“As an attempt to intimidate me, it’s not bad, Captain, but I’m up here on a winged horse, and you’re down there wondering how much of your heart I’ve seen.”

A smile ghosted onto his face and faded. “As it happens, Lord Twilight rode into town earlier today. He said a cloak, a woman wearing the color of death, might arrive soon. I just sent a man to fetch him.”

Warning stamped. A door slid open on a long covered porch. The man who stepped into the courtyard wore a cloak very like hers, only the color of his was indistinguishable from the purpling-dark shadows. His hair was black, his eyes and complexion dark, and his expression ironic.

“You and your men can go, Captain,” he said.

They departed hastily through gates and doors.

As he crossed the garden, she dismounted and released Warning to nose among the tea flowers. He halted beside the fountain. Lanterns hanging from tripods spread light on his face. He studied her as a smile twisted his lips.

“I wasn’t sure if I had dreamed you, or really spoken to you. A wish is no better than a dream.” His voice was softly mocking, but not of her. The accent dazzled.

“ ‘Lord Twilight’?” she asked with a laugh.

“It is grand, isn’t it?” He let the grin emerge fully.

“It’s ridiculous. Nor do you look like a Northerner, to carry the title.”

“Lord?”

“It’s an ancient claim, found only in the north. You’re not a Northerner. You’re not even born of the Hundred.”

“As I admitted when we talked the first time.”

“As your face proclaims. A good-looking face, I admit, but an outlander’s face nevertheless. How in the hells did an outlander become a Guardian? A ‘cloak,’ as the soldiers call us.”

He raised a hand, wincing. “Let’s not spoil a pleasant evening with a painful subject. What am I to call you?”

She hesitated.

“If you won’t give me something, I’ll have to make up a name. And you won’t like it, Lady Death.”

“Aui! I’m wounded. You can call me Ramit.”

“I suppose it’s the best I can get.”

“Yes. You said you’re called Hari. Water-born, like me.” And therefore forbidden, but she didn’t say that out loud.

“Water-born? They said that before to me, but it means nothing. My father named me Harishil, which means fifth of his sons. Nothing about water.”

Not forbidden, after all! She smiled. “I’ll not mention it again. Why are you in High Haldia? Why not follow the army down the Istri Walk as I’m doing?”

His eyes shuttered. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“I’m sure it’s what I must do.”

It was a relief to look at a man and not be flooded with his thoughts and feelings, and the longer she held his gaze in a kind of defiant counterstare the more it seemed they were flirting. And since he was not truly Water-born, she could enjoy the sensation. He had broad shoulders and the graceful strength of a man in his prime, about the age she had been when she’d died.