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Before I can answer, Clover appears in the doorway, with Maisel beside her. As soon as the gnome spots the guard, she darts behind Clover, going back the way they came, out of sight.

The guard misses Maisel, but only because his eyes are on Clover. Surprise brightens his features. “My lady!”

“Ah.” Her gaze goes between us. “Hello.”

“Is there anything I can assist you with?” he asks eagerly. “Perhaps you’re looking for the kitchen? It would be a pleasure to make you a cup of tea.”

Clover glances at me, her eyes sparkling with amusement, and then she shakes her head. “I’m fine, but thank you.”

Understanding slowly dawns on the guard’s face. He looks between us, the cogs in his head clinking together slowly at first but then picking up speed. After several seconds, he lets out a nervous laugh. “Right.Right.” He gives me a knowing look. “I’ll…go now.”

“Have a good evening,” Clover says as he scurries away. Once he’s gone, she grins. “We’re going to be the talk of the fortress in the morning, soldier.”

“Lawrence won’t be pleased.”

She doesn’t look terribly concerned. “What Lawrence doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“Enough blathering,” Maisel says, appearing around the corner once more. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Our dark cloaks camouflage us as we walk through the sleepy streets. The few people who are out don’t even glance our way, and we don’t look suspicious enough to warrant the guards' attention. In daylight, Maisel would gather a crowd, but in the night, she’s easily mistaken for a child. People likely think we’re a family traveling and simply arrived late and are looking for a place to spend the night.

“How far are we going?” I ask as we near the edge of Heistone. We’ve wandered into an older part of the city, where many of the houses have been reduced to shacks. The bushes grow tall here, arching over the street and blocking much of the moons’ light. “If you’d told us we were leaving the city, we would have taken horses.”

“We’re not leaving the city,” Maisel says impatiently. “And we’re almost there.”

After passing several more houses and turning down another side street, Maisel pauses in front of a dilapidated cottage that’s set back from the road. It’s against the old city wall, but the canopy of the tall trees shields the small yard from above, giving it privacy.

A short fence is pieced of timber, roughly notched together to make a visual boundary, if not much of a physical one. At one time, there might have been a vegetable patch out front, but even in the dark, I can tell it's overrun with weeds now.

“Watch your step,” Maisel says. “A kiva lives under the porch.”

Clover pauses, not eager to meet the notoriously nasty rodent.

“I’ll go first,” I tell her quietly, drawing my sword just in case. Covered in smoke-gray fur, the creatures are about as large as a cat, with long, sharp teeth they’re not afraid to use. Thankfully, they’re diurnal and don’t often come out at night.

Cautiously, we walk up the rickety steps that lead to the porch. They creak and groan, feeling like they might give under our weight.

“What exactly are we going to find inside?” Clover asks, the tremor in her voice betraying she’s not as brave as she would like. She pauses in the doorway behind Maisel. “And what’s thatsmell?”

“The air is stale,” I say, stepping up behind her.

“Not that,” Clover whispers, her tone sharp. “Something else.”

“I don’t know.”

I can’t blame her for being nervous. Maisel is being horribly cryptic about the situation, and I don’t like it any more than Clover. What does the gnome mean Camellia’s dead but not gone?

Maisel doesn’t hesitate in what appears to be a small, covered porch. The shutters are closed, but one hangs askew, one of its hinges busted. Another is missing completely. We follow the gnome into the main house.

“We should have brought the High Vale,” Maisel complains as she stumbles around in the dark. “They make the best torches.”

“Ayan’s blocked,” Clover reminds her at a whisper, loosening up a little when we don’t find immediate danger.

Like me, she probably assumes that if Maisel is talking freely, the gnome must not expect to run into anything alive.

Or…sort of alive.