“Do you see anything in market that interests you?” she asked, smiling. Her sweet voice was as inviting as the cardamom-flavored pastries sold here in the market, yet slightly mocking. Clearly, she wanted to know if she interested him. Yet those around her would mistakenly believe she spoke of the wine chillers.

“The silver shows some decent handiwork,” Gaborn said. Using the powers of his Voice, he put a slight emphasis on hand. Without ever recognizing why, she would believe that in Understanding’s House, he had studied in the Room of Hands, as rich merchants did. Let her believe me to be a merchant.

The vendor of the stall, who had patiently ignored Gaborn until now, lurched from under the shade of his rectangular umbrella, calling, “The sir would like a fine chiller for the madam?”

Until a moment ago Gaborn had seemed only a merchant boy, one who might have reported to his father any interesting wares. Now perhaps the merchant thought him a newlywed, with a wife far more handsome than himself. Merchant lords often married their children off young, seeking monetary alliances.

So the vendor thinks I must buy the silver to humor my wife. Of course such a lovely woman would rule her household. Since the merchant did not know her, Gaborn imagined that she would also have to be a stranger to Bannisferre. A traveler from the north?

The young woman smiled kindly at the vendor. “I think not today,” she teased. “You have some fine chillers, but we have better at home.” She turned her back, playing her role as wife exquisitely. This is how it would be if we married, her actions seemed to say. I’d make no costly demands.

The vendor’s face fell in dismay. It was unlikely that more than one or two merchants in all the Kingdoms of Rofehavan had such a fine wine cooler.

She pulled Gaborn along. Suddenly, Gaborn felt uneasy. In the far south, ladies of Indhopal sometimes wore rings or brooches with poisoned needles in them. They would try to lure wealthy travelers to an inn, then murder and rob them. It could be that this beauty had nefarious designs.

Yet he doubted it. A quick glance showed that Borenson was certainly more amused than concerned. He laughed and blushed, as if to ask, And where do you think you’re going?

Borenson, too, was a student of body language—particularly that of women. He never took risks with his lord’s safety.

The woman squeezed Gaborn’s hand, readjusting her grip, holding him more firmly. Was she seeking a greater claim to his attentions?

“Pardon me if I seem overfamiliar, good sir,” she said. “Have you ever noticed someone from a distance, and felt a tug in your heart?”

Her touch thrilled him, and Gaborn wanted to believe that, indeed, she’d seen him from afar and fallen in love.