“Well, I don’t agree. And you weren’t married to Alfredo.”

“Mother!” Miriam stared at both of them in shock: Just as she was certain Angbard was serious, she was more than half afraid that her mother was, too.

“Don’t you ‘mother’ me!” Iris chided her. “I was mooning at the national guard before you were out of diapers. I’m just not very mobile these days.” She frowned and turned to Angbard. “We were speaking of mother,” she bit out.

“I can’t keep her out forever,” said Angbard, his frightening smile vanishing as rapidly as it had appeared. “You two clearly need more time together, but I have an audience with his majesty in an hour. Miriam, can you fill me in quickly?”

Miriam took a deep breath. “First, I need to know where Roland is.”

“Roland—” Angbard looked at his watch, his face intent. Then back at Miriam. “He’s been looking after Patty for the past month,” he said, his tone neutral. “Right now he’s in Boston, minding the shop. You don’t need to worry about his reliability.”

For a moment Miriam felt so dizzy that she had to shut her eyes. She opened them again when she heard her mother’s voice. “Such a suitable young man.” She glared at Iris, who smiled lazily at her. “Don’t let them get together, Angbard, or they’ll be over the horizon before you have time to blink.”

“It’s not. That.” Miriam was having difficulty breathing. “There’s a hole in your security,” she said as calmly as she could. “It’s at a very high level. I told Roland to do something about a corpse in an inconvenient place and instead a bunch of high explosives showed up. It turns out that Matthias has been blackmailing him.” She felt dizzy with the significance of the moment.

“Roland? Are you sure?” Angbard leaned forward. His face was expressionless.

“Yes. He told me everything.” She felt as if she were floating. “Listen, it was on the specific understanding that I would intercede with you to clean it up. Your secretary has been running his own little game and seems to have decided that getting a handle on Roland would help him cover his traces.”

“That was a mistake,” Angbard said, his voice deceptively casual. His expression was immobile, except for his scarred left cheek, which twitched slightly. “How did you find out?”

“It happened in the warehouse my chamber is doppelgängered onto here. Most of this pile is colocated with a bonded warehouse, but one wing sticks out into a real hole-in-the-wall shipping operation.” She swallowed, then forced herself to speak. “There was a night watchman. Emphasis on the was.” She explained what had happened when she’d first carried Brill through to New York.

“Roland, you say,” said Angbard. “He’s been blackmailed?”

“I want your word,” Miriam insisted. “No consequences.”

A sharp intake of breath. “Well—” Angbard started to pace. “Did he betray any secrets?”

Miriam stood up. “Not as far as I know,” she said.

“And did anyone die as a result of his actions?”

Miriam paused for a moment before answering: “Again, not as far as I know. Certainly not directly. And certainly not as a result of anything he knew he was doing.”

“Well, well. Maybe I will not have to kill him.” Angbard stopped again, behind Iris’s chair. “What do you think I should do?” he asked, visibly tense.

“I think—” Miriam chewed her lower lip. “Matthias has tapes. I think you should hand the tapes over to me, unwatched. I’ll burn them. In front of you both, if you want.” She paused. “You’ll want to remove all his responsibilities for security operations, I guess.”

“This blackmail material,” Iris prodded. “These tapes—is it something personal? Or has he been abusing his position in any way?”

“It’s absolutely personal. I can swear to it. Matthias just got the drop on Roland’s private life. Nothing illegal; just, uh, sensitive.”

Iris—Patricia, the long-lost countess—stared at her knowingly for a moment, then turned to look at her half-brother. “Do as she says,” she said firmly.

Angbard nodded, then cast her a sharp look. “We’ll see,” he said.

“No, we won’t!” Iris snapped. She continued quietly but with emphasis: “If your secretary has been building up private dossiers on nobles, you’re in big trouble. You need all the friends you can get, bro. Starting by pardoning anyone who isn’t an active enemy will clear the field. And make damn sure you burn those tapes without watching them, because for all you know some of them are fabrications that Matthias concocted just in case you ever stumbled across them. It’s untrustworthy evidence, all of it.” She turned to Miriam. “What else have you dug up?” she demanded.

“Well.” Miriam leaned against a priceless lacquered wooden cabinet and managed to muster up a tired smile to conceal her gut-deep sense of relief. “I’m pretty sure Matthias is in league with whoever was running the prisoner.”

“The prisoner,” Angbard echoed distantly. By his expression, he was already wrapped up in calculating the requirements of the coming purge.

“What prisoner?” asked Iris.

“Something your daughter’s friends dragged in a couple of days ago,” Angbard dropped offhandedly. To Miriam he added, “He’s downstairs.”

“Have you worked out who he is, yet?” Miriam interrupted.

“What, that he’s a long-lost cousin? And so are the rest of his family, stranded with a corrupt icon that takes them to this new world you have opened up for our trade? Of course. Your suggestion that we do DNA fingerprinting made it abundantly clear.”

“Cousins? New world?” Iris echoed. “Would one of you please back up a bit and explain, before I have to beat it out of you with my crutches?”

Angbard stood up. “No, I don’t think so.” He grinned mirthlessly. “You kept Miriam in the dark for nearly a third of a century, I think it’s only fair that we keep you in suspense for a third of a day.”

“So nobody else knows?” Miriam asked Angbard.

“That’s correct.” He nodded. “And I’m going to keep it that way, for now.”

“I want to talk to the prisoner,” Miriam said hastily.

“You do?” Angbard turned the full force of his icy stare on her. “Whatever for?”

“Because—” Miriam struggled for words—”I don’t have old grudges. I mean, his relatives tried to kill me, but… I have an idea I want to test. I need to see if he’ll talk to me. May I?”

“Hmm.” Angbard looked thoughtful. “You’ll have to be quick, if you want to collect your pound of flesh before we execute him.”

Miriam swallowed bile. “That’s not what I have in mind.”

“Oh, really?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Give me a chance?” she asked. “Please?”

“If you insist.” Angbard waved lazily. “But don’t lose the plot.” He stared at her, and for a moment Miriam felt her bones turn to water. “Remember not all your relatives are as liberal-minded as I am, or believe that death heals all wounds.”

“I won’t,” Miriam said automatically. Then she looked at Iris again, a long, appraising inspection. Her mother met her gaze head-on, without blinking. “It’s alright,” she said distantly. “I’m not going to stop being your daughter. Just as long as you don’t stop being my ma. Deal?”

“Deal.” Iris dropped her gaze. “I don’t deserve you, kid.”

“Yes, you do.” Angbard looked Miriam up and down. “Like mother, like daughter, don’t you know what kind of combination that makes?” He chuckled humorlessly. “Now, if you will excuse me, Helge, you have made much work for this old man to attend to …”

I should have realized all castles had dungeons, Miriam thought apprehensively. If not for keeping prisoners, then for supplies, ammunition, food, wine cellars—ice. It was freezing cold below ground, and even the crude coal-gas pipes nailed to the brickwork and the lamps hissing and fizzing at irregular intervals couldn’t warm it up much. Miriam followed the guard down a surprisingly wide staircase into a cellar, then up to a barred iron door behind which a guard waited patiently. Finally he led her into a well-lit room containing nothing but a table and two chairs.