A Longhand. Most Dividian think we look just like our Ashlord cousins, but if someone grows up in the Reach, they can spot the differences a league away. He sports a fashionable cowboy hat that no Ashlord would be caught dead wearing. His skin is slightly paler, his fingertips slightly rounder, and his eyes a few shades lighter. It’s only as he stops a few feet away that I confirm my guess with the final detail. Ashlords are warm. There’s a heat on their breath, along their skin. They claim it’s a sign of their link to the gods. And this man doesn’t have it.

“Adrian Ford,” he says with a smile. “In the flesh.”

I raise an eyebrow as he sets both drinks down on the table. He slides one across to me. It’s a familiar muddy color that brings a smile to my face. I lift the glass to inspect it in the light.

“You ordered me a Revolver? In this place?”

The stranger lifts his own glass. “Well. It’s their excuse for a Revolver. I highly doubt they got the ratios right, but I figured you deserved a proper drink. Something from the Reach. I know you’re heading for the Hall of Maps. So it’s just a taste. Don’t want your head spinning.”

I nod my thanks. Revolvers are a classic drink. Daddy doesn’t like them, but Antonio has something of a thirst for them. It takes true craft to get right. Each sip should revolve. A taste of ale, a taste of firespice, a taste of ale. On and on until it’s time for the second round. I’m barely old enough to drink, but knowing which drinks are which is a rite of passage in the Reach.

I might recognize the drink, but I don’t recognize the man. “Who are you?”

He sets his glass down again. “Didn’t think you’d remember me. I’m an old friend of your father’s. Ben sent me to this city twenty-three years ago.”

I take in his features again and try to match them with the story he’s telling. An image of an old painting appears. I’ve seen it every time I’ve been inside the capital courthouse. It takes some mental digging but I finally pull the name that appears at the bottom of that placard.

“Emerson.”

That easy smile returns. “You’re Ben’s boy, after all. That man never forgot a name.”

“None worth knowing at least.”