“Yes,” Cerelinde said, her voice steady and certain. “I do.”

There was a sob, then; a raw sound, wrenched from Meara’s throat. She launched herself toward the door with unexpected speed, low to the ground and scuttling. Taken by surprise, Tanaros let her go. He caught only a glimpse of her face as she passed, an accusatory gaze between strands of lank, untended hair. Her hands scrabbled at the door, and the Mørkhar Fjel beyond it allowed her passage.

“What passes here, Lady?” Tanaros asked simply.

“You frighten her.” Cerelinde raised her brows. “Is there more?”

“No.” He thought about Meara; her weight, straddling him. The heat of her flesh, the touch of her mouth against his. Her teeth, nipping at his lower lip. The memory made him shift in discomfort. “Nothing that concerns you.”

Cerelinde moved away from him, taking a seat and keeping her disconcerting gaze upon him. “You do not know me well enough to know what concerns me, Tanaros Blacksword.”

“Lady, I know you better than you think,” he murmured. “But I will not seek to force the truth you are unwilling to reveal. Since I am here in good faith, is there aught in which I may serve you?”

Yearning flared in her eyes and she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Her voice trembled as she answered, “You might tell me what passes in the world beyond these walls.”

Tanaros nodded. “I would thirst for knowledge, too, did I stand in your shoes, Cerelinde. Never say I denied you unkindly. Yrinna’s Children are on the march.”

“what?” Yearning turned to hope; Cerelinde leaned forward, fingers whitening on the arms of the chair. There were tears in her bright eyes. “Tanaros, I pray you, play no jests with me.”

He smiled sadly at her. “Would that I did.”

“Yrinna’s Children have broken her Peace!” she marveled. “And …” Her voice faltered, then continued, adamant with resolve. “And Aracus?”

“He is coming.” Tanaros sighed. “They are all coming, Cerelinde.”

“You know it is not too late—”

“No.” He cut her off with a word. It hurt to see such hope, such joy, in her face. When all was said and done, it was true; he was a fool. But he was a loyal fool, and his loyalty was to Lord Satoris; and to others, who trusted him. Tanaros fingered the rhios that hung in a pouch at his belt. “Save your words, Lady. If you have need of aught else, send for me, and I will come.”

With that he left her, because it was easier than staying. The Mørkhar Fjel at her door gave him their usual salute. Tanaros stared hard at them. Too much suspicion and longing was tangled in his heart.

“See to it that no one passes unnoted,” he said. “Even the Dreamspinner’s madlings, do you understand? It was one such who served the Lady poison.”