“You're damn lucky you weren't waylaid. When I heard you'd driven Restart's carriage off, I couldn't believe it. Why would you throw in with an ass like that, with feelings running so high against ... oh. What is that?” He halted a step away from her, his expression changing. He lifted a hand to his nose.

“S'not me!” The boy beside her piped up indignantly. A Six Duchies' twang twisted his tongue. “S'her. She's got shit aloover'er.” At Althea's outraged glare, he shrugged apologetically. “Y'do. Y'need a bat' ” he added in a small voice.

It was the final blow. It was too much to endure. She transferred the frown to Brashen. “Why are you here?” she asked. The words came out more bluntly than she'd intended.

Brashen's eyes traveled up and down her filthy robe before coming back to her face. “I was worried about you. As usual, you seemed to have survived your impulses. But, set that aside, I have something very important to discuss with you. Regarding going after Vivacia. Amber and I think we have a plan. You might think it's stupid, you probably won't like it, but I think it will work.” He spoke hastily, his words coming too fast as if challenging her to disapprove. “If you'll only listen and think about it, you'll come to find it's really the only way to save her.” He met her eyes again. “But that can wait. The boy is right. You should wash first. The smell is pretty bad.” A small smile came and went on his face.

It was too close an echo of his words when they'd parted in Candletown. Was he mocking her, to remind her of that, here and now? How dare he speak so familiarly to her, inside her own home? She scowled at him. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but the boy's voice cut him off. “Nothen' stenks wors'n peg shet,” the boy agreed cheerily. “Doon't let her get et on'yer,” he cautioned Brashen.

“Small chance of that,” she told them both coldly. She met Brashen's eyes. “You can let yourself out,” she told him. As she stalked by him, he gaped after her. The boy she could forgive; he was only a lad, in a foreign place and a strange situation. Trell had no such excuse for his manners. She'd had too long a day to listen to anything from him. She was exhausted, filthy and, Sa help her, hungry. Light and voices came from her father's study. She'd have to face her mother and Keffria as well.

By the time she reached the door of her father's study, she had put a facade of calmness on her face. She stepped into the pleasant room, well aware that the smell of pig offal preceded her. She'd get it over quickly. “I'm home, I'm safe. I brought a little boy with me. Davad was using him as a stable boy. . . . Mother, I know we cannot take on any more burdens just now, but he was tattooed as a slave and I simply couldn't leave him there.” The look on Keffria's face was one of social horror. Althea's explanation halted as she met Amber's eyes. She was here, too?

The slave-boy stood in the doorway, pale eyes wide. His gaze darted from person to person. He did not speak. When Althea attempted to take his arm to pull him into the room, he snatched his hand away from her. She gave a false laugh. “I think it's the blood and dung. He didn't want to ride with me on the horse; that's what kept me so long. When I couldn't get him to mount with me, we left the horse and came home on foot.”

Althea glanced about for rescue. Keffria was staring past her. Althea glanced over her shoulder. Brashen Trell stood slightly behind her, arms crossed, looking very stubborn. He met her gaze steadily. His expression didn't change.

“Come in, boy. No one will hurt you. What's your name?” Ronica sounded weary but kind. The lad stayed where he was.

Althea abruptly decided to escape, at least for now. “I'm going up to bathe and change. I won't be long.”

“It won't take long for me to tell you our idea,” Brashen countered pushily.

Their gazes locked. She refused to look aside from him. He himself smelled of smoke and cindin. Who did he think he was? She wasn't going to let him bully her here in her father's house. “I'm afraid I'm much too tired to listen to any more from you, Brashen Trell.” Her voice walked a thin line between correct and cold as she added, “I believe it's far too late for conversation.” The line of his mouth flattened. For a moment, he almost looked hurt at her rebuff.

Rache coming into the room interrupted their standoff. She carried a tray with a large pot of tea and cups on it. There was a small plate of spice cakes, just enough to be polite. The boy didn't move from where he stood, but he flared his nose and snuffed after them like a dog.