co ornament

17

MOURNING

Aly opened her eyes. She was curled inside the curve of Nawat's body, his arm over her waist. On the floor next to their pallet was an audience: a few miniature kudarung and five crows, all watching with fascination. Warm lips met the back of her neck, raising goose bumps on her body.

“What time is it?” Aly inquired drowsily.

A crow made the sound for “before the sun rises.”

“If the sun is not awake, I am not awake,” Aly said. She turned under the blanket to burrow her face into Nawat's shoulder.

“Go away,” he told the others.

It only then occurred to Aly that the crows and the kudarung could not have entered through closed shutters or a closed door. She sat up quickly. The door was open, but the frame was not empty. A number of weary yet fascinated faces—Ulasim's, Junai's, Yoyox's, Boulaj's, and Kioka's—looked down at them. Aly was grateful that Nawat had left her in the blanket as he proceeded to dress.

She raised an eyebrow at their audience. “Enjoying the view?” she inquired.

Yoyox grinned. “Actually, yes.”

“I enjoyed the other view,” said Kioka, watching Nawat pull on his shirt.

Aly glared at her. “I know a hundred different ways to make you disappear,” she warned the young woman.

“This is all as beautiful as the flowers of spring,” observed Ulasim. “Nawat, where are your warriors?”

Nawat kissed Aly gently, then straightened. “Thirty miles north, sir,” he replied, a soldier in answer to his general. “I brought two hundred and fifty, as many as could be spared. They should be on the outskirts of the city by tonight.”

“Come give me what news you have,” Ulasim ordered, beckoning. “You may settle romantic matters later. The regents have decided they no longer need a Rittevon male to rule.” He shooed the others away from the door and led Nawat across the hall. Nawat closed the door. Aly scowled at it, remembering it should have been locked. “This is the problem with training people to open locks,” she complained as she dressed. “They can turn what you taught them against you.” As she picked up her darking necklace, Trick and Secret poked out their heads. “Human lovemaking looks silly,” Secret told Aly.

“Darking way more sensible,” added Trick.

Aly settled them around her neck. “Our way is more fun,” she replied absently, her mind on the rebellion. Getting up to wrap her sarong, she stared at the map that marked the path of the war. As soon as her sash was arranged, she set a pin for Nawat's warriors, on their way to Rajmuat.

What had possessed the regents to kill those boys? she wondered. Now, when they are stretched so thin? They will lie and say it was the storm, but who will believe them? Do they think people will accept them on the throne? They'll have to fight, and they haven't got the soldiers.

The numbness of the day before was gone. Her heart still ached for Elsren and the others, but she could wall it off to consider her next move. Sitting at her desk, she began to pore over the reports she had not yet reviewed, looking for signs of weakness and for ideas. It took the breakfast gong to break through her concentration. She was ravenous.

She could not have forgotten their loss even if she had wanted to. In the servants' mess hall she saw black armbands everywhere, and eyes still red and swollen from weeping. Talk was kept quiet. Chenaol had retreated inside herself, dishing out food as if she didn't even care what it was. Aly simply accepted her bowl and did not try to distract the cook. When Nawat came to eat beside her, they slid together until their legs touched and ate in silence.

Once the meal was done Aly went upstairs to get clean clothes. “She slept on a trundle bed in Her Grace's room,” Boulaj said when Aly asked for Dove. She was shaking out black clothing for Dove to wear. “So did Lady Nuritin. I'm glad Nawat came back.”

Aly, caught as she wrapped a clean sarong around her, blinked. “I know I am, but why are you?” she asked, startled.

“You seemed a little lost after he left,” Boulaj explained. “Not lost as a spy, but lost as a woman. As if he'd taken a piece of you away that you needed. He has changed.”

Aly tucked her fresh sarong, remembering that man's look, and those very male kisses. “I, um, hadn't noticed. Much.” She began to wrap her sash. “How is Her Grace?”

“Her Grace is livid,” Winnamine said coldly from the door. Aly turned to face her. Dove and Nuritin stood behind Winnamine, watching her. “Her Grace wants to know why the god sent you to this house, Aly.”

Aly swallowed. You should have expected this, she told herself.

Winnamine continued, “Where is our great destiny that was promised by the god? Can it be the god meant my husband and son to die? That my little boy had to drown so the regents would take power and the throne would be strong? Was that it?” Her eyes were overbright, but no tears fell. Aly was certain that the duchess had no tears left.

Gently Aly said, “No, Your Grace.” The sight of her pain made her stomach knot. “There is no greatness in what happened to Elsren, or to the duke. I'm afraid the gods don't care what makes their servants happy. They see only what they desire. We are tools to their ends.”

“You speak knowledgeably about gods,” the duchess said bitterly. “You know a great many, do you?”

“I have seen the god-touched in Tortall, Your Grace,” Aly replied, thinking of her parents and Aunt Daine. “They did not look entirely happy. They looked—driven, at times. As the god drives me.”

Winnamine turned, nearly colliding with Nuritin and Dove. They moved out of her way just in time and followed her back to her rooms.

“That's the problem with luarin,” Boulaj observed softly. “They think gods have rules and follow them. They should dedicate their lives to the Trickster, as we do. They would not be comfortable, but they would not have this illusion that life is supposed to make sense, either.”

“Thinking of trying for the priesthood?” Aly wanted to know. She blinked rapidly. She would not cry, not for the duchess, or the Balitang family, or herself. The time for tears was over.

“To be a raka under the luarin is to be a priest of the Trickster,” replied Boulaj. “Will you help me fold this sheet?”

Aly and Boulaj straightened Dove's chambers, then Aly went back downstairs. She met Quedanga in the hall that led to her workroom. “I left the night's gleanings on your table, and I rolled up your pallet,” the housekeeper said. “The city is quiet—there is little to pass on. I think we are all in shock.”

“Thanks, Quedanga,” Aly said. “It won't last, you know.”

“I know.” Quedanga's grin showed a wolfish number of teeth. “And then the raka's time will come.”

And then the raka's time may come, Aly replied silently. Imajane and Rubinyan have opened the door for it, but it is not yet set in stone.

She went to her table and began to make her way through the heap of news Quedanga had collected from her own network within the city. Aly wasn't sure how long she worked before the runner Wayan rapped on the frame of the door. When Aly nodded, she came over to lean against Aly affectionately. She opened her hand to show a folded piece of paper, sealed with a blank circle of wax.

“A man at the servants' gate gave me this for you,” she said. “He said it was from his master.”

“Is he waiting for a reply?” Aly inquired. She inspected the note to see if the wax had been tampered with. She had taught her people ways to remove wax seals, but she also knew how to tell if somebody had been playing with one. This note had not been opened.

Wayan shook her head. “He gave me a silver gigit and left.”

Aly kissed the girl's cheek. “Then you don't need a tip from me. Scamper.”

Giggling, Wayan left. Aly got to her feet and locked her door before she heated a thin knife and slid the hot metal under the seal. The note popped open.

That boat came apart in the first big wave. They didn't need a storm that sank a number of other ships, too. Whatever it is that you intend to do, I am your man.—T.S.

Only one T.S. that she knew of would send her such a message: Taybur Sibigat. The regents—now the monarchs—had made a stupid mistake in killing the boy king he had loved. Aly was certain that Sibigat had been meant to drown, and just as sure that he had noticed that.

Aly ran her fingers over her darking necklace as she tucked the message back into her sash. She would keep this to herself for the present. The time would come soon when she would ask Taybur to make good on his promise. At this point, they both needed him to remain where he was and do his job. History was rife with palace revolts spearheaded by the very fighters who were there to protect the rulers.

They never should have killed his king, thought Aly as she returned to her work.

Two quick raps and an open slap on her door told Aly she was wanted in the meeting room. She locked her workroom and went in. Her pack, from Boulaj to Yoyox, waited there for her. They all watched her with bright attention, that look of hounds who had at last caught the scent.

Aly closed and locked the door, then settled in a chair. “We're in mourning,” she stated.

“We would like our own way to mourn,” said Jimarn. “Guide us, Duani.”

“You've been doing this for a while,” Aly pointed out. “Surely you don't need me.”

Atisa rolled her eyes. “You're being aggravating.”

“Sometimes aggravation is the irritant that forces a result,” Aly replied quickly, then sighed. “My goodness. You young people are so impatient.”

“We know you,” Olkey explained patiently as he popped a snow pea into his mouth. “Knowing you, we decided you probably have a list of things to tidy up in that clever head of yours. Lazy children that we are, we'd rather you did the thinking, and we handled the details.”

Aly twiddled her thumbs, staring at the ceiling. This was what she had been working for since the fall before: the time when their minds and hers would work to reach the same place at the same time. I've done well with them, she told herself. It's time for them to see what they can do.

“I don't know how this can be, but the naval shipyards are a mess,” she remarked at last. “All that wood and tar, all those ships being repaired. What if company comes to call?”

“That's a big one,” said Guchol. “That will take work.” Aly raised an eyebrow. Guchol responded to her unspoken question. “We can do it,” she said hurriedly. “There are some knots to untie, though.”

“Come to me if you need help,” Aly said.

“I don't want to burn ships,” Junai snapped. Like Boulaj, she had been closer to the family than the others, which meant that she had known Elsren. “I want them scared.”

“People are very scared by bad things that seem to have come out of nowhere,” Aly observed, her gaze back on the ceiling. “Things like a basket of rats in a closed bedroom. Or a dead rat.” She looked at Junai and Boulaj. “A dead rat appears on the streets of the Windward District, where folk think they are so safe . . . it frightens them.”

Boulaj and Junai exchanged bright-eyed glances. “We can do that,” Boulaj said. “At night, once the house is abed.”

“What about the regents?” demanded Lokak, dark eyes hard. “When do we strike them?”

“Giant-killing is tricky,” Aly replied, knowing Lokak had spoken for the pack. “If you go for his eyes, he kills you by stepping on you. Instead you cut his legs from under him. With a weak army and navy, the new monarchs will struggle to protect themselves. Duke Nomru's estates have risen on his behalf against the Crown. His New Majesty needs more troops, but he doesn't have enough for Malubesang and the other rebellions. He'll have to scramble. As he does, he and his queen will be vulnerable. Our general can see that day come. He'll let us know when it is time. For now, we help him by doing what we have trained to do.”

Most of them gathered around Guchol. As they whispered, Aly returned to her workroom. It would be foolish to suggest anything to them, when she didn't know the shipyard and they did. She would leave the list of Sevmire's spies in the Windward District out where Junai or Boulaj could find it. If they could pick her lock to see who had kept her in her workroom all night, they could pick it to find the list, too.

Back at her worktable, Aly set her darking necklace on its surface. “What happened while I was—occupied?” she asked them.

“Royal tax collector for all of Lombyn is dead,” Trick announced. “Royal governor of Malubesang is missing.”

Aly nodded. “Very good. Is that it?”

“For yesterday, with Rubinyan and Imajane,” said Trick.

“What of my friend Sevmire?” Aly wanted to know.

“Bean say he draws up list of possible enemies,” piped Secret. “Balitangs on it. Also Fonfalas. Also Engan.”

“Also Obemaek,” Trick added. “Sevmire asleep now.”

“He drink too much wine,” Secret explained. “He drools on desk.”

“Bean ask, can he take list away from Sevmire?” Trick relayed.

Aly stretched. “Sevmire will just make another one.”

“But he will wake up with dry quill and open ink bottle and no list,” explained Secret. “Bean say, he will search everywhere, and then he will think someone took it.”

“Bean say, Sevmire will twitch and drink and suspect his people,” added Trick. “He will think they try to take his place with Rubinyan. Bean say—says,” it corrected itself, to Aly's surprise, “that Sevmire worries all the time about everything. Bean says, if he worries more, he trusts people less.”

So not only have I taught them to be spies, but it seems they're also learning to speak more like human beings, Aly mused. I wonder if this is a good thing or a bad one? “Tell Bean that by all means it should take the list if it can,” she said. “And if Bean can think of more things to do to Sevmire without getting caught, it shouldn't worry about asking, just go ahead.” I do it for my pack, she told herself. I can surely let the darkings off the leash as well.

After a moment Trick said, “Bean is very happy. He takes list into Sevmire's dung room.”

“He will drop it in the dung pit,” explained Secret.

Aly nodded. She loved their term for a privy. And a dung pit is where Sevmire himself belongs, she thought. Where they all belong.

She worked on papers until her belly reminded her that she had missed lunch. Out she went, in search of cold meat, bread, and some fruit. Once she had her meal in her hands, she went out into the garden to the Pavilion of Secrets. She wanted some time alone, to think in privacy of the wonderful things that had happened the night before. She knew moments like that were stolen from time, and she did not want to forget any of it. Leaning into a corner of the pavilion, she closed her eyes to remember, and dozed. When the food tumbled from her hands to the ground, the miniature kudarung swooped in for the feast.

She woke to their whickering and a shadow that loomed over her. Her senses identified a large body between her and escape. Aly was on her feet with two knives in her hands before she realized it was Ulasim.

He crouched to pet the clamoring kudarung around his legs and looked at Aly with appreciation. “That was very quick for someone who just woke up,” he remarked. “It is as I always suspected—you sleep with one eyelid cracked.”

“Only sometimes,” Aly replied with a sheepish grin. She put her knives away. “If I slept that way all the time, I'd be predictable, wouldn't I?”

“Very true,” Ulasim said, the corners of his eyes crinkling in his secret smile. “Nawat went out to see to his people. He said he would return for supper. Have you new information for me?”

Aly nodded and told him the news from Lombyn and Malubesang. “Nomru's people rising against the monarchs, that's bad.”

Ulasim nodded. “Nomru is the chief landholder on Malubesang.”

Aly bit her lip. She wanted him to look beyond the raka. “Call it a hunch, but I bet the Fonfala estates won't be far behind,” she suggested, watching his face for his reaction. “They were friends, before the duke's escape. They're neighbors on Malubesang. The lands are held by Her Grace's brother. It stands to reason.”

Ulasim's thin smile hooked to one side. “And the Nomrus and Fonfalas both belong to that pathetic luarin sewing circle,” he added. “Why should I deal with them now, when they have been good for nothing before?”

“Because Dove is one of them,” Aly informed him. “And—I think they are ripe to actually do something.”

“I shall consider it,” replied Ulasim. He hesitated, then grinned. “It is good to see you are not completely distracted by . . . other things.”

Aly made a face at him. The sight of the black armband he wore punctured her good mood. “I wish I could stay distracted. I need to get one of those.”

“Don't feel guilty because you are alive,” he counseled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they walked back to the house. “I feel guilty enough for twelve people.”

“Because the choice of what to do about the Rittevon heirs was taken from your hands?” she asked.

The arm around her shoulders tightened, then relaxed. “That,” he admitted.

“We can and will all feel guilty about that,” Aly consoled him. “And we can share our feelings with our new rulers.”

 

Nawat returned, as promised, in the late afternoon. Aly heard the bawling of amused crows and translated that they were laughing at him for changing shape and putting on uncomfortable clothes. When he emerged from the stable loft where he had changed, she was waiting for him. They kissed, and then she asked, “Would you talk to your friends for me?”

“So we are back to that,” he commented, shaking his head. “My only value to you is as a crow.”

“Nawat!” she cried, grabbing his shirt. “That's not true, I . . .” She saw the glitter in his deep-set eyes and gaped at him. “You're teasing me?”

He kissed her. Even when their lips parted, he kept his arm around her waist. “You look beautiful when you are shocked. It is sweet,” he said, a man's grin on his face. “This is more fun than dragging Ochobu's clothes in the mud.”

Aly pushed him away lightly, not hard enough to make him let go. “I swear she still expects you to do that,” she said. “And I have some fun for your kindred, if you would like to explain it to them.”

He tipped his head back and called in something far better than Aly's clumsy crow-speech. Immediately three of the birds came flapping down to land in the branches of a nearby tree.

“I was thinking,” Aly began, “that winged messengers come and go from the palace all the time. It would be nice if your people could force them to lose their messages or even drive them to the ground.”

One of the crows admitted, in caws and clicks, that this could be interesting.

It would require more skill than tormenting Stormwings, Nawat replied in the same language.

The crows flicked their wingtips and took off, already calling the news to the other crows within earshot.

“So they'll do it?” Aly wanted to know. “Or will they just talk about it?”

Nawat held her close. “It amuses them. They'll do it,” he said with a grin.

 

That night the rebel leaders gathered in the meeting room to hear the news from all over the city and the realm. This time Nawat joined them to report what he'd been doing as a warrior and what news he had gathered from the crows. Once more Aly was awed by the change in him, from ill-at-ease bird in a human's body to confident young man. Ulasim was thanking him when suddenly their world went a bright, roaring white. The air boomed as if they sat inside a monstrous kettle drum. That vast roaring sound filled Aly's ears until she would have screamed to drown it out, except that she feared she was already screaming.

The roar stopped abruptly. Outside, thunder crashed directly overhead.

Kyprioth appeared next to Aly's chair. “This is where I leave you all,” he told them as he looked apprehensively at the ceiling. “My brother and sister have returned.” He kissed Aly's cheek. “Good luck. Victories, remember!” He vanished.

They didn't even wait to discuss what they were doing: all of the leaders raced outside to look skyward. Pale white flames spread from the moon, which shone full at a time when it was only supposed to be a quarter full. Bright orange waves of light spread across the sky in sheer curtains. Lightning flashed everywhere and faded.

“And so the fun begins,” murmured Ulasim. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Come, my friends. Let's see how much trouble we can cause.”

Aly and Nawat spent the night on a pallet in the Pavilion of Secrets, talking through much of it. When dawn came, they went outside to join the fighters for morning drill. Everyone watched for dawn when they weren't actually facing off against one another. When it came, they could see the gods were still locked in battle. The sun shed light and heat as it always did, but its rays were far longer than normal, dark orange pennants around the gold disk. White, fiery veils that had to represent the Goddess drifted in the morning sky, while everywhere the sparks that showed Kyprioth and the lesser tricksters winked in and out, points of color that never stayed the same hue for more than a moment.

Aly shivered and concentrated on her staff work. It was unnerving to see a sky so different from normal. She didn't like it at all, and she was nearly certain that the others felt the same. It was a relief to go into the laundry with Nawat and take a long bath together. Afterward he left on errands for Ulasim, while Aly went upstairs to see if Dove needed anything. Once again she found Boulaj gathering up Dove's washing. The bed was freshly made, the room aired out, the water basin dumped and cleansed. “What's this?” Aly demanded with a frown. Dove's night table had been straightened. So had the stack of books next to her bed.

Boulaj faced her, determination on her long face. “Aly, you're needed for other things,” she said. “I trained to be a maid as well as bodyguard for Lady Sarai, and I like it.”

“She's right.” Dove emerged from the dressing room she had once shared with Sarai. “Things will heat up now that Imajane and Rubinyan rule us. You're needed to do what you do best. Boulaj and I manage nicely as mistress and maid.”

Aly was a little hurt that they had come to an understanding without her. The moment she recognized the emotion, she thrust it away as meaningless. Dove and Boulaj were right, and that was that. What mattered was her own ability to pass information quickly to the rebel leaders. She needed to concentrate on that and on the kind of mischief that would drive their new rulers into a rage.

Boulaj yawned. Aly looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “Late night?” she asked wickedly.

“We got some sleep,” Boulaj replied. “And the work itself was satisfying.” She caught Dove's curious glance and said, “Spy stuff.”

Aly held up a finger and went to the window. Something, some sound, made the shutters quiver under her palms. She opened them. In the distance she heard a roar of noise from the direction of the market districts and Downwind. She glanced above the nearby trees and saw smoke in the distance. Without a word to the other two she raced downstairs.

Outside the front door stood Nuritin, Fesgao, and a sweat-bathed Olkey. His eyes registered Aly's arrival as he told the other two, “It was the gods fighting that set them off, my lady, sir. Over in Downwind, folk were weeping in the street over the little boys' deaths. They've got three songs written about it already, and one of them calls it murder. And then there was last night, and they all waited for the dawn, and saw all the lights and colors. . . . They went mad. They're rioting in Downwind and the Honeypot, and the folks in Dockmarket are closing up. It's just a matter of time before they call for a lockdown of the city.”

“Secure the gates,” ordered Nuritin. “Put more guards on them.”

Fesgao saluted her. “Very good, my lady,” he said.

Here in the open Aly heard the distant calls of horns and the clang of alarm gongs. She went back inside to see what her people knew.

The regents kept the city under martial law for three days, not caring if people had enough food to eat. Those foolish enough to challenge the King's Watch found themselves hustled off to local jails. If the Watchmen got very annoyed, they sent the offender to Kanodang. The fires were put out; a number of rioters were hanged. There was nothing anyone in Balitang House could do but wait it out. People crept in and out using the tunnel system, but they had to be careful. Aly nearly lost Atisa and Ukali of her pack to the Watch, until the pair's recruits spotted them and swarmed their captors to help them to escape.

The flow of information into the house continued, courtesy of the darkings, the crows, and the mages of the Chain. Through them the household learned of riots all over the cities and towns of the Isles. It was too much for the people to take, coming all at once: word of the little king's drowning, the informal coronation of two new monarchs, and the gods' battle overhead. Most riots were put down savagely. Others burned themselves out by the end of the week.

Seven days after the boy king had drowned, memorial services for him and his three dead companions were held in the Black God's temples. The people of Rajmuat came to pay their respects in numb silence, mourning not just the children but the hundred-odd others who had drowned with them, their boats capsized or their homes crushed by falling trees. After the prayers to the god ended, the faithful carried flowers down to the harbor and tossed them into the brown, soupy water. In silence still, everyone returned to their homes.

At noon that day, the regents lifted martial law, though soldiers were everywhere. Roaming the city streets, Aly took note of the damage, most of it in the poor districts of the town. Trudging back to Balitang House, she wished the people would turn that wrath on the sources of their pain rather than on their own homes. We need more rumors about the monarchs and their plans for the kingdom, she told herself. The poor need to hate the monarchs as much as they fear the gods. This time it was the gods who drove them to riot, I think. Next time it must be Imajane and Rubinyan.

During that hot afternoon's rest time, a number of people visited the house. Aly joined those who had come to see her in the meeting room. There she found members of her pack who were not out in the city and a number of trusted recruits who had been approved by Ochobu or Ysul. Vitorcine Townsend was present as well. Aly had decided she would make a good addition to her spies.

Nearly everyone had written reports for Aly, information that had piled up while it had been so difficult for their contacts to get to them. They placed the reports in Aly's hands. A representative of the rebel spies in the palace was present, this being his normal free day. He too gave a sheaf of reports to Aly. She glimpsed at the topmost one. The first line read: I. went into a rage over a scrap of paper.

Aly nodded and yawned. That plan seemed to be unfolding nicely. Folding her hands on her belly, she looked at the packed room. “Has anyone anything special for me?”

The man from the palace raised a hand. “Lord Sevmire dismissed three of his secretaries this morning. He says he refuses to work with those he cannot trust. And there is an armed guard at the mages' house. Stormwings roost on the roof peak. No one is allowed to leave.”

Aly whistled silently. “An interesting development.”

Bacar, the footman from across the street, raised his hand. “The housekeeper at Murtebo House was found with her throat cut. There was a paper pinned to her clothes that read Spy.”

A ragamuffin wearing only a loincloth spoke. “Up on Junoh Street, they found two like that, a footman and a maid. Dead the same way, both wearing Spy signs. That's what the folk who found them said.”

“Any more?” Aly inquired. They all shook their heads. She nodded. “Very well. You already know the rumor that the storm that sank the boys' ship was not a natural one. And here's another thing—a source I trust says the boat went to pieces suspiciously fast. Add also that the mages who serve the Crown appear to be under house arrest. Those are interesting bits of news, aren't they?”

Her listeners nodded.

One of the Obeliten maids asked, “Duani, everyone knows the Crown mages have been known to meddle with weather before, though they know they can't control it.” There was a chorus of yesses and calls of “She's right.” Emboldened, the maid continued, “And isn't it strange how the one child saved belonged to a family known to be great friends of the regents?”

Aly thought that was more luck than attention to that particular boy's life. At the same time, she had not forgotten that the only heir to a family title on the Rittevon had been Elsren. Dunevon's other three companions had been younger sons unlikely to inherit the title. Their families could afford to lose them, a fact of which the new rulers had been aware.

Aly nodded. “Those also are good points to make with those you talk to,” she told her people. “Ask your particular friends on the streets if Mithros and the Goddess are not angry because they are represented by monarchs with the blood of children on their hands. Especially the Goddess, as children are her care.” She noticed their startled glances: they had not thought of this. “One more thing. The royal fortress at Galodon has lost at least half of its soldiers and sailors to bad food. The strongest fighting force in Rajmuat is now only the Rittevon Guard.” She waved them out. “Be watchful, and take no unnecessary chances,” she warned as they prepared to go. “We are going to make our new monarchs very unhappy, and for that I need you all.”

A number of them touched the arm of Aly's chair on their way out. “Gunapi the Sunrose guard you, Duani,” some whispered. Others remarked, “The luck turns our way.”

Aly waved them off, not sure of what was going on, uncomfortable with the awe of her in their faces.