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the fire, oddly quiet.
    She’d said so, and he’d stirred the flames. For a long time he hadn’t even answered; when he did, his words were hesitant. “Carys, when we were all caught up in that vision, when the weather-net was mended, I thought . . . someone came and spoke to me.”
    “Someone?” she’d asked. She’d been sewing a tear in her coat. She remembered how reluctant he’d been.
    “The Margrave.” And then he’d reached over and caught her fingers, stopping her, blurting it all out. “He spoke to me! He told me that he was going to find me, to seek me out. Just me! He said he wanted me . . . for some sort of apprentice. That we were linked. I’m sure it was real. I’m sure of it! It’s terrifying me.”
    She had stared at him. “Have you told Galen?”
    “No.”
    “You should. But Raffi, we all had strange, muddled visions. I know I did. I thought I was back in the Watch-house.” Had she told him that? She wasn’t sure. But she thought she’d convinced him the whole thing was a nightmare, that he’d let it worry him too much. They’d ended up laughing about it, and he’d never mentioned it again. But thinking back now, he’d still been a bit quiet, right up until the time she and the Sekoi left for Sarres.
    Could it be true? She shivered, dragging her knees up in the straw and wrapping her arms around them. This was serious. If Scala wasn’t lying, then the Margrave really was searching for Raffi. And that complicated things.
    There were two things she could do now, it seemed to her. The first was to refuse Scala’s offer. If she did that she’d end up on some work-gang and the plan would be finished. The second thing was to tell them where Raffi might be found—or at least make a convincing deal with them. It was what was needed. But it was dangerous. If she did it, she might never get out of this alive.
    Footsteps.
    She curled instantly; the door rattled, banged open, and Quist walked in. He looked down at her. “I know you’re awake. Come on; she wants her answer.”
    He walked ahead down the corridor; brushing herself down, Carys followed, leaving a trail of wisps of straw. There were guards, but Quist waved them away. Opening a door to the outside, he bowed her through, mock polite.
    “Have you known Scala long?” she asked, squeezing past him.
    “Forget it. I’ve had the training too. You’ll get nothing from me.”
    The were standing on a high gallery near the top of the keep. Watch flags flapped above them; the sudden fresh air made Carys feel giddy. It was a cool, bright day and the castle lay below her flooded with sunlight, swarming with workers. Lines of wagons were straggling out of the distant barbican; even from here she could hear the yells and whipcracks of the wagoners.
    “Where are they going?”
    He looked at her, as if weighing what to say. Then, as if it were no secret, he shrugged. “The Wall.”
    “What wall?”
    “You’ve been away too long, Watchspy. You’re out of touch.” His voice was morose, his fingers tapping restlessly on the smooth battlements. Then he turned, his dark hair lifting in the wind. “You know the Unfinished Lands are spreading.”
    “Everyone knows that.”
    He nodded. “The Watch has calculated that if the present rate of expansion continues, the Finished Lands will be halved in twenty years. We’ll be surrounded by chaos and each year it will close in on us. In fifty, maybe less, it will close over our heads. Farms, towns, villages, everything gone. No one will be left alive.”
    Carys looked down at the bedlam of noise. “So the Watch is building a wall?”
    “Not just any wall. A vast, immensely strong structure, from here to the Narrow Sea, as a start. Sixteen leagues. Eighty spans thick, of rubble and hardcore faced with the smoothest Alavian marble. Forty spans high with a parapet even higher. Towers every two leagues. Only one gate. No weak points.”
    “You sound very proud of it.” She was silent, thinking of