The plump woman regarded her thoughtfully. She was probably wondering how much blood she could take, wondering how much it would cost. Mula ought to be afraid of her, but she wasn’t, because her hidden sparkle stone felt different. Louder. Joyous. Like it was greeting her.

Finally the woman said, “I see no spill.”

Mula flashed her a quick grin. Then she dashed back to the kitchen.

Beside the hearth, Orlín was head-to-head with the cook. “They’re fine lords and ladies, mark my word,” Orlín was saying. “Finest I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s the second group this week with Joyans and Inviernos traveling together,” the cook observed.

“These are strange times,” said Orlín.

“Will you be wanting real venison for them?”

“Don’t bother.” Orlín spotted Mula, hovering near the door. “Girl, when the newcomers are done with their stew, show them to their rooms. Give them the dormers, hear?”

“Hear.”

“And as soon as you get a chance, find out what’s inside those travel packs. They might be traders. Rich traders.”

“You want me to steal something?” Mula hated stealing, but she did it once in a while on Orlín’s orders. She could be quiet as a rabbit in a burrow, when she needed to be.

“Not yet. Just tell me what’s inside.”

Mula nodded and backed out the door before Orlín could think up some other awful task for her.

The girl did exactly as asked. Once the strange group had finished their stew, she led them upstairs to the dormer rooms. She lingered while they settled in, hoping to get a glimpse inside their packs.

The tall woman approached her. “Do you need something from us?” she asked with an arch look.

“What’s inside those packs?” Mula asked. “Are you traders?”

The two women exchanged a glance.

“Just supplies,” said the plump woman.

“Orlín thinks you might be traders.”

“Orlín?”

“Man who owns this inn and everything in it.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, traders,” the tall woman said. “Spices. If they sell well, we might come back with more.”

The plump woman stepped forward, cocked her head to study the little girl. “Did the innkeeper put you up to asking?”

Mula should lie. She knew she should. But Mula was terrible at lying, and these people had kindness in their eyes, so she nodded once, quick, then looked away, unable to meet their gazes.

The plump woman said, “You may tell your innkeeper that we carry marjoram and sage. Now please allow us some privacy.”

Mula turned to go. She knew what sage was, but she’d never heard of the other one. She practiced the word in her head.

Mula wasn’t sure what made her turn back around, pin the plump woman with a look and say, “Orlín says you might be fancy lords and ladies. He’s got a very bad want for seeing inside your packs.”

In the ensuing silence, the girl’s heart was fierce in her chest. What had she just done? If Orlín found out . . .