“Of course,” said Hava. “But it’s strange that you don’t know about it. According to the Lienid envoy, a person would have to live under a rock not to know.”

“Hava,” said Giddon warningly, though this time, he didn’t mean it. Sometimes, it was just his role in their partnership: Hava asked nosy questions, while Giddon pretended to be the conciliator. They’d gathered a lot of information this way.

“Perhaps living in an isolated house is akin to being under a rock,” said Quona.

“Maybe,” said Hava. “Did you know that one of the importers was your sister Minta?”

“Hava!” said Giddon. “Siblings are not responsible for each other’s behavior.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” said Quona. “I didn’t know, and I’m sorry to hear it.”

“Nonetheless,” said Giddon, “I apologize for our rudeness.”

“Grieving people have a special dispensation to say what they like,” said Quona, who seemed unoffended, but nonetheless stood abruptly, carrying the cat away from the cat toy, going to stand in the window. Behind her, Hava shot Giddon a dry grin. He kept his face impassive, in case Quona could see his reflection.

A moment later, the alphabet created with the key “bratty little brother” began to turn Skye’s letter into recognizable words. Giddon worked steadily, separating meaningful letters from blanks, building sentences and ideas, scratching notes onto the page.

Welcome to Winterkeep, Cousin, it said. We’re having a wonderful time. You should see eastern Torla. Trains are terrifying and grand. However, we’ve passed through Kamassar and most of the Borzan coast and no one’s seen or heard from Katu, which people say is strange. He’s not a low-profile traveler. Maybe you should look into it more.

Until our departure from Winterkeep, Saf kept getting that image from silbercows of a house with many windows on a cliff, an airship above, and a disturbance. Silbercows are upset. I doubt it’s relevant. But Saf asked me to tell you he thinks it’s worth investigating.

At his desk, Giddon gripped his hair, intensely conscious of the room in which he sat, in a house with many windows on a cliff. He studied Quona, wondering how well she knew the Estillan envoy, and whether it mattered.

“Do you see many silbercows from this house?” he asked her.

She was still standing at the glass, gazing outward. “Sometimes,” she said, turning to face him. Wind pushed against the big windows, gusting and straining. “I even talk to them now and then, from a balcony in the attic. But I don’t see as many as I used to.”

“Where did they go?” asked Giddon.

“I’ve asked them that,” she said. “The answer they give is confusing.” She had a strange light in her eyes, as if some part inside her mind was lit up and had her attention. She was looking at Giddon, but he didn’t think she saw him.