“Abandon Ena-Cinnai?” I said. “Surely not.”
Daziel came to the bed and lay down, pulling me into his arms. His voice was numb. “I don’t know.”
Hours passed; evening came. Eventually, we had to eat. We went to the kitchen and fixed ourselves bowls of leftover lentil soup, taking them out to the garden. “My aunt’s not back yet, is she?” I asked the housekeeper, Madame Chabert.
She shook her head. “She expects to be at the Sanhedrin until late.”
I half expected to be told to return, but maybe Aunt Tirtzah had decided we deserved a break—or perhaps no one needed to talk to a young shayd when an older one was around.
Daziel’sfather.
As though my thought had summoned him, the older man entered the garden—by ordinary means, Chava at his side. She gave us a strained smile and retreated.
“So, this is where you’ve been hiding.” The man looked at me, his eyes as unnerving as Daziel’s the first time I’d seen them. “With a human girl. How quaint.”
Daziel straightened, his posture alarmingly perfect. “Father, this is Naomi bat Yardena.”
“Hello,” I said, uncertain of what to do in this situation.
“Typical-looking for a human, isn’t she?” the man said. “And no style.”
I flinched.
“Don’t be rude,” Daziel said.
Daziel’s father affected surprise. “Never. Let me look at you, girl. I have an interest in human civilizations.”
“Father,” Daziel said warningly.
“What? I fancy myself a bit of an expert.” The man withdrew a pipe from his sleeve and lit it. “I am composing an epic poem on the subject.”
“On humans,” I clarified, just to make sure.
“Yes.” He eyed me. “All so very needy, are you not? Enthusiastic but not very inventive lovers. And hard to shake.”
I flushed hot. Wow. Way to identify and go hard at my insecurities.
“Anyway, it’s time to come home,” the shayd said to Daziel. “Your mother is expecting you.”
“Father, there’s something—”
“I’m really not interested.”
“Naomi and I are betrothed.”
“No, you’re not,” his father said brusquely. “Sixty percent, maybe. Seventy percent at the most. Nothing to worry about.”
“I’m not worried,” Daziel said through gritted teeth. “I’m informing you.”
“And I’m informing you that you haven’t reached your majority. You have previous obligations.”
Previous obligations?
Daziel looked frustrated. Then he shook his head, as though shaking everything away. “How did you know the Ziz was dead?”
“The birds told us,” his father said. “And showed us the body.”
Daziel winced. “When?”
