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by scraping along the stone tunnels. She could scarcely imagine what she must look like with wisps of cobwebs poking from her greasy mop of hair and her smudged face. A fright doll came to mind. She didn’t care.
    Right now, Kirah cared only about reaching the viewing room before Cormac, or his messenger, could get there. The problem was, no direct route led through the network of tunnels within the castle. The stairway outside Cormac’s study dropped almost directly into the foyer near the great hall, but the tunnels wound around the outside walls before exiting beneath the main staircase.
    Reviewing the maze in her mind, Kirah decided to take a chance. She could cut the time significantly if she exited in the dining room, crossed that room in the open—even though there was a chance she might be spotted—then entered a second passage that led to the great hall.
    Scrambling quickly down the narrow chimney that passed between floors, Kirah planned what she would do when she got to the great hall. First, she’d pull Guerrand into the tunnel, kicking and screaming if necessary. She knew he hated the small, spider-filled tunnels. Kirah didn’t care about that now, either. Shehad to get him out of that death room.
    After that she resolved to tell him what she’d overheard. It would not be difficult to persuade him to run away with her to Gwynned, like he’d always wanted to. Guerrand could finally study his magic, and she would, well, she’d do something! Learn to pick pockets, if I have to, Kirah thought. The young woman had a talent for it, and a certain amount of skill at thievery already. Possessions had been disappearing from the rooms of visitors to Castle DiThon for years. Thus far, it had only been a bored girl’s game, but she felt certain it could easily become a profession.
    The more Kirah thought about it, the more she liked the idea. Guerrand could even use his magic to help her pilfer the biggest purses. She and Guerrand would become runaways like the characters in her favorite tales. Guerrand himself had sent her off to sleep countless times with bedtime stories about notorious mountebanks and swindlers and rogues, traveling adventurers who lived by their wits and magical skills rather than force of arms. Even honest, moral Guerrand couldn’t help but see that it was their fate.
    She knew the highest hurdle to overcome would be Guerrand’s ever-ready sense of guilt. He would definitely feel guilty about running away. Kirah wouldn’t. She had no time for such a useless emotion. Guilt was an excuse used by people who were afraid to do what they wanted. She’d learned the hard way that if you didn’t grab what you wanted, no one was likely to give it to you. She’d told Guerrand that before, and she’d tell him again and again until he finally understood it.
    Kirah came to a section of tunnel that was taller than average, though still narrow. She raised up from her crablike position and took off at a shambling run, trying to gain time. But then she came to a skidding stop. Abruptly, as she’d expected, the tunnel took a sharp left around a chimney. Ten more steps and she’d haveto leave the tunnel through an air grate between the legs of a ponderous sideboard and take the chance of crossing the formal dining room. With any luck there would be only servants present, preparing the hall for the funeral feast later that day.
    Castle DiThon’s servants had witnessed her comings and goings for years and never spoken of it beyond the kitchen, far preferring the scrappy little miss to their lord. They would not have lied directly for her—punishment for that would be swift and brutal for the servant’s entire family. But Cormac never thought to ask them. He considered the servants to be as mute and mindless as mice, further evidence of Cormac’s unsuitability to run a castle. As if she needed proof. Kirah scoffed, amused that she knew more about what went on in the keep than did her brother, Rietta, or