“Were they fair tests?” Leesha asked.

Abban laughed. “Nothing on Ala is fair, mistress, a warrior’s life least of all. Either you are weak, or you are strong. Bloodthirsty or pious. Brave or cowardly. Hannu Pash reveals a boy’s inner man, and in my case, at least, it was successful. I am not Sharum in my heart.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Leesha said.

Abban smiled. “Indeed not, and I am not. Ahmann knows my value, but it would be…unseemly for him to show me kindness in front of the other men.”

“Kindness is never unseemly,” Leesha said.

“Life in the desert is harsh, mistress,” Abban said, “and it has made my people equally so. I beg you, do not judge us until you know us well.”

Leesha nodded. “That is why I am coming. In the meantime, let me examine you. I might be able to do something for your leg.”

An image flashed before Abban’s eyes, of Ahmann catching sight as Abban lowered his silken pants for Leesha’s examination. His life wouldn’t be worth a bag of sand after that.

Abban waved her away. “I am khaffit, mistress. Not worthy of your attentions.”

“You are a man like any other,” Leesha said, “and if you’re going to spend any time with me, I’ll not suffer to hear you say otherwise.”

Abban bowed. “I knew another greenlander once who thought as you do,” he said, making it seem an offhand comment.

“Oh?” Leesha asked. “What was his name?”

“Arlen son of Jeph, from the Bales clan of Tibbet’s Brook,” Abban said, and saw her eyes flare with recognition, even though her face showed no other sign.

“Tibbet’s Brook is far from here, in the duchy of Miln,” she said. “I have never had the pleasure to meet anyone from there. What was he like?”

“He was known to my people as the Par’chin, or ‘brave outsider,’ ” Abban said, “equally at home in the bazaar and the Sharum’s Maze. Alas, he left our city years ago, never to return.”

“Perhaps one day you will meet him again,” Leesha said.

Abban shrugged. “Inevera. If Everam wills it, I would be pleased to see my friend again and know that he is well.” They rode together for the rest of the day, speaking of many things, but the subject of the Par’chin never rose again. Leesha’s silence on the matter told Abban much.

Slowed as they were by the trundling cart, the dal’Sharum could not give their chargers their head when the sun set, leaving them vulnerable to demons. Ahmann gave the order that they stop and make camp. Abban was erecting his tent when Ahmann summoned him.

“How went your first day?” he asked.

“She has a fast mind,” Abban said. “I started by teaching her simple phrases, but she was dissecting the sentence structure in minutes. She ’ll be able to introduce herself to anyone and discuss the weather by the time we reach Everam’s Bounty, and proficient by winter.”

Ahmann nodded. “It is Everam’s will that she learn our tongue.”

Abban shrugged.

“What else did you learn?” Ahmann asked.

Abban smiled. “She likes apples.”

“Apples?” Ahmann asked, confused.

“A Northern tree fruit,” Abban said.

Ahmann frowned. “You spoke to the woman all day, and all you learned was that she likes apples?”

“Red and hard, fresh picked from the tree. She laments that with so many mouths to feed, apples have become scarce.” Abban smiled as Ahmann’s face deepened into a scowl. He reached into his pocket, holding up a piece of fruit. “Apples like this one.”

Ahmann’s smile nearly reached his ears.

Abban left Ahmann’s tent, feeling a slight twinge of guilt at withholding Leesha’s reaction to his mention of the Par’chin. He had not lied, but even in his own heart Abban could not explain the omission. The Par’chin was his friend, it was true, but Abban had never let friendship stand in the way of prosperity, and his prosperity was inextricably tied to Ahmann’s success in conquering the North. The surest road to that success would be for Ahmann to find and kill the Par’chin quickly. The son of Jeph was not an enemy any man should take lightly.

But Abban had survived as khaffit by keeping secrets and waiting for the proper opportunity to exploit them, and there was no secret in all the world greater than this one.

Leesha was stirring a cookpot when Jardir came to her circle. Like the Painted Man, he walked casually through the unwarded areas of the Krasians’ haphazard camp. He wore Leesha’s warded cloak about his shoulders, but it was thrown back, offering him no protection from coreling eyes.

Not that he was likely to need protection, unless a wind demon spotted him from above. The dal’Sharum made sport of hunting the field demons that infested the camp when the sun set, piling the bodies of those stunted offshoots of wood demons into what would be an enormous bonfire when dawn came to set them alight.

“May I join you at your fire?” Jardir asked in Thesan.

“Of course, son of Hoshkamin,” Leesha replied in Krasian. As Abban had taught her, she broke a piece from a fresh loaf of bread and held it out to him. “Share bread with us.”

Jardir smiled widely, bowing low as he accepted the bread.

Rojer and the others came to the pot for their meal as well, but all drifted away at a meaningful look from Leesha. Only Elona stayed in earshot, which Jardir seemed to think was perfectly proper, even if Leesha resented the spying.

“Your food continues to delight my tongue,” Jardir said when he finished scraping the stew from his second bowl.

“It’s a simple stew,” Leesha said, but she couldn’t help but smile at the compliment.

“I hope your belly is not too full,” Jardir said, pulling out a large red apple. “I have grown fond of this Northern fruit, and would share it with you, as you shared your bread.”

Leesha felt her mouth water at the sight. How long since she had eaten a ripe apple? With starving refugees scouring the land around Deliverer’s Hollow like locusts, apples were gone from the trees the moment they became edible, and often before.

“I would like that,” she said, trying to keep the eagerness from her voice. Jardir produced a small knife, cutting neat round slices for them to enjoy. Leesha savored the sweet crunch of every bite, and it took them some time to finish the fruit. Leesha noticed that however fond he might be of apples, he left almost all of it to her, nibbling only on the irregular cuts and watching her chew with delight in his eyes.

“Thank you, that was wonderful,” Leesha said when they were done.

Jardir bowed from where he sat across from her. “It was my pleasure. And now, if you wish, it would be my pleasure to read to you passages from the Evejah, as I have promised.”

Leesha smiled and nodded, producing the slender leather-bound book from one of the deep pockets of her dress. “I would like that very much, but if you are to read me your book, you must start from the beginning, and swear to read it through, omitting nothing.”

Jardir tilted his head at her, and for a moment Leesha worried that she might have offended him. But then, slowly, a smile crept across his face.

“That will take many nights,” he said.

Leesha looked around at the camp and the empty plains. “My nights seem to be rather free at the moment.”

Surprisingly, it was not Wonda who garnered the most attention when they reached Everam’s Bounty, but Gared. Jardir watched the eyes of the Sharum take in the Cutter’s enormous frame and powerful muscles, searching for weaknesses, sizing him up for the kill as they did everyone. It was the Sharum way to be ready to fight anyone—enemy, brother, father, or friend. Every one of his warriors would be eager to test his strength against the giant Northern warrior. The Sharum who brought him down would carry great honor.

It was only after the warriors had assessed Gared, the most obvious threat, that their eyes slipped to Wonda, and a few did a double take, realizing she was a woman.