high as he could and managed to grasp the edge. The barrel fell over and rumbled away down the street, leaving him hanging there.

At this point, a less stubborn person might have given up, but Alec was tired of coming home empty-handed every night. With the edge of the stonework digging into his palms, he managed to pull himself up until he could see the house and the large garden below. The waxing moon cast just enough light for him to see the holes spaced evenly along the top of the wall, and the uneven remains of broken mortar. There had been iron spikes here originally, pulled out and sacrificed to the war effort. It was a common sight and made a nightrunner’s job a bit easier, too.

The garden was laid out in a pattern of formal paths composed of crushed oyster shell. There was no sign of a dog. A balcony spanned the back of the house, and lamp- or candlelight showed at two of the five upstairs windows. Through one he could see a small group of fashionable ladies playing cards in an elegantly furnished parlor. Through the other window he could see what appeared to be a library. While he watched, a man walked past the window and the room brightened as he lit another candle.

Just then two servants, one of them with a lantern, came out a back door of the house and headed toward the gate.

“I know I heard something,” the man with the lantern, presumably the watchman, was saying to his companion. Alec heard the rattle of a heavy chain being undone.

There was no time to drop and run. Instead, he pulled his legs up as far as he could and hung there, praying silently Don’t look up! The corded muscles in his arms felt like they were on fire and the edge of the wall was cutting into his palms but he managed to hang on.

The watchman and his companion found the barrel lying in the gutter across the street.

“Probably a dog, or a drunkard,” the companion said.

The watchman held his lantern high, looking this way and that but thankfully not up. Sweat ran into Alec’s eyes and slicked his palms as he struggled to keep still. At last they went inside again and chained the gate shut.

Alec’s arms were shaking with the strain, but he managed to pull himself up and balance precariously on top of the wall.

There was still no sign of a dog in the garden, so he carefully lowered himself and dropped into a bed of fragrant flowers. From here, it was a simple matter to scale a wooden drainpipe to the balcony. The first lighted window was the room with the ladies. The casement stood ajar to catch the breeze, and he could hear them laughing and talking over the game. There were five of them, including Lady Mallia. She must have been on her way here. He didn’t recognize the others, but a stately woman with silver-white hair seemed to be presiding, and she sent a servant for more wine as Alec watched from the shadows outside.

“Really, it’s too hard,” said Mallia. “I haven’t had a new piece made this year.”

“Pearls are the only reliable jewel these days,” their hostess replied, touching the long heavy strand she wore.

“Only because no one’s discovered a way to make them into a weapon, Marquise!” another woman exclaimed.

“At least silk is still available,” said Mallia. “But what are we to do this winter, if the wool route is still blocked?”

“I haven’t had a new cloak in two years, have I, Mother?” said the youngest of the group, a dark-haired young woman, to the hostess. Evidently Kyrin had a daughter.

“It’s the shortage of eligible young men I’d be worried about, in your place,” the fifth woman pointed out. “Let’s hope the queen doesn’t get them all killed. There’s not much to choose from in the city these days, except for cripples, old men, and wastrels.”

Alec waited until no one was looking his way and stole past the window. The next two rooms were too dark to make out anything inside, but the library was still brightly lit. Reltheus sat with three other men, drinking wine and smoking long clay pipes. An older man-presumably the marquis-rose as Alec watched and put a scroll of some sort into a large painted cabinet, then locked it and pocketed the key.

“Remember, Kyrin, there is madness in the family,” Reltheus was saying.

“I hardly think the queen mad,” a middle-aged red-haired man replied, facing the window where Alec lurked.

“Poor judgment needs no explanation,” said the fourth, the small man with a shock of blond hair Alec had seen with Mallia. “It’s pride on the queen’s part, plain and simple. Nothing short of total victory will suffice for her.”

“Could that ever be?” wondered Reltheus. “These wars against Plenimar never quite end, do they? No matter who wins, within a decade or two they’re at it again.”

“I believe one of the sticking points of the truce offer was that Skala would finally take possession of sacred Kouros,” said the ruddy man. “The Plenimarans refused.”

The blond nobleman puffed at his pipe. “A tiny, useless island, Stenmir. She should let them have it. The Hierophants went from there to Plenimar, after all.”

“It’s the birthplace of all the Three Lands, Tolin,” Stenmir reminded him. “Skala, Mycena, and Plenimar all have a legitimate claim.”

“Small and useless,” Tolin grunted around his pipestem.

“There was a great deal more to the terms of the truce than that. But whatever the case, it’s bankrupting us.” Kyrin put aside his cup and stood to tap out his pipe on one of the dolphin-shaped fire irons. “This has to stop. It’s breeding dangerous unrest. There have already been grain riots.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard any more from Danos?” Stenmir asked Reltheus.

There was that name again.

The duke took a folded missive from his coat pocket and handed it to him. The others rose to read over his shoulder.

“Commander Klia has Sakor’s luck, doesn’t she?” Tolin remarked, frowning.

“So it’s always seemed,” Kyrin replied with a sigh. “It would be best if circumstance worked to our favor, but she seems to be especially blessed. Now, however, I think it’s time we went back to the ladies.”

The others knocked the dottles from their pipes and followed him out, leaving Alec with nothing but the laughter of the women and a vague sense of dread. It appeared this

Danos was indeed their spy and that Reltheus and the others weren’t on Klia’s side. Or the queen’s, either.

Alec was about to go back the way he’d come when he heard the marquise inviting her guests to come out onto the balcony to enjoy the night air. That room lay between him and the drainpipe, and the balcony was far too high to jump from without risking a broken ankle. Instead, he slipped in through the library window and pressed himself against the wall beside it. He could hear the women walking up and down the balcony, talking of the latest play at the Tirari. Mallia said something Alec didn’t quite catch.

“I’ll ask him,” the marquise’s daughter replied, and Alec heard her coming his way. There was nowhere to hide except behind one of the long tapestries. It was a terrible hiding place under any circumstances, but especially in a brightly lit room, where the girl might notice the slight bulge in the fabric, or his broken beggar’s shoes visible beneath the lower edge. He didn’t dare risk taking a look, but could hear her moving about the room.

“Father’s not here,” she called out at last. “I’ll go find him.”

Alec heard the inner door open and shut. He waited a few breaths, then cautiously peered out from his hiding place. The other women remained on the balcony, making it impossible to leave.

He leaned back against the wall again, resigning himself to a long wait. He wanted a look inside that locked cabinet.

It was hot behind the tapestry, and dusty. As Lady Mallia went on about some other play just outside the window, Alec’s nose began to itch. He squeezed it between two fingers, hoping to kill the urge to sneeze, but that only made it worse. Still holding his nose, he pressed his other hand to his mouth and choked back a short succession of sneezes, nearly at the expense of his eardrums.