“Of course, and I’m glad of it! You wouldn’t just be putting your own head on a spike, you know. Alec and I are rumored to be part of it. And if word of this ever reached the queen, do you think she would believe for one moment that Klia wasn’t involved, as well? I only hope it’s not too late to quell such rumors. If I’ve heard of it, then others must have.”

“Where did you hear of it?” Malthus asked again.

“Some noble I met at Kylith’s salon. I don’t even remember his name. But you can rely on me to uphold your honor. You have nothing to fear from me, I assure you.” Seregil was beginning to feel a bit heartsick with all these empty promises.

“And Alec knows nothing of this?”

“No, and I have no intention of involving him. That’s why I sent him out tonight.”

Malthus clasped Seregil’s hands tightly. “Thank you, my friend, for this warning. Rest assured that I have taken everything you’ve said to heart.” This time, to his credit, he spoke with an almost convincing lack of concern.

Hidden in the bedroom, Alec heard the library door open and the sound of Seregil and Malthus going downstairs, chatting amiably. He waited for some time before it was clear that Malthus was in no hurry to take his leave. Perhaps Seregil had suggested a game to finish off the evening. Or they’d gone out together.

Alec, already changed into a dark, plain coat, was pacing impatiently when Seregil finally came in, looking serious. “Well?”

“Go.”

Alec hurried off after Malthus.

Seregil went to his clothes chest and retrieved the fake message he’d crafted. “Now let’s send you home.”

The first leg of the letter’s journey began at the inn. One of the scullions took the wrapped and sealed packet and a handful of silver half sesters from Ema, unaware of Seregil—plainly dressed and armed with the tools of his trade—trailing along behind. Not surprisingly, the first stop was the Black Feather, where the boy left it and some coins with the landlord. It was late, and the barmaids began putting up the shutters. As the tavern cleared, the tavern keeper placed the packet—minus a few coins, no doubt—behind the model ship on the mantelpiece and reversed the ship’s direction, then called the girls away into the back of the shop. One of the drinkers, a young ne’er-do-well in a broken-brimmed hat, had lingered behind, and as soon as they were gone he grabbed the packet and money, tucked it into the front of his coat, and strode out, not noticing the dark shape ghosting after him.

Packet and coins changed hands again at a cheese shop, where a young boy took them and changed direction, heading at last toward the Noble Quarter, as expected.