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from Mandir’s cruel father.
    Farther along the road, they passed the first traveler they’d seen in days: a man leading a zebu-drawn cart. His cargo was covered with a cloth, but its bumpy shape suggested supplies and foodstuffs, perhaps destined for Tufan’s. The carter was heading up the tributary, as were they, but his zebu were slow, and Taya and Mandir quickly passed him.
    Late that afternoon, the top of a building came into view on the horizon, and Mandir identified it as Tufan’s residence. Hoping to reach it before dark, they sent the horses into a canter, which Soldier handled admirably.
    Taya watched with keen interest as they came closer and more buildings became visible. Tufan’s household was not a single building, but a compound. One large mud-brick house dominated the property, while several smaller buildings encircled it like kneeling supplicants. Nearby were a stable, a dog kennel, and a fenced area that appeared to be a corral for the horses, although at the moment it was empty.
    The place looked a bit dumpy, and somehow it didn’t meet her expectations. “I thought it would be more like a palace.”
    “It’s just a homestead. The king hasn’t been particularly generous to Tufan, and you’ll see why.” Mandir’s eyes were hard and his jaw tight. “Show no weakness here. Tufan and his people see vulnerability as opportunity.”
    “I understand.”
    They dismounted and led the horses toward the front door.
    A young boy hobbled in their direction, seemingly from out of nowhere. Without saying a word, he took the horses’ reins and began to lead them away.
    “Wait,” said Mandir. “We need our bags.”
    The boy stopped and waited. Each horse carried two bags, one filled with barley to supplement his feed, and another packed with his rider’s food and supplies. Taya and Mandir took the supply bags, leaving behind the barley, and waved the boy on.
    Taya stared after the boy. One of his legs was shorter than the other, giving him a pronounced limp. Her heart ached for him. If this was as hard a place to live as Mandir claimed it was, how much harder must it be for a boy who had difficulty walking? “He’s crippled,” she said softly. “Do you suppose that boy could be Setsi?”
    Mandir shook his head. “Too young.”
    “He never said a word. Is he mute?”
    “Probably just knows to keep his mouth shut around here.”
    A man stepped out of the main building’s front door. Taya was immediately struck by how much he looked like Mandir. Both men were tall, dark-skinned, and light-eyed, and they had identical facial tattoos: sunbursts on their foreheads and lines under their eyes, all in dark red. But where Mandir was burly, the new man was lean, and his facial features had a slight downward slant, making him look perpetually morose. Given the man’s young age, Taya guessed he was one of Mandir’s half-brothers.
    Mandir studied him. “Shardali?”
    The man’s eyes widened. It seemed he had not recognized Mandir, though Mandir had recognized him. Something about Shardali’s manner struck Taya as odd. His eyes were like Mandir’s in their shape and color, but they darted about, showing white.
    She instantly disliked him; nonetheless, she extended her hand to touch fingers. “I’m Taya, and this is Mandir. We’re—”
    “M-m-mandir?” Shardali took a step back.
    “It’s all right,” said Mandir, following him into the doorway.
    Shardali retreated. “You w-went to the Coalition. You w-w-weren’t supposed to come back.”
    Either Shardali was terrified of Mandir, or he had a stammer. Taya felt sorry for him, knowing he’d probably spent his entire life in this house of depravity, and not by choice.
    Mandir halted. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”
    “You w-weren’t supposed to come back.”
    Another man stepped into the hallway. “What’s going on?”
    Taya blinked at the sight of yet another man with identical tattoos and a resemblance to Mandir. It was unsettling.