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wince.
    “It’s worse than that,” Emra continued as she took in his expression. “I never worried about where we were posted because I knew it would be better than where I grew up.”
    “What is your family like?” asked Vaelora quickly, still cupping her hands around the warm mug of wine.
    “I suppose they’re still there, but they aren’t the kind to write. They could certainly afford the silvers for it.”
    “They’re into cotton factoring,” added Straesyr. “They used to own all the warehouses in the delta. Emra married me against their wishes.” He looked to Vaelora.
    “It wasn’t quite against my brother’s wishes,” she replied. “I just refused to marry anyone else.”
    “She didn’t bother to inform me, either,” Quaeryt said dryly, before his voice warmed. “It was, shall we say, the greatest Year-Turn gift I’ve ever received … or ever expect to.”
    “You’re very fortunate he understands that, dear,” said Emra.
    “I am indeed … and for other graces that he possesses.”
    “Were we ever like that?” Emra looked to Straesyr.
    “In our own way, yes.”
    “I suppose we were. Time does pass…” Emra paused. “I did persuade the kitchen to provide us with specially roasted game fowl. I do hope you like game fowl.…”
    “Indeed,” said Quaeryt, almost simultaneously with Vaelora’s “Of course.”
    Their eyes met, momentarily, and they smiled.
    Quaeryt understood both the warmth and the sadness in his wife’s brown eyes, and resolved to make the evening as cheerful as possible.

 
     
    6
     
    Quaeryt felt as though he might be exceeding the bounds of his office in using a squad to escort him and Vaelora to Tilbora early on Samedi morning … but the half-staff he had obtained as a replacement for the one lost in the last battle against the hill holders was scarcely adequate by itself against brigands, and explaining imaging would have also created problems and questions better left unraised. Besides, she was Bhayar’s sister, and had she not been married, or had she been married to someone else, and had she come to Tilbor, Straesyr certainly would have provided an escort.
    Quaeryt was glad that the sun was out, and that there was no wind, so that the morning was almost pleasant, at least for winter in Tilbor. It was well before eighth glass, and both Artiema and Erion were still in the sky, although neither moon was close to being full, when they rode down the cold stone lane from the palace, with two rankers before them and the rest of the squad following, all of them riding far enough away from the couple so that they could talk privately—if they kept their voices low.
    He turned in the saddle. “You were wonderful at dinner last night.”
    “So were you.” She paused, then added, “It’s so sad. They love each other, but…”
    “Even when they talk about the very same things, they’re not talking about the same things.”
    “They know it, and he still loves her, and she still loves him.” Vaelora paused, and then looked straight at Quaeryt. “If I don’t understand … talk to me until I do.”
    “I will.”
    “Promise me.”
    Quaeryt almost recoiled at the intensity behind those quietly spoken words. “I promise. I will. But you must do the same.”
    “I already do.” She flashed a warm smile.
    “I have a question. One I should have asked earlier.”
    “Oh?”
    “You take after your grandmere—”
    “Yes, dearest.”
    “I meant … about whether you see things as she did … visions?”
    “I knew what you meant. I do … not often. She didn’t, either.”
    “Did you see me?”
    “Not exactly. But you looked familiar the very first time I saw you, in a strange way, and it wasn’t because of what Grandmere had told me. There was one … farsight … that later proved to be about us. I didn’t know that at the time. Years ago, I saw an image, as if I were there, and Bhayar and I were riding up a stone lane to a wall with gates. I