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his assailant.”
    “There was more than one, and yes. It is why I am aware of how unusual the young lady in question must be.”
    Hectore’s eyes narrowed. He examined Rachele’s roses, eyeing their thorns with suspicion. The flowers, however, were a lovely color. “You have not answered my question.”
    “It is a difficult question to answer. But it is my suspicion that the child was—and is—seer-born.”
    * * *
    Hectore bent his face over the roses which were still in bud. They were sweetly scented, but at this stage in their growth, the scent was not cloying, not overwhelming. He had heard that one or two enterprising Master Gardeners had managed to create roses which grew no thorns, and he was interested in seeing such flowers, because he was somewhat skeptical of the claim. “You never mentioned this.”
    “Ararath would have died.”
    “You said that much.”
    “Ah, pardon; you misinterpret. He would have attempted to silence me, Hectore. You were as fond of Ararath as you were of any of your own children, and there are some things you would not forgive, even of me. I made it clear that I would speak no word of her ability or her existence. I thought her mage-born, at first.”
    “I cannot believe that Ararath would have been suicidal enough to attempt to harm
you
.”
    “Men are not always wise where their children are concerned.”
    “Indeed, they are not. Nor their grandchildren.” Especially not their grandchildren. Children were always so fraught with difficulties; they were rebellious, angry, sullen, in their turn—and a parent must tolerate all of these things with a modicum of grace, weathering the worst of the storm until it passed. Grandchildren, however? Those storms were their parents’ problem. Not his. The affection was unadulterated by the daily realities of life.
    “Ararath’s young charge eventually wound up in House Terafin. That cannot have been an accident.”
    Andrei addressed the first sentence, not the second, not immediately. “She did. She went to House Terafin on the day that an assassin also visited the manse. The rumors—and these are more easily accessed—are that she proved her value to the House by saving The Terafin’s life the day she first arrived at the front gates. She is admired by the House servants, with a few notable exceptions. Do you know that she was given a permanent residence in the Terafin manse from that first day?”
    “I obviously knew no such thing.”
    “I believe she is seer-born,” Andrei said again. “I think Ararath knew it. And if it will bring you any peace, I think Ararath sent her to his estranged sister at House Terafin, and his estranged sister accepted her.”
    Hectore straightened. Ararath.
Did you make peace with your sister, in the end?
But no, that was not Ararath’s style. His pride had been both his strength and his downfall. “You think Jewel ATerafin is that girl of Ararath’s.”
    “Yes, Hectore.”
    “And she is at the center of the strangeness in House Terafin; of that there’s no doubt. Why,” he asked, his voice softening, “do you feel that the sleeping sickness is connected in some fashion with that girl?”
    “I do not; nor would I have ever assumed it. But there is an undercurrent of unease within the Order of Knowledge—and not a little resentment—about The Terafin.”
    “Resentment?”
    “Apparently she is not interested in having her grounds overrun by desperately curious mage-born scholars.”
    “Really? How selfish of her,” Hectore said, raising a brow. “I can see why the magi would therefore assume that she is the source of all evil.”
    “The resentment has been heavily discouraged by the guildmaster—to no great effect. Discussion about The Terafin within the Order has also been heavily discouraged, to much greater effect. Because there are demons involved, and because the guildmaster’s policy in regards to discussion of anything related to the forbidden arts is harshly enforced,