‘Today is not a day for songs. Have you seen Dubro?’
‘No. I’m here to get wine for a special dinner tomorrow night. Thanks to you, I
know where the best wine in Sanctuary is still to be found.’
‘A new love?’
‘The same. She grows more radiant with each day. Tomorrow the master of the
house will be busy with his priestly functions. The household will be quiet.’
‘The household of Molin Torchholder must agree with you then. It is good to be
in the grace of the conquerors of Ilsig.’
‘I’m discreet. So is Molin. It is a trait which seems to have been lost among
the natives of Sanctuary – S’danzo excepted, of course. I’m most comfortable
within his house.’
The seller handed him two freshly washed bottles of wine, and with brief
farewells, Illyra saw him on his way. The wine-seller had seen Dubro earlier in
the day. He offered that the smith was visiting every wine-seller in the bazaar
and not a few of the taverns outside it. Similar stories waited for her at the
other wine-sellers. She returned to the forge-home in the gathering twilight and
fog.
Ten candles and the oil stove could not cut through the dark emptiness in the
chamber. Illyra pulled her shawls tightly around her and tried to nap until
Dubro returned. She would not let herself think that he would not return.
‘You have been waiting for me.’
Illyra jumped at the sound. Only two of the candles remained lit; she had no
idea how long she had slept, only that her home quivered with shadows and a man,
as tall as Dubro but of cadaverous thinness, stood within the knotted rope.