“Not in my place,” the keeper said, shaking his head. “We’re a royal inn.”

The man at the table leaned back and showed a golden leopard in his hand.

“Perhaps you’d like a room?” the keeper suggested wearily.

“If I must,” the bastard at the table said. “A kitchen bench is more her speed.”

“Not in my kitchen,” the keeper said. He vanished.

“You have to dress better to come in here,” the bastard said. He shook his head. “This is bad enough already.”

Lessa shrugged. She was afraid all over again. Because a man with a sword, in a room with a lock, could go very badly for her, and no one was going to come and help her.

At the top of the inn stairs, when he glanced into the room, she paused.

“I’m no whore,” she said softly.

He raised an eyebrow. “I know,” he said, and went into the room.

She followed, and he closed the door behind her.

“Get rid of that overgown,” he ordered her.

She shook her head.

“Mary Magdalene, girl!” he spat. “I won’t rape you. My word on it. But you stink like a sheep a week in the grave.”

She stripped off the overgown.

He threw it out the window. “I’ll give you my cloak,” he said. “So, here we are.”

“My friend wants to meet your friend,” she said.

“My friend is watched night and day,” the man said. “And your friend’s the most wanted man in the kingdom.”

Lessa shrugged. “Our friends want the same thing,” she said. Although personally, she didn’t think it true. She knew that the voice, that shadowy demon thing that talked to Tyler, had ordered him to make this approach. She knew because she listened in the night. They lived with beggars; there was no privacy. She knew why she was here, and she didn’t fully agree with it.

The man with the grey beard frowned. “I’m not sure of that at all,” he said, as if echoing her thoughts. “My friend is a loyal servant of the queen.”

“Really?” Lessa asked with more tartness than she ought to use. “Then why are you meeting me at all?”

The question hung in the air.

There was a knock at the door, and the man rose from the chair, went, and fetched two earthenware cups and a pitcher of ale from the keeper.

“Shall I pour?” he asked with old-fashioned courtesy.

Lessa nodded.

He handed her the bitter and she took a sip, and then more, with gratitude. She felt better immediately.

The man smiled. “That’s a proper mug,” he said. “Aye, you’re a sharp one. I didn’t expect a woman, and I didn’t expect a whore, and I didn’t expect a witty answer like yon. So . . . mayhap you and your friend know a thing or two. What’s the game?”