“You… you see it?” Orlu said, his eyes wide.

“Make it stop,” Sunny said.

“See!” Chichi said. “I was right!”

“Oh, stop,” Orlu snapped. “You don’t know for sure. She could just be sensitive.”

But Chichi looked very smug.

“Do you solemnly swear on the people you hold dearest, on the things dearest to you, that you will never speak of what I am about to tell you to anyone on the outside?” Orlu asked.

“Outside of what?” Sunny shrieked. She just wanted it to stop.

“Just swear,” he said.

She’d have sworn anything. “I swear.” Before she could get the second word out of her mouth, it all stopped, settled, grew still, normal.

Chichi got up, took the empty cups of tea, and walked out. Sunny looked down at the book. The markings had disappeared. She could still taste blood in her mouth.

“Okay, so ask and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” Orlu said.

A thousand things were flying through Sunny’s head. “Just tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

She groaned, exasperated. “What’d we just do?”

“We gave our word,” he said. “That was a trust knot. It will prevent you from telling anyone about any of this, not even your family. I couldn’t tell you anything if we didn’t make one.”

“Chichi would have,” she said.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t ask her. She doesn’t do what she’s supposed to. We’d have all been in terrible trouble if you let things slip after she told you.”

“Let what slip?”

Orlu clasped his hands together. “Chichi and I,” he began, “and our parents are-”

“Don’t bother telling her like that,” Chichi said, coming back in. She was carrying a tray with three fresh cups of tea on it. “She’s ignorant.”