A harried serving girl placed similar platters before the two Heralds; meat, bread, and stewed vegetables. A boy followed her with a tray of wooden mugs of thin ale, and the keys to their rooms.

They ate quickly; the food wasn’t anything to linger over, and Talia’s bench, at least, was so crowded she had barely enough room to perch. And there were more people coming in, waiting with expressions of impatience for seats. With their hunger appeased, they took their keys and their mugs to the other side of the lantern-lit room, where there was a fire and a number of benches and settles scattered about.

Talia felt curious eyes on them—not hostile, just curious. She decided that they were the only foreigners among the guests, for she couldn’t detect any accents among those speaking. She picked a seat, and took it quickly, feeling very conspicous in her white uniform that stood out so sharply in the otherwise dark room.

“Heralds out of Valdemar, be you?” asked a portly fellow in brown velvet as Kris took a comer of a bench.

“You have us rightly, good sir,” Talia answered him.

“Don’t see Heralds often.” His inquisitive glance left no doubt but that he was curious about what brought them.

“You should be seeing more before summer’s over,” Talia replied with what she hoped was just enough friendliness. “Queen Selenay will be making a visit to your King. We’re here to help get things ready for her.”

“Ah?” he replied, his interest piqued. “That so? Well—maybe things be taking a turn for the better, after all.”

“Have things been bad lately?” she asked as casually as possible. “Valdemar’s had its share of troubles, what with floods and all.”

“Oh, aye—floods and all,” he replied, a bit too hastily, and turned to the men on the other side of him, joining the conversation in progress.

“’Scuse me, milady, but could you tell me what the grain prices look to be on your side of the Border?” A tall, thin merchant interposed himself between Talia and the man she had first spoken to, and it would have been plain rudeness to ignore him. He kept her engaged with so many questions that she had no chance to ask any of her own. Finally she’d had enough of being monopolized, and signaled Kris that she was ready to leave.

When Kris yawned, pled fatigue, and rose to head for his room and bed, Talia followed. The guest rooms were monklike cells arranged along the walls; they had no fireplaces or windows, but slits in the walls near the ceiling gave adequate ventilation. Kris raised one eyebrow interrogatively at her as he unlocked his door; she gave him the little nod that meant she’d learned something interesting, and the hand motion that meant they’d talk about it later.