"If so, Father will beat the notion out of him before highsun," Naoni said calmly. "What've you learned?"

Faendra sat on a crate and smoothed her grey skirt. "Father hired no guards. I doubt he had one of his men watch us, either, as none of them gossiped or bragged about it."

"So you spent the better part of the night charming a gluemaker's apprentice for nothing?"

"Not exactly," Faendra said, examining her fingernails with a smug little smile. "Gennior's cousin serves at Hawkwinter Hall. It seems Lord Taeros hired a guard on behalf of his friend Korvaun Helmfast, who put up the coin for it."

Naoni felt the blood drain from her face, leaving her lightheaded and dizzy. "He's paying to have me… us watched?"

"Protected, more likely."

"I've no desire for his money, nor need of his protection," Naoni whispered, so enraged she was scarcely aware she was clenching her fists, "and I shall tell him so… as soon as I change into something more suitable for an audience with nobility."

She stalked off, pretending she didn't hear Faen calling teasingly after her, "Or to cleave closer to the truth: As soon as you change into a more fetching gown!"

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The scream shattered Lark's dreams into bright shards.

As they fell past, forgotten, she found herself awake, bolt upright in bed, heart pounding.

A second shriek brought remembrance, fury, and her wits, all at once. Her landlady's new rooster, a large, handsome bird with pure white feathers and a keening crow piercing enough to make a banshee rise up and applaud, was an early riser with no respect for hard-working lasses who'd fallen into bed only two or three bells ago. "Blast it all to the Abyss and back!" Lark swore, pounding the bed with both fists. "Bugger that wretched fowl on a leeward run!"

She went on in this vein for some time, until thumping on the wall told her she'd awakened-and possibly offended-the sailor next door.

Muttering dire threats of chicken stew, Lark tossed aside her covers and stumbled to the window. If the sun had risen, its rays had yet to reach the small fenced yard behind her rooming house. A streetlamp, visible over the low roof of the stable next door, sparked and guttered as the last of the night's oil burned dry.

No sense burrowing back into the warmth; she was needed at the Dyres' by sunrise. Slamming and bolting her shutters, Lark fumbled for the flint to light her current candle-stub.

Its feeble circle of light reached all of her walls; Lark's room was barely large enough for its narrow cot and tiny table. A chest under the bed held her smallclothes and ribbons, and her two changes of clothing hung from hooks on the wall. Her carefully hoarded coins were in the vault in the Warrens, and they'd stay there until she'd earned enough to buy free of this place. This life.

Pouring water into her chipped washbasin, Lark dipped in a scrap of linen to wash. Out of long habit, she lingered over the mark of indenture on her upper arm, scrubbing it vigorously though she'd learned as a child that nothing she could do would make it go away. Someday she'd have coin enough for magic to remove the brand, but first must come her own shop and her own rooms… and before that, this day's work ahead.

She dressed swiftly, as the cock crowed several times more. She sent dark thoughts its way as she set off through the swiftly awakening streets.

To her surprise, Faendra met her at the kitchen door, still wearing her gray mourning gown. In silence she tilted her head meaningfully in the direction of her sister.

Naoni was sitting on the high kitchen stool, lacing her best slippers with sharp, impatient movements. Despite the early hour, she wore a fine pale green gown.

She looked up, her eyes bright as angry stars. "I'm glad you're early. If you'll help Faendra press the cheese, we'll change the mattress straw when I return."

Lark glanced at the younger Dyre sister, eyebrow crooked quizzically. Faendra rolled her eyes and towed Lark into the buttery. "It's about the man who's following us," she whispered.

"There's no need to do aught," Lark murmured, seeing again Elaith Craulnober speaking his promise. "He'll bother us no more."

"Good, but 'tis only one side of the coin. 'Twas Lord Helmfast hired the guard!"

"Ah." Lark's smile was less than nice. "Such a generous gift, and given with no thought of repayment."

"Generous indeed," Faen agreed, ignoring Lark's biting tone, "but like you, Naoni always thinks the worst of wealthy men. She assumes he's buying, not giving, and she's determined to let him know she's not for sale at this price or any other."

"Good for her. Better yet, I'll carry that message and save her the wear on her fine shoes and good name."

Faendra whispered in Lark's ear, "And take away her excuse to visit Korvaun Helmfast?"

Lark blinked. "Ye gods! Thus blows the wind?"

"Aye. She'll deny it, of course. Yet I've-"

"Faen!" Naoni called.

Her sister stepped back into the kitchen, her smile so open and guileless that none might guess she'd been gossiping.

None but Naoni, who sent her a narrow, knowing look.

Lark smiled. Her elder mistress was no fool-save, perhaps, when it came to her taste in men.

"Jivin's lurking in the herb garden," Naoni told her, "doubtless come early in hopes of a morning mug of ale. Take him some, then send him to summon a carriage."

Faendra's blue eyes grew round. "A carriage?"

"I'm certainly not going to walk to Helmfast Hall! I've far too much work waiting to waste a half a day or more on this foolishness."

Faen's eyes misted at the grand image of an ornate conveyance, all gilded upswept ornamentations and tossing-headed matched horses… Oh, yes. "A carriage… I'm coming with you."

"As am I," Lark put in, her voice every bit as firm as Naoni's. "If you want no word of this to get back to your father, you must make sure no servant gossips. I know the man who keeps the Helmfast gate by day; his wife's a laundress, and they both serve tables at the Black Flagon of an evening, when they've need for extra coin. He's a decent sort, and our best chance of departing Helmfast Hall without rumor racing like wildfire behind us."

Naoni's unsmiling lips pressed together in a thin line as if to hold back an argument she knew she could not defend. When they opened, it was to tell Faendra, "Have Jivin hire a conveyance large enough to carry three in comfort."

"Of that," her sister replied with relish, "you can rest assured."

The carriage that rolled up to the Dyres' doors proved to be almost as large as Lark's rented room and far more comfortable. Its velvet seats were somewhat the worse for wear, but the padding was only slightly lumpy and the cloth had been brushed clean.

Faendra settled back into a corner with a deeply contented smile. "Life hands me far too few excuses to visit North Ward. 'Tis so beautiful; as I gawp at all the finery, I'll dream of living there someday!"

As they rolled through ever-widening streets, Lark had to agree with that judgment of North Ward, even if she didn't share Faendra's ambitions.

Here the city's wealthiest new-coin citizens traveled streets of cobbles so smooth the carriage seemed to glide. The glittering folk dwelt behind ornate iron gates, in grand homes fashioned from gleaming marble, white-stone, and fine woods. Stately trees shaded all, and the gardens surrounding the homes displayed flowing plants in frames of sculpted hedges, rather than the practical herbs and vegetables crowding the Dyre's tiny backyard plot.

Helmfast Hall was a grand affair, with a sweeping iron arch soaring above its gate. Flanking the arch stood two small fore-houses, of the same pale-gold stone as the mansion beyond. One was little more than a covered bridge, and in it stood a coach, liveried staff gentling the harnessed horses, awaiting Helmfast whims. The other was the gatehouse, and Lark was relieved to see the black-bearded man seated within was her friend from the Black Flagon.