When his sobbing died down and he lay quiescent against her, she murmured, “Do you know when the signs will start? Tomorrow? Next week?”

Trago coughed, sniffed, pushed against her. She let him go and he wriggled away along the bed until he could turn and look at her. He fished up the edge of her sheet and blew his nose into it, ignoring the soft spitting of indignation this drew from her. “Zilos his Ghost said the Chained God gives me three months to get used to this. Then he lets everyone know.”

“Stupid!” She bit down on the word, not because she feared the God, but she didn’t want AuntNurse in there scolding her for staining her reputation by entertaining a male in her bedchamber, no matter that male was her seven-year-old brother, how you start is how you go on Auntee said. “Any hope the god will change his mind?”

“No.” Trago cleared his throat again, caught her glare and swallowed the phlegm instead of spitting it out.

She scowled at her hands, took hold of the long flexible fingers of her left hand and bent them back until the nails lay almost parallel to her arm. Among all the children and young folk belonging to the Piyoloss clan, Trago was the one closest to her, the only one who laughed when she did, the only one who could follow her flights of fancy, his dragonfly mind as swift as hers. If he burned, much of her would burn with him and she didn’t like to think of what her life would be like after that. She smoothed one hand over the other. “We’ve got to do something,” she murmured. She hugged her arms across her shallow just-budding breasts. “I think…” Her voice faded as she went still, her eyes opening wide, staring inward at a sudden memory. A moment later, she shook herself and turned to him. “I’ve got an idea… maybe… You go back to bed, Tre, I have to think about it. Without distraction. You hear?”