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feet. She knew all of them, personally or by name. Nort’, Kercyan, Ramur, Sofi...Almost all of them were her friends. And all of them were heirs of Ji.
    Wyrmandis ended her morbid recital once she saw how pale her listener had gone. Corenn was swaying when she came to her senses and asked solemnly, “Please tell me, but only if you’re absolutely certain...was a Kaulienne killed by the Züu? A young woman named Léti?”
    “No, fortunately not one Kaulien has been killed. Not as of last night, in any case. What is it?”
    The mage let out a sigh of relief, ignoring the question. Her little Léti, her only family, the light of her life, was unharmed. Léti was her cousin’s daughter, but since her cousin’s disappearance, she treated the girl as her own.
    “I must leave at once. My niece is in danger, and”—she realized as she spoke—“so am I. Wyrmandis, I need that list as soon as possible. Can you have it brought to me in my quarters?”
    Wyrmandis frowned as she listened to Corenn, answering her plea with a stare. This all seemed grave.
    “You think the Züu are after you? The Züu? I think it would be best if you told me everything. I will do what’s necessary to protect you.”
    “I can’t,” she replied, as she hurried off. “I may not get there in time.”
    She turned to Wyrmandis as she walked and said, “As for protecting us,”—she shot a glance around the huge room, staring pointedly at the few fat-bellied soldiers that guarded the exits, the deserving veterans of the Matriarchy’s small army—“you know that’s impossible.”
    She practically ran through the long hallways leading to her personal quarters in the Grand House.
    For the first time in a long time, the mage was afraid.

    “By all the gods and their whores!”
    Reyan was truly furious. He had deployed his entire seductive arsenal for this damsel. He had brought her to all of the fashionable places, he had bought her a meal, drinks, and, above all else, entry to the finest establishments in Lorelia. And the ungrateful wench had refused him hospitality and a little bit of tenderness for the night, flat out slamming the door in his face.
    Things had looked so promising. At the end of the performance that day, he used his charmer’s trick once again. Instead of the retort originally written by Barle—“I cannot because I love another, forget me!”—Reyan had declaimed, “I cannot because I love another; it is thee!” bringing some previously identified girl onstage, who was alone and certainly had an appealing physique.
    Barle, the head of the acting troupe, had cried out in protest when his young actor followed such an inspiration forthe first time. But he became more tolerant, given the comic success of this text bending. Fortunately, Barle had a good sense of spectacle.
    After the show, Reyan had, as usual, offered his prey a drink. This decisive step taken, he showed her his caravan and presented her to each of his companions, nonchalantly mentioning his numerous voyages and his often totally fictional triumphs before the royal courts. Normally, at that point, his victory was sealed.
    Seated in front of a goblet, Reyan had moved on to a performance of flattery, praising his companion’s beauty, noble bearing, disposition, and other real or imaginary qualities. Perhaps she was an actress? She would surely become a great performer...
    His efforts were followed, at last, by a nighttime stroll, punctuated by visits to bars and taverns, until the moment when he finally thought himself ready to conquer the beauty’s bed.
    Only this time, the evening was a failure, and he found himself walking alone in the dark. Just to make matters worse, a thunderstorm cracked overhead.
    He violently stomped his foot into a deep puddle, splashing water everywhere. He was soaked anyway.
    He didn’t always have to use all of these strategies. Usually his youth, charm, and a few witty words could storm most feminine...ramparts. He was