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“There are different kinds. Different strengths. This is the stronger kind. It’s a blend of alcohol and sofi.”

“Sofi? What’s sofi?”

“Like a kind of paste made from poppies that makes you feel good. You ever had poppy cake?”

Lyr shakes his head. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s like this but stronger. I’ll get you some. You should try it. But on your day off. It makes you sleepy. Like you’re in a good dream. “

“Maybe.” Lyr takes another sip. He screws up his face and tries to resist the urge to spit it out.

Mina says. “Some people mix it with calcis. Do you have that? It’s a green syrup. Limesweet?”

“Oh yes, limesweet. We have that on Klish. I like that.” He looks up at the trees and sees one of the bright green birds. “Are calcis birds named for the syrup or was the syrup named for the birds?” he muses.

“I’ll try and get some of that too, next time. If Kres has some.”

“Kres gave you this?”

“Kres is very generous after he spends.”

“Oh,” Lyr says, then, “Oh,” again as he catches her drift.

“It doesn’t help that pearl tonic looks like a man’s seed, “Mina laughs.

“You should try mixing that with calcis,” Lyr says as, unbidden, thoughts of Damon fill his mind, swimming from the pearl tonic. He imagines Damon standing naked. And himself kneeling before him. Damon’s cock, roused and close to his mouth. Lyr reaching forward with his tongue and licking over the tip of it. Giving Damon pleasure. He sighs. He wants to see Damon’s pleasure. The strong drink makes him feel so good and so soft. What kind of sounds would Damon make? How deep and beautiful would his moans be? Would he grab Lyr’s hair? Hold him down. Lyr squirms.

“What are you thinking about?” says Mina like an accusation.

Lyr feels his cheeks colour. Did he make a sound? “Nothing.”

“Do you miss Klish?” Mina says idly, leaning back on the grass.

“I barely remember it. It feels like it was so long ago.”

“Maybe you can find a new life here in Attar.” She rolls over, closer to him. “You might find someone special.”

Lyr thinks that perhaps Mina is right. Perhaps Attar can be his home. Somewhere he belongs.

He remembers that conversation the following day when he’s in the orchard, next to Damon, leaning against the fence, arms touching. Damon is staring at his mouth. It’s so pleasant to be in the shade of the fruit trees.

This could be his home.

Lyr whispers, “Damon?”

Damon looks over his shoulder. But there’s no one around.

“You should kiss me,” says Lyr. Even saying it makes the hairs on his arms prickle.

“No,” says Damon, but it doesn’t sound like he means it. “I should not.”

“A man so lauded by the Emperor can do as he likes, can’t he?” Lyr says, still speaking in a whisper.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you are loyal to your faith, Zai, but…”

“Is it my faith? I had to swear allegiance to Zai to join the Imperial Army.”