Venera snorted. “You know perfectly well there was no room to keep such animals in the tower. We had barely enough to eat from the rooftop gardens and nets we strung under the world. No, there are no horses anymore. And I am the last of my line.”

“Ah.” They began to climb the long-disused steps to the upper chambers. “As to your being the last of the line… lines can be rejuvenated,” said Aday delicately. “And as to the horses… I am happy to say that you are in error in that case.”

She cast a sidelong glance at him. “What do you mean? Don’t toy with me.”

Aday smiled, appearing confident for the first time. “There are horses, my lady. Raised and bred at government expense in paddocks on Greater Spyre. They have always been here, all these years. They have been awaiting your return.”

9

Venera was nine-tenths asleep and imagining that the pillow she clutched was Chaison’s back. Such feelings of safety and belonging were so rare for her that by contrast the rest of her life seemed a wasteland. It was as though everything she had ever done, every school lesson and contest with her sisters, every panicky interview with her father, all the manipulations and lies, had been erased by this: the quiet, his breathing, his scent, and his neck against her chin.

“Rise and shine, my lady!”

Garth Diamandis threw back the room’s curtains, revealing a brick wall. He glowered at it as scraps of velvet tore away in his fingers. Dust pillared around him in the lantern-light.

Venera sat up and a knife-blade of pain shot up her jaw. “Get out!” She thrashed about for a second, looking for a weapon. “Get out!” Her hands fell on the lantern and—not without thinking, but rather with malicious pleasure—she threw it at him as hard as she could.

Garth ducked and the lantern broke against the wall. The candle flame touched the curtains and they caught fire instantly.

“Oh! Not a good idea!” He tore down the curtains and, fetching a poker from the fireplace, began beating the flames.

“Did you not hear me?” She cast the musty covers aside and ran at him. Grabbing up a broken splinter of chair-leg, she brandished it like a sword. “Get out!”

He parried easily and with a flick of the wrist sent her makeshift sword flying. Then he jabbed her in the stomach with the poker.

“Ooff!” She sat down. Garth continued beating out the flames. Smoke was filling the ancient bedchamber of the Buridan clan.

When Venera had her breath back she stood up and walked to a side-table. Returning with a jug of water, she upended it over the smoldering cloth. Then she dropped the jug indifferently—it shattered—and glared at Garth.

“I was asleep,” she said.

He turned to her, a muscle jumping in his own jaw. She saw for the first time that his eyes were red. Had he slept?

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

With a heavy sigh he turned and walked away. Venera made to follow, realized she was naked and turned to don her clothing. When she found him again he was sitting in the antechamber, fiddling with his bootstraps.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” she asked. “You’ve been looking for her?”

Startled, he looked up at her. “How did you—”

“I’m a student of human nature, Garth.” She turned around. “Lace me up, please.”

“You could have burned the whole place down,” he grumbled as he tugged—a little too hard—on her corset strings.

“My self-control isn’t good when I’m surprised,” she said with a shrug. “Now you know.”

“Aye.” He grabbed her hips and turned her around to face him. “You usually hide your pain as well as someone twice your age.”

“I choose to take that as a compliment.” Conscious of his hands on her, she stepped back. “But you’re evading the question—did you find her? Your expression suggests bad news.”

He stood up. “It doesn’t concern you.” He began to walk away.

Venera gnawed her lip, thinking about apologizing for attacking him. It got no further than thinking. “Well,” she said after following him for a while, “for what reason did you rouse me at such an ungodly…” She looked around. “What time is it?”

“It’s midmorning.” He glanced around as well; the chambers of the estate were cast in gloom save where the occasional lantern burned. “The house is entombed, remember?”

“Oh! The appointment!”

“Yes. The horse masters are waiting in the front hall. They’re mighty nervous, since neither in their lifetimes nor those of their line stretching back centuries, has anyone ever audited their work.”

“I’m not auditing, Garth, I just want to meet some horses.”

“And you may—but we have a bigger problem.”

“What’s that?” She paused to look at herself in a faded mirror. Somewhere downstairs she heard things being moved; they had hired a work gang to clean the building, just before fatigue had caught up with her and forced her to take refuge in that mildewed bed-chamber.

“There’s a second delegation waiting for you,” Diamandis explained. “A pack of majordomos from the great families.”

She stopped walking. “Ah. A challenge?”

“In a manner of speaking. You’ve been invited to attend a Confirmation ceremony. To formally establish your identity and titles.”

“Of course, of course…” She started walking again. “Damn, they’re a step ahead of us. We’ll have to turn that around.” Venera pondered this as they trotted down the sweeping front steps. “Garth, do I smell like smoke?”

“Alas, my lady, you have about you the piquant aroma of a flaming curtain.”

“Well, there’s nothing to be done about it, I suppose. Are those the challengers?” She pointed to a group of ornately dressed men who stood in the middle of the archway. Behind them, a motley group of men in workclothes milled uncertainly. “Those would be the horsemen, then.”

“Gentlemen,” she said with a smile as she walked past the officials. “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting,” she said to the horsemen.

“Ahem,” said an authoritative voice behind her. Venera made herself finish shaking hands before she turned. “Yes?” she said with a sweet smile. “What can I do for you?”

The graying man with the lined face and dueling scars said, “You are summoned to appear—”

“I’m sorry, did you make an appointment?”

“—to appear before the—what?”

“An appointment.” She leaned closer. “Did you make one?”

Unable to ignore protocol, he said, “No,” with sarcastic reluctance.

Venera waved a hand to dismiss him. “Then take it up with my manservant. These people have priority at the moment. They made an appointment.”

An amused glint came into his eye. Venera realized, reluctantly, that this wasn’t some flunky she was addressing, but a seasoned veteran of one of the great nations. And since she had just tried to set fire to her new mansion and kill her one and only friend in this godforsaken place, it could be that her judgment wasn’t quite what it should be today.

She glanced at Diamandis, who was visibly holding his tongue.

With a deep sigh she bowed to the delegation. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? If we conduct our business briefly, I can make my other appointment without ruffling feathers on that end as well. Who do I have the honor of addressing?”

Very slightly mollified, he said, “I am Jacoby Sarto of the nation of Sacrus. Your… return from the dead… has caused quite a stir amongst the great nations, lady. There are claims of proof that you must provide, before you are accepted for who you are.”

“I know,” she said simply.

“Thursday next,” he said, “at four o’clock in the Council offices. Bring your proofs.” He turned to go.

“Oh. Oh dear.” He turned back, a dangerous look in his eye. Venera looked abjectly apologetic. “It’s a very small problem—more of an opportunity, really. I happen to have become entangled in… a number of obligations that day. My former debtors and creditors… but I’m not trying to dodge your request! Far from it. Why don’t we say, eight o’clock P.M., in the main salon of my home? Such a date would allow me to fulfill my obligations and—”