At last her voice piped again: “Do you know where you plan to stay, Strick?”
“I don’t know, my lady. Perhaps-“
“Oh goodness, Strick, do call me Esaria!”
A glance to his left showed Fulcris how Noble Shafralain’s well-molded face went grim in disapproval. From behind them the quiet voice spoke as if Strick had seen that expression: “Perhaps you could suggest an inn, my lady Esaria. It need not be the city’s fanciest!”
“Oh. Father-would you recommend an inn to this traveler from afar?”
“My dear,” the silken-cloaked man beside Fulcris said stiffly, “we do not know this foreigner’s means. The prices of Sanctuary’s inns vary as greatly as the quality of their food. The Golden Oasis, I should say, is our best.”
“Oh darling, it’s been so long-let’s do take dinner there tonight!”
“A moment, Expimilia,” Shafralain said, with mild impatience.
“I am from Firaqa to the northwest. Noble Sir, and hardly of your means. What are second- and third-best?”
Fulcris smiled.
“Could we do that, darling? I really don’t relish opening the house just in time to have to eat there! Who knows what the servants have done with the place-and what shape the larder’s in!”
Fulcris’s smile broadened at Lady Expimilia’s importun-ings.
Her husband continued to stare straight ahead, chin nobly high. Without turning so much as his head in replying to the man riding behind him where Shafralain doubtless thought he belonged, he named two other inns.
“A grateful foreigner’s thanks,” Strick said, with only the hint of stress on the third word.