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By Root 345 0

loosely draped about her knees, and she wasn't hugging herself, as Arvin was. Her winter cloak was open at the neck, and she hadn't bothered to brush away the snowflakes that dusted her long black hair. She stared over Arvin's shoulder at the snow-blurred landscape that fell away behind them. Judging by her dusky skin, she came from the warm lands to the south and shouldn't be used to cold. Her breath, like his, fogged the air. Yet she looked as comfortable as i f she were sitting beside a crackling fire. Arvin decided she must have magic that helped her to endure the cold. Maybe that bulge under the glove on her right hand was a magical ring.

Envious though he was, Arvin couldn't help but glance at her. She was exquisite, with eyes so dark it was difficult to see where pupil ended and iris began, and long lashes that fluttered each time she blinked. Her cheekbones were high and wide, and the hair that framed her face was lustrous and thick, with a slight wave. 'Arvin imagined brushing it back from her face and letting his fingers linger on the soft skin of her cheek. The riverboat wouldn't be leaving until tomorrow morning; perhaps she could be persuaded to…

She shifted on the wagon's hard wooden bench, at last shaking the snowflakes from her hair. Arvin caught a glimpse of an earring in her left ear-a finger-thick plug of jade, its rounded end carved in the shape of a stylized face with drooping, heavy lips. Then her hair covered it again.

Her eyes met Arvin's. Realizing he was still staring at her, he blushed. "Your earring," he stammered. "It's pretty."

She stared at him for several unnerving moments. Then her gaze shifted to his forehead. "That stone. Is it your clan?" She spoke in the clipped accent of the southern lands, each word slightly abbreviated.

"This?" Arvin touched the lapis lazuli on his forehead. The fingernail-sized chip of stone was a spot of warmth against his chilled skin, joined by magic with his flesh-and joined with his thoughts, when its command word was spoken. He'd put it on as soon once the ship was safely away from Hlondeth and had left it in place since. There didn't seem to be any reason to hide it anymore. Zelia-the stone's original owner-was far behind him now, gods be praised.

"It's just a decoration," he answered at last.

"I see." She glanced away, seemingly losing interest.

"You're from the south?" Arvin asked, hoping to continue the conversation.

She nodded.

"I'm from Hlondeth, myself."

That got her attention. She studied him a moment. "You are i t a yuan-ti."

"No. My name's Vin," he said, using an abbreviation that was as common as cobblestones in Hlondeth. "And yours is…?"

She paused, as if deciding whether to answer. "Karrell."

"You're going to Ormpetarr?" It was an unnecessary question, since the only reason anyone would be taking this wagon would be to reach the riverboats that plied the Lower Nagaflow.

She nodded.

"Me too," Arvin continued. He plunged into the carefully rehearsed story that would explain his presence in Sespech. "I'm an agent for Mariners' Mercantile. I hope to encourage Baron Foesmasher to buy from our rope factories. Those new ships he's building are going to require good strong hemp for their rigging." He patted the backpack on the seat beside him. "I've brought samples of our finest lines to show him."

Karrell raised an eyebrow. "You are meeting with the baron?" She glanced at his cloak-woven from coarse brown wool-and the worn boots that protruded from the blanket draped over his legs.

Behind her, the driver chuckled into his beard and flicked his reins.

"These are my traveling clothes," Arvin explained. She obviously thought he was a braggart, trying to impress her. He drew himself up straighter. "I'll change into something more suitable once I arrive in Ormpetarr, before going to the palace. Ambassador Extaminos has graciously agreed to introduce me to-"

"Dmetrio Extaminos?"

Arvin blinked. "You know him?"

"I know his work. He has a great love of architecture. He restored the Serpent Arch, the first Hall of Extaminos, and the Coiled