Chapter Twelve

When they called him, Cay walked up the stairs out of the storeroom and into the courtyard. For a moment, he was dazzled by the late-afternoon light. The sun had descended toward the western mountains and now reflected off the sheer red cliff to the east, casting a golden glow upon the courtyard. The air was cold with evening and tasted like snow. Cay's hands were cold, his breaths coming shortly in his chest. The only sound was the clapping of flags, and high above, kites strained southward against their cords, strings taut in the north wind.

"Oh, good," said Adrio, sweeping his eyes around the courtyard. "The more public, the better."

It seemed every adult of the Maquhi was here, gathered in and around the courtyard of Hemaquhi. They crouched along the wall, sat atop it, or perched on the rocky face of the cliff above. Their faces were in the narrow arrow-slit windows of the tower. They were silent, and there were no children. Someone had taken them elsewhere.

Not a good sign.

Gizon Ingok sat in an ornate carved-wood chair at the courtyard's far end, with the glowing stone wall behind him. He was visibly older than the last time Cay had seen him, more stooped, his eyes more sunken in his lean face. His sparse hair had gone pure white. By his side stood his daughter Krutiv, straight-backed and hard-jawed.

Cay trembled and clenched his hands together, trying to stop. He could be dead in an hour; he would certainly be dead by tomorrow, and Adrio would be there to see him hang. Before, Adrio had held him close in their cell, trying to comfort him, but now in the courtyard, under the eyes of all the Maquhi, he despaired. He swallowed a rush of slick saliva, trying not to throw up.

The words of one clanless illegitimate Chende had little power against the assembled might of Clan Maquhi. He had reason to know it. They might as well hang him now.

"Courage, my lord," murmured Adrio.

Cay glanced at his husband, who was staring at Gizon, eyes shining with reckless confidence. He gulped a deep breath into his lungs and straightened his back, imitating Adrio's proud posture.

So. He would fight, to make Adrio proud of him before he died.

Head high, he walked into the sunlight, and a rustle and murmur went through the assembled men and women at the sight of him.

His kin. He had always resembled them, and when his hair had started growing in purple at about age ten, his father had barely been able to look at him. But still, Cou Olau had come here, to the Maquhi, hoping for aid on behalf of his half-Chende son.

He reached the chair where Gizon Ingok sat and bowed—enough for respect but not enough for remorse. Adrio, who walked a pace behind him, bowed a little more deeply. Krutiv, standing at Gizon's elbow, favored them with a cool nod, but Gizon said nothing, staring at Cay with glittering black eyes.

"Are you Cay Olau?" Krutiv spoke strongly, and the natural amphitheater of the canyon amplified her voice so everyone assembled could hear her.

"I—" Cay's voice came out husky. He cleared his throat and said, "I am Cay Olau."

Krutiv glanced at Adrio. He said nothing but planted his feet, hooked his thumbs through his belt, and stood tall like the hero of a play. Her nostrils flared slightly.

"We are here because our sometime friend, Lord Lodola, has married Cay Olau, who owes the Maquhi a blood-debt. Lord Lodola suggests the Maquhi's blood claim against Cay Olau might be false, and as a gesture of our friendship with Lodola, we will explain our debt, and hear Cay Olau's explanation, before Chief Gizon Ingok." She nodded to Adrio. "Does that suit?"

"Perfectly." Like Krutiv, Adrio knew how to pitch his voice to fill the courtyard. "Lodola is proud of its alliance with the Maquhi and is troubled by this blood-feud. We would like to understand it better."

The crowd rumbled dangerously at the outrageous demands of an outsider. Cay stole a sideways glance at Adrio. His face was calm, but Cay thought he was a little pale. Adrio raised his hands, but the crowd's anger did not quiet until Gizon Ingok stood.

The old man had gotten smaller, thought Cay; or perhaps he was taller. Gizon stood unsteadily, one hand clutching the arm of the chair.

"Lord Lodola," said Gizon, not loudly. Everyone leaned forward to hear his rusty crow's voice. "My grandson is dead, and Cay Olau killed him. Maquhi's honor will not be satisfied until he is likewise dead. Why do you thrust yourself into this matter which does not concern you?"

"It concerns Lodola because I am Cay Olau's husband. My honor is no less true than Clan Maquhi's."

The crowd growled. Gizon stared stonily at Adrio. "You never mentioned your marriage in any of your previous visits."

"I was already married when you told me of the matter," said Adrio. "I was in a quandary."

"That is your problem, not ours. My grandson is dead, and he lives. That is all."

"Is it?"

"It is."

Adrio bowed. "Forgive me. I know I am impertinent. But how can a man choose between his friends and his husband? I would hear more."

Krutiv took the reins of the conversation. "For the sake of the friendship between our clans, then, let us proceed. Father, please sit and rest."

Gizon sank into his chair, his shoulders stiff with outrage.

Krutiv went on in a dry tone. "Maquhi demands blood-debt from Cay Olau for the murder of Dizut Ingok, the grandson of the chief, and my nephew. Cay Olau, did you murder Dizut Ingok?"

Trying to match her ringing tone, he replied, "I did not. The blood-feud, declared by Gizon Ingok Maquhi is false."

Another rustle ran through the crowd.

Krutiv only nodded to someone at the periphery of the courtyard. "Come forward, Berit Malit Maquhi."

A woman stepped into the center. She was a timeworn woman in a threadbare blue ohahi, her plum-colored braid streaked with white, but in spite of her age, she moved with the lean grace of an athlete. She stared at Cay for a long moment and then spat in the dust.

"Tell us what you saw," ordered Krutiv.

"I was one of the scouts who went searching for Dizut Ingok, the morning he did not return," said Berit Malit. "Erus Odgt, my partner and I—he died last winter, or he would tell you the same. We hid in the rocks and saw Dizut's body hanging. It was off the Pass, to the south, near the Road."

"He was dead when you got there?"

"Yes, but not long dead. The blood on his mouth was still red."

"Who killed him?"

"The Muntegrise. A patrol had come up the Ghian fissure from the Road to the Pass and then came south. Their footprints were clear. We followed them and saw them gathered at the mouth of the Ghian. They were going back down to the Road, one by one."

"How many of them?"

"Perhaps a dozen or fifteen."

"How had they known to come up the Ghian to find Dizut there?"

"The boy led them." The scout gestured at Cay. "This one. He was younger, but I remember him."

"How do you know he led them?"

"We saw the leader of the Muntegrise thank him and give him a coin, and he bowed to them."

Krutiv nodded. "What did you do then?"

"We came back here and told what we saw. Then you"—Berit nodded to Krutiv—"assembled a small party, and we went and cut Dizut down and brought him back here. And then the chief declared the blood-debt against the boy."

"Thank you, Berit Malit." Krutiv turned to Cay. "Do you still deny the blood-debt?"

Cay took a deep breath. "I deny it."

"Did you lead Muntegrise troops to Dizut Ingok Maquhi?"

"Yes. And before you ask, yes, I knew they would kill him. It was my intention that they kill him. In this way, I collected the blood-debt owed to me by Clan Maquhi."

The crowd murmured. Cay drew and let out an unsteady breath. After a moment, Krutiv raised her hands and silenced the audience.

"You claim you had a blood-feud against Dizut?"

"Yes."

"Liar." Gizon said the word, and it was taken up by the crowd: "Liar. Liar." Some of them began to hiss through their teeth—an unnerving sound.

"I am not lying!" cried Cay, his voice almost drowned out by the crowd. "Gizon knows I am not lying! Let me speak!"

Krutiv raised a hand, looking around the audience, and they finally subsided. "Very well," she said, but her drawling tone spoke of contempt. "Let us be silent and hear what explanation Cay Olau could possibly have for killing my nephew."

"My mother had been killed during the riots in Turla, when the Grup shot into the crowd. We found her body later, trampled."

Cay shivered. It was cold, suddenly, a cold like ice on his skin. He thought it was fear and despair until he opened his eyes. Thin snow was falling from the fading afternoon sky, pricking his cheeks and hands.

His voice was not steady. He never spoke of this. These memories, so seldom retold, had taken on a dreamlike quality. His father had not permitted him and Kell to see their mother's body up close, and at first he had thought there was some mistake. That bloodied lump, that tangle of clothes and hair, seen only from a distance, was surely not his mother. But then his father had cried, and he'd believed.

They didn't want to know about her. He needed to keep this to the bare facts.

"My father protested this killing, and they retaliated by destroying his workshop. We hid with friends, who were in danger for sheltering us, so my father said we must flee to Lucenequa, where he had cousins. But the roadblock had already gone up, and we could not get through. He brought us to the foot of the mountains, hoping we might find haven and passage through." He paused, then forced himself to go on. "I was sired by a Chende man. I do not know him or his clan. My father, the Muntegrise man who raised me, thought the Maquhi might be kind to us because, he said, my true father might be Maquhi. He was a very proud man, and it was difficult for him to beg for mercy, but that day he did. He threw himself on the mercy of the Maquhi and begged. And so we were brought here to Hemaquhi."

"I remember this," said Krutiv.

Cay nodded. "Gizon Ingok Maquhi refused to shelter us. He said there would be no passage through the mountains without payment to Clan Maquhi. And, of course, we had nothing. But then Dizut spoke up for us. He volunteered to guide us through Lehoia Pass into Lucenequa."

"I remember," repeated Krutiv.

"We set out the next morning. But I know now we did not go down the Pass. Rather, Dizut took us to the east, across the river, and up into the mountains, to a cliff overlooking the Road. We could see the Muntegrise troops down below, patrolling. Do you know the place?"

Gizon did not move, but Krutiv nodded. "That is where his body was found. But that is not the way to Lucenequa. We have often wondered why he was there."

"We didn't know the way. We went where Dizut led. He took us to the cliff above the Road, and showed us the Muntegrise troops patrolling below. He showed us the path—the crack in the cliffs, where the troop could come up, and he told us they would kill us if they came. He laughed when we were afraid. He said we had to be silent, or they would hear. And then Dizut made his demand," said Cay, his voice going hoarse. "He said my sister must lie with him, or he would give us to the Muntegrise."

"A disgusting lie," growled Gizon.

"Is it not true that the Maquhi will have payment for passage through Lehoia Pass? Was he not Maquhi?" Cay's voice grew thick with fear and anger. "My sister had just turned thirteen. She told me later she didn't even understand what he wanted, but she was afraid of the way he stared at her. My father told me to take her and run. I grabbed her hand, and we fled into the rocks, and my father stayed behind and fought Dizut."

The audience was silent. Gizon seemed bored, but Krutiv was frowning.

"Kell and I hid in a little cave, no more than a crack in the rocks, but we could hear them. My father was exhausted from our flight from Turla, and Dizut was young and strong. We could hear—" He paused. "Dizut had lied when he said the Muntegrise would come up if they heard. They fought, and they were not silent, but the Muntegrise did not come. I held my hands over my sister's ears so she wouldn't have to hear, but I heard. I heard Dizut strike him down and beat him. I heard when he stopped making any sound."

His face was cold. Snow was falling on his shoulders and hair, and tears were icy on his cheeks. He angrily fisted them out of his eyes.

Gizon sighed, his nostrils flaring. A muscle worked in Krutiv's jaw. Cay swept his gaze out over the crowd. The sun dipped behind the rocks, casting the courtyard into shadow, but the people's faces were still visible through the falling darkness and blowing snow. Were they shocked at his tale of Dizut's deeds? Did they care? He could not tell.

"Go on," murmured Adrio.

"I left my sister hiding in the cave and followed Dizut. I saw him put my father's body in the river." His voice cracked on the word river. He coughed. "He was swept away—my father. I had to—I had to—" Memories clogged his throat; he couldn't speak. The Chende of Turla had taught him what one must do when one is owed a debt. But when it came to it, he'd felt so helpless, so angry, and so small.

Someone in the crowd said, "Dizut did like young girls."

"Silence!" roared Gizon.

"'Tis true," said another, a woman. "I kept my daughters away from him."

"Enough," said Krutiv, and the Maquhi obeyed, falling silent. "Cay Olau," she said, "if you were true Chende, you would know that vengeance is not blood-feud. Private vengeance is mere murder. You murdered Dizut for vengeance, and it is false to claim blood-feud. Our claim remains true; you must pay your blood-debt."

Struggling to keep his voice steady, Cay said, "I'm not finished with my story."

She narrowed her eyes. Adrio folded his arms, and she huffed with impatience. "Go on, then."

"After Dizut killed my father, I left my sister hiding, and returned to Gizon Ingok here at Hemaquhi. I told him of the crime and begged for justice. But he laughed."

"I know nothing of this," said Krutiv flatly.

"I knew a blood-debt had to be declared to the clan. I ran back here to Hemaquhi. I don't—I've never known why Dizut stayed there. I thought he was on my heels. I thought he would find Kell if I was not swift. I still—" They did not want to hear about his nightmares or how he ran until he vomited and ran again, clutching his stomach. "I came here. It was night. No one saw me except Gizon Ingok and one guard. I told what Dizut had done. I demanded justice for my father and my sister. And when he refused me, I claimed my blood-debt to Gizon Ingok, the leader of the Maquhi."

The audience murmured.

"That... could not have happened," said Krutiv.

"He had dismissed the guard. I met with him alone in his room here at Hemaquhi. It was a mistake," Cay added bitterly. "I was young, and I believed he was a man of honor. I should have shouted it here in the courtyard. I didn't imagine he would keep my blood-claim a secret."

The crowd did not cry out this time, but their gasps and murmurs spoke of the ghastly seriousness of Cay's accusation.

Krutiv's lips parted in astonishment. "It cannot be true."

"It is true. He knows it is true. But Dizut was his grandson, so he did not care."

Gizon broke his silence. "It's nonsense."

"Where is the guard?" demanded Cay. "One other man saw me here that night." He turned in a circle, searching the crowd. "One of you saw me here."

Some were shaking their heads. Some were exchanging glances, eyes wide. Was it disbelief? Or recognition? What did it mean when a man raised his brows or a woman pressed a hand to her mouth? The woman who had said she kept her daughters away from Dizut was whispering urgently to her neighbor.

But no one volunteered. Cay had barely glanced at the guard at the time, and he recognized no one. The man might be dead, or married out to another clan, or too loyal to Gizon to speak.

"Clan Maquhi lies!" shouted Cay. He turned, despairing, to the crowd. "Clan Maquhi takes what it wants, no matter how weak or cruel. The Maquhi is not owed."

Krutiv's face was stony and unreadable, and Gizon sat still, unmoved.

"You know it, Gizon Ingok Maquhi," he said in desperation. "You know the truth, and so do I."

Krutiv asked, "What did you tell those troops to make them kill him?"

"I told them he was a bandit who had murdered members of the Grup in Turla. I told them he had kidnapped me and fled with me to the mountains."

"Lies."

"Yes," Cay said through gritted teeth. "I was a boy, and he was a Maquhi warrior. But I had my blood-price anyway." He turned to the assembled people and tried to catch the eyes of those who seemed to have doubts. "My mistake was speaking to your chief alone," he said. "There were no witnesses. No one to prevent him"—he raised his voice—"from denying a just claim against his vicious and cowardly grandson, and no one to gainsay him now."

The crowd rumbled. It was a deadly insult to the chief and to the dead man.

Cay shivered. Night had fallen, and the snow was falling more thickly. He was cold.

"A question," said Adrio suddenly, his voice booming in the stillness. "Scout Berit Malit Maquhi. When you saw Cay with the Muntegrise troops, did you see his father or sister?"

Gizon shifted restlessly, his expression black with anger; Cay thought he would tell Adrio to be silent. But he did not speak, and after a moment, the scout replied: "No, lord."

"Where do you suppose they were?"

"I didn't see them," she repeated.

"Scout Haxut Malit Maquhi. You recognized Cay when you saw him at Wind House yesterday. Do you remember his arrival years ago? How many people was he with?"

After a pause, Haxut said, "I remember the man and the girl."

"I remember them as well," said Krutiv.

"What happened to them? Where were they when Berit Malit arrived?"

"We can't know," said Krutiv.

"He was dead," said Cay. "And my sister was hiding."

"How long will we endure this questioning?" demanded Gizon harshly.

Adrio bowed low. "Gizon Ingok—Krutiv Ingok—respectfully, what is your explanation for what Cay did?" Adrio's voice was as courteous as if he were addressing the queen. "Why would he do such a thing—a youth, with a young sister and no home?"

"Perhaps," said Krutiv, "he was wicked."

Cay closed his eyes. This was hopeless; he wished Adrio wouldn't try. He heard Gizon snort.

"What happened to the man?" Adrio persisted. "Cay's sister is in Lucenequa. I know her well. But his father is not there. He never survived his journey through these mountains. And you know Dizut liked young girls. Why else was he killed? Indeed, how was he killed? How did Cay, a stranger, know of the fissure that led the Muntegrise troops to where Dizut camped, unless Dizut himself showed him?"

Krutiv shook her head slowly. "I don't know."

"Enough," said Gizon.

"Another question," persisted Adrio. "Dizut volunteered to guide Cay and his family without asking for payment. Krutiv Ingok, were you surprised?"

She raised her eyebrows. "I was. That is not our way."

Was this working? Krutiv appeared thoughtful. But Gizon was visibly fuming, opening and clenching his fists.

"Did Gizon speak to Dizut about it?" pressed Adrio. "Did he ask why he chose to help this family for no payment?"

"I remember," said Haxut, unexpectedly, from the crowd. "Gizon told him they must pay, and Dizut said, ‘They will.' I remember because it was unusual. I expected Gizon to stop them, but he did not."

"I remember that too," said someone else.

Krutiv turned to her father. "Do you remember?"

"I don't care!" roared Gizon, making Cay jump. "How long will we listen to this? What does Maquhi care for some Turla lout and his brats? My grandson is dead!" His harsh shout bounced off the canyon walls, repeating: dead, dead, dead. He stood unsteadily, bracing himself on the arm of the heavy chair. "He was true Maquhi, strong and straight, with his mother's eyes and the heart of a warrior, and I will have my payment."

Cay found his voice. "That's what he said to me. When I told him what Dizut had demanded and how he killed my father. He said,‘I don't care. It doesn't matter.'"

"And it didn't!" snarled Gizon. "It didn't matter then, and it doesn't matter now."

Krutiv slowly turned to stare at her father.

Cay opened his mouth to speak, but Adrio touched him lightly, on the arm, and he remained silent.

Krutiv asked, "So you did speak to Cay Olau, that day? He did come to you with his complaint, and you said it doesn't matter?"

The old man waved a knobby hand at Cay. "He killed Dizut with his treachery. He does not deny it!"

"My chief," said Krutiv. "Did Cay Olau come to you and demand justice for his father? Did he declare blood-feud against Dizut?"

"Do you dare question me, daughter? I have led this clan for sixty years, and I say my grandson's murderer dies tonight." Gizon swept his gaze around the assembled people. "I will do it myself, if I must. Someone bring me a rope!"

No one moved.

"Answer the question, Father," repeated Krutiv. "Did the boy demand blood-payment from the Maquhi for his family?"

"No bastard downlander has the right to demand blood payment from Clan Maquhi!" declared Gizon. "I am Maquhi, and I deny his claim."

The crowd was muttering again. It was an ugly sound, fraught with menace. What had once seemed like a trial now seemed like a riot about to happen. They need not hang him, for a riot could kill; so had his mother been killed, exposed and surrounded by enemies.

"No!" shouted someone from the crowd. A man was standing, arms crossed over his chest. "I was there. I was the chief's guard the night Dizut died, and I saw the boy. I did not hear what they said, but the boy came and spoke, and they quarreled, and then he ran off. My chief." The man bowed low. "Forgive me. You misremember."

Krutiv raised her hands for silence, but the people were on their feet now, a roar of voices, male and female. Some shouted at the guard to be silent; others called for Gizon to take back his words. A few scuffles broke out as Gizon's supporters and critics came to blows.

It was snowing harder now, tiny flakes of ice blowing diagonally through the darkening sky. It seemed to dull the sound of the flapping flags. With a start, Cay understood what the kites and flags had been telling him: the wind was from the north, coming down cold from the plateau of Muntegri. The weather had turned at last, and true winter had come. The rivers would freeze, and the canyons would fill with snow.

"I am not satisfied!" shouted Adrio, his voice ringing above the noise. "Lodola decries the false claim of Maquhi. Do you hear me, Maquhi?"

"Silence!" That was Gizon. He was on his feet, a sword in his hand. He strode across the courtyard toward them. "I will have my debt. Now. If I have to take the boy's head off myself."

Here it comes, thought Cay. He crouched, fists clenched, teeth bared with fury and fright, as Gizon strode toward him, a warrior still, blade naked in his hand.

Adrio drew his dagger and threw it. It sank into the meat of Gizon's thigh, just above his left knee, throwing Gizon's balance off midstride. Without a sound, the old man fell sideways, and his sword clattered to the ground.

The crowd fell silent too.

"I might have struck his heart," announced Adrio. "But Lodola does not demand Chief Gizon's life. He is a great leader, who grieves the death of a beloved kinsman, and who misremembers. He will always have Lodola's respect. If Cay is unharmed—if Maquhi drops its pretense of blood-claim against him—Lodola is satisfied."

"Kill them," rasped Gizon, half-supine on the ground, his blood soaking into the dirt.

"Enough," said Krutiv. She raised her hands. "Enough. Maquhi clansmen. My father needs care, and we must all eat and rest. Go to your homes." She glanced at the low sky. "Go, and prepare your families for the cold time. We will speak again in the morning."

And with that, the crowd began to disperse, except for the people clustered around the fallen Gizon. Cay stood still, waiting. He could hear a few voices: a woman's, saying Dizut had always been a bully; a man, protesting the law of blood-feud was a thousand years older than Gizon. But they were leaving; they were walking away.

Was it possible Adrio would get away with throwing a dagger at Gizon Ingok?

"You madman," whispered Cay to Adrio.

"Come on." Adrio took his hand. They slowly made their way out of the center of the courtyard, trying to draw no attention to themselves. Incredibly, no one seemed to pay them any mind. Except for those carrying Gizon into Hemaquhi, the Maquhi were leaving, taking care of their business, as Krutiv had told them to do.

"Krutiv has been the power behind the throne for years," said Adrio. "They just needed a push to depose him in her favor."

"You stabbed their chief in front of their eyes, and they are ignoring you."

Adrio glanced down at him with a slightly sick-looking grin. "I guess they accepted my blood-claim."

"You are made of luck."

"Perhaps."

They put the wall to their backs. Partially sheltered from the thickening snowfall, Cay clung to Adrio's hand. They were both trembling.

"We have to get out of here before the Pass closes with snow."

"Too late, I think."

They were still huddled against the wall and debating what to do when scouts arrived on tired horses carrying a wicker basket and a mass of folded cloth.

"We found the flying thing!" announced a scout.

***

Dressed in borrowed Chende clothes and boots, Cay came down the stairs of Hemaquhi, looking for his husband.

Snow and sleet had fallen in alternating showers without stopping for three days. Now, as Cay emerged from the tower, the sun shone blindingly off glittering thigh-deep snow. The Maquhi were busy with shovels, clearing narrow pathways. It sounded like hard work. The blades of their shovels clanked and crunched as they bit into the icy drifts.

Lehoia Pass would be impassable, and the Road entirely blocked. No one in either land could travel north or south, and Cay and Adrio were trapped in Maquhi country until the thaw. They could be here for weeks or months.

Fortunately, Adrio had been right. The Maquhi had accepted the justice of his blood-claim and without further discussion dismissed their own against Cay. Gizon Ingok had voluntarily (so they were told) gone into the honorable retirement due his age, and his daughter Krutiv Ingok was now the new chief. Cay and Adrio were staying in a comfortable tower room rather than a cell, and though no one seemed exactly pleased about Cay's presence, no one seemed to lust after his blood, either. Chende honor would not permit anything else.

Trapped by the weather in their tower room, they'd made love again and again. Cay hadn't understood how acute Adrio's terror had been until he expressed his relief by thoroughly wrecking Cay in bed. And then they'd shared laughter and gentleness too.

Cay followed the paths through the courtyard and outside without any sign of Adrio. Men and women shoveled snow, chipped ice, and cared for livestock. Children ran everywhere, through the snow tunnels, screaming and laughing. Above the canyon he stared with awe at a house-sized array of spars and sails, which the wind pushed in a ceaseless creaking circle. He puzzled over this for a while, wondering what it was for.

But he could not find his husband until he heard the crackle of fire above him and looked up to see a familiar sight: a balloon on the top of the tower, slowly inflating.

He climbed the stairs to the top of Hemaquhi to find Adrio and Krutiv standing together. Several people were building a fire from precious charcoal, and the sack of the balloon was held open over the fire by lines held by others on the walls. It grew as Cay approached, fluttering in the breeze with a sound not unlike the ever-present clapping of the Chende flags.

Krutiv was saying, "His leg will recover, if the Wind blows right."

"I hope so," said Adrio politely.

"While I am chief, Clan Lodola and Clan Maquhi will continue as friends. If that is Lodola's will."

"Lodola would like nothing more."

"And... if any other clansmen want to come south, we will be more welcoming than we have in the past. Chende may come through the Pass without payment."

"You speak with great honor." Adrio bowed. "I will try to get word to those in the prison camps that should any manage to escape, they will have a safe path before them." Smiling a little, he added, "If the Wind blows right. Meanwhile, Lodola is happy to continue providing the usual supplies."

"Good." Krutiv glanced up at the swelling balloon. "More charcoal. More light wood and silk. Not black."

"Certainly. Blue and yellow? Like the kites, so all will see the Maquhi in the sky?"

Krutiv grinned. "That's right."

Cay walked up and slipped his hand into Adrio's.

Adrio smiled down at him. "I asked Krutiv about the clouds—do you remember? The Principle of Layers?" Cay nodded. "She says there are layers. The Maquhi have records of the winds in Lehoia Pass going back hundreds of years."

"I knew a man of Clan Bekh, in Turla, who made little devices to show the wind. He said the Bekh put them above their doors so they will always know what the wind is doing."

"We use the flags," said Krutiv, a little stiffly. "But I have heard the plateau clans make such things."

Like most Chende, she preferred not to speak to Cay directly. Honor might be satisfied, but no one particularly liked him.

She pointed upward. "Do you see how the flags up there blow from the northwest, but down there"—she pointed into the canyon—"they are closer to true north? The wind is different in different places. The flags show how fast it flows, when it turns, and where it eddies. Where it springs upward in the afternoon and plunges at night, where it runs straight, and where it breaks into rapids over the rocks. Lehoia Pass is a riverbed of wind."

"Oh." Cay thought about this. All those flags, the signal kites. So much of what he'd seen but not understood, dedicated to studying the stuff of wind. "What about the thing like a wheel? The wind was turning it around?"

"When it's icy, taking the path down to the river is dangerous. We use the windmill to bring up water."

"Really? My sister would want to study it."

"I think no one in the world knows the wind better than the Maquhi," said Adrio. He was smiling, his tawny face reddened with cold. "I'm sure of it. Who better to fly?"

By now, the balloon was full, and the clansmen were standing back, staring up at it and talking, laughing among themselves. Krutiv had a small frown on her face. "You really rode in that thing?" she said.

"We did." Adrio gave her a courtly bow. "I apologize for lying about it. At the time, it seemed like candlelight at noon."

"It simply goes where the winds take it?" she asked.

"For the most part."

Adrio explained how he'd been able to adjust the height at which the balloon flew and how he'd found different winds at different altitudes. Krutiv nodded with understanding. "The wind in the canyons is our uncle. We know how he comes and goes. But the wind above the canyons is a wild man who runs where he will."

"You shall have the tools to tame him," said Adrio. "And then, who knows what you will do?"

"I wonder if something more like a kite would be better?" murmured Krutiv. "Something we could control. I had not thought of it before."

Cay squeezed Adrio's hand. "Look at you," he murmured. "Changing the world again."

Adrio met his eyes, and his smile died. His expression grew serious. "Excuse us," he said to Krutiv and tugged Cay away by the hand.

They went down along the wall to a private spot sheltered from the wind. Adrio was grave.

"Husband," he said, "I know you never wanted anything but love, peace, and safety. I understand it better now, what you hoped for when you married me."

"I wanted you," said Cay.

"You wanted a home. One that would never be torn from you." Adrio put a warm hand on Cay's cheek. "And I, wanting to feel like a hero, made you feel unsafe there. I can see the magnitude of my crime so much better now I know your past."

"Well." Cay shifted his feet. "If you didn't know, it's no one's fault but mine."

"I don't want to haggle over blame. I want to know...when we return to Rossoulia, will you stay?"

Cay looked up into Adrio's eyes—dark brown but struck golden by the sunlight—and knew a simple yes or no would not do for this moment. They must go forward trusting each other if they were to go forward at all.

"You didn't just want to feel like a hero," he said. "You wanted to use the advantages of your birth to make the world better. It is one of the things I liked about you, from the very beginning. You were never content to stay safely in your wealthy house. How could I—" Cay stumbled over his words. "I'm not sure how to say this," he admitted. "But how could I expect you to, for my sake?"

"I would. To make you feel safe."

Cay's poor soft heart softened further.

"You shouldn't. You should rescue more prisoners, and help more refugees, and teach the Chende to fly. And do what your honor tells you to do. You should fill your heart with dreams and make them come true. Only, let me help you a little. Even if I only give you something to come back home to."

Adrio bowed his head and brushed their cheeks together. "Gods, Cay, I love you so. Will you come home? And stay?"

"Are you ready to brave another gossip storm? Because I think the servants at Wind House saw my hair, and servants talk. I can dye it black, but word will get out."

"You know I don't care."

He really didn't. Cay closed his eyes against the wonder of it and kissed Adrio's bristly cheek. Pulling back, he looked up at Adrio and added, "I do have one more little secret."

Adrio swallowed with trepidation.

Cay suppressed a smile. "I adopted a cat. The stray who lives on the roof."

"What, the ugly gray ratkiller with the lop tail? You let it inside?"

"Mandru is not ugly. I love him like a son."

Adrio grimaced. "You'll give him a bath and keep him out of our bed."

"Yes, Husband."

He gave Adrio his sweet smile, and Adrio sighed, lowering his head so his forehead rested on Cay's.

"You'll come home? And stay?"

"I will."

"Today? Now? Are you ready to go?"

"Now?"

Adrio turned and nodded up at the balloon, round as a plum against the sky. "The wind is from the north, but not too strong. We could float on this river straight down Lehoia Pass into Noresposto."

Cay looked at the balloon. Then he looked at Adrio. "The chief said the river had rapids."

"Only down in the canyons."

"She said above the canyons it's a wild man."

"It's a wild man going south. The kites tell us so."

"I see them. Do you see the canyon walls? We'll smash into them."

"We won't. We'll soar."

"You can't be so arrogant to think you can control the wind."

"I can ride it." Adrio paused. "Or we could stay here. Forget I mentioned it, Cay. Never mind."

"What, stay here until the snow melts?" Cay laughed. "Don't be ridiculous. Let's go."

Adrio's eyebrows went up. "Are you certain?"

Cay nodded. "We could be in Wind House for supper."

Adrio smiled. And when had Cay ever been able to resist Adrio when he smiled his reckless smile?

He leaned in and gave Adrio a kiss. "Let's fly, Husband."