The lufe's daughter wore a white linen dress. Between us, a table of clear pine whose smooth boards were carefully scrubbed by Marwenn after each of our meetings. On the varnished wood rested two clay bowls and an elegant kettle of hammered brass, from which rose the refreshing fumaroles of a mint decoction. A few steps behind us, the old nurse was watering the aromatic garden, and the whole terrace was bathed in the pervasive smell of damp earth. From the embroidered stool where I sat, I could let my gaze slide from the rustling pastures and forests of the valley to the eternal snows of the nearest peaks. If I turned to the other side, there was the stony slope of the peak, the succession of fortified gates and the lauze roofs of Su-Lanté which disappeared at the turn of the mountain. Since the arrival of fine weather, large butterflies with purplish wings came to rustle around the table, and some even had the audacity to land on the varnished edges of our wax tablets. I still sometimes interrupted the lesson to admire them.

During the last few weeks, Breanna's behavior had changed. The young woman sometimes became tactile when Marwenn turned around, giving me little touches that pretended to be accidental, or more frank gestures, intended to draw my attention to a word engraved in the wax, or an incongruous scene, or a bird, but which she would never have allowed herself to do under the eye of the nanny or another of her relatives. I began to find some of her looks longer or more direct than necessary. I didn't care yet, not really, because I wasn't quite sure of anything. It could be that this was simply another step in physical intimacy, a new dimension to our growing complicity. Breanna enjoyed accumulating transgressions, flouting all the rules of propriety to which she was bound. And somehow, this delighted me.

I found the Ceras to be very demure about matters of the flesh. They placed great importance on family and motherhood, and both men and women were expected to preserve their virginity until they were married (I had also heard that it could be offered to the mountain spirits, though I didn't know what this entailed). The very idea that two men or two women could unite was considered absurd, while such relationships were the only ones tolerated outside of marriage, since no children could be born from them. Passion in general was a subject that was rarely discussed, either in frank discussions or through humor, and when it was mentioned publicly, it was usually in a moralistic tone. The freer morals of their neighbors were widely scorned, and a number of scandalous and untrue rumors were spread in this regard, the most common of which concerned the brownian women and the way in which they offered themselves to the first man they met in exchange for a little money.

In fact, as I had grown up partly among the clans, who love each other quite freely, and later with the Vals, whose philosophy of love was similar, I was very careful in my interactions with the women and girls of the village. Although I had been accepted in Su-Lanté, this didn't prevent the Ceras from imagining foreigners as libidinous and unable to control their impulses, and many men were careful never to leave me alone with their wives. Some of the villagers had formally introduced me to their daughters, and one of them, a porter, had even mentioned the possibility of a future union, but these negotiations between males weren't really my idea of romance. Because of this, I sometimes felt lonely, often awkward, and I was generally wary. It was hard to know how anyone would interpret a smile or an unintentional attention, and I was frustrated by my caution. This behavior only validated what I felt was deeply unfair. I think a lot of the pleasure I took in Breanna's ambiguous posturing resulted from the pleasure I took in contesting it, even secretly. There was also the fact that with the lufe's daughter everything was sufficiently locked that I didn't have to fear the consequences of a harmless flirt, if that was what it was. At least, that's what I thought at the time.

Breanna swept away a piece of hair, turned over her tablet, and showed me the symbols she had carved in the wax. "Cercchen," she said. I raised an eyebrow and took a sip of herbal tea. "It's called krepte, in frank-sabir." "Krepte," Breanna repeated to herself, while I wondered, and then, to show me that she had understood, "Io krepto in coltari." I'm hiding a dagger. I smiled thinly and pointed with my chin to the curved back of the nanny. "We both know she's the one hiding a blade under her clothes. But yes, that's right. And if I heard correctly, the name your people call themselves means they are hidden." Breanna nodded, "We're the ones who hide," she confirmed. "It's strange, I thought you knew that. That's why we live in these mountains." I shook my head. I had purposely asked her to translate the brownian verb, but I didn't imagine for a moment that we would get to the subject that interested me so quickly.

"Ever since I've been here, your father has been explaining to me that you're hiding, that you've been abandoned, that you've returned to your old ways," I stated. "I would love to understand what this is all about. The truth is, I don't know anything about your history, other than what happened in Greyarm, and if I'm doomed to live here..." I paused, aware that I had made a mistake in my haste, and Breanna slowly put down her tablet. "You shouldn't talk that way," she lectured me, staring at me with her big, clear eyes. "Doomed, you say... But I was there when my father granted you life, and you seemed relieved. Is it really so terrible to be here, among us?" I shook my head and sighed. "No, it's not so bad. But it's not what I want either." A heavy silence stretched between us. Behind us, Marwenn was scratching vigorously in her rock garden like an old bear looking for roots.

"I'll tell you why we're the ones who hide, Fyss," said Breanna in a colder voice than she usually had with me. "Perhaps then you'll understand why my father wants you to stay here so much." With that, she poured herself some more herbal tea and moistened her lips, and I knew by her expression that she had taken refuge behind her role as a lady. All familiarity had been banished from the conversation. I leaned back and adopted a reverent attitude, ears wide open, hoping that my thoughtless words had not hurt the lufe's daughter too deeply. I saw Breanna take a deep breath. Despite their reserved manner, the Ceras had a certain taste for drama, and when she began the story she intended for me, her tone immediately became serious and theatrical:

"First of all, you should know that my people is very old and that it was on the Peninsula before all the others, probably even before the wild clans you sometimes talk about. In those days our lands extended to the great forests of the west. We sometimes waged war against the giants and our heroes patrolled the woods to defeat the monsters and beasts that threatened us. Many of our oldest stories tell of these glorious events. We had unequalled warriors, great and fabulous cities and we traded across the strait with foreign rulers and emperors. It is said that even Sarp and the kingdom of Bessan would have envied some of our achievements. We belonged then to the father-people, whom you call Carmians, and we lived in peace. However, as the years passed, many of us became arrogant, and many no longer properly honored the gods. Without their protection, evil gods began to envy us. One day, a witch in league with the outside world spirits went to the king of the giants who was hiding in the forest and proposed a pact. In secret, they gathered an army while the witch insidiously converted the most impious of our people to the cult of evil spirits. Their eyes became dark in the witch's service, until they were as black as soot, but they inherited great strength and other strange powers, and they drew curses on their skin."

As I heard these words, my heart couldn't help but beat faster, and the memory of the Seïd demon came back suddenly, so clear was the connection. Breanna seemed to notice my confusion, but I think she gave full credit to her storytelling skills. "Black", I croaked, and the lady nodded gravely. "Yes, their eyes were as black as their souls, and to this day you can tell an evil wizard by the shade of his eyes. I suppose you must have seen this before, if it was a wizard who took Brindy away." "No," I replied at once, as I frantically searched the past for the peregrine. "His eyes were green." "Then you shouldn't worry about her so much," Breanna assured me without calming me in any way. On the contrary, my mind was racing like a mad horse, and I had to make an effort to tear myself away from my contemplations and listen to the rest of the story:

"After much plotting, the giants struck, helped by the corrupt men who served them and the evil magic of the witch. A great war ensued, the greatest of all wars perhaps, and the Peninsula was split in two, the giants and the evil spirits on one side, the father-people on the other. This conflict lasted for a very long time, but our enemies gained ground, battle after battle, and they built their own cities on the ruins of ours. The giants, helped by sorcery, had become invincible. Foreign ships eventually deserted our ports for fear of what they would find. Despite the defeats, my people persisted in their impiety and arrogance, and some began to pray to the sun. Outraged by the carnage and apostasy, the gods finally sent a great epidemic that decimated everything. To escape, the father-people wanted to retreat to the island we call Carmé. A gigantic fleet was mobilized on the northern coasts, but there wasn't enough room for everyone, and once they left, the ships didn't return. Thelis told me that the ships were set on fire on the beaches of Carmé to prevent them from making further voyages. A Carmian proselyte told him this when he was a child. Many men were abandoned, left behind, fed to the giants and to the plague. Many died. Fortunately, the spirits of the mountain took pity on my people and those who hid there were spared. For centuries my people waited, holed up in the caves and fortresses of the Wall, in fear of giants and disease. Those who tried to leave were put to death, so that they wouldn't bring back the plague or the enemy."

Breanna paused, to stare at me insistently, as if this last sentence held a truth that had escaped me until then. Marwenn took advantage of this moment to throw an inquisitive glance over her shoulder. By reflex, I pretended to engrave something in my wax tablet, which was sweating from the heat. The daughter of the lufe smiled discreetly, satisfied that she had conditioned my weakness so well. "I know very well how it is, Breanna," I said in a voice whose irritation I was trying to banish. "Your father's afraid that after I leave these mountains I will rush to the castle of the primate of Greyarm and reveal to him the path to Su-Lanté. This fear is unfounded. I have no love for the brownian lords, and I would like to spend my life in peace, as far away from them as possible." The lady raised an impeccably trimmed eyebrow. "Wouldn't such a life be better with some gold in your pocket?" she questioned with an overly innocent look. "Today your idea may be clear, but who can know what tomorrow will be made of?"

I shrugged. "That's your father talking again. I'm not interested in brownian gold, I'm not gedesleffe. I was once a slave. I won't put myself through any more chains. But I understand you, too. It will take time. I hope I can show you that I'm trustworthy." I was surprised myself at the conviction in my voice, because to me, if I ever wanted to leave Su-Lanté, escape was still the most obvious solution. Breanna watched me without saying anything for a long time, a curious look on her face. "Do you want to hear the end of my story?" she finally asked. I nodded, and she continued:

"We learned to live in the mountains, to cover our tracks and to thank the spirits who had granted us their mercy. We built roads and great monuments in honor of the spirits. Our augurs showed us the way, and we made contrition. Over the years we became Ceras, the hidden people. The spirits sent a final test, a night that lasted for years, and when the sun returned, our augurs believed that we had been forgiven. We then left the peaks to discover an empty and welcoming land. The giants were gone, probably long gone. We settled down in Grey-March, leaving the coasts to the Brownians, descendants of Sarp. We began to rebuild. Then the father-people returned. They worshipped the sun and made slaves, and their arrogance was greater than ever. Centuries passed. The gods sent more pestilence to show their disagreement, but neither Brownians nor Carmians would listen to our warnings. We were caught between these two nations, as iron is caught between the hammer and the anvil. The father-people were not repentant, and under the guise of alliances, they kept trying to take our lands and convert us to the Stareid. When the armies of the red king arrived, we understood too late that the spirits of the plains and rivers had not forgiven us at all, that they had become mad and evil, and that brownian steel was the instrument of their anger. Those who survived the slaughter in Greyarm fled to our ancient sanctuaries to find our ancient ways, lands and spirits more forgiving. This is the history of the Ceras, Fyss the tespiné, and this is why we're hiding again."

I bowed my head in gratitude, distant and absorbed in the thoughts that the story had just generated. Breanna glanced behind her to make sure Marwenn wasn't spying on us, then her hand moved to wrap around my wrist and I saw her cheeks flush as she leaned forward: "Can't you see that by staying here you have a chance to escape a terrible fate?" she said. "If you're the gods' plaything, then work your way to where the gods are merciful." Her fingers left my skin with haste, and her chest rose quickly beneath the light cloth she wore. I ran my tongue over my lips. "You ask me to give up the only thing I have left. I can think of no fate more terrible than this." Breanna frowned sharply, and I thought she was about to start crying. Then Marwenn's arthritic knees cracked, the nanny got up with a grunt, to put a small pile of weeds on the edge of the parapet. Breanna pretended to scratch her tablet. I let my gaze wander over the slopes of the surrounding mountains, detailing the tiny silhouettes of the many goats grazing there. I suddenly wanted to be somewhere else.

"My father will test you, if you don't change your mind. No doubt he has already begun." The lufe's daughter watched me with a newfound calm, her locked features purged of the slightest emotion, but her eyes gleamed, and she spoke that last sentence slowly, cutting out each syllable. "I hope so," I said softly. "I don't intend to be a prisoner for the rest of my life." Breanna shook her head. "He'll have you killed if you fail, and maybe even if you succeed." I grinned bravely, probably because the lufe was far away with his best warriors, and I was gaining confidence since I was practicing my iron skills again. This time it was my gaze that sought hers, and I caught her blue eyes as I would have stared into those of an enemy. My mind had become dangerous and combative. "And yet he leaves me alone with his daughter and an old nanny," I said, which was true, because there was no soldier with us that day. Breanna held my warlike gaze without ever wavering. "Let's go back to the lesson," she said at last, and since my desire to fight had subsided, that's exactly what we did.