"He might," Wrayan shrugged. "He certainly couldn't run this place without her. I suppose the day that occurs to him, he'll propose."

"How come you never married, Wrayan?"

The thief looked at him with a disapproving frown. "Did you really come all the way down here from the palace just so I could slap you?"

"No," Starros laughed. "I actually came with a message. You're invited to lunch tomorrow."

"I'll bet Mahkas doesn't know about it."

"I do believe Lord Damaran is leaving for Walsark first thing in the morning," Starros remarked.

"So it'll just be me and Leila, Damin and Kalan."

"Where are the rest of them?"

"Narvell's still in Elasapine," he explained, holding up his hand to mark off the various members of the family as he accounted for them. "Old Charel Hawksword's finding it harder and harder to get about these days, and he likes to keep his heir close by his side. Last I heard," he continued, counting off another finger, "Adham was in Medalon somewhere, looking for warehouse space to store the spices Ruxton can't unload because of the restrictions on trade that Karien and Fardohnya have imposed since the plague hit. And Rodja's stuck in Greenharbour with Princess Marla and Ruxton."

"Nasty thing, the plague," Wrayan agreed.

They'd been lucky here in Krakandar, Starros knew. The relative isolation of the northern city protected them from the disease. There were reports that as many as a third of the population of Greenharbour had been struck down by it and, for the first time in living memory, the Fardohnyans had voluntarily closed the passes at both Highcastle and Westbrook to prevent the spread of the disease across the border. It was the reason Damin was coming home for the Feast of Kaelarn and not staying in Greenharbour, where tradition demanded the High Prince's heir should remain until the Summer Retreat. But the risk was too great, so Damin was returning to Krakandar and the whole city was in an uproar because of it. With other provinces he'd been required to visit, this was the first time their prince had been home in more than four years.

"Xanda and Luciena are on their way to Talabar, I heard, to do some deal with the shipbuilders there," Starros continued, counting off another finger. "They're planning to stay in Fardohnya with their children until it's safe to return, I think. Rielle and Darvad won't move out of Dylan Pass for the same reason. And poor Travin's up at Walsark, running around like a headless chicken trying to get everything in order before Mahkas arrives, which is kind of funny because Mahkas made the arrangements to visit Walsark before he learned that Damin was coming home, and now he's kicking himself that he has to leave the day after Damin gets here. Sort of gets in the way of his plans for Leila, I think."

"If he's only going to Walsark, he won't be gone that long, surely?"

"Only a few days," Starros agreed. "But he's still not happy about it."

Wrayan looked at him with a raised brow. "How is the lovely Leila, by the way?"

"She's fine."

"Just fine?"

Starros shrugged and looked out the window. There were a lot of people on the street and, curiously, they all seemed to be heading in the same direction. "There's nothing to talk about, Wrayan."

"I suppose not. Is Damin home yet?"

Starros shook his head and turned his attention back to Wrayan. "Almodavar rode out this morning with a guard of honour to meet them. We're expecting him and Kalan just before midday." He smiled sourly. "You don't think Mahkas is putting on a street parade this afternoon just for the God of the Oceans, do you?"

"Let me guess. He's arranged something really tasteless and embarrassing to remind everyone his daughter is going to marry Hythria's next High Prince, yes?"

Starros nodded. "Leila's already threatening to fake her own death to get out of it. I don't think Damin's going to be terribly thrilled about it, either. He hates all the pomp and ceremony associated with being Lernen's heir and I'm sure he's secretly delighted Greenharbour's been struck with the plague, just so he can get out of the city for a while. The first thing he's going to want to do when he gets home is go raiding over the border, not be put on show by Mahkas like some battle trophy."

"This wouldn't be happening if Princess Marla was here," the thief suggested, his smile fading.

"In fact, I think she'd be furious."

"It's not that I haven't been tempted to write to her about it, but-"

"But you're afraid she'll think you're motivated by personal rather than political concerns?"

Wrayan asked sympathetically.

"That's the problem, Wrayan, I am motivated by personal rather than political concerns," he admitted. "There's just no way to make Mahkas see that Princess Marla is never going to allow Leila to marry Damin."

"Maybe Damin can make him see reason?"

"I wouldn't wager the family fortune on it. If Marla's told him not to rock the boat, Damin may simply do what the princess has done for the past twenty-three years and just dodge the issue every time Mahkas mentions it."

"What about Lady Bylinda?"

"She's had no more luck than anyone else convincing her husband he's dreaming. I think she's on Leila's side, but she would never go against Mahkas. Not for any reason."

Wrayan seemed to sense how much the whole messy situation was bothering Starros, so he forced a smile and changed the subject. "You say Kalan is with Damin? Does that mean Rorin is coming back, too?"

"I assume so. To be honest, I never thought to ask."

"It'll be good to see both of them again."

Starros took a sip of his ale and then smiled suddenly. "You know Kalan still has the biggest crush on you."

"I'm sure she's well and truly over it by now, Starros."

"Don't count on it," he laughed and added curiously, "Then again, maybe she and Rorin are . . .

you know . . . more than friends now? I mean, they're awfully close."

"I try not to think about it."

"Why?"

"In my mind, Kalan is still ten years old, Starros. I can't deal with the idea she's all grown up and a damned sorcerer to boot. Makes me far too aware of how old I'm getting."

"She's had her own court'esa for more than six years, Wrayan. You don't think that small but significant milestone indicated she was no longer a little girl?"

"I try very hard not to think about that, too."

"It makes sense, though," Starros mused. "If I was in Kalan's position, I'd probably want to sleep with Rorin."

"Be certain to mention that to him when he gets home. I'm sure Rorin will be delighted to learn you fancy him."

Starros laughed. "You know what I mean. Given the nature of the Sorcerers' Collective and the fact that they can't afford to trust anybody but each other, it just makes sense for Kalan and Rorin to be-"

"Sense hasn't got anything to do with love," Wrayan cut in. "Don't ever make that mistake."

"That's true enough," he agreed, taking another mouthful of ale. "Are you sure you're just not jealous of the fact that she actually graduated from the Collective, Wrayan, and you never did? Weren't you the oldest apprentice that ever lived, or something?"

"They haven't taught you much about tact and diplomacy up on the hill, have they?" Wrayan remarked with a frown. "No wonder Orleon plans to live forever."

Starros finished his ale and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry. I'm probably going to be the oldest assistant chief steward that ever lived, so I shouldn't mock your seedy past."

"Mock away," Wrayan shrugged. "It was that long ago now, it feels like it happened to someone else. Mind you, if you ever decide you don't want to be the oldest assistant chief steward that ever lived, you could always come down here and work for me. We can always do with another bright mind."

"Become a thief?" Starros laughed.

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it," Wrayan suggested. "Anyway, what's wrong with it?

Honouring the God of Thieves is a noble pastime."

"Well, for one thing, it's against the law."

"Actually, it's not."

"Not a surprising position to take," Starros remarked, "given you're head of the Thieves' Guild."

"It's not a position, Starros, it's a fact."

"What are you talking about?"

"We honour all the gods equally in Hythria-well, in theory, at least. To pass a law making it illegal to honour one of the gods is actually quite sacrilegious. We steal cattle off the Medalonians all the time, and nobody considers that a crime."

"The Medalonians think it is."

"Yes, but they're all atheists, so their opinion doesn't count."

"Fair enough. But I still don't understand what you mean about thievery not being illegal."

Wrayan shook his head in wonder. "What do they teach you up at that palace, boy? Check the statutes. The Harshini wrote most of our laws, remember, so the overriding premise is the principle of 'do no harm.' Our laws prohibit harming our fellow citizens, but the crimes themselves are not actually specified. Theft is honouring Dacendaran. Even murder is honouring Zegarnald if it's managed in such a way that only your foreign enemies suffer for it."

Starros considered that for a moment and then nodded in understanding. "So we can steal all the Medalonian cattle we want to honour Dacendaran, because it's not harming anybody in Hythria, but if I was to steal your life savings, I'd be doing a Hythrun harm, therefore it's against the law."

Wrayan smiled. "Actually, if you were to steal my life savings, I'd probably have you kneecapped, old son, but you've got the idea."

"And that's what you do all day, I suppose? Find ways to honour Dacendaran by doing no harm?"

"It's more like keeping the harm to a minimum," Wrayan corrected. "And mostly it's at night, but basically, yes, because of a foolish oath I made in my youth, I am really nothing more than the high priest of a cult dedicated to the God of Thieves."

"What foolish oath?"

"It's a long story," Wrayan shrugged. "Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime. Just believe me when I say you should never make a pact with any god unless you've read the fine print."

Starros smiled disbelievingly. "You mean you've actually spoken to the God of Thieves?"

"More times than I care to recall."

"You don't act like someone who's had a religious encounter with a god."

"Which just goes to show how little you know about the gods."

Starros wasn't sure if he should believe Wrayan or not. And he didn't have time to find out if Wrayan was telling the truth, in any case. It was almost noon. Damin and Kalan would be here soon and Starros was expected to be at the palace to meet them when they arrived.

He rose to his feet as the sound of a horn blew out over the city, a call picked up by more horns further inside the walls. A moment or two after that, another working court'esa slammed through the doors of the tavern and hurried to the bar to speak with Fyora, who was daydreaming behind the counter as she idly dried a tray of tankards.

"Thanks for the drink, but I really need to be getting back."

"You're welcome. Tell the others I said hello. And that I'll definitely be there for lunch tomorrow."

"I will."

"He's here!" Fee suddenly squealed excitedly. "He's back!"

They both looked over at the bar where Fyora was untying her apron, her chores abandoned.

She hurried over to the table with her friend in her wake. The other court'esa seemed as excited as Fee.

"He's here!"

"Who's here?" Wrayan asked.

"Damin Wolfblade," Starros sighed, guessing that was what the horns were all about. Who else would engender such high emotions in the citizens of Krakandar? He glanced out of the dusty window and noticed that the crowd pushing through the side streets to Krakandar's main thoroughfare had grown considerably, even in the short time he'd been talking to Wrayan.

Wrayan shook his head. "You know it can't be good for the boy, all this adulation."

"I wouldn't worry too much," Starros assured him. "I don't think Damin takes it too seriously."

"Starros," Fee ventured cautiously, slipping her arm through his with a coy little smile. "Are you going out to meet him?"

"Actually, I'm supposed to meet him at the palace."

"But you could do it here in the Beggars' Quarter, couldn't you?" she suggested hopefully. "I mean, it's on the way to the palace, after all . . ."

"Just ask him straight out, Fee," Wrayan advised. "He doesn't bite."

Starros smiled at the court'esa. He hadn't forgotten the favour they owed her. Fyora had kept their confidence all these years and never betrayed the fact that he, Damin and Kalan had made it all the way to the Pickpocket's Retreat that day they slipped away from their guards in the marketplace. She still wore the cheap little copper and amethyst trinket Kalan had given her for passing their message on to Wrayan. It was probably her most prized possession. "You want to come with me and say hello to Damin?"

"Would that be too big a favour to ask, my lord?"

"Not if you promise to stop calling me that."

She clapped her hands in glee. "Can my friend, Meris, come, too?"

Starros shrugged. "Why not?"

Fyora squealed with delight and wrapped Starros in a crushing bear hug before turning to her equally delighted friend and hugging her, too.

"You really shouldn't encourage them," Wrayan warned. "Or Damin, either, for that matter."

"It won't hurt him to say hello to a few of the ordinary folk."