“Would going to Sanctuary to speak on your behalf improve my standing among your people?”

She frowned and looked at him. “Yes… but…”

As Lorkin considered that, he felt conflicting emotions. I was hoping to see her home and learn about her people – and find out what they know about stones with magical qualities. What will happen to her if I don’t go there? She killed one of her own people to save me. Though Riva was disobeying orders, they may still punish Tyvara. Perhaps even execute her. It doesn’t seem right to run away home when she might die for saving my life. And I don’t much like my chances of getting home – on my own or with Dannyl’s help – with black-magic-wielding Traitors all over Sachaka trying to kill me.

“Then I will travel with you to Sanctuary.”

Her eyes widened and she gazed at him. “Are you sure?”

He shrugged. “I am an Ambassador’s assistant. Perhaps not an actual Ambassador, but it is still my role to assist in establishing and maintaining friendly relations between Kyralia and Sachaka. If it turns out that there’s a part of Sachaka we’ve been failing to establish friendly relations with, it is my duty to ensure that part is not ignored or neglected.”

She was staring at him now, mouth open, though whether from surprise or disbelief or because he’d sounded like a complete idiot he wasn’t sure.

“And since my predecessor made such a bad impression on your people it is even more important that I do what I can to improve their view of the Guild and Kyralians,” he continued. Then he felt a giddying rush of inspiration. “And discuss the possibility of negotiating an exchange of magical knowledge, this time with the appropriate parties and processes involved.”

Tyvara’s mouth snapped shut and, for a moment, she regarded him with an intensity that he could only meet with a hopeful and foolish smile. Then she threw back her head and laughed. The sound echoed in the hole and she smacked a hand over her mouth.

“You are mad,” she said, when her shoulders had stopped shaking. “Fortunately for you it’s a madness I like. If you truly wish to risk your life coming to Sanctuary, whether to defend me or try to persuade my people to give you something in exchange for what they already feel they are owed… then I selfishly feel I shouldn’t try to dissuade you.”

He shrugged. “It’s the least I can do. For you saving my life. And for your people saving my father’s. Will you take me?”

“Yes.” She smiled grimly. “And if you help me then I will do all I can to help you survive when you get there.”

“That would be appreciated, too.”

She looked as if she would say something else, but then looked away. “Well, we have to get there first. It’s a long walk. Better get some sleep.”

He watched her curl up, tucking one arm under her head; then he lay down. It was impossible to find a comfortable position on the curved floor, and eventually he copied her, curling up on his side with his back to her. He could feel the heat from her body. No, don’t think about that, or you’ll never get to sleep.

“Could you turn the light out?” she murmured.

“Can I dim it instead?” The prospect of being underground in complete darkness did not appeal at all.

“If you must.”

He reduced the spark of light until it barely illuminated the two of them. Then he listened to the sound of her breathing, waiting for the slow, deep rhythm of sleep. He knew he was far too conscious of her body so close to his to fall asleep himself. But he was very tired…

Before long he had drifted into strange dreams, in which he walked along a road of dirt so soft he had to wade through it, while Tyvara, being lighter and more nimble, barely stirred the soil and was getting further and further ahead…

In the street below, on the other side, a man stopped and looked up at the window. Cery resisted the urge to shrink back out of sight. It was too late to avoid being seen, and the motion would confirm he should not be there.

“Uh, oh,” Gol said. “That’s the shopkeeper from next door.”

“Looks like he’s worked out his neighbour has some uninvited guests.”

The man looked away, down at the ground. After a moment his shoulders straightened and he strode across the street toward the shop. A loud rapping followed.

Gol rose. “I’ll get rid of him for you.”

“No.” Cery stood up and stretched. “I’ll take care of it. Stay here and keep watch. What’s his name, again?”

“Tevan.”

As Gol sat down again, he muttered something about it all being a waste of time. He’s probably right, Cery thought. The rogue won’t be coming back. But we may as well watch because we’ll look right fools if we’re wrong and she does come back. And we have no other clues to follow.

He walked out of the room and entered the stairway, descending to the ground floor. Pushing through the door to the storekeeper’s shop, Cery looked around with interest. They’d been using the back door, so he hadn’t been in here before. The room was full of fine ceramic bowls. He blinked and looked closer, then chuckled. They were all toilet basins, as finely painted and sculpted as vases or dinner ware.

Through the frosted glass door he could see the next-door shopkeeper’s hunched silhouette. The man had probably promised to keep an eye on his neighbour’s shop and house, and felt obliged to confront these trespassers. He was probably worried that he would regret it, too.

The front door was locked and there was no key in it or in any obvious hiding place close by. Cery was amused to find he had to pick the lock. Once unlocked, he opened the door, smiled at the shopkeeper and effected the sort of cultured accent merchants liked to use to impress rich customers.

“The shop is closed, I’m sorry.” Cery pretended to give the man a second look. “But you know that, don’t you? You’re… Tevan? You run the shop next door, correct?”

The man was of average height and carried the excess weight of a middle-aged man who hadn’t been forced to skip a meal in a long time – if ever.

“Who are you and what are you doing in Wendel’s house?” he demanded.

“I am Wendel’s cousin, Delin, and I am borrowing his house for the week.”

“Wendel doesn’t have a cousin. He has no family. He told me.”

“Second cousin, by marriage,” Cery explained. “He didn’t tell you I was staying here?” He frowned in mock puzzlement. “I suppose it was decided very late.”

“He didn’t. It’s not something he’s likely to neglect to tell me, either.” Tevan narrowed his eyes, then took a step backwards. “I’m calling on the Guard. If you’re lying you’d better get out while you have the chance.” The man turned and took a step away.

“The Guard’s like to get you and Wendel more rub than I ever will,” Cery said, dropping the accent and letting a little slum drawl colour his words. “Crawling all over this place breaking things looking for proof we were here, then saying you made it up. Let’s sort this out ourselves.”

Tevan had stopped, and now he looked at Cery with a worried frown.

“I only need be here for a week, maybe less,” Cery told him. “Wendel won’t see a sign I’ve been here. I’d pay him rent if he was about, but since he’s not here…” He reached into his coat, allowing the hilt of a knife to flash into sight briefly, and drew out a cap of gold coins he kept there for moments like these.

The man’s eyes widened. “A week?” he repeated. He looked transfixed by all the gold.

“Or less.”

Teran’s gaze rose to Cery’s. “Rent’s high around here.”

“Your house would be cheaper,” Cery replied.

Tevan swallowed. He looked at the coins again, then nodded. “What’s your going rate?”

“Half a gold per day,” Cery replied. He slipped the cap back into his coat. “You’ll find ’em dropped by your back door after I’m gone.”