Wheeling Gull Isle out of the corner of my eye

The gods Huā spoke of were beautiful—or rulers of beautiful things, at least. None of the death or damnation of the daedra, nor yet her own grim fascination with mortality that lie within Jaes. Clouds and sky, waves and light, life. It felt so. . .wrong.

She felt unworthy to be here.

Cang and Rizhao, she repeated, trying hard to pronounce each one just perfectly. Musn't upset the deities in their own domain; even if she did not believe in them, she was still superstitious. There was something like that in my birthplace. A holy site, for rituals. If only the quakes had shaken it all down, split the altar in two.

Maegi lifted her eyes, looked at Huā. She shouldn't ask, but— You're not married? she inquired gently. She knew the women had children, and so the absence of a father. . . 

Well, it wasn't incomprehensible. Rowan and his siblings had lacked a father; Cicero had died before seeing Averna and Astara born. Meanwhile, Maegi was happily married and yet all her children gone—