“So, if it sounded like I was inferring in any way that I think bardia are superior to Flame-fingers, or that you are here to serve us, or whatever shit actually came out of my mouth, I want you to know...I didn’t mean it.”

He starts to say something, but I hold my hand up. “Because—and I’m saying this with one hundred percent sincerity—I am in total awe of you and Bran and what you’re doing. And what you’re capable of doing. I’m not even a full-fledged bardia yet, but when I am, that won’t change my view of you and your kind. From what Gaspard says, Flame-fingers and revenants have been living symbiotically since the dawn of time. We need you and you need us. I’m not really clear on how you need us, but...”

“Because the purpose of guérriseurs in general is to save humanity from illness, pain, whatever,” he explains. “Your purpose as bardia is to save humanity from death. You advance our cause with your own mission, by doing something we’re unable to do. And the Flame-fingers, we guérriseurs who heal bardia, facilitate your mission by keeping your kind running as smoothly as possible. You don’t help us personally, unless you happen to save one of us in the course of your work. But you help us professionally, to achieve our goal of healing humanity.”

Siaka says all of this as if it were common sense. I imagine his mother teaching him, using the same exact words. Like her mother taught her. And so on. The idea is so ingrained in him that it seems like basic logic.

“So, we can agree that our people are equals,” I say. “But I wouldn’t even dare to say that about you and me.”

He looks at me quizzically.

“You are so much more advanced than I am,” I clarify. “You’ve been studying this stuff since you were a kid. You’ve had the best teachers possible, being mentored by your mom and then Bran. You’re smart, you’ve got your shit together, and you’re...” My eyes stray from his face to his chest, and I totally lose the thread of what I’m trying to say. I squeeze my eyes shut. “You’re totally distracting. Could you...put a shirt on?”

Oh no, I think. I just ruined everything. My blood temperature dives to subzero, freezing in my veins. I feel like crying. Or hiding. But when I open an eye to measure the extent of damage I’ve done, Siaka is staring at me with an expression of astonishment, which is quickly replaced by a look of proud amusement. “Distracting? Really?” He glances down at his naked, perfect torso.

I shield my eyes with a hand, masking my embarrassment. “Really.”