The Closest girl fled.

Jae felt as if she’d eaten a bowl of sand: her throat was dry, her stomach hurt, and she wanted to throw up. She sat on the windowsill and hunched over, her arms wrapped around her stomach. She’d spilled water in front of a grand warden, a member of one of the Highest families. The Highest had no mercy, and there was only one reason he would choose to discipline her in his quarters.

She sank into the bench at the windowsill, waiting, trying to calm down. It wasn’t as if it mattered anyway. In a matter of weeks, maybe days, the Avowed would abandon Aredann and leave the Closest for dead. No punishment would compare to that, but she still couldn’t stop shaking.

Long minutes later, his Highest walked in. Jae swallowed, tasted acid, and stood so she could bow as protocol demanded. Or maybe she should have knelt. The Curse didn’t demand it, since it was only tradition, but she probably should’ve erred on the side of caution, shown extra deference.

Lord Elan threw her an unreadable glance, but if she’d broken with the protocol he expected, he didn’t say anything about it. He shut the door behind him and undid the cord at the neck of his robe. He tossed the robe off thoughtlessly, leaving him in only a long, vivid green shirt and loose pants.

“Cursed heat, I don’t know how anyone stands it out here,” he said as he sat on one of the cushions—or lounged, really, completely at home among the freshly cleaned pillows.

He gestured her back to where she’d been sitting, then tilted his head and looked her over intently. Jae crossed her arms over her chest, her heart beating too fast, wishing she could sink into the floor and disappear. But all she could do was wait.

Finally, he finished his examination. “What’s your name?”

“Jae, Highest,” she murmured, not sure he’d be able to hear her from so far away. She glanced up to make sure he had, then went back to staring at the floor near his feet, then looked farther away. She didn’t dare look any closer. She was already in trouble; she didn’t want to make it worse.

“Jae,” he repeated. “It’s so bizarre to see a Closest inside like this. It isn’t done back home.”

She kept her gaze steady on the floor. He didn’t sound particularly angry, but he could cause her just as much trouble in a good mood.

He gestured at the stone cistern at the edge of the room. “I’ll have a drink.”

The Curse nudged her, and the base of her skull suddenly ached as if something had hit it, the Curse pain starting more quickly than it ever did with Lady Shirrad’s orders. Especially tiny, flippant ones like that. Jae rushed to fill a mug and brought it to him, kept it clenched tightly until he took it, willing herself not to shake. She was here to be punished, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much she dreaded it.

He nodded at her and drank, then settled back down on the cushion, holding the mug lightly in his hand. She tried not to stare at it. Her throat was dry, and she’d barely had a drink all day.

She looked down at the floor again, thinking of Tal instead of Lord Elan. Tal would know what to do here—he’d silently smile, relax, somehow put Lord Elan at ease, make him think they were friends. Jae just had no idea how. She could never do that, not when all she wanted was to run for her life.

Lord Elan held the mug out to her, and she took it to pour the rest of the water back into the cistern. But she’d barely taken a step toward the tank when he said, “You may have the rest, if you want it.”

She turned to stare at him sharply. It didn’t sound like he was joking, and he wasn’t smirking at her. He just looked a little bored, as if he really didn’t care whether she drank it or not. As if any Closest would turn down even a few mouthfuls of water after a day of work. But why would he offer her a drink if he intended to punish her? Lady Shirrad would never waste water that way, and he was a water warden.

She didn’t give him a chance to change his mind. She drank, and the water soothed her throat, if not her nerves. She set the mug down by the cistern and waited. Now when she watched him, it was with curiosity. He tossed his head, shaking black curls out of his eyes, and sighed. “If I miss my servants for anything, it’s chatter. I’ve heard people say ‘as quiet as the Closest’ before, but I never realized how cursed silent you really are.”

She waited for him to ask her a question, something she could answer, and he frowned at her.

Then: “Oh!” and laughter. “If I give you permission to speak, then can you?”

“Yes, Highest,” she said.

He nodded. “Then fine, speak if you want to. I hate the quiet.”

She nodded but had nothing to say. She shrugged helplessly at his expectant look, and finally managed to whisper, “Thank you for the drink, Highest.”

“What was that?” he asked, squinting at her as if that would let him hear better.

She cleared her throat and repeated herself, surprised at how loud she sounded. She wasn’t yelling—she’d never yelled in her life—but she’d almost never spoken above a whisper. And she’d certainly never spoken with any of the Avowed. Answered their questions, yes, but she’d never been granted this kind of permission before.

“Of course,” he said, and gestured toward the cistern again. “Help yourself, if you’re still thirsty.”

Jae all but dove for the mug, filled it, and took a few enormous gulps before he could tell her to stop or rescind his permission. When he didn’t say anything about it, she drank another half mug before setting it down.

“Are you really that thirsty?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“I—well—yes, Highest,” she said. “Always.”

“Oh.” The surprise faded to a frown. “The Lady rations drinking water?”

“Yes, Highest,” Jae said. “There’s so little left at the end of the day….”

“And the reservoir is low,” he said, shaking his head. “So wasting water is a crime.”

Jae tensed again, the water now churning in her stomach. She’d let the drink lull her into calm, but if Lord Elan wasn’t used to rationing water, he probably wasn’t used to withholding it from anyone, either. So offering her a drink hadn’t been a sign of mercy—even though he was the one who’d tripped and spilled the water. If he’d bothered to watch where he was going, nothing would have spilled at all. Not that anyone of his station would ever think of it that way.