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Pieas shook his head slowly, his expression clearing. “I'm sorry, Lord Scratha. I never knew that, but it sounds like something Lord Arit would do. He was always looking to gain Sessin more power. But to pressure a grieving child—that was wrong.”
“The sands are about to swallow us all,” Alyea said without meaning to put the thought into actual speech. She covered her mouth with one hand, appalled at her timing.
Pieas turned, gave her a hard look, then shrugged and grinned ruefully. “I deserved that, I suppose. Which brings me back to the point.” He reached to his belt, drew two long, slim daggers out, and dropped them on the sand. He pulled two more from his boots and tossed them to the ground, then another from a neck-sheath. Stepping away from the small pile of knives, he spread his hands and looked at Alyea.
She stared back at him, feeling oddly paralyzed.
“Do it,” he said, and dropped gracefully to his knees, keeping his stare locked on her face.
“I don't. . . .” she started, not sure what to say.
“Gods know,” he said, “my life won't be any loss to the world.”
She drew a deep breath and looked around. The other lords had backed away a few steps, leaving a clear ring of space around her; clearly, none of them intended to interfere. Even Deiq had stepped away and watched her with absolutely no expression.
Pieas dropped his hands to his sides, curling them into fists.
“Out of all the people in this camp,” he said hoarsely, “I'm the most deserving of death right now.”
His clenched hands trembled.
A humorless, strained bark of laughter came from her throat. “I never thought I'd have any respect for you.”
His grin looked forced. “Funny you should say that. I've always thought the same about myself. Best not give me a chance to ruin it, don't you think?”
She drew another, long, steadying breath, and bent to pick up one of his knives.

Cafad had been gone for a long time when Riss opened her eyes and slowly pushed herself into a sitting position. She stared at nothing for a while, seeming dazed. Eventually her gaze focused on the world around her, and then on Idisio.

“Water?” Idisio offered, holding out a flask. She took it and drained the contents in one long steady swig.
“How long was I out?” she asked, handing him back the empty flask.
“I don't know,” Idisio said. He glanced up at the high windows, long since dark. A strange, steady glow had filled the room at dusk; it rose from several alcoves along each wall and reminded Idisio of the odd lighting in the Bright Bay palace dining hall.
He had prowled the room earlier, examining the alcoves, and found them hot enough at close range as to discourage close inspection; but the alcoves seemed to be thin shafts cut down into the walls, and the light came from beneath. Idisio guessed at a fire, somehow reflected upwards into the room, and amused himself by thinking out possible ways that could be done.
“It's probably almost midnight by now.”
“Oh,” she said, looking relieved. “It's only been hours? That's good.”
He stared at her, astonished at the odd reply.
“Never mind,” Riss said. She rubbed her eyes. “Idisio. . . .”
The tone of her voice would have terrified him in the recent past. Now he found himself evaluating it, calculating possibilities, comparing the tone to the motion of her hand and how her gaze slid awkwardly away from him. He considered responses, decided on patient silence as the best path, and waited.
She drew a deep breath, another, and finally said, “I'm pregnant.”
“I never,” he said involuntarily.
She grinned, coughed half-laughter, and said, “No, stupid. Not yours. It's from when . . . back north. Before I met you.”
“Oh,” he said, then, “
Oh
.”
“Yes. Oh.” She regarded him steadily, her expression sober but somehow content. “I thought I might be. I hadn't had a chance to . . . prepare.” She looked away, a faint flush coming to her cheeks. “And by the time I woke up . . . anyway, the ha'rethe confirmed it.”
“Oh,” Idisio said again, unable to come up with anything more coherent.
She shrugged a little, sighed, and looked up at him. “Do you think I'm a whore?”
“No,” he said, astonished. “No, nothing like that.”
“Do you—”
“Wait.” Idisio cut her off with a gesture and tilted his head, listening to distant sounds. “Someone's coming. Cafad. And he's not alone. Two others.”
She rubbed at her face with both hands and raked her hair into a semblance of order. Idisio watched, mulling over what she'd told him, and found himself glad of the interruption. He didn't know what to say to her, didn't know the right response to make. He had an uncomfortable feeling that she wanted to hear that he liked her, or thought she was beautiful, or something equally soppy.
Words bounced from the stone walls, muddied into incoherence by the echoes, then clarified as they moved into the passageway outside the room; one voice held a female timbre, and the third set Idisio's arms into gooseflesh. He stood up just as the door swung open.
Cafad strode into the room, followed by a man and a woman. The woman stood almost as tall as the desert lord, with glossy dark hair that hung, unbound, well past her shoulders. Dark eyes, olive-tan skin, and the stern pride in her carriage marked her as having at least some measure of noble blood, although it probably came from a Bright Bay, not a desert Family, line. At a second glance, Idisio read tremendous weariness and a deep grief beneath the surface. She seemed ready to drop where she stood. Only willpower kept her on her feet.
The man whose voice worried Idisio stood slightly taller than the woman, with a darker skin and broader face. His expression, at the moment, held as much bleak and powerful bitterness as Cafad's madness had ever produced. Idisio suspected that he never wanted to see this man upset, not even a little; but here, too, a second glance showed more. Something weirdly familiar and at the same time frighteningly alien glittered in those dark eyes. Idisio found himself backing away. “It's all right, Idisio,” Cafad said. “This is—”
I am named De'sta'haiq
, a quiet voice said, just audible.
“—Deiq, and Lord Alyea—” Cafad's voice echoed over the words in Idisio's head.
Deiq is simpler
, the voice agreed, and the man smiled.
“Gah,” Idisio said, and backed up again.
“—Idisio?” Cafad stepped forward, stretching out a reassuring hand. “What's the matter?”
“He's never met another ha'ra'ha before,” the man said easily, still smiling.
“Of course not,” Cafad said, looking thoroughly chagrined. “I should have remembered that. Idisio, I'm sorry, it's been . . . a bit hectic the last few hours.”
“I would like to pay my respects, if I may,” Deiq said, “and Lord Alyea needs to rest.”
“Of course,” Cafad said. “Riss, come with us; you'll be attending to Lord Alyea. Idisio, guide Deiq wherever he wishes to go. He has full access to the fortress; no door is closed to a ha'ra'ha.”
“Gods,” the woman said, wearily sardonic, “you're letting me out of your sight, Deiq?”
“You're safe here,” the dark man said. “Go get some rest. If you need me, just call my name. I'll hear you.”
She quirked an eyebrow, shook her head, and followed Cafad from the room, Riss trailing behind. Idisio wanted nothing
less
than to be alone in a room with Deiq, but Cafad swept out of the room too fast for protest. Idisio tried to think of an excuse to leave, and came up blank. Deiq watched him with an amused expression. “Most of us grow up knowing what we are, in the company of our own kind and kin,” he said. “You seem to have had an unusual life.”
Idisio felt his face flare into bright, mortified color.
“Scratha didn't tell me details,” Deiq said. “He said you needed instruction, nothing more. Excuse me.”
He walked to within an arm's length of the pool and sank to his knees. He sat that way, head bowed, for several minutes. Idisio watched, fascinated, as a faint mist formed above the surface of the water. As if subject to a localized breeze, the mist swirled into patterns that looked almost like writing for a few moments, then slowly dissipated.
Deiq drew a deep breath and stood, turning to face Idisio; incredibly, tears streaked down that imposing, dark face.
“Scratha has no idea,” Deiq said, “how lucky he is. Neither do you.” He shook his head and walked away from the now-quiet pool, motioning Idisio to follow him.
Deiq moved through the silent passageways as though entirely familiar with the fortress. At that thought, Idisio realized
he
knew the halls they walked, knew when a door or turn in the passage lay ahead. He could have found his way to the kitchens, storerooms, main hall, and more: as if he had lived here all his life.
He stopped and rubbed at his eyes, feeling disoriented. Deiq paused, waiting patiently. After a moment Idisio said, “I . . . feel like I know this place. It's weird.”
“You'll never be lost,” Deiq said, “with a friendly ha'rethe around.” He smiled and started walking again. Abruptly aware he had no value as a guide, Idisio grimaced and followed. He wondered if Cafad had known that Deiq didn't need a guide and, if not, whether he should say anything about it.
“Friendly?” Idisio said after a few steps.
Deiq made a humming noise in the back of his throat. “One of the great myths about them is that they're all the same: emotionless, interested only in their own survival, and without personality or preferences. It's an understandable mistake, given how little contact even the desert lords have with them.”
Idisio felt a burst of excitement. “Is that why I couldn't stand being around that one at the Wall,” he said, “but the one here was all right?”
Deiq paused again and looked at Idisio with a curiously intent expression on his face.
“The one at the Wall?” he repeated.
Idisio told him the story, cutting it to a brief and relatively dry account.
“Ah,” Deiq said, and resumed walking. “That's another mistake humans make, one that I think is rather less forgivable than the first. They assume that every voice in a dark place is a ha'rethe.”
Idisio had been walking slightly behind Deiq; now he moved to walk beside him. “It wasn't? Then what was it?”
Deqi's expression remained serene as he said, “It's been over a thousand years since the original Agreement, and the ha'reye were old then. How many do you think are still alive?”
“Good gods,” Idisio breathed, stunned. “I never thought about that.”
“Most people don't,” Deiq said. “There were about a hundred ha'reye left when the first Agreement was made. Today, I'm guessing there are probably fewer than twenty still alive. One of those lives under this fortress. Most of the Families think they have ha'rethe but what they actually have protecting them is a first generation ha'ra'ha. Sometimes it's even a second generation ha'ra'ha. Nobody lower than that could pull it off— they're too weak. Too human.”
“So what I met at the Wall was a ha'ra'ha?” Idisio said, intensely relieved and not sure why.
“More than likely,” Deiq said. “Probably first generation.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I'd advise against you going anywhere near the Wall again until you're fully trained, Idisio. Some of the first ha'ra'hain . . . it's complicated.”
He turned into a side corridor, sharply, as if he'd made the decision to do so at the last second. Idisio almost bumped into him.
“We both ought to rest. I'll have to finish talking to you later. Go find your friend Riss. She needs you right now.”
“She
what
?” Idisio said involuntarily.
Deiq increased his pace until Idisio had to jog to keep up. “Trust me. Go.”
They came to a cross-passage which Idisio instantly knew led to the honored guest quarters. Deiq took it without pause or farewell. Idisio stood silent, watching the tall man hurry down the passage, and chewed on his tongue. He'd finally started getting some of the answers he needed. Deiq's abrupt departure felt like a splash of winter-cold water on a hot day.
You'll have time to talk
, the ha'rethe said unexpectedly.
He's right. Go see her.
“Is she all right?” Idisio said out loud, suddenly worried, and started jogging again. He realized he could feel her presence in the servant's quarters. Cafad must have assigned her a room; she was probably unpacking or resting there. What could be wrong with that?
Go see her
, the ha'rethe repeated.
“For what?” Idisio said, still speaking out loud; stubbornly reluctant to use any form of telepathy.
Humans
, the ha'rethe sighed, and fell silent.

Riss was crying. He could feel her distress. He hesitated, considering whether to knock. As he dithered, the thin door seemed to shift slightly; now it hung open just a little.

“You don't have to push,” Idisio muttered under his breath. He received no answer.
He nudged the door just enough to slip through, and shut it behind him without making a noise. He didn't know if that silence came from his own skill, the light weight of the door, or the ha'rethe.
Riss lay curled up on the low bed, hugging a large red pillow; her thin body shook with muffled sobs. Idisio watched her for a moment, uncertain whether to retreat or advance, and finally moved forward. He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, half-expecting her to lash out.
Instead, he wound up, as he had once before, with her arms around his neck and her head on his shoulder. At least she wasn't entirely on top of him this time. He shifted awkwardly, trying to get her elbow out of his ribs, and somehow the movement ended with his back against the headboard and Riss firmly in his lap again.
He grimaced ruefully, eased her into a comfortable position, and stroked her hair lightly as she cried herself out.
“What's the matter?” he said when her sobbing hiccups had slowed.
“Let's see,” she said in a thick voice, not lifting her head from his shoulder. “I'm hundreds of miles from home, disgraced, pregnant, alone, terrified, surrounded by more strangers than I've met in my entire life, and I have no idea what's going to happen to me. There's a weird creature that spent several days talking to me, but it was really only hours, and some of the things it told me scared me about to pissing myself. Nothing's wrong. Why would you think anything's wrong?”
Idisio, at first taken aback, found himself grinning by the time she finished. If Riss could be that sharp, she'd be all right.
“Let's see,” he said into her hair. “You're on a grand adventure, earning respect from everyone you meet and learning lots of new things. And, yes, you're pregnant, with a desert lord ready and willing to support every need you and the child might have. You've met and befriended one of the oldest and most sacred creatures in the world, and it shared some amazing secrets with you. You're right; I don't think anything's wrong.”
She lifted her head and glared at him. “You're impossible.”
He shrugged, still smiling. “My version is as valid as yours.”
She wiped her face with a shaky hand and sat up a little straighter. “I keep thinking Karic's going to show up around some corner unexpectedly and laugh at me, and tell everybody that I'm a whore. . . .”
Idisio abruptly felt a phantom surge of thick, salty water filling his throat, and an almost overwhelming, thrashing panic. It passed in moments, and he coughed hard to clear his throat.
“I don't think . . . you need to worry about that,” he muttered, his stomach churning. “Damn, this is going to take some getting used to.”
“What is?”
He shook his head, unwilling to share his vision of Karic's death. “Nothing. I guess I'm a little rattled by everything too. Look, you're the servant of a desert lord now. If they even show up, Cafad's liable to have them strung up for what they did to you. Don't worry about them any more.”
She sighed. “Thank you. I've been so scared. . . .”
The words trailed off into silence. When her breathing evened into true sleep, Idisio carefully eased her back down onto the bed and slipped out the door with an immense sense of relief.