Seeri attempts a laugh but no one else even so much as smiles. Pek still stands motionless. I turn to Shava. Her eyebrows are drawn together in a scowl. She watches Lo, as if waiting for cues.
“Chev’s heart is burdened with regret. He says he owes your clan a celebration in Kol’s honor. My whole family has come, as well as our clan’s council of elders. We’ve brought a feast to serve in your camp tonight.”
“Your council of elders? Does that mean your brother has changed his mind about—”
“He says he values your clan’s friendship very much. He’s brought this feast as a show of good faith. Those were Chev’s own words—good faith. He is sincere about building a bond with the Manu.”
“So then there might really be a chance—”
“I have to go,” Seeri says, and almost as quickly as you, she turns on her heels and disappears in the direction of your hut.
“He must have second thoughts, right?” Pek’s face is a study in contrasts. His eyes are the eyes of a man who’s been lost in a dark cave and who’s finally found the tiniest glimmer of light through a thin crack in the stone—his eyes are alight with the possibility that he’s finally found the way out.
But his mouth belongs to a different face. His mouth is a hard flat line—the mouth of a man who knows his hopes are false, a man preparing himself for the coming sting of disappointment.
“Is one of those girls her?” Shava asks.
Neither of us responds. “Is one of them the girl you spoke of earlier?” she asks Pek.
“It’s none of your concern,” he says, his words jumbling together as if he can’t spit them out fast enough. He turns and heads back up the path in the direction we came.
For a long moment the three of us stand there in silence. Voices reach us from the huts—Chev and my father, laughing.
“I need to leave,” says Lo. “I need to get back to my own camp.”
“But there’s a feast—” I start, but stop when I notice the intensity of my tone. I won’t let myself sound desperate. I take a deep breath and start again. “Wouldn’t you like to stay?”
“I’m not invited—”
“You’re our guest. Of course you’re invited—”
Lo turns her face up toward the sky to the west, and for a moment I think she is wavering, but when she speaks, it’s clear her decision is firm. Perhaps she was just searching for words.
“I promised my father I’d help him with something after the midday meal. He’s our High Elder. I couldn’t break a promise to him.” Lo smiles, but distance opens between us. “Ready, Shava?”
Shava flinches when Lo says her name. It’s subtle, but unmistakable. “I didn’t make a promise to your father to return at a particular time.” She speaks in the tenuous voice of a child who knows she’s going to be in trouble.
“My father will be expecting both of us,” Lo answers. Her tone carries meaning beyond her words. Is a threat implied? “And how would you get back? We came in the kayak together. I need you to paddle it back with me—”
“But this is my old clan. I want to stay for the feast.”
“I have an idea,” I offer. “There’s a trail along the cliffs that circle the bay. It takes longer than crossing by kayak, but it leads to the other shore. I could show you the way. I’ll walk you back to your camp right now, Lo, if you’ll promise to come back later tonight for the feast.” I allow myself the indulgent risk of touching Lo—a light, brief touch on the wrist. Her skin is warm. “You could bring your father with you. My father, I know, would welcome the chance to meet him.”
Lo purses her lips. She shifts her weight from foot to foot as she thinks. “All right,” she says finally. “If you’ll walk me, I promise to return tonight. But Shava, may I speak to you briefly—alone—before I go?”
Shava looks from Lo to me and then back to Lo again. “Of course,” she says.
“I’ll go to the kitchen and get a waterskin for us to take,” I say. As I walk away, I tell myself that Lo is most likely giving Shava advice about Pek. I will not let myself hope that she wants to say anything in private about me.