“I apologize for striking you,” he said. “It was—”

“Meant to impress the woman, I know,” Abban cut him off. “And it would have been a fair bargain had it worked, but these chin see the world differently than we do.”

Jardir nodded, thinking of how the Par’chin used to defend Abban. “Our cultures are a natural insult to each other. I should have known better.”

“One must take especial care when dealing with chin,” Abban agreed.

Jardir lifted the Spear of Kaji. “I am a warrior, Abban. My strategies are for conquering men and killing alagai. I am not good at the sort of…manipulation,” he spat the word, “that you and Inevera excel at.”

“Lies have always been bile on your lips, Ahmann,” Abban agreed, with a bow that seemed equal parts deferential and mocking.

“So how do I claim this woman?” Jardir asked. “I saw her eyes upon me. Do you think she has the liberty of dama’ting to choose her husband, or should I approach her father?”

“Dama’ting have their liberty because their fathers are not known,” Abban said. “Mistress Leesha made a point of introducing us to her father, and then gave you the cloak, a clear sign she is open to courting. An ordinary maiden might give a fine robe to a suitor, but her gift is one worthy of the Deliverer.”

“So it should only be a matter of arranging a dower with her father,” Jardir said.

Abban shook his head. “Erny is a hard negotiator, but he will be the simple part. I would be more concerned that the Damajah might oppose the match, and the Damaji support her.”

“I will kill any Damaji who defies me in this,” Jardir said, “even Ashan.”

“What message will that send to your army, Ahmann,” Abban asked, “when their leader kills his own Damaji for the sake of a chin woman?”

Jardir scowled. “What does it matter? Inevera has no reason to oppose it.”

Abban shrugged. “I only suggest it because the Damajah may find she has difficulty dominating this Northern woman as she does your other Jiwah Sen.”

Jardir knew Abban was right. He had always thought Inevera the most powerful woman in the world, but this Leesha of Deliverer’s Hollow seemed to rival her in every way. She would not play the role of a lesser wife, and Inevera would tolerate nothing less.

“But it is that very indomitability that I must have beside me, if I am to lead the chin to Sharak Ka,” Jardir said. “Perhaps I can marry her in secret.”

Abban shook his head. “Word of the union would reach the Damajah eventually, and she could cancel it with a word, which Leesha’s tribe might take as an unbearable insult.”

Jardir shook his head. “There is a way. This is Everam’s will. I can feel it.”

“Perhaps…” Abban began, twisting his fingers through the curl of his oiled beard.

“Yes?” Jardir asked.

Abban was silent a moment, but then shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “Only a thought that did not hold water when filled.”

“What thought?” Jardir asked, and his tone made it clear he would not ask again.

“Ah,” Abban said, “I had only wondered, what if the Damajah were only your Krasian Jiwah Ka? If that were so, there might be wisdom to appointing a Northern Jiwah Ka as well, to arrange marriages to chin in the green lands.”

Abban shook his head. “But not even Kaji ever had two Jiwah Ka.”

Jardir rubbed his fingers together, feeling the smooth scars of the wards cut into his skin as he pondered.

“Kaji lived three thousand years ago,” he said at last, “and the sacred texts are incomplete. Who is to say for certain how many Jiwah Ka he had?”

When clever Abban did not immediately reply, Jardir smiled. “You will go tomorrow to the house of Leesha’s father to settle your debt,” he commanded, “and to learn what dower he asks for her.”

Abban bowed and turned to go.

Abban smiled to the greenlanders as he limped through the village on his camel-headed crutch. They stared at him, many mistrustful, but while his crutch was an invitation for violence against him in Krasia, it seemed to have the opposite effect among the chin. They would be ashamed of themselves to hit a man who could not properly defend himself, just as they were ashamed to hit a woman. It explained why their women took such liberties.

Abban found he liked the green lands more and more as time went by. The weather was neither unbearably hot nor unbearably cold, whereas the desert held both extremes, and there was abundance in the North like nothing Abban had ever dreamed. The possibilities for profit were endless. Already his wives and children were making a fortune in Everam’s Bounty, and most of the green lands were as yet untapped. In Krasia, he was wealthy, but still only considered half a man. In the North, he could live like a Damaji.

Not for the first time, Abban wondered at Ahmann’s true thoughts. Did he truly believe himself the Deliverer, and that such things as marrying this woman were Everam’s will, or was that just a pretense for power?

If it were any other man, Abban would have thought the latter, but Ahmann had always been naïvely true about such things, and might well harbor such delusions of grandeur.

It was ridiculous, of course, but the belief in his divinity shared by almost every man, woman, and child in Krasia gave Ahmann such tremendous power that it almost didn’t matter if it was true or not. Either way, Abban served the most powerful man in the world, and if they had not returned to their old friendship, they had at least fallen into its patterns.

But there was a new thread to the pattern now, the Damajah, and Abban was far too skilled a manipulator not to know another one on sight. Inevera twisted Ahmann to her own ends, and those ends were opaque even to Abban, who had made fortunes on his ability to see the desires in others’ hearts.

The Damajah had some unknown power over Ahmann, but it was tenuous. He was Shar’Dama Ka. Dama’ting or no, if he commanded it, the people would not hesitate to tear her apart to please him.

Abban knew better than to come between them, of course. He had survived too long to make so foolish a mistake. The moment Inevera sensed his disloyalty to her, she would crush him like a scorpion beneath her sandal, and not even Ahmann could stop it. Abban was as far beneath the Damajah as she was below Ahmann. Farther.

The only man who can truly handle a woman is a woman, Abban’s father had said to him many times before he died. It was good advice.

Leesha Paper would shake the very foundations of Inevera’s power, perhaps freeing Ahmann of her entirely. And the best part was, the Damajah would never see Abban’s hand in it.

Abban’s smile widened.

Abban was pleased to learn Erny was as formidable a haggler in person as he had been through his Messengers. Abban had contempt for anyone who could not haggle. He excluded only Ahmann from that rule, because it was less that Ahmann could not haggle than that he would not.

The result was a fair price, but after Abban tripled it as Ahmann had commanded, it was a sizable sum. Erny and his wife seemed quite pleased as Abban counted out the gold.

“Stock’s all here,” Erny said, putting the box of Leesha’s flower-pressed paper on the counter and lifting off the lid.

Abban ran his fingers lightly over the top sheet of the colorful paper, feeling the imprint of the artfully arranged flowers embedded in the weave. He closed his eyes and inhaled. “Still smells sweet after all this time,” he said, smiling.

“Keep it dry, and it will last forever,” Erny said, “or close enough for mortal men.”

“Your daughter seems touched by Everam,” Abban said. “Perfect in every way, like a Heavenly Seraph.”

Elona snorted, but Erny glared at her and she fell silent.

“She is,” Erny agreed.

“My master would like to purchase her as a bride,” Abban said. “He has empowered me to negotiate her dower, and will be most generous.”