LITMIR.BIZ

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they do, it is minor. It does not drive them to acts of rage or despair.

      “They have no privacy because they don’t need it.”

      Kaylin shook her head, almost compelled to watch, and uncomfortable in the extreme with the compulsion. A world with no privacy? It would be like hell. But worse. She could never escape—

      Escape what?

      “Do they never get angry?”

      “Oh, they can.”

      “Do they never dislike each other?”

      “Possibly,” he said. “I’ve never seen it, but I can’t imagine it never happens. They are not all of the same mind.”

      “But they can’t hide it?”

      “No. They don’t try.” He drew a sharp breath, and she knew that despite his composure he was not unaffected. “But so many disagreements between people occur because they simply don’t understand each other. Or they cannot see a viewpoint that isn’t their own.

      “The Tha’alani never suffer from that. They understand each other perfectly. Or as perfectly as I think it’s possible to understand another person. They don’t get trapped by words. They don’t interpret them differently. They can’t lie to each other. And even if they could, they have no reason to. A lie is a thing we tell to hide something—and they cannot hide from each other.

      “Love, hatred, fear, insecurity—all of these things have been felt before, and will be felt again, and all of them are part of the Tha’alaan. Long before pain festers or breaks someone, it is felt, addressed, uprooted.

      “At least that is my understanding.”

      Kaylin looked at Severn, at his expression. After a moment she said, “You really like these people, don’t you?”

      “Yes,” he said softly. “They’re almost entirely innocent, Kaylin. But I couldn’t live among them.”

      “Why?”

      “Because I’m not. Because even understanding them, I could not live as they live. I know why you fear them. But between the two of us, you could live more easily in the Tha’alaan than I, in the end. What I want isn’t part of their world.” He turned and met her gaze, and his lips turned up in an edged half smile. “I don’t like to share.”

      She almost took a step back. “We should go,” she said, her voice low.

      His smile broadened, but it lost the edge, changing the lines of his face. “Unfortunately,” he said, “we can’t.”

      “Don’t tell me—” She couldn’t even finish the sentence.

      “These are the two we want to speak with.”

      It was several long, embarrassing minutes later. Maybe even half an hour. Kaylin hid it—if it was possible—by engaging the children who were tugging at her legs with their wet little hands. She joined them in their fountains, assiduously avoiding line of sight with the couple; she couldn’t actually watch them without feeling as if she’d accidentally walked into someone’s bedroom. Or worse.

      And explaining why she felt this way was not high on her list of priorities. Explaining why their nudity was embarrassing, explaining why public lovemaking was unacceptable behavior in the rest of the city—the words came and went, and she knew they would make no sense to these people.

      They made so little sense to Kaylin.

      But eventually Severn demanded her attention. He didn’t speak. It was as if the Tha’alaan had seeped into his expression. He tugged at her name, at the shape of it, and she felt him suddenly, was aware of the way he was watching her, was even aware that he had been watching her the entire time she had been playing with small, gleeful strangers.

      She hoped the two lovers had gotten dressed. She didn’t fancy her chances of normal questioning if they didn’t; they were young, and they were sun-bronzed and almost perfect. They were so wrapped up in each other—both literally and figuratively—that she wanted to go away and come back some other day.

      But a child was missing.

      And missing as well was a Tha’alani who was both deaf, and who had spent six months living in Kaylin’s world. She felt a pang of something like pity for him, for someone who had grown up among people who were guileless and sympathetic to everything. The world outside must have come as a shock to him. Or worse.

      Had he kidnapped the child?

      Was the child in some way the child she had seen in the depths of the water in the back of a shop that was far too small to contain what it did, in fact, contain? She didn’t think so; there had been no evidence of antennae, no evidence of the scabbing and bleeding that would no doubt be the result of their removal. And the child in the water was older.

      Severn was standing by the couple when she at last emerged from the water, disengaging very small fingers from her waterlogged pants. It was warm enough that she had chosen to forgo leather for comfort, and she was damn glad of it. It didn’t wear well in water.

      They had, indeed, donned clothing, and if they were still wet, their hair plastered to skin and neck, their antennae weaving as if they were drunk, they wore loose robes that must have taken yards of material to make. Not dark colors, in this sun, but pale blues and greens.

      “Kaylin,” Severn said, speaking Elantran. “This is Nevaron, and this is Onnay.” He pointed first at the male, and then at the female. “The man that we seek is Grethan, and they have been friends for a long time.”

      His words sounded out of place, so few other voices could be heard. But she nodded, attempting to regain her composure. It was easier than she had expected; they were calm and happy and completely free from either guilt or fear. They had not been discovered; no parent would be festering in fury.

      They just … were.

      And they were, to Kaylin’s eye, almost beautiful because of it, which she hadn’t expected. They were perhaps a year or two younger than her. It was hard to tell. They might easily have been a couple of years older.

      But they would never know her life, and instead of resenting them, she felt strangely peaceful. Embarrassment faded, and she let it go, showing it out the figurative door as quickly and cleanly as possible.

      “Ybelline sent us here,” Severn said quietly, “so that we might ask you a few questions about Grethan.”

      Their stalks moved toward each other, touching slightly; they did not exchange a glance. Then again, they probably didn’t have to. The touch would give them room to say anything they wanted.

      “We haven’t seen Grethan for two or three days,” the young woman said. Her words were oddly accented—and Kaylin realized, listening to them, that it wasn’t so much the accent as the enunciation; they pronounced each syllable slowly and carefully, as if speech were both new and foreign. Which, of course, it would be.

      “When you last saw him, was he unhappy?”

      “Grethan is always unhappy,” Onnay said quietly. “We can touch him,” she added, “and we can feel what he feels, and he allows this—but he cannot do likewise for us. We can speak to him when we touch him, but it is … invasive.” She dared a glance at Kaylin.

      Kaylin nodded quietly.

      “He did not allow us to touch him,” Nevaron said, after a pause. “Not in the last day or two. There were very few whom he would allow even that contact before then, and we accept this. It has happened before,” he added. “And it will no doubt happen again.”

      “He is not in the Tha’alani quarter.”

      Onnay’s brows rose. “What do you mean?” she said, each syllable still perfect, still slow.

      “He is not at his home. He is not in the market. He is not where we believe he works.”

      As

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