In Ulvanensee, I found Anora alone, engaged in weeding the flagstoned courtyard. “Thara!” he said, getting to his feet. “I was hoping to see thee today.”

“Hast thou news, then?”

“I do. I have spoken to Osmin Temin’s uncle.”

“And?”

“They want nothing to do with her.”

“Even in burial?”

“Her uncle said he had disowned her ten years ago and saw no reason to change his mind.”

“That is very harsh.”

“From what you have told me of the woman, it is entirely warranted,” said Anora. “In any event, it relieves us of one problem: she can be buried with the other twenty-two bodies and no one will object.”

“Yes, and I have a paper from Osmer Ormevar so that your junior prelates can go collect the bodies.” I handed Anora the paper; he glanced at it and nodded approval.

“I’ll have them start tomorrow morning. And we’ll have to see about coffins.”

“They could go straight to the revethmerai, I think. There wasn’t much left but bones and cloth. Except for Osmin Temin, of course.”

“They should spend at least a season in reveth’osrel,” said Anora. “At least, if it were one of my relatives, I would want that.”

“Prince Orchenis would probably pay for the coffins,” I said.

“Oh, I’ll be submitting a list of all our expenses,” Anora said. “The principate may not agree to all of them, but at least I will have asked. In general, Prince Orchenis is very reasonable about paying incidental costs. Unlike his father. You had to fight for every zashan with Prince Orchena.” He gave me an assessing glance and said, “Thou lookst tired and sad. Come with me and have koshvolot.”

Koshvolot was a kind of dumpling soup, made only by the goblins of the Mervarnens, and Anora knew I had a weakness for it. “Thy argument is a compelling one,” I said. “Koshvolot it is.”

When I got home, there was a letter from Azhanharad in the post. I opened it warily and reluctantly, but it said only: We have some information that might be of interest to you about the murder of the foundling Tedoro. You will find us at the River-Cat tonight.

I was aware of a desire to curse him, aware also that this reaction was inappropriate and uncharacteristic. He was offering me a favor which he was in no wise obligated to offer, but it felt like he was hounding me.

I stared at the letter for a long time before I was able to admit why. Azhanharad had seen me in the aftermath of the revethavar, when I had been weakened and hurt. Azhanharad knew the whole story. Azhanharad knew, and I cringed away from the thought of facing him.

I didn’t have to face him, a sly and wheedling voice pointed out. I was no longer a Witness for the Dead. My business with Azhanharad was finished. But that was pure cowardice, and he was right. I was interested in information about Tedoro’s murder. I heaved a sigh and set out for the River-Cat.