Zafira caught the look that went between them.
It lasted about half a second, Trafalgar to Rhosyn and back, and it told her that something had happened down in that channel and that neither of them was going to say what in front of thirty dockworkers. She wanted to ask. She didn't, because the whole slope was still full of people with nothing better to do.
The soldiers had gone back to their line and their work. That helped less than it should have.
Three people were standing at the edge of a dead man's channel and two of them belonged to the Eight Great Families. Morgain and Zar'khael, both of them houses that Myrrhvale had spent generations treating as something between rivals and open enemies. Nobody down here was going to stop watching them, and nobody was pretending otherwise.
The rest of the attention had nothing to do with politics.
