The babble of the room fell against Anilitak like rain; it seemed to strengthen at intervals, then let off, like storm clouds passing overhead. It gave her a sense of unease, too, as if she were waiting for lightning to strike. Wind said no more to her, and she dared not speak. Occasionally, his hand would touch her arm or squeeze a few of her fingers, but she couldn't understand if he meant to encourage her or if he wanted to reassure himself of something. Once, she placed her hand on his back, patting it tentatively. As far as she could tell, he did not respond.

She wanted to sit. The more she thought of resting her feet, the more her feet hurt, and eventually she convinced herself to just do it. Wind did not stop her, though he wedged her into the corner by gentle prods of the feet. They were bare and cold.

She listened to some of the conversation around her, focusing her ears on a single strand of noise and interpreting the words. Much of it concerned the Crown, but the exact exchanges were vague and unhelpful. A general excitement tinged the words, like when people spoke of good weather, and it contained about as much information. Later, she revised this thought. Beneath the excitement was a level of anxiety, a suppressed nervous uncertainty. The speakers hid it carefully; or perhaps it was an extra layer, obvious to citizens of this dark realm, who had learned to read voices like others learned to read body language.

Her fear diminished as she waited. Whenever someone approached, Wind exchanged a few pleasantries, and the stranger bothered them no more. In the crowded room, with Wind to guard her, even the most sensitive would have trouble noticing her.

At a nudge from Wind's foot, she stood. “She's here,” he whispered. “Silencia.” She understood his quick motions and wrapped her arms around him again, pressing close. She listened for Silencia's voice, assuming that Wind must have been listening for her and the others. Yes—Anilitak heard that distinctive nasal voice calling out for Slabfoot. A nickname? A code? Anilitak didn't know.

“I'm here, I'm here,” Wind said, addressing her in an exasperated tone.

“Where have you been? With your friend? Where is he?”

“I left him. Boring, boring. Did you hear the news? The Crown's returned!”

“Everyone's heard the news, you moron.”

“So, have you heard him? What does he sound like?”

“I didn't make it to the Knot in time. I haven't heard him yet. Your friend, you leave him in your room to twiddle his thumbs?”

“Of course not. He had other places to be. My brother's sleeping there, anyway. I was hoping to talk to some others, maybe you know where they are?”

“Everyone comes through here eventually.”

“That's what I figured. I'll just wait. Though if you find the Crown, come get me, will you?”

“Of course. I'm going to get my pitimeal and go. I can't stand this crowd.” She began to say more but cut herself off. “He's here,” she whispered fiercely.

Wind stepped near Silencia; her hand brushed one of Anilitak's arms. “Her, here?” she demanded.

“It was best,” Wind said. Anilitak could barely catch their words. She had begun to understand their code-talk until Silencia had been thrown off by...something.

Wind tried to regain his previous tone. “What do you suppose he sounds like? I imagine a deep, powerful voice, with the weight of royalty.”

Silencia forced a laugh. It sounded sick. “Perhaps, but if he wanted to view his people unawares, he might mimic another's.”

Anilitak recalled Wind claiming that Silencia had a remarkable ear.

Wind could not keep his voice from lowering. “Whose?”

“Shrill's.”