Osen.”
Dannyl watched Tayend hurry away, and managed a sad smile. If Lorkin did prove reluctant to talk about what had been done to him in the prison, or had some guilty secret to admit to, Tayend was the one most likely to coax it out of him. He could be uncannily perceptive when it came to other people’s troubles.
Osen. As Tayend had pointed out, the Administrator would want to know Lorkin had returned. Reaching into his robes, he drew out Osen’s blood ring, took a deep breath, then slipped it on his finger.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Sonea exclaimed under her breath as she looked up at the Stayhouse sign.
“What is it?” Regin asked.
She said nothing, because a stocky man had appeared in the doorway.
He bowed. “My Lord and Lady! Come in! Come in!” the man said. “I am Fondin. Welcome to Fergun’s Rest, the finest Stayhouse in Kyralia.”
She heard Regin chuckle, but he said nothing as she moved through the doorway. As always, the ground floor was a dining and drinking area. It was busy despite the late hour, the room echoing with many voices. The clothing of the customers suggested they were locals and had dressed up for an occasion. A few looked up at her and Regin, and their eyes went wide with surprise.
“Please sit a moment and rest,” Fondin invited them, gesturing toward a quieter corner. “Do you need one room or two?”
“You’re busy tonight,” Sonea observed.
“Yes. We’re hosting a celebration and there are many who have come from afar,” Fondin said. “But don’t worry about the noise. We’ll finish up at a decent hour and then it’ll be nice and quiet here.”
As if on cue, the room began to quieten. Sonea heard hissed whispers. Fondin turned back to them, then his eyes dropped to Sonea’s robes and widened. He’d obviously not noticed the colour in the dim light outside. Even in the subdued lamplight, she could see his face grow pale.
“What is the reason for the celebration?” she asked.
“W-w-w-wedding,” Fondin stuttered.
“Then pass on my congratulations to the bride and groom.” Sonea smiled. “Are they staying here tonight?”
“N-n-n...” Fondin took a deep breath and straightened. “No, they’ll be off to their new house tonight.”
But many of the wedding guests would be staying here, she guessed.
“A new home as well. Well, we won’t take up much more of your time. I’m sure we can manage in one room,” Sonea told him. “With separate beds and a privacy screen, of course. We’ll eat there so you can keep your full attention on your guests. Could you show us straight to the room?”
Fondin nodded, then, for good measure, bowed deeply before whirling around and leading them upstairs. He paused at several doors, wringing his hands, then with obvious reluctance led them to a room at the end of the corridor. As he opened the door Sonea was pleased to see it was a rather plain room, with a single one-person bed, but no signs of current occupants. She had been worried he’d throw guests out of one of their rooms, or that none of the rooms were empty. Stayhouses along major routes were paid by the Guild to keep one room free at all times, and everyone expected it would be their best room, but it must be tempting to put guests in there on busy nights, especially on lesser-used routes like this one.
“This will do,” she told him.
“I’ll have another bed and a screen brought in, my Lady,” he said, then hurried away.
She entered the room, and Regin followed.
“Should I offer to sleep on the floor?” Regin asked.
Sonea turned to see him smiling. “I won’t spoil anybody’s night by insisting on having the best room, or two rooms, but sleeping on the floor is going a bit too far.”
Before long the arrangements had been made. A generous meal and a bottle of wine were laid out on a small table. The wine was very good. Too expensive even for a local wedding, Sonea suspected. More likely the Guild had ensured a supply of decent wine was kept here for its members.
“Do you have more of this wine?” she asked the young woman when she returned to collect the dishes.
“Yes, Lady.”
“Are the newly-weds still here?”
“About to leave, Lady.”
“Give them a bottle as a wedding gift.”
The young woman’s eyes widened. “Yes, Lady.”
Regin’s pursed his lips, then to Sonea’s surprise he slipped out of his chair and quietly followed the woman downstairs. When he returned, Sonea raised an eyebrow at him.
“Just making sure the gift reached the recipients,” he said. He sat down. “So. Fergun’s Rest.” Regin frowned. “Didn’t he run away when the Fort was attacked by the Ichani?”
“He hid. Which was the only sensible thing to do.”
“And cowardly.” Regin shrugged. “Still, nobody knows how they’ll react when confronted by a real battle. Naming a Stayhouse after him?” He shook his head. “Tell me there are Stayhouses all over Kyralia named after magicians who died in the war, not just Fergun.”
“I don’t know. I hope so.” She grimaced. “It irks me more that a man who locked up my friend so that he could blackmail me has anything named after him, but that’s too personal a grudge to justify not honouring him among the rest of the dead.”
Regin looked at her. “Ah, that’s right. He wanted you dishonoured and thrown out of the Guild to ensure no lower-class people would join the Guild again.”
“Yes. He’d be horrified, if he were alive today, at the changes in the Guild.”
“You never know. He may have changed his mind, after the invasion. Lots of people did, you know.”
She looked up at him. He held her gaze for a moment. In his eyes was a hint of expectation.
Administrator Osen’s voice in her mind made her jump. She let out the breath in a startled gasp. It was always surprising to be contacted through one of her blood rings, since she never knew when the other person was about to put it on.
Relief rushed through her, followed by a new anxiety.
Anger flared inside her, then a quieter puzzlement. Why release Lorkin then force him to stay in the country?
