"He isn"t coming," Enriki said.

"He will come," Orel argued.

"If I were him, I wouldn"t come," Enriki said. "Definitely."

"But you are not him!" Orel stabbed Enriki"s chest with his finger in annoyance. "You are not."

"All right." Enriki raised his hands. "Fine."

A servant brought a tray with wine, bowed and started putting glasses on the table.

"He"s here," Lis said quietly; from his place he could clearly see the entrance. Everyone froze.

"Is it really him?" Orel asked.

"I swear. He has your cloak and he"s coming right up here," Lis whispered looking down at his glass quickly.

"Get out," Orel hissed at the servant who dropped the tray and disappeared in a moment. Nikto came up to them.

"Hello."

"Hi. Take a seat." Orel pointed at the chair on the opposite side of the table, in the corner.

The tables here were separated by high walls. Tol got up to let Nikto in. Nikto glanced at Tol and took the offered place without saying a word. When he pushed off the hood and let the cloak slip from his shoulders. Nikto"s blonde hair fell onto his forehead, and he shoved it aside with a familiar gesture of his fingerless hand. The only difference was that they had seen his scar then and now his face was hidden behind a black mask.

"You can take your mask off," Orel said. "It"s our place, feel at home here. Besides, it"ll be difficult for me to talk to you without seeing your face."