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“Me, I had a live man for a father,” Illvin went on. “Cranky betimes—how we fought when I was younger! I am so glad he lived long enough for us to be grown men together. We cared for him here at Porifors after his palsy-stroke—albeit not too long. I think he wished to be gone to look for our mother by then, for a few times we found him out searching for her.” His rich voice tightened. “Twenty years dead, she was. His life was so lightly held at the last, his death in the Father’s season seemed no sorrow. I held his hand at the end. It felt very cool and dry, almost transparent. Five gods, how did I get on to this subject? You will have me leaking, next.” He was leaking now, she thought, but he steadfastly ignored the suspect sheen in his eyes, and, politely, she did, too. “Thus, my experience of bastardy.” He hesitated, eyed her. “Do you—you, who say you have seen them face-to-face—believe the gods bring us back to those we loved? When our spirits rise?”

“I do not know,” she said, surprised into honesty. Was he thinking forward, to Arhys, as well as back to the elder Ser dy Arbanos, in this moment? “Perhaps I’ve never loved anyone enough to know. I think . . . it is not a fool’s hope.”

“Hm.”

She looked away from his face, feeling an intruder upon that wistful inward frown. Her eye fell on Goram, rocking and clenching his hands again. Outwardly, a grizzled aging menial. Inwardly . . . stripped, plundered, burned-out like some village ravaged by retreating troops.

“How came you by Goram?” Ista asked Illvin. “And where?”

“I was reconnoitering in Jokona, as is my habit whenever I have a spare week. I collect castle and town plans, for a pastime.” The brief smile that flitted across his mouth implied that he collected rather more than this, but he went on. “Having ridden down to Hamavik in the guise of a horse dealer, and having accumulated rather more stock than I’d intended, I found myself in need of an extra groom. As a Roknari merchant, I buy out Chalionese prisoners whenever I have a chance. The men with no family have little hope of ransom. Goram less than most, as he’d plainly lost most of his wits and memory. I’d diagnose a knock to the head in his last battle, though there’s no scar, so it might have been some other ill treatment, or fever. Or both. It was clear no one else in the market wanted him that day, so I drove a better bargain than I’d expected. As it proved.” The smile flickered again. “When we reached Porifors, and I freed him, he asked to stay in my service, as he no longer was sure where his home lay.”

By the wall, Goram nodded endorsement to the tale.

Ista drew breath. “Are you aware that he is demon-gnawed?”

Illvin jolted upright. “No!”

Goram looked equally dumfounded. Liss’s head jerked around, and she stared at the groom in wonder.

Illvin’s eyes narrowed in rapid thought. “How do you know this, Royina?”

“I can see it. I can see his soul-stuff. It’s all in rags and tatters.”

Illvin blinked, sank back. After a moment he said, more cautiously, “Can you see mine?”

“Yes. To me, it appears as an attenuated white fire, streaming out of your heart to your brother. His soul is gray as a ghost’s, beginning to decompose and blur. It is in his body, but it is not attached to his body. It just . . . floats there. Liss’s is bright and colorful, but very centered, very solid and tight within the matter that generates it.”

Liss, evidently deciding she had been complimented, smiled cheerfully.

After a reflective silence Illvin said, “That must be very distracting for you.”

“Yes,” she said shortly.

He cleared his throat. “Are you saying, then, that Goram was a sorcerer?”

Goram shook his head in horrified denial. “I’m not ever so, lady!”

“What can you remember, Goram?” Ista asked.

His seamed face worked. “I know I marched with Orico’s army. I remember the roya’s tents, all red-and-gold silk, shining in the light. I remember . . . marching as a prisoner, with chains on. Working, some