He would never tell them, of course. In this dance, the music would not change. The partners would not shift. The dancers would keep dancing until the final beat of the drum.

There came a knock at the door.

“Strange time for visitors,” said Rosa, turning from the bubbling stew pot, over which she had been hovering, to peer out the window. She gave a little gasp. “It’s one of the Blessed!”

Draconas knew in that instant that he’d made a mistake. He should not have come back to this house. He’d been discovered. Perhaps Ven had given him away, although Draconas didn’t think that likely. Ven was one to keep himself to himself. Draconas considered it far more likely that someone in the “palace” had seen through his illusion and tracked him down.

Rosa opened the door and there was the exact monk of the bridge, sane eyes and all.

“Good evening, Brother,” said Rosa nervously, with a strained smile.

“Good evening, Mistress,” said the monk. He was relaxed, his tone natural. His gaze, as he glanced about the house, was casual. If he saw Draca, standing at the back of the room, he took no special notice of her. “This is the home of Master Anton, the blacksmith, is it not?”

“Yes, Brother—” Rosa hesitated.

“Brother Leopold. Is your good man about?” the monk asked politely.

“No, Brother Leopold, he is working late this night,” Rosa replied. “You will find him in the smithy. I can show you, if you will come . . .” As she started out the door, she was closing it behind her.

“Bless you,” Draconas said to her softly.

Unfortunately, the monk stopped her. “Thank you, Mistress,” he said, smiling affably. “I would not think of interrupting his work. I will wait for him here, if my presence is not an inconvenience.”

Rosa murmured something and, with a frightened glance at Draca, she opened the door to allow the monk to enter.

The monk walked into the house and stood politely until Rosa offered him a chair. He sat down and his gaze went over the house again. Rosa remained standing, twisting her skirt in her hands.

“Whatever you are cooking smells delicious,” Brother Leopold said, glancing at the stew pot, from which a fragrant aroma of onions and meat and spices was rising. “You wait until your good man comes home to dine, I take it.”

Rosa murmured something unintelligible and then did not know what to do with herself. She continued to stand near the door, twisting the cloth. A tense silence fell—tense on the part of Draconas and Rosa. The monk appeared to be quite at home. Smiling, he settled comfortably in his chair and continued to look about, apparently quite taken with what he saw.

“You are a good housekeeper, Mistress Rosa,” he said, and his gaze went at last to Draca and remained on her. “Your daughter must be a great help to you.”