But he needed Euchor’s goodwill. Ragen would find the grimoire of battle wards he had given Elissa and know what must be done with them, but only Euchor could provide the needed men and supplies to Angiers before it was too late. It was worth a day’s wait.

“Very well. I’ll be waiting at the gates at dawn tomorrow.” He turned to go.

“We have curfew in Miln,” Jone said. “No one is allowed on the streets before dawn.”

The Painted Man turned back to face her, lifting his head to give her a view into his hood. His teeth showed bright against his tattooed lips as he smiled.

“Have the gate guards arrest me then,” he suggested.

They could both posture and flex their power.

Jone’s mouth was a hard line. If the sight of his tattooed flesh unnerved her, she did not show it. “Dawn,” she agreed, and turned swiftly, striding back to the palace.

Several guards followed him as he left the duke’s keep. They were discreet and kept distance, but there was no doubt they meant to track him back to where he was staying and make note of anyone he spoke to.

But the Painted Man had lived in Miln for years and knew the city well. He turned a corner into a dead-end alley and, once out of sight, leapt ten feet straight up to catch the sill of a second-floor window. From his perch there, it was an easy leap to the third-floor sill across the way, and from there to the opposite roof. He looked down over the roof ’s edge, watching the guards as they waited patiently for him to realize the dead end and emerge. Soon they would tire of waiting and one would go into the alley to investigate, but he would be long gone by then.

As he approached the third house on Mill Way, the Painted Man thought back to Elissa’s last, cryptic message about Jaik. Was he well? Had something happened to him?

Jaik and Mery had been his only friends while growing up. Jaik had dreamed of being a Jongleur, and the boys had made a pact to travel together when Arlen got his Messenger license, as Messengers and Jongleurs frequently did.

But while Arlen had pursued his goals with a single-minded tenacity, Jaik had never been willing to put in the long hard hours to master a Jongleur’s art. When the time came for Arlen to leave, Jaik could no more juggle than flap his arms and fly.

He seemed to have done well for himself, even so. Though it was no great manse like that of Ragen and Elissa, Jaik’s cottage was sturdy and well kept, spacious by crowded Miln’s standards. Jaik was likely at the mill at this time of day, which was best. He would have family at home who could receive a packet of letters, people unlikely to recognize Arlen Bales, much less the Painted Man.

Nothing could have prepared him, though, for Mery answering the door.

She gasped at the sight of him, all hooded and covered, and took a step back. Just as frightened and surprised, he did much the same.

“Yes?” Mery asked, recovering. “May I help you?” She kept her hand on the door, ready to slam it shut in an instant.

She was older than he remembered, but that did nothing to diminish her. On the contrary, the Mery he remembered was a spring bud compared with the flower before him. The thin limbs of her youth had filled out into lush curves, and her rich brown hair fell in waves over a round face and the same soft lips he had kissed a thousand times. He could feel his hands shake at the sight of her, but however unprepared he had been for her beauty, the knowledge that came with her opening this door was far more shocking.

She had married Jaik. Jaik, who taught him Tackleball and stole sweets from the baker’s back window for them to share. Jaik who had followed him around with a kind of awe when Arlen told him he was going to become a Messenger. Jaik, who had always been invisible to Mery, her eyes for Arlen alone.

“Excuse me,” he said, too off balance to even disguise his voice. “I must have the wrong…” He turned and started away, long strides taking him back down Mill Way.

He heard her gasp behind him, and moved faster.

“Arlen?” she called, and he started to run.

But even as he took off, he heard her following. “Arlen, stop! Please!” she cried, but he paid no heed, seeking only to escape, his strong legs easily outpacing her.

There was a broken cart in the road, tipped over with two men arguing amid the mess. He lost precious seconds dodging around, and Mery shortened the gap between them. He darted between a pair of cottages, hoping to cut through, but the egress he remembered was gone, the alley ending now in a stone wall too high to jump.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to dematerialize as he had in Leesha’s cottage, but the sun was upon him and the magic would not come. He doubled back, but it was too late. He ran face-first into Mery as she turned into the alley, and the both of them went sprawling to the ground. The Painted Man kept his wits as he fell, managing to hold his hood in place as he struck the cobbled street. He tensed, ready to spring back to his feet, but Mery threw herself upon him, wrapping him tightly in her arms.

“Arlen,” she wept, “I let you go once. I swore to the Creator I would never do it again.” She clutched him tighter, crying into his robes, and he held her in his arms, rocking her back and forth, sitting on the ground in the alley’s mouth. Though he had faced demons great and small, that embrace terrified him in ways he could not explain.

After a time, Mery regained herself, sniffing and wiping her nose and eyes with a sleeve. “I must look a mess,” she croaked.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, the words less a compliment than a simple truth.

She laughed self-consciously, dropping her eyes and sniffing again. “I tried to wait,” she murmured.

“It’s all right,” he said.

But Mery shook her head. “If I thought you were coming back, I would have waited forever.” She looked up at him, peering into the shadows of his hood. “I would never have…”

“Married Jaik?” he asked, perhaps less kindly than he had meant.

She looked away again, even as they both rose awkwardly to their feet. “You were gone,” she said, “and he was here. He’s been good to me all these years, Arlen, but…” She looked up at him, hesitating. “If you ask me…”

His gut wrenched. If he asked her what? Would she leave with him? Or stay in Miln but leave Jaik to be with him? The visions from his dream flashed before his mind’s eye.

“Mery, don’t,” he begged. “Don’t say it.” There was no going back for him now.

She turned away as if he had slapped her. “You didn’t come back for me, did you?” she asked, breathing deeply as if to hold back tears. “This was just a stop to see your old friend Jaik, to offer a slap on the back and a tale before taking to the road again.”

“It’s not like that, Mery,” he said, coming up behind her and taking her shoulders in his hands. The sensation was strange; familiar, yet alien. He could not remember the last time he had touched someone like that. “I hoped you had found someone while I was gone. I heard that you had, and didn’t want to spoil it.” He paused. “I just didn’t expect it to be Jaik.”

Mery turned and embraced him again, not meeting his eyes. “He ’s been good to me. Father spoke to the baron who owns the mill, and they made him a supervisor. I went to the Mothers’ School to do the slates so we could afford the house.”

“Jaik’s a good man,” the Painted Man agreed.

She looked up at him. “Arlen, why are you still hiding your face?”

This time it was he who turned away. For a moment, he ’d dared to forget. “I gave it to the night. It’s not something you want to see.”

“Nonsense,” Mery said, reaching for his hood. “You’re alive, after all this time. Do you think I care if you’ve been scarred?”

He drew back sharply, blocking her hand. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Arlen,” she said, putting hands to hips in the same manner she had long ago, when the time for nonsense was past, “it’s been eight years since you left Miln without a word to me. The least you can do is have the courage to show your face.”