A chill threaded its way up Gundaron’s spine. This was the Lady Mar-eMar? She’s just a girl, he thought. Younger than me. He rubbed his mouth with shaking fingers. For some reason, when he’d told Lok-iKol about her, he’d imagined Mar to be an older woman. Unconsciously, he’d thought of her as a stout matron, rather like the cook’s first assistant, the woman who made those delicious pastries. A woman well able to look out for herself. Not this, this child.

Gundaron the Scholar found himself for the first time in his life hoping he was wrong, that the girl wasn’t a Finder after all. That no Jaldean would become interested in that bright, heart-shaped face and those eyes that showed dark blue even from this distance. His eyes moved to the Mercenary Brothers, and what was clearly a pile of weapons beside them on the flag stones of the courtyard. His plans would remove their protection from the girl. If he called out now-but it was already too late, wasn’t it? The gates were closed, the Brothers disarmed.

The wheels Gundaron had set in motion those long months ago couldn’t be stopped now.

When the Steward of Keys turned and pushed open the right-hand House door, it opened inward, just as the plans had indicated. Parno gave Dhulyn a wink and nodded at the space now visible. Behind the doors was a landing only deep enough to allow the doors to swing open, and which gave access to a staircase on either side. If both doors were opened at once, the stairs would be blocked, and those entering would find themselves in a shallow room open to the outside. Only a handful of people-say, three if they were carrying both shields and swords-could enter at a time, and whether or not their business was legitimate, they could go no farther unless they had opened only one door.

An invading force which could only enter three at a time would be cut to pieces on the stairs.

Dhulyn glanced back at Parno and nodded, smiling. Like him, she had Alkoryn’s floor plans in her head, and was even more likely to notice a certain paranoid pattern.

They followed the Steward of Keys up the left staircase. Dhulyn walked immediately behind the woman, with Mar behind her, and Parno serving as rear guard. The hall at the top of the stair was narrow, and they continued to walk along in single file. Parno grinned after they had been led past the third window high up on a wall. From the outside, it would be impossible to tell which of these windows opened onto rooms and which into empty space. When he was a young boy in his Household, he had had a large wooden puzzle that could be put together into four different mazes. Tenebro House was like that puzzle, Parno realized, if you took all the mazes and stacked them, one on top of the other.

Finally, the halls they walked through widened, and the walls began to be covered by tapestries and paneling. They were shown through several carefully furnished public rooms, one blue with dozens of mirrors, one gold with groupings of armchairs, one dark enough that Parno couldn’t guess its predominant color, until finally the Steward of Keys led them up another narrow stone staircase and into a large chamber made small with furnishings. Its unseen floor was completely covered with rugs and carpets, piled to several thicknesses, and its walls were hung with more rugs and the same kind of embroidered cloths that had appeared in the halls. Parno thought the effect not unlike one of Dhulyn’s vests, only duller. The other parts of the House had been cool, the stone still retaining the cold of winter, as it would until summer truly began, but this room was noticeably hot.

Even without having seen the maps and floor plans, the Mercenaries would have known that they were now at no great distance from their starting point at the House doors. It was much too easy to get turned around in the heat of battle for any of the Brotherhood to have a poor sense of direction. No very careful observation was actually needed to tell them that they had been escorted around the long way. Each had taken care to look about them as they went, had done their best to imitate Mar’s wide-eyed awe. Their country-cousin act was wasted on Semlin-Nor, who did not even turn her head as she walked ahead of them, but Lionsmane and Wolfshead knew that there would be spyholes in the walls. The age of paranoia is never really over.

At first, all they could see in the room was a lean, dark-haired man standing with his hand on the back of a large chair. His age was probably half again as much as Parno’s. He was richly dressed in dark blue, his fashionably short surcoat teal and black with an edge of deep red at least two fingers wide. When he turned his head to look at them as they entered, the light showed a well-healed scar on the left side of his face where someone had struck him with a mailed fist and taken out his eye. When that cold blue gaze turned in his direction, Parno shifted his own eyes away.

The man might have been considered good-looking before his disfigurement. But maybe not.

Parno at first thought him the sole occupant of the room, totally out of place amid the dainty padded chairs, the small stands, and the scattered tables with their carved legs. But gradually he realized that the chair over which the one-eyed man hovered protectively had an occupant. An elderly woman with a scroll in her hands sat in it, close to the brazier table whose quilted cover had been thrown back to expose the glowing coals within. The lady was small, thin, and elegantly dressed in stiff brocaded velvet. There was no gray in her golden hair, but her amber-colored eyes were clouded with age. Neither the one-eyed man nor the old woman seemed at all surprised to see them, though the Steward of Keys said nothing before ushering them in. Of course, their roundabout route had allowed someone else to reach this room ahead of them and prepare the way. Parno watched carefully, but he couldn’t see that either of the Tenebros showed any special interest in the Mercenary Brothers.

“You are Mar-eMar,” the old woman said in a voice low and still vibrant, though faded. “I am Kor-iRok.”

As if there were any doubt, the mirror reversal of the woman’s name declared her the Tenebroso, the House.

Without speaking, Mar bowed low to kiss the older woman’s hand, but remained standing. Parno raised an eyebrow in approval. At least the child remembered some of what he had taught her.

“This is my first child, Lok-iKol.”

The Kir. Bet you he’s tired of waiting for his mother to die, Parno thought, as the man reached up to touch his eye patch in what was obviously an unconscious tic.

The one-eyed man bowed, but made no move to take Mar’s hand, though as Kir, heir to the House, he might have had her kiss his hand as well. “I greet you, Cousin,” he said. His voice was low, musical. Mar inclined her head, trying to imitate the motion the older woman had made.

Parno’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth twitched. Dhulyn kept her face impassive and her eyes moving between the people and the covered walls. She’d be looking for the secret entrance the plans showed in this room.

“Mar-eMar will have the green room in the south tower, Keys,” the Tenebroso said. “You may have her luggage and her maids sent there.”

“The Lady Mar-eMar arrived without maids, Tenebroso.” Semlin-Nor did not comment on the sparsity of Mar’s luggage. “The two I have assigned her await in her rooms.”

“You have come without servants? What possessed you?” The words lacked any emotion, but it was evident her indifference was a symptom of her true physical weakness, not her lack of interest. Her face was capable of expressing the patronizing dismay that her voice was not strong enough to convey.

“As you see, my Mother, I have nevertheless arrived safely.” Mar addressed the old woman formally, as a member by blood of the House. The corners of Dhulyn’s mouth moved.