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Krystal’s chair creaked. “Lerris?”

“Yes.”

“I need some sleep.” She stood up and stifled a yawn.

It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t an invitation.

“Oh…sorry. I’ll get my things.”

“You can stay here. If you feel comfortable about it.” Then she added, and I could hear the smile in her words, “That’s just for sleeping.”

Lonely as I felt, and much as I would have liked to hold her, and be held, she was right. Not that I liked it, but she was right. I had too many unanswered questions I had not even faced.

“Besides,” she added with a short laugh, “it will add to my image.”

“What? Having a poor woodworker stay overnight? That will improve your image?”

“Come on inside. You were never a poor woodworker.”

“I was a terrible apprentice.” I followed her in, letting her close the door. A single lamp burned in the main room.

“That was then.” She gestured. “You want the bedroom or the couch? It’s long enough and firm enough.”

I opted for the couch, ignoring the possible play on words. The quarters were hers, after all.

“Good night.” She did close her door, if gently.

Despite my unanswered questions, the couch was comfortable, and I slept more soundly than I had since leaving Fenard. I did not dream, nor wake with cold chills, nor hear the sound of coach wheels in the sky.

I did wonder, before drifting off, what had happened to the lady who had once wanted me.

LXII

I WOKE UP early, in the chill winter grayness before true dawn with the blanket actually around my shoulders, looking at the ceiling and wondering. I had been drawn to Tamra and later to Krystal—but for different reasons, very different reasons.

Krystal was my friend, yet my dreams of her were far more than friendly. And Tamra was a spoiled bitch, yet I still dreamed of her, though less frequently of late. What had changed? Or had anything? Or did I dream of Krystal because she seemed more attainable? Or…

“You’re a confused mess, Lerris…” I muttered under my breath. Acknowledging it didn’t solve my confusion, but it might lead to more useful thought on the subject—assuming I had time to think about it.

As silently as I could, I sat up, glancing through the single window. A few thin wisps of smoke already rose into the cloudy sky outside. Krystal’s door was shut, but she was awake or just waking up.

I stretched, knowing that going out and achieving the impossible by defeating Antonin still wouldn’t resolve the questions whose answers I had sought. Was I going after Antonin in search of a glorious defeat in order to avoid admitting that there were no clear answers, or that they weren’t what I wanted?

I shivered. That might be part of my problem, but it wasn’t all of it. After all, Justen had mucked around the edge for centuries, probably watching white wizards like Antonin burn themselves out one after the other. That was fine, if you were after a long life, but more than two centuries after the fall of Frven, Candar was still a conflicted mass of warring duchies.

I stood up, letting the blanket fall, and gazed out at the eastern horizon, a faint red pink that subsided back into gray as I watched. Just in shorts, I wasn’t even cool, not once I was awake.

Click.

Krystal stood behind me, but I didn’t turn immediately.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.” I left the study of Kyphrien and turned toward my hostess.

“Woodworking must be good for muscular development.” She wore a once-green scuffed leather tunic over a faded shirt with green leather trousers and battered boots. Some of the tiredness was gone from her eyes.

“You’re ready to go,” I observed. “Some sort of hard work.”

She grimaced. “Training.”

Another set of pieces clicked into place in my thoughts. “You’re trying to buy time while—”

She nodded. “It’s not working. The losses are too high.”

I understood immediately. With Antonin’s chaos-support, the prefect didn’t need extraordinarily well-trained soldiers. The autarch did, and after a time the numbers who could be bought shrank, and only so many had the inclination and talent,