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“People go to bed early.”

“The price of candles and lamp-oil has doubled since midsummer.”

“Oh…the war?”

Krystal snorted. “Oil comes mainly from Spidlar or Certis, and the prefect won’t let the merchants cross Gallos to reach us. He also has an agreement with the Viscount of Certis. Between the two of them and the merchants’ greed…”

“Food?”

“We eat a lot of goats, cheese, and olives these days. And beans. We mustn’t forget the beans.”

“You sound tired.”

“I am tired, Lerris. We all are. Me, Ferrel, Liessa, and especially Kasee. She’s aged ten years in the past year. Dealing with Murreas alone is no banquet, but we need her as much as the Finest.” She leaned back on the balcony chair in the darkness, her voice low.

“Obtaining the best troops money can buy?” That had to be the strategy. While Kyphrans like Shervan and Pendril were fine people, they didn’t make the disciplined force necessary to pick off Antonin’s madmen one at a time.

“It’s getting harder and harder, and we’re paying three times what the new Duke of Freetown offers. Right now the Finest are two score short.”

I didn’t know what to say. Instead, I reached over and squeezed her leg, just above the knee, trying to send a little order, and strength her way.

“Thank you. Sometimes…”

I wished she had finished the sentence. There wasn’t enough light to see her face, and my order-senses didn’t read facial expressions well. Only a faint wistful longing surrounded her.

“You wish what?” I finally asked.

“That some things had been different. That I were younger. Or…”

Again, she left the sentence unfinished, and I didn’t ask.

“Sometimes, I do too,” I found myself answering.

“You need to find some answers inside yourself first, I think.”

She was right. Until I dealt with Antonin, or he dealt with me, there would be no answers. I sighed.

“Hell, isn’t it?” Her voice was dry.

I had to chuckle. I wasn’t quite up to laughing, but her tone was so wry I couldn’t help it. It was hell. Sitting on that cool balcony in pitch dark overlooking a city whose streets I had never walked, I talked to Krystal, the sub-commander, the autarch’s champion. I looked at a doorway that had once been open, a door through which I had not dared to walk.

Why? I couldn’t say. Would that door be open to me again? I didn’t know that either.

“I wonder if Kyphros needs another good woodcrafter…” I mused instead of confronting myself.

“There aren’t many good woodcrafters anywhere. There aren’t many masters at anything anywhere, though.”

Again, that lingering silence fell, and I heard a single set of footsteps on the stones below. In time, they died out.

“Do you like being a master of the blade?”

“Sometimes. When it’s used for good.”

“And the other times?”

I could feel her shrug, though she did not move from the chair. “You try to do as little damage as possible. You can’t support the best of rulers without some injustice. Wrynn never understood that.”

“What happened to her?”

“Nothing. Not that I know of. She didn’t stay with the Finest long. She headed toward Sarronnyn through the southern passes, looking for a place where the people were strong and fair-minded.”

“Poor Wrynn.” I felt sorry for her. Wherever she went, she wouldn’t find what she was looking for, just like I hadn’t been able to find the clear answers I so desperately wanted.

“She won’t find them,” Krystal confirmed, almost reading my thoughts.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” I asked, not quite idly.

“Part of it. I’m doing what I’m good at, and it has some value.”

I didn’t ask about the rest. One look around the dinner table would have been enough to answer that. Instead, I looked out at Kyphrien, noting that the candles, lamps, and torches were fewer now, as more and more citizens went to bed, stopped carousing, or whatever.

The breeze had picked up, bringing the first hint of chill since I had crossed the Little Easthorns. The faint smell of smoke came with the breeze, the smoke from torches and ill-adjusted oil lamps. Unlike Recluce,