Two of her gladiators, the former thieves Dismas and Gestus, flanked him according to standing instructions. Lowan was not to be left unguarded during a disturbance. But there was someone else at the top of the stair who she could barely see. The woman seemed to hang back.

Lowan descended the stairs and stopped halfway down. "You've been gone far longer than your three months, Daughter." There was a hard edge to his voice, but it couldn't mask the deeper joy he felt. "You broke your promise. You're long overdue." Then he relented and extended his arms. "Welcome home."

Chenaya unfastened her weapon belt and dropped it at the foot of the stair. She ran up to her father, threw her arms about him, and pressed her head against his shoulder. Lowan Vigeles was a tall man, but the past months had made him appear haggard. He had lost weight and there was little color left in his cheeks. "You worried too much!" she admonished with a whisper only he could hear.

"How much is too much?" he said, letting a hint of his anger show once more. "Things are changing, Chenaya. Law has broken down all over the city. Hell, all over the Empire. You could have been dead and rotting for all I knew."

"I'm sorry, Father," she said honestly. "It couldn't be helped. You know I'd have come home if I could've." And that was enough of that, her tone conveyed without her needing to say more. She regretted having caused him pain, and she knew he had worried, but she wasn't a child. She wouldn't be treated as one, even by her father. She started to remind him of that, then caught a clearer look at the woman above.

It took her by complete surprise. Then, abruptly, a broad grin spread over her face. Chenaya had become immune to shock long ago. Still, she found considerable amusement in the idea that her father might cuckold his own brother.

"Good evening. Lady Rosanda," she said grandly. "How's Uncle Molin these days?"

Rosanda's shy, delicate smile turned to a look of infinite perplexity. Then the older woman blushed hotly and fled from Chenaya's view.

Daughter winked at father. "A chunky little tidbit to ease your worried mind, eh?"

Lowan rapped her lightly on the brow with his fingers. "Don't be impudent, child. She and Molin have separated, and your aunt is quite upset. She's staying here a | few days until she gets herself together."

"By the Bright Light!" Chenaya exclaimed, clapping a hand melodramatically to her heart. "She must be giving Dayrne fits about the housekeeping."

"Not at all. Mistress," Dayrne said from the foot of the stair.

"She's actually been quite helpful," Lowan Vigeles insisted. "She's taken a firm hand in the restorations." He laid a hand on his daughter's shoulder and compelled her to meet his gaze. "And you must be kind to her. Whatever you think of Molin, Rosanda is a lady and a guest in our house. Her head may be full of sky, but her heart is full of love." He smiled suddenly and ran a hand over her blonde curls. "And she's inordinately fond of you. She thinks you're the only true Rankan woman left in the city ... beside herself, of course." He reached for her hand. "Now, come sit by the hearth in my room and tell me of your journey." •

Chenaya hesitated. "I'm afraid we're going to have more company than Rosanda." She indicated her companion who had remained patiently near the entrance. "I've brought someone home, too."

Still clutching the unsheathed dagger, her companion pushed back the concealing hood and glared sullenly up at her hosts. A spray of wild, black hair tumbled forward, partially obscuring classic features turned hard and thin.

Lowan Vigeles turned pale. Then he bowed his head respectfully to the small, silent woman. "Please, come up!" he urged, holding out his hand. "Come up and get warm." |

But Chenaya intervened. "Not now. Father. She's tired and needs a bath. Dayrne will prepare the room next to mine for her." She glanced down at her companion, and an unspoken message passed between them. "Then, tomorrow she starts a new life."

Dayme touched the woman's elbow to guide her up the staircase and to her quarters. Adder-quick, she slapped his hand away, spun, and spat at him. The dagger flashed.

"Daphne!" Chenaya's harsh shout was enough. The tiny weapon froze in mid-plunge. Chenaya and Dayme exchanged hasty glances. Of course, he'd never been in danger. The giant was one of the best gladiators Ranke had ever produced, more than able to defend himself from such a feeble attack. But it wouldn't do to have Daphne's little wrist broken, either.

"He doesn't touch me!" Daphne screamed. "No man touches me again." Then she drew herself proudly erect. A malicious smirk creased her mouth. "Unless I want him to." She drew the dagger's edge meaningfully along her thumb, then without another look at Dayrne, she marched up the stair, around Lowan Vigeles, and disappeared the way Rosanda had gone. Dayrne followed at a safe distance.

"She's half-mad," Chenaya said softly with a shake of her head.

Lowan Vigeles raised an eyebrow. "Which half?"

An hour later Lowan greeted his daughter again with another hug and a goblet of hearth-warmed wine. She accepted both gratefully, sipped the drink, and took one of the two massive wooden chairs before the fireplace. She had hastily bathed and changed into a gown of soft blue linen. The traveling leathers she had lived in for months were even now being buried by one of her men.

"I really tried to keep my promise. Father." She set her wine on the chair arm and stretched wearily. "I tried to get back." She gazed into the fire, finding a measure of tranquility in the dancing flames, and she took another drink. The liquor warmed her thoroughly.

"It's all right, child," Lowan soothed. "So long as you're safe. I just worry too much." He sipped his own wine and regarded her. "Where did you find Daphne? Did you leam of anyone else?"

Chenaya shook her head slowly. Memories of her journey flooded her head, overpowering her emotions. "No one else," she said at last. "Either the rest of the Royal Family is dead, or they're hidden too damn well in fear of Theron." She looked up at him. "In fact, I was on my way home when I happened through Azehur. That's just the other side of the Gray Wastes."

She told him of the tavern she had stopped at. There had been a high-stakes game of dice. She wasn't playing for once, just watching with interest, especially when one of the players pulled a ring from a pouch on his belt.

"It was a Royal Sigil," she said, holding up one hand to show the ring she wore, "just like you and I and Molin and Kadakithis and all the Royal Family own. It wasn't a fake. It was real."

She had waited until the player lost even that, then she had followed him from the tavern. There was no need to bore her father with the details of how she had lured the man into an alley or how she had convinced him to talk. Lowan wouldn't have approved.

Chenaya tossed back the last of her wine and held out the cup for more. Lowan rose, fetched the bottle from the mantel above the fire, and poured for her. "The son of a bitch was a part-time sell-sword. Nearly a year before, he'd helped attack and destroy a caravan leaving Sanctuary for Ranke as it crossed the Wastes."

"Daphne and the Prince's concubines," Lowan interrupted as he filled his own vessel, "fleeing the Beysib invasion."

Chenaya nodded. "They were supposed to kill the women. Instead, they saw a chance to make a little more profit and sold them outside the Empire."

Lowan turned sharply, splashing his sleeve with the red liquor. "Sold ... ?"