It was rare, but not unheard of, for a customer to make more than a token effort to pleasure a whore in return. As Charity talked, Emerahl felt a pang of sadness. This night of pleasure reminded her of a few she had experienced herself, long ago, with another Dreamweaver. The Dreamweaver. She smiled as she imagined what the girls would say if she told them of that liaison.

“Any time he wants to sneak into my tent he can have the night for free,” Charity told them.

“They don’t call her Charity for nothing,” Brand said, rolling her eyes.

“What did he look like?” Star asked.

“Tall. Skinny. I thought he was a bit scrawny at first. Very pale blond hair. Almost white. He had a beard, but he shaved it off the next day. Looked much better without it, too.”

Emerahl turned her mind from the girls’ chatter. Thinking of Mirar brought her back to her plans to find the source of the tower dream. It seemed a fanciful thing to do, hunting down a dreamer for no real reason other than curiosity. Although what else was there to occupy her? After a hundred years Northern Ithania had filled up with priests and priestesses. That restricted what she could do to almost nothing.

She was growing more and more convinced that the dreamer was on the other side of the mountains. The closer she got to the range, the stronger and more vivid the dream became. If that meant he or she was among the Pentadrians, so be it.

“You were right about the secret compartments,” Tide whispered into Emerahl’s ear, making her jump.

She turned to regard the young woman. “Compartments?”

“Under the seats,” Tide said, gently tapping her heel against the underside of her seat. “I saw Rozea putting things in here a week or so ago. She does it in the morning, when we’re all still asleep. I woke up and watched her through a hole in our tent.”

Emerahl smiled. “Aren’t you a clever thing?”

Tide grinned. “Not that I’m stupid enough to take anything.”

“No, that would be foolish,” Emerahl agreed.

Foolish for anyone who needed to stay in the brothel or couldn’t fend for themselves outside of it, she amended. In just a few days the Circlians would clash with the Pentadrians. She would wait and watch, and when the right moment came she would take her money and head for the pass.

And she would leave whoring, priests and Northern Ithania behind her.

As the final strut sprang into place, Tryss stood up and gave the bower one last critical examination.

“It’s fine,” Drilli said. She rose from her crouch and handed him a leg of roasted gowt. “So who did these new soldiers turn out to be?”