He knew now how very foolish he had been, and how dangerously foolish Lady Orien had been, for that matter; and he could sigh now (with some understanding of the company of women, about which the guards had a great deal to say), for the chance he had had to court a lady.

And though Ninévrisë was his model of all true ladies, he recalled the music of that night, Lady Orien’s beautiful face and white shoulders… her beautiful hair. Red, it was, a most remarkable red that accorded well with the dark green of the Aswydd colors. Her skin was pale, and the gown had shown him very much of the wonders of the lady’s form.

And that night, if he had walked into Orien Aswydd’s snare and only just gotten out unscathed in his innocence… as it had been in those days… why, there were just as certainly traps set for him downstairs in the gathering this evening, traps that he would disappoint by his absence. So he might be satisfied—indeed, shouldbe satisfied with his own table. He was sure he did not regret Lord Prichwarrin of Murandys, for example, who was testy and difficult, nor Lord Corswyndam of Ryssand, who greatly disapproved of him and made no secret of it.

Ninévrisë would be there, among the ladies, a sight he wished he could see . . but he could not be seen near her; he could not be near Cefwyn, either, of course. And in the way his servants, having had too much ale, laughed and became cheerfully foolish… Cefwyn’s guests might imbibe enough of the ale to become far too blunt, and that, among Men, would require he defend himself, which meant he would have to kill the offender.

And that would certainly put a sad cap on the festive evening. So it was folly even to regret the feast downstairs.

He looked toward windows now dark with night. Fire glow shone on the stonework. “It does seem they managed to light the fire after all,” he remarked to Uwen.

“Right about sundown they did,” Uwen reported. “So Tassand was sayin’. They put canvas on’t all the day, and now she’ll burn even through the rain, if she gets a good blaze up and if they’re lucky.”

“So the sins will burn after all.” When he went to the window, fine clear glass with not many bubbles at all, he found that the bubbles acquired the glow from the square. He could just make out the fire itself, and a bobbing mass of dancers. “They have indeed. The light touches all the walls.”

“It do that,” Uwen said, coming up beside him.

He thought if he opened the small side pane, he might hear the music, but the rain would come in and Tassand and the staff would have to clean it. “Go down to the square if you like.”

“I, m’lord? Not I.”

“Do. Tell me how it was. Take Lusin and the men and go down.” He thought of the other element of his life, the old man whose days were topsy-turvy and who waked generally by night, to look at stars which would hardly shine on this thunderous evening. “I can go up to Emuin and bring him his breakfast. I swear I’ll not go elsewhere.”

Uwen’s eyes danced, though his face was solemn. “Not I, for my oath, m’lord; and not Lusin, for his. There’ll be ale here, by your leave. ’At’s enough for holiday, an’ we’ll all visit the old master.”

Uwen meant that, being hissworn man, he would not let him go unguarded tonight, and that Cefwyn, who had Lusin’s oath, would be sorely displeased if Lusin left his post. So the guards had to stay and go with him as they were accustomed to do… more so, he supposed, since sometimes he did go alone to Emuin’s tower. He was not at all surprised at Uwen’s insistence, however, with so many people coming and going in the Guelesfort tonight; and if he dismissed Lusin and the men on his authority, he supposed they would stand outside defying him on Cefwyn’s.

But meanwhile the heavens truly would not oblige master Emuin’s observations tonight. So perhaps Emuin would have time to spend.

“Tassand,” he said, “the basket for master Emuin. Has it gone up yet?”

“No, m’lord,” Tassand said. “Against the likelihood, m’lord.”

They knew his decisions before he made them. He was pleased, annoyed and, over all, amused. He had grown fond of Tassand in the months they had served him, Tassand and all the staff that bore with his oddities and his lapses, and perhaps, yes, they took unseemly liberties (there was, even as he thought it, a peal of merriment from the hall beyond) but, yes, indeed he encouraged them.

And perhaps master Emuin would turn him away; last night Emuin had not even opened his door to take the evening offering.

But this night he would get Emuin’s attention, or he would stand there till it opened. If Tassand had made a special feast, then Emuin would enjoy it.

“Bring it,” he said, and when the basket came, along with it came an entire small keg of ale. So it was clearly conspiracy among all his guards and servants and now himself to bring the holiday feast to master Emuin. He said not a word about the keg, only tucked in the little treasures, too, which he had set by for master Emuin. In high spirits and great resolution he carried the basket himself as he and Uwen left the apartment, gathering up Lusin and the men on the way.

So they marched down the hall, him with the basket, Uwen carrying the keg, and Lusin and the three others clumping heavily behind, clattering with weapons, bearing a second basket of the poppy-seed cakes, which had somehow ended up part of Emuin’s breakfast arrangements. He saw that several cups had also come in the substantial basket of cakes; he suspected sweets in the bottom of the basket, and his guards were extraordinarily cheerful as they opened the door that led to the drafty stairs.

Emuin maintained no guard himself, at least no visible one, only that loud bell that rang below when someone opened this door leading up to the tower where he was now solitary. It was a deafeningly loud bell, when one was standing by it, enough to wake the old man when he was sleeping. Wind swept through, damp with rain. The drafts that swept through Emuin’s chambers above were constant. The servants before they had left had complained that powders Emuin was mixing ended up drifting over all his books and onto the floor. Likewise smokes of his frequent combustions had sooted the rafters far beyond reason. Books turned their own pages in the tower, and the servants had claimed haunts. But there was no magery about it, only ill-fitting shutters and a tower that drew like a chimney. One could feel the waft of cold air up there at every opening of the downstairs door that led to the tower stairs, and Tristen hoped that their opening of the door had not disturbed any of master Emuin’s charts or blown rain in to soak his books: he had wished his guards to shut the door as quickly as possible and to hurry up the steps.

Thunder cracked. He stopped midway, daunted, wondering if it had been overhead.

“ Thatwere close,” Uwen said behind him. Tristen looked down on a spiral of his men as Uwen signed against harm, he and Lusin and Syllan and the rest, ale keg and all. Close indeed, but there was no sign of damage above. Tristen ran up in haste to make up for the pause, the men clattering and panting behind him, and at the little landing outside the study, rapped at the rough wooden door, not at all expecting an answer, in master Emuin’s ordinary way of hospitality, but simply because it always seemed polite to do before trying the latch.

Hearing nothing from inside, he pulled the cord and let himself in, leaving Uwen and the guards to sit at their ease on the steps, as they did habitually when they attended him here. Simply in opening the door to admit himself he loosed a gale that dislodged a half score of parchments inside, and he quickly and guiltily shut it at his back.

“Bother!” Emuin was at his worktable, having just slapped a measuring rod down to pin an array of parchments across the table surface.