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coward’s heart, Ahmann once told her, but there is steel in Abban to put Sharum to shame, when the haggling has begun.
    Abban smiled and nodded. “It is so, Damajah. But things are no less dire for you. How long will the Damaji let you sit atop the seven steps without your husband? A woman sitting above them is an insult they have never borne well.”
    Inevera felt her jaw begin to tighten. How long since any save her husband had dared speak to her thus? And from a khaffit. She wanted to break his other leg.
    But for all the audacity, his words were true enough, so Inevera let them pass over her like wind.
    “All the more reason we must ally,” she said. “We must find a way to trust, as Ahmann commanded, or both of us may walk the lonely path before long.”
    “What are you asking?” Abban said.
    “You will report to me as you did to my husband,” Inevera said. “Bring your tallies and schemes to me before they are presented to the council of Damaji. ”
    Abban raised an eyebrow. “And in return?”
    Inevera smiled, visible through the gossamer lavender veil she wore. “As I said, protection.”
    Abban chuckled. “You’ll forgive me, Damajah, but you have fewer warriors at your command than I, and still not enough to protect me should one of the Damaji or your sons decide to be rid of me at last.”
    “I have fear,” Inevera said. “My sons fear me. The Damaji fear me.”
    “They feared you, yes,” Abban agreed, “but how much of that fear will last when a new backside sits the Skull Throne? Absolute power has a way of emboldening a man.”
    “No power is absolute save that of Everam.” Inevera held up her dice. “With Ahmann gone, I am His voice on Ala.”
    “That, and three draki, will buy you a basket,” Abban said.
    The phrase was a common one in Krasia, but it put Inevera on edge nevertheless. Her mother was a basket weaver with a successful business in the bazaar. No doubt Abban—who controlled half the commerce in Everam’s Bounty—had dealings with her, but Inevera had worked tirelessly to ensure her family remained safely anonymous, out of the politics and intrigues that ruled her world.
    Were they just words, or a subtle threat? Useful or not, Inevera would not hesitate to kill Abban to protect her family.
    Again, Inevera wished she could see into the hearts of men and women as her husband did. The thick canvas walls of the pavilion let her see the khaffit’s aura, albeit dimly, but the subtle variations and patterns of shifting color that Ahmann read as easily as words on a page were a mystery to her.
    “I think you’ll find my words carry more weight than you think,” Inevera said.
    “ If you secure your position,” Abban agreed. “We are discussing why I should help you do that. Not every man in the Deliverer’s court is a complete fool, Damajah. I may never enjoy the power I did with Ahmann, but I could still find protection and profit if I side with another.”
    “I will grant you a permanent position at court,” Inevera said. “To witness firsthand every dealing you can twist into a way to fill your greedy pockets.”
    “Better,” Abban said, “but I have spies throughout the Deliverer’s court. More than even you can root out.”
    “Do not be so sure,” Inevera said. “But very well. I will offer something even you cannot refuse.”
    “Oh?” Abban seemed amused at the thought. “In the bazaar, those words are a threat, but I think you will find I am not so easily bullied as I may appear.”
    “No threats,” Inevera said. “No bullying.” She smiled. “At least not for coercion. They will be a promise, should you break our pact.”
    Abban grinned. “You have my fullest attention. What does the Damajah think my heart desires above all?”
    “Your leg,” Inevera said.
    “Eh?” Abban started.
    “I can heal your leg,” Inevera said. “Right now, if you wish. A simple matter. You could throw your crutch on the fire and walk out on two firm feet.” She