“Do you know that the path that came in is going to lead out soon?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Who told you that? Old faithful Dunbrae?” He snorted. “That one never lets anything go. Qui’thonas is finished.”
“No.” She noted every detail of his expression, as though he were a subject to be captured on canvas. He betrayed no surprise, and nothing of hope. “Aline’s not giving up. Dezra has joined her. Others will be called upon again.”
He shrugged. “And how does this involve me?”
Usha mirrored the gesture. “My friend, to some degree it involves me. To greater degree, Dez and ‘old faithful Dunbrae.’ It only involves you if you want it to.”
She’d left out one name, and Usha saw him speak it to himself, just a movement of his lips, before asking, “What does she say?”
Usha was careful to restrain a smile. “Aline needs every willing hand.” Carefully, she said, “And every willing heart. Madoc, can you work with her?”
He was a long time silent, and because she knew him of old, because she’d known for a long time what it felt like to be in the company of a mage working magic, she knew Madoc Diviner was trying to look into her mind or her heart. She relaxed, she let him, and she felt the faintest touch, a stray breeze slipping through her thoughts. As soon as she was able to name the feeling, it vanished.
“It still works,” he said. “Sometimes. All right, Usha. If she says so, I’m with you.” He laughed, but the laugher had a hitter note. “And old faithful Dunbrae and I will have to manage somehow.”
Old faithful Dunbrae. Usha wondered what was between the two that Madoc spoke of him in such ironic tones. She didn’t ask. There would be time enough to learn.
“Now,” he said, “we’ve been a while here talking, and it’s true Sir Radulf doesn’t trouble us much with closing times or even curfew. He’s been known to order a raid now and then. Once we’ve even been closed. By and large, he likes having a place for his men to come and listen for things he’d like to know. But that’s here. In the rest of Haven, his rule must be obeyed. I’m worried the hour of curfew will be past before you can get back to your inn.”
Outside, the narrow street had grown dusky. The patrons of the Grinning Goat didn’t seem in any great hurry to leave, but few others had come in.
“Let me walk you back to the Ivy.”
Usha would have protested, said she could make it back in time, but he nodded toward the window fronting the cobbled street. Sir Arvel stood across the way, leaning against a wall, a man in the attitude of patience.
“I’ll walk you home, or he’ll follow you home. He’s curious about you, Usha. He has a greedy eye for a lovely woman.”
Madoc’s company didn’t stop the knight from following. Now and then, when she looked over her shoulder, she saw him walking behind. To this Madoc paid no attention, and when he saw Usha safely to the door of the Ivy, he swept her a bow and bid her good night.
Once inside, she found the common room nearly full as men and women and children gathered to eat what had, in a grim jest, become known as the Curfew Meal. Three women, the cook’s boy, and the landlord himself served the crowd. Arms laden with a full and heavy tray of pitchers and mugs, Rusty stopped for a moment to tell her she had a letter.
“Came for you this afternoon, Mistress Usha.” He jerked his head toward the bar. “Back there, just tell the gully dwarf to ... nah, nah, never mind. I’ll get it.”
He sat down the tray, took another order, and went to fetch the letter. Usha thanked him then looked out the window. In the lightless street she saw two dark figures—Madoc talking with Sir Arvel. She didn’t hear what Sir Arvel said, but Madoc’s reply was clear: “Now, you saw me walking a lady home, sir knight. Nothing more dangerous than that. Come with me, and if you don’t agree she was a good reason for breaking curfew, I’ll buy you a drink.”
The noise in the common room seemed to grow in its intensity—the shouts of servers and customers and the wails of cranky babies. Usha didn’t hear Dezra behind her so much as sense her.
“Mighty close with the knights, your friend Madoc.”
In no mood to resume the argument, Usha didn’t answer. She unfolded the note Rusty had given her and saw it was from Loren Halgard. His signature was bold enough that Dezra saw it too.
In answer to her curious expression, Usha said, “An invitation to supper.”
Dezra raised an eyebrow.
“He’s Lorelia Gance’s cousin,” Usha said, disliking the note of rationalization in her voice.
“How nice,” Dezra said. “Lorelia’s cousin to invite you to supper, a knight to follow you home, and a mage to protect you from that. You’re tripping over men everywhere you go, Usha. No doubt all these people know you’re married.”
Stung, Usha turned from the window. “All the people know who should know.”
And if Dezra heard criticism of her too-often absent brother in that cool reply, Usha didn’t mind. When she turned back to the window, she saw that Madoc and Sir Arvel were gone. The street was not deserted, however.
A rough-looking man stood where Sir Arvel had. Short and barrel-chested, he looked up the street and down. He was not a knight, but in his watchfulness, his arrogant stance, he reminded Usha of the knight she’d seen in the market square. As she thought so, the man turned his head toward the inn. He was far enough away for Usha to believe he wasn’t looking at her. Yet she didn’t believe that, not at all. Something about the way he crossed the road and paused in the light cast out from the window made her think he saw her quite well.
Blade clashed against keen-edged blade, ringing in echoes through the vast armory beneath Old Keep. The tang of steel and sweat hung in the air, and just beneath it lurked the coppery scent of blood. From the gallery above, Lady Mearah looked down upon the battle games below—four groups of men testing their wiles and weapons. The keep, so long given over to ceremony and formal feasting, had resumed its original purpose—an armory and a barracks.
Lady Mearah glanced at the dark elf standing beside her. He was a reach away from the fluted stone column that rose from the armory below, past the gallery where they stood, and into the heights of the shadow-draped ceiling. He could have leaned on the column, on the railing before them. He did not. Tavar Evenstar, a hard-eyed, fallen Silvanesti, preserved every function of formality when in her presence.
Returning her eyes to the battle games, the lady knight said, “Tell me about Usha Majere. Who did she go to see?”
Tavar looked where she did, and they could have been two people fascinated by what was going on below. “Madoc Diviner. I hear they’re old friends.”
The lady knight raised an eyebrow. “What manner of friends? Wasn’t he one of her husband’s pupils before the Academy was destroyed?”
“He was, and it doesn’t seem there’s more to it than a brief meeting to renew acquaintance. She’s been in Haven since just before the fall, and by all accounts this is the first time they’ve been in each other’s company. She’s working as a portraitist for room and board.” He paused, Lady Mearah knew he was weighing words. “If it comes to friendship and what kind, I think the smart gamble would be on the other side of Haven. Usha Majere isn’t one for infidelity, but if she were, she wouldn’t look for an opportunity on the low side of the street. She’s been spending time with Havelock Gance’s family, and Loren Halgard has been twice seen in her company.”
“Anything there?”
Tavar shook his head. “No. As I say, Usha Majere isn’t known to be unfaithful.”
“And the other one? Her husband’s sister?”
The dark elf shrugged. “I don’t know, my lady. She was at the inn when my watcher saw Majere’s wife return. No one saw her come or go, and yet she wasn’t there all day.”