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Rosser tried to smile, but he looked so strained by this point that I almost pushed his forgotten beer into his hand.

“Word of you is going about,” he said by way of explanation. He gestured towards the stage where I’d been singing. “You have done little to hide yourself. And that man with Charles Grant is Lady Phira’s footman, rumored to be the bastard son of the queen’s late brother, Jarl of Koest.”

I stared at the back of Mallan’s pale-haired head. The man potentially had Usti royal blood? No wonder he had such sway on the lower tiers of society.

“What else do you know?” I asked, curious enough to sit back down.

He reclaimed his neglected beer and took a drink, settling himself. “I know your mother sailed with the North Fleet. My uncle was heradmiral—thoughI know admitting that may sully your opinion of me further. When the peace ended sixteen years ago she was transferred to the East Fleet, where she sailed for years, though it is apparent she was lost during that time. I assume her disappearance was kept quietfor…understandablereasons. Pride. Reputation. Keeping the Mereish and Capesh at arm’s length.”

I quietly digested this.

“Now she sails with Lirr, as his Stormsinger.” Rosser spoke with marked unease. “We were unaware of that, back in Whallum.”

My brows drew together. “Really?”

Rosser nodded. “Mary, my deepest condolences about your mother. I can only imagine what you feel, knowing where she is. I would be desperate too.”

“I’m not desperate,” I said, thoughtlessly.

He looked taken aback.

“I don’t know what I am,” I fumbled, edging a little too close to honesty. “I’m determined, but it’s complicated. I wasn’t even sure she was alive until a few weeks ago.”

Rosser eyed me but did not press the topic. “Are you treated well aboard Demery’s ship?”

I started to shrug, then nodded. “Yes, surprisingly well.”

“Then that fellow over there, the one who’s been leering at you all night. He’s not caused trouble?” Rosser nodded sideways. “I saw him come in with you.”

I looked before I could stop myself and saw one of Demery’s crew sitting a few tables off, legs spread wide beneath the table and several empty cups before him. He was looking at his drinking companions, hunched with both his elbows on the tabletop, laughing hoarsely at some joke. He wasn’t looking at me now, but he was one of the crew I’d marked out as potential threats.

“No,” I said, but I’d taken too long to answer and Rosser looked unconvinced. I added, “There’s men like him everywhere in the world. Demery’s crew are no worse than the fellows around the inn I grew up in.”

I paused, catching myself too close to the truth again. But his focus was still on the leering crewman. He scrutinized the man for another moment, then finished his beer and stood.

“I ought to go,” he said, looking back down at me. “I will see you at the festival?”

I stood up too, wondering what I’d done to make him decide to leave. I would have also wondered why the thought of seeing him again warmed me so much, but by then I was aware that when it came to Mr. Rosser, my feelings were not wise.

“You will,” I said.

“And the coin?”

Ah. The warmth receded. “I’ll bring it. Of course.”

He began to button up his jacket, head bowed, not looking at me.

I asked on impulse, “Why? Why is it so important?”

“It is a charm,” he said simply. “To help me sleep.”

“I see.” I didn’t entirely understand, but I noted the fatigue around his eyes again, and softened. “I’ll bring it, I promise. Goodbye, Mr. Rosser.”

The softness in my voice seemed to catch him by surprise. He paused over his last button, watching me until the shadow of a smile touched his lips. Then picked up his hat and planted it on his head. “Goodnight, Ms. Firth.”

TWENTY-NINE

James Demery and the Harpy