“It is a wonderful view, isn’t it?” Ioma asked. “Our ancestors looked out upon this harbor for generations before the Acacians planted their first fort on Acacia. Whether or not Acacia chooses to remember this fully is another matter, but we should not forget. That’s even more important now. See over there?” The merchant extended his robed arm and pointed.

It only took Kelis a moment to pick out the structures he was indicating. Lower down the cliffs, near the eastern rim of the bay, was a conglomeration of large, richly painted buildings with garish spires like plump, sparkling red bulbs of garlic.

“The King’s Academy.” Ioma said the official name with disgust. “Should be called the queen’s institute for the forgetting.”

“You don’t care for it, then?”

Ioma nudged him in the shoulder. It was an act of familiarity that would have seemed rude had his host not made it so casually. “Do not joke with me, friend. You know the purpose of that place? It’s not education at all. It’s limitation. They say they pick the brightest students from each of the provinces. So why is it that those ‘brightest’ students always happen to be children of prominent families? Why do the children get selected even when the parents have not offered them for consideration? I know you serve the Akarans; I don’t wish to make an enemy of you.” He paused as if considering how at risk of that he was, and then shrugged and went on. “But you’re Talayan as well. That place is a hostage camp. First and foremost, those children are hostages. Second, their minds are scrubbed clean of the truth and filled with the history of the world as Corinn wishes them to know it. Two of my nephews and a niece attend, a cousin also. They tell me all about it. At least it’s here in Bocoum. That’s something. My family members are hostages only during the day. At night we are free to uneducate them.”

Kelis did not say anything, a fact Ioma acknowledged by pursing his lips. “Perhaps I speak too freely. You see, Kelis, I feel already I know you. But I see that I am not as well known to—Oh, here they are now! Prepare yourself for a surprise, my friend.”

Three figures approached them through the maze of furniture that cluttered the room. Sangae had been an old man for most of Kelis’s life, but he wore his age like an unchanging garment. He was still a slim man—a great runner in his time. His simple garment wrapped his torso and was slung over one of his shoulders.

Sangae embraced him. “It has been too long, my son.”