Carala stared at Denisius, faintly shocked. For an instant she considered saying something rather cutting in response, something about protecting his virtue, but she saw a strange fierce gleam in his eye and held her tongue. His mood had been peculiar and standoffish all day, and she had no idea why. "Still," she said finally, "rake or not, he was a wonderful artist. I wonder what would have possessed him to end his own life?"

"Artists are being a troubled lot," Barthim said sagely as he shoved open the door to their suite. Three rooms stood off a central hearth, with a semi-public bath nestled between this suite and the one across the hall. The Beast set down his baggage with a satisfied groan. "Perhaps you two will be paying tribute to him at the Temple of the Graces? I am seeing the Hethraeum, maybe I will toss a dagger in his honor. I am remembering a time he came to Munazyr a few years ago, the talk of the Four Winds! But you are a better harper, Lady Zinna."

Carala flushed with pleasure at that, but was too tired to argue it. "What do you think, Deni? Come with me to the Isle of Tair, we'll say a farewell to him."

"You go," Denisius said shortly. "I think I'll visit the Hethraeum with Barthim."

Carala blinked. Denisius seemed uninterested in conversation, retiring to his room almost at once. Vos followed with an apologetic shrug. "What in the world is the matter with him?" she asked no one in particular.

Ammas, who was growing more and more suspicious that Othma had held some private counsel with Lord Marhollow regarding his marriage prospects, said nothing. "Come on, Casimir. It's long past your bedtime and mine. Don't fret, Carala. I'll come with you to the Temple of the Graces if no one else will." He was only barely cognizant of Hedrathua Macil's works and reputation -- he'd rather lost his taste for theatre in the last twenty years -- but the Vilais Temple of the Graces and the Isle of Tair were well worth a visit. And he had certain things he wished to discuss with Carala in private before the moon shone its brightness down on her once more. With a nod and a troubled frown she slipped into her room, looking over her shoulder at Denisius's closed door.

Casimir and he were bunked in with Barthim, or else Ammas might have pressed the boy on what had provoked his own peculiar mood. Sleep claimed them all before long, though, and before he knew it Ammas found himself blinking in a ray of morning sunlight. The chant of Sorrows was louder now with a fuller chorus providing it. Barthim had already left, presumably to partake of the breakfast Ammas could already smell cooking downstairs. Casimir lay sprawled asleep in his bed.

Deliberately making as much noise as possible, Ammas rummaged through his things until he had managed to procure his lunar manifest. He was still poring over it when Casimir stretched with a yawn and planted his bare feet on the floor. "Make sure you wash up before breakfast, lad," Ammas murmured. "Two days in a row with access to a good bath is a luxury when you're traveling."

Casimir nodded and began to pad out of the room without a word to his master. Ammas called him back, his brows knitted.

"I'll want you to go with Barthim and Denisius today. I need to speak with Carala alone." Ammas's tone was friendly enough, but he noted a suspicious cast to Casimir's expression.

"Why?"

Ammas's eyebrows rose. Casimir questioning any of his directives was unprecedented. "Because her condition requires certain conversations I am sure she wouldn't want anyone else hearing. Come here a moment." Casimir edged closer to Ammas and the writing desk tucked under the window with his usual agreeableness. Ammas traced a finger along the paths of the moons. "Saya will be at its brightest tonight. Carala will become the wolf, and I have to make sure she doesn't hurt herself or anyone else. It's not something she'll want to discuss in front of anyone here, even you."

"Thought you wanted me to learn this stuff," Casimir muttered.

"I do." Ammas looked at his apprentice, thoroughly puzzled now. "Casimir, why are you angry with me?"

Casimir looked down at his feet, then out the window. Normally he might have found the sight of Vilais in the morning dazzling indeed: from this vantage they could see the Isle of Tair and the slender steeples of the Temple of the Graces, sprouting like grand stone trees from the huddle of theatres and opera houses. But he only looked ill-at-ease and distracted. "Not angry," he said after a while. "Scared for you. Scared what you might do."

Ammas's mouth fell open. "Casimir, there's nothing to be scared of -- "

"I'm going down to get breakfast. I'll go with Barthim today like you said."

"Casimir -- "

But the boy was gone before Ammas could get another word out of him.

The common room was packed with travelers at their breakfast, though conversation was noticeably muted. Many of the patrons were dressed in dark mourning clothes. A wry smile touched Ammas's lips: he had exchanged his usual black cursewright's robes for a plainer set of light gray, still an acceptable habiliment back when his fellowship had been functioning, but less noticeable in a place where his trade was criminal. His companions were huddled at a round table tucked between the hearth and an open door that led to the courtyard and stables. Before he joined them, he stopped at the bar, chatting for a while with the barkeep and his wife.

"So," he said as he seated himself between Casimir and Barthim, setting a plate of meats and cheeses before him, "Lady Zinna and I have business on the Isle of Tair. Where will the rest of you be going? To the Hethraeum?"

"I am sorry you will be missing it, Ammas, but I must go." Barthim slurped his tea, smacking his lips in satisfaction. "These two Marhollow lads will be most welcome, too, especially after what they are doing in the tunnels." He raised the tea in a toast and said something in Siraneshi. Vos grinned, answering it smartly and hoisting his own ale. Denisius merely nodded, toying with his breakfast and burying himself in a mug of cider.

"What did he call you this time?" Carala asked with a smile.

"Nothing I'm going to repeat in front of you, Lady Zinna," Vos replied, and broke up in laughter, his and Barthim's laughs the only to be heard in that room that morning.

"Will you be going with Ammas or with us, Cass?"

"With you, if that's all right," Casimir said. He threw Ammas a sidelong glance. "Unless Ammas says I should go with him."

"Take him to see the Hethraeum, Barthim. It'll be a good experience for him." Ammas's eyes met Barthim's. "It'd be good for him to talk with you someplace other than the Lioness, I think." Barthim nodded thoughtfully before favoring Casimir with a smile and tousling the boy's tightly curled hair. Casimir reacted to this with even less good grace than usual.

When breakfast was done the little group headed out through the courtyard to the street, which while unpaved was far better oiled than the Old Godsway, and certainly didn't reek of decades' worth of horse manure and even less pleasant things. A sign posted to the Kettle Red identified it as Tenmarch Street. They bid each other farewell for the time being, agreeing to meet back at the inn at two past noon.

"Plenty of time until moonrise," Ammas murmured in Carala's ear as he waved to Casimir. His apprentice seemed in no better a mood, glancing at him repeatedly over one shoulder. Vos and Barthim, at least, looked to be in good spirits, no matter how morose the other two appeared.

"Your apprentice is troubled," Carala said softly as she and Ammas turned in the opposite direction, headed toward the Ortien and the Isle of Tair. She had dressed this morning in a set of black hooded robes over a tasteful dress of deep green that looked suitable for a funeral. With the midnight of her hair and the hazel-amber of her eyes, Ammas had to admit she looked quite lovely.

"As is your promised husband." He scowled. "Neither one of them is very forthcoming."

"No. But I can smell it on both of them. Fear, anger, sadness." Her eyes had gone distant and Ammas wondered if she even realized she was speaking aloud. "I wish they would talk to me. Either one of them."

"Casimir has always kept his thoughts to himself, and he doesn't trust easily." Ammas watched her closely, noting just how much amber was visible in her irises today. Outside the inn the bells were striking nine. The streets were full of morning travelers, the somber notes of the Sorrows drifting on the air. "Lord Marhollow, I don't know. I thought we were getting along well."

In his head he could hear the whisper of Doyenne Sulivar: kill him and show the wolf your own savagery.

"So did I," Carala said, frowning. "I don't suppose you were ever offered an arranged marriage, were you, Ammas?"

Ammas laughed. "My father was a judge, not the Lord of Losris Nadak. I never stood to inherit more than his name. Not much of a prize for any highborn lady."

Carala smiled. "It's a good name, whatever he might have done."