He walked into the common room. The light was bad; most of the lanterns had been shuttered. Candles threw shadows. A woman sat behind the bar counter, reading a battered copy of a book he recognized called Guise of the Heart, a romantic political thriller set in Daorian a century prior. Taodalain had loved that book.

The stout woman put the book down. Candles drooled great runnels of wax along the edges of the bar. The weather was too cold for flame flies.

Anavha stayed a step away from the light.

“A little late, isn’t it?” the woman asked. She could have been his mother with her big squared shoulders and disgruntled mouth.

“I would like a room, if that’s all right,” Anavha said, careful about the pitch of his voice. “Maybe a bath. And… my dog is outside.”

The woman nodded at an arched doorway near the stair. “Bath’s through there. How many nights?”

“One, I think. Is Syre Zezili Hasaria here?” he asked. He could not keep the trembling from his voice.

“No Syres here, child.”

“Which lake is this, matron?”

“Which lake?” she said. “Are you so lost? This is Lake Orastina.”

“Is that close to Lake Morta?”

“Morta’s another day south of here. Where are you coming from?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just need a room.”

The woman demanded payment. Anavha fumbled through his purse for the correct amount and paid over the last of his money. He hadn’t realized how expensive things were. The woman handed over a key.

“You’ll have number eleven, last door on the left, second floor.”

The tubs in the bathing room were separated by painted wooden screens. He bathed in privacy and wondered what to do next. Another day along snowy roads sounded horrible.

Warm, clean, and exhausted, he made his way upstairs with the hood of his coat pulled up. He fumbled with the key. None of the doors were numbered.

He put his key into the lock of his room at the end of the hall and waited for the click, but the door was unlocked. He pushed it open.

There was already someone in the room.

Anavha thought he had interrupted some scene of sexual congress. He must have chosen the wrong room. The blankets of the large bed had pooled around the floor at the foot of the frame. A large woman lay half on and half off the bed, naked. A naked man sat astride her, big hands gripping either end of a silken cord twisted around the woman’s long neck. Her face had taken on a violent purplish cast. The head lolled back. The eyes bulged, and the pool of her black hair puddled across her bare shoulders.

Anavha did not move. His mind reassembled the images.