Marcus pulled the cloth away from his eyes and blinked in the sun. He stood on the grounds of a small estate, shielded from the road by a tall hedge and a thick wood-and-iron gate. A number of men in plain leathers stood around the grounds, ostensibly tending the plants. They were rather more observant than the typical gardener, however, and Marcus suspected that if he’d tried talking to them he’d hear the gravelly Mierantai accent again. He also suspected their long rifles were not far away.

The courier knocked at the door, and a liveried servant opened it. Once Marcus stepped inside, the guards became more obvious; they still didn’t wear their red uniforms, but they did carry the long rifles of the First Mierantai Volunteers, and wore swords at their belts. The pair nearest the door saluted smartly.

Willowbrook was a simple dwelling, as such things went, with the hall, dining room, receiving rooms, and servants’ quarters on the first floor and bedrooms on the second. Its only architectural oddity was a four-story tower topped by a broad solar, built for someone who wanted to soak up the sun unimpeded by trees or other buildings. From that perch, Marcus imagined one could not only keep an eye on the streets for a good distance in any direction, but see all the way to the edge of the city and the forested hills to the north.

Captain Alek Giforte waited at the end of the hall. Like the guards, he was out of uniform, though Janus had appointed him an army captain when the Armsmen were dissolved. Marcus had had to coax Giforte into accepting, ashamed as the former vice captain had been over his former accommodation with Orlanko. Marcus was still surprised Janus had trusted the ex-traitor so quickly, but he had to admit the gesture had brought out the best in Giforte. He snapped a brisk salute.

“Sir!” Giforte said. “Welcome to Willowbrook.”

“Thanks,” Marcus said. “I can see you’ve settled in.”

“Yes, sir.” Like Twin Turrets, the house was showing the wear and tear of being used as a barracks. Furniture was shoved out of the way, floors were muddy, and stacks of soiled linens were everywhere. Giforte gestured to the stairs. “If you’ll come upstairs?”

“Has something gone wrong?” His messages from Janus originated here, he knew, but usually they were brought to Twin Turrets, disguised as ordinary post.

“No, sir. But our instructions were that the message not leave the room.”