It was true she wasn’t a young woman with the breathtaking lithe charm granted by youth and worn by youth so carelessly. But women who had experienced the world possessed confidence and humor and wisdom, a sense of perspective that very young women lacked, so on the whole he preferred older women. She wasn’t pretty, but she was attractive in every way that mattered: clear eyes, a good face, a love for her own body and its pleasures, and the strength of mind to match the rest. She knew what she wanted and she wasn’t afraid to try for it. She reached out to find the dregs of the wine, poured him a tumbler, and handed it over. She’d been raked across the back, too, the wound treated so well the scars had remained supple.

“Where’s that one from?” he asked.

“Which?” she asked, twisting to display first her back and then the horrible disfiguring gash across her front. “These are the two worst. The others—” She had a nick on her chin, another nick on her right shoulder, and a single white line running down one forearm. “These are like kisses. Sometimes those cursed eagles try to be affectionate and don’t know their own strength. Even this one, the back, that’s when U’ushu was trying to play and missed his aim. He’s dead now, poor thing. He was a good bird. They all are, mostly, as long as you know how to handle them.”

He gently traced what remained of her left breast. “What about this one?”

She said nothing for a moment, face pensive. She took the tumbler out of his hand and drained it. “Sheh! You need a new stock of wine. This is bitter even for being so cheap. Anyway, that’s a gift from an eagle named Tumna. She’s the worst-tempered raptor I’ve encountered, although I will tell you I put a lot of the blame on her reeve. He was an altogether foul character and he didn’t care for her as she needed. He was one of those who transferred in during the bad years leading up to the days when Marshal Yordenas held sway here.”

“Tumna?”

“Her reeve’s name was Horas.”

“Was?”

“She killed him. That same day you and Clan Hall and the outlanders rid us of Yordenas and his allies.”

“Eiya! I remember now. That’s a serious charge, when an eagle kills its reeve. When did she do this to you?”

She shook her head. “A few years back, when Horas first arrived here. She came to trust me later. We fawkners don’t dwell on such things or we’d not be able to do our work.”

He saw the warning look in her eyes, the set of her mouth and the way she had a breath half held in, but he couldn’t quite let go. Maybe only because he wasn’t sure if he’d betrayed her trust by allowing himself to sleep with her. “We all know the dangers of working with the eagles. But I’m only close to Scar, and he’d never hurt me. I don’t know how you fawkners do it, training the young ones, treating the ones who are injured and in pain and most likely to lash out . . . teaching an eagle who’s mauled you to trust you. Where do you find the courage?”