rces," he said with dignity. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alessan grin, and he suddenly felt ridiculous. Sheepishly he added, "I overhead the Sandreni talking upstairs between the two sessions of the mourning rites."
Rovigo looked as if he had another question or three, but, with a glance at Alessan, he held them in. Devin was grateful.
Alessan said, "When we went back to the cabin afterwards we found the vigil-keepers dead. Tomasso was taken. Baerd has remained behind to take care of a number of things by the cabin tonight. He will burn it later."
"We passed the Barbadians as we left the city," Rovigo said quietly, absorbing this. "I saw Tomasso bar Sandre with them. I feared for you, Alessan."
"With some cause," Alessan said drily. "There was an informer there. The boy, Herado, Gianno's son was in the service of Alberico."
Rovigo's face registered shock. "Family? Morian damn him to darkness for that!" he rasped harshly. "How could he do such a thing?"
Alessan gave his small characteristic shrug. "A great deal has broken down since the Tyrants came, would you not say?"
There was a silence as Rovigo fought to master his shock and rage. Devin coughed nervously and broke it: "Your own family," he asked. "Do they...”
"They know nothing of this," the merchant said, regaining his calm. "Neither Alix nor any of the girls had ever seen Alessan or Catriana before tonight. I met Alessan and Baerd in Tregea town nine years ago and we discovered in the course of a long night that we had certain dreams and certain enemies in common. The told me something of what their purposes were, and I told them I was willing to assist in those pursuits as best I could without unduly endangering my wife or daughters. I have tried to do that. I will continue to try. It is my hope to live long enough to be able to hear the oath Alessan offers when he drinks blue wine."
He spoke the last words quietly but with obvious passion. Devin looked at the Prince, remembering the inaudible words he had murmured under his breath before he drank.
Alessan gazed steadily at Rovigo. "There is one other thing you should know: Devin is one of us in more than the obvious way. I learned that by accident yesterday afternoon. He too was born in my own province before it fell. Which is why he is here."
Rovigo said nothing.
"What is the oath?" Devin asked. And then, more diffidently, "Is it something that I should know?"
"Not as anything that matters in the scheme of things. I only spoke a prayer of my own." Alessan's voice was careful and very clear. "I always do. I said: Tigana, let my memory of you be like a blade in my soul."
Devin closed his eyes. The words and the voice. No one spoke. Devin opened his eyes and looked at Rovigo.
Whose brow was knotted in fierce, angry consternation.
"My friend, Devin should understand this," Alessan said to him gently. "It is a part of the legacy he has taken on. What did you hear me say?"
Rovigo gestured with helpless frustration. "The same thing I heard the first time this happened. That night nine years ago, when we switched to blue wine. I heard you ask that the memory of something be a blade in you. In your soul. But I didn't hear . . . I've lost the beginning again. The something."▼▼
"Tigana," Alessan said again. Tenderly, clear as chiming crystal.
But Devin saw Rovigo's expression grow even more baffled and dismayed. The merchant reached for his glass and drained it. "Will you . . . one more time?"
"Tigana," Devin said before Alessan could speak. To make this legacy, this grief at the heart of things, more truly his own, as properly it was his own. For the land was his or it had been, and its name was part of his own, and they were both lost. Taken away.
"Let my memory of you be like a blade in my soul," he said, his voice faltering at the end though he tried hard to keep it as steady as Alessan's had been.
Wondering, disoriented, visibly distressed, Rovigo shook his head.
"And Brandin's magic is behind