He was on his knees, working the concealed catch on the wardrobe when he heard the knock on the door. “A moment!” he cried, flung himself back into bed, and then thought to ask, “Who is it?”

“It’s Alise,” she said, opening the door as she spoke. She carried a candle. Uninvited, she entered his room and shut the door behind her. She stood a moment, looking down at him, and then exclaimed, “My poor Sedric. I am so sorry about everything that has befallen you as a result of this journey. If I could take on your suffering as my own, I would.”

“You don’t look much better than I do,” he replied, surprised into honesty.

He saw a flash of hurt in her eyes as her hand flew to her cheek. “Well, yes, I’m as scalded as you are, on my face and hands. The river water wasn’t kind to either of us. If it hadn’t been for Sintara, both Thymara and I would have drowned. But, well, here we are, both of us intact, and not all that much the worse for wear.” She smiled apologetically.

“I had thought that you were safe aboard the boat,” he said in wonder. “The wave caught you too, then.”

“Indeed. Even Captain Leftrin was washed away in it. Luckily for him, his crew found him quickly. But Thymara and I only returned to the Tarman a day before you did.”

“Alise, I’m so sorry. I must seem so thoughtless to you. I never even asked you about your experience. Tell me now.” And ask me no questions about what befell me.

Her smile grew warmer. She sat down on the edge of his bed. “There’s not much to tell. The wave hit us, Sintara fished us out of the water, and when we struggled to what had been the shore, we found many of the other keepers there. Not all, unfortunately. I’m sure you’ve heard that we lost Warken and young Rapskal and his dragon, Heeby. Still, it could have been so much worse. Other than some bruises and cuts, most of us emerged unscathed. Though you look as if you took quite a battering.”

He touched the bruised side of his face and shrugged. “It’s healing,” he replied.

“I’m glad,” she replied, letting the topic go so easily that he immediately knew she had something else on her mind. Her eyes were wandering around his small room, her glance lingering on the floor near his bed, as if she were looking for something. Anxiety uncoiled in him and slithered in his belly. She’d been in here in his absence; he knew that. She’d tidied the room. Had she found his hidden cache of dragon parts? No. That couldn’t be it. If she even suspected him of doing such a dastardly thing, she’d have accused him immediately. There was something else. He waited. When her words came, they shocked him.

“Sedric, does Hest love me?”

She asked the outlandish question with the naiveté of a child. And like a child, there was both longing and dread in her voice. He tried to think what answer she wanted so he could give it to her. He settled for saying, “Surely I’m not the one to ask such a question. He married you, didn’t he? Doesn’t he give you nearly everything you ask for? Including this extended journey?”

“He gives me everything he must give me, everything that our bargain binds him to give me. I have his name and stature, money to spend as I wish, the opportunity to use all my free time poring over old scrolls. I have lovely clothing, an excellent chef, and a well-appointed home. When he wishes me to, I welcome his guests. I do everything that he expects me to do. I…I’ve cooperated with his efforts to get an heir from me…”

She’d had excellent control of her voice and face right up until then. But suddenly, on the final breathless words, her face crumpled, her nose turned red, and tears began to leak from her eyes. It was a transformation as sudden as it was shocking. In a heartbeat, she went from composed and contained Alise to someone he didn’t know. She hunched at the foot of his bed, her hands covering her face, weeping noisily and messily. And, he realized with rising alarm, uncontrollably. “Alise, Alise,” he begged her, but her sobs only grew more spastic, shaking her entire body. He sat up, every muscle in his body aching, and put a cautious arm around her. She turned to him and huddled against him, her shoulders shaking with her grief.

“What is it?” he asked her, dreading whatever secret she was about to spill. “Alise, what is wrong? What brought this on?”

His question seemed to reach her. Perhaps it gave her permission to speak of whatever it was that distressed her so. She drew herself more upright and groped in her pocket for a kerchief. The one she drew out was stained and torn, more fit for a Jamaillian street urchin than a Trader’s wife. Nonetheless, she dried her face with it, took a breath, and spoke. She watched her candle in its holder as she talked, never glancing at him.