“This is stunning.” Gwen walked through the rooms of the rolkin with her mouth open, her head turning from side to side, taking it all in. Her face was filled with an expression Hadrian could only describe as glee. They all looked that way to one degree or another, like kids discovering a secret place that would be used as their new hangout. “Because it’s a hole in a cliff, I expected . . . well, I didn’t expect this.”

  With walls of pure white, no sharp corners, and few straight lines, the place looked to have been formed from pristine snow crafted by gloved hands. Ceilings were arched into mini-domes, walls curved into circles, each edge smoothed. Light poured in through large, glassless windows, illuminating every corner. Cut deep into the cliff, the rolkin’s ancient stone and ocean breeze kept the interior cool and smelling fresh. Built-in seats and shelves were carved out of the cliff. Tables rose out of the floor, with bowls built into them. Oil sconces, planters, coat hooks, and stools were all chiseled from the native stone. Additional furnishings were not simply placed within rooms?—?they decorated the spaces. Calian carpets of exquisite design accentuated polished floors. Petrified wood stumps supported green and black onyx sculptures of fish and dolphins. A tree planted in the common room grew up through the ceiling, its trunk appearing like a wooden chimney. A broad-leafed jungo plant spread out from a massive hand-beaten copper urn. And a huge clay pot that appeared to serve no purpose, except to look beautiful, stood to one side. In an obvious contrast to the stone was an overabundance of softness. Thick cushions and numerous brightly dyed pillows formed delightful sitting spaces.

  And all of it was in miniature.

  Royce and Gwen had no problem at all, but Hadrian ducked when passing through any doorway and often felt his hair brush the ceiling when he stood up straight.

  “For once, I’m grateful for my age-imposed hunched back,” Arcadius said as he moved about the rolkin. “Hadrian has clearly learned, but you need to be wary, Albert. This place is a death trap for the tall.”

  “I think it’s cozy,” Albert replied. He had already changed into a loose-fitting cotton tunic and was swimming barefoot in the fluffy cushions of the main

  room’s oversized bench that was practically a bed. “And these big chairs are so nice.” He hugged a bright yellow pillow to his face. “Why is it that up north we insist on hard wood, and the closest we ever get to comfort is lining a chair’s seat with cane?”

  “Because of the church, lad,” Arcadius said, eyeing a stone chair laden with cushions. “Too much comfort means a closer relation to the body and a more distant one from the spirit. Misery makes all of mankind better people.” He took the plunge and collapsed into the all-consuming pillow-chair that hissed as air escaped the cushions. Joining with the pillow’s song, Arcadius sighed contentedly. “I fear that I’m doomed to wickedness.”

  Hadrian stood in the middle of the central common room, running through a mental checklist of things he wanted to tell everyone. Auberon had taken him on a lengthy tour of the home, pointing out all the amenities, quirks, and features. The dwarf had also made a point of touching a small recurring symbol painted in turquoise on the wall of every room: three thick vertical lines, the center one taller than those on either side, each topped with a little circle. It didn’t look at all like a turtle, and though Hadrian inquired about many things he saw, he never asked about that. Something in the way the dwarf looked when he touched the

  lines suggested a profound and personal reverence that Hadrian didn’t feel right inserting himself into.

  “There’s a well in the courtyard,” Hadrian explained as he stood in the center of the common room while Gwen explored. “Also, that courtyard is our private garden and includes four trees: a mango, an avocado, a lemon, and a papaya. We can help ourselves to the fruit, but the mango isn’t producing right now.”

  “You can see the ocean from the balcony up here,” Gwen announced, her voice bouncing down to them from the upper story. “It’s a great view of the bay. All the ships look so small.”

  “There are pots, pans, a big kettle, and plenty of wood,” Hadrian continued. “A merchant keeps the woodpile stocked, but we have to pay for what we use.”

  “I’ll just add that to Lord Byron’s bill,” Albert said.

  “There’s a hearth and stone oven inside and another set in the courtyard. But Auberon suggests we use the outside one unless it’s raining or gets windy because otherwise the fire will make the house too hot. Also”—?he looked at Royce?—?“there are no locks on any of the doors.”

  Royce nodded. “With no glass and simple shutters on windows that are big enough to ride a horse through, I can’t see why there would be.”

  “There’s an amazing fish mounted on the wall in one of the bedrooms!” Gwen called down.

  “Auberon is a fisherman,” Hadrian explained. “You’ll see lots of that kind of stuff.”

  “Who is this Auberon you keep talking about?” Royce asked.

  “The owner and, I think, possibly the builder of this place. He’s a dwarf and will be coming by to take care of the plants and trees, and answer any questions, so don’t be alarmed if you see him in the courtyard.”

  Royce, who had looked miserable since arriving, closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “He’s a nice guy. Owns one of those fishing boats docked in the bay. Very easygoing. Just being around him, you feel more relaxed. Talking to him is like gazing out at the ocean. You’ll see.”

  Royce stared at Hadrian as if he were insane. “And you’re sure his name is Auberon and not Gravis?”

  “Yes, Royce, I might be making a massive assumption here, but I think there may be more than one dwarf in all of ?Tur Del Fur.”

  “You didn’t tell him why we’re here, did you?”

  Hadrian frowned.

  “What?” Royce said. “There was a time when you would.”

  “And there was a time when you would have already killed half a dozen people.”

  Royce looked abruptly stern and made a sudden slashing motion across his neck as Gwen reappeared, descending the curving steps.

  “There are four bedrooms upstairs,” Gwen said. “May I have one, or I suppose I could sleep down here if?—”

  “Yes, take whichever you like,” Royce said louder than necessary. “Take that one with the balcony view. You seem to like it.”

  “I don’t need the?—”

  Royce walked out.

  The others watched him move with that disturbing quickness that caused his cloak to fly behind him, as if struggling to keep up. Everyone stared at the empty doorway for a moment, then they looked at each other, mystified.

  “What was that?” Albert asked, rolling to his side and peering out the door.

  No one answered for a short time. Then, still engulfed in the chair, Arcadius said, “There was a minor incident at the shore.”

  “Minor?” Albert asked. He looked back out at the courtyard, then rotated, placed his feet on the floor, and stood up. “How many are dead?”

  “Please excuse me,” Gwen said. “I think I’ll settle into my room. I need to change my dress. This one is wet.” ?Then she, too, disappeared.

  Hadrian found Royce still in the courtyard, seated at the small table in the shade of the mango tree. “What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?” Royce was drawing invisible pictures on the surface of the table with his fingertips.

  “Well . . .?” Hadrian pulled a chair out and sat down. “It’s warm enough to go swimming, and you’re sitting here wrapped in thick wool with your hood up. Add to that the fact you just walked out on Gwen in mid-sentence. These things make me think something’s not right. Is it because . . . you know?—?did you talk to her? Did you tell her how you feel?”

  Royce shook his head. “Haven’t gotten a chance. I think she hates me.”

  “Hates you? What happened to that whole sleeping-with-her-head-on-your-shoulder incident?”

  Royce slapped his palms on the table. “How should I know?”

  “Arcadius said there was an incident down at the shore. Care to share?”

  “There wasn’t. Nothing happened.” Royce sat back far enough that Hadrian could see under the hood. His friend looked angry, which wasn’t all that unusual, but there was a hint of frustration in his eyes.

  Staring at him and thinking it over, Hadrian realized that wasn’t altogether strange, either. Still . . . “Something must have.”

  Royce’s fascination with the little stone table continued as he rubbed the top with his thumb. It left a damp mark on the polished surface.

  Royce is sweating? That’s new.

  “You remember Bull Neck and Orange Tunic?” Royce asked.

  “You mean Brook and Clem from Dulgath?”

  “They had names?”

  “Think so. Their mother would have to be awfully careless to forget that.”

  Royce nodded. “They were just down at the shore. Only it turned out it wasn’t them.”

  Hadrian was puzzled, but only for a moment. Not so long ago, Hadrian would have had no idea what Royce was talking about, and it both fascinated and slightly bothered him to discover he was able to work out exactly what his friend was saying. The sensation reminded Hadrian of when he first started to pick up the Tenkin language. He’d learned a word here, a phrase there, and then one day he found himself thinking in Tenkin. He felt the same excitement now?—?the realization that he had achieved a new level of understanding?—?but also, he had to wonder if he had had to sacrifice something in the process.

  Royce pulled back his hood a bit and looked at the door to the rolkin. Arcadius and Albert were discussing something Hadrian couldn’t hear, but he assumed Royce could. “I did absolutely nothing?—?nothing at all, but she got so upset.” He sighed. “She was scared?—?scared of . . . me.” Royce raised his hands in exasperation. “I don’t know what I’m doing. This whole thing . . . it’s . . . it’s not going to work. She’s”—?at a loss for the right words, Royce opted to fold his arms in a violent manner?—?“well, you know.” He took a breath and let it out slowly. “And I’m . . . well . . . me. Aren’t I?”

  “Yeah.” Hadrian nodded again, this time wetting his lower lip. “I can’t think of much worse than being you. That’s tough, pal.”

  “It’s worse than that,” Royce said, completely ignoring Hadrian’s joke. Or maybe he hadn’t heard, or perhaps Royce didn’t understand Hadrian was joking. “Gwen and I . . .?” He shook his head and let out another loathing sigh. “It’s not possible. I can see that now. Don’t know what I was thinking. Clearly, I wasn’t?—?I was listening to you, which should have been a huge warning right there.” Royce pointed to an engraving of a marlin cut into the stone of the wall near the fountain. “We’re from different worlds. She’s like that beautiful fish there, and I’m a bird.”

  Hadrian nodded. “A vulture, I suppose.”

  Royce glared.

  “Sorry.”

  “My point is, I don’t belong with her.”

  “Really?”

  The hood nodded.

  “Well, maybe you’re right.” Hadrian pushed back in his chair. Somewhere overhead a bird was singing?—?several, in fact. Tur was filled with songbirds. The sun was shining. He and Royce were gathered in the shade of a fruit-laden tree as a cool breeze blew by, and Royce was as happy as a man forced to witness paradise without being able to enter. “But, let me ask you something . . . who does?”

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  “Who does what?”

  “Who belongs with her? Do you think Brook or Clem ought to marry her?”

  Royce stared at him like a tiger trapped in a cage while Hadrian used a metal pole to ring the bars.

  Hadrian continued, “How about one of the nobles back in Medford? Maybe Baron Rendon or Sir Sinclair? They’d be a good choice, right? They have nice homes and lots of money. They could take her to fancy galas and such.”

  “She doesn’t like them. They’re clients. That’s it.” His voice was low and dangerous.

  Hadrian was sliding on river ice but hoped his newfound fluency in Royce-speak would help him safely reach the far bank. “Okay, but how about Dixon? She likes him, right? What if he asked her to marry him? What if she said yes because the one she really wanted never said anything.”

  “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  Hadrian rolled his eyes. “Obviously!”

  “Did Dixon ask Gwen to?—”

  “Oh, for Maribor’s sake! Honestly!” Hadrian ran both hands through his hair. While he might have made great strides in understanding his partner, Royce had regressed. “How can you be so perceptive and intelligent about most things, but so dim-witted about this? You’re like a man unable to find the sun because that bright light in the sky is blinding him. My point is, you’re being an idiot. Gwen’s in love with you, and you’re in love with her, and the only thing in the way is that neither of you feels worthy of the other. It would be hilarious if it wasn’t so tragic. Worst part is how much the two of you truly need each?—”

  The hood jerked up as Gwen came out into the yard. “Don’t mean to interrupt, but I was thinking that if we could get some food, I could cook it. I’m no chef, but after hearing the tales of Hadrian’s campfire cookouts, I’m going to assume?—”

  “Absolutely not!” Albert shouted from inside. “No cooking! Tonight, we eat out. My treat?—?that is to say, I’ll charge Lord Byron. This is our first evening in Tur, and we deserve the best. So, it is The Blue Parrot for us. I will spare no expense.”

  “Fine.” Gwen lingered a moment. She looked at Royce as if on the verge of tears, then she turned around and went back inside.

  “I think she might have heard us,” Royce said.

  Hadrian clapped the table between them. “Tell her, Royce! This stopped being funny a long time ago.”

  The Blue Parrot was the two-toned, three-story, stone building with the terrace and shiny copper-colored dome that they had passed on their way in. It actually had five domes, as there were four little towers, each capped with their own mini-domes, but those were tiled, not metal.

  “This is a tavern?” Hadrian asked as the five of them rolled up in a pair of little donkey-drawn carriages that frequented the streets. The Parrot wasn’t more than a mile and a half away, but Albert had arranged transportation as if they were royalty.

  “Technically, it’s a danthum,” Albert said.

  “But that’s like a tavern, right?”

  “I would consider them distant cousins. One could make the argument that Roy the Sewer and I are both human beings?—?and there are more than a few passing similarities to support this?—?but I would hope you wouldn’t think we are the same.”

  The carriages only comfortably seated two. Gwen and Arcadius rode in one, but Hadrian, Royce, and Albert squeezed into the other. The fact that Royce chose to wedge himself into the boys’ carriage rather than sit with Gwen was noticed by all.

  The Blue Parrot’s popularity was made obvious by the crowd waiting to get in and the line of carriages dropping off passengers. The gathering was a remarkably varied group, and Hadrian saw just as many ladies as men. There were plenty of fops, peacocks, and popinjays: men and women in huge hats, finely embroidered robes, and shiny leather boots, all too heavy to be comfortable. Others wore more relaxed attire, making do with simple, light tunics and sandals. Some brought their dogs; there were also a few cats, and Hadrian even spotted a pig on a leash, sporting a blue bonnet. But the most peculiar surprise was the variety of nations. Refined Avryn nobles stood shoulder to shoulder with rustic Calians, and men dressed in the frocks of the clergy waited alongside a group of Urgvarian sailors.

  “What’s everyone waiting for?” Gwen asked as the carriages abandoned them and promptly clip-clopped away. So many carriages, carts, and wagons created a nonstop clatter in the background.

  “It’s not open,” Albert explained as he adjusted his doublet and checked the alignment of the buttons. That evening, Albert had insisted they all dress up. After washing at the courtyard fountain, he had changed into his viscount clothes, donning his black-velvet and silver-brocade doublet. He chose not to wear the usual overtunic, and in a breezy, carefree manner, he left the top buttons of the doublet and white shirt undone.

  Arcadius had complied by throwing on a different but identical robe, the only difference being that the new one was made of linen instead of wool. Hadrian didn’t have anything else to wear except a second shirt, which he changed into, leaving his leather jerkin behind. Albert explained that long blades were not allowed in the Parrot, so he left those, too.

  Gwen put them all to shame. She disappeared upstairs and reemerged in a stunning off-the-shoulder white linen gown that wrapped her body with the intimacy of a silk cocoon. Her hair was brushed back with its normal luster, and she had rings dangling from her ears and bracelets on her wrists. Her lips were colored a pale red and her eyes painted dark, like smoke from a smoldering fire.

  Royce, not surprisingly, ignored Albert’s demands, remaining in his usual funeral-colored wool.

  “Not open?” Gwen stared up at the marvelous edifice, disappointed. “Well, I can still cook. I’m sure not all of the markets are closed.”

  “Not to worry,” Albert assured her. “Unlike the taverns and brothels in Avryn, many of the finer establishments are open for only a set number of hours each evening. This allows workers to rest, clean up, restock, and generally prepare for the next night’s festivities.”

  Gwen looked up at the sky. The sun was well on its way to setting, creating a stunning spectacle of orange, pink, and gold over the bay. “Evening is almost over.”

  “Not down here it’s not. In truth, it’s just about to start.”

  The doors opened and the crowd cheered.

  “We need to hurry if we’re going to get a good seat.” Albert pushed them forward into the fray.

  The interior of ?the Parrot was as remarkable as the patrons. The place was the size of a small cathedral. The central room?—?with its three-story domed ceiling, fresco-decorated walls, twinkling lantern chandeliers, and towering stone pillars?—?only housed the extravagance. Within this grand chamber, a massive sculpture of an elephant, which was three times the size of those Hadrian was familiar with, stood to one side of a grand wooden stage. On the other end was an equally large gorilla, its arms raised as if holding up the ceiling. Part of the left wall had living fish swimming behind glass, and everywhere there were potted plants and full-sized trees, giving the interior a jungle feel.

  “Parrots!” Gwen exclaimed, pointing up at a dozen beautiful green birds flying under the dome from tree to tree, startled at the flood of people pouring in.

  “Over here!” Albert waved them toward a round wooden table. All the tables closer to the stage had already filled up, but the one the viscount had selected was only two rows back. “Five chairs. Perfect!”

  The room roared with the conversations of hundreds as it rapidly filled.

  “This is so exciting!” Gwen said, a great smile on her face, her eyes darting from one delight to the next.

  “It’s insane.” Royce glowered. He, too, looked around but showed none of Gwen’s amusement. Instead, he glared at every face that came nearby and even scowled at the parrots. “This is a madhouse.”

  “Trust me,” Albert told him. “It only gets worse.”

  “Then why are we here?”

  “Because in Tur Del Fur, worse is wonderful.”

  A small army of blue-jacketed servants dispersed from side doors into the sea of patrons. They moved from table to table, taking drink orders while somewhere unseen a band began to play. Strings, drums, and pipes joined to create a wave of sound richer and more powerful than anything Hadrian had ever heard. And it was lively to the point of decadence with a booming rhythm.

  Albert leaned over to Hadrian. “So, yes?—?to answer your question, it’s like a tavern.”

  “Good evening, gentlemen and lady,” a blue-jacketed servant greeted them, shouting over the music. “My name is Atyn. I’ll be your waiter. Allow me to welcome you to The Blue Parrot.”

  It took Hadrian a moment to realize that their waiter wasn’t a man. His tapering ears, high cheekbones, and angled eyebrows proclaimed his heritage from afar, but Hadrian was so unaccustomed to seeing an elf in any establishment?—?much less employed by one?—?made his mind second-guessed his eyes.

  “Is this your first time with us?” Atyn asked. He was looking right at Hadrian, who realized he had been staring.

  “These three are novices to the city,” Albert gestured to Hadrian, Royce, and Gwen, then he looked at Arcadius.

  The professor shook his head. “Not my first time within these walls, but when I was last here . . .?” He thought a moment. “I believe this was a municipal building.”

  The waiter looked stunned. “That would have been even before my time, and I have been here a good long while.”

  Arcadius smiled. “Sorry to admit that I’m just about as old as I look.”

  “A few things have changed,” Atyn said with a perfectly expressionless face that made the professor smile. “Now, for those who have never been here, or haven’t visited this century, please allow me to explain that The Blue Parrot is the finest danthum in the city, and tonight you will have the experience of a lifetime. The shows will begin soon, and when they do, it will get loud, so if you plan to eat?—?which I strongly advise, as we have delicacies unmatched anywhere in the world?—?you might consider deciding what you want to order while I can still hear you.”

  Hadrian, who had determined that the musicians were hidden in a pit just before the stage, was already forced to lean across the table to hear, and he wondered how much louder it could possibly get.

  “Tonight,” Atyn proclaimed with a flourish of his hand, “we are offering our spectacular flaming peacock.”

  “Oh, by Mar!” Albert reacted with physical delight. “We must have at least one of those!” He looked as if the very idea had sent him into a fit of ecstasy. “You have no idea.”

  “Also this evening,” Atyn continued, “we offer roasted swan, complete with head and neck?—?tucked under the left wing, of course. We also have our popular Treasures of the Ocean, and for dessert, frozen blueberry and custard magpies.”

  “Magpies?” Gwen wrinkled her nose.

  “That’s just what we call them because they’re served in a bowl that’s been carved and painted to resemble the bird.”

  “Frozen?” Hadrian asked.

  “Indeed!” the waiter said. “Barges of winter lake ice are packed in straw and sailed down the coast to fill our storehouse and provide you with such unmatched delicacies. We also have a special tonight, our legendary Flame Broiled Sea Monster.”

  “What, may I ask, is that?” Arcadius inquired.

  “Grilled octopus,” Atyn explained with a grin. “The tentacled beast is caught fresh daily, hung out to dry in the sun, and then grilled on charcoal. The outside is blackened to a wonderfully crunchy texture, but the inside is succulent and just as chewy as you’d hope. It’s served with a wedge of lemon.” Atyn took a needed breath. “I can imagine this is a great deal to consider, so in the meantime, may I bring the table a bottle of wine?”

  “Oh, Royce,” Albert said. “They have Montemorcey here.”

  Royce shook his head. “I’m not in?—”

  “Such a rare treat,” Arcadius interrupted. “Bring two bottles to start.”

  “Excellent choice. I’ll get that right away. And please enjoy the show.”

  Atyn bowed with an otherworldly grace and moved on to the next table, where the Calians were seated. “Good evening gentlemen, my name is Atyn. I’ll be your waiter. Allow me to welcome you to The Blue Parrot,” he said in perfect Calian.

  Hadrian continued to watch the waiter. The only elves he had ever seen were wretched creatures living lives of impoverished misery on the streets of the larger cities. Always filthy, they cowered in the shadows, eating from trash piles while hiding in fear of being attacked. Seeing Atyn dressed smartly and speaking eloquently in multiple languages was like seeing a polished gem that used to be a rock. “He’s an elf.”

  “Delgos is a very tolerant nation,” Albert said. “And Tur Del Fur is about as forward-thinking and free as you can get. Their creed down here is simple: do what you like, just don’t bother others, and above all, don’t interfere with commerce. I suppose I should have warned you.”

  “Nothing to be warned about,” the professor declared. “The unjustified mistreatment of such individuals in Avryn is one of the great embarrassments of our civilization. They are people, plain and simple, and it is refreshing to find them granted the common courtesy that all deserve.”

  “But it does take a bit of getting used to,” Albert said. “Last time I was here, the Earl of Tremore made quite a scene. It began with Tremore demanding that the elves?—?not just the staff, mind you, but patrons as well?—?be removed from the premises. The tension escalated when he stabbed one.”

  “Oh dear! What happened?” Gwen asked.

  “They locked the earl up in the city prison.”

  “They did that to an earl?”

  “He’s not an earl down here. Happens all the time. Almost every night there is a noble fresh from the north who hasn’t acclimated to the culture and thinks he’s still in Avryn. Most of the time, it’s just part of the entertainment. You’ll see, this place gets quite boisterous as the night goes on, but sometimes it goes too far. This being Delgos, that’s a long walk to be sure, but stabbing a waiter or waitress in The Blue Parrot is absolutely too far. And they have a professional crew to deal with that. As I said, interfering with commerce isn’t allowed.”

  All around them, people flowed past, finding seats and settling in. The group of Calians at the neighboring table were dressed in the typical white linen thawb and loose trousers that Hadrian found himself envying. They wore tall festive hats, spoke loudly, and laughed a great deal.

  Directly in front was a group of sailors, easily distinguished by their long, greased hair and the sail-canvas tar flap that protected the shoulders of their blouses. They were louder than the Calians but didn’t laugh as much.

  In this turmoil, Royce looked about as comfortable as a cat riding a sinking board during a flood. His hood was up, his eyes scanning the crowd.

  “Let’s have a toast,” Arcadius said when the wine arrived along with the shocking luxury of crystal stemware. He’d poured everyone a glass, including Royce, who had pushed his away. “To Gwen DeLancy,” the professor announced, raising his glass. “What might have been merely a pleasant trip has been elevated to the height of rapture by her presence.”

  Gwen looked embarrassed as everyone except Royce drank to her. He refused to touch his glass.

  “What is it, Royce?” Arcadius asked. “Do you disagree?”

  He looked over to see Gwen watching him with agony in her eyes.

  “It’s okay,” she offered a sad smile. “He doesn’t?—”

  Royce got to his feet.

  Hadrian feared another abrupt exit, but Royce surprised everyone. He took up his glass and lifted it toward her. “To Gwen,” he said, then he drank and sat back down.

  Gwen continued to stare at him with dark, puzzled eyes.