Stammel leaned forward. “It’s Andressat,” he said softly.

“What?” Arcolin did not turn around. “How could it be?” But Stammel was right. It could be Andressat’s voice.

Stammel shrugged. “I don’t know, but it must be.”

They ate when their food came; Arcolin wanted to turn and look, but did not. What he could remember of the man from his first casual glance around the room had not matched his memory of the Count of Andressat.

Later, in their room, a knock came on the door. Arcolin opened to find one of the servant girls, who curtsied and handed him a tightly folded paper. He opened it.

You do not know me, but I recognize you and your uniform. I have urgent word for your Duke. I travel incognito. I would speak with you. Jeddrin, Count of Andressat.

“It’s Andressat,” Arcolin said. “He wants to talk to me; he’s traveling under a false name. And being Andressat, he names no place or time, nor does he give his alias; I’m supposed to find it myself.”

He went back downstairs. Andressat had wedged himself into a back corner seat, hat pulled low. In the room full of merchants and travelers, all chatting amiably about something, he might as well have been dipped in whitewash. Arcolin went over and without lowering his voice said, “There you are! I forgot to tell you earlier, the price of that cloth in Cortes Vonja was only two natas a roll lower, and the transport—well, you know. So can we make agreement on the price now?”

A few heads had turned casually at the greeting, but an almost completed agreement for the purchase of a few rolls of cloth wasn’t as interesting as their own conversations.

Andressat, hunched over a bowl of fish soup, glared at Arcolin, then gestured. Arcolin sat down. “You didn’t say when or where,” Arcolin murmured. “Or what name you were using, or what occupation you claimed. But cloth merchant is safe enough, and I would have the authority to bargain for cloth for uniforms. Wool, winter-weight.”

“I—” Andressat cleared his throat. “It is nothing. I have chosen this out of necessity, and I must carry it through. I need your help.”

“I cannot delay my journey,” Arcolin said. “I am summoned to Autumn Court in Tsaia. But if I can help without delay, I will do so.”

“Phelan is now king of Lyonya, I hear,” Andressat said.

“Yes,” Arcolin said.

“The legitimate son of a former king, it is said.”

“Yes, indeed,” Arcolin said. “Half-elven—none of us knew that, including him.”

“I must see him,” Andressat said. “I found—” He leaned closer. “I found things in the archives—in Cortes Andres—he must see and know. You must ask him to come and see for himself.”

“I am not likely to see him,” Arcolin said. “I doubt he will come to Autumn Court in Tsaia, and from there I must go north, to take formal possession of the land that was his, and is now mine.”