Those with whom he'd spoken had said they'd seen Koray headed this direction, but Sorin had yet to spy a single gray hair. He wanted Koray, damn it. He had been buried in meetings and battles and more meetings for a very long fortnight, and every time he'd had a moment's respite, Koray had been somewhere else. Sorin was tired of it. He wanted Koray, a good deal of privacy, and to be left alone for at least a full day, preferably two. The person who threw a stone in those plans would not enjoy what happened to them. The sound of Koray's voice made him pause. Sorin could barely hear it, though from what he caught of the tone, Koray seemed angry, or at least displeased. Damn. He remained still until he heard it again, then looped around the building where the priests and cooks stored all their herbs and spices, minus those that were valuable enough they needed to be locked up. Rounding the building, Sorin caught Koray's voice again—and Neikirk's. He still could not understand the words, though he thought he caught his name a couple of times.
