He wanted her head clear, so they’re out, currently on the endless sweep of stairs up the cliffside to Hightown with a bundle of messages to hand off to a Chantry representative and a short shopping list. It’s early. Cold. The wind is sharp, and the people nearest to them on the stairs won’t be able to hear them over it.

Not that he would worry too much if they did. But it’s habit to notice.

It’s been Les Chats most of the walk so far, but halfway up the steps, the topic exhausts itself, at least for now, and after a short lull Bastien asks, “Is Yseult cross with you?”