like boxes stacked atop one another. She wasn’t particularly pleased to be in Bandar Eban again. She had nothing against the Domani; she just preferred cities that weren’t so crowded. And with the problems in the countryside, the place was more packed than normal. Refugees continued to trickle in despite the rumors regarding al’Thor’s arrival in the city. She passed a cluster of them in the alley to her left, a family, faces darkened by dirt.
Al’Thor promised food. That brought hungry mouths, none eager to return to their farms, even after they were given food. The countryside was still too chaotic, and the food here too new. The refugees couldn’t be certain the grain wouldn’t just spoil, as so much did recently. No, they stayed, packing the city, crowding it.
Cadsuane shook her head, continuing down the boardwalk, those wretched clogs clattering against the wood. The city was famous for these long, sturdy walkways, which allowed foot traffic to avoid the mud of the streets. Cobbles would have fixed that, but the Domani often prided themselves on being different from the rest of the world. Indigestibly spicy food with dreadful eating utensils. A capital filled with frivolous banners, set on a huge port. Scandalous dresses on the women; long, thin mustaches on the men and an almost Sea Folk–like fondness for earrings.
Hundreds of those banners flapped in the wind as Cadsuane passed, and she gritted her teeth against the temptation to pull off her hood and feel the wind on her face. Light-cursed ocean air. Normally, Bandar Eban was chilly and rainy. Rarely had she felt it this warm. The humidity was dreadful either way. Rational people stayed inland!
She made her way down several streets, crossing through the mud at intersections. That was the irredeemable flaw of boardwalks, in her opinion. The locals knew which streets to cut across and which ones were deep in mud, but Cadsuane had to just tramp across wherever she could. That’s why she’d hunted out these clogs, built after the Tairen style, to go over her shoes. It had been surprisingly hard to find a merchant selling them; the Domani obviously had little interest in them, and most people she passed either went barefoot in the mud or knew where to cross and keep from soiling their shoes.
Halfway down to the docks, she finally reached her destination. The fine banner flapping out front proclaimed the inn’s name as The Wind’s Favor, beating against an inlaid wood front. Cadsuane made her way inside and took off the clogs in the muddy entryway before stepping up into the inn proper. There, finally, she allowed herself to lower her hood. If al’Thor randomly happened to visit this particular inn, then he’d just have to hang her.
The inn’s common room was decorated more like a king’s dining hall than a tavern. White tablecloths coated the tables, and the varnished wooden floor was mopped to a shine. The walls were hung with tasteful still-life paintings—a bowl of fruit on the wall behind the bar, a vase of flowers on the wall opposite it. The bottles on the ledge behind the bar were almost all wine, very few bottles of brandy or other liquors.
The slender innkeeper, Quillin Tasil, was a tall, oval-faced Andoran man. Thinning on top with dark, short hair at the sides of his head, he wore a full beard, trimmed short, which was almost all gray. His fine lavender coat had white ruffled cuffs peeking out from the sleeves, but he wore an innkeeper’s apron over the front. He generally had had good information, but was also willing to look into inquiries for her among his associates. A very useful man indeed.
He smiled at Cadsuane as she entered, wiping his hands on a towel. He gestured her toward a table, then went back to the bar to fetch some wine. Cadsuane settled herself as two men on the other side of the room began to argue loudly. The other patrons—only four, two women at a table on the far side, two more men at the bar—paid the argument no heed. One couldn’t spend much time in Arad Doman without learning to ignore the frequent flares in temper. Domani men were as hotheaded as volcanoes, and most people agreed that Domani women were the reason. These two men did not turn to a duel, as would have been common in Ebou Dar. Instead, they shouted for a few moments, then began to agree with each other, then insisted on