he looked haggard in the mornings, his eyes more bloodshot than usual, as if he'd needed the wine to get to sleep all those years. She'd slept beside him on the open ground enough times to know about his difficulties with nightmares. The few times they'd run out of wine between towns she'd woken in the night to hear him mumbling and thrashing, sometimes shouting unintelligibly, in his sleep. She never mentioned it to him.
Little Rose sat near the fire behind Chap, who occasionally checked on her while she drew with charcoal on some faded parchment Leesil had bought for her.
Every time the door opened, Magiere couldn't help anxiously glancing over to see if it might be the intrusive visitor, Welstiel, from their first night here. As the evening wore on with no sign of him, she stopped eyeing every person who walked through the door and relaxed just a little more. If this was the first of many such nights to come, she might actually find the peace she'd imagined.
She did not hear the door open, but rather felt the wind and heard Leesil call out a ritual welcome. When she turned from an ale barrel, her first glance told her something was out of place.
He wasn't a merchant, not like those she'd seen in town. Nor was he a dockworker or bargeman, though his build would have made such work no strain at all. A sailor or even captain was out of the question, for his skin was so pale it hadn't seen a full day's sun in a long while. He stood across from her on the other side of the bar, unusually tall with a heavy bone structure and cropped black hair. A well-tailored burgundy tunic did little to hide the tight muscles in his arms. His eyes caught and held hers. Clear blue, almost transparent, they reminded her of Chap's. He bore himself like a noble, but if that were true, what was he doing here in a dockside tavern?
A low rumbling sound took a moment to register in Magiere's awareness beneath the din in the room. It pulled her attention mostly because she wasn't sure why she could hear it at all amidst the chatter of the patrons. But it was familiar in an unsettling way. Her eyes shifted toward its source.
Chap was on his feet in front of the hearth, lips quivering just short of a snarl. He was growling.
Her gaze clicked back to the man in front of her, then back to the dog—and little Rose, who sat round-eyed in surprise behind the hound. Chap had not reacted once all evening to any other patron.
"Quiet, Chap," Magiere snapped loud enough for the dog to hear.
He stopped growling but remained rigid, even when Rose began pulling on his tail.
Magiere turned her full attention back to the nobleman. "What can I get for you?"
"Red wine." His voice was hollow and deep.
This new habit of forming rapid impressions of people was beginning to bother Magiere. Ever since she'd come to Miiska, certain inhabitants had caused her to reach quick assessments, or perhaps she'd never before spent so much time around so many people. She distinctly experienced immediate dislike for Constable Ellinwood, an uncharacteristic goodwill toward Caleb and Beth-rae, an unexplainable fear of Welstiel, and now a new emotion created by this nobleman—caution.
She poured wine from a cask into a tin goblet, then set it on the bar. The man held out three copper coins. He knew the price and so had been here before under the previous owner. For some reason, she wanted him to lay the coins on the bar rather than take them from his hand. Nonetheless she reached out and snatched the coins. The nobleman didn't touch his wine. His gaze remained on her face, as if he were memorizing each feature.
"A fine place," he said. "Nothing like the taverns in Bela, but very comfortable for Miiska. I have some friends I'd like to bring sometime."
"Any good patron is always welcome," she answered politely with a courteous nod.
He nodded in return without smiling, and then his expression grew even colder. "You're the one, aren't you?" he said. "The one who hunts Noble Dead?"
The buzz of laughter and chatter all around her grew faint as a dull throb pounded in her ears. She couldn't help letting her gaze slip quickly around the room to see if anyone had heard. Noble Dead—she'd never heard that expression, but his meaning seemed clear.