“So. You came here from Old Thares,” I said, when the silence began to feel awkward.

“That we did.” She didn’t sound inclined to talk.

“You’re a long way from home, then. It must be very different for you here.” I prodded her with words, trying to start a conversation. She turned the tactic against me.

“Have you ever been to Old Thares?”

“I have. I went to school there for a season.” I would not mention the academy.

I had no desire to tell the long tale of why I was no longer there.

“School. Ah. Never been myself. And if you were in a school, you never saw my city.” She was adamant.

“I didn’t?” I asked cautiously.

“Do you know the part of town down by the river docks? Some folk call it the Rats’ Nests?”

I shook my head, inviting her to go on.

“Well, that’s where I come from. I lived all my life there, until I come here.

My father was a ragpicker. My mother sewed. She could take old rags my father gathered, wash and press them, and turn them into the best things you ever saw. She taught me. A lot of folks throw away stuff that just needs a good washing and a bit of mending to be fine again. Some will throw out a whole shirt for a stain down the sleeve, as if you couldn’t make something nice out of the part that was good. Rich people waste a lot of things.” She said it self-righteously, as if challenging me to disagree. I said nothing.

She sipped from her tea, then admitted, “My husband was a thief.” Her mouth twisted on the word. “He was a thief like his father and grandfather before him. He used to laugh and say that it was the good god’s will that he follow in his father’s footsteps. When our boy was born, he even talked about how he would teach him to cut purses when he was older. But then Rig was caught and the choice was put to him—lose his hand or come east to work on the King’s Road.” She sighed. “It’s my fault we’re here. I talked him into coming east. They made it sound so good. Hard work for my husband for two years, but then our own home in the town that they’d build along the King’s Road. They made it sound so good. We’d have own little house and garden in town, and land of our own outside of town. They told us any man could learn to hunt and that made meat free, and with what we’d grow in our garden, we’d never be short of food again. And they said the King’s Road would flow golden with travelers and trade, right past our door. I imagined that we would have a wonderful new life.” She pursed her lips and stared into the fire. For a moment, caught in that old dream, she looked much younger, and with a jolt I realized she probably wasn’t much older than I was. Her musing look changed to a scowl. “It’s getting late,” she warned me without looking at me.