Foss froze. The man turned to Loveless, who had been walking a pace ahead. It seemed he’d taken Foss as her bodyguard. ‘My apologies, my lady. Sam Sayad, once of Qazvizd – before it fell to the Red Hand – at your service. Your man here, I’ve seen him before, haven’t I?’

Loveless’s gaze flicked from the new man to Foss and back, eyes narrow. ‘That seems … unlikely.’

‘Out east, years ago, easily a decade, maybe fifteen. I was touring then, lending assistance as it was required – as was done back then.’

Loveless flashed a flattering grin, but her eyes returned to Foss, sharp and urgent. Who is this and what does he know? Foss was sweating under his thrice-wrapped cloak.

‘You were king of the pit, weren’t you? In Marichan. We stayed to watch the whole tournament, quite incredible stuff. Missed the battle of Metten as a result, which didn’t go down too well!’ He shrugged in mock apology, then slapped Foss on the arm. ‘I must say, I’ve never seen a man, before or since, with such command of the environment. Stellar stuff. Obviously, we’ve all put on a bit of timber over the years—’ he patted his belly, which remained utterly flat, ‘—but you’ve made an excellent pick here, my lady. This man is a born champion.’

Loveless was still staring at Foss, but her expression had become one of mirthful surprise, tinged, perhaps, with a dash of admiration. Foss was still sweating, but for once his cheeks were dimpled with unfamiliar pride.

‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘What was it they called you? The Bridge … no, the Wall!’

‘Back then, they did.’

‘A title earned, good sir. I’m delighted to see you’re doing well for yourself, Master Wall, with such a charming employer. Good fortune to you all.’

With a cheerful wave, Sam Sayad passed on from them and was lost in the merry traffic on the outer hallway. Loveless watched him go, then turned with great deliberation to face the stairs.

‘That was interesting, wasn’t it? How about no more surprise visitors from anyone’s past this evening?’

***

Chel watched the décor change as they climbed, from the wood and silk of the lower floors, past the polished stone and solid furniture of the floor marked with steel plates, the wool-covered flooring and furs of the floor marked with ivory, all the way up to the wide, closed door, on the floor above, emblazoned with a sun of gleaming pearls. His excitement growing, Chel tried to peer through the lattice window, catching a glimpse of reflected lamplight glittering golden beyond. Music drifted through the door, something stringed, and laughter. It all sounded beautifully expensive.

A woman stood beside the door, another of the simpering silk-robed staff. She bowed at their approach and unlatched the door. ‘All are friends beneath this roof. Please, friends, enjoy your evening.’