And yet these were two of the people she had loved most in the world. How then was she to trust her heart? It fluttered now like a shy, rapturous bird, caged with uncertainty but breathless with hope, and she could not help but believe she would be a fool to follow it. This same heart had taken her down grand, giddy paths before, leading her straight to devastation and despair. Why was she to think it was any wiser now? She was not one who could differentiate the noble character from the base; she could not discern the black lie threaded through the gaudy truth. She could not love again; there was no safety in her judgment.

She would not seek out Nolan Adelpho once she returned to the city.

*   *   *

Nolan had been gone for ten days when Chay finally called for Kit again. The guard escorted her to one of the staterooms, so she knew before she saw him that he must be much improved. And indeed, once she stepped into his presence, she saw that he had begun a slow recovery. He was still unwontedly pale, and he seemed to have lost a good deal of weight, but the vibrancy was back in his eyes, his voice, his skin.

“Kit. You’re looking well,” he greeted her, gesturing for his guard to leave and for her to seat herself at a table laden with food. They both complied. Chay took a chair across from her. She thought that he had chosen this room for the audience because of its rich amber walls, which reflected extra color onto his cheeks and brow. He was still far from completely well.

“As are you, Chay Zanlan,” she said formally. He had spoken in goldtongue and she followed suit.

“And you have been well entertained in your visit here? My lady wife and my daughters have helped you amuse yourself?”

“They are, as always, charming and delightful.”

Talk continued for a while in this vein, the careful social indirections for which the gulden were famous. They each served themselves platefuls of food, and took small bites, and continued chatting, and nothing of importance was said for at least twenty minutes.

Finally, laying his napkin aside, Chay leaned forward a little in his chair. “We must talk, you and I, Kitrini Solvano,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “I thought we were talking,” she said serenely.

He smiled. “We can converse in bluetongue, if you prefer,” he said, switching to that language.

“Only if, in such words, you can tell me outright what you want me to hear,” she said, matching him again.

“It is a language made for plain speaking,” he said. “At times I envy it.”

“Then speak plainly,” she said.

“It is time for you to leave Gold Mountain,” Chay said.

She nodded. “I am glad to hear it.”

“And I would wish you to leave not hating me.”