Most everyone in the place was drinking ale, but Mat had taken a fancy to good red wine lately. “Want some more, Master Crimson?” Kati, the serving woman, asked. She was a raven-haired beauty with a smile so wide it reached halfway to Cairhien. She had been flirting with him all night. Never mind that he had told her he was married. He had not even smiled at her. Well, not much. And hardly his best smile. Some women could not see the truth of things, even if it was written on their own foreheads, that was a fact.

He waved her away. Only one cup tonight, for courage. Burn him, but he needed a little of that. With resignation, he took the scarf off his neck and dropped it to the side. He untucked the foxhead medallion—Light, but it felt good to be wearing that again!—and hung it out front of his clothing. He wore the new red and silver coat that Thom had bought him.

Mat took his ashandarei from beside the wall and pulled off the cloth cover, revealing the blade. He set it over his shoulder. “Hey,” he said in a loud voice. “Anyone in the bloody place know the rules for Koronko’s Spit?”

The three men he had been dicing regarded the weapon; the third of them, Snelle, stood up, hooking his thumbs into the top of his trousers, pushing back his coat and showing the shortsword buckled at his waist.

Most people ignored Mat at first. Conversations rang, stories about the Borderlander army that had passed, about the Queen’s pregnancy, about the Dragon Reborn, about mysterious deaths or not so mysterious ones. Everyone had a rumor to share. Some of the inn’s occupants wore little better than rags, but some wore the finest of clothing. Nobles, commoners and everything in between came to The Rumor Wheel.

A few men by the bar glanced at Mat because of the outburst. One hesitated, blinking. Mat reached down and took his wide-brimmed black hat off the table beside him, holding it by the crown, then set it on his head. The man nudged his companions. The sweaty, balding man Mat had been dicing with raised fingers to his chin, rubbing it in thought, as if trying to remember something.

Snelle smiled at Mat. “Looks like nobody answered you, friend. Guess you’ll have to trust us. You shouldn’t have thrown if you didn’t ask the rules. Now, are you going to pay, or—”

Rittle’s eyes opened wide, and he stood hastily and took his friend’s arm. He leaned in, whispering something. Snelle looked down at Mat’s medallion. He looked up and met Mat’s eyes.

Mat nodded.

“Excuse us,” Rittle said, stumbling away. The other two joined him. They left their dice and coins on the ground.

Mat casually knelt down, scooping up the coins and dumping them in his pouch. He left the dice. They were loaded, meant to almost always throw threes. He had been able to judge that from a few quick throws before laying down coins.