here?” His breath stank of wine. His hands were stained by earth. “You’re here with me?”

“I’m here, manata.”

“I’m in love with your mother,” Padrigan said, “and she’s gone.”

“She’s gone?” Tau said, in confusion. “Where has she gone?”

“The Falcresti took her captive. They tricked our armada into harbor at Kyprananoke, and somehow they bought the Kyprananoki into burning our ships. We’re at war with Falcrest.”

“You’re in love with my mother?” Tau-indi felt a great upswelling of gratitude and relief. Abdumasi was in love with their mother. A very odd love, and certain to go unanswered, for ten years was the undisputed limit of an age gap. “But what about Kindalana?”

“Kindalana’s safe with me.” Padrigan’s eyes brimmed with tears. He hugged Tau-indi close. “Of course she’s safe. I’ll keep her safe for you.”

“I killed my father’s other child,” Tau-indi whispered. “He knows. That’s why he doesn’t come back. He knows I killed my twin in the womb.”

“Hush, hush.”

“I killed his child so I could be born alone.”

“Shh,” Padrigan said. “Not today. No talk of killing today. It’s a calendar taboo.”

“Let’s fly kites,” Tau-indi said. “It’s hot in here. It’s hot and bright.”

*   *   *

WHEN Tau’s fever broke, of course, they felt like a damn fool. Falcrest had taken Tahr and now their house needed them in her place. Service was the best balm for grief. So they dressed themself in silk, jeweled their nose and lips, painted their face in royal gold and stars of green, and summoned the Bosoka household together in the yard.

“We grieve for our mother,” they said, feeling at once ridiculous and deeply proud. “But we trust in the principles of our family. Tahr kept the finest trim. Let us call her back to us by remembering her place in the community. Housekeepers, what can you do to remember her?”

They could bring wash water for her in the morning and empty her basins in the evening. They could repair her combs. They could take food from the table for her to eat.

“Groundskeepers, what can you do to remember my mother?”

They could prepare garlands from the Devi-naga exotics she loved to raise. They could smooth the garden path and the beach path behind her ghostly footsteps. They could (one of them weeping now) fly her kite over the lake.

“Clerks, what can you do to remember Tahr Bosoka?”

They could write to her correspondents in Jaro and beyond. They could sell the house skiff and give the money to the ferry project, as she’d wanted. They could continue the education of her laman, Tau-indi.

“Let it thus be done. Let her be remembered back to us.”