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long ago, and it’s time I escorted my mother and brother and Mistress Mirdley to their own beds in Gallybanks.” He rose and bowed—perfectly steady, even with the quantities of alcohol and thorn he’d imbibed today. Mieka was impressed. “I’m forever beholden to you, Mistress Windthistle, for my wonderful Namingday party.”
    “But I thought you’d stay here!” Mieka whined. “I’d planned for us four to sleep in the new wagon!”
    “Plenty of time for that,” Vered reminded him. “In fact, Chat and I will be glad to try out the beds for you—no, Mistress, don’t worry your lovely head for an instant. It’s our duty to our fellow players, to make sure their wagon is at least half as comfortable as our own.”
    His wife’s flawless forehead wrinkled in a frown. Not really seeing the problem, Mieka was further confused when Cade joined her in looking dissatisfied.
    “We’ll be entirely happy in the wagon,” seconded Chat. “Please don’t trouble yourself.”
    “All settled, then?” Vered tossed back his shaggy fair hair, beamed a smile at them, snagged his glisker’s elbow, and made for the house. “Getting a smidgeon chill out here—time for the hearth within the home for a last few rounds. G’night, Cade!”
    “He’ll be useless tomorrow,” Cade predicted, watching them go.
    “He always is,” agreed Mieka, “after more than two cups of anything stronger than wine. Are you sure you won’t stay?”
    “Beholden, but no. Again, Mistress, I’m in your debt. It was an excellent day.” When Mieka pouted, Cade sighed with exaggerated patience. “Kearney was kind enough to bring my mother in his carriage, but he lives across town from Redpebble and even if we leave right now, it’ll be past midnight before his horses get home and stabled.”
    Mieka followed him into the house to collect Derien, Lady Jaspiela, and Mistress Mirdley. Vered was right: The spring evening had cooled considerably, and there was a fire going in the drawing room hearth, with much of his family grouped round it. He cheered up at the sight. This was what a home ought to be: warmed by liquor and firelight, noisy with the laughter of guests he enjoyed. If only he could’ve persuaded Cayden to linger, it would all have been perfect.
    The change in temperature from outside to inside reminded him—finally—of his Namingday gift for Cade. Weaving his way through the crowd, he scurried down the hall to his bedchamber and rummaged about in the tall oaken cupboard that had been a wedding present from Jed and Blye. Moments later he had wrestled the big muslin-wrapped package from its hiding place.
    Anticipating Cade’s move into his own digs, Mieka had designed, and his wife and her mother had made, a counterpane. Well,
designed
probably wasn’t the right word; he’d told them his idea, and they’d executed it. The quilted coverlet was thickly embroidered with a pattern of white goose-feather quills on a dark blue background. The border featured little bottles of ink in every color imaginable, with comical splotches here and there to show it had been spilled. And at the writing end of one feather was a tiny silver teardrop charm to symbolize the magicCayden created with his words. How anyone, even accomplished needlewomen like his wife and her mother, could take silks and threads and craft something so wonderful was beyond his understanding. But probably people said the same thing about what his father did when making a lute, or what Mieka himself did with the magic Cade gave him in the withies.
    The carriage had pulled round in front of the house, and everyone but Cade had climbed into it. Mieka’s mother, with the three-year-olds Jorie and Tavier drowsing in her arms, one on each hip, was supervising the loading of a hamper, but doing it quietly. Mistress Mirdley had helped with the cooking, and in all fairness should take some of it home with her. Besides, more food remained than even the tribe of Windthistles could