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“That tal-rih is for you?” I asked, unable to stifle the horrified expression crossing my face. I couldn’t reconcile silly, sheltered Oraik with the stories I’d heard about the blood-soaked kingdom. And his father was a ‘government official?’ What was that supposed to mean? Was that where Oraik got all his money, from the killings in Doregall? Had I spent the night drinking from blood-money?

“My father is from Colynes,” he said stiffly, and I knew he’d seen my expression and understood where it came from. “My mother was Doregi. I am Doregi. So will you do it? Will you tell Ozeri?”

A wealthy, sheltered man of about twenty, half Colynes and half Doregi, desperate to see a city he’d known every detail of but had never explored… the hostage prince, I realized slowly. Oraik was the hostage prince. The one Adaya Ozeri had come to trade a war criminal for, a decade after the Cachians had taken Oraik captive. Maybe I’d have known that already, if the spell hadn’t… if she hadn’t sent me out of the work room, that day.

I slowly reached out and took the ring from his fingers. “But you aren’t planning to sail, are you? Alone? In that rickety thing? Do you even know how?”

“I’ll row back to the barges and pay someone to take me.”

“Take you where? Please don’t be foolish. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

He shook his head and grinned. “I’ve avoided it so far, haven’t I? In any case, I’m in a mood to be foolish. It’s almost Laghek Day on Montay. Maybe I’ll see that and the central isles before I’m… well, you will tell her, won’t you? Only, maybe you could wait until afternoon, so I have a head start? And don’t mention Montay?”

“Alright,” I said softly. “I’ll tell her. Be careful.”

I extended a hand for him to shake. Oraik ignored it and grabbed me in a tight hug, crushing all the air out of my lungs.

“Thank you for being my friend,” he whispered in my ear. “May the Goddess keep you safe.” He let go abruptly and strode towards the shore, grabbing the Wave Dancer and dragging it behind him. I gaped at him, stunned at this sudden admission of heretical faith—he took being Doregi seriously, I supposed—so close on the revelation of his birth.

My heart ached. I’d liked Oraik, despite all odds. The farewell felt entirely too permanent.

I shook my head and watched him splash into the waves, then wandered over to Kalcedon, who stood scowling with his arms crossed twenty feet down the rocky beach.

“You look like a sea-hag,” he informed me sourly as I drew near. “And your breath stinks like wine.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” I said with a smile, raising a hand to my knotted, salt-crusted hair. Kalcedon bit his lip and deflated a little, the scowl softening as he looked me over. There was worry in his eyes, a hollowness that ached.

“You aren’t hurt?” His voice was low.

“Just a headache. I’m fine.” My hands were smarting from the rowing, but he was in a bad enough mood without me mentioning it.

“Good.” He sniffed and looked away. “So? Why did you leave?”

“The city?”

“Home.” He raised his eyebrows as he said the word, as if it were obvious. “Can we go back now? Did you do whatever you needed to do?”

I scratched my cheek.

“I’m not going back. I’m going to join the Temple.”

Kalcedon’s face shifted strangely, brow furrowed, mouth parted, eyes wide.

“They can’t want you,” he told me in flat disbelief.

“They asked me to figure out why the Ward came down,” I said defensively, hurting even though he was right.

“No they didn’t.” The look on Kalcedon’s face hadn’t changed.

“Yes, they did. They said if I could figure it out, they’d let me in.”

“You don’t stand a chance,” he growled. “This is idiotic. You don’t belong here, Meda. You’re barely a witch, no matter how brilliant you are. Come home.”

“Well.” I sighed, and met him in the eyes. “I’m going to try, either way. You can come if you want. Not that I need your help.”

Kalcedon glared at me. A long moment passed. His face wavered. Finally he snapped.

“Fine. We’ll go see the Sable-Pall stone. As soon as you take a bath. You stink.”