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disk out to Miri, bowing with careful equality. "This has tested genuine." She straightened and looked at Val Con. "Genes, you believe?"

    "I have no doubt," he said calmly. "You will, of course, wish to attain your own surety."

    "Of course." She went across the room to the desk comm and touched a button. In a very short while, the door opened to admit the young doorkeeper. He flicked a nervous glance at the couch, then bowed deeply to Emrith Tiazan.

    "My delm desires?"

    "You will go to the older storehouse and find in Room East 14 a large package stasis-locked and wrapped in blue silk. Bring it here. You will bid Win Den tel'Vosti attend me here. You will likewise bid the senior medical technician, adding that she shall bring her sampling kit."

    The boy touched his tongue to his lips, bowed, turned—

    "An Der."

    He glanced back over his shoulder. "Yes, Aunt?"

    "You will speak to no one, excepting tel'Vosti and the senior med. You will go to the storeroom alone and bring what I require away with your own hands."

    The boy bowed again. "I hear," he said—and ran.

     

    "Well, Emrith?"

    The old man leaned on his stick in the center of the room. "To what do I owe this interruption of my studies?"

    "Studies!" The delm stared at him for a moment, then moved a hand, directing his attention to the couch. "I make you known to Val Con yos'Phelium, Second Speaker for Clan Korval. Korval, my kinsman, Win Den tel'Vosti, thodelm."

    "So." The brown eyes watched with seeming amusement as Val Con stood and made his bow.

    "My Lord tel'Vosti."

    "My Lord yos'Phelium." The return bow was more complete than Miri would have expected, given the cane. "Your father was a rare one for Counterchance."

    "So my uncle has told me, sir."

    "Er Thom yos'Galan? Now there was a demon for the game! Very good he was—a thoughtful, subtle player, no shame. We came even, the times we played. But Daav . . . I believe I may yet owe him a cantra. Perhaps two. I'll consult my account books. Do you play?"

    "A bit, sir, but not to match my uncle."

    "Pity." The brown eyes sharpened. "You'll want to have that wound looked after, of course, before you meet the House."

    Wound? What wo— Sleep learning surfaced and Miri gulped against the sudden understanding of what it meant, to be a Liaden with your face scarred . . . .

    "Thank you, sir," Val Con was saying calmly. "It's healed cleanly."

    "Win Den." Emrith Tiazan began, but tel'Vosti had come to attention, as if he were a corps captain facing another, and half-sketched a salute.

    "It is your campaign, sir."

    " Win Den ." This time his delm's voice could not be ignored. She moved her hand. "I am told that this lady is Miri Robertson Tiazan."

    Miri came to her feet and bowed into those amused brown eyes.

    "Well, and why not?" said the old gentleman, returning the bow with a certain flair.

    "Lady yos'Phelium," Val Con murmured in the room's sudden stillness and tel'Vosti straightened with a laugh.

    "Aha! A man who wishes to be absolute of his assets! My felicitations, sir! Perhaps you are not so poor a player of the game as you would have me believe." He glanced back at Miri.

    "You are a soldier?" he asked, in the almost-friendly mode of Comrade.

    "I was," Miri said, allowing him the mode, though not without a few mental reservations. "I retired a year or two ago."

    "Indeed? At what rank?"

    She eyed him warily, wondering where this line of questioning was going; wondering, with a sudden spurt of panic, if he was trying to figure her melant'i and if it was going to come up to par. "Master sergeant."

    "Master sergeant." He said it like a caress. "And your age is?"

    "Twenty-eight Standards." She considered him, the lurking amusement, the straight shoulders, the cane, the mane of pinkish hair. "More or less."

    He laughed and glanced at Emrith Tiazan, who stood, grim-faced and silent, near the desk.

    "So you tell me you retired two years ago, with the rank of master sergeant. A private