“Yes, it's all yours, and congratulations,” Aber said from the doorway, sounding bored. He stifled a yawn. “You seem better. Over whatever caused your attack, or unconsciousness, or whatever it was.”

I agreed. “I'm sure I'll be all right now.”

“Go to sleep. I'd sure Dad would let you now. We're going to have a busy day tomorrow, I think.”

“Soon,” I said.

“Then I'll take my leave, if you don't mind. My suite is across the hall and down a bit. Ask any door for directions, if you need me. They know every room in the house.”

“Not so, Lord Aber!” objected Port. “I only know this floor…”

I chuckled. “I imagine they see a lot.”

“Sir!” said Port sternly. “You are talking about me in the third person again!”

“Sorry.” I sighed; I couldn't believe a door would reprimand me. “No offense meant, Port. I'm used to doors being inanimate objects.”

“Entirely understandable, and thank you, sir.”

“Don't spoil the woodwork,” Aber said. “Next he'll be asking you to wax and polish him.”

“Lord Aber!” Port sounded aghast. “I would never do such a thing!”

I chuckled. “I think Port and I will get along.” I glanced at my door. “You must have quite a few stories to tell, Port!”

“Doors do not gossip, Lord Oberon!” Port protested. “We value our owners' privacy too much.”

“Another rule?”

“Just so.”

“We'll see. Get a few goblets of brandy in you, and I'll bet—”

“Sir! Doors do not drink!”

I gave him a knowing wink. “I won't tell anyone!”

Port continued his protests, to no avail. Aber had to laugh.

I opened a door into a sitting room—containing several sofas, a pair of comfortable looking chairs, and not much else—and a smaller door into what appeared to be a servant's bedchamber. Then, finishing my circuit of the bedroom I joined my brother in the doorway. This suite would do nicely, and I found Port both useful and amusing. All told, quite acceptable.

“Thanks for everything,” I told my brother.

He slapped my shoulder. “Sleep lightly, Oberon.”

“Is there any other way?”

“Not here. And don't forget my warning—”

“Trust no one?”

He grinned. “Right!”

“Present company excepted, of course.”

“Of course.” Suddenly he turned and called out, “Boy!”

My valet from Juniper Castle, Horace—a young man of thirteen or so with close-cropped black hair and a shy demeanor—came bounding over to join us. He must have followed us up the stairs and been watching quietly from the side. I'd been too drunk to notice him before.

“Here, Lord Aber, Lord Oberon!” Horace said in a high squeak of a voice.

Aber said, “Oberon is feeling better, but he needs to be watched closely. Stay up with him tonight. Call me if anything happens. Do you understand?”

“Anything?”

“Anything unusual or dangerous… anything that threatens his life.”

Horace gulped. “Yes, sir.”

“If you fail in your duty,” he went on in a severe voice, “you will be held responsible for anything that happens to your master. By me and by our father.”

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“Nothing will happen,” I told Aber firmly. If not for the wine, I thought I could have walked unaided and mostly kept my balance. “At this rate, I'll be back to my old self in a day or two.”

“I hope so, but I'm not taking any chances,” Aber said firmly. “Dad doesn't like me the way he does you. If anything happens to you, he'll gladly skin me alive. After I skin your valet.”

Horace gulped audibly.

“Stop it,” I said. “You're scaring him.”

“I meant to.”

“He's just a boy.”

“Don't make excuses.” Aber hesitated, looking toward his own room. “Maybe I'd better sit up with you after all. If you think there's any danger—”

“No, no. Go to your own bed.” I made quick shooing motions with my hands. Those movements made the floor tilt alarmingly. “I can tell you're exhausted. More exhausted than me, even. It's been a long day for all of us. Go to bed, I'll do the same, and we'll have breakfast with Dad in the morning. We can all catch up then.”

Still he hesitated.

“I'll be fine,” I assured him. “I'm over the worst of it.”

He finally nodded, gave a last stern look at Horace, and trooped down the hall toward his door.

Turning, I wandered back into my bedroom trailed by Horace, who shut the door behind us. When I glanced over my shoulder, I found Port's face on the inside now, staring at me with a deliberately noncommittal expression. He cleared his throat, and I got the impression I'd forgotten something.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Do you wish to leave instructions for me, sir?”

“Wake me in the morning?”

“I am not a clock,” he said a bit archly. “I am a door. I do not tell time, whistle on the hour, or wake people up. What I meant was who should I let into your rooms?”

“Oh, I don't know.” I hesitated. “Aber, my father, Horace here, servants when they need to clean.” Then I chuckled, thinking of Rhalla and how she would look in my bed. “And, of course, any beautiful half-dressed women who happen along.”

Port smirked. “Except for Aber, whom Mattus did not trust, those were almost exactly the same instructions your brother left with me.”

I cocked my head thoughtfully. “Do you know why he didn't trust Aber?”

“Not exactly, Lord Oberon. I believe it involved a woman, however, though I am not aware of the exact details.”

“Did he leave you any other instructions?”

“Your sister Blaise was allowed in at any time, day or night.”

I found that odd. For some reason I had mentally lumped Mattus into Locke's camp, with the soldiers. My half-sister Blaise, obsessed with spying and wielding household power, struck me as someone who wouldn't have any ready followers in our family.

“Do you know why?” I asked.

“No, sir.”

“What about Freda?” I asked. I liked my sister almost as much as I liked Aber, and I wondered where she stood with Mattus.

“I had no special instructions regarding Freda.”

“Could anyone else come in at will?” I asked.

“No, sir.”

“Was there anyone else deliberately excluded, the way Aber was?”

“No, sir.”

Well, it had been worth a try. Aber and Mattus not getting along… probably it had been nothing more than sibling rivalry. There had been a lot of that before, during, and after my arrival in Juniper. Having two powerful, conceited, and supremely arrogant brothers in love with the same woman would certainly lead to trouble.

Yawning, I unbuckled my swordbelt and set it on the desk. Horace had turned down the bed while I talked to Port. If the mattress and pillows had been ripped apart by the hell-creatures, seamstresses had mended both as good as new; they looked soft and comfortable. I plopped down, feeling soft feathers yield beneath my weight.

Horace hurried forward to help me with my boots.

“What do you think of this place?” I asked him as he pulled off my right boot.

He hesitated, and I could tell he did not want to speak his mind.

“Go on,” I said. “I want the truth.”

“Sir… I do not much like it.”

He bent to his task and got my second boot off as quickly as the first. He carried them to the door and set them outside to be cleaned.

“Why not?”

Hesitantly, he said, “Nothing is quite right.”

I nodded, knowing what he meant; I felt exactly the same way. A vague sense of wrongness permeated everything. Angles that didn't match my mental geometry, stones that oozed colors, lamps that dribbled their light to the ceiling… it was all very strange and quite unsettling.

The large lookingglass, turned slightly toward the bed, caught my eye when I began to unlace my shirt. Finally, when I saw my reflection, I understood everyone's concern. My features were gaunt and pale, my hands trembled, and dark circles lined my eyes. I looked like I'd just been through the worst campaign in the history of warfare. Even so, a few days' rest would fix me up. I always healed quickly.