Entering Tsaia again as Ser Burin, in colorful clothes and riding with Fox Company, he should go unrecognized if he stayed away from Vérella. “Thank you,” he said. “And my son?”

“I will send word today,” Marshal Porfur said. “If you’re leaving a few days from now, Marshal Steralt will have time to bring him to the grange.”

The journey to Valdaire went smoothly: a tensquad of Fox Company soldiers, several pack animals, Arvid, and two small traders who had begged to travel with them. Arcolin checked their references, especially the one claiming to be from Cilwan, and thought they were safe enough. They separated in Valdaire, the two traders peeling off inside the gates and Arvid heading for the grange on the far side of the city.

“Sure you don’t want an escort, sir?” asked the corporal in charge of the escort.

“No, thanks. I’ll be back at your quarters in the morning, if not before.” He wore clothes bought in Foss’s market—more southern even than the ones he’d bought in Valdaire before—and he wouldn’t go near the Dragon, where someone might recognize his name and call it out.

At the grange, Marshal Steralt greeted him warmly. “I have Porfur’s word—you’re different, you know. And the lad is fine. Some effort was made to find him, but my yeomen don’t chatter—not when I tell them nay.”

“Where—should I go alone or—”

“He’s here. Where are you staying? The Dragon?”

“Too obvious,” Arvid said. “I can stay in the Fox Company quarters.”

“Not a good idea, making an extra trip across the city. Stay overnight here, why don’t you, or I’ll house you with one of the yeomen in this district.”

“I don’t want to bring trouble…”

Marshal Steralt shook his head. “You won’t. If anything, you’ll bring an opportunity for someone to use what he’s been taught. Come in, see the lad. He’s grown already.”

The boy turned from the table in the Marshal’s room, where he’d been scratching letters on a wax tablet; his face lit up, and he launched himself at Arvid.

“You came back! You came back!”

Arvid looked over his head at Marshal Steralt.

“I didn’t tell him everything in case you had trouble on the road,” Marshal Steralt said. “It’s for you to tell him what you will, now.”

“Sit down,” Arvid said to the boy. The boy had filled out, no longer scrawny-skinny though still lean, and now brown-faced from being outside somewhere. A farm, he supposed. He wore a Girdish-blue shirt embroidered with yellow stars and red circles around the neck; his trousers were too big for him but rolled up neatly at the ankle, and he wore shoes. Against the wall, Arvid saw a rolled blanket tied with thongs.