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always destabilizing. The fact that her predecessor’s death occurred at the hands of a demon adds to the danger. Recent attacks on the current Terafin are also demonic, which makes clear that the demons consider her a primary—possibly
the
primary—threat.
    “It can safely be assumed that what demons want and what the Kings want are not the same.”
    Hectore had made the Araven fortunes by relying on a mixture of instinct and natural shrewdness. And by, admittedly, a certain brash arrogance and a willingness to take risks to get what he wanted. The problem with many of his opponents was that their definition of what Hectore wanted was so parochial and so narrow. Many of the visitants to this particular funeral were such men—and women. They were here to show their devotion to Araven and its merchant trading wealth. They would not believe that Hectore was distraught over the death of a granddaughter, as he had so many of them.
    They would certainly never believe that Hectore might choose to take this one death personally.
    “You are not telling me what you know, Andrei.”
    “I am telling you what I know.”
    “You are not telling me all of it. I will have the rest. I will have it now.”
    Andrei, to Hectore’s surprise, hesitated. “It has been very, very difficult,” he finally said.
    “It is unlike you to offer excuses in place of information.”
    “It is very like you to be so impatient.”
    “This is
important
to me, Andrei.”
    “Understood. When we attended The Terafin’s funeral, I saw Jewel ATerafin when you were briefly presented to the House Council. She was—as you have rightfully pointed out—daring in both her choice of dress and her choice of colors; she made a statement without opening her mouth. So much so,” he continued, after a long pause, “that I did not recognize her.”
    “You would have little reason to do so.”
    Andrei smiled. “You would think that, yes. You would be wrong in this particular case. She is not someone I have seen often; I have, in fact, seen her on only one occasion in the past.”
    “The recent past?”
    “No, Patris. It was almost two decades ago.”
    Hectore frowned. “You did not meet the girl in my company.”
    “No. You were not directly involved.”
    Hectore’s eyes narrowed. “I am involved in almost any action of note you might take; if I am not
present
, I am nonetheless affected. Where did you meet her?”
    “In the Common.”
    Hectore waited. His lack of patience, his fury at his granddaughter’s senseless, lingering death, were balanced—barely—by a growing curiosity. Curiosity and a faint suspicion that was hardening as he watched Andrei’s expression.
Do you think to save me pain
? Yes. Yes, he did. Hectore was not certain what might cause more sorrow on a day when he was forced, against all prior effort, to finally acknowledge Sharann’s death.
    But he could guess, if he thought for a moment like a rational man. At times like this, rationality was highly overrated, but it had its uses. “Ararath.”
    Andrei did not seem surprised to hear the name, although it had been well over a decade since it had been spoken between them. “Yes, Hectore. I met her in an evening, in the Common, while attempting to watch over your godson.”
    “How was she significant?” That she was, Hectore no longer doubted.
    “He did not mention her name in my presence, but it did not matter; it was clear to me that Ararath had become as invested in her welfare as you were in his. Perhaps more. She arrived in the Common in order to protect him.”
    “Two decades ago? She couldn’t have been more than a child.”
    Andrei nodded. “A child,” he said, “who saved your godson’s life; I do not think I would have arrived in time, otherwise.”
    Hectore’s brows rose. “You?”
    “Even so.”
    “How could a child save Ararath’s life? Was he unarmed?”
    “He was not. But what he faced, Hectore, should have killed him, in my opinion.”
    “You killed