"I don't know," Tarlac said. "I don't remember—"
He broke off in shock. She had spoken Language, and he'd answered in it. Not in the halting fragments he'd learned from Hovan, but as easily and fluently as if he'd been speaking Imperial English! "What— How—"
"The Lords taught you, of course." She showed no surprise at that. "But here, I brought a cloak when I sensed them calling you; I thought you would need it. And come, I will get you some hot chovas. It will warm you."
"Thanks." Tarlac took the cloak gratefully and wrapped it around his body, feeling a sense of relief. He'd adapted well enough to the in-clan nudity that under most circumstances being nude himself might not bother him too badly—but this woman was the clan's religious leader, and he was still uncertain enough not to want to commit any Terran improprieties around her. "The chovas sounds good, too."
By the time they were in the dining room and Daria had brought mugs of aromatic chovas from the always-ready pot in the kitchen, he'd stopped shivering and managed to accept the fact of his new command of Language. He'd also discovered it did him no good to think about how he'd gotten it. When he tried, his thoughts simply shied away from the subject.
"Do the Lords do that sort of thing often?" he asked as they took seats. They weren't the only ones in the dining room, even at this hour, but nobody paid any noticeable attention to them.
"No, they very seldom intervene," she said calmly. "Why? Do your gods speak often?"
"It hasn't been proven that any ever have. I've never really believed in any of Terra's gods." The hot mug between his hands gave off cinnamon-flavored steam. "I'm not very good at taking things on faith."
"On faith? Your gods provide no evidence?" Daria's voice held faint disapproval. "They must be inferior gods, then."
Tarlac had to agree. "Yeah. The Circle of Lords doesn't leave much room for doubt, does it? No wonder Hovan thought I was naive."