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the wine bottle gripped firmly in her right hand.
    Rainwater collected in a miniature pool around the hollow formed by her fist and spilled over her knuckles; she kept her grip steady, afraid she’d drop the bottle if she tried to adjust her hold. She couldn’t afford to look clumsy or awkward right now.
    “I’m Lord Alyea Peysimun, and this is my home. Open the gates and let me pass.”
    “Sorry, lady,” he shrugged. “We don’t open the gates for nobody, is our orders. Not even you.”
    “Lord Peysimun,” she corrected sharply.
    He glanced over her from head to toe with a deliberate, slow insolence. “You don’t look much like a man to me, lady.” A smirk crossed his white-stubbled face.
    “Good gods, my mother’s hired a pack of idiots to guard the gates,” Alyea said with as much stinging contempt as she could muster. “What a waste of money.” She caught his eye and snapped, “Open the damn gates right now!”
    He twitched, blinked; eyes hazing, he turned, reaching for the handle. His companion knocked his hand aside sharply, barking, “Stop that, Kei! What d’ya think you’re doing?”
    The newly-identified Kei’s eyes focused. He swung back around to regard Alyea with a very different expression than he’d had a moment ago.
    “How did you just—you’re a witch? Nobody told us you were a witch!” There was no condescension left in his tone, and his stare was a mixture of outrage and wariness.
    “I’m not a witch,” Alyea said frostily. “I’m a desert lord.”
    “Balls to this,” one of the younger guards said, already edging away. “We ain’t gettin’ paid enough to tangle with one of them.”
    “Stand!” the guard who’d stopped Kei from opening the gates barked. “You walk away, you’re done as a freewarrior, boy! The Hall won’t take you on another contract.” He eyed Alyea, scowling. “She ain’t gonna hurt any of us. Are you, Lord Alyea?”
    “Not unless you make me,” Alyea said, not moving.
    “Don’t plan to,” he returned, crossing his own arms. “Like the boy said, we ain’t gettin’ paid enough to tangle with a real desert lord. An’ the Hall is going to have something to say about that little detail getting left out, let me tell you.”
    Alyea hesitated; but any fines levied would come against her Family, and part of her new job was smoothing over ruffled feathers.
    “I’d prefer not to bother the Hall over a simple misunderstanding,” she said. “No harm done, after all—as long as you let me through those gates without any more argument.” She smiled. The older guards exchanged calculating glances. Before any of them could speak, Alyea added, “And you’ve certainly shown commendable integrity in following orders, and a quick reaction to a changed situation.”
    The faint hint that a bonus would be involved—one that would go straight into their pockets, not the Hall’s—tipped it. All four guards bowed, more or less together, and stepped aside ostentatiously.
    “We were told not to open the gates for nobody,” Kei said, looking steadfastly just past her right ear. “Reckon we won’t open the gates for nobody, right?”
    Alyea smiled without humor. As she went by, she handed the bottle of Stecatr blue to a startled but visibly delighted Kei.
    “Looks like I won’t be needing this after all,” she said, and pushed through the gates.
     

     
    Peysimun Mansion fronted on a wide courtyard of grey and brown brick arranged in large, interconnecting circles. In the center of every second circle stood a giant clay pot spilling over with brightly colored plants, the centerpiece of each taller than Alyea. A rain-slick scattering of dead leaves made footing treacherous; Alyea slowed her pace, frowning a little. Her mother had always been insistent on keeping the courtyard pristine, and the weather didn’t seem so bad as to prevent the gardeners from cleaning up.
    An uneasy chill working down her spine, she cut swiftly to the left, aiming for