The woman pursed her lips and reached into her pocket, pulling out a pretty silver case and opening it. Vada took a cigarette and lit it using one of the thick black candles decorating the bar. She exhaled a long stream of smoke and smiled. “Thanks. Hey, was that some Kaolin asshole I saw giving you attitude?”

“Aye, it was,” Neve said, then spit on the floor. “You know him?”

“Nah, the beard gave it away.” Vada flicked some ash off her cigarette. “What was he after?”

The bartender snorted. “You’re too young to remember it all. That there was Xavier McLellan, the one who married Alethea Byrne and stole her away to Kaolin. He used to come in here all the time back when he was courting her. Courting her money more like, but that’s none of my business. He’s even staying at the inn on the Street o’ Leaves, just like he used to. Old habits, I suppose.”

Agnes’s fingers clutched at her glass so tight she feared she might break it. Her father had met her mother in Pelago. In Pelago. She’d always assumed Alethea had come to Old Port.

Not to mention spending his nights here. It was almost too impossible for Agnes to believe, except she’d seen him with her own eyes and the bartender had no reason to lie.

“Lucky he was docking in Ithilia at all,” Vada said. “Misarros and soldiers everywhere, locking up Kaolins left and right.”

“Aye, but he knows the city plus he’s got a Pelagan with him, red-haired fellow. Asking about Ambrosine, they were. Told ’em she’d cut off the passages to the Lost Islands. Didn’t like that much. His attitude changed, though, when I told him about Princess Rahel’s ship. You hear about that?”

Vada nodded.

Neve whistled. “She’s gone and done it now, Ambrosine has. Xavier laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d heard in his life. Anyway, I told him if he wanted to escape the dungeons of Banrissa, he’d best be leaving and leaving soon.”

“That was uncommonly nice of you,” Vada said.

Neve shrugged. “He’s a good tipper. Always was, still is. I remember one night, he took out Alethea and her whole entourage—she was always surrounded by actors and musicians and sculptors, the sort who are looking for a wealthy patron. Alethea didn’t care a fig about money.” She gave a derisive grunt. “Those who have it never do. They kept drinking and he kept buying. Were here until close. Left me a fat pile of aurums.”

“Was that impressing Alethea?” Vada asked.