“Rhalla, my lord.”

“Do you know what that bell was about?” I asked.

“Bell?”

“Didn't you hear it?” I said.

“No, my lord.”

“It sounded not long ago—maybe fifteen minutes.”

“I did not hear it, my lord. Perhaps it happened when I was in the wine cellar.”

“So you were just downstairs?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Are there any… problems down there?”

She looked at me strangely. “Problems, my lord?”

“Yes—I heard some odd noises.”

She shook her head. “No, my lord. Everything is fine.”

That was good news. I allowed myself to relax a bit and glanced over my shoulder. Still no sign of Aber, though… probably stuck playing the genial host. For once, I welcomed his absence. Something about Rhalla fascinated me. I could have spent the rest of the day looking at her.

She went on, “You are wet, my lord. Do you need dry clothing? I am sure something can be found—”

“That's all right,” I said with a chuckle and a half shrug. “I'll dry soon enough. Right now, I'm having trouble finding my way around—” A sudden wave of giddiness washed over me. Against my will, I staggered half a step, startling her. I caught myself against the wall, thinking I must look like a clumsy idiot.

“Are you ill, my lord?” she asked.

I sucked in a deep breath, trying to hide my weakness. I wanted her to see me as I saw myself—tall, strong, brave. Not a cripple who couldn't walk ten paces without falling down.

“A bit dizzy, is all,” I said. “I was sick, but I'm over the worse of it.”

“Here. Let me help you.”

She leaned forward to assist me, hand poised, and I caught her scent—a light, sweet musk. The hallway began to spin slowly around me. I breathed her in, deeply, my heart racing. I tried to stay calm.

“Which way,” I said in as smooth a voice as I could manage, “are my father's rooms?”

“Lord Dworkin's?” Her gaze flicked up to my face for a second, and I saw mild surprise there. “Two floors above us, my lord.”

“Show me the way.”

“It is forbidden—”

The floor shifted unexpectedly under my feet, and I staggered again in the other direction, catching my balance on her shoulder.

Her muscles tensed and quivered beneath me, shifting like liquid beneath her skin. It was a very strange sensation, unlike anything I had felt before. It made me regard her more carefully. She looked human—but something made me hesitate. Human bones and muscles do not move that way.

“Is something wrong, Lord?” she asked.

“No.” I shook my head and smiled. It had to be my screwed-up senses playing tricks on me. She was a beautiful woman—nothing more.

The floor tilted. I staggered to the left.

“Lord Oberon?” she cried, seizing my arm and holding me upright. “What's wrong?”

“I am… still a little dizzy. Help me. I need to lean on someone or I'll fall.”

“Shall I take you back to your bedroom—”

“It's not necessary.” I hesitated, polishing the lie. “I just need someone beside me so I won't fall. If you don't want to help—”

“No, my lord,” she said quickly. “Lean on me. I will help you. Where are you going?”

“Up to my father's rooms.”

I leaned on her shoulder as lightly as I could. Again I felt her muscles jump and quiver under my hand. It seemed readily apparent to me that she didn't like my touch, but she put up with it.

Slowly and carefully, she turned around and helped me walk toward the dead end. Just before it, we came to a narrow, spiraling set of wooden steps deep in a shadowed alcove. I had taken it for a doorway. The steps led to upper and lower floors.

“This was the closest way to the upper floors,” she said half apologetically.

“It's fine, Rhalla.”

I paused. From below I heard a distant murmur, like half a dozen voices talking, and a faint clink-clink-clink of pottery being stacked or moved about. “The kitchens?” I asked.

“Yes, Lord Oberon. They are just below us.”

I sniffed, but only caught Rhalla's musky scent. Odd—shouldn't dinner preparations have been well under way? Perhaps smells worked differently here, too. I tried to imagine them pooling on the floor or ceiling, like the light.

That sound of breaking glass must have come from the kitchens, I decided. Some servant dropped a platter… of course the cook's angry voice would have followed, berating him for his clumsiness. There was a simple explanation for everything I had heard.

Turning slightly, I gazed up the stairway into darkness, toward my father's rooms. Only one person at a time could go up or down— if I had to leave fast, this was the way I'd go.

Grasping the hand rail firmly, I began to climb. Rhalla followed.

I concentrated on the steps, taking them one at a time. Every few feet they seemed to twist and shift beneath me, but by keeping one hand on the rail and the other on the wall, I made it safely up to the next floor. When I peeked out, the hallways was empty. Light pooled on the ceiling from a couple of small lamps. Didn't the architect who had designed this place believe in windows?

“What's on this floor?” I asked.

“Personal rooms,” Rhalla said. “Lord Aber is the only noble-born here at the moment… besides Lord Dworkin, of course.”

“Of course.” The rest of my family was either dead or scattered to remote Shadow worlds. The ones that we could account for at all.

Returning to the stairway, I began to climb toward the floor above. The steps ended at a heavy wooden door. The center panel held the carved face of a man with horns, his mouth open as if about to speak.

I knocked for form's sake, knowing my father was out, then pushed it open to reveal a long, dark corridor pungent with the scents of mold, strange herbs, and other things I could not begin to identify. I eased myself inside. Shelves covered with odd looking trophies filled the wall opposite me—huge glass spheres, stuffed animal heads, human skulls, mummified cats, and a jumble of phials, scrolls, tubes, and magical paraphernalia I could not begin to identify. A thick coat of dust lay over everything, though it had been recently disturbed toward the far end by someone's recent passage. Probably Dad checking out his treasures after getting back.

“Nobody cleans in here?” I asked with a chuckle.

“It is not allowed,” Rhalla said in hushed tones. She had not left the steps. “We should not be here, my lord. I will be punished when Lord Dworkin finds out.”

“Nonsense. I'm with you. Since I told you to bring me, there was nothing you could do about it. My father will understand.”

It all reminded me of Dworkin's private rooms in Juniper, only from the odor of decay these had long been neglected. How long had he been away from here? Not just years, but decades from the look of things.

“My lord…” An anxious note crept into Rhalla's voice.

“He's not here,” I said, trying to reassure her, “so there is no reason for us to stay. Let's go back down.” I knew I could find my way back here again, and next time I could do it unassisted.

“Yes, Lord Oberon.” Rhalla seemed relieved. Turning, she led the way back down the stairs. I followed gingerly, breathing deeply of her musk, trying desperately not to call on her for help. And I wanted very much for her to see me as a whole, strong man.

“Thank you,” I told her as I walked unsteadily back into my room. “I… hope I will see you again, Rhalla.”

“I am sure you will, my lord,” she said, with a shy little smile and a half curtsy. “Whenever you need me, call and I will come.”

“Thank you. Oh… about those dry clothes? See if you can find some for me. I'm the same size as my brother Mattus. Look in his room.”

“Yes, my lord.”

As she hurried back upstairs, I sank into my chair and gazed down at the empty food tray. My stomach growled; second helpings were definitely in order. Maybe I should have asked for more food instead of dry clothes.