"We got no one here like that," she said crossly after hearing Magiere out, obviously thinking her time was wasted. "You try The Velvet Rose. That's where you'll find the likes of him."

Magiere thanked the crone and left. Everything appeared normal around her. The sun hung like a burning orange ball in the thin haze of high clouds. People talked and laughed and went about their business. Occasionally, a patron of The Sea Lion would wave or call out a greeting, and she would nod or raise her own hand briefly in return. Every now and then, she had the feeling someone was watching her, perhaps whispering with a companion and pointing in her direction. But whenever she turned it was as if no one noticed her at all. The scope of the world had changed, no matter how things appeared. And the only one who seemed to really understand the situation was an overwrought blacksmith with more muscle than brains.

She wanted to talk to Leesil and try to explain the thoughts running through her mind. What if fate or the deities or whatever kept the balance in the world between right and wrong had finally caught up with them-with her? She couldn't imagine what Leesil might think of such a notion. A month ago, he would have laughed and offered her his wine sack. Now their world had altered, and either he was changing with it, or he simply had been hiding aspects of himself. She kept allowing him to handle more and more situations that were basically her responsibility. This morning, he had handled Ellinwood for the most part, and this afternoon he took care of a temporary "Closed" sign for the tavern door. Now she'd gone out by herself, leaving him behind to comfort Rose and Caleb.

No, she wouldn't burden him with her own deepening guilt, confusion, and suspicions. He certainly didn't need more to worry about.

But the time had come to take some matters into her own hands. She'd traveled to this town seeking peace, and someone had forced a battle upon her. Brenden was right, and the cards were on her side of the table now.

She walked away from the docks and farther into town. Not many people knew her by sight this far in, and she received no familiar greetings from passersby. She stopped in front of The Velvet Rose. It was quite lovely, reflecting its name even from the outside with red damask curtains peeking through the perfectly tended and whitewashed shutters.

Although her hair was back in its neat braid, she felt underdressed in breeches and boots, muslin shirt and black vest.

A large, mahogany desk waited just inside the entryway. The man behind it struck her as attractive in a strange way, even in her current state of mind. She had seen a few full-blooded elves during her travels, though they were not common in this land. His light brown hair looked as soft as down feathers and hung loose, pushed behind his oblong, pointed ears. But his face was more slender with a narrower chin than her partner's, and his amber-brown eyes and thin eyebrows slanted upward at a more pronounced angle than Leesil's.

When he looked up at her, she could see his skin was a dark, even tan and smoother than any human's she'd ever seen.

"May I help you?" he asked smoothly.

"Yes," she answered, suddenly unsure of how to proceed, or if she would even be allowed into the place. "I was hoping to find a friend of mine here, a Welstiel Massing. He's about my height, well dressed, and gray at the temples."

Without thinking, she motioned to her own temples as if to help the description, then felt foolish for doing so. She hated feeling so nervous and desperate.

"Yes, Master Welstiel currently resides here," he responded, his tone composed, his speech clear and distinct. "But he seldom receives guests and never without notifying me first. I am sorry." He turned back to the parchment on his desk, as if his words were all the dismissal she needed.

"No, I'm the one who's sorry. I may not have an appointment, but he's come to see me several times, and now I am returning his visits."

The slanted brown eyes flashed back up in surprise.

"Young mistress…" he began sternly, and then he paused a moment as if half-remembering some forgotten detail. "Are you Magiere, the new proprietor of Dunction's?"

"Yes," she answered cautiously. "It's called The Sea Lion now."

"Apologies, please." He stood up quickly. "My name is Loni. Master Welstiel did mention your name. I don't know if he's here now, but I will check. Please follow me."

This elegant elf-who basically functioned as a guard-did not even know if Welstiel was home or not? That seemed odd to Magiere, but she put it aside for the moment.

As they stepped farther into the inn, the place was even more opulent than she expected, with walls painted oyster-shell white. Red carpets, thick enough to sleep on, covered the main floors and hallways, climbing up the staircase at the entryway's far end. Large, dark-toned paintings of battles, seascapes, and tranquil landscapes hung in strategically tasteful places, and the perfect deepest shades of saltwater roses had been chosen for simple and exquisite ivory vases.

"Not bad," she remarked to Loni. "You could use a faro table."

"Well…" he said. "Yes, certainly."

Magiere almost smiled, knowing his stuffy front was carefully constructed. He was likely as good as Leesil at hand-to-hand encounters, or he wouldn't be working the front of this establishment all by himself. She followed him to the stairs, but rather than going up, he took a key out of his vest pocket and unlocked a door to the side. Opening it, Magiere faced another set of stairs leading downward.

Now came the difficult part. To Welstiel, this abrupt appearance would seem like she'd come to grovel for help. On some level, she suspected he would enjoy this. If there were any other way, any way at all, she would, have chosen some other option.

Loni descended, and Magiere followed. At the bottom, they reached a short hallway that led to a single door. Loni rapped gently on the door.

"Sir, if you are in, the young woman is here to see you."

At first there was no answer. Then Welstiel's distinctive voice said, "Enter."

Loni opened the door and stepped back.

Surprised at her own mild anxiety, Magiere swallowed once and entered the room. The door clicked shut softly behind her, and she heard Loni's soft footsteps retreating back up the stairs. Expecting to find decor which mimicked the wealthy display of the inn's main floor, she was surprised by the room's interior.

Upon a plain table, next to a narrow bed carefully made, rested a frosted-glass globe on an iron pedestal. Within the globe flickered three sparks of light, bright enough to illuminate half the room. One small travel chest sat in the corner and three leather-bound books lay on top of the table. Each book cover was marked in a language she'd never seen before and had a strap and lock holding it closed.

Welstiel sat in a simple wooden chair, reading from a fourth book. He projected such a striking appearance that no one would notice the nearly barren room if they examined him first. His well-tailored and perfectly pressed white shirt and black trousers seemed more a part of him than mere articles of cloth he'd donned. Dark hair was combed back over his ears, exposing the gray-white temples that made him look wise and noble at the same time. And if not for these, the soft light from the orb illuminating his face would make his age difficult to guess. With finely boned hands resting on the book, he seemed unconscious of the missing portion of his finger, even when she glanced down at it.

"How pleasant to see you," he said, his tone expressing neither pleasure nor wonder at her arrival.

Magiere imagined he fancied himself a rich gentleman who studied ancient lore and magic in his spare time. But why would a nobleman live in these cellar quarters when more suitable comforts were likely to be had upstairs in The Velvet Rose's standard rooms? And if he were such a self-made scholar, what was he doing in a place like Miiska? More likely he was some ne'er-do-well who thought he knew something of the dark half of the world and had simply stumbled across her path by chance. Perhaps he couldn't help her as she hoped.