Ba’an had thought Lukios would struggle through his recovery longer, but he did not. His recovery time was surprisingly quick. He had only been in pain for the first week or so, and then had been able to sit up and walk short distances with only an odd twinge here and there in two. Predictably, he had developed a fever, but she had known infection would be an issue and had plied peloiti-sahum on him with and between every meal. It had worked.

Ba’an had taken the bulk of that time to tidy her not-vuti and fix whatever had broken. The tarp at the door had torn away, so many of her things had been tossed around and smashed. Fixing what she could and replacing what she couldn’t had taken her a great deal of time. The latch on her chest of clothes was permanently broken, and one of the corners had crushed in awkwardly, making it hard to open and close. Otherwise, there were few casualties…aside from her sanity. Lukios, even when he could not sit up or walk, could still run his mouth and did so at every opportunity.

Every opportunity.

Now he was telling her jokes. Bad ones. Very, very bad ones. Ba’an made sure to scowl very convincingly each time, but he seemed to take it as a challenge and only redoubled his efforts.

She was going to strangle him.

“…And the ass said, ‘That’s my third cousin, removed!’ Get it?”

“Lukios. Stop.” She pressed her fingers over her temples. “Dolkoi’ri humor is not funny.”

“Oh come on, Ba’an. The one about the temple priest and the vestal virgin was pretty funny.”

“It was not.”

“You were smiling.”

“I was not.”

“You were. I saw you. It’s okay to laugh Ba’an, I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“Lukios.” Ba’an set the basket of herbs down beside him on the bed and handed him the mortar and pestle. “Grind. Do not speak.”

“Aw, fine. Just let me know once you start missing the sound of my voice. I’ll tell you about that time I was on campaign along the southern coast. Did you know—“

“Lukios. Grind.”

Within the first month he had started walking around the courtyard every day, and halfway through the second month he had begun making an even bigger nuisance of himself by sticking his nose everywhere. By the time the wind changed, howling in from the north, he was downright spritely.

“No! No lifting!”

Lukios grinned at her, cheerfully ignoring her protests as he took her bucket from her and hauled it up to the kitchen.

“It’s fine! This weighs nearly nothing.”

Lukios no longer limped. Ba’an did not quite remember how she had done it, but she vaguely recalled fixing anything and everything once she had fallen into her weaving during the sandstorm. It had been easier to do everything rather than only one thing—bodies were very strange that way, interconnected in the most astounding ways—so she had simply…fixed him.

All of him.

Now he dashed around like a happy strifa kid, clearly delighted, though he had not said a word about it. Instead, he spent his time and energy hauling this and that while chattering her ears off.

Well, it would be a lie to say that she was truly annoyed. Ba’an hated hauling things. She didn’t really enjoy activities like chopping wood or scrubbing floors. She absolutely hated washing out the rugs and beating them, because no matter how many times she did it, sand still got everywhere. In fact, those were chores she had never had to do before her exile.

She had been a witch who sat in the shi-vuti. Her daily tasks had been to take the herbs that had been collected and prepare them for storage or use, and to make whatever mixtures were needed. She had stitched wounds, settled fevers, and delivered babies. The chief and his advisors had consulted her on matters of importance, and she had read oracle bones, blood, and guts. She had blessed hunters. She had kept curses from touching her tribe and had kept the people hale and whole. She had roamed and spoken with spirits, making and maintaining the contracts that made the desert livable.

Ba’an had never had to haul her own water or scrub floors or beat rugs. She hated it now, and she would hate it forever.

Lukios was delightfully useful.

He didn’t seem to mind manual labour at all. In the mornings he rose early, taking her axe and making his way up the narrow pathway carved into the cliff-face and then down into the valley there to chop down the spindly, thorny but fast-growing akaikai trees for firewood. He always took his sword with him, so Ba’an suspected he was doing more than just chopping wood. If anything, he was likely practicing on his own, getting himself back in shape.

Ba’an had been incensed the first time he’d disappeared, convinced he was going to tear something open and make a mess of himself. He hadn’t, somehow, and now she was used to him bringing in wood every day. She had thought it was excessive, until she realized he was piling it up in a sheltered corner of the courtyard.

She had been both touched and unnerved, knowing that he would soon be gone. The wound would likely not reopen now unless he did something very stupid, like lifting stone slabs by himself. Now it was a matter of regaining his strength and stamina so he could make the journey back.

In the afternoons he checked her traps for whatever unlucky critter was destined for her dinner table. At first he had simply tagged along with her, but eventually he had starting going on his own, freeing her up so she could go to the cave-river to fish. Even better: he had remade them.

Ba’an had never been a hunter, and she had recreated her traps from memory, imitating what Thu’rin had done during the long evenings when things were slow. She hadn’t made them correctly, but Lukios seemed to know how to make proper ones. That had been quite profitable, and she was delighted with the amount of meat she had on her table these days.

Even more unexpected was his interest in herblore. She had thought he had only been bored, but he was full of questions and enthusiasm even now. It was both pleasing and unexpected.

Ba’an scrambled up the rocky trail, sweating already. The footpath was dangerously narrow, and she had to grip the various crevices in the rock wall to make it up to the plateau. The sun had yet to rise, which was exactly how she liked it: it would be stupidity to hunt for nau’tha—night bloom—in the day.

“Lukios,” she said, “Stay down there. The climb is difficult.”

“It’s not so bad.” His blond head appeared over the edge of the plateau, rising steadily as he followed the path. With a grunt, he hauled himself onto the flat rockface while Ba’an clicked her tongue.

“Stubborn.”

“I am,” he agreed. “It’s one of my better traits.”

Ba’an was rapidly becoming very proficient in Dolkoi’ri. Ba’an’s habit of eavesdropping in the shape of a bird had not been in vain. She had absorbed a great deal of the language but had lacked the opportunity to practice. Now, with Lukios, she was able to practice to her heart’s content. He was rather obliging; they had stopped keeping such a rigid practice schedule, and now often traded words when the opportunity arose.

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Oftentimes, he would point to a plant and tell her what it was in Dolkoi’ri, and Ba’an would do the same in K’Avaari. Sometimes he would get stuck, not knowing what something—usually an “exotic” desert plant—was actually called at all, but Ba’an was generous enough to teach him herblore even if he wasn’t trading for it.

“So,” he was saying, “Night bloom. I’m guessing that it only blooms at night then?”

“Yes.” Ba’an was looking at the rock face, trying to find the tell-tale blue shimmer of the petals. “The flower opens at night. After an hour or so, the flower makes…hm…flower-blood? The water changes, inside. It goes into the leaves. The leaves make good…painkiller. We use it for childbirth. Very strong. But can be dangerous—can be…stuck? Some patients do not stop taking night bloom. They become…stuck.”

“Addicted? Like with dream seed?”

“Yes. Addicted. Addicted.” She practiced the new word, rolling it around in her mouth.

“And it’s blue?”

“Yes.”

“…Like this?” He reached out above her head and stuck his fingers inside a crevasse, rooting for something. He pulled it out, and Ba’an could see the blue glimmer of unfurled petals in the wan pre-dawn light.

“Yes!”

“How many do you need?”

“How many are there? Do not take…do not take them all. Need some later.”

She didn’t want to strip this area of night bloom. That would be stupid. She did, however, want enough to take and trade. No K’Avaari trader would exchange goods with her unless she managed to pose as someone else, so she would have to go into a city. She knew a place or two in Kyros that would buy, provided the quality was good.

Ba’an didn’t have a clan or clansmen anymore. She needed to buy what goods would have normally been produced. For that, she needed money.

It was a pain.

They gathered until the leather bags she had brought were full. Lukios took them from her on his way down, telling her she would probably be bowled over by the weight. Ba’an had not found it very funny, but it was true that the bags, small in Lukios’ much bigger hands, were rather large in hers.

“If you fall and crack your head, I am not fixing you.”

She heard his laughter float up from somewhere below—he was nearly at the bottom.

The man was fast, too.

Ba’an smothered her smile and followed.

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“This one?” Lukios gently held out the leaves of a low-growing shrub. The flowers had come in and would only last for a week. The leaves looked like little needles, and the colour was somewhere between green and brown. The flowers were not much better; they looked like little stars—dirt stars.

Suk was a very ugly little plant.

“Yes.”

“What does it do?”

“Makes good tea.”

“Oh.”

Sometimes herblore wasn’t very exciting.

“No effects?”

“Some.”

“Such as…?”

Ba’an gave him a side-eye, which he ignored. “No effect for men. Useful for women.” Lukios blinked. Ba’an could see it the instant he understood her meaning, because the back of his ears flushed red.

“Oh,” he said again.

“Yes. It is gentle, but it must be used over a long time. It’s very popular in Dolkoi’ri…hmmm, lady-houses?”

“…Brothels?”

“Maybe. Not sure. Nothing like that in a saa-vuti vur.” Ba’an wrinkled her nose. It was true. Buildings made only for prostitution were a city phenomenon. True, some K’Avaari engaged in trading sex for favours, but there was no vuti only for the buying and selling of sex—and there was no need for money inside a tribe. And what K’Avaari woman would have worked at such a place? There was always food and shelter, and orphans were raised by the tribe. They were simply unnecessary to the workings of a K’Avaari hold, and no K’Avaari woman would have stood for it. It would have been intensely insulting.

No K’Avaari was ever made to live alone.

Except exiles.

Exiles were not K’Avaari anymore.

Ba’an frowned, her mood spoiled by the thought.

“…Ba’an?” She glanced up at him. He had stopped picking and was looking at her with some concern. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” Yes. Everything was wrong, but it was not his problem. The look he gave her made it clear he knew she was lying. Stupid clever man. She shrugged it off. “Usually they pay very well for K’Avaari suk tea.” They did. It kept the women working and the babies to a minimum. The entire thing was repulsive, but wretched Dolkoi’ri customs were not Ba’an’s problem, and she needed the coin to buy the things she could not make herself.

Still, it was a wonder their women had not simply risen up and killed all their menfolk. It was so…humiliating. For everyone. Ba’an would have never tolerated such a thing.

Thu’rin had never dared to even look at another woman in front of Ba’an. That was the way things should be, though she knew the Dolkoi’ri often did things backwards. They enjoyed taking the natural order and destroying it. For fun, it seemed.

They picked the flowers in silence for some time.

“Do you go into our cities often?”

“When I have to.” She frowned again. Ba’an did not like Dolkoi’ri cities. It was a long journey to the nearest one, and she had to go on foot because of the goods she carried. Sometimes there were bandits or thieves and she had to kill them. It was messy. On top of all that, the cities were dirty and noisy. Dolkoi’ri also thought K’Avaari were stupid savages, so they always tried to cheat her at least once or twice.

Ba’an had spent a long time listening in on merchants as crows to figure out what everything was supposed to cost. It had incensed her when they had refused to buy for even a fraction of what her supplies were worth. Merchants were all cheats, she had learned, so she had started selling directly to whomever it was that needed whatever she was selling, but even then she never got what she thought she ought to have, and it was simply…infuriating.

“They’re not much to your liking, are they?”

She gave him a look. “I will be polite and say nothing.”

He snorted in amusement, fingers still busy in the dirt even as he smiled. “That’s unusually generous of you.”

“I am always generous. I put up with you.”

He burst out laughing.

“That’s true. I take it all back and apologize profusely.”

“Hm, I will think over your apology. Pick the rest yourself. I am hungry.” Somehow, he managed to look both amused and slightly concerned at the same time. She ignored the look, shoving the satchels at him as she got up and stretched. It was true she’d had a snack not too long ago, but Ba’an was often hungry. The magic of her coat always pulled at her bones, regardless of whether she wore it or not, hollowing her out with hunger. She could not remember the last time she had felt truly full since she had donned it. Her stomach felt physically full, but she never felt satiated in the way that usually ought to feel.

Only souls could do that.

“Do not forget to find sambi-sahi too!” she called over her shoulder as she left. She saw him raise an arm in an unfamiliar salute.

“Yes, Ba’an! Whatever you say, Ba’an!”

Ba’an rolled her eyes.

Insane. That’s what he was. Insane.

----------------------------------------

“Why do you need all this sambi-sahi?” They had amassed quite a lot over the course of the weeks he had been hale enough to help her. He stared at the pile that had grown to be nearly three full baskets. “Are you really going to sell it all?” He had a doubtful expression that said he didn’t think they could carry it all, even if it was the two of them.

Time had passed quickly. Lukios was likely well enough to make the journey to the nearest city any day now. It was only a matter of preparation, as Ba’an did not want the long journey to be a waste. She had goods to sell and buy.

“No.” Ba’an stuck a steaming piece of white skoa fish into her mouth. It was delicious, even unsalted. The problem, of course, were the bones. She made a face and spat the piece that had been stabbing her out into the fire.

The damn thing had bones everywhere. No matter how hard she tried, she could never get all the bones out before eating it. It drove her crazy, to the point that Thu’rin had always taken the bones out for her. For some reason, he’d always had an excellent eye for the thin, translucent spines embedded in the pale flesh. She scowled down at the rest of the fish lying innocently on her plate, seemingly free of offending spines.

“Let’s switch.” Lukios offered her his plate. The fish had been flayed open neatly and cut into strips. There were no obvious bones left in the white meat.

Ba’an glanced at her own plate. Her fish had also been flayed open, though perhaps not so neatly.

Definitely not that neatly.

“You’re going to scare it to death a second time, Ba’an. Let’s switch.” She took his plate and gave him hers. She mumbled something into her lap.

“Hmmm? Sorry, I can’t hear you.”

She mumbled again.

“What’s that?” He was grinning again. He knew exactly what she’d said, the little stit-tat. Ba’an felt very annoyed.

“I said ‘thank you.’”

His grin broadened.

“Stop that. Your face will split open.”

He didn’t. “You’re welcome,” he said, very sweetly, and then started deboning her—now his—portion again.

Okay, she had missed a few spines.

The bones went plink-plink-plink into the fire in a steady stream.

…More than a few spines. She stuck the perfectly deboned portion into her mouth without a sliver of shame. Well, he had good eyesight. Good for him.

Ba’an cleared her throat. “Half is for honey.” He glanced up at her sudden proclamation.

“Honey?”

She nodded. “Wasp honey.” He looked puzzled.

“You’re using the flowers for honey?”

She looked at him and shook her head.

“I’m not sure what you’re saying.” His brows had knit together into a frown. The corners of Ba’an’s mouth lifted in a small, mysterious smile and Lukios shifted in his seat. “I’m not sure I like that look,” he said, finally looking uncomfortable. “I’m not going to like this at all, am I?”

Ba’an let her smile grow into her sunniest expression. Lukios’ look of suspicion intensified.

“Do not worry, Lukios,” she said. “It is very easy.”