---
"Ruel," Gael said, "stand on my shoulder with your eyes. Orna, stand where you can reach the boy if he falls. Bren, tell me if the mist thinks our guest is a story we should not read."
Bren closed his eyes and did that odd thing with his breathing that led some of the apprentices to whisper that he could scent weather. When he opened them, they were uncomplicated. "The air likes her," he said. "It does not like many things. It likes her anyway."
Edda did not take that as invitation and did not take it as insult. She did not move at all. Her boys did not twitch. The one with the limp stood like a doorjamb. The other flexed a hand once and then remembered he would not need to until he did.
