"Correct," Isana said.

"You would prefer that he did not know."

"Yes."

Kitai smiled faintly. "There were times when Doroga would meet with a woman, after my mother died. I was much younger. I thought he was betraying her memory. It was painful."

Isana shivered a little at the sudden sense of hollow loss and loneliness she felt in Kitai. The loss of her mother must have affected her deeply, still to bring up such intense emotion years and years later.

"I know better, now. My mother was dead. Doroga should not be expected to spend the rest of his life alone. But it was a difficult thought to hold between my ears."

"I'll tell him," Isana said. "When he doesn't already have so much on his mind."

Kitai nodded. "Then I will not bring it up. I will not lie to him should he ask me, but I will not draw his attention to it."

"Thank you, Kitai."

She inclined her head, and said, "But tell him soon. The next time we stay in an inn, matters can be better arranged."

They descended from the ship to join the others, and together walked through Fellcove to see this man Ehren had mentioned, Ibrus.

It had been sundown when they made port, and it was well on toward full darkness now. Fellcove had very few furylamps on its streets-in fact, the town itself seemed to have none at all. The only lamps in evidence were outside of homes and businesses, doubtlessly personal property. The streets were crude mud tracks, utterly lacking the properly furycrafted stone, or even the ruder, more common cobblestones. Fellcove's filth ran through garbage-choked gutters on either side of the street, and the whole place smelled awful.

Indeed, as they proceeded into the town, Varg seemed to shrink a few inches, his shoulders hunching up even higher, his head lower and often turned aside, as if to seek some respite from the stench.

There was only one street, and it wound back and forth from the ocean up the steep side of a hill. Ehren led them to its very last winding, and to an enormous house that may at one time have looked respectable, perhaps as a residence for a magistrate or a minor Count. Now, its white stone had been stained by years of weather and sun, and most of the windows were out. What had once been a small garden in front of the house had become a patch of weeds and brambles so thick that it had strangled itself to death.

Ehren walked up to the front door of the house, drew his knife, and banged the pommel of his dagger several times upon the door. The door was cheap and weatherworn, clearly a relatively recent addition to the house, and it was marked with the shallow, round indentations of what Isana assumed had to be thousands of other people banging on it with a dagger's pommel.

For a long while, nothing happened.

"Should we let ourselves in?" Tavi asked.

"Oh crows no," Ehren said quickly. "Bad idea." He pounded on the door again. "Ibrus!" he shouted. "I need to talk to you, and I've got cash!"

Footsteps thudded on floorboards inside the house and grew louder. Shortly the door was opened by an enormous man in a food-stained shirt. He had a heavy brow, a thick neck, and something had removed an entire section of his upper lip, leaving his teeth bared in a perpetual snarl.

"Siggy," Ehren said, smiling. "Is Ibrus in?"

The big man's voice was slurred by his mangled face, but its tone was surprisingly warm and mellow. "It's late, Appius. He's told you about his hours before."

"I'm prepared to make it worth his time."

"Heard that one before," Siggy said.

Ehren tossed a pair of coins at the big man, and Isana saw the glitter of gold in the light of the single furylamp outside the front door.

"I'm prepared to make it worth his time," Ehren said in exactly the same voice as before.

"Come in," Siggy said. He pocketed the coins and led them into the entry hall, a large room obviously used as a reception area, centered around a large (and largely defunct) fountain with its own pool. The water was dark and stagnant. Siggy paused for a moment as Varg crouched to come through the door, and stared at the Cane. "Wait here. I'll go get him."

"Charming," Tavi murmured to Ehren, after Siggy had gone.

"It helps to speak the language," Ehren said.

"Appius?" Tavi asked.

"Everybody in this part of the Realm has at least two or three aliases. If you don't pick up a couple, you'll never fit in."

"This Ibrus," Tavi asked. "Can we trust him?"

"Absolutely," Ehren replied, "to do whatever benefits Ibrus most."

Tavi nodded, looking around the shadowy hall. "I don't like it. If there was any other way to secure mounts…"

"There isn't," Ehren said firmly.

Tavi growled beneath his breath, looking around them. "Still."

More footsteps sounded, and another light approached. Siggy bore a fury-lamp in one hand and a heavy cudgel in the other. A man walked beside him. He was a little taller than average and well built, his thick red hair and beard shot with grey. He wore a fine robe, much like those sported by Senators and the most pretentious of the Citizenry, though it was rumpled and stained with what Isana hoped was wine.

"Appius," Ibrus said. He yawned. "I was just finishing a rather fine evening's entertainment, and I cannot adequately express how annoying your presence is."

Isana found herself focusing more intently on Ibrus. Though the man looked and sounded both bored and mildly angry, his true emotions were considerably different.

He was tense. Afraid.

"You're a middleman, Ibrus," Ehren replied. "Everyone wants to see you in the middle of the night-or in the middle of a bonfire. There's not much in between."

"Someday your mouth is going to get you into trouble, Appius," Ibrus said darkly.

Ehren lifted a purse and jingled it. "I'd better move it to where it won't disturb you, then. 1 need horses."

Ibrus scowled, then rolled his eyes. "Siggy."

The big man held out his hand, and Ehren tossed him the purse. Siggy dumped the coins out in his palm, looked at them, and then dumped them back into the purse, which he handed to Ibrus with a nod.

"There's not going to be much to choose from," Ibrus warned him. "The Free Alerans were grabbing anything they could get their hands on."

"What have you got?" Ehren asked. The two men got down to haggling over horses.

As they did, Isana became increasingly aware of the discrepancy between Ibrus's manner and his actual state of mind. That was nothing unusual, really. Most people could dissemble reasonably well, in that sense. After all, it was part of being polite and showing common courtesy to others. But ever since her venture into the leviathan-haunted sea, her watercrafting senses had become increasingly fine, able to distinguish details and nuance with greater and greater clarity. Ibrus's emotions were not simply a repressed reaction he preferred not to display. He was actively worried, impatient, and increasingly frightened.

"You're expecting someone," Isana said sharply.

The conversation stopped, and every pair of eyes in the room turned to her.

She hadn't meant to say it aloud, but the die was cast. She stepped forward, locking her gaze to Ibrus's and spoke clearly. "Who are you expecting, Ibrus? Why does a simple horse trade frighten you so?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Ibrus replied.

Tavi's eyes narrowed. He traded a quick glance with Isana, and said, "You're sweating, Ibrus. Even though it's a lovely, cool evening."

Araris, who had become motionless once Isana began speaking, abruptly moved. His sword cleared its sheath as he spun, and the blade struck through what looked like empty air.

A spray of blue sparks and a ribbon of blood spilled forth from nowhere, splattering the floor and Ibrus's fancy robes. There was a cry of pain and a man appeared, tall, slender, dressed in mail, and bearing a sword. Araris's blade had sheared through his armor like a knife through cheese, and a long, gaping wound in the metal links was matched by the far more gruesome wound in the flesh beneath. The man went down, screaming, dropping his sword to clutch at the innards spilling from his belly.