Dhulyn followed Parno out of the charred ruin that had once been Alkoryn’s map room. It had taken them some time to get away from the rejoicing at the Carnelian Dome, but as soon as they could find enough horses, they’d gathered the Mercenaries who had come up through the tunnels and returned to Mercenary House through streets filling with people as news of Tek-aKet’s restoration spread through Gotterang. They’d found the gates battered but still closed, no attackers outside, and nothing living inside.

It didn’t need any great experience to see what had happened. Unable to breach the gate, the attackers had resorted to fire arrows and scaling ladders. From the body count, seventeen had made it inside the House. They’d been laid to one side in the courtyard, as far as possible from the four bodies of the Brothers who’d been found. Parno had found Thionan’s body where he expected, under the plum tree. Fanryn was lying over her, sword bloody.

“Another one this way,” Tyler Nightsky stuck his head in the door.

“We’ll help,” Parno said, turning away from the stairs and following his Brother to the rear of the House. He stopped Tyler with a hand on the arm. “Dhulyn,” he said, motioning her forward. “It’s Alkoryn.”

From the look of the bodies, Alkoryn Pantherclaw had killed one man as he came through the second-story window, and had been backed into a corner by a second man in a Tenebro uniform. This second man was spitted on Alkoryn’s sword, the pool of tacky blood beneath him showing the wound to be immediately mortal.

“Does he live?”

Dhulyn pulled the Tenebro man’s body away and squatted next to Alkoryn. In death, his hand had fallen away from where the hilt of a dagger stuck out, just below where his navel would be, if she could see it. He’d held it in place, keeping the blood in, until he’d been able to dispatch his opponent.

“In Battle or in Death,” Dhulyn saluted him, touching her fingertips to her forehead.

“Zella.”

Zelianora looked up from where she sat in the window seat of her bedroom, the shutters angled to throw the morning sunlight on the book in her hands, and keep it from the bed where Tek was resting. At the sound of her name, she put the book aside and stepped over to the bed.

“How are you feeling?” she said, sitting down on the edge of the thick mattress, and drawing her hand down the side of Tek’s face, letting her fingertips linger on his warm skin. She had caused him to be shaved as he slept, and though he was thinner, and there were new lines on his face, he looked more like the man who had met with and disbelieved the Mercenary Dhulyn Wolfshead-was it only a half moon ago? It felt like three moons at least.

Tek had been unconscious for almost a day after the fight to restore him to the throne, and of course there were now no Healers to be found in all of Gotterang. A surgeon had come from the Mercenary House, a “Knife” as they called him, but the Brother had found nothing physically wrong with Tek beyond the lump on his head.

Zella took the hand that lay on the outside of the thick feather bedcover. “Here I thought that, once we were back in the Dome, all our troubles would be over. I would rather have you well, than all the thrones in the world.”

Tek squeezed her hand and she thought she saw him smile.

“It is only a headache, Zella,” he said. “The Mercenary Knife said, from the knock on my head. It will pass.”

Zella nodded, smiling. “Dal-eDal is suggesting that you show yourself to your men, and to some of the other Houses, now that you are awake. They need to know that you are well, and Tarkin again.”

“I’m so tired.” And indeed, his voice was lower than she had ever heard it, even the time that he’d had the coughing sickness and had lost his voice for three days. There had been no Healer then, either, now that she thought about it.

“I thought perhaps a short audience,” she said now. “It would have to be in the throne room itself, I’m afraid, but we could get you seated before inviting your nobles in… And we could be careful of the light, so long as they could clearly see you.”

“No Mercenaries,” he said. “Not Dal-eDal.”

Zella licked her lips, hesitating. Dal had been a great help to her while Tek was unconscious, and she well understood that without the help of the Mercenaries, neither she nor Tek-nor their children-would be alive to have this discussion.

He seemed to take in what she left unspoken.

“It’s the appearance,” he said. “I-we. We mustn’t look as though we were relying on paid troops, no matter how respected the Brotherhood is. And even if Dal has not yet been confirmed as Tenebroso, his attendance might send the wrong message.”

Zella nodded, relief making her smile come naturally. Tek was talking and thinking like his old self. “I see, that’s well thought out,” she said.

“Get Gan to arrange it.”

Zella felt her face go stiff. “Gan-eGan is dead, my heart. Don’t you remember?”

The man’s mind told him how to speak to her, what to say. He wanted to send her away, but that would cause remark. Remark he could not afford now, not while this pain throbbed its way through the head, pulling at his attention. He had considered taking another shape, an uninjured one, but Tek-aKet was Tarkin, his was the most useful shape. No other so powerful, so safe. Once the pain was gone, once the body was well, then the Seer. Not now, not yet.

Dhulyn sucked in her stomach as the point of Parno’s blade passed within a hair’s breadth of the skin on her belly.

“Trying to tickle me?” she said, aiming a blow at his left shoulder which he parried, making her duck under a cut to her head.

Parno grinned. “And why, exactly, shouldn’t I tickle you?”

“Because you know what tickling leads to.” She saw her opening, slapped his sword aside with the palm of her hand against the flat of the blade, and stepped into him, taking his wrist in her left hand and throwing her sword arm around his neck. She kissed him, light touches on cheeks, chin, and lips, as he laughed. “And we have company.” She made to step back, but his arms had gone around her, so she turned in their circle and smiled her wolf’s smile at the two men approaching from under the arches of the arcade along the north side of the courtyard.

Parno whistled softly next to her ear as he let his arms fall away, releasing her. She gave Dal-eDal and Karlyn-Tan a short nod before turning to the stone bench where they’d left their other weapons. She tossed Parno his shirt and slipped her vest on over her breastband.

“I see we’re not the only ones left uninvited to Tek-aKet’s audience,” Parno said, as he wiped the sweat off his face and arms with his shirt.

Dal-eDal shrugged, tilting his head to one side. “I could see how my presence might be awkward, but I was surprised when I heard that you were also excluded.”

Parno grinned. “Politically, it’s an astute move. Now isn’t the time to remind the Houses that the Tarkinate was restored by a handful of Mercenary Brothers.”

“You were always more politically aware than I,” Dal-eDal said, with a short bow. “And that is why I have come to you. I felt you should be told. The Tarkin has sent word that he will confirm me as Tenebroso four days from now.”

“You don’t need my permission.”

Dal shook his head, lips pressed tight. “Nor do I ask for it. But I find that I would like your… your approval.”

“You have it.” Parno’s voice was low and cool.

“The reason for your Casting Out has been removed, and I would like to offer you the shelter of the House once more. So that you are Tenebro again.”

Dhulyn’s heart thundered in her ears as Parno remained silent a long moment. Would he give the same answer here, in front of others, that he had given her?