XVII | Convergence
And yet there was more. For, as the wind blew hot and sweltering, buffeting their hair and billowing their clothes, and swishing between them like a whistling wall, Dravidian looked at the blue scarf secured about Sihadi’s upper arm and realized that the fire-eater and Shekalane’s lost husband were, had been, one in the same ... and that he, personally— Dravidian of the ferrymen—had been the very man who’d torn their family apart.
“I see you remember,” said Sihadi.
And then, slowly and deliberately, he unstopped the flask, after which—and had Dravidian but blinked he would have missed the action entirely—quaffed a quick draft from the vessel before discarding it over the side. Then he lifted the torch to his lips, breathed deep, and blew—and the fire leapt from his mo
