Ysra came back to the Keep in the rain, after the bell for the evening meal had already rung.
Calen saw her from the gatehouse. She came up the road on foot, with mud to her knees and an oilcloth parcel held flat against her chest under her coat. She did not wave. She walked straight to the gate, stopped in front of it, and waited for it to open, as if it were a Board door.
Sergeant Dace opened it. He looked at the mud and at the parcel and then at Calen, and he said nothing at all.
“You said morning,” said Calen.
“I did say morning.” Ysra wiped the rain off her face with the back of her wrist. “I was wrong about the morning. I was not wrong about the copy.”
“Where did you take it?”
“To where it could be checked against its own book.” She held the parcel tighter. “Not to a stranger. I want that written down.”
“What did it cost?”
