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“Thank you.”
    “You’ve done the same for me more than a few times.” He grinned, then raised his mug. I could see the faint steam of the hot spiced wine.
    “What will you have, Rhenn?” asked Staela, the wife of Ruscol, who owned Lapinina.
    “The special fried ham croissant and the better spiced hot wine.”
    “That’ll be half a silver.”
    I extracted the five coppers from my wallet and handed them over—and she was gone.
    “What are you doing here?” I asked.
    “Getting warm. I was over at the exhibit. I saw your study. You didn’t enter a portrait?”
    I shook my head. “I wanted to try something else.” I saw no point in painting a portrait for which I would likely not get paid. It was better to try something else and stretch my abilities.
    Staela reappeared and set the hot wine on the table in passing. I cupped my hands around the mug, letting the heat warm chill fingers, before I took a first sip. Then I held it at chin level and let the warmth coming from the mug caress my face.
    “Cold out there, even for mid-Ianus,” observed Rogaris.
    “Cold enough,” I admitted. “Are you going back over to the Festival Hall?”
    Rogaris shook his head. “Master Jacquerl said there wasn’t much point in my entering any studies this year.” He smiled. “Besides, Aemalye has the night off, and the governess’s quarters to herself.” He stood a last swallow from his mug, then set it on the table.
    “That sounds promising.”
    “Most promising. We’re saving for the bond to open my own studio, and we’ll wed once I make master, a year from this coming Agostos.” Rogaris stood. “Until later, Rhenn, and best of fortune this evening.”
    “Thank you.” I slipped around the table and took the narrow chair, just before Staela returned with the chipped brown crockery platter on which was my croissant, along with three fat rice-fries drizzled with balsamic vinegar.
    “Eat hearty,” offered Staela as she hurried away.
    I took a small bite. I wasn’t in any hurry. The judging results wouldn’t be announced until the sixth glass, and the bells of the fifth glass hadn’t yet rung. I couldn’t help but think about Rogaris. He was less than three years older than I was. I couldn’t conceive of being married soon, not after growing up with Rousel, and then Khethila and Culthyn.
    I savored the golden-brown fried ham croissant, alternating with bites from the crunchy fried sticky rice. Then I sat at the tiny table and sipped the warm winter wine, enjoying the melded taste of wine and spices—cinnamon, cloves, and shaeric.
    Eventually, I finally finished the last of the winter wine, as much because Staela kept glaring at me as because I was in any haste, and rose, leaving a copper for her and making my way back out into the cold and across the tightly set paving stones of the avenue to the square itself. Festival Hall dominated the Guild Square. Properly speaking, they were the Artisans’ Festival Hall and the Artisans’ Guild Square. Each of the four main artisans’ guilds had a wing of the building, and in the center was the Festival Hall proper. The north wing was the province of the masons’, stonemasons’, and sculptors’ guilds; the west wing was that of the cabinetmakers’ and woodcrafters’ guilds; the south wing belonged to the various representative artists’ guilds, including the portraiturists’ guild; and the east wing was that of the glassblowers’ and various metalcrafters’ guilds.
    The guild wings were closed and locked, and I entered the hall through the door between the east and the south wing, nodding at the guard in gray just inside. The four huge ceramic stoves—one for each wing, so to speak—kept my breath from steaming, but the cavernous space was cold enough that I wasn’t about to loosen my jacket.
    The display works were hung by guild, and I walked to where mine had been placed, on the far left end of those submitted, one of three—out of nineteen—that