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 It s better that way. Each thinks we re too small to stand alone, and that
way I can spread the risks. Ryalth stands.
Lorn wishes to hold her, but his hand merely brushes hers. They both stiffen.
 I think I d better close up, she smiles wryly.  I m not going to finish
reviewing these. She lifts the ledger, then slips it into the leather case
she has pulled from beneath the desk.
Lorn watches as Ryalth extracts a wallet from the desk, then slips a lock bar
in place and padlocks the bar.  It won t stop a Clan thief, but to break it
will make enough noise that everyone will know, and they frown on that. She
lays the thin and long leather wallet-almost a narrow pouch-on the desk top
and fingers the golds inside into a position to allow her to fold it in half.
She slips the folded wallet into the slots in the back of the heavy and
overlarge blue leather belt she wears.
After Ryalth closes and locks the doors, the two walk briskly down the steps
and out though the covered hall. A few heads turn at Ryalth s red hair, see
the enumerator s garb, and turn back.  Another enumerator& has three& 
 & trades everything& but not a lot& doesn t lose much& 
 You should be so good, Tymyk.
 Everyone knows you, Lorn observes.
 I ve made it a point, she says.  I ve helped those I could, and cheated no
one.
 The good and fair lady trader.
 Not always good.
The bleakness in her voice surprises Lorn, and he says nothing as they cross
the open plaza outside the hall.
 You were right, when we first dealt with cotton and oil. She turns her head,
and the deep blue eyes fix his amber ones.  I learned that again, the hard
way. I find I have to remember that, but I don t like it. Lorn nods, though
her words send a cold knife down his spine. They walk silently eastward along
the Road of Benevolent Commerce, past a row of arymids with furled gray winter
leaves, their trunks pale gray in the afternoon light.
 How long will you be here? she asks quietly.  Almost five eightdays. I get
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six, but that has to include travel from Isahl and then to Geliendra. That s
my next post.
 And you sought me out within a day? Are there not scores of healers and women
from high lancer families vying for your attention?
 I wasn t interested. Lorn cannot quite keep his tone disinterested.  I would
have sought you last night, but my family was watching. Someone has also been
following me with a screeing glass, not always my father. I didn t come from
the house, directly. I stopped to see Myryan and then changed in her garden
arbor after she left for the infirmary.
 I would have liked to have seen that. Ryalth s lips quirk.
 I m sure you would. Lorn laughs gently.
They pass the Fourth Harbor Way-the east one, although the ways are not
distinguished on the placards by whether they are east or west of the harbor
center.
 How is Myryan? Ryalth asks after a time.
 I don t know. She seems healthy, but she s& more resigned than happy. The
only time she seemed joyful was when she talked of the house and of her
garden.
 Isn t that good?
 I m glad she has the house, Lorn says.  I can t imagine her living with
Ciesrt s parents. He s the second highest Magi i. Kharl, Ciesrt s father, I
mean.
 That must be quite an honor for Myryan to be his consort. Ryalth s voice is
even, hiding emotions.
 She didn t want it, and I tried to talk father out of it before I left. He
waited to consort her, but he didn t change his mind. Lorn takes a deep
breath.  I think Myryan would have been better without the honor.
 You d do almost anything for those you love.
 Almost, Lorn temporizes, again wondering if he should have killed Kharl
before the Lector knew Lorn was a threat.
 More than that, I think. Ryalth s voice is calm, slightly distant.  Your
father knows that. After a barely imperceptible pause, she adds,  Don t you
think?
 Father? I think he doesn t know quite what to think. I m not the Magi i son
he wanted, and I m not exactly the lancer officer he suggested I could be.
 You survived and made captain, she points out.
 I m& effective, Lorn says.  Not glorious. His eyes flick to the next Way,
where a tinker s cart is tied before a smaller house, and where the maroon
garbed tradesman pedals a foot-grinder and sharpens knives, deftly handling
one, then another.
She nods, her lips quirking momentarily.  Maybe that s why you re a good
trader.
 I m not a trader. You re far better than I could ever be.
 You can see what will change, she corrects him.  I know what to do when you
tell me what will happen.
 We make a good team. He smiles, happy to be walking beside her, as they pass
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