She smiled at him and rose, bringing him his own boots and trousers, carefully cleaned, and a tunic of leather tanned fine and soft as silk. Stark asked her where she got it.
"Balin stole it—from the baths where the nobles go. He said you might as well have the best." She laughed. "He had a devil of a time finding one big enough to fit you."
She watched with unashamed interest while he dressed. Stark said, "Don't burn the soup."
She put her tongue out at him. "Better be proud of that fine hide while you have it," she said. "There's no sign of attack."
Stark was aware of sounds that had not been there before—the pacing of men on the Wall above the house, the calling of the watch. Kushat was armed and ready—and his time was running out. He hoped that Ciaran had not been delayed on the moors.
Thanis said, "I should explain about the belt. When Balin undressed you, he saw Camar's name scratched on the inside of the boss. And, he can open a lizard's egg without harming the shell."
"What about you?" asked Stark.
She flexed her supple fingers. "I do well enough."
Balin came in. He had been seeking news, but there was little to be had.