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“Enjoying him is one thing,” Yaelin says curtly. “But I have seen how you look at him. I do not want any more mistakes.”

Harok sighs. He is too tired for this conversation, too tired to argue with his mother when he knows she is right. He hadn’t expected to like his Suskara as much as he does. And it will make things much harder if he allows his feelings to grow. “I am aware of what must be done, mother. I am a strong Irgo. I admit that I have found pleasure in small diversions with this kushir. But it will end. I know this. I am strong.” But he feels a sharp pang at the thought of it. He has become weak for his Suskara. He has lost sight of what must happen. Or perhaps he has not lost sight of it. Perhaps he simply fears it.

“You think your claims of strength will solve everything,” Yaelin says, still pointing at Harok with a sharp finger, “You are as single minded and arrogant as your father. He never realised his own folly either. But at least he was never so foolish to try and kill a God and end a centuries old tradition. As if such a thing was as simple as declaring it so. We should have put that kush in the dungeon. Not your bed.”

“You think I ought to have locked him in the dungeons and simply visited him in his cell and fucked him?”

“Better than what you appear to be doing.” Yaelin blinks. Harok realises her anger was all front. She has tears in her eyes. Harok knows how hard it is for her. She is the only person who knows the truth about what he did to take his throne, and she carries it like a weight that grows heavier with each passing day. He knows she fears what he is becoming.

“Mother,” he says calmly. He lifts a hand and places it on Yaelin’s white cheek. She is cold as ice. “I know how hard it has been these last two decades. I know how much you have done for me. And finding me this man with fae blood who can help me undo the mistakes I have made is something I am forever grateful for.”

Yaelin puts her own hand over Harok’s. “Promise me you will not fall in love with him” she says, her voice rough.

Harok startles. “Mother!”

“Humour me.”

“Mother, I am Irgo.”

“Humour me,” Yaelin says again, ”Promise you will not fall in love with this man and undo all the work we have done. He is one of the five fae princes fated to defeat Diazuul. I need you to promise me that you will not forget that.”

“Mother,” Harok says. “I won’t.”

Yaelin grits her teeth. “Prove it,” she says.

Harok sighs. “If you want me to lock him away in the dungeons, I will not.”

“It is too late for that,” Yaelin says as if she truly thinks that would be a good solution. “But I understand the traders leave tomorrow for Ceruleum. They are being attacked by the Exceli, even with the warriors you have charged to accompany them. You ought to go too. Lead their carts through the forest on Embox. The Exceli fear you.”

“And you want me to leave Urynwud and spend some time away from the kushir?”

“I do,” Yaelin says. “It will be good for you.”

18

TOBI

Tobi is practising Ambolk conversation with Baby at his feet, when Lymok says in Ambolk, “Does your hair grow that way?”

“My hair?” Tobi responds in Ambolk, touching it. “Colour? No. I do it.” He lifts some of the blond strands on the left to show where almost half an inch of hair grows dark from his scalp. He switches to Artemian to say, “It’s growing back. See?”

Lymok nods and says in Ambolk. “So it comes black? How you make silver?”

“Soap,” Tobi says in Ambolk, then in Artemian, “Lye soap. I’d like to do it here, but I have to get the right kind of soap with the right amount of lye. It needs to be strong but not too strong. So it lightens my hair without burning it off.” He laughs.

Lymok laughs too, switching to Artemian himself to say, “How can you tell if it’s the right kind? Or do you just use it and see if you end up with black hair, silver hair or no hair?”

“You can tell. You lick it. If you lick the soap you can tell how much lye it has from how it feels on your tongue. And I know how much the right soap tingles.”

Lymok sucks his bottom lip. “Why do you do it? Why change the colour of your hair?”

It had been Cyrus’s idea, Tobi thinks. Cyrus had suggested Tobi colour his hair so it looked more striking in the performance circle. His life with Cyrus and the rest of the Copperhead Circus feels so far away.

But he shrugs and thinks he will not mention Cyrus. “It makes me look more interesting when I perform. With Baby,” he shakes his head, making his hair move. “It stands out in the light. Some people are amazed I could get my black hair to turn silver with only lye soap. I’ve known other people who try and all it would do was make their hair coarse and orange. But lye soap turns it silver for me easily. And Old Mother, that’s another one of the players, Old Mother, she mostly tells fortunes, she taught me the mariandcards, she said my hair turned so easily to silver because I have fae blood. All the Dareks do, passed down through the Hevelikar Princess that Sarelik Darek married.”

Lymok whistles. “That’s some blood you have, kushir. Fae and Darek and some from Archillia too. No wonder Harok wanted you for his bed.”

Tobi laughs then says, “Do you think that is the reason?”