It took another morning’s planting before he felt ready to push forward, confident of Rasha’s interest, and the indulgence of their supervisors. He’d caught Mero watching them, his cliff-side face studiously blank, making no move to intervene. Rennic had been right. Laralim wanted to keep him, and had concluded that his motives toward Rasha would act in her favour. Alone in his room the night before, his thoughts wandering, he wondered if she might know better after all. He was certainly looking forward to seeing her, a slight tightening in his chest when he saw her look up and smile.

‘Could we meet? Later?’

She kept her attention on returning her tools to the canvas as they stopped for the morning, but he heard the change in her breathing. Her friends hovered to one side, waiting for her to join them, not wanting to approach while she and Chel spoke. ‘What did you have in mind?’ she asked at length, her gaze still low.

He chose his words carefully. ‘Maybe a walk later, after evening prayers? There’s so much of the estate I’ve not yet seen, I could use a good guide.’

She straightened, looking over his shoulder to where Mero lurked. ‘And Mero can’t take you?’

He smiled, biting down on his unease. ‘I’m sure Mero has far better things to do.’

Rasha gazed at him, considering, and he felt his heart thumping against his ribcage. He couldn’t be sure of the exact cause of his anxiety.

‘If you can get out alone, I’ll meet you behind the chapel.’

***

He sat through the prayers, habitual boredom at the drone of proceedings aggravated by his jitters of what was to come. If Laralim, seated beside him on one of the good benches, noticed his fretting, she made no comment. At the final bell as the assembly filed out into the darkening evening, torches lit along the pathways and the vanishing sky the colour of an old bruise, he rolled his dice.

‘Auntie, might I make my own way back to the chamber?’

Her guard was up immediately, her eyes on him cold, calculating. Too soon, too much. His stomach turned over, sinking fast, and with it his plan’s chances. ‘I have a question for you, Vedren of Barva.’ She ushered him to one side, away from the departing congregation.

‘Vedren,’ she said as they stood in the relative seclusion of the terrace, ‘do you believe I wish you harm?’ She gave him no chance to answer. ‘It is quite the reverse. You must realize by now, you are not the first stray we’ve had to take in. Tell me, have you ever lived somewhere you felt you truly belonged?’