Kayala said. “Ask her another time.”
“Sorry.”
“No, it is a good question,” Sarabe said, reassuring her, but also following Kayala’s unspoken command. “And I will answer it—briefly—because it’s relevant.” She dared a glance at Kayala, whose lips had thinned, making her teeth much more prominent. The first time she’d seen this, Kaylin had been terrified; now it was just so much bickering. The Leontines could deal damage, yes, but they were also built to take more of it.
Kayala however considered what had been said, and nodded briskly.
“Marcus took me in when my father died.” She smiled.
“His Pridlea was very, very different from my mother’s—it was a bit shocking, at first. But … it wasn’t so fearful. My parents always worried for us. They always watched over us, they always looked at the future with uncertainty. I’m sure it aged them both.
“Marcus did worry about me, but not in the same way. After three days, he treated me like—”
“Like one of his wives,” Graylin said, with a rare smile.
“Which means,” Reesa added, “that he did what she said, more or less, when she said it. I don’t think he noticed it himself, but the rest of us did. There was a bit of a fuss maybe three months in,” she added, the smile growing sharper. “Some people felt that Marcus’s interest in Sarabe was—what is your word? Obscene?”
“I don’t think that’s the right word,” Kaylin replied.
“Actually, Kaylin, it is the right word,” Kayala told her. “They thought it was twisted, and wrong. A small group of the older Leontines—by which I mean those who conform to the Elders, because some of them were young enough to damn well know better—came to see us.”
Kaylin thought about this for a couple of minutes. “Wait, they came to see you here?”
“Yes.”
“And they were all women?”
“Ah, you understand. No, in fact. None of them were women.”
“But you wouldn’t even let Severn in—”
“Not with his genitalia intact, no.”
Kaylin blushed, and Graylin frowned. “Why are you doing that?” she asked softly.
“Well—it’s—”
“You’ve said much, much ruder things at our table.”
“No I haven’t!” Kayala retorted.
“Yes, you have. You’ve said—”
“Graylin.” Kayala lifted a hand. “Very often, when one curses in a different tongue, it doesn’t feel or sound the same as cursing in one’s own. And Kaylin’s colorful phrases all mean the same thing. She’s tired, hungry or angry. And this is why it’s hard to tell you anything. There are always interruptions.”
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