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the dusty and all too winding roads that led to the eastern coast of Telaryn.
    The lager and lamb-filled flatbread arrived quickly, and Quaeryt took his time, enjoying both … as well as bantering with Celina. The extra pair of coppers he left were worth it, and he reminded himself that they had taken only a bit of effort.
    He was reluctant to depart Vinara, but well aware of the dangers of being late to the palace. Bhayar might keep him waiting, but the Lord of Telaryn got more than testy with those who were not available at his beck and call—and that was another reason why going to Tilbora was a good idea, since Bhayar had been testier than usual of late.
    Quaeryt arrived at the private gate to the palace at a quarter to fourth glass. After a few pleasantries with Fherad, another of the guards he knew in passing, he made his way through the gate and up the steps to the second guard. After he passed the man, as he was walking along the colonnaded passage toward the locked interior staircase, a woman addressed him.
    â€œScholar?” The voice was somewhere between girlish and womanly, yet slightly husky.
    Quaeryt debated not halting, but courtesy, caution, and curiosity won out. He stopped and looked past the marble column and through the lacy screen of ferns, some of which had browned edges despite their nearness to the fountains.
    Beyond the ferns, the not-quite-gangly girl-woman who wore riding pants and a woman’s light riding jacket to conceal her figure sat in the shade of a tall fern less than three yards from the fountain that supposedly depicted a sea sprite, with water geysering from its blowhole and from its barbed tail. A riding hat with a veil rested on a well-shaped leg. Her light brown hair held natural waves, but not excessive curls. Beside her sat a gray-haired duenna, who turned and regarded Quaeryt with a disapproving expression.
    â€œYou can enter the gardens. Take the next archway.” Her words were offered in formal Bovarian, rather than Tellan or far less common Pharsi, and the language and the light honeyed shade to her clear skin suggested not only her background but who she happened to be.
    â€œAs you wish, mistress,” replied Quaeryt.
    â€œIt is my wish, scholar.”
    He bowed his head, then turned and walked the ten yards or so to the first archway.
    Two guards stood there.
    â€œThe young mistress requested my presence.”
    â€œWait,” said one.
    The other turned and disappeared past another bank of ferns. In moments he returned and nodded. Both stepped aside, but as Quaeryt walked past, he could feel their eyes on his back.
    He kept walking until he reached the young woman. “You requested my presence, mistress?” Quaeryt avoided looking directly into her eyes, as required when addressing a woman of stature.
    â€œYou’re going to see my brother, aren’t you?” Her voice was pleasant, with that hint of huskiness he found attractive. Her face was also well-shaped, neither too long nor too round.
    â€œMy presence has been requested by Lord Bhayar. I could not presume your position. Many women have brothers,” he replied. “I only know that you are favored to be here in the fountain gardens.”
    â€œFavored? One might say that. You are a scholar. Tell me something.”
    â€œAbout what, mistress?”
    â€œAunt Nerya”—the girl-woman nodded to the duenna—“claims that for an unmarried woman to ride in public without her parents or a male relative is as bad a sin as Naming. Is it? Are there any writings that declare that? Has any high chorister of the Nameless proclaimed it?” Her light brown eyes studied him with an intensity he found unsettling, yet oddly pleasing.
    â€œI have read none, mistress, yet I am not a scholar of the Nameless, but of history and of the physical world. You would do better to ask a high chorister.”
    Nerya nodded.
    â€œAre you a coward to refuse an