They assumed they were being overheard so they spoke in a fairly noncommittal fashion. They chatted and Amirantha finished his meal and said, “So, anything noteworthy?”

They knew he was asking if there was any clue that might help point him in his search under the massive pile of books.

Magnus said, “Quite a bit. It’s clear that Kingdom records of the region are spotty at best.”

That was a code phrase agreed upon telling Amirantha they had found nothing that would aid his search.

After the meal, servants returned them to their respective areas and Amirantha felt a mild disappointment over Livia not putting in an appearance. He cursed himself for his appetites and willingness to construct reasons to do what he wanted over the years, rather than what he should. Since meeting Pug and his companions, many things had left him profoundly changed in his view of the world in which he lived: the scope of the dangers being faced, the commitment and bravery of those undertaking the task of confronting those dangers, and their generosity and selflessness. But one thing had continued to leave him constantly unsettled and troubled, and it had been something of minor importance, he had once thought.

His encounter with Sandreena and Creegan had reopened old wounds, wounds he had not even admitted to himself existed before that encounter.

To those like Brandos who knew him well, he was unapologetic about his bad behavior with women over the years. He stopped a moment and considered the pile of books still to be examined, yet he hesitated. His mind was on the young Knight-Adamant from Krondor.

As a young man, like many young men do, he loved easily, or at least he had told himself it was love, but whatever it was, he had felt strong attachments. But his life being what it was, they never endured. By the time he found Brandos as a boy scrabbling around the city streets, he had come to not let his heart get involved. Women were creatures of comfort, to be taken and then left behind, lest one became attached and again faced loss in the end.

What he felt deepest was that he had cared a great deal more for Sandreena than he had admitted, that the time they had spent together in the oddly named little village north of Krondor had forged something deeper than merely the physical or a liaison of convenience. He hated how he felt.

He forced aside this morbid introspection and cursed himself for a sentimental old fool trapped in a young man’s body, and set about working on the volumes before him.