Earl Dobbin finally withered under the princess's stare and looked away, glancing around the hall with an air of distaste. "I wouldn't dream of leaving you in this inn alone," he said. "My guards are quite capable of dealing with the marauder-whatever his race-without my supervision."

"I'm sure that's true, but I still don't want him trying to hide in the Weary Giant." Tavis glanced down the table, where eleven orphans of various ages sat gathered around the end. All residents of the Weary Giant, they were the reason the firbolg scout had left his beloved Border Guard to become an innkeeper. "Avner, go and close the courtyard gate."

A sandy-haired boy of fifteen rose from his chair. "I'll close the gate," he said. His eyes were steely gray, much too hard and cunning for his years. "But that won't slop a thief. Hell just slip the bar or climb the wall. I would."

Tavis gave the boy a reproving frown. "Not anymore, I trust," he said. "Besides, with Earl Dobbin's guards after him, he won't have time for that."

Avner rolled his eyes. "Those oafs never stopped me."

"Now, Avner!" Tavis snapped, grimacing. No good could come of reminding the lord mayor that most of the Weary Giant's orphans had lived as street thieves before coming to the lodge.

With a cavalier shrug, Avner went to the door. The boy had not even stepped outside before Kwasid's voice pealed down from the rafters.

"Now I dance?"

The scout nodded, drawing an ivory-toothed grin from the giant. Against the dark background of the roof, the smile looked like a crescent moon that had slipped and fallen on its back.