“I agree.” Vela nodded. “It’s the only reasonable explanation.”

Vela continued talking, telling of the destruction the Lin Rej men had found all across the Meradan territory, like the swing of an enormous scythe by a reaper from the hells. Hwilli wrapped her hands together and deliberately drove a thumbnail into the opposite palm. She hovered close to fainting, but the pain brought her round. She knew who those strangers from the sea were. Rhodorix had mentioned how the Devetii bound their ships to keep them from breaking up in storms. For a moment she considered telling the truth—but what would happen to Rhoddo and his brother, if the People realized who had actually brought ruin upon them?

“Hwilli?” Jantalaber said. “You don’t need to listen to all of this, if you’d like to leave us. You look quite pale, poor child.”

“My thanks, Master,” Hwilli said. “It’s just all so horrible.”

“It is that,” Vela said. “Get yourself a little spiced wine. It should help.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Hwilli hurried out and closed the door behind her. She stood trembling in the corridor until her legs steadied under her then went along to the refectory. At the door she paused, looking in, then gasped for breath as the smell of so many terrified and unwashed people swept over her. Somehow she’d never realized that tragedy could stink. Sweat and excreta, dried blood, sour herbs all mingled together into a scent like that of death itself.

The Mountain Folk had moved the tables over by the walls and piled the chairs on them as well, hiding the beautiful frescoes. On the elaborately tiled floors they’d spread out their blankets and little heaps of rags and trinkets, whatever they’d managed to save as the hordes rushed down the tunnel streets of Lin Rej. Babies wailed, children wept or screamed in nightmare, women chattered at them to “Sleep, please sleep!” as if the words were some sort of spell.

Hwilli turned away and hurried to her chamber. She wanted to shut the world and the truth out, but Rhodorix was waiting for her, lying on her bed. A candle burned in a lantern sitting on her lectern.

“What’s wrong?” he said. “You look ill.”

“Rhoddo, the Meradan. Your people slaughtered their city. Why?”

He sat up, cocking his head to one side as if he were puzzled.“The one on the seacoast? How do you know—?”

“I just heard the story. That one, yes.”

“Well, our ships came into their harbor. We sent heralds, because we wanted to buy food from them. They killed the heralds, cut them to pieces right in front of us. Our men had been shut up in the ships for a long time, and they went berserk, truly.” He grinned at her. “The savages didn’t put up much of a fight.”

Hwilli considered him, her handsome beloved, who came from a people every bit as vicious as the despised Meradan.

“How can you smile like that?”