It took me several weeks to recover from captain Nad's death. It haunted me from the moment I got up until I went to bed, and I had no way to escape it, except a restless sleep. Natime discreetly took care of it, as I remember, and according to custom, Nad was burned and his ashes scattered in the river.

Nevertheless, even before the embers of the funeral pyre had cooled, the rumor of the captain's return - and the dreadful death he had experienced in the healer's tower - had spread like a bad plague among the barracks of Castle-Horn, before pouring into the city. Most of the versions I could hear were far-fetched, but the best ones, which were gaining popularity in the upper town, suggested the direct involvement of the primate and his "sandy wizard". It would have made me smile if I could have thought of the scene I had witnessed without shivering.

Narsilap had been introverted since the incident, and a strange discomfort prevented us from evoking it. I think my master blamed himself for opposing Sesh that night and insisting that I stay. So we did not talk about it again, but there was this discomfort, and when I managed to surprise him somehow, I could clearly see the scars of anxiety on his face, even as he tried to hide them. I knew that he had begun researching what had happened, because new botanical treatises, some of which dealt with parasitic plants or magical rituals, had appeared on the shelves of the small library in the tower. Yet he stubbornly excluded me from his investigation, and I had to face the anguish alone. Narsi did his best to save face, and the lessons continued, so as to offer me a little break when my curiosity regained the upper hand for a few hours. Then I thought of Nad's screams, and that sent me back to my own loneliness, and I still remember how much I was looking forward to growing up.

I slept badly during this period, and it was for this reason that, by chance, I was able to make progress in my collecting of information at the Lemis estate. I had spent an easier day than others, cleaning the barn and brushing the horses, which I had the right to do if Holen was there. The master of the stables was sorely lacking in imagination and it was getting harder and harder for him to think of new tasks to give me. Most of the time, therefore, I did his work for him, as much as I could. Holen had more free time, and he devoted it to drinking, which made my life easier: when he came by to check on me, pretending to be busy was often enough to make him leave me alone. As long as I had the stables clean enough, he would just insult me and go back to his beer. I have visited many stables in my life, but I swear that none were cleaner than the Lemis' stable under my guard: as soon as a horse released its sphincters, I would run to clean it up. The queen of Seban herself could have spent the night there without being inconvenienced.

One evening, about ten days after the captain's return, Holen made one last scathing remark - one I already knew by heart - to me. and he locked the stable door for the night. As usual, after greeting the horses individually, I found my hay pile, of which there was not much left after the winter, and I closed my eyes. The horrors came to me, as every night since it had happened, from the thing in Nad's ear, the wounds, the pus and the screams. Suddenly I opened my eyes again, certain that I had heard something unusual.

One of the horses, the little grey-marcher steed, snorted in its stall. I listened. Voices seemed to come from the general direction of the manor and came closer, accompanied by the sound of footsteps. I got up hastily and moved cautiously toward the plank wall of the stable, my heart racing. Between the gaps in the wood, I saw three silhouettes, a little away from the night lights of the villa, heading towards the gates of the estate. The few torches crackling inside the enclosure seemed to create more shadow than light, so that I could only distinguish the black shapes and the breath that accompanied their exchanges. I held my own breath and listened. One of the voices was that of Randu Lemis, I had no trouble identifying the haughty tone and the dry phrasing. A silent man was following in his footsteps, I concluded that it must have been Vorhand, his valet. On the other hand, I did not recognize Randu's interlocutor, nor his slight accent.

The stranger stopped a few steps from the door and turned around briskly, as if stung by a fly, to face the young aristocrat. He raised his voice high enough for me to hear:

"And what exactly do you mean by that?"

Randu responded in a brittle tone, articulating each word clearly. "You know very well what I'm saying," he said. "My father is a good man, but I found him very quick to trust you. I want you to know that, unlike him, I was not convinced by the presentation of this very ordinary jewel. I will keep an eye on you."

An amused sneer accompanied the answer. "Your father made a good impression on me, it's true. What a shame that his son acts like an annoying pooch, always barking and sniffing at visitors. What do you think I'm here for if I'm not who I say I am?"

I heard Randu choke in the darkness, before retaliating with a voice made hoarse by anger:

"How dare you speak to me in that tone? This is my home! You do not carry any official letter with you attesting to anything. You could be anyone. I should have you beaten up and thrown out on the street!"

The stranger spat nonchalantly on the wall, then he took a step forward, the smooth step of an experienced swordsman. His words had gotten rid of their sustained label. The tone and manner were as familiar as they were dangerous:

"Don't threaten me, little rascal. I'm not the kind of man you threaten lightly. You wouldn't be the first aristo I've had to put in his place, and it's not your domestic thug who could throw me out on the street, if I don't want to be thrown out. It's not my habit to walk around with my pockets full of evidence. I wish I could say the same about those scared pigeons you sent to Franlake. This ring is enough, because those who recognize him, like your aristo of a father, know what happens to those who question him."

The man took another step and, facing him, Randu gave ground.

"Is that what you're doing, little rascal?" roared the man. "You question the symbol I'm wearing?" Randu moved back to the level of his valet, who didn't seem to be really more assertive than him, and he produced a strangled sound, before answering in a plaintive voice:

"No, no, of course not. I just wanted to make sure everything was in order. Do you understand?"

The man sniffed, amused and scornful at the same time, and, despite his vocabulary, he gradually found a more suitable tone. "Oh yes, I understand. I understand very well. I know you and your people by heart. And it would be good for you to understand this. I wasn't born well and I shit on this unbearable attitude of entitled person that animates you all. But it is me that my employers have decided to send to assist you. They don't ask neither to be accommodating nor to be polite. However, I have been until your little whim. Despise me if you wish, but do so in silence, and I will return the favor. Now, as agreed, you will take me to sir Soak, or I will find the way by myself."

I couldn't discern what happened next, Randu's squeaky response was covered by the creaking of the hinges. The three men walked through the door, and the surrounding wall hid them from my view. I heard boots slamming on the cobblestones outside and, somewhere in the darkness, a dog barked. It began to rain on the rubble of the courtyard, the last cold shower of the year, and the ornamental flowerbeds smoked in the glow of sizzling torches. I slowly returned to my bed, not quite sure what I had just heard, but doing my best to memorize every word.

I fell asleep more easily that night, helped mainly by the satisfaction I had in witnessing Randu's correction. The next evening, just before the calend of the Blooming moon, I left the Lemis estate in great strides and, without thinking about it any further, with my chest swollen with pride, I went straight to Sesh's house to tell him about the scene I had witnessed.

It made me feel funny, after those long moons that had just passed, to find the wobbly neighborhood that had been attached to the walls of the castle. I had the stupid impression that I had made a mistake, that I had moved the place in my mind and rebuilt it somewhere else, much further away, when in fact Sesh's house had not moved and was a stone's throw away from where I was studying. I pushed open the rough door of the twisted shack, smelling the familiar scents of stew and wet leather. I bit my lip to stifle the confused whirlwind that rose within me, and died slowly after a few heartbeats. I hadn't set foot here again since that night when Brindy and I had been kidnapped. I sniffed and stepped forward.

After checking the upstairs office, and finding that Sesh was absent, I put my cloak in its place, on the nail of the door before taking a log out of the storeroom to rekindle the fire in the small hearth. I distractedly warmed the pot and its contents, astonished to find it much lighter than before, and, as night was falling, I lit the large candle on the coffee table. I waited and waited, tidying up the few things that were lying around to pass the time, when Sesh finally appeared. He didn't seem surprised to see me. "Good evening, Fyss," he said in a slightly weary voice, before hanging up his long cloak next to mine. He stretched out while grumbling, unbuckled his weapon belt before taking the two bowls out of his only cupboard. We ate by the fire, as before, and the soldier told me how he had been patrolling the streets of the lower town since dawn in search of one of his informers, only to learn at the end of the day that the latter was waiting for him at the castle. We laughed a little, Sesh seemed less grumpy, and I almost forgot the reason for my visit, so happy was I to be back in the familiar warmth of the shack. Nevertheless, Sesh finally asked me in a slightly too fussy voice if I was just paying a courtesy call, and I came to my senses. As I recounted each event as calmly as possible, I carefully unpacked my story.

The soldier nodded his head gravely. "Yes," he simply said. I opened two big eyes, surprised, a little bewildered that my announcement had no more effect on him than that, and Sesh continued. "If he mentioned Franlake, it must have been him. For some time now, the old families have been courting the League's assistance. Eventually they sent one of their own. He has been in Brown-Horn for three days. There is not much we can do, unfortunately." There was a silence, covered by the crackling of the fire, Sesh's gaze was lost in the flames, and I risked a question. "What is the League, first-blade?" Sesh coughed. "A group of very influential businessmen. The League of Franlake," he replied. "In the south, they have their hands in many transactions, from Wadd to Sand-Port. Now they want a piece of Brown-Horn." I frowned. " What's he doing here then, this guy?" I asked, intrigued. "He's coming to help the old families overthrow Bard," Sesh said in a gloomy voice.

I was so flabbergasted that I was at a loss for words. "But... but then why don't you do something about it?" I ended up whispering. The soldier raised his eyebrows. "Like what?" he replied a little abruptly, before softening. "You know, Fyss, changing primates is not done in a day. Despite all the kowtowing, no one is fooled in this story, but neither does anyone want a civil war. Neither us nor them. This assassin has work on his hands before he is of any use, and until then many things can change. Bard has already made contact with the League and, if he offers them a sufficiently juicy deal, they will call their man back."

I nodded, not very reassured, because the character of the assassin had made a strong impression on me. Sesh repressed a yawn and continued. "For the time being, try to be careful. Did you come here directly from their house?"

I immediately became aware of my mistake. Not only did I have failed to provide useful information, but I had also compromised my cover. I tucked my head into my shoulders, certain that Sesh was going to give me a hard time. "It should not happen again," he said, against all my expectations. I looked at my feet with burning ears and felt as if I was useless. I didn't have to look up to know that Sesh was looking at me, and that he was most likely straightening his moustache. I heard him moistening his lips, but his question took me by surprise:

"How long has it been since you went to play, Fyss?"

Taken short, I raised my head before starting to babble. Sesh interrupted me with a movement of his hand. "You've got more bags under your eyes than half the bloodhounds in the kennel, and you frown so much that you're going to have wrinkles before you're ten years old." I managed to interject a stammering "but" and the soldier raised his voice to cover my protests.

"You are not personally responsible for the fate of Brown-Horn, Fyss, nor for the coming of the assassin..." Sesh sighed, his sentence hanging in the air, and glanced at me with a heavy look, softening the tone: "...nor of Nad's death."

With these words, he stood up, dusting the place he had occupied on the mat, and picked up the bowls we had left on the bricks of the hearth.

Sesh ran his hand through his rusty hair and stared at me wearily.

"Try to remember sometimes that you're just a child, Fyss," he said. "You should go back to the castle, I need to sleep."

Red up to my ears, I went to take my cloak. I opened the door with a vigor that was only intended to hide tears that I did not understand, but which were there all the same. Without looking at him, I sniffed miserably a farewell formula for Sesh and, as I slipped into the opening, I felt the soldier's hand grasp the thickness of my garment. He turned me towards him and crouched down at the level of my face. His features were half hidden by the darkness of the street, but they were probably even more drawn than mine:

"Tomorrow is the calend. Then it is the seventh day. That's two days for you alone. You should take the opportunity to go to the Basin."

Sesh sketched a tired but mischievous smile:

"There was a large arrival of Chaigs the day before yesterday. It seems to me that you know some of them. One in particular."

He pointed at my torso, a little too hard, just below the collarbone, where my tattoo was, and it took me a moment before I understood that he was talking about Dera. I didn't sleep much better that night than I had in the previous weeks, but not for the same reasons.