“I’m here,” he said. He had meant it only for Stasia, but he must have spoken it louder than intended. The simple words echoed through the silent crowd. The fifty or so present huddled closer, gathering as if for a speech or proclamation. Cyrus gave them none. He hopped down from the window, bowed low once, and then turned away from them. Let it seem like his arrival meant little to him, and the gathering less. He was meant to be an enigmatic figure, and so he focused his attention on Stasia while the guests slowly resumed their hushed conversations.

“Do you know anything useful about Kaia?” he asked.

“Besides her finding way too many excuses to touch and flirt with Clarissa?” Stasia asked. “No, nothing.”

Cyrus leaned closer. His eyes sparkled behind his mask.

“Are you jealous, O mighty Ax of Lahareed?”

Stasia dropped a hand to her namesake weapon.

“I will murder you in front of the entire crowd, Vagrant, our years of effort and training be damned.”

Cyrus used his amusement as the impetus to set his feet to moving. Over a dozen of these meetings, and still he felt his throat tighten and his chest constrict at the start of them. Once he got to moving, to quietly chatting, the nerves would lessen. Not completely, they never faded completely, but it at least became bearable. Cyrus weaved through the crowd, which parted to allow him access. The men and women nodded or offered vague thanks and gratitude. It was mindless, but Cyrus knew it meant something to them. It made the Vagrant real, in ways even the killing did not.

Only after he’d done a total loop did he approach Clarissa and Kaia. He was scrambling at all of this, but making him seem eager to confront Kaia would be bad, right? And should he acknowledge knowing her name, or make her introduce herself? Gods, what he’d have given for Thorda to have spent a few weeks discussing political intrigue and verbal sparring. He’d sacrifice those tedious hours learning lockpicking in a heartbeat.

“It is good to see you here again, Clarissa,” he said, going with the safer greeting. The city clerk attended every meeting, and it would be strange if he did not know her.

“And you as well,” Clarissa said, all smiles. Cyrus hesitated, and she caught it immediately. “Please, meet my friend, Kaia Makris, one of Lord Mosau’s vassals.”

All the gods bless you, Clarissa, he thought. Cyrus dipped his head in greeting, his hood fluttering the tiniest bit so it better exposed his crown. The older lady bent at the knees and waist the slightest amount, a relaxed imitation of a more formal bow.

“At last we meet face-to-face,” Kaia said. “Presuming you have a face beneath that skull.”

“What might I have, if not a face?”