The Tarkina brought her gaze back from the shadows of her childhood to focus once more on Dhulyn. “If I can persuade my husband, will you help him? And if I cannot, can I hire you myself, to act as eyes and ears about the Dome?”

“Lady, I believe we are being detained under suspicion of abetting in the Fall of a House.”

“Yes, that is a small problem.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“You misunderstand me. I’m not concerned with the Fall of Tenebro House. I’m concerned with the Tarkin-personally,” she said, giving Dhulyn a direct look from her raven-dark eyes, “not just for the sake of my position, and the position of my children. I believe it would be a tragedy for Imrion to loose Tek-aKet as their Tarkin, but it would be more than a tragedy for me to lose my husband. At the moment, Tek and the moderates among the Houses who support him are keeping the Jaldeans in check in this country. If the New Belief wins here, there will be war. War here will mean war for Berdana; my sister cannot remain neutral.”

The Tarkina leaned forward and rested her chin on her right fist. “Gan-eGan is a fine man, whatever you might think, but he lacks imagination. Unlike him, I believe the Jaldeans will not stop their persecutions with the Marked, and if the Carnelian Throne will not give them what they want, I believe they will take the Throne. For Imrion, which is now my home, for Berdana my homeland, for my sister as well as my husband and children, I would push the Jaldeans back into their temples, and out of the council halls. For the sake of my old friend, I would have the Marked free again. Will you help me?”

Dhulyn glanced at Parno and found him looking at her, the same thought, she knew, in both their minds. This is what they had talked about, back in the Mercenary House, when she hadn’t been sure about warning the Tarkin. The Tarkina saw the same things in the Jaldeans that they had seen themselves. The balance would be upset, no matter what the Tarkin thought, and she and Parno needed to know on which side of the scales they were weighed.

“If we are free and alive,” Dhulyn told the dark woman in the Tarkin’s chair, “we will help you.”

The woman they brought him had a strong golden fire, small but perfect. He shuddered, knowing that he was broken and in pieces, who should never have had form to begin with. The shape of Beslyn-Tor was whole, and wearing it was less exhausting than trying to form and hold a shape of his own; it was easy to gather his powers-to gather himself-and push into her eyes, probing into the flame, smelling it, tasting it, feeling its strengths. Holding it in his hands.

A Mender.

In an instant he was in the mirror room, standing over the Mender woman holding her head between his hands; holding it high and tight so that her neck stretched uncomfortably and her eyes flared with alarm. This is where it had begun. Where he’d been Seen and Found and Healed and Mended. No matter that he had not been lost, and was neither sick nor broken.

“Do you know this room? Have you seen me before?” She had a different form, but that did not mean this was not the Mender who had first given him shape. Even now, even after all this eternal passage of time in this world of forms and solids, he did not understand all that it was possible for shape to do. “Are you the one? Can you open the door?”

Her eyes flicked from side to side, seeing the great round mirror that held the doorway, the worktable with its scrolls and books. The sword.

“No, my lord. No.” She would have shaken her head, if he had not been holding it so tightly.

At once they were in the priest’s room in the Jaldean Shrine in Gotterang, he still holding her head between his hands. He reached into her with his own essence, sought out and found once more the golden flame. It burned hot and chaotic, almost shapeless. But he knew what true shapelessness was, and this was a mockery. He touched the golden flame and released it, dissolved its form. Made it NOT.

The woman fainted. When they took her away, her face was empty and she cried.

He was resting when the Tenebro Lord Dal-eDal came. His was a red flame. No danger there. The man held himself stiffly, as if he would rather be elsewhere.

“I am sent by the Tenebroso Lok-iKol,” Dal-eDal said, coughing to disguise the roughness in his voice.

“It is true, then. The House has Fallen.”

“It has.”

“He gives me a time?”

“Tonight, if it is possible.”

He nodded. “Tonight it shall be.” He closed his eyes, and the Tenebro Lord went away.

“Go out, my eyes and ears,” he whispered when he was alone again. “Go out, all my tongues, and whisper. It is time.”

“Are you sure we’re not lost?” Mar pulled the hood of her cloak closer around her face as the rain that had started threatening soon after they’d left Tenebro House began to fall in small, sharp drops. The balcony under which they stood was too narrow to give them any real cover, but at least the rain was keeping most of the townspeople off the streets.

“Of course I’m sure.”

Mar pressed her lips together. Why was it that fear so often made people angry? She’d been so pleased when he’d called after her, she’d known that Gun was braver than he’d thought. She only wished he was brave enough not to be annoyed now that he was doing the right thing. Though, with luck, he wasn’t irritated enough to be mistaken about the way… she’d followed his lead, trusting that he knew where he was going, but once they’d left the wider avenues for the warren of alleys, laneways, and courtyards that lay to the north of the Great Square, she was well and truly adrift.

Gundaron tapped the wall they stood by. “This is the east wall of the Bootmaker’s Inn, the one you told me about.” His fair brows drew down in a vee. Mar opened her mouth… and closed it without asking again if he was sure. Gun looked over at her.

“I’m thinking,” he said, “that we might not want to just walk up to the Brothers’ front door. Maybe we should be a bit more circumspect.”

“If this is some way to get out of going there,” Mar began, but was silenced by his tight-lipped headshake.

“We’re not having that argument again,” he said, voice gruff. “But we might not be the only ones looking for Dhulyn Wolfshead.” His lips trembled as though there were words he held back before continuing. “I’d like a chance to see if there’s anyone there we wouldn’t want to run into.”

Mar nodded. That made sense. She shifted her pack higher on her left shoulder.

“If you follow along until the end of this wall and turn right, a little ways up you’ll come to one of the big archways, one of the entrances to the Great Square; then, just a bit farther along, Mercenary House is on the right-hand side, the same side as the entrance,” Gun said. “There’s another laneway on the left, just before you get there.”

“And so?”

“So you can walk down and then turn into the other lane. You’ll look like you’re going down toward the Old Market, but you can see if there’s anyone suspicious around Mercenary House.”

Mar took her lower lip in her teeth. “Why me?” She thought it extremely unlikely she’d know what “anyone suspicious” looked like.

“Because no one from Tenebro House is likely to recognize you in clothes they saw you in for five minutes four days ago. Me, they’ve been living with for two years.”

At first Mar was inclined to argue further-after all, no one could be looking for them yet, and when the search began, if it began, surely no one would think to look for them here. Still, she felt Gundaron’s logic, and second thoughts persuaded her that this was exactly what Dhulyn Wolfshead and Parno Lionsmane would have done.

“Mar-eMar,” Gundaron said, when she still hadn’t spoken. “If you’re not sure-you don’t have to do this.”