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bitter. The blackheart should feel right at
home, eh?"
    Caim thought back to the conversation on the stairs. Hadn't Ral mentioned a warmer clime? What game was he playing?
    Caim checked his knives out of habit as he departed the Three Maids.
Revelers accompanied by torchbearers filled the benighted streets, pushed
out the door by exhausted tavernkeeps. The sun would be rising in
another couple hours. He would have liked to go back home and crawl
into bed for a couple sennights, but he had work to do. Two days wasn't
enough time.
    Tucking the pouch and the papers deeper into the confines of his shirt,
Caim pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. The broadcloth
wrapped around him in a warm cocoon as he delved back into the Gutters.

     

CHAPTER THREE
    osey had nearly worked herself into another bout of tears by the time
her carriage stopped outside Anastasia's house on Torvelli Square.
She couldn't get the conversation with Father out of her head. She'd never
felt so helpless in her life. The only thing she could think of was to talk
to her best friend about it. Between the two of them, she was certain they
would find a solution.
    An elderly footman ushered her inside. Handing her mink-lined
cloak to one of the house girls, its silky hairs stiff from the chill, Josey
filed away the changing seasons as another potential argument against her
departure. Now was hardly the best time of year to undertake a sea
journey. That wouldn't be enough on its own to sway her father, but when
she talked to him again, she intended to have an arsenal of reasons why it
would be best for her to stay in Othir, at least until after Yeartide.
    "Josey!" Anastasia's cheery voice echoed through the atrium as she
hurried down a winding staircase. They clasped hands and kissed each
other's cheeks.
    Anastasia stepped back to arm's length, concern written across her
pretty features. With her honey gold hair, coiffed in wavy marcels, and her
ocean blue eyes, Anastasia was a true beauty, doll-like in her perfection.
Next to her, Josey had always felt homely, her complexion too pale, her
hair too dark and stringy.
    "What's the matter, Josey? Come in here."
    Josey let herself be pulled into an adjourning parlor room and seated
alone on a padded settee with tiny green leaves embroidered on the cushions.
    Anastasia kissed her again. "Something's wrong, Josey. Tell me."
    Josey told Anastasia about her father's decision to make her leave. By
the time she finished, she was sobbing openly.

    Anastasia lent Josey a handkerchief to wipe her face. "That's simply
not fair. Othir is as safe as a nursery. Forgive me, Josey, but I fear your
father may be feeling his dotage. You know how old men get. They see
specters in every dark corner."
    "I know. But no matter what I said, he refused to budge on the
matter. I don't know what to do. That's why I came to see you. You have
to help me, 'Stasia. I cannot miss your wedding. It will be the happiest
day of my life!"
    "You have to be there!" Anastasia looked on the verge of tears herself.
    Before her friend started to cry, Josey rushed on. "I will be. I promise.
But I need a plan. Father won't give in to emotional pleas."
    "You could stay here with me. With the armsmen we keep, this house
is virtually a fortress at night."
    "I'm not sure Father would feel that's adequate. My safety has always
been his chief concern. There were bodyguards everywhere when we lived
in Navarre. Sometimes I could hardly breathe."
    "But the westlands are abysmally lawless. This is Othir. It's entirely
different."
    "I know. I just don't know how to convince Father of that."
    Anastasia squeezed her hand. "Don't worry, darling. We'll find a way."
She reached up and touched the pendant hanging from Josey's neck. "I've
always admired this piece, Josey. It's beautiful. So simple, but elegant."
    Josey lifted the pendant, an antique-style key in gold. "Father gave it
to me for my fourteenth birthday. It's my