She's allowed the rum, unimpeded. Darras is still turning over this revelation in his mind. Alström.

Of course he knows Yseult's past, where and who she came from. Sometimes--not lately, but earlier, when they were first married, usually when they were half-asleep or drunk on either wine or each other--he's asked her to describe what of her mother she remembers, so he can imagine her. Every time, Yseult had rolled her eyes, but complied. It was a game--a bit sad--but imagining some past, people, trying to picture where she was from. Having a surname doesn't complete the image. It's another piece. Stepping one foot on dry land and pulling your little boat closer to a shore.

"Alström." He tries it aloud. "What do you think that is--Anders?"