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You’ll be more comfortable downstairs.”
    “I won’t be comfortable until we make contact with someone who can help us,” she said.
    “Still. It’s cold tonight. I don’t want you to take a chill.” He gestured to her torn riding robe. “You’ve been running and tense. When the sweat cools, you’ll notice the cold out here.”
    “So will you,” she said. Then smiled. “And are you trying to tell me I stink of sweat?”
    His mouth crooked up at one side, just barely. “You always smell lovely. Go inside. I’ll join you shortly.”
    Giving in, she took the roof stairs to the third floor to scout a suitable room to rest in. They were fortunate that the windows in this building were mostly intact, at least on this floor. Several of the rooms had furniture, though most of it was too filthy to make for comfortable sitting. She found two rooms with beds and one of those beds appeared relatively clean, though it was bare. She studied that room and realized it wasn’t as dirty in general as the other rooms, the dust only just starting to accumulate again.
    Someone had used that space, not long ago. But there were no signs of it being readied for a return visitor. When she checked the ceramic heater in the corner, there was no kindling or flint and steel to start a fire. Someone planning on using this room again would have left something behind to start a fire. Or left some clean linens for the bed. She opened the single oak trunk in the room, but it was empty. No, there didn’t seem to be signs that whoever had used this room might return. She and Einar should be safe enough here.
    With a little sigh, she flipped the mattress over, exposing a dust-free side that was in decent shape, better than she’d expected. Then she sat and waited for Einar.
    He didn’t leave her alone for long. He filled the doorway when he did join her, his large, muscled frame a paler darkness. Ambient light from both the waning moon and a single working gas lamp gave the room some illumination, but not enough to see his facial expression clearly as he hovered in the shadows.
    “Did an owl come?”
    He made a noise that sounded like a short, broken laugh. “Of course. They’re always happy to answer my requests.”
    “How do you send messages without anything to write with?” She knew he could do this. He’d done it before. But she’d never asked how he managed. For every other elf, the owls would deliver written notes. Only Einar could deliver a verbal one.
    He came into the room, hesitating a few feet from the bed. There was nowhere else to sit, and his hovering rubbed irritatingly against her nerves.
    “Sit down, Einar. I won’t attack you. We can be in each other’s company for a few minutes without succumbing to the Shaerta .”
    Still reluctant, he finally settled on the opposite end of the bed.
    “Now. How do you send verbal messages with the owls? I’ve always wondered and been afraid to ask.”
    He tilted his head to one side. “You afraid? I find that hard to believe.”
    “You’re avoiding the question.”
    “The owls can deliver my verbal messages to the king. He’s the only other elf who can understand, though he does so in a different manner than I do. He…sees the messages, almost like pictures, from the owl’s mind.”
    “And you? Can you receive verbal messages?” Before he could answer, she let out a half laugh. “But of course you wouldn’t know, as the owls won’t carry verbal messages from other elves.”
    “They bring me news that was spoken within their hearing.”
    She focused on him more fully. “What?”
    “While collecting written messages, if they glean information they feel I should know, they tell me. I understand their…language is the only way to describe it. When they speak, I know what they’re saying.”
    “Unlike the king.”
    “Different from the king.”
    “What did you ask His Majesty to do?”
    “To inform your cousin that we need safe passage from Noman’s Land. Once