“Answer me this: what is Ralia like?” “In general, or for men like me?” “Both. Either.” I stared at the floor. “I don’t know,” I said, pulse jumping oddly. “It’s not … what else do I have to compare it to, really? This is the only other place I’ve ever lived, and I’ve hardly been here long.” I fell silent, but Naza waited me out as I drained my cup, more swiftly than was sensible on a half-empty stomach, and eventually, without meaning to, I spoke, the wine-loosened words tumbling out of me like marbles from a pouch. “What’s Ralia like? It’s a place. It’s home. It was never home. It’s warm
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