“Are those quinalums?” Sophos asked, stumbling as he stared. He caught himself.
“Yes,” Berrone said. “We grow them for the temple.”
Sophos couldn't imagine what size of temple would need that many quinalums. Maybe Hanaktos was selling them; he was pretty sure he remembered Magus telling him quinalum growing and selling was highly restricted, but he didn’t know if private islands in international waters were subject to those rules. He was a bit shakier on private island governmental policy. His polysci classes had been focused on nations with shared borders.
He nearly asked, but then remembered he was with Berrone.
Ina’s voice was in his head, arguing with herself. It was sexist to assume Berrone wouldn’t know just because she was a woman who lounged on the beach being allergic to Bluetooth, but also, Ina had thought even at age five that Berrone was stupid. Ina had been forced to apologize for saying just that to Berrone’s face while she cried about her ruined dress, and then sent off for a nap instead of more cake.
“What temple?” Sophos asked, the middle ground his fogged brain offered.
“My father is the reincarnation of Miras,” Berrone said, matter-of-fact.
