Virtually all of the Dominion subscribes to some variant on the belief that the souls of the dead remain where they died for some time, in a more or less conscious state. Many local variants on this theme exist, and there is considerable diversity even within individual pyres or hearths, with no “official” position. Some, for example, believe their ancestors watch over the community, and therefore regularly offer prayers and sacrifices. Others go farther, and posit that the most illustrious, accomplished, or pious individuals ascend to a kind of minor, local godhood. Still others have modified the belief into a kind of delayed reincarnation, often with complicated and esoteric schemes to explain the details. But the most common assumption may be one of slow annihilation; the soul lingers for a time in a state of lower consciousness, then gradually fades away and disappears.

Darun slumped against the wall, panting. “Wait up, will you? In case you haven’t noticed, honey, I’m basically a two-legged camel with the hump in the wrong place, these days. And it’s hot.”

“It’s the coolest time of the bloom, and you’re not that big yet,” Ram shot back from the top of the stairs, holding the door open for her.

She gave him a dirty look, but complied. His wife had only been in Dul Karagi half a day—she’d landed with Mother, Father, baby Zemni, and Shazru this morning—but that was enough time for Ram to learn not to waste much pity on her. Darun could have kept up with his leisurely stroll, and had his arm to lean on; instead she’d elected to fall behind to look at things she didn’t want or need in shop windows. He assumed there was some complicated mind-game behind it all, one he refused to play.

But that was no reason to be cruel, as such. When she got to the top of the stairs, he kissed her on her sweaty forehead, and put a hand on the small of her back to steady her through the door. It wasn’t all an act; she was breathing hard. Ram was torn between guilt at imposing on her, and pride at standing his ground.

Business at the Red Flute was steady, but not booming; less than half the tables were full, but the blackbands at them had ordered good-sized meals. Most of the elite class they traditionally dealt with had left the pyre, or lost its wealth—there were no more Lashantus looking to do business. Even the flamekeepers were greatly reduced. At the same time, all the unrest and confusion created plenty of opportunities for smuggling, and there was fresh space at the top of Karagi’s heap for anyone willing to pay to get there.

So Ram got a number of cheery waves as he guided his wife to a vacant seat in the back, far from the cooking fire. Most of them caught the faint swell in Darun’s abdomen, and smirked into their mugs. Darun herself was too focused on navigating between the tables to notice or care. When they arrived, she flopped into a bench, and sighed with relief. “Beer?” she asked hopefully.

“Try the tea,” he offered, smiling ruthlessly. “I didn’t like it at first, but it’s growing on me.”

“I hope fungus grows on you, too,” she answered, and mopped at her face. It was a swollen face, with a few zits, but much more normal-looking than he remembered. He hadn’t really expected her to go without the tinap ointment. The rest of her was covered in in a lovely, impractical blue and gold gown, with a kind of scarf to conceal the lingering burns on her right forearm. No wonder she was hot.

“Look, Darun, I’m not trying to be mean,” he said, leaning over the table so he could speak quietly. “But could you at least pretend to give a damn about the kid? I’m sure you drink whatever you want when I’m not around.”

“Nah, your mom’s even worse than you are. Not to mention Tir. I’m a damned connoisseur of tea, these days.” She slapped the table. “C’mon, hubby, one beer isn’t going to hurt. There’s women who down one a day for all nine months, and their kids come out okay. I’m not asking for the good stuff here. Weak will do.”

He relented, and put up two fingers for the server as she approached. “Just one, mind.”

“May the merciful God of the lowly reward you,” she quipped back, hauling on the chain around her neck to reveal the dangling silver idol of Tugul Nar buried in her blouse. It was a replica in miniature of the one in the gien, where they’d burned Ninshuma’s body. She made a vague gesture of benediction before tucking it away again.

Ram blinked. “I’m amazed you brought that with you. Honestly, it was a joke gift. I couldn’t think of anything else to send.”

“A joke? Oh, lover, let me tell you, it was the best thing you could have sent. That little bugger was all that kept me sane, some days.”

“You prayed to it?” This was unexpected.

“A little. I don’t know if there’s anything in it, but it can’t hurt. And Tugul Nar’s better than some gods you could name.” She curled her lip at the old sunburst militia badge Ram wore on his chest, a bit of working-class grandstanding he forgot was there most of the time. “You know where you stand with him, and if you want to cuss him out on a bad day, he won’t take it personal. He’s a god, but he’s also a dwarf, you know? Ugly, too. And nobody ever gives him a damn thing except babies they don’t want. He knows what it’s like.”

Two tankards hit the table in front of them. Ram nodded thanks, then frowned as the server looked at them expectantly. “Honestly, I don’t really care. Bring us whatever’s good today. Thank you.” She nodded, and made herself scarce. “Well, Darun, I guess I can see what you mean.”

“Oh, that wasn’t the only reason I liked having him around, don’t get me wrong.” She slurped gracelessly at her beer. “Ahh, that’s better. The best part of being knocked up is, you don’t have to pretend. Nobody expects you to look pretty, or graceful. You just waddle around, looking gross, feeling gross, being gross, like the bloated heap of guts you are, and if anybody has a—“

“You were talking about Tugul Nar?” he prompted her, before she could get any louder. He hadn’t expected their relationship to be healthier after several months apart, but he hadn’t expected this, either.

“Tugul Nar? Yeah, he was great. He didn’t go with Tir’s décor at all, and she hated his guts—she’s done her share of praying to him, back in the day, and she doesn’t want to remember—but as long as I kept a straight face she couldn’t ask me to get rid of him.”

Ram took a deep drink, then set his mug down. “Can I ask you what it was your sister did to make you hate her so much?”

“Sure, you can ask. I might even answer, after we’ve been married a bloom or so. You haven’t earned it yet.”

“Fine. Then let’s get down to business.” He looked at the oven, behind the counter; whatever they were making for him and Darun, it would take time. “I haven’t asked her yet, but I’d like to involve Mother in our embassy to Dul Pilupura. And for you and our child to visit regularly, to help her get up to speed in the pyre. Eventually, after I’m gone, you’ll be living there full-time. How’s that sound?”

Darun rolled her eyes. “On the surface? Like plain old favor-peddling. Giving your parents and your wife a permanent room at the Garden, and the cushiest job in the whole Dominion? And it’s not like she’d be much good at it. Even I wouldn’t. Hell, Shazru might do better, with his tinap contacts.”

“I know that’s how it looks ‘on the surface.’ And below?”

She scowled. “You’re actually bribing me, to stay close to your mom so she knows I’m bringing up baby right. But you don’t need to bother with all that. We’ve been having lots of mother-daughter talks. We’ve agreed that I’m not going to be this kid’s mom.”

“She is?”

“For sure. Can you imagine me as a parent? Our mom left when I was like five, and Tir was no substitute. Our kid can do better than my half-assed imitation of a loving home I can’t even remember.”

“That’s about what I expected. And you’re probably right. But I didn’t think you’d accept it so easily. Or is it just that you don’t want the responsibility?”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

“Of course I don’t want the responsibility! Why would I? I’m a human, Ram, even if I do look more like a pig at the moment. A real live person. I have stuff I’d like to do with my life, stuff I can’t do with a little ankle-biter tagging along. Should I feel guilty that I’m not doing everything strangers expect me to, and mess up both our lives just so I feel like I’m doing the right thing?”

“No. I just wanted to know if you’d thought this through.”

“I’ve had months with nothing to do. Of course I’ve thought this through!”

Ram held up his hands. “And that’s fine. What you haven’t thought through is my proposal. It’s not just about bribing you—even if I would like it if you drop by from time to time.”

“Sure I’ll drop in. I don’t want to be a mom, but I’m fine with being the cool aunt who brings the expensive gifts.” She leaned back to look up at the ceiling, chewing her lip. “So, you want me to have a little extra reason to visit. But that’s still a bribe. What are you really after?”

Ram glanced at the reflections in his tankard; it didn’t seem like anyone was looking at their table. He lowered his voice anyway. “I don’t want our son, or daughter, growing up in this pyre. That’s what I brought you here to say.”

“And here I thought it was a romantic dinner. What are you afraid of? That they’ll use him as leverage? After the kindling, that won’t even matter.”

“That might have been true if I’d been an ordinary priest. Maybe. Probably not even then, because everyone’s been raised to believe in a priestly line and they want that to continue. A whole lot of horrible things just happened after the priestly line failed, and that means a lot, to a lot of people. They don’t know everything that happened, and they probably never will. So there are going to be plenty of voices calling for our son—if it’s a boy—to be the Ensi after me. And I won’t be around to tell them no.”

“He’s not indwelt yet, right?”

“For all I can tell, you might as well have a pillow stuffed under there. I see nothing. It seems likely that he’ll come out normal.”

“Good. But sure, I see what you mean. I saw the way they looked at you on our way here. The first drought, or sickness, or fire, or whatever, there’s going to be a thousand people blaming it on your child not belonging to Haranduluz. That makes sense. I mean, being afraid of it does. The actual idea’s moronic.” She leaned forward and crossed her arms on the table. “Almost as moronic as this other notion you have, that you can protect the kid just by moving him down the river a bit.”

“Give it a few blooms with both of you out of sight—“

She laughed, loud and strident. Several people from adjoining tables turned to stare. “Bullshit! Do you expect everybody to forget about you the second you’re dead?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Do you even want them to forget about you? Haven’t you been working hard to make sure things don’t go back to the way they were? And whoever’s in charge after you, they’re not going to forget either. They’ll be able to get your kid as long as he’s linked to this pyre’s government, and they can haul us all back to put on a show for them as soon as it’s convenient.”

“But the same thing’s true if I give custody to another pyre! I definitely don’t want any of you where Zasha can reach, for example.”

“Oh, hell no. Again, you’re right. You can’t keep our kid anywhere any pyre can get to. Not if you want it to live free.” She swept her hand around, indicating the other diners, who abruptly found ways to look disinterested. “The obvious answer is to not keep the kid in a pyre. Or hearth.”

“The life of a hearthless isn’t much safer. Or even a blackband.”

“Wait up, there! I said free. You said safe. Two different things, and you can’t have both. Pilupura comes close, closer than anywhere else in the Dominion, but you pay a price to live there, the same as anywhere else. Important people are safe, but they’re never free. Only scum like me can go where they want and do as they please.”

“And that’s the life you want for our child? To raise it on the road?”

“It’s not like I came up with a complete plan just now, in the past minute. It’s just that I see your mistake: you’re thinking, ‘hey, I saved the Dominion from the biggest bastard on the Teshalun, so they’ll be grateful, and I can plop my family down somewhere pleasant and out of the way and they’ll be left alone.’ Not going to happen, lover. Not a chance. I wouldn’t even ask Mr. Longshot here for that,” she added, shaking the chain that held her idol. “Gratitude is like a hangover. You can’t expect it to last after the next morning.”

“Excuse me. I remember my debts.”

She reached over and took his hand. “Yes, I know you do, because you’re a better person than me, Ram. I can accept that. I know I make fun of you for, you know, the whole thing where you’re afraid to enjoy your own life, but that’s what I needed, these past few months. One of us has to be responsible.” She had half a smile on her face. “It’s just our bad luck that you can’t keep doing it, when you’re the one who knows how. So I’d better learn.”

He squeezed her hand. “Can you? Honestly.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Half the blood that usually goes to my brain is keeping your kid alive, and I can’t think. I’m all emotional and pissy and I say the wrong thing. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, and I’m starting to wonder if I ever did.”

“You really didn’t. But that’s okay. Neither did I. We lived longer than we should have.”

Her eyes were bright now, bright and wet. “Isn’t that just a bitch? And now … what is this?” She swiped at her face with her arm. “See what I mean? This happens all the time now. It’s got me crying, and praying, and who knows what. It sucks!”

Ram had no idea what to tell her. Fortunately, their food arrived at that exact moment. Roast goat and fresh winter greens. It could have been jerked donkey that died of old age, and Ram would have welcomed it. They had the next several minutes to think in silence.

Darun finished first, and pushed her plate aside. “I guess what I’m saying is, I’ve got a lot to pray for here. You got dealt a lousy hand, don’t get me wrong, but it’s pretty straightforward, because you’ve only got a couple of blooms to plan for. When you’re gone?” She shrugged. “What’s there for the rest of us? Your mom and dad get another couple of kindlings of everybody remembering them for their dead kid. Maybe your dad can work, maybe not, but nobody has any idea what the world will look like when the dust settles. And I’m not counting on anybody to be grateful. Especially not to me. But like you said, that doesn’t mean they couldn’t use us.”

“You want to vanish, then.”

“No, we can’t vanish. Ghosts don’t need to eat. But a moving target’s harder to hit, and there’s places where your name doesn’t mean as much. By the kindling, we can be in position in Dul Tarluma, or somewhere else on the Agamenti—that’s the far side of Jatu—“

“I know.”

“Or maybe way down the Teshalun, like where Shazru grew up. Doing what is the question. We’ll have two tiny ones to deal with. I’m sure this little bastard will be a tough one to handle,” she added, patting her stomach, “seeing as he’s our kid. Your mom can sew, and I think I can still sell. I just won’t have looks to go on, so I’ll need to develop new tactics. It could be interesting.”

“Some kind of trading company? Startup money could be the trick there; Dul Karagi’s not as rich as it used to be, and there’s a limit to how much I can or will skim, even for my kid.”

“Morals are such a pain in the ass.”

“Yes, they are. But we can deal with the details later. I still have to talk with Mother. And Father. I have some work to do with him, too, a father-son project.”

“Oh, how sweet.”

“Shut up. It’s important, at least to me. Anyway, what matters for now is that we’re in agreement, and you know what’s going on. The rest will have to wait.”

“Why? You’ve got another loony cripple to snuff?”

“No, but now that there isn’t an obvious crisis anymore, Etana and I can’t keep dodging the question of who’s in charge. I swear to you that I will do everything I can to keep you, and my parents, and the children, safe and free. That’s my promise. Now I need to make sure I’m in a position to keep it.”