'Mistress Siala has been informed of my arrival?' she asked, snapping her fingers at the liveried man. Her Fysthrall dialect and mannerisms were impeccable.

'Yes, Mistress Ostia.' The man kept his head bowed as he spoke. 'I am to escort you to her office immediately.'

But why? thought Zhia. She leads the White Circle now the rest of the leadership is dead, I made sure of that. Does she simply want an account of their failure? Or did she know that the Fysthrall queen carried the Skull of Paths with her? I think I was sensible to leave that in the carriage; she wouldn't think to search that, but she might well have a mage up there with her.

The servant was waiting patiently for a reply. When she did finally jab a finger towards the inside of the palace he bowed low and moved to lead the way. As she followed him down the hall, she saw the red theme continued inside as well. Outside, the painted pillars, window frames and doors were distinctive, even arresting, especially when seen from a distance. Within, the colours looked garish and crass, and incongruous with the elegant furnishings, which were far too sophisti¬cated for anyone local, especially the duke Siala had recently deposed. Siala was apparently from Tor Salan, but until she met the woman there was no way of telling if the sophistication was hers. Zhia hoped so; the rest of the Circle had hardly taxed her brain, and an intelligent adversary would make her stay in Scree infinitely more entertaining.

A large open staircase took her to the second floor and she looked carefully at the high windows. It wasn't often that she dared venture out during the day, but when it was necessary, she took every precau¬tion.

Siala's study faced the head of the stairs. The door itself, flanked by blank-faced Fysthrall soldiers before whom the servant cringed, hadn't been spared the scarlet ravages of Scree's previous ruler; the faces on the four carved panels had been stained red and detailed in gold leaf. To her right, Zhia noted a pair of male functionaries sagging when they caught sight of her, apparently aware that she would be admitted ahead of them.

'Mistress Siala is just concluding a meeting,' the servant at Zhia's side murmured, and at her curt nod, he fled.

The door did indeed open a heartbeat later, and to Zhia's complete astonishment a man dressed like a country minstrel strode out of the room with all the confidence of a king. Over a dirty green tunic he wore a gaudy gold chain with bejewelled coins laced through it hang¬ing down to his navel, and a feathered hat was caught under one arm. His tanned, pinched face and narrow nose suggested southern origins. His skin was as grubby as his clothes.

Tor Salan perhaps, or Embere? Now what would Siala be doing meeting with a dirty foreign minstrel? Her train of thought stopped dead as Zhia realised the most remarkable thing about the man was that the gold chain was not costume jewellery. Now I know all I need to about Siala, Zhia said to herself. The minstrel had a deeply satisfied look on his face, one that might not have been there if Siala had paid enough attention to the gem-encrusted coins hanging off that chain. But what does it tell me about this man, dressed like a vagrant musician, standing like a king and wearing a king's ransom around his neck?

'Lady,' the minstrel acknowledged, bowing with a flourish after he had taken the time to scrutinise her as carefully as she had him. The accent suggested something of the south as well, but no place she could identify.

Not 'Mistress', though; he almost seems to recognise me. Could that be possible, or has the heat just got me flustered? 'Have we met?' she snapped.

'Unfortunately not, for you are new to the city, no? But if you seek your entertainment under cover of night, I am sure your presence in Scree will be to my profit.' The minstrel bowed. 'Now if you will excuse me, gracious lady, I must away.'

He didn't wait for permission but trotted off down the stair without a backwards glance while Zhia frowned. Who was he? He said 'under cover of night' – but did he actually recognise her?

'You must be Ostia,' declared a voice from inside the study. Zhia re¬sumed an expression of placid innocence as she swept in to the room. Behind a desk stood a tall, slim, striking-looking woman dressed in white silk; some fifty summers of age, Zhia guessed, though her face had weathered the passing years well. To her right were two others, sitting together on a narrow chaise longue, but Zhia sensed neither was a mage and ignored them. It was the remorseless gleam in Siala's eye that had caught her attention. The woman stood perfectly still, taking in every detail of Zhia's appearance. You don't look like a fool, thought Zhia, a little scornfully. You know how to deal with minor sisters like Ostia, I'm sure, but that could simply mean you're a well-born bully. What lies behind the make'Up and fading beauty, anything of value?

'I am, Mistress Siala,' Zhia replied gravely, her hands clasped to her chest and head inclined slightly. Four peaked windows behind Siala spread a carpet of golden light into the room.

'Please, sit,' Siala said, nodding to a chair bathed in the warm sun¬light.

'If it doesn't offend you, I would prefer to stand,' Zhia replied calmly. She recognised Siala's intention, to make her hot and uncomfortable as she was questioned – though the effect on a vampire would be rather more than merely uncomfortable. She stood behind the high-backed

chair and arched her back theatrically. 'I'm afraid all this travelling has knotted me up quite dreadfully. It would be a blessing just to be able to stand straight for a while.'

Siala conceded and directed Zhia's attention to the two attendants on the chaise longue. They rose at Siala's gesture. One woman was dressed like a common soldier, but with a rapier on her hip. She had the long, pronounced features of a Deneli tribeswoman. She gave Zhia a broad smile as recognition flashed in both faces.

'May I introduce you to Haipar, who is acting as representative for a group of mercenaries we have employed.'

'As a matter of fact, we've already met,' Haipar said, pushing back her whitened hair. Her other hand rested on her sword hilt. Zhia ignored her; the blade was just for show. Haipar would not have been hired for her skill with a sword, but for her rather more brutal talents – and if she were representative of the mercenaries they employed, Siala had definitely bitten off more than she could chew. Zhia noted that despite being banished from her clan years ago, Haipar still brushed ash into her hair, as though trying to look as old as she actu¬ally was. It could have been a day since they last met, rather than the decade it was.

Siala arched her eyebrows. Zhia said nothing, but she shifted her weight, ready to leap for the door if Haipar gave her away. Fighting her way out of the Red Palace might be messy if some of her comrades were also around, but none were Zhia's match, even without the Skull.

'We once shared an employer,' Haipar said after a moment. 'Ostia was acting as political advisor, while I- Ah, I helped with certain matters of security.'

And thus I can personally testify to the efficacy of your employ¬ee's talents,' Zhia said with a smile, relieved at Haipar's utter lack of loyalty. 'I would have been in significant danger, had it not been for Haipar.'

'Ostia flatters me; she had quite a firm grip on events, as I recall,' Haipar replied, a calculating glint in her eye.

Siala watched them both, a slight smile hovering on her lip, before moving on. 'The young woman next to Haipar is Legana, who has recently been persuaded to join the Circle.'

Legana, a startlingly beautiful woman of Farlan origin, said nothing but offered Zhia a brief bow. She was dressed as if for a formal hunt;

her light jerkin of bleached chamois leather, though detailed in mother-of-pearl, was clearly functional.