Ammas was crouched by the cookfire, gnawing idly on a sausage. "Come here, Casimir. Bring that box from your pack."

Casimir brought it to him, watching curiously as Ammas slipped his hat from his head and placed it into the box, running a hand through his graying curls. Under the hat he placed the caged airy spirit, whispering soothingly to it as it dimmed and went to sleep.

"I'll want your skymetal blade, too, lad. We need to disguise ourselves, before we pass the outermost watchtowers. I'll keep it safe." Casimir nodded, turning the dagger over without complaint. Ammas frowned at him. "What's the matter, Casimir? You've been out of sorts all day."

"Nothing much, I guess," Casimir said, looking at the ground.

"I don't believe that for a moment." Ammas placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "What is it? The way Othma spoke to Barthim? Or Carala? It's not anything personal, Casimir. She suffered a great many things, and she's looking for people to blame. It isn't fair, I know that. But with that kind of anger -- it's not always easy to control."

"It's not that," Casimir muttered. "It's just -- you -- " Casimir sighed and looked at Carala, who was fussing over Barthim's tea, insisting there wasn't enough cinnamon. "Ammas, you say I need to do everything you tell me to do, if I'm your apprentice."

"I would never force you to do anything, Casimir, and I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. But it is usually best for you to follow my instructions, yes."

"I know. I don't mean -- I don't know." He fetched a much deeper sigh and looked down at his feet. "Do you have to do everything Othma tells you to do?"

Ammas stared at him. "Why are you asking me this?"

Casimir shrugged.

Ammas's eyes narrowed as he tried to remember if he had ever left Casimir alone with Othma, and wondered what she might have said if he had. "What is it you're worried about?"

Casimir looked at Carala again. This time she noticed him, waving and offering a bright smile, her eyes lingering on Ammas for a moment. "Nothing," Casimir said again.

Ammas sighed. "Next lesson, Casimir, we are going to discuss this. I have no power to peek inside your head and see what's troubling you. But as far as Othma goes, no, I don't have to do everything she tells me. I learned from her when I was younger, but I was never her apprentice, and I'm very far from being an apprentice now in any case. I do as my own conscience and experience tells me, unless she gives me a Doyen's command."

"She gave you one, didn't she?"

"Yes. How did you know that?"

Once more Casimir shrugged.

"It's something I would need to do anyway. It's something that must be done." His voice fell to a whisper, though he thought with her wolfish hearing Carala would likely hear it if she were listening in. "Whoever hurt Carala stole from our fellowship, or maybe even betrayed it. That's not something I can let go. Nor could you."

"She didn't give you an order to -- to do something with Carala?"

"No, she didn't," Ammas said slowly. "Casimir, please tell me what has you so upset."

Casimir looked away again, now not just at Carala but all their traveling companions, from Barthim as he drank his tea down to Denisius and Vos, who were playing a listless game of Whistling Jack. "Maybe later," he said, and turned back to the cookfire. Ammas could get nothing else out of the boy, who had turned as reticent as Denisius and twice as stubborn.

The sun sank into twilight, the stars emerging and the moon shining bright as night fell. A mere shadow of Xai lingered on Saya, and as she looked up Carala knew she was not far from the change. It sang inside her, both frightening and pleasurable, and the sounds of the night were louder than she could ever remember them being in her life. As they drew closer to the outskirts of Vilais they began to see travelers, and Carala could both hear and smell them long before they came into view. Drovers, couriers, wandering mercenaries, farmers returning from market: she marked every single one long before any of the others were aware of them. Each of them at least nodded in greeting but made no effort at real conversation: a strange group was worthy of comment; a strange group that was armed was worthy of deference. From Ammas she could smell a peculiar odor, something tart and sharp that made her feel strangely excitable. With a start, she eventually realized she could scent his anxiety: his fear. Slowly she caught up with him, noting the set of his jaw and the way his eyes scanned the horizon; the way one hand lingered on the hilt of his dagger.

"They will not recognize you, I am sure," she said softly.

The day had darkened, now long past sunset, and the first watchtower was rising before them. "I hope you're right," he murmured. "I hope you're right about both of us."

When they were within range of the tower's lamplight a guardsman posted on its balcony hailed them. "Travelers!" he called in a boisterous but businesslike tone. "You walk these roads very late. What brings you to Vilais?"

"This is the retinue of Lady Mari Zinna of Munazyr," Ammas called out. Carala sketched a curtsey. This was a cover story they had worked out during their journey from the monastery. Ammas had instructed her on the Zinna clan's various interests and history. If all went well, it wouldn't need to be tested. Commoners in the Anointed Realms tended to give the nobility of Munazyr an even wider berth than their own. "She is touring the realms of the Torchlight Coast and wished to see the Vilais opera houses. We were delayed by a trip to the ruins of Autumnsgrove."

"I hope you didn't bring any ghosts back with you!" laughed the guardsman. Denisius gave a hollow, cynical laugh in return. "Well, there's a tariff for entering the city at night. For a noble retinue, twenty silvers." A second guard strode forth from the tower base, a smile on his face and one hand extended. Ammas nodded, handing over the coin with a polite bow. The guardsman counted out the coin and withdrew to the tower to deposit the payment in a safe and make note of the travelers' arrival. His partner on the balcony above waved them through. "Weapons must be peacebound in inns and taverns, surrendered in the theatres and operas on the Isle of Tair. Welcome to Vilais, Lady Zinna."

"You are most kind," Carala replied with a smile, curtseying again. And with that, they were in the bounds of Vilais, heart of the Vilain Reaches.

Barthim frowned over his shoulder, hanging back to speak to Vos and Denisius as they approached the city. "You know, Vos Goldentongue," he said when the guards were out of earshot, "I have not been in the Anointed Realms since I left Siranesh, many years ago now. All my time in Munazyr I am hearing the Emperor Somilius is a monster, is a tyrant, is an iron boot stamping in his subjects' heads. Yet here we come to one of his biggest cities and the guards smile and wave at us and do not even take our weapons away. I see happy farmers with pockets full of coins, I do not see men in chains or houses in flames. Can you be explaining this to me?"

"Try getting up on a pedestal and calling the Emperor a sack of dog shit," Vos muttered. "See how long you last."

"I would never do such a thing, it would be more insulting me than it is him," Barthim laughed. "The way they speak in Munazyr, you would think these Realms just one gigantic prison."

"I think the Munazyri are not as sophisticated as they like to pretend," Carala said acidly. Ammas couldn't hold back a laugh, and even Casimir grinned, catching his eye.

"He's no madman," Ammas said. "He's done mad things at times, maybe nothing madder than the dissolution -- "

"The seer-magistrates were plotting to kill him," Carala said, more heatedly than she intended.