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Theskin was demanding, his fingers clenching and unclenching on the hilt of his belt knife.
    Doral was slamming one fist into the other palm. “Nerilka, where have you been? Do you know what has happened?”
    “Anella’s moving in.”
    “Father has had her transferred into Mother’s rooms. Already!” There was no doubt of the outrage that Campen and the others felt. “He’s looking for you, Rill, demanding to know where you’ve been all day, what you were doing at the internment camp—and whatever possessed you to go there?”
    “To find out if it existed at all,” I replied, bitterly ignoring the other questions. “When?”
    “That was our early morning task,” Theskin replied, indicating that Doral had assisted. “Setting the guard and drawing up the watch rosters. Now this! Could he not wait a decent interval?”
    “He may come down with the illness and have lost a last chance to enjoy his few remaining hours!”
    “Nerilka!”
Campen was appalled at my irreverence, but Theskin and Doral guffawed.
    “She may have the answer, you know, Campie lad,” Theskin said. “Our sire has ever liked his little pleasures.”
    “Theskin, that is enough!” Campen remembered to lower his voice, but the intensity of his reprimand made up for the lack of volume.
    Theskin shrugged. “I’m off. Checking the guard! I’ll be back for my dinner. Wouldn’t miss that for the world!” He winked at me, tugged Doral by the arm, and they went off, leaving me with Campen.
    But I had no wish for a continued lecture on my shortcomings. “Watch out, Campen. She has two sons, you know, and we could all be booted to the upper stories!”
    Patently this had not occurred to my eldest brother. As he struggled with the possibility, I made it safely to my snug little inside room.
    That evening’s meal was one I do not remember eating, certainly not enjoying. Our dead mother had made courtesy in us such an instinctive reaction that we could not, any of us, be impolite despite that night’s provocation. I had delayed my descent to the Main Hall, so I was rather surprised to find so many of our relations from the second story. The great tables were set up; even my father’s chair sat in place on the dais. Anella had been busy.
    “Were you invited?” I asked Uncle Munchaun when he sauntered over to me.
    “No, but she’d not know our ways, would she?”
    One could count on Uncle Munchaun, not to mention the others, to sense a situation and make sure to witness it firsthand.
    “I fear I’ve found nothing of value in my reading thus far,” Uncle continued smoothly. “I’ve set others to the task, as well. Any word from the Halls? I understand you were there today.”
    I ignored the thrust. “Master Tirone has returned from that mediation. By the mountain trail.”
    “Then he missed the additions to our Hold?”
    “He may have. Certainly he missed the guards.”
    “I almost wish he hadn’t,” Uncle murmured, a gleam in his eyes. Then he touched my arm warningly and I turned to see Anella, followed by her parents, sweeping into the Great Hall.
    Her grand entrance was spoiled by her flaming cheeks and her father’s stumbling pace. The man had not been drunk, I was later informed, but had a crippled foot. But I was in no mood to be charitable or compassionate. He, at least, had the grace to look embarrassed throughout the next few minutes.
    Anella, dressed in a heavily embroidered gown totally unsuitable for the mourning of the Hold or for a family dinner, mounted the three steps to the dais and walked firmly to my mother’s chair. Uncle Munchaun’s hand restrained me now.
    “Lord Tolocamp wishes me to read this message to you.” Her voice was strident in her effort to be heard and to project her new authority. She unrolled the message and held it up in front of her eyes, which bulged unbecomingly as she shouted at us.

    “I, Lord Tolocamp, quarantined from active participation in the conduct of Fort Hold in these