He was thinking of last summer, I supposed, when the regulars of High Scape expected him to stop the blizzards from devastating their crops. Or maybe he was thinking of being sent out by the Empress to look for her exiled relatives.

  Hell, maybe it went as far back as having to create an event to get away from Creol. Though he seemed to be getting more comfortable with that sort of thing as time went by. And I would have to worry about that later.

  I sat down beside him, but not so close that I crowded him. “You’re going to need soap to get it out from under your nails,” I told him.

  He sighed and shook out his hands, sitting back from the stream. He held his hands out, away from his trousers, to let them dry. I didn’t know why he bothered. His trousers had blood on them, too, and were almost soaked from his attempt to scrape every speck of blood from his skin.

  His hands had gotten rough. He had never, since I’d known him, had the milky soft hands of most of the aristocrats I had met. Still, his hands had always appeared clean and almost untouched, the nails rounded and buffed. Now, his hands were browner than I’d ever seen them, a scar down the back of his left hand where he’d ripped the skin unloading the wagon one night, and two of his nails had been torn off during the trials of changing a wheel.

  He still refused to don the skirts the men of Flatwell wore. His shirts and trousers were of a much lighter material than he wore in High Scape, but they were still heavy enough to keep him permanently flushed in the high temperatures of the island. And one day, his hair seemed to push him over some sort of line, because during the midday rest, he took a knife to it and cut it short. He insisted on doing it himself, and the result was a weird mess that wouldn’t stay flat because of the curl in it. It stayed out of his face without needing to be tied, though, and I supposed that was the point.

  He was still gorgeous, of course. The darker skin went nicely with his black eyes. I was sure there were people who would spend a fortune trying to imitate the attractive mess of his hair. He still had the finely drawn features that so thoroughly trapped a person’s gaze. And though he moved more slowly than he used to, due to the heat and the heaviness of the air, he still had that surety of step and that grace I so envied.

  It was just that a person might not look at him long enough to see that he was gorgeous, what with the terrible loose-fitting clothes and the cracked hands. And it kind of concerned me that Karish was willing to let himself be seen looking so ragged. I would have never said he was shallow or vain—well, I wouldn’t mean it—but he had always cared about his appearance. His argument was that once one was out in public, one had a responsibility to present a clean and neat appearance. It was a way to demonstrate respect for oneself and others. I didn’t quite agree with him, but I could sort of see the logic of his opinion.

  I wasn’t sure why he had decided to put all that aside. Perhaps it was just a lot more difficult for him to keep up his customary look, his clothes being unsuitable for the climate. It was possible that he had come to agree with my opinion concerning everyday apparel, that comfort was more important than appearance, and easier to manage while traveling. I hoped it wasn’t a matter of him thinking there was no point in caring, since everyone on the island was blind and thought he was plain.

  I had to get him off that damned island.

  I eased over closer to him, wrapping my hands around his arm and resting my chin on his shoulder. I felt him relax. “You have had a very hard night,” I said. “We’ll go back to the tent so you can sleep, and when you get up you will have red wine and island chicken and those slimy green vegetables you like so much.”

  “We don’t have any of that,” he reminded me.

  “Aye, but there must be someone in the troupe I can buy them from.”

  His eyebrows rose in surprise. Kai, kai, I was a tightfisted wench who nagged him over every unnecessary coin he wanted to spend. But this was necessary. He’d had a hellish night, held responsible for the health of a woman who ended up dying. If getting a break from cold fish, rice and water would give him some pleasure, I was all for it. “Let’s go before someone starts screaming at us for using the stream.”

  We headed back toward the tents, trying to find a path and keeping an eye out for snakes. When we reached the camp, we found almost the entire troupe standing outside Rinis’s tent, arguing over whether she’d died as a result of Yesit’s curse, and whether it meant they should leave the troupe. I didn’t know which I found more shocking, the fact that they thought Yesit’s curse might still have power over them, or the fact so many spoke of leaving Atara. I’d thought they’d had more loyalty than that.

  We didn’t even slow down. I knew I was exhausted, and I just couldn’t handle another confrontation of any kind. Still, I was curious about what I was hearing. “I don’t understand,” I whispered to Karish once we’d entered our tent.

  “Don’t understand what?” Aryne piped up.

  My annoyance at once more forgetting Aryne’s existence made me want to tell her it was none of her affair. But that wasn’t true. If the troupe suddenly shattered, it put all of us at risk. “Why they think the curse is still”—I was too tired to think of a suitable word—“in effect. The man who cast it is dead.”

  “The only person who can break a curse is the one who cast it,” Aryne said. “If he didn’t lift it, and now he’s dead, it’ll go on forever.”

  “He admitted he actually made sure the accidents happened,” I reminded her. “He followed the troupe and sabotaged their acts. You saw him do it, with the snake.”

  “Maybe he helped the curse along, but he still cast it, and ’cause he’s dead, now it can never be lifted.”

  Why would these people cling to the curse? They had the perfect opportunity to release themselves from a belief that crippled them. Instead, they found reasons to hang on. It didn’t make sense.

  Taro was looking through our bags, searching for something he apparently couldn’t find. He seemed a little disoriented.

  “Go to bed, Taro,” I told him.

  Aryne chuckled. “Take to mat,” she corrected, because, of course, no one on this damned island slept in actual beds.

  Taro was tired enough not to react to the orders except to obey them. I wanted to give Karish what privacy and space I could. From the bags, I pulled out towels, stretching them out on the grass under the ovcas of our tent, using one of the bags filled with clothing as a pillow. If anyone had a problem with me sleeping on the ground, they didn’t wake me up to let me know. Too busy arguing over whether to ditch the troupe.

  After sleeping a couple of hours, I asked around the camp for something good for supper. I was able to buy skins of red wine and three island chickens, but no slimy green vegetables. For the hell of it, I inquired about chocolate, but, of course, no one had any of that. I did get my hands on some nice sharp cheese, and sweet juicy yellow fruit that I knew Taro liked.

  The sun was setting when Karish woke up. When he shuffled out of the tent, he had changed his clothes and scrubbed his fingernails. “They back yet?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Everyone still here?”

  “You expected people to actually leave?”

  “If they’re so afraid of this curse.”

  “Hm.” I doubted they would leave Atara immediately. They all wanted to get out of Sunset Shores as soon as possible.

  That evening, the members of the troupe held a funeral for Rinis. Although Taro, Aryne and I had no real wish to attend, I was surprised to be told that we weren’t welcome, as we hadn’t known Rinis for a full year. Something about only those who had witnessed a significant portion of a person’s life were permitted to witness their return to the ground.

  What these people chose to reveal and what they chose to keep private continued to baffle me.

  When I woke the next morning, Kahlia and Panol had returned. Kahlia had been absolved of the theft. Apparently, one of Taroon’s servants had taken the idol. He had been at the Accounting, and had been surprised to be found guilty when a member of a troupe was there to be blamed.

  Taro and I barely had time to take down the tent before we were moving again.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  We walked into Golden Fields. Very different from anywhere else on the island, it looked like farmland of the sort I was used to, wide dry fields of golden something or other. Not wheat. Not any kind of grain I’d ever seen before. The dense foliage that had darkened most of our days had thinned out considerably, allowing for wider roads and larger buildings.

  Aryne was cowering in the covered wagon. She called it resting, having allegedly twisted her ankle that morning. I’d suggested the wagon as a way to make her feel better, until she was really convinced that there were no slaves and, more importantly, that she wasn’t one. I also liked keeping her out of sight of Border, should he choose to make another appearance. She objected to the idea when I mentioned it, but within the hour announced she had wrenched her ankle and shouldn’t be walking on it.

  It was just slightly cooler that day. No, not cool. More like an absence of that extra ounce of drenching, suffocating moisture in the air that made the sweat run on the skin. I hoped it was the beginning of a change of season, and not just an aberrant dip in temperature meant to torment us.

  Taro seemed a little more at ease, too. He smiled more quickly. He joked with Beril. He frequently touched my hand or my shoulder, or tucked my hair behind my ear. I realized he hadn’t been touching people like he used to. Or flirting like he used to.

  We walked through the village. We stopped somewhere just beyond the general settlement limits and stood. And waited. I thought nothing of it until I heard the whispers and saw the frowns.

  “What now?” I asked Beril.

  “Wait for it,” he said.

  And not long later, I heard the words. The Glassing Fair had set up where Atara’s troupe usually camped.

  And Beril swore.

  “What?” I asked him.

  “There’s another troupe here.”

  Aye, I got that part. “And?”

  His expression told me he thought I was being stupid. “Not enough coin for us both.”

  “Oh,” I said. “So now what?”

  “Ma’s call.”

  So we might stay to perform, or we might move on. Or, rather, the troupe would move on. Taro, Aryne and I would remain in Golden Fields.

  Panic squeezed my chest. Oh my gods. Taro and I would be left on our own. For the first time since our second day on the island. With all these crazy people who expected us to pay for things.

  I hadn’t felt anything like this when I’d left the Academy, knowing I’d be taking on the big wide world with a complete stranger. Why was I overreacting now?

  Well, I wouldn’t be able to perform without the others. There would be no more money coming in. I suffered the inappropriate urge to pull out my purse and start counting coins.

  All right. Calm down.

  “Lee?”

  I looked up at Taro.

  “You all right?”

  “Of course.”

  “You got tense all of a sudden.”

  “I’m always tense.”

  He raised an eyebrow at that.

  I noticed a stranger lingering around the wagon, fingering its colorful cloth. “Excuse me for a moment,” I said to Taro, and I strode up the line to the wagon. “Kiyo,” I said to the stranger.

  Who noticeably started, and then seemed to shy away, eyes down. “I meant no harm,” she said.

  “No, no. I have a question.”

  She stilled, but her gaze stayed down.

  I had to give it to her; I did look ridiculous. Only she was the only native of the island who seemed to think so, so I wasn’t used to it. “Do you have slaves here?” I asked her.

  She looked at me, then. And she looked horrified. “What?”

  “Slaves. I was told there were slaves in Golden Fields.”

  Horror turned to outrage. “You were lied to,” she snarled, lip curling. “A filthy lie. And you have a filthy mind, to think it might be true.”

  Take it down a peg, woman. I’m obviously a foreigner. “So there’re no slaves on the island.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You looking to buy?” And her tone suggested I’d better not be.

  “No. I’m just making sure I don’t have to worry.”

  “Ah,” the woman said, unappeased. “Because you are such a beauty we would fracture our laws to have you.” She tossed her head and strutted away.

  I’d caused enormous offense and perhaps destroyed any chance of me, or possibly anyone else in the troupe, earning any money in Golden Fields, but I’d achieved what I’d set out to accomplish. I moved to the back of the wagon and pulled up the drop.

  Aryne was kneeling in the wagon, and her head flew up as the light poured in, her eyes blinking. I could see her trembling, the muscles in her limbs quivering with tension. Her lips clenched in a grim line, her eyes boring into me.

  I had engineered the conversation for this purpose. Knowing it had worked, I had no idea what to say.

  Aryne stood and made to descend from the wagon.

  “No,” I told her. “Stay here.”

  “Why?” she demanded. “I’m not a slave.”

  The joy she should have felt in that knowledge was absent, her voice flat. “Border might see you and try to take you.”

  “He doesn’t come here,” she insisted.

  “Because he didn’t want to bring you here. That doesn’t mean he won’t come here looking for you.”

  “I don’t care.” And she climbed out of the wagon before I could stop her. “I hope he does. I’m gonna kill him.”

  “You will not!”

  She glared at me and stomped away.

  “Aryne! Come back here!”

  Who was I kidding? That only worked when I surprised her.

  “Be back here before we leave!”

  Zaire, when had I turned into a nag?

  Atara’s call was that we needed to spend the night to rest and get some supplies. There was no place for us to camp, nor to perform, however. So we had to split up and spend coin to spend the night in bunkers. The troupe would meet again on the outskirts of town the next morning and move on. Aryne hadn’t returned when this decision was made, and I fretted about it.

  “She’ll find us when she’s ready to,” said Taro, pulling on my hand.

  “The medicine man might find her first.”

  “She was with him only as long as she wanted to be. Then she left him.”

  “So?”

  “So she’s a force unto herself. You won’t be able to find her. Neither will he.”

  I knew he was right. I knew that if we went out looking for her, we wouldn’t find her, and the sensible thing really was to stay in one place and let her find us. Still, it felt irresponsible to do nothing. Not to mention callous. She was upset.

  Taro assumed an expression of shock. “You’re not turning into a mother, are you?”

  Prat. “I’m going to slap you.”

  He grinned. “Later.” And he winked.

  There was the usual dispute as we bickered over which bunker—cheap or extravagant—we should stay at. I won only because his choice was fully booked. I did, however, allow myself to hire an extra room for Aryne.

  And as soon as our door was closed, Taro had me back against it, kissing me with a hunger I had to admit to myself was flattering. I couldn’t help giggling through it. Because no one had ever been so eager to kiss me before.

  “Heartless woman,” he muttered.

  I laughed.

  “We have been too long in the company of other people,” he muttered, pulling the hem of my shirt out of my skirt. “Enough to drive me mad. Just think, when we’re finally back home, all those long hours at the Stall, all to ourselves.”

  That probably wouldn’t happen. Taro was sure to have tired of me before we were back at the mainland. But all I said was, “Aha, the real reason they don’t want Shields and Sources bedding down together.” And really, with the level of distraction it created, who could blame them?

  When I woke the next morning, I could hear voices in the next room. Taro, who was doing most of the talking. Aryne, speaking the odd word here and there, in such a low voice it was hard to hear at all.

  I shouldn’t have let her come back on her own. I should have gone looking for her. It didn’t matter that I wouldn’t have found her. It was the principle of the thing.

  But the selfish part of me wanted to take advantage of nights like the night before, while they were available to me. And the time to overcome that selfish part of me was the night before, when it would have done some good, not the morning after.

  I dressed and stepped out into the corridor, knocking on Aryne’s door.

  There was silence on the other side of the door, until I heard Taro say, “Are you going to tell her to come in or what?”

  “Her room, ain’t it? She paid for it.”

  I rolled my eyes and pushed the door open.

  Taro was dressed and shaved and sitting on the floor by the door. Aryne was still lying on her mattress, dressed in the clothes she’d been wearing the day before. “Are you all right?” I asked her.

  She shrugged, her expression shuttered. “’Course.”

  “Must you lie to me?” I sighed. “Of course you’re upset about what you’ve learned. I’d have to be an idiot not to know that.”

  “Why’d you ask, then?”

  Patience, please, patience.

  And once I’d thought no one would test me as much as Taro always had.

  “She’s going to start her deep breathing, now,” Taro told Aryne with a wink.

  “Heh?”

  “It’s what Shields do, when there’s a chance their vaunted calm might suffer from the slightest imperfection.”

  Git.

  Aryne took a deep breath.

  I wasn’t going to try to pry information about her feelings out of her. Her feelings were her own, and she would share them with those she wished.

  And I supposed she wished to share them with Taro. At least, she had been talking to him before I had come in. “Have you had breakfast?”