“Knock it off, jackass,” said the soldier to Lodge’s right, slapping him across the back of the head roughly. “The young woman’s a pilgrim, like us. Not some silly, savage slut from the frontier.”

Lodge frowned, but fell silent.

Lehav ignored the exchange entirely. If he felt any desire to spring to Adare’s defense, he didn’t show it. The fact that he’d saved her back in Annur sometimes tempted Adare to think of him as an ally. It was a dangerous temptation.

“What do you need?” he asked, fixing her with a stare.

“Oshi’s wandered off,” she said, trying to keep her voice high and frightened. “You know the old man? Nira’s worried about him.”

Lehav shifted his gaze from Adare to Nira. “I’ve heard you talking,” he said, the mildness of his voice belying the edge in his words. “I’ve heard your heresies.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why you joined this pilgrimage, but if you’re worried about your brother, you can find him yourself.”

Adare started to protest, but Lehav cut her off with a quick chop of his hand.

“It’s bad company you keep, Dorellin. Sinful company. River blindness is one thing; make sure you aren’t blinded to Intarra’s light at the same time.”

Before she could respond, the soldier turned on his heel and stalked off into the night, his two companions following.

It was a measure of Nira’s fear that she didn’t curse him, didn’t even seem to register his departure.

“It’s all right,” Adare said. “We don’t need him. The two of us can check the road, one north and one south. We’ll be faster than your brother.”

“Ya can’t even see at night, not beyond the fires, not with that thing wrapped over your eyes.”

“I’ll move slowly. I’ll call out.”

Nira hesitated, then nodded curtly, anger and confusion yielding to something like her customary stony resolve. “I’ll go south.”

“We’ll find him, Nira,” Adare said, laying a hand on the older woman’s arm. She was surprised to find her trembling. “He hasn’t been gone that long, and out here it’s just fields and the canal—he can’t get into too much trouble.”

She turned and hitched up her robe, but Nira stopped her.

“Wait,” she said, voice low. Adare turned back, and the woman grasped her wrist with one clawlike hand, skewering her with a level gaze. “If you find him . . . be careful.”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt himself,” Adare assured her.

Nira shook her head. “Don’t be careful for him, you fool. Be careful of him.”

Oshi’s arms were twigs. His neck didn’t look capable of holding up his bald head. And yet the old woman’s voice burned with a fierce urgency, and she refused to release Adare’s wrist.