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opinion?” The young woman’s voice remained pleasant, a tone more suited to asking about the weather or the time to dine, but with the slightest undertone of amusement.
    â€œAny man is a fool to offer advice on how a woman behaves with regard to her family, unless he is her husband. In that case, he might still be foolhardy. I would far rather be called a coward than to be a fool.”
    â€œSo you’re afraid of Bhayar?”
    â€œI respect Lord Bhayar, and only a fool would not have a healthy respect for a lord as accomplished and powerful as he is. I also respect his willingness to learn and to listen.” Even if his lack of patience limits both.
    â€œDo you ride, scholar?”
    â€œAt times, mistress. There is little call for scholars to ride.”
    â€œI had heard differently.” She offered a smile, one not quite inviting, nor yet dismissive. “In time, perhaps I can persuade my brother to have you accompany us on a ride somewhere … suitable.” There was a slight pause before she extended a sealed missive. “Since you are a scholar of history, you might find this of some amusement. If you do, I will take your comments. You may return them to me, directly, if we happen to encounter each other, or you may pass them to Nerya.”
    Historical comments from her? Quaeryt took the sealed document and inclined his head. “I will do so.”
    After a moment, she added, “You may go.”
    â€œBy your leave, mistress.”
    â€œYou didn’t use my name,” she said.
    Quaeryt smiled. “It’s not my place to presume.” Although doing so would be a pleasure … if most dangerous.
    â€œGo.” The single word held a tone of amusement … and perhaps something more.
    He bowed and then turned, slipping the document inside his tunic and making his way from the fountain gardens, wondering exactly what Vaelora had really wanted … and even more of concern, what was in the missive or document. He hadn’t seen her in years, and then only a handful of times from a distance, but Bhayar’s other three surviving sisters were all much older—and married. The oldest, Chaerila, had been married to the Autarch of Antiago and had died in childbirth a year after the wedding. The autarch had promptly remarried—a niece of Rex Kharst, another matter of continuing concern to Bhayar.
    Still … there was definitely something about Vaelora … far beyond mere attractiveness, although she was certainly good-looking. She might have been raised to be married off for political purposes, but whoever married her would have his hands full, and then some, Quaeryt suspected.
    Enough … you’d best not even dream about her.
    He concentrated on what he would say to Bhayar as he approached the private staircase.
    Savaityl was not there, but the guard nodded politely. “Lord Bhayar is currently occupied.”
    Still thinking about Vaelora and what she wanted, and wondering why on Terahnar she had reached out to him, Quaeryt waited for a good half glass before the bell beside the grille gate rang and the guard unlocked it. He nodded politely and started up the staircase, seemingly as hot as an oven. When he reached the third level, he was drenched in his own sweat. He stopped and blotted his forehead before he walked slowly to where an assistant steward stood outside the open study door.
    â€œThe scholar is here, Lord.”
    â€œSend him in.”
    Quaeryt stepped past the man and walked toward the desk Bhayar stood behind, looking down and examining a musket laid out on the wooden surface.
    â€œThere ought to be a better way of making these,” mused Bhayar. “Do you think they could be imaged?”
    â€œI would doubt it. A good imager might be able to image each piece perfectly, but they’d still have to be put together, and if any piece happened to be the slightest bit out of