could feel that her face had twisted strangely. She knew she must be blushing. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t control herself better. Why couldn’t she just deal calmly with the situation at hand?
Her thoughts would not stop circling. Nutall was Sylvestri.
Nutall—her father’s companion, her mentor, her vade mecum of trustworthy advice on all matters of importance—was not a Solitaire after all. All her life, Thalia had been mistaken.
What a stupid person Thalia had turned out to be. She had been wrong about herself all her life. She wasn’t a Solitaire. She was a Trader, of all ridiculous things.
Now Nutall wasn’t a Solitaire either. Some small things fell together into a pattern. Nutall’s extraordinary patience wasn’t so extraordinary if he was Sylvestri.
The Sylvestri had an understanding of time and space that they claimed was not the same as the Solitaire worldview. Nutall’s patience, always deep, was never more evident than when he stood in a line waiting for something.
The Sylvestri knew nature intimately, every flower, tree, and bird in the sky. There was little need to identify trees on the vaudeville circuit, so Thalia could not attest to any particular skill Nutall possessed in this area. He did understand the tides, she knew, and the phases of the moon. Once, when their train had stopped for hours in the Delaware Water Gap, he had demonstrated a surprising knowledge of rock formations.
Nutall’s abstemious ways fit as well. Sylvestri, as a rule, never drank alcohol.
Sylvestri held themselves aloof from Solitaires and disliked and distrusted Traders. It was true that Nutall didn’t fully trust Traders, but that was mere common sense. Even Traders, Thalia suspected, didn’t trust other Traders.
Nutall had often said he considered an opportunity to haggle to be an experiment in Solitaire nature. Had that kill-fee conversation with Manfred been such an experiment?
Thalia was thrown out of her reverie when, from the doorway, Ryker announced the obvious. “Miss Cutler, you’re back.” He seated himself next to Thalia, who held the newspaper at an angle that concealed her face from him. With sudden concern, he added, “Are you all right?”
“Perfectly all right, thank you.” Thalia knew her voice sounded strange, but she couldn’t help it. To her absolute consternation, Ryker put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake that was strangely comforting. “Mr. Ryker! What are you doing?”
“You aren’t all right, are you?” Ryker let Thalia go on holding her newspaper, but he crumpled it enough to peer at her around the edge. “Thought not.” From a pocket, he produced a handkerchief, took her hand, and put the handkerchief in it.
Thalia put the newspaper aside, took the handkerchief, and put it to good use. When she could speak clearly again, she asked Ryker, “Why are you being so good to me?”
“You Traded,” Ryker said gently. “You even Traded back. Cause for celebration, I’d say.”
“‘Celebration,’” Thalia echoed bitterly. “Not the word I would have chosen.”
“You’re alive. You’re a Trader. Soon you’ll be in control of yourself.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” Thalia said. “I may be forced to accept your hospitality forever.”
“Doubtful.”
“I ruined your jacket,” Thalia confessed. “I’m sorry. I’ll replace it when I can.”
“Forget it.” Ryker waved any concern for his clothing away with an airy gesture. “You have bigger problems. You’re involved in a murder investigation. Yesterday you narrowly escaped death by manticore for the second day running. I suppose you’re right to wait to celebrate until your affairs are less—complex.”
Thalia blew her nose.
“Any word from our imaginary lawyers?” Nell inquired.
Ryker turned his attention to Nell. “I’ve received an apology and a promise that they will be here shortly.”
“What good is having an entire law firm on retainer if they don’t come when you call?” Nell sounded unimpressed.
“I’m sure they will answer that question for us,” Ryker replied. “Start a list of your other questions while we’re waiting.”
“I think I will.” Nell set aside her newspaper and left the room.
“Where were we?” Ryker asked Thalia.
Thalia tried to maintain a facade of calm but it kept shaking loose. Finally she let out a deep exasperated breath and told the truth. “I’m a Trader, a manticore tried to kill me, and my father’s closest friend, who has been looking after me almost half my life, turns out to be Sylvestri.” Thalia shook her head. “He never trusted me enough to tell me.”
That gave Ryker pause. “Miss Cutler, I don’t know what to say. That must be—confusing.”
“It is.” As an afterthought, Thalia added, “Yesterday I discovered that I can only