"Well," Del said judiciously, "I suspect that if I were descended of gods, and the others weren't, I might count myself superior."

I removed my arm and hiked myself up on one elbow. "You would? And here I thought you considered yourself no better than even the lowliest slave, bascha."

"I said 'might,' " she clarified. "And it doesn't matter, here. Here I am a woman."

"You are a woman anywhere. And I know for a fact a lot of men are convinced you are gods-descended."

"Thank you."

"Of course, they don't know you as well as I do." I flopped down again, pondering the information. "It seems obvious enough to me: these eleven women found themselves in the family way, and, thus disgraced, were exiled here." I shrugged against the mattress. "It's a pretty story they all made up to excuse their wanton behavior, and the eleven little outcomes of it."

"But it might be true."

"Oh, come on, bascha-gods impregnating women?"

"It would be an explanation for why there's magic in the world."

"Magic? Hah. Maybe superstition. Stories. Meant to entertain-"enlighten."-to pass the night-"

"-or to keep a history alive."

"-or to simply waste time." I thrust an arm beneath my head and changed the subject. Sort of. "So Nihko and the metri are related through the now-infamous Eleven Families-"

"And Herakleio."

"-which explains why so many Skandics look alike."

"Which explains why you look like so many Skandics. You are."

"But not necessarily related to the metri, or Nihko, or your boy Herakleio."

"He's not my boy," Del declared. "He's older than I am."

"By what, one or two years?"

"That's still older, Tiger."

"While I'm just old. "

"You should take a nap," Del advised after a moment.

"Why? Because I'm old?"

"No. Because you're cross-grained."

"Cross-grained?"

"Out of sorts."

"I know what it means, bascha. And if I am, it's because I'm tired-"

"I said you should take a nap."

"-of all these convoluted explanations," I finished with emphasis. "Hoolies, this is ludicrous! Women impregnated by gods, and men sent to marry their daughters-"

"Most history is a collection of stories," Del said. "It is so in the North."

"And I got my name because I killed a sandtiger I magicked up out of my dreams," I blurted in disgust. "Hoolies, do you think I really believe that? I was a kid. Younger even than Herakleio. Or you."

"You have done things," she said finally, "that are not explainable."

"There's an explanation for everything."

"And your sandtiger?"

I shut my eyes. "Coincidence. Hoolies, I just wanted a way out of slavery. I took advantage of something that happens once or twice a year. It was just the Salset's turn to be meat for a beast."

"And changing the sand to grass?"

"The sand isn't grass, Del. It's sand. And besides, all I did was suggest they bring the water to where it wasn't."

"Which can change the sand to grass."

I grunted. "In time, I suppose."

"Magic, Tiger, wears many guises."

"Like Nihko?"

Del was silent.

I turned my head against my arm. "Well?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe you should take the nap."

"I am neither tired nor cross-grained. I am, after all, younger than you." She smiled sunnily even as I scowled. "Besides…"

"Besides what?"

"You were dead only yesterday."

"But alive today-and lacking a sword." I swore. "I hate to be without a sword. I get into trouble when I don't have a sword."

"You get into trouble when you have a sword."

"But I can also get myself out of it. If I have a sword."

Del observed me. "You are on edge."

"Aren't you?"

"They haven't offered to harm us."

"But they haven't told us what they intend to do with us either. I don't find that comfortable."

"Especially when you lack a sword."

"If I had one, we'd be gone from here already."

"There's more to it than that."

I sighed, conceding it. "Something doesn't feel right."

Del was silent.

I glanced at her. "Well? Don't you feel it?"

She nodded.

"There. See?" I smiled triumphantly.

"All we can do," she said, "is wait. Watch. Be ready."

"I'd rather be ready with a sword in my hands."

"Well, yes." Del's smile was crooked. "But we have none, either of us, and until we can get them I think we'd best do what we can to preserve our energy." She paused. "As I said, you were dead only yesterday."

Rather than debate it any further-I was on edge, and tired-I took a nap.

Upon awakening alone, I went off in search of Nihkolara to clear up a few matters. It took me a while to track him down, but I found him at last seated upon one of the low perimeter walls surrounding Akritara, staring off into the distance. Beyond him, the setting sun leached the blue of the sky and transmuted it to dusty purple, streaked with ribbons of orange and gold.

As if a friendly companion, I sat down upon the wall next to him and swung both legs over, perching comfortably even as the evening breeze stripped hair out of my face. (Which was one thing the shaven-headed first mate didn't have to contend with.) "So, how did you do it?"

He made no sign he was aware of my presence, though obviously he was. I figured Nihkolara was only rarely taken by surprise.

I kept my tone light. "It's not every man who can make another appear to be dead-"

"You were."

"Dead?" I expelled air through my nose in sharp commentary. "I don't think so. But I'll admit it's an effective trick."

He continued staring into the sunset. "Believe as you will. You are an apostate."

"I?" I slapped a hand against my chest with a meaty thwack. "But I am a messiah. How can I be an apostate?"

He shook his head slightly. "You treat it all as a huge jest, Southron. Because you are afraid."

"Afraid of what? You? That kid?"

"Afraid of the truth." He glanced at me briefly, then looked back into the fading day. "What you do not understand, you ridicule. Because you know there is something in the heart of it that may be dangerous."

"I understand danger well enough." I swung my feet briefly, thumping heels against plastered brick. "But you're avoiding my question."

"You appeared to be dead because you were."

I sighed. "Fine. For the sake of argument, let's say I was dead. How, then, did you bring me back?"

Nihko grinned into the air. "Trickery."

"More secrets, I take it?"

The grin faded. He looked at me now, gaze intense. "Because I am ikepra does not mean I lack belief," he said, "and it is belief which rouses power. It means only that I failed in the maintenance of my oaths, in the convictions of my heart." Something moved in his face, briefly impassioned, then was diluted beneath a careful mask. "The body was weak."

"Strong enough," I commented. "We've wrestled a little, you and I."

"Flesh," he said dismissively. "I speak of the heart, the soul. But the body is a base vessel of vast impurities, and if one cannot cleanse himself of such, the vessel is soiled."

"Ikepra?"

"Broken oaths," he said, "provide a weak man with weaker underpinnings. Eventually they crumble-and so does he."

I had intended to comment, but the words died in my mouth. We were more alike than I wanted to admit, Nihkolara and I. Possibly related, though I didn't see how that would ever be settled. But certainly linked in the heart by knowledge of broken vows and shattered honor, and lives warped because of it.

"So you found Prima Rhannet, because the kind of oath she wanted was one you could serve."

"Without doubt," he confirmed. "Without hesitation. It is far easier to kill other men than to kill one's soul."

"Killing other men does kill the soul."

He stared at me as if weighing my intent. Brow rings glinted. In clear light I could see the hint of a scab in his left eyebrow where he had cut from his flesh the ring I wore on my necklet. "If one's soul is not already dead."