Ayers’s face showed he doubted this. “If you want to stay, it’ll be forty-five silver.”

“Forty-five?” Hadrian exclaimed, stunned. “For space under the stairs? No wonder no one has taken it. A room at The Regal Fox in Colnora is only twenty!”

“Go there, then, but if you want to stay here, it’ll cost you forty-five silver—in tenents. I don’t take those imperial notes they’re passing now. It’s your choice.”

Hadrian scowled at Ayers but counted out the money just the same. “I hope that includes dinner.”

Ayers shook his head. “It doesn’t.”

“We also have three horses.”

“Lucky you.”

“No room at the stable either? Is it okay to leave them out front?”

“Sure … for another … five silver a horse.”

They pushed and prodded their way through the crowd with their bags until they came to the wooden staircase. Beneath it, several people had discarded their wet cloaks on nail heads or on the empty kegs and crates stored there. Royce and Hadrian stacked the containers to make a cubby and threw the coats and cloaks on them. A few people shot them harsh looks—the owners of the cloaks, no doubt—but no one said anything, as it appeared most understood the situation. Looking around, Arista saw others squatting in corners and along the edge of the big room. Some were families with children trying to sleep, their little heads resting on damp clothes. Mothers rubbed their backs and sang lullabies over the racket of loud voices, shifting wooden chairs, and the banging of pewter mugs. These were the lucky ones. She wondered about the families who could not afford floor space.

How many are cowering outside under a boardwalk or in a muddy alley somewhere in the rain?

As they settled, Arista noticed the noise of the inn was not simply the confusing sounds of forty unrelated conversations, but rather one discussion voiced by several people with various opinions. From time to time one speaker would rise above the others to make a point, and then drown in the response from the crowd. The most vocal was the red-haired young man.

“No, he’s not!” he shouted once more. “He’s not a blood relative of Urith. He’s the brother of Urith’s second wife.”

“And I suppose you think his first wife was murdered so he could be pushed into marrying Amiter, just so Androus could become duke?”