The courtesan's chamber, despite her presence there with him, offered Daga by a small margin what was the greatest measure of privacy he'd enjoyed since his arrival in An-Teng. His own rooms were shared with three mortal cousins that had been sent along with him when he'd left home, accompanying him as servants that might see to matters beneath his attention, but with the largely-unspoken additional purpose of claiming his seed for the good of the house. There had actually been four of them when they'd first departed, but the prettiest of the lot -- having reached that goal -- had set off with the retinue of Daga's senior magistrate to return home for all the pampering and praise she was due.<br/><br/>The consequence was that, though the courtesan was lovelier than any of the women waiting for him in his own chambers, he discovered that it was the sense of privacy she offered that appealed to him the most. The flattery of his house, meanwhile, was still appreciated for what it was, even as it rang utterly hollow. Daga answered it without words, offering a small, knowing smile as he crossed to one of the windows to gaze out at the river.<br/><br/>After another silent moment, he shut his eyes. The outcome of his conversation with Tepin Arisu still loomed large in his mind and so, out of all the thoughts the water might have conjured, it brought fresh the memory of how he'd once nearly drowned as a boy, years before drawing the second breath, after challenging a current too strong for him to manage, too bold and too stubborn and too stupid to recognize his limitations.<br/>This time, his mother would not be on hand to rescue him.