“But you’ve seen your daughter since she moved in,” Draconas persisted.

“No, not in many years,” Anton replied, and his face was shadowed. “Once a woman enters the palace, she’s not allowed to leave. That’s one of the rules. And not a very good one, if you ask me.”

“But we get letters from her,” Rosa said hastily, with a worried glance at her husband. “Twice a year she writes to us about how happy she is and how much she enjoys serving the dragon. As strong as you are in the blood bane, Draca, I’m sure you’ll be chosen to serve the dragon.”

“Maybe . . .” Draconas was cautious. “Where is the palace?”

“Now, Draca, don’t be a tease,” said Rosa. “Everyone knows where the palace is.”

“And everyone knows that we are forbidden to go near it,” Anton said sternly. “That includes children.”

Draconas gave them a mischievous grin and held out the bowl. “Could I have some more to eat, please? It’s really, really good.”

Rosa, gratified, ladled out more stew.

Anton rose from the table. “I have to get back to the forge, Wife. I may be late for supper. We’ve a deal of work to do all of a sudden. A large order came in this morning. An order for weapons.”

Rosa set down the bowl in front of Draconas, who watched and listened, all the while pretending to be absorbed in his meal.

“Weapons?” Rosa repeated. “What sort of weapons?”

“Throwing darts, mostly. As many as I can turn out as fast as I can turn them out. One of the Blessed came by the shop this morning to tell me. And it’s not just me. Every blacksmith in the city has been told to drop all other work and turn his hand to this.”

“And what are you to do with these weapons?”

“Hand them over to the Blessed.”

“And what do they do with them?”

“They take them to the palace. That is what I hear. The weapons are being stored there.”

“The palace . . .” Rosa wrinkled her forehead. “Maybe the rumors are true.”

“Maybe,” Anton grunted.

Rosa sighed. Her hands squeezed together tightly.

Anton kissed her cheek. “Don’t fret, Wife. It’s nothing to do with us, whatever may be brewing, except that it brings me more work, and that will mean extra rations. What are you doing this afternoon?”

“I should go to the market. I meant to go this morning, but I didn’t want to leave Draca home alone.”

“I’m fine. Truly I am,” Draconas piped up. “You can go, Rosa. I don’t mind being alone. I like it.”

“We are out of meat,” said Rosa, and she gave Anton a meaningful look. “I was thinking of going to the butcher. Dimitri, perhaps. There’ll be nothing for your supper otherwise—”