Chapter 11Talis, alone in a royal bedchamber, regarded satin and samite bed curtains, a crushed-abalone cosmetics box, the polished gleam of the harp, a milky splash of pearls across a table beside pen and writing-paper. For all the casual messiness and larger-than-life presence, he noticed, Amet had clear precise penmanship, and kept the books on the bookshelf organized by genre and author.
Luck. Finding something. Evidence. What did Jer want him to find?
He picked up one of the strawberry tarts—there were only two left—because Amet had offered and because they were sitting invitingly upon their tray, a request. Nibbling sugar-glazed sweetness, cream, pastry, he brushed fingers across the writing-desk, the back of the chair.
He did not expect to find anything here, not if the plot invo
