The outer gallery of the council hall held two hundred people that night, and somehow it felt like it held one.
It was a long, high room of pale stone and old banners, lit warm and low. It was full of Caelmari aristocracy in their best, which only meant it was full of people watching one another while pretending to watch the wine.
Alistair came as Tobian, and he worked the room the way Tobian worked a room. Small talk, smaller wagers, and the careful flattery of a man who needs to be liked because he cannot afford to be feared.
He was ten minutes in when Crane found him.
"Marrow." Crane said it from his elbow, without footsteps, immaculate as ever, that half smile on him that never reached anywhere near his eyes. "You came. I confess I half thought you wouldn't. Some men, after an evening like the one you had, develop a sudden and lasting fondness for their own beds."
"I considered it," said Alistair. "Then I remembered the wine here is better than the wine in my room."
