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than a dek beyond the west
    end of town.
     
    On the left side of the street was the inn—the Green Bull— and the well-endowed animal on the
    sign was portrayed graphically in green. On the right side…Anna stiffened slightly as she saw
    the repainted blue and white of the chandlery—the one where she’d been forced to incinerate
    Forse. In the doorway stood a figure in brown. As the dark-haired youth or young man—
    somehow familiar—met her glance, Anna wanted to shiver at the coldness in his eyes.
     
    She held her eyes firmly on him until he lowered his gaze. Only then did she blink, for the
    building almost appeared to have two images—as though she’d used Darksong magic. One
    image appeared deep brown and brooding black, shadowed, the other a bright white and deep
    blue and weathered. She blinked again and studied the chandlery. There were still two images.
     
    “Rickel—do you see the chandlery there? Do you notice anything strange about it?”
     
    The blond-haired guard frowned as he looked to the right. “The wood has been painted recently,
    and the door looks to be new.”
     
    Anna wanted to sigh, but only answered. “Thank you. The door has been painted in the past year.
    They had a fire there.”
     
    “That young fellow—he’s watching you,” added Himar.
     
    “I imagine he is. I had to kill the chandler last year. He might be his son.” And he probably hates
    you. “Before I became Regent. He tried to kill me,” When he couldn’t rape me.
     
    “Not a wise idea," observed Himar.
     
    “I didn’t have much choice." At least, you didn’t think you did then.
     
    Anna glanced at the houses on the left side of the street, but no one appeared outside, unlike the
    year before, when a girl had brought her a basket of gifts in thanks. She thought she could see
    figures—women-—watching from the windows, but no one appeared outside.
     
    “Quiet town,” suggested Himar.
     
    "Too still by far." The murmur from Liende was barely audible, and Anna agreed with the chief
    player’s words.
     
    The unnatural quiet remained for the last dek out of the town. It almost seemed to Anna that not
    even the birds sang until she had almost reached the stone bridge that spanned the Chean River.
    Two things bothered her about Pamr. Of those who had watched her, none had come out to see
    the Regent, and most were women. The handful of men had looked away. Not spit or expressed
    open dislike, but just looked away. Then, there had been the feel of the chandlery—something
    like Darksong—and the man who had watched. She knew the face was familiar, and that she
    should have recognized him. But she hadn’t, except for knowing that he had to be some relative
    of the late Forse.
     
    Does that lack of recognition come from having to meet and remember too many people in too
    short a time? Should you have stopped and investigated?
     
    Anna knew she couldn’t stop and deal with everything that felt wrong, but there was that
    nagging sense that she should have recognized something about the son of Forse, that she knew
    him from somewhere. Clearly, there was something about Pamr, despite Lady Qatrune’s
    hospitality, that felt wrong. Then... what doesn’t these days?
     
     
    6
    PAMR, DEFALK
     
    The two young and bearded men watch as the column passes along the main street westward,
    back toward Falcor, one in the doorway of the chandlery, one from the window beside the door,
    half-hidden by the shutters.
     
    Once the last armsman rides past the chandlery, and then past the coppersmith’s porch, the older
    of the two men steps back into the store. “The bitch sorceress! Our beloved Regent. With such a
    pretty face, so innocent-looking, as if she had no evil on her soul.” He snorts as he looks at his
    brother. “So evil! She is evil, and none see it. But they will…they will. Oh…they will.”
     
    “Then, why did you nothing, Farsenn?” asks the younger. “You have spoken against