The dinner was outside, in the evening sun. Kyros was near the desert, though not so dry; daylight came early and died late, and the weather was nearly always good. Illos was an empire blessed by the sun, rather than ravaged by it.

Well of course it was. This had been K’Avaari land, a long, long time ago. The Dolkoi’ri had taken the entire southern reach and pushed her people into the desert—Sanders. That’s what they called the People now, but it had not always been so.

The Dolkoi’ri were very talented at taking the bounty of others for themselves.

The thought darkened her brow, so she chased it away. This was a celebration. Instead, she looked at the sprawling beauty and wealth—more wealth than she could hope to own in three lifetimes, never mind one—and decided she would enjoy herself.

It was a beautiful home.

The courtyard smelled incredibly good. The air smelled of fresh, running water and flowers—all sorts of flowers. She had only seen such big, bright flowers in passing, scurrying past them in the streets to avoid being robbed or targeted, but now she could linger and enjoy the softness of their petals and their smell. Their scent in the air was light and sweet, like nectar on her tongue, and their colours were vivid and varied, vibrant against the green of their leaves.

And the food. There was a great deal of food, more food than a K’Avaari gathering of this size would hold. From her spot in the garden Ba’an could gaze into the kitchen through the open windows, and the sheer number of servants and the volume of food being prepared was overwhelming. When she walked closer to the kitchen, the smell of meat and bread mingling with the sweeter smell of fruit made her belly grumble.

This was the difference between K’Avaari and Dolkoi’ri: one was scrappy, eking out a living in the bosom of the hot red sands, while the other was indolent, living lavishly in the light of a much gentler sun.

She turned away from the kitchen and approached the square.

The garden square was cobbled, with a stone fountain built against the perimeter wall. It was very cleverly made, and Ba’an knew there must be pipes beneath the ground: the centerpiece was a naked woman pouring water from an urn into the basin at her feet.

It was here that they would sit and dine, though Ba’an stopped by the fountain in confusion.

The arrangement was very strange. There were long chairs that could not truly be called chairs, having low arms and long seats. They seemed almost like small beds, and they were arranged so that those seated could look and speak with each other and the garden while eating. There were small, short tables placed throughout, and Ba’an guessed the servants would bring the right food to the right tables at the right times.

It all seemed overly complicated for a single meal. The guests had already arrived and were engaged in what seemed a lively conversation; someone must have told a joke, because there was a round of laughter in response. Ba’an remained standing in the shadow of the fountain, awkward and lost.

Should she approach? Or…was she supposed to wait for them to invite her? She did not think they would—they had not even noticed her. They were too busy talking and laughing together.

“Ah, lady Ba’an. How is your room? Is it to your liking? Please, let me know if there is anything you require.”

Gaios had also changed, though he was still without much ornament. He was wearing a pristine toga, and Ba’an could tell at a glance that the fabric was very tightly woven. It would feel very soft and smooth to the touch, and it had likely cost more than Ba’an made off her curatives all year. It was draped in such an elaborate way that Ba’an could not begin to guess at how it had been done.

This was clearly an outfit meant for leisure in hot weather, and this was precisely that. She could not fault him for his choice in attire, dizzying as it was.

“Yes, it is very nice. Very big, with…much…light. I like it. Thank you.” He smiled at her, seemingly pleased by her response. Ba’an, on the other hand, was mildly embarrassed. It was so much easier to speak in Dolkoi’ri to Lukios. Now that she was speaking with strangers—strangers she did not wish to offend—her tongue seemed to be knotting on itself.

“I am glad, then. But I did mean what I said about asking for anything else you need. It is an open offer.”

“I will. Thank you.” Ba’an was sure that was the correct response. Or was it? Was she supposed to tell him he was too generous?

Ba’an did not particularly care what he thought of her, but she did not want him to think poorly of Lukios for bringing her. It was a terrible feeling, floundering about while trying to look as though she were not.

Where was Lukios?

“Your home is very beautiful,” she said. Everybody enjoyed compliments, did they not? “I have never seen such flowers before. Are they…” she frowned, searching for the words, “…from Illos? Or are they from some other land?”

“That is kind of you to say, thank you. As for the flowers…to be honest, lady Ba’an, I did not pick them. My wife picked and my gardeners planted. I am afraid I cannot tell you anything other than that they are flowers.”

“Oh. That is too bad. Your wife has very nice eyes for flowers.” No. The expression was to have a good eye for something. Not nice eyes. She aborted the urge to bury her face in her hands.

His smile broadened. “I will be sure to tell her when I next see her. She will be pleased to hear my guests enjoyed the garden.”

He had been walking with her, and now they were approaching the strangely arranged lounging chairs. Ba’an approached with trepidation. How was she supposed to sit? Or was she supposed to lie on her side? The men were simply reclining comfortably, but they were men. Aika had been very clear that the rules were different for women, but there were no other women to imitate.

The other guests had the same sort of look as Gaios and Lukios: military. Ba’an was certain that a woman speaking to a man she did not know was considered too forward and found herself floundering. Was she supposed to wait for them to introduce themselves first? Or…was Gaios, as the host, supposed to do the honours?

Perhaps she was supposed to wait for Lukios, though—he was not her husband, so why would that matter?

Aika had been very specific about what made a woman seem…“loose.” It seemed to Ba’an that it was a very rude way to refer to the anatomy of a woman who had bedded more than one man, and it had shocked her when Aika had uttered it, but—here it was. This was Illos, and the rules were different.

Ba’an looked at the guests again. She did not think any of these men would offer to buy her, but it would be best not to appear a prostitute. But did that mean she must not speak at all until Lukios arrived? Or would Gaios suit, acting in his role as host?

Dolkoi’ri rules were so bizarre.

“Ba’an?” A shadow fell over them. Lukios’ smile went soft when he saw her. “Stunning. Aphrodite’s seething at the sight of you.” He winked, and Ba’an’s cheeks went hot. She did not know who ‘Aphrodite’ was, but it was obvious she was a beautiful and famous woman. “It suits you.”

Ba’an had worn the new dress he had bought her—one of them. It was a Dolkoi’ri one, held together at the shoulders so the creamy fabric flowed to her ankles. It was cinched below the bust with a string that ran beneath the fabric, and she wore a light, gauzy shawl over it. It was considered brazen for a woman to show off her shoulders, and Ba’an wondered what Lukios must have thought of her when they had first met. Ba’an had not worn a shawl in her own home—had he thought she had been seducing him the entire time?

Now there was a question for another time.

His eyes were still on her, and she could not calm her blush or her racing heart. What was wrong with her? She was thirty-three, and she had never been a silly, simpering maiden, even when she had been a maiden. But his eyes on her had that effect. His smile broadened when he saw she was wearing the amber earrings.

She was not wearing a necklace, but if he noticed, he did not comment.

“You look good as well,” she said. Thoughtfully, she added, “Being clean always helps.” She saw his mouth twitch in amusement. Of course, that was technically true, but Lukios looked good dirty, too—and he knew it.

Now he looked exceptionally handsome, wearing an outfit very similar to what he had worn in her not-vuti. The tunic was clean and tinted red, with the sleeve and collar displaying one of those strongly geometric patterns the Dolkoi’ri favoured in bright gold thread. His chiton was clean and white, falling just above the knee. It brought out the lean, strong lines of his muscles whenever he moved. Her gift dangled around his neck on the same leather cord, which made her smile. The contrast between the hard planes of his body and the flow of the fabric was pleasing to the eye.

It also helped that he had gotten a haircut. She had forgotten how good he looked with a clean-shaven face and well-kept hair, rather than the messy mane he had always kept tied back.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gaios watching them. Were they being rude?

But compliments were not rude, were they? Unless…

K’Avaari rarely, if ever, dallied with outlander men or women. It was traitorous, especially now. Were Dolkoi’ri the same?

Ba’an lost her train of thought when one of the men stood up.

“Lukios! You lucky son of a satyr!” The man had only one eye; his left eye was brown, as was common for Dolkoi’ri folk, and his right had only a patch, which hid the wound that accompanied the rest of the scar that ran from his forehead to his cheek.

It had been a deep wound, and Ba’an knew it likely pulled whenever he spoke or made facial expressions. He had been lucky; some lost the facility of making expressions at all with such an injury, and some even drooled out the side of the mouth. Such were the unfortunate side effects of nerve damage that often accompanied serious lacerations.

At least he seemed to have an even temper, still. Some lost their good humor, though this man clearly had not. Other than his obvious wound, he had very typical features, with dark hair and skin a shade lighter than hers. He had a lean, hungry sort of look, as though he’d grown up without much food. He was grinning widely, walking toward them with an enthusiastic stride. Lukios seemed happy to see him. They clasped hands, and the man kissed Lukios’ cheek. Then he clapped Lukios on the back in a half-hug before releasing him entirely.

“Askles! Lucky is right. Damn good to see you. But why are you in Kyros?”

“You’ll not believe it, sir Lucky. Askles is gettin’ hitched. That poor, poor woman.”

“Shut your hole, Epitus. Least I got a woman. Get back to your horse." Askles turned back to Lukios, still sounding perfectly cheerful. "Anyhow, I’m gettin’ married. Came down to see her da. Damn, Lukios. Strategos had to tell me twice. You’re alive! Let’s get drunk.”

Ba’an saw Lukios wince ever-so-slightly at the word drunk, though no one else seemed to notice. Ba’an did not think Lukios was going to get drunk again any time soon, if ever.

This other man, this Epitus, did not look particularly Dolkoi’ri. He looked more like a desert fox than a man. His complexion was lighter than everyone else’s, and his hair was a reddish-brown colour. He was freckled everywhere, and she thought he must have some foreign parentage. It was common enough; Lukios was clearly of mixed heritage himself with his unusual hair and eyes.

Epitus came up to them with his arms out, clearly expecting a hug, too. He kissed Lukios’ cheek as well and thumped him on the back harder than Askles had.

…Was it a competition?

Lukios only grinned and thumped him back, and Epitus let out a gusty breath.

“Whoo! Still strappin’! Good, good. Was worried you’d gone all limp an’ sickly.”

Lukios rolled his eyes. “Worried? Or hoping?”

“Hey, hey! That was—that was a joke. I did not mean—” It seemed that they were continuing a conversation that had started some time before, and Ba’an rapidly became lost. She did not think ‘limp and sickly’ referred to anyone’s health. It was confusing.

They were all standing together now, except for a dark-haired man who had remained sitting. Unlike the others, who had been lounging in various states of relaxation, he had been sitting properly with his feet on the ground and his elbows on his knees.

Lukios had already warned her, so she kept her expression neutral. But it was a hard thing.

The man was half-K’Avaari. It was obvious: his hair was thick and dark, curling into waves, and his eyes were tilted ever so slightly. The line of his nose curved downward in a way Dolkoi’ri noses did not, and Ba’an was forced to concede that it was a very noble-looking nose. It was clear he had the blood of the People in him, and it had been his mother who had betrayed them with an outlander.

Ba’an bottled her outrage. It would be rude to say anything, and Ba’an—

Well, Ba’an was no longer K’Avaari. So it did not matter if she shared her bed with Lukios or not.

It was different.

She turned her attention back to him, keeping her expression as genial as she could manage.

Nikias. That was his name. He was speaking now, and his voice was very calm and pleasant.

“You haven’t introduced us to your friend, Lukios.” Like Gaios, he was wearing a toga. Ba’an wondered if that meant something—Epitus and Askles were both wearing chitons, like Lukios, though the fabrics used in their clothes were not as fine.

Nikias had only been observing, though it was clear by his smile that he was fond of them. But there was a coolness to him, a sense of reserve.

Ba’an could feel his weave ran a bit tighter, a bit cooler, than was normal. His soul sounded constrained in a way other souls did not. There wasn’t anything wrong; he was merely unusual, like Lukios, except Lukios was rei-tat and so his soul was louder than everyone else’s. This man was quieter than everyone else, and he felt nearly like a weaver himself. Even so, Ba'an thought his gift could not be very strong. Perhaps he merely had a vague sense for when spirits were about, like Vaa’ti and Salu’ka.

This was lucky. Giving outlanders magic—K’Avaari magic—would be disastrous.

“Right! Of course.” Lukios grinned—a real one, not one of his charming ones—and put his hands lightly on her shoulders. “Everyone, this is Ba’an. If you want to thank someone, thank her. She saved my life. Twice.”

“Our thanks, lady Ba’an. And our ‘pologies. He’s a right brat, ain’t he? We’ll pay for whatever ‘e broke.”

“Haha, very funny Epitus. I do have manners. Unlike some people, I even use them.”

“I was bein’ mannerly, Lucky. Can’t have her regrettin’ her good deed, now, can we?”

“Forgive Epitus, Lukios. He’s been real lonely since he left ol’ Hile back home.”

“Hey, hey! Whatsit with you an’ my horse?”

They spoke strangely, but Ba’an could still understand them—somewhat. It was like sitting in the kita-vuti, except instead of boys playing at being men, these were actual men. Ba’an was amused, and glad Lukios had friends, but this was getting out of hand.

She cleared her throat. “Thank you for your greeting. I am glad to meet you.” Of course, they hadn’t really met yet, on account of the two having started squabbling immediately. Again.

“Pardon their enthusiasm, lady Ba’an. I am Nikias, son of Nidemus of House Astros. Our thanks for the safe return of our good friend.”

“Ah, sorry, sorry. Just plain ol’ Epitus of Lofo-Alfos, I’m afraid. It’s a real pleasure.”

“And I’m Askles of Lofo-Alfos. Good t’—to meet you.”

Epitus and Askles bowed to her, though Nikias only inclined his head very gravely in the same way Gaios had. Ba’an wondered if she was supposed to bow too, but Lukios’ hands were still on her shoulders. In a K’Avaari tribe, Ba’an would not have bowed. She had been a witch. She would have only inclined her head in acknowledgement or put her hand to her heart if her greeter had been a chief.

She had hesitated too long. The moment passed.

“Hear, hear,” said Gaios. “Let’s all sit and have a toast then. To the safe return of our Lukios here, and lady Ba’an’s kindness.”

And with that, the dinner started in earnest.