"Look who we found!" Carroway grinned, and the musicians looked from the bard to Tris as if they had seen a ghost. "You remember Helki, Paiva and Macaria—from back home?"

"By the Lady, can it be?" asked Helki with a gasp. "My prince!" he exclaimed. Carroway made hushing gestures. To Tris's chagrin, the three minstrels bowed low.

Lars came through the door just then, with a small bag of coins for the minstrels. "I have your pay, unless you're of a mind to leave without it," the innkeeper said, stooping to pick up a coin that fell. He froze, looking at Jared's image on the gold piece, and then rose slowly, looking from the coin to Tris and back again as if the coin might burn him.

"M'lord mage," the innkeeper croaked. "I mean no disrespect, but 'tis the Lady's truth that there is a powerful resemblance between you and the king."

"The minstrel called him 'my prince,' just now,"

Tabethe said, nervously edging toward Lars.

Resigned, Tris stood and spread his hands. "I didn't mean to deceive you," he said to the innkeeper, who looked pale with fear. Vahanian and Gabriel moved closer to him, and Kiara stood, her hand near her sword. "I wanted to spare you the burden of dangerous knowledge. You're correct. I'm Martris Drayke."

The innkeeper gasped and then elbowed his wife, who stood with her mouth open. "Curtsey, you fool," Lars whispered as he made an awkward bow. Tabethe, after a moment, found the presence of mind to attempt an equally unpracticed curtsey, and nearly lost her footing. Lara and Toby stared wide-eyed from near the wall.

"The rumors are true then!" Lars exclaimed, finding his voice. "By the Goddess! Prince Martris lives! Oh me, and what I've said, please, my prince, take no offense—"

Tris smiled at the innkeeper's flustered apology. "None taken. We're grateful for your shelter, both before, when we fled for our lives, and now, when we're still in danger. I don't wish to put your family at risk. If you'll keep the secret of our passing, we'll leave."

"On a night like this?" the innkeeper cried. "My prince, we're honored to have you under our root. Oh my, what am I thinking? There's royalty in the inn, and we've got them in the kitchen!"

Tris burst out laughing. "Good sir," Tris said, "believe me when I tell you that yours are the best accommodations we've had in many a fortnight."

Lars brightened, blushing with pride. "Truly? We're honored, Your Highness. You're welcome to sleep in our own rooms, humble as they are, rather than here in the kitchen."

"We're quite comfortable here, near the fire, with some bedding if there's any to spare," Tris said. He was grateful for the man's offer, but preferred the quick exit of the back door. "But I beg of you, for your own sakes, tell no one that you've seen us."

Lars looked shrewdly at Tris and the others. For the first time, the innkeeper took in their swords and the manner of both Kiara and Vahanian, which clearly spoke of battle training. "I take your meaning. There can be but one reason you've returned, my prince. And if there's aught that we can do to help you, just ask. All we have is at your service." With that pledge, Lars knelt, and his family also.

"Please, rise," Tris said. "Tonight we're happier than you can know with a warm meal and a roaring fire. But now you know why I welcome your news and your rumors from the city—and why I'm anxious to hear what these minstrels have to tell us."

"We'll leave you to your business," said Lars, motioning to his family. "If you need aught, just call. No one will bother you in here. I'll stay in the greatroom myself, to make sure."

"Thank you," Tris said. "We're in your debt."

"The prince himself, in my inn!" Lars murmured as he turned toward the door. He was still talking to himself in amazement as he left the kitchen. Tris sat, bidding the others to do the same. Vahanian took up a post at the greatroom door, while Gabriel moved closer to the outer door.

"Can we trust him?" Kiara asked. She sat next to Tris as he motioned for the minstrels to gather round.

Tris looked toward the door through which Lars had gone. "We have no reason not to, and every reason to believe him. He's right—where would we go, in this weather, that would be safer?"

"You can trust Lars, my prince," said Helki. "If you want to know the truth of it, he's run something of a resistance out of this inn. It hasn't been safe for us to stay near the palace. Lars took us in— glad for the entertainment, no doubt, but watchful that when guards came, we could make ourselves scarce. Many times, Lars and his family have hidden people fleeing King Jared. Some of the palace staff, and not a few deserters from the army, have passed this way. They spread the word among themselves as to which are the safe houses, and they are spirited away, as if on a ghost carriage."

Helki looked at his companions, whose expressions still reflected their utter amazement at seeing Tris and the others. "By the Mother and Childe! It's good to see you well, my prince."

"What can you tell us about Shekerishet since we left?" Tris pressed.

"Nothing good, Your Highness." It was Macaria who spoke up. Tris suppressed a smile, knowing that the dark-haired musician caught Carroway's eye. She seemed to be completely unaware of Carroway's attention, even now, when the minstrel watched her with unabashed joy. "I don't know how far news travels, or what you've heard, but it's been terrible."

"Some of the bards have gone missing altogether," Macaria said. "Though whether dead or in hiding, I don't know. I've heard that Lady Eadoin is hiding some of the court musicians, the ones Jared particularly disliked. Eadoin's brother's family was killed for harboring fugitives. We managed to keep out of Jared's sights, but I've heard tell of minstrels who have been hanged for singing tales about King Bricen, or telling a story that raised Jared's ire. In the city, the king's guards are always prowling around, looking for someone to make an example of. They've beaten men in the street for telling jokes about the king, and dragged others out in the middle of the night for one 'crime' or another. No one ever sees the poor blokes again."

"How is it you're here?" Carroway asked, and Tris noted that Carroway never took his eyes off Macaria as he spoke. She didn't seem to notice.

"We left the city during the winter," Paiva said. "One step ahead of the guards. Since then, we've made what living we could singing for our keep in taverns, playing for our supper at the baker's and butcher's, and begging, if you want to know the truth of it." She sighed. "But there's been talk all Spring that something would be afoot at the Hawthorn Moon, and so we thought that with the crowds and all, we'd chance going back." Paiva grinned, and elbowed Carroway good-naturedly. "Looks like our pretty bird here has landed himself smack in the middle of a revolution!"

"You don't know the half of it!" Carroway said. "But if you're game, and you're tired of Jared on the throne, there's a part you could play."

"We're in," Helki said. "Anything to be rid of that bloody tyrant!"

The group huddled around the table. "While Tris and the others do what they need to do," Carroway said, "I thought that perhaps Carina and I—with your help—could stir up a little riot or two in the city. There's another friend of ours, a hedge witch named Alyzza, who's headed this way as well. What do you think—can we work up a mob?"

Macaria grinned wickedly. "Like that's a hard thing, with all the ale that'll be flowing?" The other bards laughed. '"Tis the Lady's truth—the only ones getting rich from Jared's rule are the barley growers and the rum smugglers, since any that haven't left the country drink to drown their sorrows."

"Out here in the country, the songs I get the most requests for are the ones they'll hang you for in the city—the stories of King Bricen's battles, and of King Hotten's victory, and about the sorceress Bava K'aa," said Helki. "I dare say that might get a crowd going."