He's caught her off-guard, sidling up as the crowd exiting the ferry begins to disperse. That her surprise is obvious is a decent clue she's out of sorts, an uncharacteristic beat required to rearrange her face into a friendly smile and stop hunching into the turned-up collar of her coat with her gaze fixed firmly on the fog-damp cobbles. She sidesteps his question about where she was headed, but is easily persuaded to join him instead.

Which sees them settling in to a high-backed booth at an advantageous angle toward the back of the mid-range sort of establishment that is neither showily expensive enough for the Inquisition's Hightown contingent nor grimy enough for those still intent on imagining themselves characters in a Tethras novel. The crowd is lively without being rowdy, the games of chance in progress seem good-natured, and as Bastien returns with a bottle of wine and two glasses Yseult lifts her chin back toward the bar, and a young woman with curly dark hair who is just turning away with an expression of disappointment as she sees his destination. "You have an admirer."