The Lions of Al-Rassan by Guy Gavriel Kay

competence and spirit. Say that it . . . pleases me to be on the side of virtue, for once.”
    Ishak was shaking his head. “More, Ammar,” he said, the sounds labored, dragging a little.
    Again ibn Khairan hesitated. “There is always more to what a man does, ben Yonannon. Will you permit me the grace of privacy? I will be leaving Fezana myself tonight, by my own means and in my own direction. In time my motives may become clearer.”
    He turned to Jehane, and she saw by the candle and the light coming in through the window that his eyes were still altered and cold. He had said enough, though; she thought she knew what this was about, now.
    “With the steward . . . unavailable,” he was saying, “it is unlikely the Muwardis will come here, but there must be nothing for them to find if they do. I would advise you to forgo a meal and leave as soon as it is dark.”
    Jehane, grimly subdued, could only nod. With each passing moment she was becoming more aware of the danger and the strangeness of the world she had elected to enter. The morning market, the treatment rooms, all the routines of her life, seemed remote already, and receding swiftly.
    “I also have a suggestion, if I may. I do not know what ibn Musa intends to do now, but you could both do worse than go north to Valledo for a time.”
    “You would send a Kindath to the Jaddites?” Jehane asked sharply.
    He shrugged. “You lived among them during your studies abroad, and so did your father in his day.”
    “That was Batiara. And Ferrieres.”
    He made an exaggerated grimace. “Again, I am crushingly refuted. I really will have to leap out the window if you keep this up.” His expression altered again. “Things are changing in the peninsula, Jehane. They may start changing very quickly. It is worth remembering that with the parias being paid, Valledo has guaranteed the security of Fezana. I don’t know if that applies to internal . . . control by Cartada, but it could be argued, if ibn Musa wanted to do so. It could be an excuse. As for you, I would certainly avoid Ruenda and Jaloña if I were a Kindath, but King Ramiro of Valledo is an intelligent man.”
    “And his soldiers?”
    “Some of them are.”
    “How reassuring.”
    She heard her father make a reproving sound behind her.
    His gaze very direct, ibn Khairan said, “Jehane, you cannot look for reassurance if you leave these walls. You must understand that before you go. If you have no plans and no direction, then serving as a doctor under the protection of Valledo is as good a course—”
    “Why would you assume I have no plans?” It was curious how quickly he could anger her.
    He stopped. “Forgive me.”
    “Where?”
    She would not have answered Ammar ibn Khairan, for any number of reasons, but she had to tell her father. He had not spoken a word to her in four years before this afternoon.
    “Ragosa,” she said quietly.
    She had never even thought of it until ibn Khairan had begun his speech, but once the name of the city was spoken it seemed to Jehane as if she had always been heading there, east towards the shores of Lake Serrana, and the river and the mountains.
    “Ah,” said ibn Khairan, thoughtfully. He rubbed his smooth chin. “You could do worse than King Badir, yes.”
    “And Mazur ben Avren.”
    She said it too defiantly. He grinned. “The Prince of the Kindath. Of course. I’d be careful there, Jehane.”
    “Why? You know him?”
    “We have exchanged letters and verses over the years. Books for our libraries. Ben Avren is an extremely subtle man.”
    “And so? That is a bad thing in the principal advisor to the king of Ragosa?”
    He shook his head. “Tonight you are asking that particular question of the wrong man, actually. Just be careful if you do get there. Remember I told you.” He was silent a moment, half-turned to the window. “And if you are to get anywhere, not to mention myself, we must bring an end to this encounter. I believe I hear voices