The day passes in a flurry of color and motion as Floryn takes us on a tour of Alu Oshana, showing off the residential district, the thriving businesses of the boulevard, but also making sure we see each and every rampart and guard and gate they have to their name. I expected nothing less. I try to memorize their defenses, comparing what I see before me to the map Sholu forced me to learn before I left. There are a few minor discrepancies to correct when I return.

"This is all so very pretty," I remark, but I don't say it kindly. Floryn's smile tightens a little and I know she's marked my tone.

"And so different from Arzsa," a guard called Jentian adds on, clearly missing my subtle barb.

Floryn nods. "You can feel the influence of Macchon and Brekkah here. Perhaps even Yukkaita."

"I'm sure you can feel the influence of Yukkaita plenty in the whorehouses and Lirium dens," I remark dryly. "I can only hope our tour of the city won't extend that far."

"That's the first time I've heard you sound dimarastisi," Floryn remarks with a small, fluttery laugh. "So sanctimonious. And hypocritical, no?"

I stiffen slightly, then force myself to relax. I'm not going to play into her hand that easily. All I say is "no" right back. She'll explain herself if she cares to, but I don't care to eat words out of her open palms. Coming here to ask for a partnership already rubs me the wrong way.

"They call you Sholu's dimarastisi whore, but I see no shame in it," she tells me with a soft smile completely at odds with the sharp gleam in her pretty, wide-set eyes. "Is whoring for power that much worse than whoring for money? In the end, it's all commerce, not ideology."

"Let them whisper what they will behind my back," I remark lightly, voice tight, eyes shuttered. As I speak, I let a little violence back into them. A spark that promises a bonfire. "But the first person who is stupid enough to say as much to my face will earn a sword through their eye."

"Blind me, then," she taunts, "for speaking the truth. You sold yourself, body and soul, for power. And when we called, you came, and now you're on your knees in Alu Oshana, begging for it."

I stop walking, going still as rage flames to life beneath my skin. It suddenly feels too thin, translucent instead of opaque. Like if someone came close enough, they'd be able to see through it to the organs and vessels beneath. I smother my reaction as much as I can, because I know what she expects and I won't give it to her. I won't bite and bay like a mad dog.

Ignoring the immediacy of my rage is hard at first, but after a moment, the tension eases. I probably have Sholu to thank for that. He's made me so goddess-damned angry, so provoked, that the nordizsa's calculating, petty words don't burn like they should. She has taken nothing from me but a bit of pride. He took my family. He took me, and I let him, felt him moving perfectly and inexorably above me. I could resist him as easily as I could resist the howling wind, or a landslide, or any other horror of nature. But Floryn? Floryn is barely a breeze rustling my braided hair. I will not lose my hard-won control over her.

"And what exactly am I begging for?" I ask in a hard, but level, voice.

Her eyes flash, all intensity and a perverse pleasure at the barbs we exchange. "Everything," she breathes back. "Why ask for anything less?"

"Why ask at all?" I counter with a wicked, wicked smile. "Taking what you want when you want it is the law of the noraya, is it not?"

She shrugs. "Perhaps it is. Either way, it doesn't apply to you. You're not norayasti."

"Neither laws nor rules apply to me, Floryn Prosana," I tell her simply. "I am the queen of Shikkah."

And then I'm moving, my hand going beneath the neck of my tunic and grasping the slim blade holstered to my bicep. I draw it and, in one smooth motion, swing it towards her. I wouldn't have done this if they had guns, but they're not armed that heavily. They don't want me to think I inspire enough fear to warrant rifles. It is a subtle barb, but I'll use it to my advantage. I'll use each and every thing around me to my advantage and I won't apologize for it.

We've wondered ahead of our guards, and i think delightedly that they underestimated me just like I expected them to. Whatever impression I made upon my arrival, I'm small and female and I'm here courting a politically advantageous alliance. Why would I risk that by attacking her? So, they decide I am not much risk and instead keep their eyes trained on my men.

She acts on pure instinct, dodging left as her pupils dilate into holes wide enough to fall into and never crawl out of again. I allow myself the luxury of imagining the blade piercing her slender chest, slipping through the gaps between ribs to gorge on the bloody viscera beneath.

But if I kill her, me and every single one of my men is dead. I never intended to strike her, only to scare her. To return a blow for a blow when she expects me to be on my knees before her, sucking and blowing something much more intimate than a well-honed blade.

So I only cut off the tip of her braid, about four inches or so. The hair flutters to the ground around me, some of it catching the wind and blowing down the street. Floryn jerks away from me so suddenly she loses her balance and falls. She scrambles back, breathing hard, her own hand reaching for the dagger strapped to her thigh as the guards we outpaced rush to our sides.

Give them a show, Roze said. Surprise them. He probably didn't mean like this, but I've always been better at killing than kissing.

"Call me a whore again, nordizsa," I murmur, "but when you do, remember which one of us is on her knees in the dirt. And if you cannot, I will be more than happy to remind you of the filth staining your pretty dress."

She watches me, wide eyed, chest heaving as adrenaline pounds through her slim body. I offer her my hand. She takes it and lets me pull her up, an inscrutable expression passing over her delicate face. I'm surprised; I thought she'd be too affronted to accept my help. She'd either stagger to her feet inelegantly herself or wait for her guards to lift her.

I expect rage and retaliation or a cool, amused chuckle. A way to wrest her power back from me or to pretend I never took it from her in the first place. But when she's standing again, she doesn't glare at me or hurl sharp words. She doesn't say something light and airy and dismissive. She just keeps holding onto my hand, drawing it closer to her chest like it's not attached to my body. I come with it, of course, and then we're so close I can smell her. Like fruit and salt.

And there's that strange expression in her eyes again. The one that reminds me of a knot I can only hope to unravel. Perhaps this is her game, then. Act in utterly incongruous ways to subvert my expectations. It seems a silly, childish thing, but perhaps Floryn is silly and childish.

But her tone when she speaks next isn't childish. At all.

"And just how will you remind me of my filthy stains?" She purrs, her voice rich and musical in a way it wasn't a moment before. Her pupils are blown wide. "Will you ruin all of my pretty dresses until I'm forced to go bare?"

"Of course not," I say, still feeling at a loss because I can't decipher the nuances of her tone. "Though if I did, you could just wear a tunic and leggings."

She laughs like I've said something terribly amusing. "Oh, you're a gem, aren't you? Perhaps I don't want to wear a tunic and leggings."

"Then don't," I snap. "And mock me all you like, but a gem is just a fancier name for a rock I could hit you over the head with!"

Floryn's smile widens from mere amusement to true delight. "I thought you were here to court our favor, dizsa. To make nice."

"I'm not very good at nice," I reply archly.

"I'm getting that." She sounds teasing. "Anyways, I like you better mean."

"I find it strange that you like me at all after I just knocked you on your ass in the dirt."

"Perhaps I don't mind being on my knees for you," she admits, eyes bright, still clutching my hand to her chest like it's some rare treasure she can't stand to be parted from. "Perhaps I want you to ruin far more than just my clothes, O'otani Amarin."

"Verlaina," I hiss. "My name is O'otani Verlaina!" I draw his name around myself like a cloak. Like it can protect me from the sudden realization that, yes, I do know that expression tangled in her eyes and blooming across her flushed cheeks, reddening her full lips as her breathing comes fast and shallow. It's desire, rich and deep and foreign as the rest of this fucking city.

"Have you no shame?" I question, dropping her hand as if I've been burned. I wipe it on the front of my tunic for good measure and take several steps back. "We're both women. Married women."

She throws her head back and laughs. "Shame? That's rich coming from you, dizsa. At least I don't step over my family's bodies each night on the way to my marriage bed. You broke a blood oath and the natural ties of kinship, but violating your marriage vows is the hill you choose to die on?" she shakes her head incredulously. "But perhaps it's my sex that vexes you most. You certainly didn't seem to be thinking of your marriage vows when you had your tongue down that pretty lord's throat. "

"Perhaps I'll have a knife pressed against it tomorrow, ready to cut," I tell her coldly. My fury doesn't burn hot, but freezes in my chest, and when I touch it my fingers stick to it like cold iron. "That is what we are, isn't it? Wolves in pretty dresses. Ruined dresses. Perhaps ruined women, who have nothing left but to be wolves."

"And is that such a bad thing?" she asks, cocking her head. "If being wolves is all that's left, then let us be wolves. Let us revel in it. It is more honest than politics and full of animal pleasures."

"I mistrust pleasure."

"I think you mistrust everything, O'otani," she tells me with a rueful smile, "and everyone. But wolves need a pack, and kings need allies."

"Queens do, too," I say carefully, and I can tell she notices how I separate myself from Sholu. Hinting that I might have my own agenda, that I might not be his to command.

"And alliances need terms and treaties, which we will discuss in gory detail after dinner tonight and again tomorrow morning. Tomorrow night, we've arranged a banquet in your honor."

I know without asking that what we consume at that banquet won't be food, but flesh, red and bloody and right from the kill. I think of the rust-colored stains Jana Semiroth wore after the qistri hunt, and of the drops of it that dried like rubies in his beard and neck. And I promise myself that, no matter what happens, it will never be my blood he wears like a trophy.

I promise myself that this is my city, whether the Chalnori know it or not.

We finish the tour and then return to the Macchonesi building to relax and take refreshments after walking in the heat. Jana Semiroth isn't there, but Isarhet is, and we exchange adequate pleasantries over strong tea. After that, I retire to my chambers and ask the ever-solicitous Sarusha- a dark eyed, talkative woman who will act as a liaison for the duration of my stay- to draw me a hip bath. It feels good to wash the dust of Alu Oshana from my skin, and with it, the last traces of Floryn Prosana's hungry gaze.

I sigh. I'm still not sure how much of that was a front to disorient me, a game she played with her tongue pressed firmly against the inside of her cheek, and how much was really lust. I don't think it was entirely a put on, I decide. The look in her eyes was too sincere. She might be a wisp of a thing, but she's also the wife of the second most powerful norayasti in Shikkah. She has claws, and she seemed to like it when I flexed mine, even if it was at her expense. However pretty their city might seem, however fine their manners and delicate their nordizsa, the roots of the Chalnori will always be violence and pain and money. Lust, love, all of it is tied up in exchanges of power and goods.

I practically growl remembering how I pulled my hand away and stepped back like she'd bitten me. She shocked me and made me retreat. She wielded that perverse longing like it was a blade itself, cutting me down from the heights I lorded over only moments before. And I wonder again at the incongruity of a woman who can go toe to toe with a killer like Sholu Verlaina and still balks before lust like a scandalized innocent.

I get out of the bath, towel off, and apply some sort of sweet-smelling lotion that Sarusha brought me. Then I pull on a flowing tunic and wide-legged silk pants and sit down with a pen and paper to record where Alu Oshana differed in defenses from Sholu's map. It's mostly minor alterations time has wrought, but I noticed a few interesting features he isn't aware of. And in the game of kings, all information is good information.

I hear footsteps, then a low laugh outside the door. The guards are changing shifts.

I go back to my hastily sketched map, trying to remember things in more detail, but I keep seeing Floryn's hungry eyes, her lock of hair in my fist, and all I can hear is the howling of wolves. That is, until there's a knock at the door that startles me out of my reverie. Three slow taps.

"What do you want, Roze?" I ask. Before he says anything, though, something is slid under my door.

"I wrapped it in a kerchief for the sake of modesty. Or plausible deniability. Or both," he says through the wood separating us. "But I think you'll like it. It's one of my favorites."

I groan, then bend over and pick up the parcel despite myself. He's tied the kerchief in a rather intricate, decorative knot around the novel. It's oddly pretty.

"Exactly how many pornographic books did you bring on this trip, Ambroz Marithan?" I ask.

"Exactly as many as I needed."

I laugh when I read the title. The Knight Errant and the Woman he Erred For.

"Did you give this to me because I remind you of a knight seeking adventure, or to tell me I'm making a great mistake?"
"Neither. Both."

"You know, part of me thinks you're the one writing all of these," I joke, "and I'm merely your captive audience."

"I'd rather you be neither captive nor audience. You deserve to be free and standing center stage." I'm surprised by the vehemence in his voice.

I might joke about adventures and mistakes, but I know why Roze gives me these books. He knows I feel trapped between Sholu and my own unquiet mind. He knows how unfair this world can be, and he sees how hard I have to fight to maintain the semblance of control despite the crown gracing my brow. Once upon a time, he promised to help keep me sane. These books offer an escape into a different world, one where I can forget my own name. Where the ending will always be happy, and no one is ever truly alone. Where unlikely matches and miracles abound and nothing really matters.

"After the kissing yesterday and the tour this morning, I could probably write one of these books myself," I muse. "What would I call it? The Exiled Pirate and the Queen? Lost at Sea and in Her Eyes? Shipwrecked by Love?"

Roze snorts. "Those are terrible, terrible titles."

"Like you know," I huff. "And you think His Wild and Wicked Ways is a good title, so forgive me if I don't trust your opinion on this."

"His Wild and Wicked Ways is a good title. Look at all the alliteration!"
"The Naughty Nordizsa, then? Playing with the Pirate? Disturbing the Dizsa, that's for damn sure." I joke. "Hey, Roze? How do you read or say such filthy things without being embarrassed by it? Sputtering and blushing and looking down? I know what to do if Floryn pulls a dagger on me, but I turn into a fucking idiot the moment she flirts with me."

"How about the title Fiercely Fornicating with Flirtatious Floryn, then?" he asks, ignoring my actual question.

I choke on my sudden laugh. "Nope! Not happening!"

"In my mind's eye it is. Speak for yourself."

"Maybe you should take up with Flirtatious Floryn, then. I think your mind is as filthy as her stained dress."

"Floryn looks like a strong gust of wind could snap her neck. She's beautiful but she's too breakable. Also, a Chalnori Norayasti, an exiled Pirazarin, and an ex-Shotori norayasti sharing a woman sounds like either the beginning of a very bad joke or the end of my natural life. Maybe both."

"Maybe neither."

We sit on either side of the door in companiable silence. I like that I can hear his breathing.

After a long interval of quiet, he simply says "you kissed me." Not quite a question and not quite a statement.

"I did," I agree. "Do you expect me to apologize?"

"No," he says, a smile in his voice. "You're too stubborn for that by far, and I'm too realistic. But I do want to know, did you kiss me to get back at Sholu or to shock the Chalnori out of their preconceived notions?"

"Both. Neither." I reply. An expectant silence stretches between us, and I sigh. "It was a power play at first."

"What was it after that?"

"My animal heart," I admit as the silence spins out between us like thread on a spool. "And the fact that you're the only one who treats me like I'm human. I am an idea to most of them. I'm the past and the crown on my head. But with you, I feel... real." I shrug even though I know he can't see me through the door. "It was momentarily intoxicating."

"You're supposed to stroke my ego and tell me that my kiss was intoxicating, you know. That my lips left you drunk and giddy and breathless. That even now, you want me more than you want your next breath."

"You've been reading too many romances," I scoff. I'll walk the Eternal Sands until my feet fall off before I admit that he's not entirely wrong.

"Using your lips to punish your lover and secure an alliance sounds like something out of a romance to me. So does using me to do it."

"I already told you I'm not going to apologize."

I can hear the smile in his voice. "And I already told you that I don't expect you to." Then, like he's offering up a confession; "I didn't mind being used. I liked kissing you. I like you."

I laugh, but it's a bleak and hollow sound. "You shouldn't, Roze. This isn't one of your pretty novels. I'm not your heroine. I'm not Lizsa. I'm not even good. I'm a puppet on a string and a woman who made herself into a weapon and can't bring herself to regret it. I'm brutal and bitter and I'll hurt you if you let me. So don't let me."

"It hurts me when you say things like that," he tells me softly. "When you call yourself an object or an animal. You demean yourself, O'otani. You're so much more than what Sholu and your grief made you. Why can't you see that?"

"Why do you need me to see it so badly?" I counter.

"Because there's already been enough pain. Enough death. Enough lies. And this is a simple enough truth."

"None of this is simple!" I laugh incredulously. "Aren't you the one who just told me that? Also, those are strange sentiments from the lips of an ex-norayasti. A man who, lest we forget, I met for the first time when he held a knife to my neck!"

"These aren't the words of an ex-norayasti," he says. "They're the words of a man who watched the Shotori noraya burn down around him twice. Who watched his sister follow Sholu off the cliff of his relentless ambition, then watched him grow cruel in his grief when he lost her. A man who saw the bodies after the dimaraste was torn apart by bullets. And in the midst of all of it, I saw a woman who was willing to give herself away to keep her cousin safe. I saw her rage and her spirit and thought it would be a goddess-damned shame if it faded and flickered out." He pauses, drawing a deep breath. "I saw a fucking queen, and now I want to see her rule."

His words fall away, leaving me unmoored and breathless. What can I possibly say to that?

"You are willfully and relentlessly naïve, Roze Marithan."

"Damn right I am," he throws back. Then, "I just want all of it to mean something, you know? I want all of the pain to matter. It's easier to bear it that way."

I feel like I can see to the heart of him even with the door stubbornly between us. Here is a boy who would have been born and raised in the palace alongside Amsol's own children had she lived. Had Sorzsa not been what he was. Had Lusca not fled to the cold embrace of the noraya. Instead, he was weaned on violence and spite, and knit into the tight family of the Shotori. He felt pulled between worlds, good at violence but not enamored by it, and he learned from the dimaraste that very little is ever truly good or truly evil.

He watched his sister fall head over heels in love with Liro's ambitious, ruthless lieutenant. He saw the fault lines within the Shotori cracking and knew who would bleed when the dams broke. He felt like an auger of misfortune, desperate to pull his family away from a world he knew could so easily destroy them. Tired of the games, the sins, hungry for something clean. A man who bought a little cottage on the wharf for his sister and her child, one she never stepped foot inside save the night her husband carried her broken body there after Kanza Arishai's coup.

He was naïve enough then to think that Sholu would finally settle. That grief would forge him into something less hedonistic, less acquisitive. And then he watched his brother-in-law burn the entire Shotori noraya to the ground for the second time in seven years. He saw what became of Kanza Arishai and killed him for mercy's sake. Later, he saw a woman lying through her teeth, desperate to protect her bloodbound the way he hadn't been able to protect his own blood. The fool tried to kill her, then helped her learn how to laugh again instead.

"It will mean something," I promise him softly. Promise both of us, really. "It will. It has to."

I hear him stand up, getting ready to trade off watch shifts so he can go get ready for our meeting with the Chalnori later this evening. Before he goes, he tells me "it already does. Even if you were just using me, it meant something to me, O'otani."

"You shouldn't say such things," I caution him. "You'll ruin us both."

But he's already gone, leaving me to the silence inside my own head and the rapid beating of my all too human heart.

Jana Semiroth's study is all rich leather and wood paneling, the walls painted a deep, rusty red. There's an intricately woven rug smooshed under the weight of a hulking desk, which he sits behind, hands steepled, eyes locked on me. It's disconcerting, but I know better than to flinch. I expected this discussion to take place in a more formal setting, but I can see the advantage to making things a little more intimate. It's harder to lie convincingly in such a confined space, and the casualness could easily lull us into a false sense of security.

He's perfectly at ease, sleeves rolled up and smile easy, but his presence still manages to come across as menacing. He eats up the space, expanding as it contracts, and I'm reminded once again of Sholu. How the light itself seems to bend towards him. And I'm envious for a moment because he wears power like it's a second skin, making mine feel like a loose and ill-fitting garment by contrast.

But I'll be damned if I take it off now.

"You've been here a day and you've already attacked my wife in broad daylight," he says conversationally, but there's fire in his eyes. "Perhaps it's a cultural difference, a particularly eccentric brand of Arzsan diplomacy, or perhaps you're just too green to exercise any self-control or proper restraint. And if that is the case, I ask you, why the fuck would I want to enter into any partnership with you? I wouldn't let you sit down at my table to play cards, much less agree to a significant alliance. So, dizsa, are you stupid or reckless or both?"

I take a breath, determined not to be so easily provoked. It's a fine line to walk, proving I'm tough enough to survive in this cutthroat political landscape but also controlled enough not to be driven solely by my most volatile emotions. Thankfully, Sholu has given me a great deal of practice with handling rage. I can cage it inside of me in a way I never could before.

"That wasn't an attack," I scoff. "That was barely even foreplay." Then, giving him a conspiratorial smile, I add "though it seemed to suit your wife just fine."

I'm taking risks here right and left, any one of which could be disastrous, but somehow, I think being brash and unexpected will play to my advantage. Sholu told me that Jana Semiroth likes to be amused more than anything, that he chases the rare and delights in the unpredictable. He told me that after twelve years of leading the Chalnori, Jana is easily bored, and I'll get farther if I can surprise him than if I offer him my deference. And I know right here, right now, I'm something he's never seen before. A dimarastisi who rules the vasayaste and runs with the noraya's wolves when the moon is full and bright.

To my relief, he throws back his head and laughs. "She might look fragile as a willow branch, but my Floryn has a soft spot for women with a cutting edge. And you've got eyes that could carve a heart out with a single glance."

"I ate my own heart out years ago, I'm afraid."

"And yet you're still hungry. But so is Shikkah. That's why you're here, is it not? To negotiate for food distribution."

"It is. I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"A nordeme might respect ambition, but he never trusts it," Jana tells me sagely. "If you are hungry, how do I know you will stop at mutually beneficial? How do I know you won't try to eat from my table without my leave?"

"You don't," I admit. His eyebrows raise slightly, and I feel a small surge of pleasure knowing I surprised him. "The same way I didn't know if riding here without my husband and with only a small contingent of guards was a justifiable risk or suicide. I'm not foolish enough to ask you to trust me, nor am I naïve enough to completely trust you, but strong alliances have been built on much shakier ground."

"Allow me to be blunt," he says, leaning back in his leather chair and meeting my gaze with a calculating one of his own. "I do not know if you are loyal to Sholu and this revolution or if you see it as a path to power. I am not sure you see us as allies instead of subjects, and I promise you, dizsa, we are not content to be ruled. The dimaraste couldn't cage us, the vasayaste couldn't tame us. Why should I help you? Why not just sit back and let your new regime fall apart in the face of hunger and desperation? It would be eliminating a threat, would it not? What is bad for the Shotori is good for the Chalnori."

"You're not that foolish, Jana Semiroth," I tell him coolly. "A civil war provides opportunities that can be exploited, yes, but the price of those opportunities is chaos you can neither predict nor control. If we fall, perhaps you will rise in our stead. Or perhaps a new regime will take our place and declare war, burning your noraya to the ground. Your businesses benefit from a degree of stability, and Sholu and I can provide that, given you provide us with the means to distribute it in an efficient and timely manner."

I pause for a second, letting him consider my words before continuing on with a confidence I do not truly feel. "You don't need to trust us, nordeme. You need to trust that we will act in our own best interest, and starting a war with the Chalnori is definitely not in our best interest. We would win, of course, but the cost would be extraordinarily high."

"You've already paid a premium for power, though, have you not? One hundred and ten lives for a throne." I flinch before I can stop myself, because somehow he knows the exact number of family members I've lost. When I hear that number, my gut twists and blackness creeps in from the edges of my vision like a curtain drawing the pain of the past down into my present. I think I'm healing, think I'm better, but then something simple throws me back to that night and-

And I can't do this. Not here, not now. This is not just politics. This is my life. This is my small measure of freedom. I want Jana Semiroth to trust me. To work with me. To grow to believe in me more than he believes in Sholu. Eventually, to work against him with me. His resources are not as extensive as the Shotori, but they might be enough when paired with my ruthlessness and rage.

My animal heart.

"I will be paying that debt every day for the rest of my life," I admit honestly, a raw edge to my voice despite my best efforts to modulate it. "I was in the fucking room when it happened. It broke my heart. But sometimes you have to let things break completely before they can heal. That's why I'm here. I want to heal. I want Shikkah to heal."

I realize with a twinge of surprise that I actually mean it. Ever since the day Sholu almost hung me and all of Arzsa stood by and watched, I've hated them. They turned away from us and handed him power. Faithless, selfish, and fickle. If they suffered in the aftermath of his revolution, well, they deserved to. I was suffering because of them. Sholu might have wielded the knife, but they handed him the blade.

Stupid sheep following a lying, blasphemous shepherd. Sins it would take lifetimes to walk off. That's what I saw, in them and in myself. And I hated both of us for it. So much.

But something has changed. When I think of Arzsa, I think of Kaza O'utena and his little sister who wants to be a blacksmith. I think of Halima Royen melting into the busy streets of Rizsava with gold beads I made her swallow weighing her pockets down. I take no delight, no revenge, from their suffering.

Maybe I've just realized that life isn't that black and white. I saw them as a congregation that had turned away from their one true god, but now I know better. I loved my family, but they had secrets. They had sins.

I spent every night for a month dreaming of ways to torture and kill Sholu Verlaina for his crimes against me and mine, yet I've gone to his bed willingly. I've been weak enough to accept the tainted comfort he offers. To be consoled by the person who made me crave consolation in the first place.

It is easy to be swept away by waves of hate and love, too. It's easy to believe that what you see on the surface is the truth and not look at the deeper currents beneath until the undertow has you firmly in its crushing grasp. Until you're drowning.

They were parched from the droughts. We were remote. Sholu came with a spark, and they all became kindling. And I've spent months hating and blaming wood for burning bright when that's the only thing wood can do when confronted with fire.

I hate their blindness, their deference, but I understand it. I was blind, too. In some ways I still feel like I'm groping around in the dark, searching for handholds.

It's so fucking easy to fall, and so hard to get back up again.

So, yes, I'm here in Alu Oshana pursuing my own agenda. But I can also be here for them, I think. Not for the faithless or the false, but for the innocents this cataclysm could so easily swallow.

"I understand your reluctance," I tell Jana as earnestly as I can. "But please, help us heal. We will make it worth your while."

He watches me for a long moment, an inscrutable expression on his face, before nodding slowly. Slightly.

"I have conditions."
"I'd be concerned if you didn't."

"I want the treaties renewed. I need a promise of some kind that you will not try to encroach on my territory."

"Done."

He raises an eyebrow but continues. "I want free access to every Shikkan port to run my product with no oversight or taxes imposed."

"So long as the goods you trade in aren't human, I can agree to that."

"I want the Hasmana valley back from Kildir fucking Abethibana."

"I can speak to her about it. Sholu can apply some pressure."

"And lastly," Jana tells me, "I want a seat on your council. In perpetuity."

"That could be a problem," I sigh. "There are plans for elections in the next seven years. A transition away from the monarchy."

"Maybe there will be elections, maybe there won't. Maybe you believe in some grand democratic experiment, maybe you're using the mood of the room to your advantage and have no intention of ever stepping down from power. Quite frankly, I don't care. But if you asked me, I'd tell you that having permanent appointed positions in government doesn't preclude said government from functioning democratically."

"The seat is changed every three years," I counter. "I don't want any one person having that kind of extended influence without any checks and balances."

"You need our checks to keep your balance, but I digress. We'll rotate the seat every seven years."

"Five."

He nods sharply. "There are some other minor details to hammer out, not to mention planning exactly how you'll utilize our existing networks to distribute food and how it will all be coordinated, but that can wait until tomorrow. The day after that, hopefully we will have everything written up and signed. And one more condition: before you go, you must attend a dinner in your honor I've put together."

"We'd be delighted to," I say with a magnanimous smile.

_____

So there's one more chapter before we switch back to Shira and Irei in Kama, where things are considerably less hectic. (But there will still be drama of course.) Thanks for reading!