Dhulyn pulled a final silk scarf around the unconscious man’s head and secured it as a blindfold over the eyes.

“Always supposing that’s possible, that Zelianora actually did speak to her husband, and not the Shadow.” Now it was Dhulyn’s turn to shrug. “We’ll explain to him why he’s tied up.” She walked back over to the damaged section of the floor. “Does this look at all familiar to you?”

Parno squatted beside her. “How do you mean?

“Does it not remind you, in a small way, of the Dead Lands?”

Parno pursed his lips in a silent whistle.

After checking the ties one last time-better careful than cursing, is what Dhulyn always said-they came out into the anteroom to find Gun and Karlyn-Tan waiting for them. The former Steward was wearing a politician’s face, telling nothing, but the young Scholar had his lower lip between his teeth.

“What now?” Dhulyn asked. Parno smiled. Someone was going to regret creating that edge of exasperated impatience in her voice.

“It’s Beslyn-Tor,” Gun said, shooting a glance at Karlyn and waiting for his nod to continue. “He’s left. Just got up and walked out.”

“What do you mean ‘walked out?’ ” Parno asked. When he’d seen the old Jaldean priest that morning, it was all the man could do to find a chair with his backside. “Who’d he go with?”

“No one,” Karlyn said. “It seems he simply walked away. The guard at the gate included it in his usual report at the transfer of shift, but had no orders to stop him or to report it earlier.”

“Of course he didn’t.” Parno could have kicked himself. “The man could barely walk to the door unaided. Who thought he could walk out the gate?” He turned to Dhulyn. “Was he shamming all along?”

She was shaking her head, slowly, her eyes looking at but not seeing the tables and chairs of the Tarkina’s anteroom.

“When did this happen?”

“Just before we arrived. Perhaps ten minutes ago, a little more.”

“What color were his eyes?” she asked. Parno looked to Karlyn, but the man was shaking his head. That was a detail no one would have thought to check.

The silence lifted Dhulyn’s eyes to meet Parno’s.

“We’re going to have to leave him tied up,” she said, indicating the inner room with her chin. “No matter who he is.”

Twenty-three

DHULYN LEANED AGAINST the wall behind Zelianora Tarkina, watching the familiar faces around the table. She and Parno could have had seats at the table as well-and maybe Parno would have liked that, she thought, looking sideways at him out of the corner of her eye-but she felt more comfortable on her feet, where she could watch everyone and move quickly, should it prove to be necessary.

They were in the private council chamber in the north tower of the Carnelian Dome. Zelianora Tarkina sat at one end of the oval table, to the right of Bet-oTeb, present as the official representative of her absent father. The Tarkina was pale, and there were lines around her lips that had not been there last night. In no other way did she show the fear and worry that she must have been feeling. The Tarkin-to-be was a copy of her mother, down to the rigidly straight back and the frown line between the eyebrows. On Bet-oTeb’s left was Dal-eDal, Tenebroso in all but name, with Karlyn-Tan leaning against the wall behind him, which put the former Steward directly across from Dhulyn herself. To Dal’s left was Cullen of Langeron, and the Racha bird Disha paced back and forth upon the table itself, pausing every now and then, turning her head to watch the person speaking.

And to round out the circle of those who knew about the Green Shadow, Gundaron and Mar-eMar sat together at the end of the table farthest from the Tarkina and Bet-oTeb. Dhulyn narrowed her eyes. They were never far from one another, those two, and Dhulyn wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that. She told herself it was none of her business. Mar had made herself very useful to Zelianora and her pages, and whatever had brought her to Gotterang in the first place, she now seemed well placed in the Tarkin’s court. Gundaron had pledged himself to the Tarkina also, Dhulyn had heard. All she knew for certain was that the boy was looking thinner than was good for him. He also looked older, more thoughtful, as well he might. But he still had trouble meeting people’s eyes.

“The Shadow has left the Tarkin, then?” Dal was saying. “Can he tell us anything?”

Zelianora Tarkina had been murmuring something to her daughter, but at this question she raised her head and looked around the table, taking in each face in turn. Now Dhulyn could see the exhaustion in the woman’s eyes, held at bay by the firmness of her mouth. The Tarkina shook her head.

“He is Tek-aKet, of that I’m certain, and Dhulyn Wolfshead agrees,” she said. “But his mind still wanders.”

Dhulyn cleared her throat. “It was the same with Beslyn-Tor. He could not focus for more than a few moments at a time.” The Tarkin had been moved to his own chamber, where Corin Wintermoon stood guard beside the bed. She’d been warned not to untie the Tarkin, no matter what was said, or who requested it-and to be especially suspicious if the man became lucid. Now that they knew the Shadow could revisit former hosts, they could not afford to leave Tek-aKet unbound. Though, Dhulyn admitted to herself, it was all too likely the creature could destroy any restraints holding it, if it didn’t mind the cost to the body housing it.

“The Tarkin will know things about the Shadow,” she continued, turning to Zelianora and Bet-oTeb. “Just like the Jaldean did. Things that could help us. We must question him, even if his mind is wandering.” She could understand that their first concern would be for the father, the husband, the leader of Imrion. But they hadn’t seen the Green Shadow, or spoken to it. Hadn’t see the NOT that it would make of their lives and their world, if they did not find it and destroy it.

Bet-oTeb spoke up, her clear child’s voice startling. “Can’t we-could we not find a Healer? Somewhere? I have heard that there are Marked among the Cloud People. Would they be willing to help us?”

Dhulyn was pleased that the child who was to be the next Tarkin spoke of willingness to help, rather than of forcing. That boded well for everyone’s future, if they all came out of this alive, and in their right minds.

“There is a Healer in the Trevel settlement,” Cullen said. Disha shrugged her wings and walked up the table toward him in her peculiar rocking gait. “Disha says that if she leaves now, she can be back before nightfall, but the Healer, even if she’s found quickly and is willing to come,” he spread his hands. “It would take more than half a moon for someone to get here from the mountains.”

“I would be very grateful if you would go,” Bet-oTeb said, addressing the bird directly. Disha opened and closed her wings with a snap, hopped to Cullen’s shoulder where she butted his cheek with her head as if she were a cat, and from there launched herself out the open window next to Dhulyn.

“I don’t think we have half a moon,” Dal said. “The Houses are already beginning to ask questions. If Tek is not able to take part in the Dedication Ceremony, they may very well ask for the Carnelian Throne to be set to the Ballot, and if that occurs, we must ask ourselves how likely it is that Bet will be chosen as Tarkin.”

“And where will that leave us?” Bet-oTeb asked.

Dal shrugged. “At the moment we are holding secure. As Dhulyn Wolfshead suggested, we’ve let rumors be spread that Beslyn-Tor is stricken with an illness that spreads on the touch. People are asked to report if they’ve seen him, without trying to capture him themselves. I think a good many people will be happy to do just that, especially since the rumor carries word of a reward.”

“There are still those among the New Believers who may hide him,” Karlyn-Tan said.