They won’t spare me a second thought. I’m just an ordinary Dreamweaver. They’ll probably be relieved to get rid of me. They’ll—

“Leiard?”

The voice came from close by. Leiard blinked as he realized he was at the end of a pier. He turned to see Jayim standing behind him.

“Jayim?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

The boy’s forehead crinkled. “Looking for you.” He glanced from side to side. “Who were you talking to?”

Leiard stared at his student. Talking? He swallowed and realized his throat did feel as it did when he had been speaking for some time.

“Nobody,” he said, hoping that he didn’t look as disturbed as he felt. He shrugged. “Just reciting formulas aloud.”

Jayim nodded, accepting Leiard’s explanation. “Are we going to have lessons today?”

Leiard looked out at the ships. The fog was thinner now, rising in drifts. It was impossible to tell how long he had been standing here. A few hours, from the position of the sun.

“Yes. More cures, I think. Yes, you can never know too many by heart.”

Jayim grimaced. “No links?”

Leiard shook his head. “Not yet.”

Emerahl was dragged, protesting, from the depths of sleep by a persistent hammering. Reaching a state of befuddled awareness, she recognized the sound as that of a fist making contact with a door. She opened her eyes and muttered a curse. The one advantage of staying up late and sleeping all morning was that she did not have the tower dream, but occasionally the landlord came early for the rent.

“I hear you,” she called. “I’m coming.”

With an effort, she pushed herself upright. Immediately she felt the cloying ropes of sleep loosen. She blinked and rubbed her eyes until they remained open, yawned several times, then, throwing on her dirty old tawl, went to the door.

As soon as the latch clicked the door swung inward. Emerahl stumbled back, gathering magic quickly to form an invisible shield. The intruder was a large middle-aged woman dressed in fine clothing. Behind her stood two broad-shouldered men, obviously hired guards.

No feeling of violent intent came from this rich stranger and her guards, only curiosity and the arrogance of people with wealth or power. Emerahl stared at the woman.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

The woman ignored the question. She glanced around the room, eyebrows rising with disdain, then gave Emerahl an assessing look. “So you’re the whore Panilo’s discovered.” She pursed her lips. “Take off the tawl.”

Emerahl made no move to obey. She met the woman’s eyes levelly. “Who are you?” she repeated.

The stranger crossed her arms and thrust out her generous bosom. “I am Rozea Peporan.”

She obviously expected Emerahl to know the name. After a short silence, the woman frowned and uncrossed her arms, placing her hands on her hips instead.

“I own and run the richest brothel in Porin.”