"I am Daveen," the other admitted.
Kesley studied the old man, realizing with a shock that he had almost forgotten the contours of Narella's face until seeing the girl's features mirrored here on Daveen's untroubled face.
A tense silence prevailed in the room.
Finally Daveen said: "Five years has changed you, young friend. You've lost your youthful face; I see beginning wrinkles where smoothness once was."
Kesley frowned. "How do you know? You're blind, aren't you?"
"The blind have ways of seeing. Besides, it's not a difficult matter to guess that after what you have been through—"
"Just what do you know about me?" Kesley interrupted. "Who are you, anyway?"
"I was," Daveen said softly, "for many years, poet and singer to the Court of Duke Winslow. Five years ago I participated in the first of your many rescues—the first time Winslow attempted to have you killed." He chuckled musically. "Poor slovenly Winslow. Every time you fall in his clutches, some blind man comes along to lead you to safety."
"You rescued me? From what?"
"That I cannot tell you yet. The Duke warns me that I must be very careful with you, that I must not swamp your mind with too much information at once."