Voices filled the air, emotions coursing through them. Standing beside the stove, spoon in hand and the smell of food rising from the pan in front of her, Irikah could hear their sorrow as clearly as if she had been in the room with them. There was one voice that remained absent.

There was no sound from her father. Irikah knew that, if she were to stray out, she would find her father sitting silently amongst the crowds of relatives, a dark shadow amidst the brightness of her family.

He had barely spoken since his wife's death, had suffered through the sea ritual without a word, and now he was spending his days lost in memory. Even surrounded by his family he preferred to cling to the fragments that he had left. Irikah could not help but worry for him.

This was the last day of mourning. Once the family left she had to say something to Brina. Perhaps she should break tradition and stay with him.

Irikah sloshed stew out of the pan and cursed as it landed on her tunic, only succeeding in making it worse as she tried to wipe it off.

"Iri?"

Ennai had crept in next to her. She'd been almost as bad as their father, hiding in her room and only coming out when required.

Irikah slipped her arm around her with a comforting trill.

"What is it, little one?"

"I just spoke to my friend Myrna."

Irikah hummed, stirring the stew and sniffing at it. Something was missing.

"She told me that Dassan has been removed from the Guild, and his father has left. Iri…"

Irikah dropped the spoon into the stew, splashing them both with scalding hot liquid.

"Oh Ennai, I'm sorry," Irikah babbled, racing across to the basin and grabbing a wet cloth. She dabbed at her sister, holding the cool cloth to her skin.

With everything that had happened she had given little thought to Dassan, but if this were true then she had no cause to worry about him ever again. Whilst that was a relief, it also seemed very convenient.

"Did Myrna say why they left?" Irikah asked, turning back to the stew, using a fork to fish out the spoon.

"Master Bristos decided to retire. She did say something about Dassan having 'behavioural problems.' He's been sent to an academy in Nofus," Ennai said.

Irikah turned to look at her sister. "Does this mean you'll be attending Guild now?"

Ennai frowned, then her lips twitched upwards in a small smile. "It does."

"Good. Now, go and tell everyone that the food is ready," Irikah said, squeezing her sister, and sending her on her way. She watched her leave the room, every word sinking in.

There was the distinct possibility that Thane had done this, and if her suspicions were correct then she owed him more than she could say. She had not expected him to take matters into his own hands. This was her issue to deal with.

Once this was all done she would have to contact him, but first there were traditions to observe and relatives to feed. Thane would have to wait.

-0-

She'd chosen the restaurant purely because it reminded her of her mother. Lately she seemed to be purposely searching out traces of her, and the memory of her hung there in the air like the fragrant smoke from the braziers.

It permeated everything, from the soft cushions of the nook she was sitting in to the dark beams that crossed the ceiling.

Her mother had often come from home with the scent still clinging to her skin, and Irikah smiled at the thought. It was an easier memory than those last days, days she was hoping to blot out by retracing her mother's steps.

She'd already ordered a drink—a warm golden wine that her mother had preferred. The sweetness stayed in her mouth and warmed her throat, whispering through her bloodstream. It was pleasant, sitting in the shadows waiting.

Thane arrived exactly on time. He scanned the room with a searching glance before taking his seat beside her.

"Thank you for meeting me," Irikah said, pouring him a glass of wine. He accepted it with a slight nod of his head, and cupped the glass carefully between both hands. He put it down, then picked it up again, frowning.

"How is your mother?" he asked eventually, his gaze flickering between her and his drink.

"She has passed over the sea," Irikah said.

He opened his mouth to speak, and she expected him to come out with the usual platitudes offered by those of the old faith.

"I am sorry she has gone from you," he said quietly and Irikah sighed with relief. She didn't want to hear about Kalahira anymore. She wanted someone to acknowledge the fact that they were the ones left behind hurting. It surprised her that that person should be Thane.

"It is never easy, losing touch with those we love."

"I miss her," Irikah admitted. "I have her memory; she's still in here but…" Irikah touched her chest. "It isn't the same."

"How are your family?" Thane asked, setting his drink to one side and lacing his fingers together.

"My father is finding it hard to accept."

"And Ennai?"

"She is better than I expected. Thane, I wanted to talk to you about Dassan." Irikah took the file out and placed it carefully on the table. "We didn't have a chance to finish our last conversation."

He said nothing, his face utterly blank.

"Ennai spoke to me a few days ago. She said that Dassan had been moved to a different school, and that Master Bristos had taken retirement. His file stated he had another seven years before retirement," Irikah said, taking a sip of her drink. "I wondered if you knew anything about this."

Thane touched his hands to the file then sat back, gazing around the room. The restaurant was almost full, but Irikah had chosen the table carefully. It was set back from the rest and shadowed save for the small light on the table.

"I had hoped to ease your burden," Thane said, his voice barely audible. "When we last met you were distressed, and I took it upon myself to deal with the situation. I apologise if it was presumptuous of me."

"What did you do?"

"I asked a mutual contact to explain the situation. There were no names mentioned, though I asked that it be made clear that he had few options if he wished to keep his reputation intact," Thane said, his fingers drumming lightly on the file.

Irikah reached out and stilled his hand. "Why are you so nervous?"

"I was worried you might be angry with me for taking matters into my own hands," Thane said. His voice held unexpected emotion.

"I'm not angry. I admit I was surprised, but I'm not angry with you. Thank you, for doing this for me and my family." She squeezed his fingers, a rush of warmth washing over her.

Thane stared at her in surprise, and Iri took her hand away, regretting her choice of wine instead of tea. She needed to keep her head clear when it came to Thane.

He had gone still beside her, his fingers curled where she had touched them.

"There was another thing I wanted to talk to you about. The orchid."

Thane's neck flushed, and she knew that he was as uncomfortable as she.

"I can't keep it. The school can't afford the security it needs, and I can't keep it at home."

He looked disappointed, and she felt him withdraw from her a fraction. "I thought it would please you—"

"It does, Thane, it isn't that I don't like it. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Irikah explained. "But that is the problem. I can't keep it safe, and I don't want anything to happen to it."

He looked at her, disappointment replaced by thoughtfulness, and Irikah couldn't stop herself from smiling at him.

"You're going to tell me you have a contact that can help."

"Perhaps. If that is what you wish to hear," Thane said, a smile threatening to break out across his face as he cast his gaze over the restaurant.

She looked at him. The stranger who had gained a name. He had somehow found his way into her life, and given her something she needed and something she wanted, yet she had given him nothing.

"It is," Irikah replied, and he half-laughed, stealing glances at her.

"Would you like to stay and eat with me?" she asked on impulse. "I'm going to order everything my mother liked, and I don't think I can manage it all alone."

"I would like that."

She had no need of the menu, instead choosing everything from memory. The waiter appeared surprised by the vast quantity of food she ordered, but Irikah found she no longer cared. She wanted to lose herself in the memories of her mother, to taste them on her tongue and bring something of her back.

Thane smiled as she ordered, and resumed his watch over the restaurant.

Irikah took another sip of wine. It had been the perfect choice after all.

"What you said earlier, about losing touch with those we love," Irikah said, emboldened by the alcohol. "Who have you lost?"

Thane considered the question, picking up his wine glass and tilting it between his fingertips. "I passed into the guardianship of the hanar at the age of six."

"Ah, the Compact."

"Yes. My family made some effort to remain in contact. At first. After a while I had little to say to them, and they to me. Our lives took very different paths," Thane told her, his voice tinged with regret. "I have not heard from them in years, and I have had no reason to assume they wish to break their silence."

Irikah tried to imagine a life without family, and failed. They were the pattern that gave life structure, the safety net when things went wrong. They were the heart beating beneath her skin, and the thought of living without that was incomprehensible to her.

"I'm sorry."

"You needn't be," Thane replied, but Irikah was not convinced.

The waiter brought a large tray of food over, and within moments there was no space left on the table. She had no choice but to move the bottle of wine to the floor to make space, taking care to place it under the table.

The smells were incredible. Irikah hardly knew where to start, her fingers hovering over one plate then another. Eventually she settled on one that she knew her mother had favoured; crisp fragments of fish scattered with seaweed and fragrant herbs.

"Please, take whatever you like," Irikah entreated, helping herself to a large forkful of food. Thane followed suit, and they sat in silence for a while as they tasted the dishes before them.

She was never going to manage it all, but she didn't care. As the flavours filled her mouth she couldn't help remembering the memories shared with her mother.

Iri looked up with a smile, and before she could stop herself a memory tumbled from her lips. "Candles flicker, her eyes golden in the light. 'Eat up, Iri. Try this,' she says, and I open my mouth. I can taste the sea. She watches me with a smile."

"Your mother…what was she like?" Thane asked, reaching for the wine bottle at their feet and refilling her glass.

"She was stubborn. She thought she knew what was best for all of us. Maybe she did," Irikah mused, remembering the way her mother would chastise them.

"She had eyes like mine, and she was not shy when it came to using them. I remember when she bought an ornament for the front room, it was the ugliest thing you've ever seen, but she loved it. It cost half my father's wages for the month, and when he found out…"

Iri couldn't help laughing at the memory of her father's rage, and the impetuous glare he had received in response. Her mother had a way of quelling them with that look, the one they secretly called her Arashu glare. When she looked like that it was easy to see why people treated them as they did. As special. As Arashu herself.

"Well, he didn't stay angry for long," Irikah admitted. Her parents had melted away together like smoke after the very short argument, and she couldn't help the smallest stab of loneliness. "She would have liked you," Irikah said, and she immediately felt she'd gone too far.

Her mother would have liked him. His quiet, respectful manner, and the way he revered the old ways. There was only the small matter of the fact that Thane was an assassin, and even that wouldn't have bothered her for long. She had married a soldier.

"I will take that as a compliment," Thane said graciously, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Your description reminds me of someone else. Stubborn. Quick to chastise."

"Ah." Irikah looked down at the table, and waited for a moment to let the emotion subside from her voice. "I suppose I should take that as a compliment."

Thane smiled, his fingers curling closer to hers, and the small sound of his comm broke the moment.

"My apologies. I must take this," Thane said, getting to his feet and vanishing across the restaurant.

Irikah watched him leave, then covered her face with her hands. She was slightly drunk, just enough to set her blood humming, or that was what she chose to believe.

Thane was blood in blossoms, dangerous and beautiful. He spoke of absence, but his eyes spoke of loneliness. She couldn't help but want to ease that, to slip closer and smooth the troubles from him. He was no Besyat but something else, something finer and more potent, and she had no place entertaining feelings for him.

"Irikah?"

She jerked her head up to find Thane standing beside the table, his hands tucked away behind him. He was swaying slightly, though she could no longer tell if it was the alcohol or the way he seemed to tilt towards her.

"I must leave. I will be in touch about the orchid."

"Oh." She glanced at the table, at the half-eaten food and the empty seat across from her. "Yes, thank you."

Thane laid a hand on her shoulder. "I am sorry to leave you. I would stay, if I could."

That would have to be enough. She opened her mouth, unable to find the right words, and Thane tightened his grip.

"Goodbye, Irikah."

"Goodbye," she said faintly, not watching him leave. Her memories had become tangled with him. Now when she visited she would no longer see just her mother watching her across the table, but Thane, his dark eyes and his hand moving closer to hers.

She hadn't had a chance to reach back for him. Thane had left her again.