The Sponsors Series, Book 2: The Second Sponsor

By Wanda Walker

Not even a year after his Choosing, Zhas is leaving his first cruel sponsor behind. Despite a grouchy new sponsor by the name of Uhana Maarik, Zhas now has the freedom and time to explore the city of Bhajar—the heart of the Hahnar Empire. Yet his new autonomy presents various challenges, mainly those created by the irascible zhalja Jhamar-ja Ghani, the graceful and unflappable royal zhalja, Rhazaaq-ja Qizham, and the mysterious and beautiful Myla, whose love does not come for free. While trying to deal with a sponsor who rejects luxury (and zhaljas altogether), Zhas must decide what kind of zhalja he’s meant to be and what allies he wants to make. Zhas once knew who he was, but now he’s beginning to question, and not all of life’s lessons are kind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wanda Walker
• Release date: Mar 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463426708

Wanda Walker

Wanda Walker has been writing since she was eight years old, and she hasn’t stopped since. She received her B.A. in English Writing and Studio Arts from the University of Pittsburgh. When she’s not writing, she’s an artist, daydreamer, and chronic internet surfer. Sometimes she leaves the house, but only when her refrigerator is empty.

Book preview

The Sponsors

Book Two: The Second Sponsor

By Wanda Walker

Copyright © 2020 by Wanda Walker

All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including scanning, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Cover art © 2018 by Wanda Walker

Published in the United States of America

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either product of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Uhana-ja Zhas

Chapter 2: The Market

Chapter 3: Returning to the Baths

Chapter 4: The Cultural District

Chapter 5: Uhana-zhi Zarileh

Chapter 6: Jhamar-ja Ghani

Chapter 7: Myla

Chapter 8: The Exalted Rhazaaq Zhafal Ahn Qabid

Chapter 9: Bhevas Spent Wisely

Chapter 10: The Smiling Merchant

Chapter 11: Bazha Jabari

Chapter 12: Exploring Bhajar

Chapter 13: An Old Sponsor

Chapter 14: A Royal Affair

Chapter 15: Scars and Bruises

Chapter 16: A Sincere Apology

Chapter 17: Out with the Old

Chapter 18: In with the New

Chapter 19: His Return

Chapter 20: A Choice

Chapter 21: The Third Sponsor

About the Author

Other Titles

Excerpt from Book 3

CHAPTER 1

Uhana-ja Zhas

WHILE THE YHANA School for Zhaljas had not been located within the walls of High Peak, it had been nearby, away from the ruckus and danger of Bhajar’s lower districts. However, one needed to pass through several of Bhajar’s largest markets in order to reach the bay, and it all left Zhas both frightened and enthralled. From atop his camel he felt safer than he might have on foot, but other men rode camels, too, and such men looked far fiercer than Zhas. Zhas had not seen such chaos since run him for a moment before sighing and stepping away from the gate. Come on in then.

Bali led Zhas to Ghani’s bedchamber. He was sitting on the windowsill like last time, reading and looking as utterly innocent as a zhalja should. His ability to run a double life amazed Zhas, and while Zhas knew he should have told Bali, the friend he told everything, for now he would keep it a secret. He didn’t want to make an enemy of Ghani, but he also wanted to keep this one thing to himself.

Hello, Zhas, Ghani greeted indifferently.

Can I speak with you? Zhas looked over his shoulder at Bali. Privately?

Bali appeared very confused and slightly hurt, but he nodded his head and left the room, closing the door behind him.

So you haven’t told Bali? Ghani asked.

No, Zhas whispered, stepping closer in fear Bali might eavesdrop. Have you seen Nambra since last time?

I will tonight. Did you get in trouble with your sponsor?

Yes. He wouldn’t let me leave the house for a week and I had to help servants with their chores.

Ghani snorted, rolling his eyes. "How barbaric."

Zhas was not much a fan of Ghani’s sarcasm, but he ignored it. I wanted to ask you about Myla.

What about her?

Do you know her?

"Vaguely. She’s Nambra’s friend. She was curious about our little session a week ago and seemed quite taken with you."

Zhas felt himself flush with both embarrassment and pleasure. Will you and Nambra smoke more opium or…?

Ah, no, we’ll most likely walk around, chat a bit, shop. She never has any money, so she likes me to buy her little things if I can. It’s not good to smoke too much opium. You get addicted, and soon you’re there every night, wasting money and time.

Would it be at all possible to come with you?

Why would you want to come with Nambra and me?

What if Myla came, too?

Ghani twisted, removing his legs from the windowsill and placing them on the floor. For once, he appeared interested. "You like her."

I barely remember her.

But you asked her to marry you. You wanted to run off and become pirates.

I cannot be held accountable for what I said under the influence of opium!

Ghani laughed, standing. There’s no reason to feel ashamed, as everyone was very amused. If you would like, you can come with. I will see if Myla can join us. Do you want to…? Ghani made a jerking motion with his hand near his pelvic region.

What? No! No, I only want to… Zhas trailed off, because he didn’t know what he wanted. Myla was a woman of whom he only had fleeting memories. Perhaps she was not beautiful at all, but instead an old crone with a snaggletooth. However, he’d never desired someone so much in his life, and he wanted to feel that rush again. He needed to learn more about women. I only want to speak with her.

Alright. Ghani didn’t appear to believe him, but he shrugged. Meet me by the Middle Baths an hour before sunset. Make sure to inform your charges where you are so you don’t get in trouble. Then I will show you the way and we will meet Nambra at the brothel. She can invite Myla to come with, but I can’t guarantee that Myla will have the time or the desire. I suggest you bring some money to make it worth her while.

Zhas nodded. He wasn’t sure if money were possible. Usually he had to go to Maarik for that, and Maarik needed a great deal of convincing, even for a few jhatas. Zhas doubted Maarik would even be home until late that night.

When Zhas emerged from the room, Bali was waiting by the railing, arms crossed over his chest.

What was that about? Bali asked.

I just wanted to discuss Tariq Hassal.

I thought he refused to talk about it.

I’m hoping to convince him.

Bali sighed, reaching out and clamping a hand on Zhas’s shoulder. I don’t know why you waste your time. He’s an ass.

Zhas turned, and together they headed down the veranda together. The good thing about living with Hassal and Maarik is that I’ve learned how to deal with the prickliest of people.

***

IT WAS DIFFICULT to find Ghani when he wore a plain brown khabil like a servant might, but he was easily one of the most attractive people milling around the street, so Zhas managed.

I was worried you’d go without me, Zhas said.

Did you bring money? Ghani asked.

Only a few jhatas. Maarik wasn’t home, and it was all Jhav had.

Your sponsor doesn’t give you any money?

Not really. Does yours?

We all know to ask him when he’s drunk. He’s rather generous when he’s had too much wine.

Maarik is never drunk, despite always drinking.

Ghani and Zhas headed down the street, side by side. Ghani had brought an unlit torch for the dark passageways on the way home. Zhas admired his forethought.

At least Maarik trusts me a bit more now, Zhas said. Hassal would never let me have any money. But—uh, I guess you know that.

Ghani just nodded, frowning slightly.

Why don’t you want to talk about it? Zhas asked.

I didn’t invite you so that you could interrogate me about Tariq Hassal.

Ghani’s avoidance of the topic irritated Zhas. It wasn’t like Zhas was some nosy stranger who liked to hear stories about torture and misery. He had lived it, and if Ghani never discussed it, how could he possibly move on?

Zhas pulled up a sleeve on his arm, showing Ghani the scar running along his wrist and lower forearm. He’d carry the scar for life, he knew, but he was done feeling ashamed about it. If I show you mine, will you show me yours?

Ghani stopped walking, his gaze falling to Zhas’s scar. There was a long, poignant silence, and finally Ghani looked back into Zhas’s eyes.

Did Hassal do that?

I did.

Ghani stared at him a bit longer, then sighed and looked away. How many times did you try?

Only once. Maarik… Zhas paused, a realization coming to him. Did you know Uhana Maarik? I asked him about you and he said you’d met.

A few times. By the time he and Hassal became business partners, I was only there a few more months. He paid no attention to me, and I none to him. I remembered his missing eye.

Yes, it took a while to get used to.

Is he as cruel as he seems?

No. He is very strict and stubborn, but he’s not unreasonable. He’s threatened twice to whip me, but so far that hasn’t happened. Zhas stepped aside as a man led four camels past them, then showed Ghani his hands. You can see the blisters from when he had me doing chores. I suppose I’m not meant for physical labor.

Ghani chuckled, and they continued walking. Jhamar Ata sometimes threatens punishment, but he never follows through. It’s why the rest are so undisciplined and unruly. It’s embarrassing at times, the way they all act.

They know how to have fun.

"Their jobs are not to have fun. They’re supposed to be advocating for their sponsor at the Upper Baths."

Do you?

Ghani snorted. I’ll never show my face there again. After some zhaljas spread rumors that I started a fight with a sponsor, I don’t think anyone would talk to me.

Tariq-ja Lawhi and Waliq told me that.

Those two are idiots, and they’ll say anything if people will listen to them.

Qizham told me that the fight was between Lama Jhad and Tariq Hassal. Is that true?

Yes. Ghani turned to Zhas. Qizham, you said?

You know him? He said he knew you.

We’ve met a few times.

Please don’t tell me he was awful to you.

"No, Qizham is a good person. I don’t think anyone has anything nasty to say about him, ever. It’s rare for any zhalja to be decent, but he is."

Qizham and I are friends.

Ghani lifted an eyebrow, looking doubtful. But you are only an Uhana zhalja, and he is a zhalja to the prince.

I know. I don’t understand it either.

They walked in silence for a few minutes until finally Ghani sighed and rolled up a sleeve to show Zhas what Zhas had caught a glimpse of the week before. Along his upper arm were a dozen or so small cuts, some more healed than others.

You did those? Zhas asked softly.

Yes.

Why?

Ghani shrugged, his sleeve falling back down his arm. Pain distracts me. Every time I think about Hassal and what happened, I do this to get my mind off of it. I started when I was with Hassal, and I never stopped.

I’m sorry, Ghani.

I don’t trust zhaljas. But… maybe I can trust you. I heard you with Bali after you left my room, and you didn’t tell him the truth.

I might eventually. I know that if I tell him, he’ll tease me and want to see where we went. For now, I want it to be between us.

A hint of a smile touched Ghani’s mouth before it slipped away. I still don’t want to talk about Tariq Hassal.

We don’t have to.

Now Ghani smirked. We can talk about Myla.

Zhas groaned and shook his head while Ghani laughed.

***

NAMBRA WAS WAITING for them when they arrived at the brothel, and this time there were more women in the front room, some smoking tobacco from a hookah while others brushed their hair and put on make-up. All of them looked at Ghani and Zhas with interest when they entered, especially the younger ones. Nambra had to shoo them away before sliding her arm through Ghani’s and glowing with pride.

Should we walk?

Zhas was hoping that Myla might join us, Ghani said, still smiling at Zhas’s expense.

Oh? Nambra twisted around to face her fellow whores. Someone go find Myla.

A girl slipped past the curtain covering the doorway, in search of Myla.

You liked her then? Nambra asked with a smile.

I don’t remember her well, Zhas admitted, feeling his face grow hot. I only wanted to… thank her.

Of course. Nambra winked. Moments later, Myla appeared behind the girl who had left, her shorn head covered by a heavy red veil that was frayed at the edges. There were parts of her that Zhas remembered, such as her short stature and dark complexion, though she was a tad more portly than he recalled and her skin was not as smooth in the better lighting. Still, he thought she was perfectly lovely, and even more so when she beamed at him.

I missed you, she said, touching his arm. I’m so glad you returned.

We’re not planning on anything, Ghani told her, in case she assumed Zhas was her next customer. I wanted to take Nambra shopping, and Zhas asked if he could come with. We thought you might want to join us.

Oh. Her smile faded a moment.

I don’t have much money to pay you, Zhas said, fumbling for the pouch inside his khabil. Um, you don’t have to come. I only thought I’d offer.

There was a flicker of uncertainty on her features before she finally nodded. I will join you. It’s just a stroll with friends, right?

I don’t want to interrupt your, er, work.

It’s fine. She waved her hand dismissively. I could use some air.

Then let’s go. Ghani reached down and pinched Nambra’s rear. She yelped and slapped his arm, laughing. They rushed out onto the street in a fit of giggles while Zhas and Myla followed more somberly.

Zhas had remembered his interactions with Myla coming much more easily, but he imagined most of that had been the opium, not his skill with women. He also recalled asking her to marry him, and he felt embarrassed about that.

I’m sorry I asked you to run away and become a pirate with me, Zhas blurted. That was very stupid.

Myla chuckled, shrugging. It’s not the first time I’ve heard it.

It’s not very zhalja-like behavior.

And this is? She lifted an eyebrow.

No, I suppose not. I don’t usually do this.

You mean smoke opium and consort with prostitutes?

Yes. Zhas paused as Nambra laughed in front of them, pressing her side more firmly against Ghani’s. Ghani had to stand on his toes to whisper something in her ear, and she slapped him again. Those two seem close.

Nambra is a romantic. She’s always been fascinated with zhaljas. When she saw Ghani, she was already in love.

How did they meet?

"Ghani was walking about, and she spoke to him for a bit. I told her she was foolish, calling him her lover as opposed to her customer, but Nambra is as stubborn as a donkey. She will live her fairy tale her way."

You are friends then?

Myla nodded. Have been for a while. She’s not from Bhajar, so I had to show her around, teach her everything.

Forgive me if this is rude, but how old are you?

Nineteen. You?

Sixteen.

You look much older.

Really?

Myla reached up and tugged on the seam of his khabil where the arm met the torso. You’re quite tall.

To you, maybe.

Myla laughed, and warmth spread through Zhas knowing he amused her. "That’s true. I didn’t know zhaljas were tall. Do you tower over rich men? Do they hate that?"

I am taller than some duzhaq, yes.

"Duzhaq? Is that your fancy word for rich men?"

Free men of means, yes. You don’t use it?

"Rich men works fine for us. We need no polite words."

"I’ve never been scorned for being tall. That is the one thing I’ve not been criticized for."

What have you been criticized for?

A wide range of things.

Nambra stopped at a man seated by the side of the road selling cheap jewelry and trinkets. She placed a circlet upon her crown so that the glass beads hanging from it made a V along her forehead.

Look at me, she joked, striking a pose. Ghani, should I make a fair zhalja?

You’ll need to learn some manners first.

I have manners. She stuck out her tongue at him, then returned the circlet to the man. She bought a wooden ring for a jhata, which Ghani provided.

What’s it like, being a zhalja? Myla asked. I’ve never spoken to one outside of Ghani. I’ve only met whores who imitate them.

It’s probably not as glamorous as you think.

Most things aren’t. But you do wear gold, yes?

Yes, that is one aspect.

Myla sighed longingly. Once I went to the baths and I saw a few. They were all so handsome. They looked like works of art.

Zhas assumed she had gone to the Middle Baths, because there was no way she’d be allowed entrance into the Upper Baths.

There are some whores who wear gold like that, Myla continued. But they are much prettier than me.

I think you’re beautiful, Zhas muttered to his feet.

Myla slipped an arm into his, making Zhas’s heart flutter. I think you are, too.

Wonderful. We’re a good match then.

Myla reached over and patted him in the center of the chest. So we are.

They strolled for a bit, looking occasionally at wares to sell but passing them all up on their way to the docks. Once they reached them, Nambra insisted on descending to the beach. There was a set of rickety wooden steps that led down to the sand, and Ghani offered to go first, as he was the smallest. Once at the bottom, he held out his arms to Nambra, asking her to jump.

There is no way! she called down to him. You are more nymph than man!

Come down here so that I can chastise you for that remark.

Nambra laughed, then let out a loud whoop! as she stumbled on the steps and nearly flipped over the railing in her effort to regain her balance. Zhas rushed forward without thinking and caught her around the waist. When she twisted around to face him, she was grinning.

"How can I ever thank you, kind sir?" she cooed while fluttering her eyelashes.

You can drop her! Ghani shouted up, and Nambra giggled, twisting away from Zhas to continue down the steps.

Would you like help? Zhas asked Myla, because it seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do.

Myla slipped her hand around Zhas’s waist, nodding. Thank you.

Holding one another around the middle, Zhas and Myla went down the steps together. It wasn’t necessary, but the slight sway of the staircase made Myla press her body close to his. Zhas couldn’t recall any previous contact that had filled him with so much delight.

Aww, look at them, Nambra joked as Myla and Zhas stepped onto the sand. When’s the wedding?

Leave us alone, Nambra, Myla replied, but her arm was slow to leave Zhas’s waist.

Come on! Nambra began to jog down the beach, only visible by a thin outline of moonlight along her form. The tide is out, and the water is calm.

Nambra, don’t go in the water! You can’t swim.

Don’t tell me what to do, little man.

Ghani ran to grab her as she began treading through the froth the receding waves left behind. She shrieked with laughter and pushed him back. After a brief struggle, they ended up tripping in the sand and falling over one another, resulting in sputtering laughter and play fighting.

She really does like him, Myla said to Zhas as they watched. I thought she was mad, rejecting payment from someone with the means to provide. But Nambra doesn’t believe in paying for love.

I’ve never seen him so cheerful.

Myla took a few steps forward, her khabileh snapping in the ocean breeze. After standing in silence a moment, she twisted around to face Zhas. Would you like to test the water with me?

Zhas had never touched the water before, despite seeing it a few times with Bali and company. He took the hand Myla offered him and headed down a few paces from where Nambra and Ghani still fought, his feet sinking into the wet sand as the water pulled it out from under his feet. The waves were warm and gentle, but Zhas still feared their wrath, as well as the vastness that laid beyond. He did not know how to swim, and he could imagine being pulled out to that thin line where the ocean met the stars.

My mother loved the ocean, Myla told him softly. She liked how it could not be picked apart, plowed, and shaped by human hands. She said that men are scared of whatever they cannot tame, and that is what sits at the root of our fear of the sea.

Your mother sounds like a very wise woman.

She was, yes. There was a hint of sadness in Myla’s voice, though she hid it well. What about your mother?

What about her?

What was your mother like?

She was fierce. She never said anything twice. She could gut a river hog in less than a minute.

Myla stared at him a second, the whites of her eyes glowing in the moonlight. Then she laughed.

"Your mother gutted hogs? I have such a hard time seeing that. Where are you from?"

A place very far from here. It was just a village in the jungle.

"The jungle? My God. She reached out and touched his wrist. I can hardly see you as some kind of jungle warrior."

My father was, and so were my brothers. My mother hunted with them, too, when she could. She liked to do that. Zhas looked down at his feet as a wave slid over the sand, wetting everything below his ankles. He gathered his khabil in a fist to keep the hem dry. I would have joined them if I’d been a few years older. At thirteen, boys must prove their manhood by killing a leopard. I had been training for such a task on hogs and okapi.

What is an okapi?

A large antelope-like creature with white stripes.

I cannot imagine it. Could you kill a leopard now?

Zhas couldn’t help but smile at the idea. Find me a leopard and we shall see.

Were you kidnapped then?

Zhas sobered. Yes. Strange men, two of whom were Hahnars, raided the village. They killed the older boys, as they were seen as threats. I remember them killing some of the older women too—anyone who could not be sold at a premium price. I was the only one they brought all the way to the Hahnar Empire.

Myla’s hand on his wrist slid up to his arm, her moonlit features creased with sympathy. I’m so sorry, Zhas. It is a cruel thing, slavery.

It’s just best not to think about. Zhas cleared his throat before asking. Are you…?

A slave? No. I might as well be. My father had significant debts he couldn’t repay, so I became an indentured servant to pay off his debtor. I don’t think I will ever pay it all back.

I’m sorry.

What are you two whispering about? Nambra interrupted, her smile glinting in the low light. Behind her trailed Ghani, dripping wet and grinning.

Oh, nothing.

Such sad faces. Nambra reached over and squeezed Zhas’s face between her hands. Be a happy zhalja!

Hey, hands off! Myla chided, slapping Nambra’s arm away. Nambra reached down to gather some water in her cupped hands, then flung it at her friend. With a squeal, Myla chased her around Zhas and down the beach, kicking water and shouting at her whenever she was within reach.

Why are you dry? Ghani asked, wringing his arms and rubbing moisture from his face. Myla must be more polite than my little devil.

It seems so.

Well then… Ghani grabbed Zhas’s wrist and jerked him forward, forcing them both into knee-high water. Zhas gasped, then shoved Ghani back into the waves. However, Ghani had not released his grip on Zhas’s wrist, so they both went tumbling.

Ghani!

Ghani laughed and stumbled away as Zhas sought his revenge. Soon Nambra and Myla joined in their water-flinging games, and Zhas forgot about hunting leopards.

CHAPTER 2

The Market

THE COURTHOUSE WAS nearly as large and imposing as the Upper Baths, though it was not located in High Peak. The complex occupied several city blocks, and one had to climb at least twenty marble steps to reach the front doors. Rhama promised to look after Qam on the street while Zhas took care of business, so Zhas entered through the main gate alone. The courtyard inside bustled with activity, filled with crowds of every flavor. Zhas had little trouble blending in, though he was one of the few who walked all by himself. He hadn’t a clue where to go, but he followed the flow of the masses into the antechamber, where several men in the strict black khabils darted about—law clerks, most likely.

Excuse me, Zhas said to one who wandered nearby. The man stopped and turned to face Zhas, his expression withdrawn. One of Hassal’s few positive influences was that not much frightened Zhas anymore. When he had graduated, such a man might have intimidated him, but Zhas only feared the rude men he could not escape.

Yes?

I need to know where to register a new sponsorship.

The man looked him over. You are too young to be a sponsor.

I am a zhalja.

You cannot register your own sponsorship. Your sponsor must do it himself.

But I already have the contract. Zhas showed him the scroll. It has been signed and everything.

No, your sponsor must register it.

With a sigh of frustration, Zhas asked, Well, would you happen to know where I might acquire a pass to the Upper Baths?

Again the man’s gaze flickered from Zhas’s feet before returning to his face, doubtful. Zhas was aware he looked like a servant, but he didn’t see how that should keep him from the Upper Baths. After all, it was based on Maarik’s family name, not Zhas’s fashion choices.

Finally the man lifted a hand and pointed to a hallway behind Zhas. Go down that hallway and into the Family Library. Someone will assist you.

Thank you, shuma.

The man rolled his eyes, but Zhas made no comment. He followed the clerk’s instructions and walked down a long hallway lined with doors and flickering lamps. Zhas had to pass by a group of well-dressed men, and he felt their suspicious eyes on him. If he were a nobleman’s son, he might be allowed in this building at such a young age; most Hahnar boys were considered men by fifteen. However, dressed as he was, he did not look such. Zhas hoped no one from the Upper Baths recognized him. Luckily the courthouse was not a place many zhaljas visited.

The library he entered smelled like aged parchment, and it was not very well lit. The tall windows on either side were covered by dark curtains, leaving only slices of sunlight to illuminate the marble floor. It was utterly quiet inside, which made Zhas afraid to ask for help. Luckily a young man only a few years Zhas’s senior approached him just seconds after his arrival, dressed in heavy white robes and wearing a matching turban.

Can I help you?

I need a pass to the Upper Baths, Zhas murmured softly.

Name?

Uhana. Uhana Maarik.

And you are?

His zhalja. Zhas pulled the scroll from inside his sleeve and showed the man the names on the document. Unlike the first man, this one did not question the document’s or Zhas’s veracity. He simply nodded and asked Zhas to wait while he checked to see if Maarik was on the register. Only families of certain standing were allowed into the Upper Baths, and because Bhajar was so punctilious about bookkeeping, very few could con their way in.

When the man returned, he carried a gold plate attached to a chain, just like the one Maq had carried to get them entrance into the Upper Baths nearly a year ago.

Are you the only zhalja? the man asked.

Zhas nodded.

Very well. Here you are.

Zhas took the chain and pulled it over his head, where the plate sat against his sternum. Would you happen to know if I can register a new sponsorship?

Of course.

Really? Someone else told me that my sponsor would have to do that.

"Well, that’s normally seen as the right way to do it but… The young man shrugged. You have the documentation, so I don’t see why it should be any trouble."

Forty-five minutes later, Zhas emerged from the courthouse having accomplished both tasks he’d come to do. For once he felt useful, and his spirits had lifted by the time he descended the steps back to the street. Rhama sat against Qam’s kneeling form, making knots in a strip of leather. When he saw Zhas, he leapt to his feet and cajoled Qam to a stand.

The market next then? Rhama asked.

Yes, that would be lovely, thank you. Zhas paused. What market would you suggest?

Rhama glowed with pride at being asked such a question by someone so far above his station. What ones have you seen, shuma?

Not many. Only those in High Peak.

Not even Umehen? Rhama asked, aghast. "That’s the biggest one! You can find anything there—anything. One time I saw an old woman selling dead newts for witchcraft. Rhama made claws with his hands. And human eyeballs!"

Zhas would take that story with a grain of salt. I currently have no need for human eyeballs, but should I decide to put a curse on our neighbor, you may take me to see this old woman.

Rhama laughed. Zhas put his age around eleven or twelve, and Zhas found it hard to believe someone so child-like was only a few years younger than him.

Why don’t we visit a smaller market for now? Zhas asked. A place where I can buy a nice khabil.

"You can buy those anywhere, but I know a place with good prices. Rhama gestured to the saddle. Shall we go then, shuma?"

As Zhas climbed aboard, the street was quiet enough for the silence to feel a bit awkward. Bored, Zhas asked, Rhama, do you live with Uhana Maarik?

Oh yes, shuma. I have a room above the stables. Nothing much, of course, but I don’t need more than a bed. He twisted back to grin at Zhas.

What about your family?

I’m a slave, shuma.

This shocked Zhas, and he didn’t know why. Slaves were common in Bhajar—after all, Zhas was one of them. But not all slaves were equal. In school, the word slave was never mentioned, as if associating the lofty and honorable position of zhalja with that of a common laboring slave would tarnish it. A zhalja still occupied a higher place in society than a poor free man, only because they had the important, respected family names of their sponsors.

I was sold by my mother a few years ago, Rhama continued, ignoring Zhas’s surprise. She’s an all right mother, I suppose, but she had too many of us and there’s not much work for you if you’re free. They don’t pay you as a slave, but they give you a roof over your head and some food. I worked on one of the master’s ships for a bit and convinced Jhav to buy me. I like the life of a stable boy much better. As much as I enjoyed the ocean, the sailors aren’t the kindest lot, and, well… Rhama shrugged. "I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut. I’m safer with