than the news he’d come to relate. There was little native magic north of the Tigent, and the wild and magically barren land held little interest for the guildmaster. A few small border skirmishes with the barbarians. A witch who’d turned out to be nothing more than an herbalist when Randal was summoned to test her. The barley crop was doing well, so that was something.
Lanel watched the small boats below and listened to Randal’s report with half an ear...until the man smiled. A man who smiled like that enjoyed collecting secrets. Lanel would wager his last bottle of Ulla that Randal held one now.
“You have something else for me?”
Randal inclined his head. “I have news from within the city which you may not yet have heard.”
By city, he meant the stinking, sweating, seething collection of warehouses and shacks that surrounded the palace. It was, of course, impossible to know everything that happened in that warren, but Lanel wouldn’t be led, not by this man. “I’m well informed about what takes place within the city walls.”
“I was given to understand that this information would be of interest to you personally.” The spy spoke with care, which piqued Lanel’s interest as surely as it was meant to do.
He arched his brows and the spy frowned. Lanel was hard put not to laugh at the expression. After all this time, did the man really think he’d be so easy to twist?
“Fine, then,” Randal muttered. “Fine. You pay me what you think it’s worth. I came through the southern gates.”
“My sympathies. Why the southern gate?”
“Market day. The caravan I was travelling with had goods to sell and thought they’d make better time skirting the wall rather than trying to pass through the city streets.” He waved his hand. “That’s neither here nor there. What’s important is that I can give you a direct account of what happened in the marketplace these few days past.”
“And you think this would be of interest to me because...”
That crafty smile again. “Because I’ve never seen a master craftsman—a genuine master and a young one at that—ply her craft in the middle of a full market.”
Lanel went very still. “A master. You’re certain of that?”
Randal nodded.
“What craft?”
“Weaver.”
No longer bothering to pretend he wasn’t interested, Lanel lowered his goblet to the table. Silk whispered as he leaned forward, ready to catch every word. “Go on.”
* * *
The wide canopy that shielded the balcony outside of Kal’s bedroom filtered the light from the rising sun but didn’t entirely block it. He sat across from her at the small round table sipping at a steaming cup of clau, bare-chested and far more beautiful than any man had a right to be. When he caught her staring, his lazy smile widened. She blushed and stared down at her bowl. Turning the silver spoon, she scooped up a bright red berry from its bed of clotted cream and popped it in her mouth. It was delicious, rich and tart, the berries bursting with sweet juice. Almost too sweet.
“If it’s not to your liking, I can have something else prepared. Anything,” Kal said in a low voice that shivered through her like a memory of desire. Her body was attuned to him now and she didn’t know how to break that connection.
“No.” She reached for a smile. “I’m not very hungry. I’ve eaten more in this last week than I did most of last month, I think.”
He didn’t return her smile, only sat back and considered her for a moment before closing his hand around hers. Idly, he toyed with her fingers.
“Have the pleasures of my home grown stale already?”
“No.” She flinched at his searching gaze but forced herself to hold it. “At first, I thought they might but I don’t believe that anymore.”
He stole one of her berries with his free hand and she tapped his wrist with her spoon, smearing it with cream. He ate the berry and licked the cream from his wrist. “Why is that?” She lifted her
Lanel watched the small boats below and listened to Randal’s report with half an ear...until the man smiled. A man who smiled like that enjoyed collecting secrets. Lanel would wager his last bottle of Ulla that Randal held one now.
“You have something else for me?”
Randal inclined his head. “I have news from within the city which you may not yet have heard.”
By city, he meant the stinking, sweating, seething collection of warehouses and shacks that surrounded the palace. It was, of course, impossible to know everything that happened in that warren, but Lanel wouldn’t be led, not by this man. “I’m well informed about what takes place within the city walls.”
“I was given to understand that this information would be of interest to you personally.” The spy spoke with care, which piqued Lanel’s interest as surely as it was meant to do.
He arched his brows and the spy frowned. Lanel was hard put not to laugh at the expression. After all this time, did the man really think he’d be so easy to twist?
“Fine, then,” Randal muttered. “Fine. You pay me what you think it’s worth. I came through the southern gates.”
“My sympathies. Why the southern gate?”
“Market day. The caravan I was travelling with had goods to sell and thought they’d make better time skirting the wall rather than trying to pass through the city streets.” He waved his hand. “That’s neither here nor there. What’s important is that I can give you a direct account of what happened in the marketplace these few days past.”
“And you think this would be of interest to me because...”
That crafty smile again. “Because I’ve never seen a master craftsman—a genuine master and a young one at that—ply her craft in the middle of a full market.”
Lanel went very still. “A master. You’re certain of that?”
Randal nodded.
“What craft?”
“Weaver.”
No longer bothering to pretend he wasn’t interested, Lanel lowered his goblet to the table. Silk whispered as he leaned forward, ready to catch every word. “Go on.”
* * *
The wide canopy that shielded the balcony outside of Kal’s bedroom filtered the light from the rising sun but didn’t entirely block it. He sat across from her at the small round table sipping at a steaming cup of clau, bare-chested and far more beautiful than any man had a right to be. When he caught her staring, his lazy smile widened. She blushed and stared down at her bowl. Turning the silver spoon, she scooped up a bright red berry from its bed of clotted cream and popped it in her mouth. It was delicious, rich and tart, the berries bursting with sweet juice. Almost too sweet.
“If it’s not to your liking, I can have something else prepared. Anything,” Kal said in a low voice that shivered through her like a memory of desire. Her body was attuned to him now and she didn’t know how to break that connection.
“No.” She reached for a smile. “I’m not very hungry. I’ve eaten more in this last week than I did most of last month, I think.”
He didn’t return her smile, only sat back and considered her for a moment before closing his hand around hers. Idly, he toyed with her fingers.
“Have the pleasures of my home grown stale already?”
“No.” She flinched at his searching gaze but forced herself to hold it. “At first, I thought they might but I don’t believe that anymore.”
He stole one of her berries with his free hand and she tapped his wrist with her spoon, smearing it with cream. He ate the berry and licked the cream from his wrist. “Why is that?” She lifted her
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