War, battles, conflicts, changes. Gawyn felt as if he didn’t know what the different sides were. Let alone which one to pick for himself.
Cadsuane kept her cloak on, hood up, despite the mugginess that strained her ability to “ignore” the heat. She dared not lower the hood or remove the cloak. Al’Thor’s words had been specific; if he saw her face, she would be executed. She wouldn’t risk her life to prevent a few hours of discomfort, even if she thought al’Thor was safely back in his newly appropriated mansion. The boy often appeared where he wasn’t expected or wanted.
She wasn’t about to let him exile her, of course. The more power a man held, the more likely he was to be an idiot with it. Give a man one cow, and he’d care for it with concern, using its milk to feed his family. Give a man ten cows, and he was likely to think himself rich—then let all ten starve for lack of attention.
She clomped down the boardwalk, passing bannered buildings like boxes stacked atop one another. She wasn’t particularly pleased to be in Bandar Eban again. She had nothing against the Domani; she just preferred cities that weren’t so crowded. And with the problems in the countryside, the place was more packed than normal. Refugees continued to trickle in despite the rumors regarding al’Thor’s arrival in the city. She passed a cluster of them in the alley to her left, a family, faces darkened by dirt.
Al’Thor promised food. That brought hungry mouths, none eager to return to their farms, even after they were given food. The countryside was still too chaotic, and the food here too new. The refugees couldn’t be certain the grain wouldn’t just spoil, as so much did recently. No, they stayed, packing the city, crowding it.
Cadsuane shook her head, continuing down the boardwalk, those wretched clogs clattering against the wood. The city was famous for these long, sturdy walkways, which allowed foot traffic to avoid the mud of the streets. Cobbles would have fixed that, but the Domani often prided themselves on being
Hundreds of those banners flapped in the wind as Cadsuane passed, and she gritted her teeth against the temptation to pull off her hood and feel the wind on her face. Light-cursed ocean air. Normally, Bandar Eban was chilly and rainy. Rarely had she felt it this warm. The humidity was dreadful either way. Rational people stayed inland!
She made her way down several streets, crossing through the mud at intersections. That was the irredeemable flaw of boardwalks, in her opinion. The locals knew which streets to cut across and which ones were deep in mud, but Cadsuane had to just tramp across wherever she could. That’s why she’d hunted out these clogs, built after the Tairen style, to go over her shoes. It had been surprisingly hard to find a merchant selling them; the Domani obviously had little interest in them, and most people she passed either went barefoot in the mud or knew where to cross and keep from soiling their shoes.
Halfway down to the docks, she finally reached her destination. The fine banner flapping out front proclaimed the inn’s name as The Wind’s Favor, beating against an inlaid wood front. Cadsuane made her way inside and took off the clogs in the muddy entryway before stepping up into the inn proper. There, finally, she allowed herself to lower her hood. If al’Thor randomly happened to visit this particular inn, then he’d just have to hang her.
The inn’s common room was decorated more like a king’s dining hall than a tavern. White tablecloths coated the tables, and the varnished wooden floor was mopped to a shine. The walls were hung with tasteful still-life paintings—a bowl of fruit on the wall behind the bar, a vase of flowers on the wall opposite it. The bottles on the ledge behind the bar were almost all wine, very few bottles of brandy or other liquors.
The slender innkeeper, Quillin Tasil, was a tall, oval-faced Andoran man. Thinning on top with dark, short hair at the sides of his head, he wore a full beard, trimmed short, which was almost all gray. His fine lavender coat had white ruffled cuffs peeking out from the sleeves, but he wore an innkeeper’s apron over the front. He generally had had good information, but was also willing to look into inquiries for her among his associates. A very useful man indeed.
