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one body with one head. The man we’re dealing with is likely to become that head.”
    “When did they approach you?”
    “After the first few raids on the city. What you’ve told me only confirms something we’d begun to suspect ourselves. And do not ask me when, or whether, the meeting will take place. Hetawa affairs are none of the Protectors’ business.”
    And of course she could not promise to keep it secret, given her role as the Protectors’ Voice, any more than he could promise a lasting cooperation with her. They each had their masters to serve.
    So she kept her next question open-ended, to allow him room to maneuver between her loyalties and his own. “Is there anything you
can
tell me?”
    He nodded with the faintest air of approval. “The Banbarra head’s spokesman, when they came to us, was a Gujaareen military-casteman. High-ranking; he claimed to have been a general in the days before the conquest. Zhinha by birth.” He watched her as he said it.
    “Goddess protect us,” Sunandi whispered, her skin goosebumping with more than the night air’s chill. Shunha and zhinha, the two noble castes of Gujaareh, did not often join the military, being too proud to take orders from anyone of lesser birth than themselves. They would tolerate serving their peers, just. But there was one lineage that a zhinha-born general would serve gladly, even into exile.
    Nijiri said nothing at her blasphemy—perhaps because he sensed, for the moment at least, that she was utterly sincere.
    “Make of that what you will,” he said. “Now go back to your husband before he misses you.” He stood to leave, flicking one of his twin nape-braids back over his shoulder as he did so. The gesture,and the hairstyle, were so familiar that a soft pang stirred in Sunandi’s heart.
    “How are you, Nijiri?” she asked, placing the lightest of emphases on
you
.
    He paused, but did not turn to face her. “I’m well, Jeh Kalawe.”
    “I…” She hesitated, then finally blurted, “I actually
miss
him. Can you believe that? We weren’t friends. And yet…”
    Nijiri took hold of the railing. “We will both meet him again someday. You may even find him before I do; you’re a woman, you have more power than I to find your way within Ina-Karekh. And you can still dream.”
    She had forgotten that. He was a true Gatherer now, paying a Gatherer’s price for power.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. She could not tell whether the note in his voice was sorrow or simply resignation; either way there was pain underneath it. Hesitantly she reached for his shoulder, for whatever good that would do. Her fingers barely brushed his skin before he turned and took hold of her hand.
    “Don’t be sorry,” he said. He lifted the back of her hand to his cheek and leaned against it for a moment, closing his eyes and perhaps imagining someone else’s hand in its place. It occurred to her in that moment just how lonely he must be, for no one touched Gatherers, not intentionally. They gave comfort to others, but bore their own pain alone.
    But to Sunandi’s surprise, Nijiri opened his eyes and frowned. “You’ll never meet him at this rate. Why didn’t you come to me? You know I would’ve helped you.”
    And before she could ask what he was talking about, he reached toward her face. She blinked in instinctive reaction and felt his fingertips brush her eyelids for an instant, and then he let her go. When she opened her eyes, he had vaulted up to crouch on the railing, nimble as a bird.
    “Don’t summon me again,” he said over his shoulder. “Things are changing too quickly. I misspoke, Jeh Kalawe, when I said that you didn’t understand us. As much as any foreigner can, and better than any other Kisuati, you do. That’s why I’ll forgive you, no matter what the Protectors make you do.”
    While Sunandi stared back at him, trying to puzzle this out, he stood up on the railing, balancing easily, heedless of the height. Taking hold of a ledge