Dhulyn’s dry lips parted, but she could no more speak than she could fly. With a thump, Parno returned the cup he still held to the table. Alkoryn spoke before either of them had gathered their wits.

“Not all of what you’ve told me, clearly,” the older man said. “But the portion which concerns him.”

“Is the Brotherhood in the Tarkin’s employ, that we would run to him with this news? We are not spies-” She held up her hand, hearing her own words, and worse, the tone she’d used. “Your pardon, my Brother, this is not mine to question. If you feel the good of the Brotherhood in Imrion demands the Tarkin be told what I have learned, then tell him.”

Alkoryn’s glance had drifted back to his beloved maps. “When I accuse Lok-iKol, I accuse Tek-aKet’s own cousin, even if not a very well-loved one. I think he would be the readier to believe this tale if he heard it from your own lips, my Brother. He may have questions only you can answer.” Alkoryn looked up at Dhulyn, fixing her with his cat’s eyes. “There is too much here we do not know. Lok-iKol wants the Throne-very well, there’s nothing new in political ambition, and war is what we deal in. But with the Jaldeans in the mix… if the New Believers gain much more power…” Alkoryn tapped the tabletop with his index finger. “What they do is genocide, not war; but it will lead to war, and worse, if they have the full backing of the Carnelian Throne.”

“Alkoryn,” Parno leaned forward before Dhulyn could speak. “May we think about this, my Partner and I? It is an unusual request, and touches her closely. We must think of a way to tell him without revealing her Mark,” he added when the older man hesitated. Dhulyn kept her face still, her features impassive. What was Parno up to?

“Certain you may,” Alkoryn said. He glanced over at the shaft of sunlight that angled into his office from the high window. “But if we are to speak to Tek-aKet, it should be as quickly as possible. Tonight, by preference. Will you give me an answer soon enough?”

“Certain we will,” Dhulyn heard her voice come out as little better than a croak. Whatever Parno wanted to say to her, he could say quickly. There should be nothing to stop them giving Alkoryn Pantherclaw his quick answer.

“And Parno?” They turned back at the door. “There is a Healer in the caves below the House-yes, we have been hiding the Marked and smuggling them out of the city; this was the assignment I had planned for you, my Brothers. Go to him and have your arm seen to.”

In less than an hour they were back in their assigned room, Parno flexing his right arm in pleasure after his visit to the Healer. Dhulyn threw herself on the bed and wriggled around to face him.

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

“You were about to say ‘no,’ ” he said, “and I wanted a chance to talk you.”

“You suggest I should tell my tale to the Tarkin?” Dhulyn punched at the stuffed straw mattress to find a comfortable position on the bed. “What is Tek-aKet to me, or I to him?” She punched the mattress again, aware that her exasperation had little to do with the Tarkin.

“You told Alkoryn,” Parno pointed out reasonably, sitting down on the stool close to the bed.

Dhulyn rolled her eyes up to the heavens, though from this angle she was really rolling them at the heavy wooden bed frame. “That would be a little thing called the Common Rule, no? You remember the Common Rule, I suppose, my Brother?”

Parno stood and strode away from her to the window. He leaned his hands on the sill, looking out, before turning back to her. “Is it not also the Common Rule for us to be guided by the advice and suggestions of Senior Brothers?” Parno’s tight voice showed an increase of sarcasm and decrease of patience.

“And I am the Senior Brother in this room!” Dhulyn shot back. She sat up, thumping her booted feet to the floor and leaning forward, hands on her knees. “I repeat, what is the Tarkin to me? You call on the Common Rule, you question my obedience to it. Are you so sure it’s not your old loyalties which command here? You wanted to come to Imrion. You…” She stopped, suddenly aware that words which could not be called back were dangerously close to the tip of her tongue. But she was between the sword and the wall. If she spoke, she risked losing her Partnership; if she was silent, if she could not speak, she had already lost it. There was only one action to take.

“Are you certain you’re not willing to risk me in order to save your Tarkin?” Dhulyn stopped, suddenly breathless.

“How is he my Tarkin?” Parno stood facing her with his arms folded across his chest, the sunlight coming in the window making a golden aurora around him.

“You are more to the Tenebros than you let me suppose.” Dhulyn’s hands and feet felt cold, as if her pounding heart did not push her blood. “You’re not some third son of a minor Household. With the House Fallen, you are now the next heir. If Lok-iKol Tenebro is cousin to the Tarkin, what are you?”

He took two steps toward her, arms swinging to his side. “It’s not so simple as that. I was Cast Out!”

“You could not tell me of your nobility? I told you of my Mark, first off, before we Partnered.”

“The Mark is not something that you could leave behind-it’s not just a part of your life before. House Tenebro is. When I became a Mercenary Brother, I left it behind me. That’s the Common Rule, too.”

Dhulyn swallowed around a tight throat. Could it really be that simple?

“You were not hiding this from me?”

“I had put it behind me. True, I did want to see Imrion again, but everything else… I was Cast Out. That life is gone.”

Not hidden from her because too important to tell, but left aside because not important enough to mention. Dhulyn dragged in a deep lungful of air.

“We are beating each other with the Common Rule,” she said. “We are Partnered. I never thought we would quarrel in this way-never thought we could.”

“Never Saw it coming?”

Dhulyn looked up, Parno’s mouth was twisted to one side in the grin that woke her heart. “Tell me now,” she said, patting the bed beside her. “I will listen.”

Parno sat down next to her, slipping his right arm around her. “I am the son of Wen-eWen Tenebro-” She shifted to look at him but he held her fast. “No, let me speak. It will be easier. My father was the military commander for House Tenebro, and the much younger half brother of the woman who is now the Fallen House.”

“Was? This was the demon haunting you? Why you wanted to return to Imrion? To see if your father still lived?”

“I got my temper from him, though mine’s Schooled now. Lately, as I near the age he was then, I wondered if he managed to stay alive and well. If I am, as you say, the heir, then I have my answer.”

“Sun and Moon shine on him. Wind blow warm.” Dhulyn touched her fingertips to her forehead.

“And you are the One-eye’s cousin?” she asked, after a moment had passed.

“And the reason that he has one eye.”

Dhulyn twisted around to better see his face. He inclined his head. “You are my very favorite Brother,” she said, smiling.

“Save your flattery. It was an accident of temper, though afterward I wished I had done it on purpose. I had seen the Harvest Moon seventeen times, and we all met at another Household for a wedding. He was rude to my sister, and when I asked him to apologize, he baited me, not realizing, perhaps, how much better a fighter I was. I lost my temper and struck him, forgetting that I came from hawking, and wore metal gloves.” Parno shrugged. “He lost his eye. He claimed that I had attacked him unprovoked. My father was left with no choice but to cast me out. If he had not done so, he would have lost everything, he and my mother, my sister. I came to the Brotherhood, to Nerysa Warhammer. And to you.”