My jaw drops. She’s all dressed up, fine gown in grey-green like willow leaves, and her hair’s pushed back under a sort of band with embroidery on it. She looks . . . she looks good. But not like herself. I know what she’s thinking. It’s in her eyes, on her face, in the way she’s sitting, tight as a creature in a cage. Let me out of here.

I’m staring. I make myself look away, sit down with the fellows, keep myself to myself. Just as well if I don’t get to talk to her tonight. I’d have to tell the truth; tell her how I nearly got myself thrown out of the prince’s house. Could have wrecked the mission for her. Me being still here tonight, that’s only luck.

It happened like this. Some of the fellows weren’t happy with me taking night watch. Not the prince’s men. The ones from the south, Lady Flidais’s guards. Seems there’s not enough work to go around, and since I don’t belong here, they think they should come first. Which is funny, since they grumble all the time about night watch. No pleasing folk sometimes.

I’d done quite a few nights before trouble happened. Thought it was working well: stand guard at night, work on the cottage in the morning, sleep in the afternoon up by the wood, where it’s quiet. Outhouse is weather-tight now. Back to Winterfalls in time for supper. Couldn’t see why anyone would object.

But the fellows, the ones from Cloud Hill, weren’t happy. Took their time letting me know, but when they did it all blew up fast. First one of them making a remark, then another one saying his bit, an insult, another insult, a knock that wasn’t quite an accident. A push. A harder push.

Told them I wasn’t interested in a fight. Told them they should save their blows for a proper battle, like the one Lord Cadhan might be fighting back in Cloud Hill. Shouldn’t have said that. Quick sharp there were six of them around me in the men’s quarters, voices coming at me like knives, saying I was a half-wit, an ignorant oaf, a numbskull, and what would a dolt like me know about Lord Cadhan’s business anyway? I should stick to the work the villagers were kind enough to give me and stop robbing trained men of their livelihood. Where was I from, anyway? I was a wanderer, a nobody, not to be trusted. And so on.

Thing is, those years in Mathuin’s lockup gave me a thick hide, and a lot bounces off it. Sometimes something’ll get through. But I’ve got big shoulders. Sat there quiet, that night, and let them say what they wanted to say.