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Ever since Whitebill arrived those many days ago, Bartol had kept Zen's cage at the house. Isla would check it every day, both anxious and excited for its arrival. But it was only now, eight days after her blooding, that the sylph had returned.

'It came back this morning, while you and Kusuma were purchasing items for your journey,' Bartol said from the door. Isla turned around to see him holding a small piece of paper. 'Osmer's ship ported late last night.'

'Captain Stirling's arrived?'

'That's what I said, isn't it?'

'No, I know – it's just –' Of course this was coming. Aldir's bondmate portended it. But now that it's here ... Isla's fingers curled around the cage bars. It was time for the next stage of their plan. But why does it all feel too fast?

'That's not the only news we have today.' Bartol pulled out an envelope from his pocket. 'A letter came from the testers. Your results are out. We're expected to come to the office in two days.'

Isla took the envelope with a racing heart. Too fast indeed.

Before she knew it, the day had merged into the next, and Mother Shapor was cooking her a farewell dinner. Bartol had laid his best catch of the day aside, and his wife prepared a platter of seafood fit for a lord's table: boiled crabs swimming in hot and spicy sauce, grilled prawns sprinkled with a sweet soy dip, oysters left simmering in a thick broth ...

Afterwards, Isla hobbled out into the night, her stomach duly satisfied, and joined Bartol and his pipe by the dirt terrace.

Once she was settled beside him, Isla said, 'Ajure is a remarkable cook.'

'She used to tend the kitchens in Raj Danu's estate.' Bartol smiled; whether at the memory or Isla's praise, she was not quite sure. 'There was a time she dreamed of setting up her own dining house.'

'Why doesn't she?'

'That's too much capital we're in no position of spending. People-smuggling isn't as much a business as it is a charity. We're barely making do as we are. The girls need clothes, medicines. We're saving up so Persepa can have an apprenticeship with the tailor, and it's not too late for Sabri if we can manage to send her to—oh ... never mind. Rambling again. I didn't mean to unload our troubles on you.'

'I like your stories. Our guarantor is a man like you.' Sir Edric was much better off than the Shapors, but Isla did not mention that small detail. 'I used to wonder how he could dedicate his entire life for people he neither knew nor profited from.'

'There was a time I would've done anything to get my family to a better place. No one was around to help us then. I can't bear the thought of others facing a similar fate.'

'There must be a better way to get people out without risking yourself.'

'You can't leave Surikhand or enter your destination without the right papers. Those take time and money most can't afford. Some of them will be chased down and butchered if the realm knew they were planning to leave.' Bartol let out a sigh as long as his draw on the pipe. Its smoke trailed into the night, a slither of grey against the distant stars. 'Even if they could leave, not many realms across the seas would take them. Many are poor, powerless, unskilled. Their only choice is to stay and die, or find a way uninvited into a faraway kingdom.'

Isla felt a wave of irrational guilt. That she had been fortunate enough to escape – the lawful way, no less – whilst others could barely smuggle themselves out of Surikhand? It seemed unfair.

'As serfs, my family couldn't have left Raj Danu's services. It was only after he killed my daughter that he gave us our freedom. The price of our silence. Or the threat of it. I still don't know to this day.' Bartol's face turned an angry shade of red. 'I would have done anything to get her out of there. If I'd known Osmer back then ... none of this ...' He let his voice trail away.

'What's done is done.'

Bartol nodded, taking in her words. 'What's done is done. But for many of our people, it's yet to come. And there's nothing we can do about it.'

'There's plenty you can do about it! You should not underestimate the power of the people.'

Bartol laughed without humour. 'You're young and full of hope. But there are still things you must learn, including when to admit defeat. It doesn't matter. We've learnt to survive.' Bartol coughed violently over his pipe, and a neighbour peered out of her window at the sound. He continued once the fit had passed, 'I must say. Your pronunciation's much better these days. Those lessons with Kusuma have really paid off.'

'I'm going to miss her, and our lessons. In fact, I'm going to miss all of you. I think I already do, if that makes sense.'

'You could stay here, you know. You'll be safe as Lilja.'

It was tempting. She would have a whole bunch of sisters and two living parents. She could ship Noi in from Elingar, and they'd be a family. Isla had allowed herself such daydreams even before Bartol made the offer, but they were just that. Daydreams.

'I lost my eldest daughter a long time ago. I didn't think we'd lose her again.'

Isla's smile faded. 'I will be back. When all this is over. I'll visit your family again.'

'Pah! Don't be so easy with promises. These people don't care about anyone but themselves. They'll kill you in a heartbeat.'

Had she also not killed in a heartbeat? Yes, there had been hesitation. She had also felt – still feels – some guilt. But I would not change a thing, given the opportunity. Other than to stick that knife into Nagendra's neck as well.

'I should know, after what Raj Danu did to my daughter. Happened five years ago. Around the time the Maha Rama issued his ... his filthy Act.'

'The eugeneic act?'

'That's the one. Like those girls are nothing but a common piece of land which some noble bastard can sow his oats in.'

'I hear it's for the good of the kingdom.'

Bartol's laughter turned again into a fit of coughing. 'Whatever helps him sleep at night. That damned decree. Raj Danu had done some great service for Pior Lam, so the provincial prince rewarded him an early-bloomer to wed on her sixteenth namesday. He couldn't wait that long so Danu took my daughter in the meantime. She was fifteen. Lilja, that is.'

Isla looked away, not having the heart to meet his face. The sky was clear despite the drizzle of rain that had started to descend, carried by the wind and piercing her skin.

Bartol cleared his throat and forced it back to normalcy. 'He was not gentle. Broke her. And once he realised what he'd done, left her for dead. Danu worried if the provincial prince heard how he'd accidentally killed his young lover, he'd think twice before handing over something as valuable as an early-bloomer. So he kept silent. Threatened us. Sent us away. We never even saw her body.'

That's why they keep a frangipani tree over an empty plot.

There was nothing Isla found within herself to say to that, though she knew how that must be ... not seeing her loved ones for the final time. Not even knowing. But her parents at least managed to save their daughter. Bartol had to live with the fact that he could not. Lilja had not been an early-bloomer; she had not even been theurgic, and still the realm managed to find an excuse to kill her.

Is that what they wanted from her? Had the Maha Rama heard of Isla and sent his silver-servants to bring her back? Marry her off to some noble lord who had pleased the royal family? But that can't be right. Haana had wanted to kill me; not take me back for marriage. Is it then simply punishment for violating the kingdom's laws?

It hit her hard, that she knew absolutely nothing. She did not even know if it was the Maha Rama who had sent the silver-servants. It could be anyone in his royal cabal influential enough to own a silver-servant.

Gods, it could be all of them.

They had planned for everything – thoroughly, at that. Every possibility, every potential threat and disruption accounted and prepared for. But it only took one thing; one smallest oversight could be her undoing.

'It's still not too late to leave everything as it is ...' Bartol said again, softer this time. He must have noticed her apprehension. 'Stay with us, take on Lilja's identity.'

Isla smiled sadly. 'I can't. I risk all your safety just by being here.'

'Pah! We can take care of ourselves.'

'You saw what happened to Tempestorm's crew. Wise Father knows where they are now!'

'Tempestorm? You're still worried about that?' Bartol faced her, puzzled. 'Forget Tempestorm! I'm sure the maharaj will get them out of trouble.'

It was Isla's turn to furrow her brows. But Tempestorm was the ambassadorial vessel, she recalled. It would not be surprising if it had the backing of at least one member of the royal family. 'In any case. You know I must finish what I came here for. I'd like to give you and your family a gift, though, before I go.'

She had filled a pouch with enough coin for a couple nights at a respectable inn in Elingar; here in the Eastern Isles, its value was far greater. Now she took the pouch and offered it to Bartol, who stared at it as though it contained an ancient plague. 'Keep it.'

'Proud old man.' Isla sniffed, her face heating with a familiar tingle of theurgy – which she squelched just as abruptly.

What was that?

She had not meant to do anything of the sort. It had been instinctive.

By Pathir, I'm turning into Eshe. 'You fed me, housed me; risked your neck to get me off that ship. And I would hate to remind you of that vulgar dance your daughters had to per—'

'For the love of Erbē, never speak of it again.' Bartol shuddered.

'There's enough here to set you up with a small dining tent. Get Ajure started on her dream. Send Sabri to school, have Persepa apprenticed. Just take it for your family, Bart.'

Bartol sighed but resigned to take the pouch. Light flashed across the sky, casting a shadow over his countenance as the heavens rumbled. 'Come. It's time for bed.' The rain multiplied tenfolds, and they retreated for the night.
     

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