“What’s the news of the war in the south?” Han asked the plush, apple-cheeked server. He touched her arm. “Who’s winning?”

She leaned close to Han. “There was a big battle outside the capital last month, sir. Prince Geoff’s armies won, so he holds Ardenscourt. He’s declared himself king.”

“What about the other brothers? Have they given up?” Han asked, wondering if the war would soon be over, and what that would mean for his future.

The girlie shrugged. “All I know is what I hear in the taproom. I believe Prince Gerard and Prince Godfrey are also still alive, and as far as I know, they’ve not given up.”

“There aren’t any princesses?” Han asked.

She squinted at him. “Aye, there’s one princess. Lisette. But princesses in Arden are just for show. And marrying off.”

Han glanced at Dancer, who shrugged. How would you even tell if a king’s blooded heirs were really his? Flatlanders were peculiar, for sure.

Han watched as the server walked away, wondering when she’d be off work.

He continued his study of the other patrons. It didn’t take long to figure out who was armed and who wasn’t, what weapons they carried, and who toted a heavy purse. A while longer, and he knew who was skilled at cards, who at nicks and bones, and who was cheating at both.

This was courtesy of Han’s brief stint as a card hustler. That kind of thievery was harder to prove, if you were any good at it. The bluejackets weren’t so likely to toss you in gaol for picking pockets at cards.

But he’d learned it was easy to get cornered in a taproom full of sore losers. Also that angry gamblers aren’t above smashing your head in, whether they know how you’re cheating or not. Especially when you’re only thirteen, and haven’t got your growth.

Dancer was edgy and restless all through the meal, flinching at sudden noises—the clatter of pots and pans on the hearth or two drunks shouting at each other. Despite his knowledge of Delphi and Delphian ways, he didn’t care for cities in general and crowds in particular. As soon as he finished eating, he stood. “I’m going up,” he said.

“I booked a bath,” Han said generously. “You go first.”

Dancer eyed him suspiciously. “Stay out of trouble, will you?” he said.

“Yes, Dancer Cennestre.” Yes, Mother. Han grinned at Dancer’s back when he turned away. Han motioned to the server and ordered cider. He meant to keep his wits sharp and his hand off his amulet.