Kallai and I became inseparable. Always, when not in the kitchens or involved with other household duties, I wore on my left arm my leather glove, and Kallai. Flying him was the only thing that I did well; it was my one joy, my triumph.

I managed, after a while, to live fairly well within the laws, though I longed for the time when my high lord and I would leave. I was more comfortable with him than with anyone else. Except Amasai.

I saw Amasai again, just one more time. We were all working late one afternoon, getting ready for the evening meal. I was preparing my own meal, which I would eat alone later in my room. I worked in a far corner of the kitchen, away from the windows and the main door, out of everybody’s way. It was dark where I was, and smoky, and the only light came from the fires. The first and second cooks were arguing over which herbs to put in the stew, and several of the younger cooks were chasing hens around the benches, trying to catch one for the pot, and shrieking with laughter. Noise and smoke filled the dark air, and the place was warm from work and hot stone ovens and the open fires. I loved these times, when they were all half crazy and I could laugh and forget I was not one of them.

Suddenly it was quiet. I looked behind me and saw a man standing in the far doorway, dark and tall against the afternoon light. Immediately, the two chief cooks smoothed back their hair, straightened their red aprons, and knelt and touched the floor at his feet. The younger women ignored the hens, pushed back their tumbled hair, and rearranged their rumpled skirts. I saw that several of them blushed, and whispered behind their hands. Whoever their rare male visitor was, he had a startling effect on them.

I smiled, amused, and turned back to my vegetables. Then I heard the name Amasai, and my hands were still.

“The handmaid!” someone said, and the silence deepened. All their eyes were on me. I bent over my bench and pretended I had heard nothing. If he wanted me, he could come to me.

I heard boots stride over the stones, and stop a little way behind me. The women were silent, watching, wondering.

“Elsha of the Quelled,” he said, and it seemed a hundred years since I had heard that voice “I would speak with you.”

I washed my hands in a small bowl, dried them, and turned around. I bent and touched the shadowed floor at his feet. “Welcome, lord,” I murmured, and stood up again. I longed to look at his face, but risked only a glance at his right shoulder, near his face. He looked at a point just beside my head, and I knew he smiled. The firelight cast a red glow across the right side of his face and body, and his hair was the colour of flame. The heat of the stone ovens made my whole body unbearably hot, and my throat felt suddenly parched.