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died with him; the other, a child, had been taken by the hadjuks in the raid on Antunic, their village. He was likely a eunuch by now in Asharias or some provincial city, or being trained for the djannis—their elite, Jaddite-born infantry. He might even one day come back attacking them.
    It happened. One of the old, hard sorrows of the border.
    The girl did want to join the raids, it was no secret. She spoke of vengeance for her family and village. Had been talking that way for years.
    She’d openly asked the captains. Wanted to go through the pass into Osmanli lands on a raid for sheep and goats, or men and women to ransom or sell. Or she’d ask to go in the boats chasing merchant ships in the Seressini Sea—which they might actually be able to start doing again if this accursed blockade would only lift.
    Danica knew the talk about her. Of course she did. She’d even let Kukar Miho watch her practising, thinking himself cleverly unseen behind (rustling) bushes, as she threw knives at olives on a tree near the watchtower.
    This past winter the clerics had begun speaking to her about marrying, offering to negotiate with families on her behalf since she had no parent or brother to do so. Some of her mother’s friends had made the same offer.
    She was still mourning, she’d said, eyes lowered, as if shy. It hadn’t been a year yet, she’d said.
    Her mourning year would end in summer. They’d chant a service for her mother and grandfather in the sanctuary, along withso many others, then she’d need to think of another excuse. Or pick a man.
    She was perfectly happy to sleep with one when a certain mood overtook her. She’d discovered some time ago that cups of wine and lovemaking could ease her on occasion. She closed off her grandfather in her mind on those nights, relieved she was able to do so. They never discussed it.
    But being with a man by the strand or in a barn outside the walls (only one time in her own house—it had felt wrong in the morning and she’d never done it again) was as much as she wanted right now. If she married, her life would change.
End
, she was half inclined to say, though she knew that was excessive. A life ended when you died.
    In any case, she’d told her grandfather the truth: she
was
protecting Mirko of Hrak by not reporting his information to the captains or the military. If the Senjani set a full ambush on the beach for a night attack, the Seressinis would realize someone had given their plan away. They were clever enough to do that, Jad knew, and vicious enough to torture a story out of the islanders. They might or might not arrive at Mirko, but why risk it? One guard out in a boat—that could be routine.
    If she’d revealed Mirko’s story she’d have been asked who told her, and it would have been impossible (and wrong) to not tell the captains. She wanted to join the raiders, not anger them. And the Seressini spy inside the walls (of course there was a spy, there was always a spy) would almost certainly learn whatever she said, see the preparations. They’d likely cancel the attack, if it was happening. If Mirko was right.
    No, doing this alone was the prudent approach, she’d told her grandfather, choosing the word a little mischievously. Unsurprisingly, he had sworn at her. He had been legendary for his tongue in his day. She was developing a little of that reputation, but it was different for a woman.
    Everything in the world was. Danica wondered sometimes why the god had made it so.
    She really did have good eyesight. She saw a flame appear and vanish to her right, north, on the headland that framed that side of the bay. She caught her breath.
    Jad sear his soul! What pustulent, slack-bowelled fucking traitor is that?
her grandfather snarled.
    She saw it again, quickly there and gone, moving right to left. A light on the headland could only be there to guide a boat. And to do that in these deadly waters