The Firelord’s library was tranquil, and I loved it best of all the rooms at Kasimarra. But tonight, when I went there to meet Lesharo, my heart was banging like a drum, and my right hand was deep in my pocket, clutching the woman-stone.

When I entered the library, he was standing with the bronze dolphin in his hands and he did not notice me at first. Then I spoke his name, and he put the dolphin down and faced me. For a long time we looked at one another without speaking. He had not altered, except that his hair was more grey above his brand. He seemed confused and deeply moved, his face intense, his blue eye burning and full of feeling.

At last he came forward, knelt, and touched the carpet at my feet. I took his hands, and made him stand. His hands were rough, still black-stained from the mine. His ragged clothes were thick with firestone dust and the dirt from his long journey, and his boots had left mud tracks on the floor. Yet he was noble and excellent to me, my soul’s kinsman, my oldest, almost dearest friend.

“Welcome to Kasimarra,” I said. “Oh, Lesharo, it seems an age since last I saw your face.”

“It is only a year,” he replied, withdrawing his hands. For the first time in our lives I felt a wall between us, an awkwardness. I wondered whether it was because I was almost High Diviner now, or whether it was Kasimarra that disturbed him.

“Please, sit down,” I said, indicating a chair. I noticed that Laken had lit the fire in here, and was glad. We sat on either side of it, though he was at an angle to me, his blind eye on my side. He sat rigidly in his chair, looking into the flames.

“Tell me of home,” I said.

“Your family is well,” he replied, turning to face me. “Your oldest brother is married now Your mother is a caretaker, and is fine. Your father … he has aged. Your disappearance was hard for them. And for me.” The words were spoken softly, yet they held a year of hurt.

“I did not choose to leave,” I said “I was called. I asked if I might go back and say goodbye, especially to you; but I was denied. The parting was painful for me, too.”

For a long time he studied my face; then he slightly smiled, and looked into the flames again. “We heard that you were the Firelord’s handmaid,” he said. “They’ve made up songs about you, in Siranjaro. The songs were a little too inspiring, perhaps; some of the miners became insubordinate, and rose against the overseers. The army’s been twice to put down rebellions. I have heard that it is the same in other places.”