“What is the problem with Qinten? I know. I know. He has a dark soul. You’ve said that before. He is wealthy. He is in line to be the High Priest of Lorca. What more could you want?”

Ziva shook her head. “We have been friends for years, Tawna. Have I ever been interested in wealth and all its trappings like Kara?”

“Kara would say that is because Orak is wealthy.”

Ziva shrugged and turned to pick up a slice of orange from a delicate blue plate on the table beside her white velvet chair. The young women were sitting in Ziva’s sitting room. Her father’s problems were not something to share with a friend, even a best friend.

“You have always lived a comfortable life, with servants and enough of everything. You have never been hungry, without clothes, or a place to live.”

“And you have?” Ziva turned to her friend, eyes wide.

“Well, no. But we have been close. There was a time father struggled. He sold in the marketplace, working to build enough business to support a shop. He did not move into the shop until I was seven. I remember those years, when we did not always have enough.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Why is Kara so concerned about wealth? Bram is wealthy. Scholars always have power, and he keeps the city records.”

“You know he has not always had a position in the city. Kara’s family is new to wealth. She is still impressed by money.”

“Money. Always money! Money is not everything. You and Kara still have your mothers. Mine is gone. I would love to share with my mother my challenges.”

“I forgot, Ziv. You have so much. I did not remember your loss.” Tawna leaped forward to kneel in front of her friend and hugged her. Ziva allowed her to hold her a breath, before pushing her away.

“I’m fine, Tawn. Money is just not all that important.”

“So what are you going to do about Qinten?”

“Anything I can to avoid him. I do not wish to help him lead the Planting Festival. Have you heard what happens at that festival?”

“Mama will not let me attend or tell me why.” Tawna lowered her voice. “Do you know?”

“Yes. Orak told me.” Ziva’s response was barely above a whisper.

“Share.”

“No. I cannot. It is too … too horrible.”

“I cannot believe it can be so horrible. Mother and father participate each year.”

Ziva felt her eyebrows raise. “Perhaps this is why they will not tell you about it.”

Though Tawna teased and berated her friend, Ziva refused to share the details of the festival. She sighed in relief when Tawna left, still begging for information.

“It is not for me to tell you, even if I could speak the words,” Ziva repeated as she closed the door. She leaned against the door and shook her head. “I cannot speak the words.”

~ ~ ~

Nat stood outside the door to Qinten’s apartment. He straightened his tunic and brushed back his hair. A growl echoed through the door. He took a deep breath and rapped on the door.

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Qinten called, “come.”

Nat entered and walked to stand in front of his Master. “You wanted me, Master?”

“Yes, Nat.” He swallowed and shook his head slightly. He cleared his throat. “Look at the reports on your desk and tell me what is wrong.”

Nat moved to his desk and picked up the papers. He glanced toward Qinten, who stared at a copper vase. He wondered at his strange behavior before focusing on the question put to him.

Much later he had an answer. Looking up, he noticed Qinten nodding in his comfortable chair. Now, he wondered whether it was braver to allow him to sleep or wake him with the answer to his questions.

He decided on the latter. “Master?”

Qinten slowly opened his eyes, stretched, and scrubbed his eyes. “What have you found?”

“Something is going on that I cannot quite put my finger on. The levels of grain have dropped, lambs are lost, doves are missing. What has happened?”

“I thought there was a problem. Will there be enough for the New Year Festival? Can you determine the cause of the losses?”

“Yes, there will be enough for the New Year festival, with some left over, but not enough for the Planting Festival unless something changes. As to the cause, I cannot tell.”

“Why would there suddenly be losses in all the important sacrifices? Who would be behind this?” Qinten shook his head and reached for his empty wine goblet. Nat hurried over to pour more from the decanter.

“I cannot say, Master. All I have is the numbers. We need reports from those responsible for the sheep, doves, and grain. It may take days to untangle this.”

“Are there not explanations with the reports? Surely, they did not send numbers only. I read something about losses …?”

“There are explanations, but they make no sense. I will continue to read the reports and try to find a reason for you.”

“Do that.” Qinten leaned back in his chair as Nat returned to the reports. After several breaths, he asked, “Why did you not return?”

Nat sat still many heartbeats. Qinten opened his mouth to ask again as Nat answered. “I did not know you wanted me to return.”

“Where did you go? I searched everywhere for you.”

Nat opened his eyes wider as he looked at Qinten.

“I did not look for you. I sent others to search for you. None could find you.”

“I lay on a pallet where my friends from the kitchen carried me. I slept three days on my stomach, the pain eased from the concoctions given to me by my friends, and the honey they daubed on my back. When I could move again, I returned with them to the kitchen. There was no indication I was needed at your side. No one said anything to me that you wanted me back I was grateful to be in your service, still, and in the kitchen, rather than someplace worse.”

Qinten stared at Nat, waiting for more.

“Only this morning did Gowdy tell me you were looking for me. I was peeling potatoes.”

“Why did it take so long for you to come to me after—was it Gowdy — who told you?” Nat nodded. “After Gowdy informed you I searched for you?”

“I smelled of the kitchen, onions and garlic, and had no appropriate clothing. My tunic was torn from the lashing. I wore the tunic of a kitchen slave. Gowdy sent me to Mott in the wardrobe for a tunic. Mott insisted I bathe away the fragrances of the kitchen. I came as soon as I was dressed.”

“I suppose it was necessary.” Qinten sniffed. “You no longer smell of the kitchen.”

“No. The bath took care of that.”

Once more, Nat bent over the reports, making notes as he read. A slave entered the office, lighting the lamps there and throughout the apartment. Nat looked up, surprised to see Qinten prepared for dinner. He had not heard him call the wardrobe slave.

“Do not forget to eat, Nat. I will not have you ill.” Qinten stood by the door, ready to leave for a dinner with others.

“Yes, Master Qinten.”

The door closed and he returned to the reports, struggling to understand what to make of the losses. Animals and grains were delivered and paid for. He had the receipts to prove sufficient numbers had been ordered and delivered. Now, the actual numbers reflected severely reduced numbers.

Nat became aware of the fragrances of the meal he had been working on that morning. Beside his elbow, on his desk, sat a steaming plate of food. He glanced around, seeking the slave who brought it. The empty room suggested he missed him.

He picked up the fork and absently ate as he read the reports once more. There had to be something more, something they hadn’t said, in fear of Qinten. How could he convince those responsible for the care of the sacrifices to reveal the actual causes? He would have to be careful. They would need to be convinced Qinten had no part in the investigation, that his capricious actions would not come to play if they admitted the truth. How would he manage it?

He let his head rest on his hand as he ate the now cold meal. Even cold, it was delicious. He knew Cook knew what he was doing. He allowed himself a few breaths to remember his friends in the kitchen. He would miss them. Would they miss him?