Ordhan's discomfort went unobserved, such nuances of expression slipping unnoticed past Constans' narrow frame of reference. Had he noticed he might have been satisfied that his attempts to study such behavior were progressing, but the knowledge certainly would not have changed his dispassionate reaction.
"Most fortuitous. Thank you, Ser." He held out the letter so that Ordhan might take it, a simple piece of folded paper with a name written in small, hardly legible handwriting upon one side.
"My family has a small estate. Northeast of the Arl's residence, two blocks south of the throughfare to the Fort, with a green roof. My father's name is Piers Ledaal."