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seeing a child in this situation either, but it is the custom here, and if we interfere now, what will we accomplish besides alienating the innkeeper?”
    “There ought to be something we can do!”
    “Not now, not without giving ourselves away entirely,” a third voice broke in. “Even if we managed to get her away somehow, it is much too late to find another place like this. A room close to the gates, on the second floor where we can remain unseen, is too good a piece of luck to throw away. And everything you’ve suggested so far would be sure to attract the attention of the Temple of Chaldon.”
    “Arelnath’s right,” the man’s voice said. “If the Temple were to get wind of a healing, or even the disappearance of a drudge, they would be scouring the city for us in no time. You haven’t been in Drinn before; I have.”
    “Enough, my friends,” the woman’s voice said. “I do not like it, but I can accept the necessity. We will talk of this again later, when we have done what we came for. As to the innkeeper…” Her voice faded into a blurred murmuring as she moved farther from the wall where Ranira crouched.
    Judging that she was unlikely to overhear more, Ranira lifted a pile of cloths from the chest and slowly lowered the lid. She was intrigued by the implications of the conversation. Evidently, the strangers intended to remain in Drinn throughout the Midwinter Festival. Interesting. None of them sounded ill, either. Ranira sat back on her heels. What could they possibly want at the Inn of Nine Doors?
    Well, at least they seemed to mean Ranira no harm, though she knew better than to expect more than kind words from any of them. They might be shocked at the way Lykken treated her, but their concern meant no more than the horrified comments of the noblewomen of Drinn who happened to pass through one of the poorer sections of the city.
    Ranira rose to her feet and picked up the cloths and the water pitcher. A few steps brought her to the door of the corner room. She knocked firmly. The blond man opened it a moment later. “Yes?”
    “Water and cloths, as the gentlefolk requested,” Ranira said. The man made no move, so she added, “I am also to light the fire.”
    “Let her in, Jaren,” said a gentle voice from the interior of the room. The blond man stepped back, somewhat reluctantly and moved inside. She glanced around quickly. Jaren stood by the door watching her attentively. The boy was just a head and mound of blankets on the bed. Beside him sat the gray-eyed woman with black hair. “Go quietly, please,” she said softly as Ranira’s eyes reached her. “He sleeps.”
    The woman’s gaze was full of sympathy. Ranira’s stomach knotted in a familiar blend of resentment and scorn. She fought down her irritation and with an effort, nodded politely as she stepped to the side of the bed.
    For a moment she busied herself arranging the cloths and the pitcher, deliberately avoiding the other woman’s eyes by studying the supposed invalid. The youth was certainly a good actor, she thought; if she had not overheard that revealing conversation she would have assumed him to be deep in sleep. His head was turned away from her, showing only a shock of sandy brown hair and a smooth line of neck and cheek. The boy moaned and shifted, and Ranira started slightly. Looking up, she found Jaren’s eyes on her, intent and wary.
    Now, why is he so worried? Ranira puzzled as she dropped her gaze to the cloths. The boy’s act was certainly convincing enough. She glanced at the bed again with critical appraisal. There was something else, something besides the feigned sickness. Ranira couldn’t be quite sure what, but she was suddenly certain of it.
    Then the boy shifted again. Ranira froze in shock. The person on the bed was a woman! Unveiled and posing as a man, she asked the fire, or worse, in Drinn. No wonder the blond man was wary.
    Ranira forced her gaze downward. She picked up the firebox and moved over to