Erna marked false panels until her chalk ran down to a nub.
Three on the annex floor, one in the linen passage, two more behind banner hooks that Calden had sworn were decorative.
Cynthia kept Blade answering in long, ugly sentences about tax, about the three soldiers in the infirmary, about the exact wording he had used when he evaded Marquis Gousel, and every time the lining tried to slip in a courtesy she made him start the sentence over.
The courier sat.
He asked nothing for almost an hour.
Then he asked, carefully, as if testing a tooth,
"Does Lord Rigel's study at home face the inner court or the training yard, I only ask because I think I already know and I would rather be hit again than know it."
Calden hit him.
The courier looked grateful.
Rigel did not go to sleep.
He stood over the packet and Balzac's letter until the lamp smoked, and the merchant in the wall did not speak again, which meant the useful mouth had already gone somewhere else.
