“An excellent suggestion, Fen,” Tek-aKet said, his hand straying up to his left cheek. Tel frowned. He’d seen that gesture once or twice already, and if the Tarkin’s head still pained him, this audience should be cut short.

“It will take some organization, I know,” Fen-oNef said. “But I’m sure Gan-eGan has left able assistants, and, if I may, I would advise this as soon as possible.”

The Tarkin tapped his mouth with the first two fingers of his right hand as he considered this. “I agree,” he said finally. “Preparations can begin immediately, but I would suggest the ceremony itself wait for the arrival of the Mesticha Stone. That should serve to quell any fears felt by the Jaldeans and appease their faction.”

The Tarkin and the Penradoso went on speaking, but their words were drowned by the buzzing in Tel’s ears. The Mesticha Stone? Tel had almost forgotten about it, even though he himself had helped the Steward of Keys arrange with a representative of the Jaldeans for the Stone’s arrival. One of the small rooms behind the throne had been designated as the artifact’s resting place, though as yet no changes had been made.

But it had been Lok-iKol who had asked for these arrangements, not Tek-aKet. He risked a glance over his shoulder at the Tarkin. What did Tek-aKet know about this? How did he know?

It wasn’t until after the evening meal that Telian-Han decided he would, after all, speak to someone about what he’d overheard.

Mar looked up from her book when Rab-iRab Culebro led a younger, male page into the receiving room of the Tarkina’s suite. She and Rab had become friends over the last few days, finding that they had oddly much in common, seeing that their backgrounds were so distinct. Rab was from the Tarkin’s own House, and had grown up in a country Household, riding and roughhousing with her three older brothers, living the life that Mar had lost when the sickness had taken her parents. There was no snobbery about her, however, and Rab had been indignant when Mar had told her of the reception she’d had in House Tenebro.

“One of those Tenebro girls came to be a lady page with us last year,” Rab had said. “Zelianora Tarkina gave her a three-month trial before sending her home. She won’t tolerate any of that type here.” Rab had welcomed her Tarkina back with laughter, and not a few tears, and had embraced Mar willingly, all the more so as her fellow senior page had left to be married some few weeks before the night of terror.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that Rab had been much impressed by Mar’s adventures. “It reminds me of the Tale of Evanian the Carver,” she’d said. “I hope your life has every bit as good an ending.”

It was the same excited but serious look that Rab-iRab was wearing now.

“Mar,” she said, barely waiting for the door to close behind them. “Is the Tarkina still asleep?”

Zelianora had come back from the audience in the throne room exhausted, her emotional resources worn to thinness by all that had happened in the last half moon. Now that she was finally enjoying a deep and satisfying sleep, Mar was reluctant to wake her, and said so.

“This is Telian-Han,” Rab said, indicating the younger boy. “He’s one of the Tarkin’s pages.”

Mar smiled at the boy and he smiled back, though the frown that drew down the corners of his eyes did not go away. “Can your message wait until the Tarkina awakens?”

“It’s not a message, Lady Mar,” the boy said, clearing his throat as his voice croaked. “It’s something that happened in the throne room this afternoon. Something that worried me.”

“It won’t seem like much,” Rab said. “But it made me think of something you’d told me in your adventures. How the Wolfshead said that a scout’s report should include everything, even the details that don’t seem important because you can’t tell what’s important until you have all the details.”

Mar looked from one young face to another. The boy was definitely frightened, and desperately hiding it. Rab’s flushed cheeks showed her excitement, but her eyes were steady and serious. These two lived here with Lok-iKol, Mar reminded herself. And with whatever Lok had become. They’d been having their own adventures.

“Tell me,” she said. “Maybe together we can decide what to do.”

Mar could tell from the practiced way he told the story that Tel had given this a great deal of thought. What she couldn’t see was why the boy was so frightened.

“The Mesticha Stone is an important artifact,” she said. “And it would take time to prepare a Dedication Ceremony in any case, so why not wait for it?”

“It was the way he said it,” Tel said. “It… I’d heard him, the other one, say it just about exactly the same way. The same tone in his voice, the same words. Even the part about ‘appeasing the Jaldean faction.’ Tek-aKet Tarkin never cared about appeasing Jaldeans,” the boy said, his lip curling. “And even less so now, from what we’ve been told. It was as if I was hearing Lok-iKol speaking with the Tarkin’s voice.”

Lok-iKol or something else. Mar fought to keep the sudden surge of fear from her face.

“What color are the Tarkin’s eyes,” she asked.

“Blue,” said both pages in unison.

“And are they still blue? They don’t seem green?”

The two pages looked at one another, looked back at Mar and shook their heads, confusion evident on their faces.

Mar was not reassured. “I don’t think we’ll go to the Tarkina with this,” she said finally. “Not quite yet anyway.” Gun had gone to the Library, and might not return tonight if he found something useful among the books and scrolls. That left only one person she could take this to. Mar rose to her feet and set down the book she’d been reading. “Let’s find Dhulyn Wolfshead.”

Dhulyn Wolfshead had turned the corner from the outer courtyard into the passage that led to the rooms she and Parno had been given close to the Tarkina’s suite when she heard the unmistakable footsteps of her Partner behind her.

“I thought you were there for the rest of the day, challenging all comers,” she said as he caught up with her.

His pipes bleated a mournful note as he tucked them closer under his elbow, freeing his other arm to slip around her waist as they continued down the corridor.

“Pah,” he snorted, a feigned disgust wrinkling his lips. “As if there’s any contest when the Tarkin’s own Chanter gets involved. The woman does nothing all day but play. Small wonder she can best the rest of us.”

“There, there, my soul,” Dhulyn said, grinning. “There’s plenty you can do better than she.”

“As I hope to be proving to you in a few minutes,” he said, squeezing her closer and brushing his lips against her cheek. Dhulyn hugged him closely in turn, sighing as the muscles in her neck and shoulders relaxed.

“How long do you think we’ll stay,” she asked him.

“Well, at least let’s get paid,” he said. “Or do you find you simply can’t take the luxury of fires, feather beds, and regular baths a moment longer?”

Dhulyn smiled at the undercurrent of laughter in his voice. “It isn’t that,” she said. “And you know it.”

Parno nodded without speaking, and held his tongue until they were at the door of their rooms. “We must stay and keep watch, in case there’s reason. So you told me this morning, and I agreed. But there’s something we should do,” he said, “so as to be ready when the time for leaving comes.”

“I believe we did that, too, this afternoon,” she said, trying to make him laugh, “and unless I’m mistaken, we’re about to do it again.”

“Never you fear,” he said, smiling and shaking his head. “We’ll never go short, not so long as we’re both alive, and I, at least, have breath enough for my pipes. But there is a place here where a Brother of ours fell. Let us visit it while we have the chance.”