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She handed the purse to him and he took itcarefully with a single palm. She let go and could have withdrawn, keeping herself free of contact with him, but he felt her fingertips suddenly running along his forearm, through the mud caked and dried there like a damp and crumbling shell.
    “You are burned,” she said softly, the words meant for their ears alone.
    He didn’t think before saying, “As are you.” He regretted the words almost instantly, but instead of taking offense she simply nodded. Now that he was up close, he found himself realizing that her eyes matched her hat almost perfectly. A brilliant, glorious teal. As if the great dye makers had come up with the color for only two purposes: first, her eyes; then, her hat. And beyond that, there would never be anything to match. Her hair was black, as pure a black as ever there was, the gloss of it shining like well-oiled leather. It was all pulled up away from her face so tightly, leaving her corkscrew curls covered by her cap and only a single sprig, and that was curled into the tightest of natural curls, let loose in front of her ear. Oddly enough, it wasn’t until just then that he realized almost every person he’d laid eyes on that day had had blade-straight hair. His own hair, a brown like the darkest of nuts, had a curl to it also though nowhere near as tight as hers were. It was true of all the brothers.
    “Forgive me. That was rude,” he said hastily. Awkwardly. In his time, women who were not in service to the gods were not given places of prestige. But he was aware that he was not in his time and he tried to act accordingly. He had never seen a woman who looked like her, other than a goddess, and he had learned the hard way not to cross a goddess.
    “Not at all,” she soothed him gently. “I believe I started it.”
    Yes. Of course she had. He should stop acting so foolishly tongue-tied. No matter what the time, what the place, he was a warrior and he would behave as such!
    “I have my reward and I will take my leave,” he said briskly, turning to do so. But her sudden grip on his wrist stayed him as the shackles of the hells had stayed him.
    “But not all of your reward is given,” she said. And this time it was she who seemed awkward.
    Ah. The kiss, he realized after a moment.
    “I have no interest in your other reward,” he said brusquely.
    She looked as though he had slapped her, and he became aware of the murmur, the unkind murmur, of the crowd.
    “What? You insult your grandina in such a beastly manner?!” Dethan looked up to see the jendan surging to his feet from his seat in the viewing box above them.
    “She is not my grandina, for I am not from here,” Dethan barked back at him. He turned to look again at the woman before him. “And I would not debase her so by asking her to kiss one such as I.”
    Understanding lit her features as well as a sort of relief. That was when he realized she had thought he had found her offensive. But everything the opposite was true. He merely found her to be … untouchable.
    He did not deserve this woman’s beauties. He had much sin upon his head and much filth upon his body. He would no sooner kiss a priestess of Kitari, the goddess who was considered to be the most beautiful and demanded her priestesses be of rivaling beauty.
    “Then you must be rewarded in some other way,” she spoke up. She seemed to cast about in her mind for a solution, but then she smiled. “You will dine at table with me tonight.”
    “My dear!” The protest was meant to be cajoling, but the jenden had barked it out with too much force. He corrected his tone when she shot him an acidic glare. “Your grandness, you will forgive me for saying so, but this man … He is little more than a beast covered with filth and mud. Are we all to suffer over our meals?”
    “Yes,” she hissed. And that was all. One sibilant yes and the jenden paled a little and backed down, but he did not look happy about it and his eyes