"Come on, Berry," Carina said. "Why don't you help us get the horses ready for the ride and pack the bags." Berry willingly went with Carina, Tris suspected, more from boredom than for any other reason. Alyzza followed them, pulling the heavy door behind her.
"The innkeeper's been quite good about running us a tab," Carroway said, perched on the corner of the table. "For someone who doesn't eat... at least not regular food... your friend Gabriel found us a place with a good kitchen." He grinned. "Best of all, the whole place didn't vanish into smoke when we woke up, so I'm happy."
"You've got a strange way of selecting an inn," Vahanian replied, turning back to the fire.
"I'm not sure I'll ever think anything's strange again," Carroway said fervently. "But when we're safe'—whenever that is—I'll have my pick of courts and noble houses with these tales." His grin broadened. "Thanks, Tris."
Tris rolled his eyes. "Don't mention it." He finished the last of the tea and eased himself back down. To his surprise, he was hungry. "So if this place has great food, where is it?"
Carroway jumped to his feet with an exaggerated bow. "You have only to ask," the bard said, straightening. "I'll let the two of you plot the route north. I'll go see what my friend Shaia in the kitchen has in the pot for tonight," he said, with a knowing raise of his eyebrows.
"Whatever she's got, see if they can water the ale less than last night," Vahanian called over his shoulder as the bard headed for the door.
"As you wish," Carroway said, slipping out and closing the door behind him.
There was an awkward silence after Carroway left. Tris lay staring at the cracked inn ceiling, while Vahanian did not move from his place by the fire. Finally, the mercenary spoke.
"What happened back there?" Vahanian asked, his voice roughened by the damp weather. "You called them?"
Tris paused before answering. "Yes."
Another silence, broken only by the pops and hisses from the fireplace logs. "And what came— you controlled them?"
This time, Tris paused longer. "At first," he answered truthfully. "Later, I don't think so."
Vahanian turned in his chair to look at Tris. "Think so?" he questioned incredulously. "Those demons wanted to kill every living thing, and you aren't sure whether they were listening to you?"
Tris swallowed. "They weren't demons."
"They looked like demons."
"They weren't," Tris replied. "For one thing, no Light mage will call a demon."
"At least, not on purpose."
"And for another, I don't know how even if I wanted to," Tris continued, ignoring Vahanian's comment.
"So what you're really saying is that as far as you know, those things back there weren't demons, and you're pretty sure you had them under control, at least some of the time."
Tris sighed. "I guess that's right," he said. "But it sounds worse when you put it that way."
"You didn't see what you called."
"No," Tris admitted. "I guess I didn't. But we're free."
Vahanian drained the last of his mug. "That we are," he replied. "And I don't think Principality City can come soon enough for me."
It was several hours later when Vahanian finished with the horses and the preparations for their departure in the morning. Carroway, true to his word, supplied them with an ample supper. Everyone seemed to be feeling the strain. Berry hung on doggedly, but at last she fell asleep on Carina's cloak by the fire. As they banked the fires, Carina needed to fetch a powder from her saddlebags to ease Tris's headache, and Vahanian ill-humouredly consented to escort her to the stables.
"You could walk a little slower," Carina complained, hurrying to catch up with him. Her borrowed cloak nearly enveloped her, and she lifted its hem to keep it from dragging on the ground.
"Look, you're the one who needed some damned potion," Vahanian groused, slowing only a bit. "Why don't you just ask your Goddess to fill up the bottle for you?"
Carina gave him a dour look. "I thought I told you. I'm not a cleric."
"Oh, that's right," Vahanian replied with a sidelong glance. "You just bash the poor bastards over the head instead of really hurting them with a sword."
"You're impossible," she retorted, hustling past him and into the relative warmth of the stable. Their horses, curried and fed, nickered in recognition.
"I've been called worse," he remarked. "Too damn many coincidences going on for my taste. Tris was headed to Dhasson—now it's the Library. And since the witch biddies are there, that just happens to be helpful for you, too."
Carina shrugged. "What the Lady wills, She directs," she replied.
Vahanian looked at her sourly. "Tell me, priestess, who are you... really?"
Carina stopped abruptly and looked at him, then ducked her head and went back to examining the contents of her bag. "I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you?" Vahanian walked a few steps closer and leaned against the wall. In the moist night air, the stable was redolent with the smell of barley and half-eaten apples, and the warm, sweet scent of the horses. "I think you do. Never try to bluff a man who's made his living gambling. That last name you gave, 'Jesthrata,' it's a highlands word. 'Wanderer,' isn't it?" he pressed. "Not a family name. More like a trail name, the kind you give yourself when you're in a hurry to leave something else behind."
"You seem well versed in that sort of thing," Carina murmured, apparently engrossed in her task. "It's a fascinating theory."
"I've just got to ask myself, what's a court healer doing giving a trail name?" Vahanian continued, well aware of her discomfort. "Not that I know much about how things are at court, but I always imagined that most of the folks there were those useless younger brothers and sisters that the other royal houses didn't need any more."
"How interesting," Carina observed acidly, without looking up. "Do go on."
"I know all about wandering," Vahanian continued, ignoring her sarcasm. "And you're a little too fine-blooded."
"You've got a great imagination for a guide," Carina retorted, finally looking up to fix him with an angry stare. "Why don't you pretend that I'm just along for the ride, and keep your mind on guiding?"
"Well, there's one little problem with that," Vahanian said with an off-hand gesture. "See, I get shot at by people who do know who you are, and I don't like that. So as I told your friend Tris, I either know the whole story, or I don't guide."
"Fine," Carina replied, gathering up her cloak and her potion. "Don't guide. Go wait for us in Principality City. We'll find what we're looking for just fine without you."
"Maybe," Vahanian said equitably. "Maybe not. 'Course, that's not a very civil way of looking at things, after I saved your life—"
"What?" Carina exclaimed, her eyes bright with anger. "You ungrateful wretch! You would have been dead a week ago if I hadn't healed you!"
"And you'd have been dead, too, if I hadn't tackled that friendly slaver," Vahanian replied. "So we're even. Now," he said, moving another step closer so that the angry healer was barely a hand's breadth away from him, "I'll ask again. Who are you, really?"
She was standing so close to him that she had to tilt her head to glare at him, and for a moment, he fully expected her to hit him. Then suddenly, the flash in her eyes clouded over with something else, and she turned away. "All right," she said in a flat voice after a long silence. "Have it your way." She paused, then drew a deep breath.
"My father is a minor noble in the highlands on the eastern border of Isencroft, a cousin of the king," Carina said quietly. "It's a long way from the city, and they keep their own ways, have their own ideas. There's only one thing they like less out there than twins," she said, her voice just above a whisper. "And that's magic, of any kind."