Evander took them to his room, a dimly lit thing that turned out to be an attic. He lived above a fisherman’s family, who lived above a tailor’s family, who lived above the tailoring shop. The stairs up to his room were steep and narrow, and Benen was instructed to let Evander stumble forward first, still cuffed, then follow behind, his Turtledove drawn.
“Hoping I’ll be bludgeoned?” asked Evander, bitterness in his voice.
“I’m covering you,” said Benen, conscious of the fact Raldina was behind him. “Stop whining. If what you say is true, Graden doesn’t know you’re here either.”
“That doesn’t necessarily follow,” said Evander, then tripped, shins hitting the stairs hard. He yelped. Benen yanked him to his feet by the shoulder. “He could know about me, even as I didn’t about him…”
Evande
