He played a few more notes, then put the lute down again, though he continued to stare at it. “With my parents dead, it fell to me to take care of my sister and brother. We had no money, and the raiders had also killed the smith to whom I’d been apprenticed. After the raid I knew I could handle a dagger, and killing the raiders hadn’t bothered me at all.” He looked up, meeting Grinsa’s gaze. “So here I am.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

“And where are your sister and brother now?”

“They’re still on the plain, in a village just north of Tounstrel. When I’d made enough gold, I took them to live with my father’s sister. I go to see them sometimes, though it’s been a few years now.” He took a breath and smiled, though clearly it was forced. “Is this like singers’ night in a tavern? I’ve sung mine, now it’s your turn?”

Cadel rarely spoke of his past. He had told Jedrek a little bit, and a Qirsi woman in Thorald, the first person with the conspiracy to hire him, had somehow known a great deal. But having heard Dario’s story, he could hardly refuse to tell him anything.

“I come from a noble house,” he said quietly, “though not one of any importance. When I was still young, I fell in love with a girl. She preferred another, and in a rage I killed him. Rather than bringing disgrace to my house and my father, I feigned my own death and fled. Like you, I’d found that killing didn’t trouble me, and that I was good at it.”

“And how old were you?”

“I was just shy of my Fating.”

Dario raised an eyebrow. “Then we’ve that in common as well.”

“What?”

“Well, if you fled your village before your Fating, and you wanted your family to believe you were dead, I can’t imagine you would have risked having a Fating somewhere else.”

“You’re right, I didn’t.”

“Neither did I. I wonder what that means. Neither of us has faced the Qiran a second time. We’re men without fates, Cadel.”

Cadel shook his head. “If the Qiran really can reveal a man’s fate, I’ve no doubt as to what I would have seen at my second gleaning. I was destined for this life long before I killed that boy. I sense the same is true of you.”

“Maybe.”

Cadel heard a footfall on the steps below their room and he held up a hand to keep Dario silent.

“Your supper is ready,” the old woman called them. “It’s best hot, so don’t dawdle.”

“We’ll be down shortly,” Cadel answered. “Thank you.”

The woman mumbled something that he couldn’t hear before descending the steps once more.

He would have liked to continue his conversation with Dario, but the younger man had stood at the mention of food. Perhaps they had talked enough for now. Already Cadel felt better about their partnership. He wasn’t certain they would ever be friends, certainly not the way he and Jedrek had been. But he could work with Dario, he could trust the man to watch his back. He’d have to be satisfied with that. There was one matter, however, that could not wait.

Dario took a step toward the stairs, but Cadel held out a hand, stopping him.

“From now on, you’re to call me Corbin, even when we’re alone.”

Dario nodded. “I’d forgotten. I’m sorry.”

“What about you? Is there a name you’ve used before?”

“I’ve always just gone by Dario.”

“I referred to you as Dagon in the Red Boar.”

The man grinned. “I know. I didn’t like it.”

Cadel clicked his tongue. He would have preferred an alias, but if Dario hadn’t used one before, particularly if he had performed under his given name, changing it now would be dangerous.

“All right, Dario will have to do. You don’t give your family name, do you?”

“I never have.”

“Good,” Cadel said, nodding.

They found the innkeeper already seated at her table, eating the stew she had prepared.

“It’s probably half cold already,” she said, as the two men sat.

Cadel glanced at Dario, who grinned in return.

“I have no doubt that it still tastes wonderful, my lady,” Cadel said.

The woman paused with her spoon just in front of her mouth, peering at him from beneath wisps of white hair. “I never said it didn’t.”

He suppressed a laugh, and both men began to eat. The stew wasn’t bad, nor was the bread she had baked to serve with it, though Cadel expected that they would find better of both in the city. She had placed no wine on the table, but for six qinde he couldn’t bring himself to complain.

None of them spoke for some time. The woman seemed content to eat in silence, and Cadel saw no reason to risk unwanted questions by striking up a conversation. Eventually, though, the innkeeper finished her meal, and, with both men still eating, she remained at the table, eyeing them both.

“So, you’re musicians,” she said. “Are you any good? Or did I give up two qinde for nothing?”

The two men exchanged another look.

“We’re good,” Dario said. “With a bit more practice we should be good enough to play for the duke himself.”

The woman sniffed. “I don’t know that the duke cares for music. The older one did, his father. But this one…” She trailed off with a shrug. “Besides,” she went on a moment later, “he’s not even at the castle. I think he’s still in Solkara, though he could be on his way back by now. Word is he came through the poisoning all right.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Cadel said.

“We had one of the queen’s messengers here not long ago,” the innkeeper said, as if she hadn’t heard. “And one of the duke’s ministers, too.”

Cadel cast a quick look at Dario. Whether the lutenist had intended it or not, his boast about playing for the duke might have been a stroke of genius. “A minister?” he repeated, trying not to sound too interested. “Then was the duke here as well?”

She frowned. “No. This was after the duke and his first minister had gone south. Though it wouldn’t surprise me at all if Rowan himself stopped here on the return.”

Cadel felt his interest growing by the moment. “If the duke had already passed by, why would another of his ministers be stopping here?”

“I don’t presume to guess at such things. But he was interested in the duke, and even more so in the duke’s first minister, when the messenger was here, telling us of the poisoning. Wouldn’t surprise me if he and that minister were a pair, if you know what I mean.”

“So he had already left the castle when he heard of the poisoning?” Dario asked, putting down his spoon.

She nodded. “Oh, yes. Seemed rather bothered by it, if you ask me. Because of the minister, in particular. Left in a hurry the next morning. I didn’t like him at first. I don’t take well to white-hairs. But he was kind enough, for one of them.”

“What did he look like?” Cadel asked. When she looked his way, eyeing him warily, he added, “I’ve sung in many of the taverns in Mertesse, including the Qirsi ones. I might be able to put a name to the face, tell you which minister had been here.”

She still appeared doubtful, but after a moment she gave a small shrug. “He looked to me like every other Qirsi. He was lean, thin-faced. I had the impression that he was a bit old for one of them, but other than that, there wasn’t much to distinguish him.”

“What about his accent?”

Her eyes widened slightly, but quickly narrowed again, as if the question had only heightened her doubts about him. “Now that you ask, he did speak a bit strangely. I couldn’t place the accent, but it seemed to me that he was trying too hard to sound Aneiran.” She paled. “You don’t suppose he was a spy.”

No, he was a traitor. Cadel was certain that this was the man he and Dario had been sent to kill. He could only hope that the Qirsi intended to return to the castle with the duke and Mertesse’s first minister. “No,” he said, making himself smile. “He wasn’t a spy. One of the duke’s ministers was born in Eibithar. But he serves Aneira now. No doubt this was the man who stayed here.”