Chapter Eleven

The sun was high in the sky when Cay slipped out of bed the next morning, careful not to wake Adrio. In the cool gray light streaming through the mullioned windows, he paused to peel back the sheet and inspect the red wheals crisscrossing Adrio's shoulders, the black scabs where the whip had broken the skin here and there.

The man responsible had died for it, and Cay was satisfied. He felt no guilt for what he'd done and trusted the dreams of blood would pass. It was sufficient.

He pulled on the robe and slippers someone had left for him. Stomach rumbling, he prowled down to the kitchen, drawn by the smell of food, and was given a small feast: soft bread rolls with bacon and goat cheese, stewed figs and apricots, and a pot of hot tea. He took his tray out into the gardens of Wind House.

It was cool but not cold, with beads of dew fresh on the grass. Cay curled up on a bench amid the winter shrubs and ate, enjoying the moist air on his face. He gently eased his feet out of his slippers, warmed a hand on his steaming teacup, and wrapped it around his scraped and sore toes.

Wind House perched on a high hill at the base of the Elurez Mountains. A stone wall partially surrounded the garden, but it was open to the south, and one could look out across the green-and-gold patchwork of Lucenequa, stretching down and away. The clouds, flying like mysterious balloons through unseen currents of air, cast shape-changing shadows over the plain. The garden walls were composed of the same golden stone as the house, and bare vines climbed them, thorn-studded black tendrils snaking up, spiny black fingerbones anchoring themselves to rock. A few gray leaves rattled in the cold breeze. They were rose vines, he supposed. In summer, the beauty of their flowers would charm the eye. In winter, their true nature was revealed: tenacious survivors, well-armored and willing to scratch.

He sipped.

He felt... fragile.

Adrio wanted him to stay, to try to be better husbands to each other. His soul was eager to agree. He had longed for Adrio to return to him, to talk to him, to explain. And he had. He had apologized. He wanted Cay in his bed and, presumably, in his life. And they might go forward happily together. Adrio might tell Cay his plans. He might let Cay help with the Chende refugees. He might grow to love Cay, at least a little, and then they might have a happy marriage.

But it had taken so much for Cay to decide to leave—so much hurt and anger—and he did not think he could put it aside. It had always been a foolish dream, the marriage of someone like Adrio to someone like him. It hadn't worked. He had hurt Adrio, and been hurt, and perhaps it was better to just let it go.

Because if they remained married, Cay would have to give Adrio what he wanted—and what he wanted was the truth. The inner truth of Cay, all the scars and thorns of his secret nature. Adrio would call it honor. He had been stupid—perhaps dishonorable—to try to conceal himself from Adrio; his husband was far too intelligent, too in love with truth, to be distracted by Cay's pretty tricks.

He would have to tell him—about his father, his mother, and Kell, and Dizut Ingok, and himself.

Cay's sense of honor, if he had one, came not from his parents, but from Clan Bekh and Clan Eret, the Turla Chende. His parents—his father—had wanted him to be agreeable and well-behaved, to stay out of trouble, to keep their secrets. The older he got, the more frequently he'd escape to the Sixth Circle, staying with them for weeks, playing with their children, learning their tales. Those clans had taught him another code, one (Cay suspected) Adrio would not respect.

Only Kell loved him for himself. Adrio might say he wanted to know Cay's truth, but it was an easy thing to say. He knew—in spite of Adrio's reassurance—how little it took for Adrio to reject him. How could he trust this man? How could he trust this man to trust him?

Did he have the courage to try? How would he even begin to be the kind of husband Adrio wanted? He supposed he could start this morning: bring Adrio breakfast on a tray and talk with him in the daylight. Tell him all, and face the possibility of his rejection without hiding his face in darkness, and without the distraction of lovemaking.

The idea was terrifying. He could not do it.

So he ate, drank, hugged his toes, and awaited the moment his husband would wake up and want to talk some more.

Distracted by his thoughts, Cay heard but paid little attention to the approach of horses' hooves up the gravel walk. He looked up when a string of riders came into view.

The horses had short, muscled legs and big feet, well-composed for steep mountain trails, and shaggy reddish coats to protect them from mountain winds. The riders wore woolen caps and ohahi, woven in squares of blue and yellow. He could see their purple-streaked hair where it emerged from their caps.

Cay was momentarily stupefied by the sight of Maquhi clansmen here, in the cultivated garden of a Noresposto villa, rather than in a lofty red-walled canyon, under a hot summer sky. When the thought, Theymust not see me, popped into his head, it was too late. One rider, a man, was pointing at him. Recognized him.

Cay leaped from the bench and sprinted toward the kitchen door, but one of his sore bare toes caught on a paver and he tripped. He caught himself on his palms and tried to scramble to his feet, but they were on him, a knee in his back, hard hands trying to pinion his arms. He struggled and threw a savage punch. It didn't land. Then the man was behind him, a riding crop to his throat. Cay shouted threadily, kicking, jabbing with elbows. His breath stopped when the riding crop pressed into his airway, and he could do nothing but struggle to inhale, his head swimming.

"What in the name of all the gods is going on here?" It was Adrio's voice, roaring from the direction of the house.

The man's grip on the crop loosened, and Cay collapsed to his hands and knees, coughing. He looked up through tear-smeared eyes. His husband strode across the terrace in his nightclothes, his hair unbound, nearly vibrating with anger and the grandeur of his class. He was the Heir of Lodola, his face terrible in its arrogance and outrage.

The Chende bowed to him, all but the one who remained kneeling beside Cay, a hard hand wrapped around his wrist. Cay, massaging his throat and gulping air into his lungs, tried to assess the situation: five Chende scouts, with six horses, all bearing the insignia of the Maquhi Clan, versus one furious Heir and himself.

"Scouts of the Maquhi Clan," replied Adrio, icily.

One of the scouts, a woman, stepped forward and bowed. "I am Vuku Duli Maquhi."

"I remember you. What brings you? Aside from assaulting my—"

Adrio broke off, and his eyes widened in astonishment. Then he blinked and his face went blank; when he turned his gaze back to Vuku, his expression was again aloof and proud. "Explain yourself, Maquhi Scout."

It was exactly the reaction he'd had when Hob Fierar was questioning him, and he'd seen Cay coming in the window—a shocked reaction, swiftly concealed.

"My lord. We were posted at the mouth of the Pass, and we saw a flying thing—an oval thing. It must have landed nearby. We wondered if anyone at the house saw it. We did not expect you to be here, my lord."

"But then we saw him," added Cay's captor. "And I recognized him."

Adrio's eyes flickered down to where Cay sprawled on the terrace. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Cay struggled to get his feet under him, but his arm was twisted behind his back. He tried to stand, but a sharp jerk to his arm dropped him to his knees, pain radiating up to his shoulder.

Adrio was staring at him, his face inscrutable.

Vuku asked, "My lord, you... know this man?"

"I do know him, and if you hurt him, I will be annoyed. Explain yourselves."

"Ease up, Haxut," said Vuku, and the pressure on Cay's arm fractionally lessened.

"This man is Cay Olau, an enemy of Clan Maquhi," she continued. "We are taking him to our chief so he can pay his blood-debt."

"Cay Olau is under my protection and in my service," said Adrio.

Adrio must not be dragged into a blood-feud with the Maquhi Clan. They might kill him. They might punish him. Certainly they would cease to help him. Cay stared at Adrio with all the intensity in his soul: Don't tell them I'm your husband.

"Respectfully," said Vuku, "this has nothing to do with you. He belongs to the clan."

Adrio's voice chilled. "And I tell you, by the vow I took on our wedding day, no harm will come to him."

Cay closed his eyes and sighed.

Several scouts spoke at once. "You married him?"

"When?"

"Have you been married to Cay Olau all this time?"

Vuku raised her voice to speak over the babble. "What you've chosen to marry is no matter to the Maquhi Clan. We are owed a blood-debt."

"What does a vow mean to a Lucenequan?" added Haxut, the man who held Cay's arm.

"What do roots mean to a tree?" snapped Adrio.

Cay raised his eyebrows at Adrio. This was not the time for Starlight Conversation.

"I know Gizon Ingok," added Adrio, "and I know Krutiv Ingok. I trust they would not so lightly sneer at my honor nor toss away Clan Maquhi's relationship with me. That is what you are doing in their name. Are you comfortable?"

The scouts shuffled and shared a glance. Cay remembered the record book he'd seen: the food, fuel, medicine, and supplies Adrio had given the Maquhi Clan in exchange for passage and guidance through Lehoia Pass.

But Vuku pressed her case. "You are protecting an enemy of the clan. Criminals must be punished. Do you value him over your friendship with the clan?"

"I value the truth," said Adrio. "And I know Cay Olau. He could not have behaved the way Gizon described. There must be some...mistake."

The Maquhi clansmen drew themselves up; Vuku dropped a hand to her dagger.

Cay closed his eyes. "Adrio," he whispered. This was a deadly insult. Matters of blood-debt were profoundly important to the Chende; to suggest a blood-debt was mistaken—or worse, a deliberate falsehood—was a blow to the honor of every clan member.

But Adrio wasn't finished. "Tell Gizon that Cay is under my protection."

"Tell him yourself," snarled Vuku. "We'll all be fascinated to hear it. We are taking our prisoner to our chief; if you wish to challenge the Maquhi Clan over a matter that does not concern you, you may do so." She turned. "Haxut Malit, put him on the packhorse. You three, go find that thing we saw in the air. We'll meet at Hemaquhi."

Haxut rose to his feet, hauling Cay up with him. Cay began to struggle but found a knife at his throat.

"If you fight me, I will slit you where you stand and count our blood-debt satisfied. Come, or die here."

Cay obeyed, stumbling. He looked pleadingly over his shoulder at Adrio, who said, in his carrying, commanding voice, "Wait. Maquhi scouts. Give me a moment to dress and saddle my horse. I am with you."

"You—"

"I will accompany you to speak to Gizon Ingok. Until then, you will keep my husband as safe as an egg in a nest, or Lodola will demand his blood-price from the Maquhi Clan."

Vuku narrowed her eyes at him. "A blood-debt called in retribution for resolution of another blood-debt is not legitimate."

Adrio showed his sharp teeth in a smile. "Unless the first blood-debt is false. Ten minutes, Maquhi scouts, and we ride."

Two scouts and Cay rode up the path toward Lehoia Pass, the Heir of Lodola accompanying them.

Adrio had reemerged fully dressed in riding clothes, with clothes and boots for Cay, which he had been allowed to put on. Adrio, as it happened, kept a string of Chende horses here at Wind House, headquarters for his refugee-smuggling activities. He and Cay rode his Chende mares. They had no opportunity to talk privately, but he was aware of Adrio riding just behind him.

The Chende horse had an easy gait but a broad back. Cay's thighs, still sore from the ride to Bortorra and the climb up the tower, ached with every clop. They rode through the day, stopping only for water and piss breaks and checking the horses' hooves. If he lived through this, he vowed he would never ride again.

But that seemed unlikely.

Up, up, out of the green hills, up to the rocky slopes where only cypress and thorny shrubs grew, up through fog and mist until they emerged into brilliant sunlight where the rocks turned red and gold. The air felt cold and dry up here, and the wind blew eddies of diamond-sparkling snowflakes from the high peaks down through the sunlight onto their shoulders.

The trail grew steep and narrow so they could only ride single-file. A cliff loomed skyward on one side and plunged down the other; far below, a cold swift river foamed through a stone channel. This was Maquhi Clan territory, marked by the strings of tattered blue-and-yellow linen flags affixed to rocks and strung across the canyon above and below. They snapped in the constant wind with a sound like handclaps. The sunlight was warm in spite of the frost growing like moss in the shadows, and both Cay and his horse were sweating as they mounted the slope.

He was numb. They would kill him. Lehoia Pass was the site of his life's worst nightmare, and he had always known they would kill him if he ever came back. Yesterday, that had been impossible, a fate only for bad dreams. The Maquhi Clan did not come down from their mountains, and he would never go up. But now here he was, and now they would kill him.

Adrio must, must, must go home.

He had no idea what Adrio had planned. He behaved like a hero from an oil painting: tall, shoulders square, and back straight against injustice. Heroes had no place in these cruel mountains, though. Loss, poverty, and bitterness made the Chende hard; the Maquhi clung to their dominance over the other Chende clans, and their pride would brook no defeat. What would they do with an idealist like Adrio?

He did not speak. The Maquhi Clan was not to be trusted, and he would say nothing to them. And though he was acutely aware, every moment, of Adrio riding up the trail behind him, he didn't speak to him, either. The scouts would hear every word over the thump of their horses' hooves. The Maquhi were treacherous.

So he kept his mouth shut and his wits about him as he stewed and ached.

They stopped at a stream when the sun was still bright but lowered in the sky. "We'll camp here until morning," said Vuku, dismounting and leading her pony to water. "These horses have worked hard."

Haxut lifted Cay down from the saddle. His legs barely held him up; he wobbled, caught his balance by falling against a boulder, and waited for the pins and needles to stop racing through his legs and feet. Eventually, he walked unsteadily to a patch of scrubby bushes to relieve himself. When he turned back, he saw Adrio, too, had dismounted.

He sat on a rock and watched silently as the scouts set up camp, built a fire, and tended their horses. Adrio knelt at a mare's feet and talked to her quietly as he ran his hands up and down her striped legs. She lifted each hoof for him and playfully lipped at his hair. Apparently, they were old friends. Of course, Adrio had traveled the Lehoia Pass into and out of Muntegri several times this past summer and fall. It was strange to think of it, but Adrio knew this path, this terrain, better than Cay ever had.

He watched as the others groomed the horses and tethered them to graze near the stream. Adrio and the scouts folded blankets on the ground near the fire, and at Adrio's nod, he joined them there and sank down cross-legged on the blankets. The fire was warm on his face but cold seeped up from the ground into his bones.

The shadows lengthened, and the air cooled. The only sound was the whuffle and crunch of the grazing horses and the ceaseless applause of the threadbare blue-and-yellow Maquhi Clan flags strung from rock to rock above them. Cay's joints seemed to unbuckle; he closed his eyes and wished for sleep, wished he could sink into the ground and disappear.

He heard the scouts offer to share their food with Adrio. How courteously Adrio accepted! But then, Adrio was usually exquisitely polite, even—especially—with people he disliked.

"Here." Adrio's voice was barely above a whisper. "Eat some of this."

They sat side by side, as close to the fire as they dared, and quietly they shared the food the scouts had given to Adrio: dried meat, dried fruit, chewy bread, a flask of wine that tasted suspiciously familiar: Lodola white, sweet and a little flowery.

"How are you doing?"

"I can hardly say." Cay's whisper was barely louder than a breath. "My lord, you shouldn't be here."

"Neither of us should be here."

Cay stared at him. He didn't understand. He must go home.

"Lord Lodola," said Haxut from the other side of the fire.

"Yes, scout?" returned Adrio.

"Did you see the flying thing yesterday morning? It came from the west."

Adrio frowned in puzzlement. "What sort of flying thing? Do you mean a bird?"

"No, lord," said Haxut. "We would not have come down the mountain to investigate a bird. It was a round thing in the sky."

"Oval," said Vuku. "Like an olive. Bigger than a horse."

"A round thing bigger than a horse?" repeated Adrio, with bafflement in his voice. When had he gotten to be so adept with an untruth?

"Oval," repeated Vuku doggedly. "Like an olive. Or an egg."

"And it flew?"

"From the west," said Haxut. "We thought it landed down the slope from the house."

"We all saw it," agreed Vuku.

"My friends," said Adrio, with the gentle sincerity of a shameless liar, "I have not seen this thing."

"And you?" Haxut looked at Cay. "Do you know what we saw?"

"I don't think so," said Cay. "I think I would remember if I ever saw a flying olive."

Haxut narrowed his eyes at Cay. Adrio put in, "Cay came to Wind House with me and has been in my company the last several days. Neither of us saw what you describe, and the servants at Wind House never mentioned it."

Vuku murmured to her partner, "Leave it. The others will find it. This is more important."

Haxut nodded grudgingly.

When the sky darkened and the moon rose, the scouts cast themselves down to sleep. Cay curled up too, huddled under a blanket. He was so weary but so anxious; his body yearned for sleep, but his mind whirled.

He managed a doze but woke when Adrio reached over and began stroking his hair. He rolled over to face his husband, who lay beside him and continued to comb his fingers through Cay's hair, a tender expression on his face.

"My lord," whispered Cay, "please go home."

Adrio smiled gently. "My lord," he replied, pulling one of Cay's locks straight, and then releasing it to spring back into a corkscrew, "I will not go home."

Cay glanced at the scouts, who were unmoving in their bedrolls. "You don't understand. Nothing will stay them. There's nothing you can do to stop it."

"I know them." Adrio shifted closer. His voice was low, velvety. "I know Gizon Ingok, and more importantly, I know Krutiv Ingok."

"You know what they tell you," Cay said bitterly, "and if you think the old man listens to his daughter, you're mad."

"I think the clan listens to her. And I'm getting you out of this if I can."

Cay sat up, wringing his hands. "You're only getting yourself into it. You must not trust their word. They're more likely to kill you than to release me." In his frustration, Cay's voice had risen; he glanced over at the scouts and dropped his voice to a whisper again. "My lord," whispered Cay, "go back."

Adrio folded his arms behind his head, his body relaxed. "If you think I will abandon you among your enemies, you have gravely mistaken me. Besides," he added, smiling the same careless and reckless smile Cay always found so attractive when it involved rescuing waterfowl and wounded dogs. "I have a lever."

Cay rolled his eyes. "You have pretty words," he said, "and the arrogance of your station. Neither of which will impress the Maquhi Clan."

"You may be right. But I meant what I said. On the day we married, I vowed to protect and serve you the rest of my life, and I will do so if I can."

"Adrio, barely three weeks ago you were trying to lock me in my room—"

At this, Adrio abandoned his pretense of laziness and sat up too. "Will you forever play that note?"

"How can I forget it? And now you're going to war with the clan? Because that's what it means."

"I know what it means."

"You don't." Cay stared into his eyes, leaning forward, and put all his conviction and desperation into his voice. "Please, as you love your honor, just listen. If you die with me, Kell will have no one. Do you hear? She will have lost everyone. Kell needs you. Please, please go back to Valette. Tell her that you tried. She will know there was nothing you could have done—she knows what they are capable of. Take care of her. Please."

Adrio snorted. "If I returned without you, Kell would go up like a granary in a dry summer."

"Be serious!" Cay whisper-shouted. "What does that mean?"

Adrio leaned in. "It means she would never forgive me, and I would never forgive myself. Husband, I vow to you I will care for our sister Kell for the rest of my life. And if I die untimely, she will be the Heir of Lodola."

Gritting his teeth, Cay said, "She doesn't need a Lucenequan title. She needs family."

"She has it. I vow it."

Desperately, Cay tried to think of something to convince him. "You'll never recover another refugee. This Pass will close to you forever. Who will save them then?"

Adrio stared at him for a long moment. Then he said, "Does that indeed matter to you?"

"Of course! Adrio! You wanted to be a hero, and you are one. You have been. I know you feel it hasn't been enough, but I read your ledger. Families living in peace in Lodola. A boy going to university. And can you imagine the ones who remain in the camp? How they must hope for your return?"

Adrio continued to say nothing, studying him. Cay must have surprised him. He fidgeted. "Just because I never tried to change the world," he tried to explain, flushing, "doesn't mean I don't respect those who do."

Adrio dropped his gaze, a soft smile touching his mouth. "Anyone can be the Uncanny Aviator. I'll hand the reins to another and back them with my fortune. But no one else can be your husband."

Cay stared at him mutely.

Adrio reached out and stroked Cay's hair again, ruffling the curls. "Take hope, for I understand more than you think I do. I understand more today than I did yesterday. In fact, I find my confusion has cleared considerably."

Cay frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Adrio's fingers snagged on a knot in Cay's hair, and he gently untangled it. "Your hair looks so pretty in the moonlight," he said, smiling wonderingly.

Cay jerked his head away. "Are you drunk?"

Adrio laughed. Like an idiot.

"Go to sleep," said Cay. He scooted out of Adrio's reach and lay down, curling up on the blanket with his back to him. "Or, better yet, get on your horse and go back down. You can't do anything useful among the Maquhi."

"I think I can." He lay down.

Cay's mind churned. His hands were free. Could he escape? Could he climb up the cliffside so quietly that the scouts would not hear him and be away? Probably not; there was a bow and quiver in the scouts' pack, and he'd be desperately exposed on the cliff wall. Even a bad shot could knock him off the cliff and to his death on the rocks below. And could Adrio climb out with him? He could not, no. Could he contemplate leaving Adrio here? No.

His restless mind struggled with possibilities, rejecting each one.

"I would hold you," Adrio whispered.

"No! Why are you amorous now, of all times?" he demanded, exasperated.

Adrio laughed quietly. The sound made an ache begin in Cay's heart.

"I don't know," said Adrio. "I suppose I feel I've discovered something important."

The tone of his voice was strange, soft. Adrio sounded happy.

He couldn't understand it. He was too tired to try.

"Shut up," he said.

Adrio rolled to his feet and walked away. Cay pressed his hands over his eye sockets, instantly regretting his harsh words. Why was he so unkind when Adrio was being kind to him? Why was Adrio being kind to him now, at the end?

Adrio returned, his footsteps crunching over gravel and dry grass, and then a heavy, fur-lined cloak settled over Cay. He curled up, pulling his feet under its warm hem.

"Thank you, my lord," he whispered.

He slept deeply despite the hard ground and the fear of the morning. It seemed he had only just closed his eyes when the scouts Vuku and Haxut woke him roughly, pulling away the cloak Adrio had tossed over him. Within a few efficient minutes, they had drunk from the water bags, eaten dry bread, and prepared the horses. Cay grunted with pain as he settled into the saddle, and Haxut snorted in contempt.

"Not much of a horseman, are you?"

Cay said nothing as they started up the trail. It grew steeper, colder. There was snow now. Some industrious team of Chende had cleared a narrow trail, but snow was heaped up on either side, clinging to the slopes above them. Far below, the stream rushed beneath a lacy border of ice.

Adrio spoke to Haxut. "You recognized Cay at Wind House. Do you remember him six years ago when he came through the Pass?"

"I do."

"Will you tell me what you remember?"

Haxut sniffed. "They came up from Muntegri. Gizon Ingok ordered his grandson Dizut to guide them through the Pass. But Dizut didn't come back. Gizon sent scouts to find them—my cousin Berit among them. They spied unseen from the rocks as a patrol of Muntegrise guards from the Road hanged Dizut." He paused. "So Berit said. I didn't see. But I saw his body. I was there when they took him down from the tree."

"And Cay was there?" asked Adrio.

"Berit said she saw him there. She said the Muntegrise thanked him and gave him a coin, and he bowed to them and went away with them."

Cay exhaled through his nose. Adrio, after riding silently for a moment, asked, "You said ‘they.' Gizon ordered Dizut to guide them through the Pass. Who else was with Cay? Other refugees from Muntegri?"

"A man and child. His father and sister, they said, though they looked not like him. I remember them."

"Ah. Were they there too, when Cay betrayed Dizut, and he was hanged?"

Haxut shrugged. "I suppose so. I don't know where else they would be."

"My lord," said Cay. "If you turn around, you could be back in Wind House tonight."

Adrio turned in his saddle to speak to him. "I know where we are. I came this way not a week ago." His tone was forbidding.

Cay met his eyes. He had, of course, allowed Adrio (and everyone else) to believe his parents had died in the riots. Not here.

Now was the time to tell him the rest. To tell him everything. Oh, it seemed so obvious now. He should've told him everything long ago. Now they were at the end, and he must speak.

"My mother died in Turla," he said, his voice strained. "Just as I always said. But my father—my father—"

Adrio pursed his lips slightly and flicked his gaze at the clansmen. Later, he mouthed.

Cay nodded. Adrio winked at him and faced forward again.

They were silent for the remainder of the journey.

Several exhausting hours later, they rounded a turn in the trail. Blue-and-yellow kites soared in the sky. Further up the slope, a stone tower loomed on the horizon, kites flying from its peak. It was Hemaquhi: the watchtower at the top of Lehoia Pass, the heart of Maquhi Clan territory. It bore a clear architectural resemblance to both Wind House and Bortorra, now he knew they were all Chende-made: a round tower of native red stone with arrow-slits and a square walled courtyard, paved with dirt.

There were no arched windows, gracious balconies, or well-planned gardens like at the extensively renovated Wind House. Hemaquhi was a fortress, the abode of the most powerful of the mountain clans. Powerful but still a beleaguered people, trapped in these inhospitable mountains by the kingdoms to the north and south.

The sight of Hemaquhi made him involuntarily stiffen, and the horse beneath him paused, bobbing its head.

"Be still," said Haxut.

Oh gods, this place. These sharp red rocks, those strange kites flying against an aching blue sky. The clapping of flags in the wind and the roar of the river far below. The tower, which should have been a place of refuge and sanctuary. He associated it with high summer, dry heat, dust in his mouth, and sweat-soaked clothes. He remembered betrayal, terror, blood, and the responsibility that had fallen on his young shoulders, with no one to help him.

Someone on the tower spotted them and let out a birdlike call that echoed from the rocks above to the other side of the river. Someone at the top of the tower released a kite that soared up and up, so high it looked small as a fingernail, dwarfed by the vastness of the sky.

For the first time, Cay realized the kites must serve as signals.

By the time they reached the courtyard, the clan had assembled. They were lean people with dark eyes and curly hair in all shades of violet, indigo, and plum. Their faces showed curiosity and hostility as they gathered to see the prize the scouts had brought.

Haxut, Vuku, and Adrio dismounted. Cay remained in the saddle until Haxut lifted him off the horse, his hands hard on Cay's waist. He attempted to stand, but his legs were numb. He swayed, failed to catch his balance, and fell to his knees in the dirt at Haxut's feet.

The world swirled around him; he shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness and the roaring in his ears. He heard a babble of voices and hoofbeats, and someone shouted. And then two legs in scuffed boots were before his eyes. He straightened. Adrio stood protectively over him, arms crossed.

"Are you all right?"

Cay nodded shortly, gritting his teeth against the painful tingling in his legs.

A middle-aged woman came down into the courtyard, and everyone fell silent. Like most Chende, she was slender, with large eyes, a blunt nose, and full lips. Her scarred face was grave, and she bore an invisible cloak of authority, drawing the eye of everyone present. Her purple hair was braided and wound around her head like a crown.

Adrio said, "That is Krutiv Ingok, the chief's only surviving child. I have dealt with her a great deal and found her to be a sensible woman."

We've met, thought Cay.

The Maquhi Clan chief, Gizon Ingok, had been an old man when Cay had met him six years ago—old, but still a powerful leader who'd attracted awe and fear from his followers. Cay'd gotten the impression then that Gizon adored his grandson Dizut and largely disregarded his daughter Krutiv. But Dizut was gone, of course, and Gizon was older; it had been clear from Adrio's journals that it was Krutiv who handled much of the day-to-day administration of the clan. It was she who'd communicated with the Uncanny Aviator about what supplies they needed and how to get to Hemaquhi.

Today, Gizon was nowhere to be seen. As Krutiv walked toward them, she dispersed the curious watchers with an imperious jerk of her chin. She was immediately and universally obeyed.

"Lord Lodola," she said quietly, approaching. "You are always welcome among the Maquhi, but we did not expect you so soon."

"Thank you for your welcome, Krutiv Ingok." Adrio bowed.

She stared down at Cay, who still knelt on the ground. Without a word, she turned to Vuku and Haxut, and raised her eyebrows.

"We saw a strange thing to the south while on watch and went to Wind House to ask if they'd seen it or knew what it was," reported Haxut. "We did not know Lord Lodola was there. We saw Cay Olau in the garden and captured him. Lord Lodola insisted upon accompanying him here."

Krutiv's eyebrows went up. She slowly turned to Adrio.

"Is that correct, Lord Lodola?"

"It is."

"Well. Scouts, what of the strange thing you saw?"

Vuku cleared her throat. "It was bigger than a horse, black, oval in shape, and it flew through the air. We saw it in the sky, and we thought it landed in the hills near Wind House, so we went down to ask. But then we saw Cay Olau. The other three remained to search for it, while we brought our prisoner here."

"You say it flew?"

"Yes, Krutiv Ingok."

"Like a bird?"

"No. Slowly, like..." For a moment, Cay sympathized with her attempt to describe how the balloon flew. "Like a cloud," she finally said.

Krutiv looked at Adrio again. He shook his head with an air of mystification. "Perhaps it was a cloud," he said.

"And how did Cay Olau come to be at Wind House?"

"Not in a cloud," said Adrio, easily. "He accompanied me."

"And why?"

"Cay Olau is my husband."

Krutiv's eyebrows went up again. "You astonish me," she said. "Were you aware, when you wed him, that he owes a blood-debt to the Maquhi Clan?"

"No," said Cay. His voice came out rough; he coughed to clear the road-dust from his throat. "I didn't tell him."

Her dark eyes flicked to Cay. "It seems you took advantage of Lord Lodola's trust, then," said Krutiv. She smiled flintily at Adrio. "My sympathies. He did the same to us, with bloody consequences."

Cay managed to get his feet under him and rose, standing before her. He lifted his chin and glared at her, hopeless but defiant. She stared back stonily.

Adrio smiled pleasantly. "Not quite the same, I think. I would speak to Gizon Ingok Maquhi on this matter. Cay Olau is a responsibility I will not lightly set aside. Perhaps if we spoke frankly, the chief and Cay Olau and you and I, we can unravel this misunderstanding."

"You believe we called a blood-feud as a result of a misunderstanding?" demanded Krutiv, incredulously. "The Maquhi Clan is not so base."

"Then let us go to Gizon Ingok and speak," Adrio said. "Let us address the charges; let Cay defend himself so justice may be honorably done."

Krutiv snorted. "Our honor requires no trial, Lord Lodola. The man is convicted already by his own cruel and treacherous actions. All that is left is satisfaction of the clan's debt."

"Where is Gizon Ingok Maquhi?" he asked again, his voice carrying. "This is a matter for the chief, surely."

Krutiv turned to him in offense. "I speak for the clan."

"Is he dead?"

Someone said, "He's asleep."

Krutiv studied him. "You have been a good ally to the Maquhi Clan and are always welcome here. But we will permit no interference in how we deal with our enemies—not even from you. You would be unwise to meddle in Chende matters you don't understand."

Adrio bowed. "I value the alliance of the Maquhi Clan, and your friendship, Krutiv Ingok. I've had cause many times to be grateful for it. But just as you are a drawn blade to your enemies, I am a sanctuary wall to my friends."

"You could begin by choosing your friends more carefully," she said. "Hear me: I cut my nephew Dizut down from a tree that morning, but not before the sun had begun to bloat him, and the ants had found his eyes." Her mouth twisted. "We are the Maquhi Clan, the greatest of the Chende clans, and we will not be satisfied until our debt is repaid with blood."

Adrio, standing relaxed but ready by Cay's side, said, "I am the Heir of Lodola, and my concerns will be addressed to the chief of the Maquhi Clan, Gizon Ingok."

It was an impasse, but she sighed through her nose and said, "Very well. My father sleeps in the afternoons but will be awake at sundown to hear you."

"Thank you, Krutiv Ingok Maquhi," said Adrio, polite but implacable. "Until then, my guest and I call upon the hospitality of the clan."

"You may, of course, sleep in your usual room, where food and drink will be brought to you. There is a cell for Cay Olau."

"Cay Olau will remain with me," said Adrio. "Or I will remain with him."

"As you please." She nodded at Haxut. "The dungeon for them both."

The dungeon was just a cellar, cut into the living stone beneath Hemaquhi, and hastily cleared of stored items. It was cool and dry and smelled faintly of leather and onions. They were given a candle, a pallet of straw, a bucket for waste, and a jug of water. Cay thought he'd have had no water, straw, or candle if he'd been alone.

Adrio pleasantly ordered the man who led them to bring blankets, food, and wine, with much the same air as if he were checking into a hotel. The man, perhaps flummoxed by this display of lordly authority, obeyed.

When they were alone, Adrio pulled Cay into his arms. He was warm, strong—all men were warm, but Adrio's warmth was like home and safety, and Cay clung to him with all the strength in his trembling arms. It was so extraordinarily good and desperately necessary to be held by him. They stood quietly for a long while, gripping each other, feeling their hearts pound.

"Husband," said Cay, "I wish you were not playing this game."

"But I am a good gambler," said Adrio. He patted Cay on the shoulder. "You need to eat. Come on. Sit and rest."

Cay obeyed, sitting on the folded blanket, but could not face the sausages and bread. "I'm sorry I was quarrelsome last night. I should have thanked you for trying to help me."

Adrio poured water into clay cups stamped with the squares and lines of the Maquhi Clan. "Cay, don't go sweet on me now. You're only sweet when you're pretending."

"Please," insisted Cay. "I am serious now. You should go home."

"No."

"I mean... after this is over, go home. Don't make war with the clan, and don't think of it too much. You mustn't feel guilty. They decided to do this long ago, and it... it won't be your fault."

"Ah." Adrio's brow furrowed. "Don't."

"But I must. Please. Don't blame yourself, and don't grieve. Find someone to love, be happy, and forget about all of this. Except for taking care of Kell, of course."

"Cay." With gentle fingers under his chin, Adrio tipped his head up to look into his eyes. "Cay, you must stop. Sharpen your tongue, and tell Gizon, and all the Maquhi Clan, their blood-feud is without merit, and their pursuit of it is without honor."

"You think Gizon doesn't know that?" He stared at Adrio. "How do you know that?"

"Am I wrong? Did you not behave with honor?"

"I didn't think you believed I had any honor."

"You do. You do have honor." He reached out and combed his fingers into Cay's hair. "I believe you demanded justice for whatever Dizut did. I believe you were ignored, so you declared a blood-feud and killed him."

"Adrio."

"You told me yourself you always warn them. I didn't understand. But that's one of the principles of the blood-feud, is it not? The debt isn't just claimed; it is declared first so all parties understand what's happening and why. Honor is preserved. I believe you declared a debt, and then you made Dizut Ingok pay it."

Dry mouthed, Cay asked, "And what would I know of Chende blood-feuds?"

Adrio smiled. He tugged on the handful of Cay's hair. "In the sunlight," he whispered, "it's purple as a grackle's wing."

"What."

"The dye must have rinsed out when you washed it at Wind House."

Cay remembered scrubbing his hair, again and again, with Mella's strong soap. He'd always been careful before to use gentle soaps and to touch up any faded bits or roots as soon as they started to show. Not vanity, his glossy black curls, but concealment and survival. He'd started in Turla, when his purple had started coming in. He'd been ten. His mother had helped him. No one could know Cou Olau's son was Chende.

After his flight from Turla, his Lucenequan cousins certainly hadn't wanted to feed or shelter an illegitimate Chende cuckoo. It would have been harder to find a job at a respectable tailor, harder to find a place to live. And of a certainty, no handsome Lucenequan lord would have married him with streaks of plum and berry vibrant in his hair.

He stared now in horror at Adrio, wanting to protest, or deny, or explain.

"You didn't want me to know." Adrio's brow furrowed. "Even now, after everything, you still don't want me to know your real father was Chende. You have Chende blood. Do you hate them so much?"

Cay shook his head mutely, then struggled to find his voice. "I loved them."

"Loved?"

Cay's eyes filled with tears; he blinked them away. "I loved my mother and father. I truly did. But I constantly ran away from them, to Clan Bekh on the Sixth Circle, because I loved them... And I felt a kinship with them. Kell has my mother's brains and my father's face, but I always felt different until I was with the Bekh." He braved himself to meet Adrio's eyes. "I'm Chende. I wasn't raised by them; I have no clan. But they make sense to me."

Adrio gently cupped Cay's face. "It explains so much."

Adrio didn't mind? He didn't hate it—the fact of Cay's Chende blood? To his horror, Cay began to cry.

"My father didn't like it," he whispered.

"I like it." He kissed the tears at the corners of Cay's eyes. "I like it. I'm sorry you felt you had to hide this from me, love. I understand you so much better now."

Cay fisted the tears out of his eyes. "I don't see why it matters. I still did all the dishonorable things I did, including lying to you, obviously, and I got Ondrei captured. I am still the man you decided you couldn't trust."

"I have been thinking about it. I begin to understand what you were trying to tell me all those months ago—a nobleman can't expect a nobleman's honor from a refugee, nor a Lucenequan from a Chende. Perhaps circumstances and standards shift these things. I don't know." He glanced at the closed door of their cell. "But we haven't much time, Cay. You must get ready to fight. Put aside your weariness and stand straight. Throw the truth in their faces and make them see. I'll stand at your back."

"It won't matter," he whispered. "They already know."

"Do they? Haxut remembers your sister and father, but in all the tales he told me, Gizut never mentioned them."

Adrio stared at him, finally understanding the dice Adrio had rolled. It was so dangerous it took his breath away.

"You mistake them." He fisted tears off his face, but they kept flowing. "The Maquhi. Listen. The Chende do have honor—their kind of honor—but Clan Maquhi betrayed it six years ago. Maybe they relinquished it decades ago; maybe they've turned to stone here in their mountains. You believe the truth will win out once it is known. But they know the truth already; they will hear the truth and put a dagger in your back to keep you from repeating it."

"Cay—"

"You've sparred with your friends, but they've fought wars. You've read books— No." Adrio's brows had drawn with offense, and Cay grabbed his hands and squeezed them. "I'm not saying this to insult you or to challenge your courage. I know better. But I believed in them too. I believed they would honor their debts, and they betrayed their honor and me. You want to hold up a mirror to their shame, and they'll cut you down for it. Please. Please, go home and live."

Adrio clasped his hands. He ducked his head and kissed them, one after the other, and then rested his forehead against Cay's.

"I hear you, Cay," he whispered.

Cay tried not to sob.

"I hear you say you love me," Adrio said. "You— My gods. My behavior would shame the worst cur, and you've done nothing but give me proof of your love over and over. And Husband, though you've reason to doubt it, I love you. I love your vicious temper and your tender heart. I love your sweet face, though I know you hide behind it. I don't know what will become of us today, but I will not leave you alone. It isn't honor that keeps me here, but my heart's love. Cay."

Cay, weeping, tried to hide his face.

Adrio cupped his face, tilted it up, and kissed his wet cheeks, his forehead, his jaw. "I love you," he whispered. "Please don't doubt me anymore. I love you so."

Adrio kissed his mouth, and—as always—Cay could do nothing but yield.