I flushed, and turned the bowl in my hands, admiring it. It was solid silver, inlaid with precious gems. “You have some beautiful things there,” I said. “Where do they all come from?”

“The Firelord brings them. Each time he comes, he brings something beautiful.” He lowered his voice and added tenderly, “Especially this time.”

My flush deepened, and I asked, “Where does he get them from? He has no wealth, and owns only his donkey and the blankets and clothes in his travelling bags.”

Teraj laughed. He had a lovely laugh, quiet and deep. “I forget. You haven’t been to Kasimarra yet. There, he owns a palace. There are more rooms than you can explore in a month, more treasures, more books, more splendours of the Chosen race than in the rest of the world put together. The Chosen all pay taxes, Elsha. They are tithed a fifth of all their wealth, and it goes to Kasimarra to support the Firelord. They give their best weavings, their best clothes, their best grains and blankets and works of art. And he brings some of it here. He has always called this place home, above Kasimarra. Always, he has loved the Quelled.”

“But you’re not Quelled, though nearly everyone else here is.”

“That’s true.”

“Then why are you here? Where do you fit into his plan for a refuge for sick slaves? It’s not just because you heal, is it? He has a special love for you, Teraj. And you for him. Why?”

“He’ll tell you that, in time. Now, will you come and dance with me, or shall I ask somebody else?”

“I’ll dance. But first, I have something for you.” I reached into my pocket and took out a small scrolled page. It was tied with a red silk ribbon and a strand of my hair. I gave it to Teraj. He took it with a smile, and unrolled it. Apprehensively, I watched him while he read. It was something I had written in the high language of the Chosen, something I had made up myself; a poem for him.

He read it through twice, then to my dismay covered his face with his hand. I thought I must have filled it with errors, or made a worse blunder. But when he took his hand down and looked at me, I saw that he wept, and was deeply moved. He said nothing, but softly kissed my mouth, rolled the poem carefully, tied it again, and placed it inside his shirt. Then he took my hand and drew me up to dance with him.