The widow Calla was not far to seek, though out of sight of Rahel. She had her child with her, as if to make clear her status as a widow, and a friend sat nearby. When she caught sight of Arcolin, she gestured to the friend, who glanced at Arcolin and then left. Calla gave him a wide smile. “My lord Duke, have you come to sit with me?”

“Yes. And this is your child?”

“This is Jamis, yes.” To the child she said. “Jamis, make your bow to Duke Arcolin.” The boy stood—a sturdy child of five or six winters, dark-haired and blue-eyed—and made an awkward bow. “M’lord,” he said. “Ark-lin?”

“Good day, Jamis,” Arcolin said. He folded his legs and sat down.

“I sense that you are narrowing your choices,” she said. “So the gossip goes, but the look on your face says you are still not completely certain.”

“You read me well, sera,” Arcolin said.

“Is it my gifts or my will that you question?” Here was no incipient flood of tears, whatever his answer; she was clear-eyed and steady.

“Not your gifts—and not the strength of your will, but its direction.”

“Ah. Then it is convention like a sword between us, my lord Duke. Though merchanters are less bound by rules than nobles—or our rules may simply be different—it is still true that women are taught not to declare first.”

“Sera Calla, are you afraid of me?”

“Afraid?” Her eyes widened. “Why should I be? Of your rank? A thief would frighten me, but not a duke. Of your history? You are a soldier, and as a soldier you have done much violence, I’m sure. Killed people, commanded others to do so. My brother is a soldier—I know what that means. But what I know of you, from others and from meeting you myself, gives me no reason to fear you.”

“And you would not be afraid in the north, when I am on campaign and most or all around you are rough soldiers?”

“Not at all. All around me in my father’s work—and in my husband’s when he was alive—were rough commoners, some of them soldiers. Soldiers are people, after all, before they are soldiers.” The look she gave him then softened something that had hardened year by year since Aesil’s refusal. “Are you that concerned about me, lord Duke? And not just about my qualifications? Then let me tell you—against society’s rules as it may be—that I like you well. Very well. Well enough to trust you with not only my life but my son’s. If that will not bring you to a decision, then—I will go. But I will regret it.”

“You like me…” He could not hide the surprise in his voice.