Tier stared silently at Myrceria’s corpse.

“Ah, no words for me, Bard?” taunted the Master.

Yes, thought Tier, it was time to see just how much control they had over his Order.

“Only cowards torture women,” he said, not bothering to dodge the staff that took him across the cheekbone.

Toarsen rubbed his hair dry with a towel as he walked down the secret ways that would lead him back to the rest of the palace. Alone, he allowed himself to smile with remembered satisfaction at Avar’s face when Toarsen had burst into his rooms and demanded to be taken to the Emperor.

Firmly convinced that it was some stupid wager, Avar had almost refused him. But he hadn’t.

Toarsen was surprised about that. His brother had seldom paid any attention to him at all, except to order him about.

When he’d sworn on his honor that he carried an urgent message to the Emperor, Avar had heaved a martyred sigh, rolled out of bed, dressed, and done as Toarsen asked. On the way back to their rooms after they’d spent the night in councils of war, Avar had patted him on the back, an affectionate, respectful gesture he’d never given Toarsen before.

The passage Toarsen had taken opened not far from his rooms in an obscure storage room. He glanced cautiously out of the room, but there was no one in the hall to see him as he slipped out of the storage room and into his own.

He’d changed into the uncomfortable clothes of court and was halfway to the door before he realized that there was a vellum envelope on the cherrywood table near his bed.

His pulse picked up as he slit it opened and read the invitation.

“Now?” he said.

Seraph curled up, enfolded in the bedding that smelled of Tier. She’d left him while the sun was only a faint hint in the sky. It had been even easier than she expected to talk Benroln and his clan into serving as the Emperor’s foot soldiers. She’d left Lehr and Jes sleeping and left the sheep farm just outside of Taela where they’d been staying to come back here.

Tier hadn’t been here when she’d returned to tell him of her success, but she’d known that he would have to continue his normal habits or risk alerting someone. So she’d climbed into his bed and reminded herself that he was alive. If someone came in, they’d not see her unless she wanted them to.

Someone knocked at the door.

“Tier? It’s Toarsen. Are you back?”

Reluctantly, she got out of the bed and pulled the covers flat. She opened the door and motioned the young man in.

“He’s not here,” she said.

“I can’t find him anywhere,” Toarsen said, sounding a little frantic. “The Disciplining is set for early this evening, and I can’t find Tier.”

“It’s all right,” said Seraph, his anxiety lending her calm. “He’ll want to know, but it’s Phoran, your brother, and my people who really need to know right now. Go to your brother and tell him to get word to Phoran and to get his men and meet my people in the passages we discussed. I’ll get the Travelers, and after you’ve told Avar, you go about your day as if nothing were wrong. Avar can get word to Phoran. Just make sure you are armed when you go to the Disciplining.”

He nodded and left the room. Seraph set out at a dead run through the labyrinth of passages—there was no time to waste. She needed to get Benroln. Tier had survived a long time here without her to watch over him. She had to believe he’d be all right.

Avar and his men waited for them as he’d promised, in a long, dark corridor large enough to have held twice as many people. Relief crossed his face when he saw Seraph and the Librarian’s clan.

“I don’t like this,” he said without waiting for introductions. “Toarsen said he couldn’t find Tier anywhere. He looked for Myrceria to give her a message for him, but he couldn’t find her either, and none of the other whores knew where she was. He said that he’d last seen Tier at sword practice, but that one of the Masters called him to a meeting. Then I couldn’t find Phoran in any of his usual haunts, though his horse is still in the stable.”

Seraph pushed her anxiety aside and forced herself to think clearly. The Path were upset with Tier for taking control of the Passerines… so they took him and… Her thoughts stuck there. Would they simply have killed him?

“I don’t see anything to do except follow the plans we laid out last night,” she said at last.

Beside her Benroln nodded his head. “If what Seraph told us about this group is true, this is the best chance to destroy them. It would be better for us if the Emperor is there to bear witness for us—but the Path needs to be destroyed here and now.”

“Neither Tier nor Phoran are essential to the destruction of the Path now,” said Seraph with painful honesty. “Without Tier, though, we might have to fight the Passerines, too. And if Phoran is not there, Benroln, your men will have to try and get out as soon as this is finished and take all of our fallen, too. Maybe Telleridge has taken them for part of the performance tonight. If the Masters have hurt Tier, they’ll have a hard time controlling the Passerines.”

“You don’t know the Passerines,” said Avar.

“I know my husband,” she said.

She didn’t miss the uneasy way Avar’s people surveyed the exotic lot of armed Travelers or the puzzled looks aimed at Brewydd. Old women were not usually part of a battle force—but Healers could look after themselves on a battlefield.

“We need to take them tonight,” Seraph said again.

Avar nodded slowly, then turned to the troops around him. In short, punctuated sentences he described what they were doing and why.

The white robes she’d taken from an unwary Raptor were woolen and itchy, but Seraph stood quietly next to Brewydd, who was carrying on a conversation with the white-robed Raptor beside her, talking, of all things, about growing tomatoes.

Hennea had laid spells on all of them: look-away spells to keep them from being noticed and minor illusions to hide things—like Seraph’s lack of height and her sex—that would otherwise attract attention. When Hennea had told them all to avoid being noticed, Seraph didn’t think that exchanging gardening tips with the first Raptor they happened upon was what she’d had in mind.

Seraph looked out over the room. Jes was somewhere, too, though he hadn’t bothered with the white robes. No one would see him until he wanted them to. Lehr was with the rest of their little army.

The Passerines were gathered already; she’d counted them. Assuming Tier’s protégé was the boy they intended to produce, all of the Passerines were there. Though they didn’t have hoods on their robes, Seraph found that the robes obscured enough differences that she had a hard time picking out Toarsen, the only Passerine she knew, from the rest. There were chairs in rows in front of the stage, and the Passerines were all directed to those; even as she watched, the last of them took his seat.

There were more Raptors than she’d hoped, nearly three times the number of Passerines. Well, enough, she told herself, it would be even less likely that anyone should spot the cuckoos in the mix.

“Followers of the Secret Path.”

Seraph stiffened at the whiff of magic that accompanied the words so that they rang out and appeared louder than they really were.

The room quieted. Brewydd softened her voice to a murmur, but continued comparing the benefits of growing tomatoes in various soils.

It had been Raven magic that gave power to the words the black-robed man standing in front of the curtained stage had said. Why hadn’t he used the Bardic Order? A Bard would have done more than just overpower the talking of the crowd: he could have caught the attention of everyone, even tomato zealots like Brewydd’s conversation partner, and held it.

Perhaps they didn’t know that, or maybe they just preferred to work with more familiar powers. A solsenti mage, she thought, would be used to having magic work a certain way—like Raven or even Cormorant. They wanted the Orders for power, but even Volis had had no use for subtlety.