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Marlin opened both eyes and told him fiercely, “No. Gods, no. Never heard it before now. Who or what is Talane?”

“We’d like to know that ourselves, Lord. It was written on the roof of a many-tenants house not far south and west of here, in your man’s blood. His throat was slit, as you can see, and his body hurled down from that roof into a midyard. Can you tell us why he may have been there, Lord Stormserpent? Was he out and about in the city on your bidding?”

Marlin shook his head, pouring himself a drink with hands that trembled. “He lived here in this house, and so far as I know had no kin nor friends—nor property, for that matter—in Suzail. I know little of his habits and doings when on his own time, but mark you: Gaskur was trusted, and his time off was his own, to forge and further his own life, not dance always in Stormserpent livery.”

“Thank you for your assistance and for your offer,” the telsword said gravely, “but we’re in some haste, now. We’ll leave you to your private grief and take the remains of your man with us; the wizards of war will want to examine it.”

“Good,” Marlin said bitterly. “You do that. And come back and tell me what they find, for if the Crown does not find someone and make them pay for this—this foul murder, loyal swords of the realm, hear me well: I will.”

“Lord Stormserpent, we hear and will do so. Your sentiments do him honor, and yourself as well.”

And with that, the Dragons were gone in a hasty thunder of boots, leaving a shaken Marlin Stormserpent to sip liquid fire and listen to the doors of his home boom shut.

After he’d downed a flagon, refilled it, and emptied it again, one of the House servants murmured at his elbow, “Lord? Will you be wanting any—”

“Leave me be,” Marlin said curtly. “I would prefer to be alone. Let no one follow where I go.”

He filled the flagon once more and drained it in a single quaff that left him gasping. Slamming it down on the board, he said curtly, “Wash that,” and turned away to stride blindly across the forehall toward the grand stair.

“Talane” was a mystery, perhaps a mere fancy to send the watch astray. Gaskur had almost certainly died under the treachery of one of his fellow conspirators; the most recent task of importance he’d given Gaskur was to spy on their doings and meetings for any sign of possible betrayal.

“Nobles,” he hissed furiously, quoting a jest that usually left him wildfire-leaping hot. “Can’t trust them even as far as you can hurl their severed heads.”

By then, he was up the stair and through a door and waving sleepy servants back to their beds. A few more halls and doors, a few more locks and bars seen to, and he would be alone, all servants kept well away from him.

Back in his own rooms, he scooped Thirsty back out of his jerkin and set the stirge on a perch; Thirsty hated the magic that was about to be awakened and always demonstrated that by defecating copiously and digging claws in deep, too. Drawing and downing a hasty glass of wine from his favorite decanter, Marlin set aside the chalice and the Flying Blade, too, caught up his bedside lantern, and headed for the uppermost room of the most ruinous tower.

Dust still lay thick over much of it, in the lantern glow. From the cloak stand he retrieved the milky glass orb, took it to the small round table, and set it atop the heavy metal goblet standing there.

Settling himself into the lopsided chair, Marlin touched the orb, murmured the word, and watched the familiar glowing cloud appear. As swiftly as if Lothrae had been waiting for him—a thought that made his eyes narrow in suspicion, for just a moment—the cloud became the image of the masked man sitting in the falcon-back chair in front of his own orb.

“Yes?” Lothrae greeted him simply.

“Master,” Marlin Stormserpent began fearfully, and related Gaskur’s fate and his own fears of treachery, ending with, “What should I do?”

“Stop acting weak and fearful,” came the cold reply. “Stop looking over your shoulder for treachery, and attracting the suspicions of every last Purple Dragon