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doorways. There was something odd about observing such ordinary activities, as if seeing people who weren’t enslaved, weren’t fleeing death or warily waiting for the next bombing was unusual. Well, for me it is, she thought tiredly.
    Tremaine looked down to consult the address again and decided it should be in the middle of the block. “This doesn’t look so bad,” she said cautiously as they walked along the damp pavement.
    “What were you expecting?” Ander asked, sounding amused.
    Tremaine thought of trying to explain Nicholas’s taste in houses, or Nicholas’s taste in general, and decided against it. She also thought of saying I shot a man in cold blood to get a truck, Ander, so please get that tone that says “you silly little girl” out of your voice when you speak to me. “Nothing,” she muttered. Nothing changes. You shouldn’t have let him come.
    These houses looked about the size for families of professional men with room for children and a cook and housemaid; some even seemed to be broken up into flats. She had thought Gerard wanted something with a room large enough to draw a spell circle in. Though maybe— She stopped suddenly, as the house occupying the middle portion of the block came into view. “Oh, God.”
    It was a huge hulking structure, its brick leprous with mold, with no ground-floor windows and a pair of badly proportioned pillars flanking its entrance. There was no carving on the eaves and the proportions were subtly off; it looked like a small and incompetent copy of a badly neglected Vienne Greathouse. The neat town houses to either side of it seemed to stand in silent reproach. Ander took the address away from her, saying, “That can’t be it.”
    “Of course that’s it,” she snapped. “The place has ‘Valiarde’ written all over it.” It had probably been built years ago as part of an estate by some Capistown land baron and the city had gradually encroached on its grounds until only the house was left.
    She stamped up the steps, reflecting that at least it looked big enough to have a ballroom, and tugged at the bellpull.
    Nicholas, who must have noted their approach, opened the door almost immediately. He eyed Ander with enigmatic disfavor, greeting them with, “Why did you bring him?”
    Tremaine regretted it now herself but she wasn’t going to admit that. “Because he asked,” she said flatly, stepping in past Nicholas to look around. The entrance hall was high-ceilinged and dingy, the wood floor showing evidence of past water leaks. Four sets of double doors opened off it, and there was a staircase at the end, but it was all a little too small and badly balanced for a true grand entrance. Whoever had built the place had been struggling between elegance and parsimony.
    “Evening, Valiarde,” Ander said with cautious reserve, stepping inside.
    Shutting the door, Nicholas answered with a noncommittal grunt. Years ago when Tremaine and Ander had first met, she had been immersed in Vienne’s artistic community and Ander had been a feckless young noble who liked slumming. Nicholas had met him twice, managed not to speak directly to him on either occasion, and now appeared to be trying to stay consistent.
    For his part, Ander seemed to be fooled by Nicholas’s portrayal of an eccentric gentleman-adventurer, though with Ander it was always hard to tell. In contrast, Ilias and Giliead weren’t familiar enough with Rienish society to be taken in by the façade. They treated Nicholas with wary respect, and when they were in the same room, they always seemed to reserve a part of their attention for him, alert for any sign of aggression. It was a wariness they didn’t show with anyone else in their group, an almost instinctive understanding that Nicholas was dangerous; they weren’t willing to trust their safety to his goodwill.
    Kias seemed to sense it as well; he avoided the whole issue by trying to never be in the same room with Nicholas.
    And Nicholas…