“Father Zajhera used to tell me stories,” she whispered. “He’d sing me to sleep at night.” Kihrin’s throat tightened, but he tried for lighthearted, anyway. “Wait. He can sing?” Janel stared at him in despair. “No,” she said. “He really can’t.”2 She burst into tears. He put his arms around her, drew her to him, and let her cry into his misha. He knew this wasn’t easy for her—crying was embarrassing, messy, a sign of stallion weakness. Kihrin was beginning to understand Jorat put the same expectations on its men that the Capital did; they just allowed some of those men to be female. He held her
...more
