Rivier announced itself with the smell of fresh fish and newly-baked bread, which Reyn found immediately preferable to Westkeep's combination of rotting fish and urine-drenched alleys. The town spread along its namesake river in a way that suggested actual planning, with proper streets that led to recognizable destinations rather than wandering off to have existential crises in back alleys.

  "It's so... ordinary," Venn said, sounding almost disappointed.

  Reyn had to agree. After the warnings about Crimson Hand control, she'd expected something more obvious. Guard posts, perhaps. Armed thugs swaggering through streets. Red hand symbols painted on buildings. Instead, Rivier looked like what it probably was: a modest trade town making the most of its river location.

  The market square bustled with reasonable activity for late afternoon. Vendors sold produce that looked and smelled fresh. Actually fresh! A fishmonger argued with a customer about carp prices with the comfortable familiarity of a years-old routine. Children played between the stalls while their parents shopped.

  "Maybe the merchant was mistaken," Venn said. "Or outdated. The Crimson Hand could have moved on."

  Reyn frowned. Something felt off, though she couldn't identify what. The market was busy, but not lively. Reyn didn't know how busy a western rivertown should be, but she had a nagging feeling that it wasn't this.

  People conducted business with the enthusiasm of those performing tasks to be checked out. Conversations stayed focused on immediate transactions, lacking the gossipy undertones that usually flavored market talk. There was little laughing, or yelling.

  Westerners do like their yelling, she thought, comparing the sounds of Rivier to those of Westkeep.

  "Let's find lodging," she decided. "Take some time before making assumptions."

  They found The River's Rest without difficulty, mainly because it was the only inn that looked capable of hosting travelers who expected their beds to have actual mattresses rather than ambitious collections of straw. The building stood three stories tall, with clean windows and a freshly painted sign depicting a setting sun over water.

  Inside, warmth and the smell of roasting meat welcomed them. The common room held perhaps a dozen patrons, most absorbed in their own business. Reyn catalogued the space without a thought: two exits, stairs to upper floors, good sight lines from most tables. Her attention caught on four somewhat well-dressed men playing cards near the fireplace. They sat where they could watch both doors without seeming to, a positioning that spoke of either paranoia or training.

  Merchants, probably. The road bred caution in those who traveled it regularly. It made sense for merchants staying vigilant, in Reyn's eyes.

  The innkeeper hurried over, a thin man whose smile seemed genuine despite the speed with which his eyes flicked to Good Deeds' hilt. "Welcome to The River's Rest! Travelers, yes? We have excellent rooms available. Reasonable rates."

  "Thank you," Reyn said, trying to remember her teachings about Western politeness. "We'll need lodging for at least tonight. And a meal, if your kitchen is serving."

  "Of course, of course! My wife makes the finest fish stew in the valley, straight from the river. Bread's fresh this morning. Ale's from our own brewery." He gestured toward an empty table. "Please, sit wherever you like. I'll have food brought immediately."

  They settled at a table that gave Reyn a view of both the card players and the main entrance. It was an instinct from years of training. Always know your exits, always watch for threats, never sit with your back exposed. The fact that the merchants had chosen similar positioning reinforced her assessment of them as experienced travelers.

  The promised stew arrived quickly, accompanied by bread that actually was fresh and ale that tasted like something other than dishwater flavored with yeast. Reyn ate with appreciation while Venn picked at her food, eyes darting around the room.

  "Relax," Reyn murmured. "We're just travelers having dinner."

  "Everyone keeps looking at us."

  "I'm Bormecian. They probably don't see many of my people around here. You should've seen the looks in Westkeep." Though now that Venn mentioned it, the glances did seem frequent. Quick looks followed by sudden attention to their own business when gazes met. The behavior of people trying very hard not to stare.

  Reyn raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it common for two women to be together around here?"

  Venn spat out her food and turned red. "What? Like... Toge... how do you mean?"

  "Travelling together, right? I mean, when I met Rast and his mate, they seemed surprised a woman was travelling alone. Could be the locals are thinking the same around here."

  "Yes. Yes, that makes sense. Could be."

  A local man approached their table, hat in overly big hands for his stature. "Begging pardon, but are you perhaps one of them healing types?" He addressed Venn, noting her Temple medallion.

  "I... I am," Venn said, straightening herself and doing away with the strange grimace she'd just been doing. Her red cheeks turned lighter as she inhaled slowly, before smiling. "I'm a servant of Helea on the Path to become Mage. Do you need assistance?"

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  "My daughter cut her hand this morning. It's not serious, I think, but..." He shifted nervously. "Would you mind taking a look?"

  "Of course." Venn rose immediately with a friendly, even eager, smile. "Bring her here."

  While Venn examined the child's bandaged hand, Reyn noticed how the father kept glancing toward the card players. Checking if they were watching? Seeking permission? The girl herself seemed more interested in Reyn's braids than her own injury.

  "It's healing well," Venn said, applying a light healing touch to speed the process. A dim turquoise light appeared where she touched. "Keep it clean and dry. Come to me if it shows signs of infection tomorrow morning."

  "Thank you, healer. Thank you." The man pressed a copper coin into Venn's hand despite her protests, then hurried his daughter away. As they left, Reyn heard him whisper, "Remember what I said about talking to strangers."

  "That was odd," Venn said, returning to her seat.

  "Protective father." Though something about the interaction nagged at Reyn. The nervous glances, the hurried departure, the warning about strangers.

  If the Hand has been an issue here, it would make sense for the locals to be wary, Reyn thought.

  She'd seen a merchant by the door with packed goods who'd been "preparing to leave" since they'd arrived. He kept checking the light outside, finding reasons to delay. Waiting for something? Or avoiding something?

  One of the card players rose, stretching casually. He wore good clothes, carried a sword that showed use rather than decoration. His path to the bar took him close to their table.

  "Evening," he said pleasantly. "Don't see many Bormecians in these parts."

  "We're just passing through," Reyn said, all too happy being recognized. She leaned her arm over the back of her chair. "Met many Bormecians before?"

  "Just a few. Heading north? The bridge is in good repair, though the spring floods did some damage to the eastern approach." His tone suggested friendly travel advice. His eyes didn't hold that same friendliness.

  "We haven't decided yet, to be honest. Might stay a day or two. It is nice to avoid the noise of Westkeep."

  "Lovely town for it. Very peaceful." He smiled. "What was your business in Westkeep?"

  "I don't have a business in Westkeep," Reyn said. "I don't have a business anywhere. I am a Bormecian, on my pilgrimage."

  "I meant..." The man stopped and thought for a moment, then smiled and even bowed ever so slightly. "I don't mean to intrude. Enjoy your meal, and the town of Rivier."

  After he returned to his game, Venn leaned forward. "Did that feel like an interrogation to you?"

  "He was just being friendly." Though Reyn had to admit the questions felt pointed. Natural enough for travelers to discuss routes, but something felt off. Just like everything else around here.

  The common room's atmosphere had the quality of a held breath. Conversations happened, business was conducted, ale was consumed. All perfectly normal activities performed by people trying very hard to appear perfectly normal. Like a stage play where everyone knew their parts but worried about forgetting their lines.

  "We heard there might be trouble with bandits in this area," Reyn mentioned to the innkeeper when he came to clear their bowls. "The Crimson Hand?"

  The man's hands stilled for just a moment. "No trouble here. Peaceful town. Safe as they come."

  "They haven't come through?"

  "Oh, traders come through all the time. But trouble? No, no trouble." He gathered dishes with a speed that didn't match his careful motions. "More ale?"

  "No, thank you, good man."

  After he scurried away, Venn whispered, "He's terrified."

  "Of something," Reyn agreed. But what? The town showed no signs of violence. No burned buildings, no boarded windows, no visible thugs extorting protection money. Yet underneath Rivier's calm surface, fear moved like river current.

  Maybe that was it. Maybe the Crimson Hand had come through, threatened violence, and moved on. The town's fear could be residual, jumping at shadows of a threat already passed. That would explain the nervousness without visible cause.

  But it didn't explain the card players who weren't really playing cards. In the time since they'd arrived, Reyn hadn't seen a single hand actually completed. Cards were dealt, held, occasionally discarded, but never gathered for scoring. The betting pile never changed size. Four men going through motions of a game without actually playing it.

  "I'm going to ask them," Reyn said.

  "Ask them what?"

  "About the Crimson Hand. They're armed, they're watchful. If anyone would know about bandit movements, it would be men like them."

  "Reyn, maybe we should just..."

  But Reyn was already rising, crossing to the card table with the confident stride of someone who'd never learned that some questions were better left unasked. The men looked up as she approached, expressions ranging from mild interest to careful neutrality. Not to mention a dash of surprise.

  "Excuse me," she said politely. "I'm sorry to interrupt your game."

  "No game to interrupt," one said easily. He had the kind of face that smiled without involving his eyes. "Just passing time. How can we help you?"

  "We're new to the area. Someone warned us about the Crimson Hand operating around here, but the town seems peaceful. Have you seen any signs of them?"

  The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. She noticed the delayed merchant suddenly finding urgent need to check his goods again. Two locals quickly finished their drinks and departed. The innkeeper discovered pressing business in the kitchen.

  "The Crimson Hand," the smiling man repeated, his smile growing a tad smaller. "Now why would someone like you be asking about them?"

  "We had some trouble with them near Westkeep. They threatened a temple. If they're here causing problems as well, I'd like to know about it." She kept her tone conversational. A traveler seeking news about road conditions.

  The four men exchanged glances that carried entire conversations. The smiling one set down his cards with deliberate care.

  "Threatened a temple, you say?"

  "The Temple of Healing. Trying to extort protection money. We sent them away, and heard they might be around here as well."

  "Sent them away." It wasn't a question. "And you're looking for them now because...?"

  "I want to talk to them, obviously. Do you know where they are?"

  The silence stretched like taffy, sticky and uncomfortable. One of the other men shifted in his chair, the movement revealing the hilt of a second knife at his belt. Professional merchants, Reyn reminded herself. The roads bred dangerous people who weren't necessarily criminals. Then again, most merchants around here seemed to hire guards, she remembered.

  "Funny thing to ask, that," the smiling man eventually said.

  "Why?" Genuine confusion colored her voice. "If there are bandits in the area, surely everyone would want to know and do something about it? I don't find the humor in that."

  "Oh, surely." His smile widened without warming. "And you just walk up to strangers and ask about dangerous criminal organizations?"

  "How else would I find out? Seems faster than going about looking through the woods."

  Another exchange of glances. The man by the door had given up all pretense, now openly staring at the interaction. Even the innkeeper peered from the kitchen doorway.

  "You're either very brave or very stupid," one of the other card players muttered.

  "I was taught that bravery is stupidity," Reyn said. Something was happening here, some undercurrent she couldn't quite grasp. "Have I said something wrong?"

  Venn carefully leaned in from her right. "Reyn, I think..."

  The metallic whisper of steel beginning to clear leather broke the silence. Just an inch of blade showing, but the threat was clear. Reyn's hand moved instinctively to Good Deeds' hilt, not drawing but ready.

  "I think," the smiling man said slowly, "you've said exactly enough."