Rodvard now noticed that the horse was drooping with weariness, but Demadé Slair said; “If you lose one, there’s another. The people’s business will not wait. Be on time.” The man got slowly down and patted the neck of the horse. “Friend Slair,” he said, “I am as much for the people as anyone, but there’s more to this than livelihood. This is my friend.” The tired horse sniffed at the hand he put up. Slair surprisingly burst into laughter. “Go, then, with your friend. I’ll be your warranty if you are late.” The carriage had wide seats; Lalette huddled down in the corner, so that Rodvard was barely touching the edge of her cloak, and Slair sat facing them. Beyond the corner, where the turbulence was, figures were visible at a little distance and torches moving, but nobody said anything in the vehicle (because, thought Rodvard, there was so much to say). Presently they turned in at the gate of the wide-flung Ulutz palace, where some statue on the entrance-pillar had been thrown down, leaving broken stone across the cobbles. There were lights in the building, but no doorman. Demadé Slair led the way, and straight up the wide flight of marble steps to a tall-walled room, where he struck light to a candle. A huge bed stood in the corner, and one of the chairs had been slit, so that the material of the upholstery flowed upon the carpet. “I bid you good-night,” said their guide. “There’s a kitchen below-stairs where you can have breakfast, and a messenger will call for you in the morning, friend Bergelin.” When they were alone, Lalette sat in the good chair with her hands in her lap, and looked at her feet. “Rodvard,” she said at last. “Yes?” (His heart jumped hopefully.) “Be careful. You are not so important to them as you think. If you were—gone, they might make me give the Blue Star to someone else.” “Could they compel you to put the witchery on it?” “No. But they might find another witch . . . Rodvard.” He went over to her, but at his touch she made a small gesture of dismissal, as though to rebuke him for bringing something childish into a moment of utter intensity. “I am afraid, Rodvard. Don’t let them do that to me.” He stepped away from her. “Ah, pest, you are shying at shadows. I am a member of the Sons; and even so you have the Art.” “Yes. I have that.” She only undressed to a shift, and wrapped it close around her, sleeping on the far side of the bed. The water was very cold. 24 SPEECHES IN THE GREAT ASSEMBLY