Blood and Memory by Fiona McIntosh

infiltrate their group. It took me many weeks to find them and then most of this winter to win their trust. Their leader was a man named Rostyr. Cluey fellow too. He used bandits to do the deed, but he was the brains behind the jobs.”
    “I see,” Wyl said, trying to straighten himself on his pillows again. “A lot of money stolen?”
    “Enough to fire the King’s wrath.”
    “Did they hurt anyone?”
    “Yes. On a couple of occasions. It wasn’t intentional but it happened.”
    “Soldiers?”
    “Yes. You seem very interested in them.”
    “Can you blame me?” Wyl bristled. “It hurts, Aremys. I’m not sure many men realize quite how much!”
    “Apologies. That was blunt of me.”
    Wyl accepted it graciously, although the part of him that was Faryl was angry. “And so why was tonight the night you killed them?”
    “They were planning something daring. It would have meant more deaths for innocents and someone of note included. I could not allow that to happen—it was the right time to deal with them as I was instructed.”
    “Poison?” Faryl’s senses told Wyl this would be the best mode.
    Aremys nodded. “Good guess. That was my plan, until you entered the dining room and ruined things. I had to use a more messy method.”
    “I’m sorry to have spoiled things. What have you done with them?”
    “Tomorrow they’ll be carted back to Pearlis as proof. I’ve already sent a messenger to inform Jessom of my findings.”
    “Not to mention requesting final payment.”
    Wyl’s barb had no effect on the man, who simply shrugged burly shoulders and made a deprecating sound. “And so now it’s your turn.” Aremys set down his mug. “I’m all ears.”
    “For what?”
    “To hear the intriguing tale of Thorn Bentwood, a woman in disguise with an unhealthy interest in the seedier sort and a sometime merchant passing through a town whose season for merchants is long gone.”
    Wyl mentally kicked himself. Faryl’s instincts had niggled at him along these lines and he had ignored them. Aremys had him nailed good and proper.
    He tried for the obvious. “It’s not easy being a woman traveling alone,” he replied. “The disguise helps.”
    “I accept that. But why do you travel alone?”
    “Do I need a reason?”
    Aremys fixed a dark gaze on the bruised woman before him. Secrets. That was all right. He had them too. “No, I suppose not. But will you tell me anyway?”
    That was unexpected. Wyl felt flustered.
    Aremys could see it. “Perhaps tomorrow. Right now I suspect sleep is what you need.” He could sense the woman’s relief. “Will you allow me to tend the injuries to your face?”
    Wyl nodded. “Are they bad?”
    “I shan’t be giving you a mirror tonight.”
    “Oh, that alarming,” Wyl said, disappointment strong in his voice.
    Aremys was rifling through an old leather sack. He pulled out a small, flat glass box. “It would be if I didn’t have my miracle salve with me.” He moved to the bed. “I’ll have a bathtub brought up tomorrow,” he said absently, digging a finger into the cloudy ointment. He daubed it onto Wyl’s face. It soon began to tingle as he gently rubbed it into the injured spots. “The bruises will surface and disappear quickly,” he reassured. “Now rest.”
    “Where are you going?”
    “Not far. I’ll be here on the floor beside you. I’ll leave a fresh candle burning.”
    Wyl was touched. He could more than take care of himself under normal circumstances, but it felt rather comforting to have someone looking out for him. It reminded him of being a youngster again, when Gueryn had made all his decisions for him. He missed being looked after. He missed Gueryn. On that sad thought he closed his eyes and turned on his side. Sleep would come fast tonight.
    He listened to the sounds of Aremys trying to make himself comfortable on the hard floorboards. Wyl was grateful to him for not pursuing the story of Thorn Bentwood further tonight.
    “My name is