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Then he ordered Maddie to take the sick girl’s place.
    Irritation washed over her, and again she nearly refused.
    “When you’ve delivered the trays,” Hulet said, “don’t forget to refill the wine glasses. Mace is already in there.” He turned away and spoke to another. “They’ll be wanting their coffee soon. How are you coming with that?”
    Sighing, Maddie balanced the tray of stuffed dates on one hand, the platter of honeyed pastries on the other, and set off. The esteemed gentleman was set up in the Nobility Room, on the far side of the Gilded Ram’s inner courtyard. The servants’ entrance was at the back. Balancing her trays, she shouldered the door open and stepped into deep darkness, the air warm and heavy with incense. For a moment she could hardly breathe, for it pressed about her like thick cotton and resisted her attempts to drag it into her lungs. As the door swung shut behind her she felt as if she were falling down a well. Then the air rushed into her lungs and the feeling passed, as did the darkness. With her eyes adjusted, she saw the room was merely dimly lit.
    The esteemed gentleman’s tent did indeed fill the entire hall. Red and white silk swooped outward from a central stanchion, then draped down in what she surmised to be the six walls customary of an eastern warlord’s deniga . She couldn’t tell for sure because curtains partitioned off a smaller space on the far side of the room. Thick Sorian carpeting covered the floor, and the space had been lit with candles flickering in clear glass pots—some colorless, others tinted amber or scarlet—and arranged in artful groupings around the room, as well as the main table. Small plates of onions stood among them to keep away the staffid.
    Kyra was just finishing her song as Maddie entered, the musicians playing out the final few bars. As the sounds faded, one of the musicians plucked the strings of his lirret in a wandering and repetitive melody meant only to fill the silence.
    It was immediately clear which of those at the long, linen-clad table was the esteemed gentleman, for he sat at its center, facing the entertainers. He wore a dark silk tunic with a dark robe over, edges stitched with silver and trimmed with small red stones that flashed in the candlelight. Thick dark hair tumbled in loose waves about his shoulders, framing a handsome, angular face, darkened with the closely trimmed beard easterners favored. As dark as the tented chamber was, she was surprised at how clearly she saw his face. In the flickering, multihued candlelight, it glowed like warm gold.
    The innkeeper, Serr Penchott, stood just inside the door with one of the Sorites, and Maddie heard the latter asking him if he had any dancers.
    “None trained, sir,” the innkeeper replied with far too much trembling deference. He suggested Kyra might try it, and Maddie heard the Sorite give a derisive snort as she passed out of earshot and approached the long table. Suddenly the esteemed guest’s face turned slightly, light flashing off what looked like gilding on his cheekbones as his dark eyes fixed upon her and his nostrils flared like those of a hound catching a scent. Blushing, she averted her eyes, feeling the intensity of his gaze until she stepped onto the platform and came around behind the men who sat along the table beside him.
    From the corner of her eye she saw him turn away to speak to his seatmate. Reaching past the shoulder of the third man from the end, she laid the first of her trays onto the table. Continuing down the line of backs, she deposited the second as Mace laid hers before the esteemed guest himself, and Hulet covered the table’s far end.
    Free of the tray, Maddie picked up the jug of mulled wine and worked her way down the table, filling the shallow drinking bowls as she went. As she’d expected, the men spoke in Sorian, a language she did not know. Thus, though she could hear them clearly, she had no idea what they were saying. Her time had