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passing it to Tarathan. “Ilvaine,” she said, as he broke the seal.
    “Our attendance is requested at the Inn of the Golden Lute, on the Minstrels’ Island,” he read out, as Naia brought in more bread with a rounded, yellow cheese.
    “Why would an Ilvaine stay there?” Jehane Mor wondered, “rather than in the palace on Academy Island, or the town house by the river port?”
    Tarathan folded the invitation again. “Why not? Don’t the Ilvaine kin have fingers in every Ijiri pie?”
    Naia sniffed, placing a knife by the bread. “So they say, as well as estates in the countryside and ships that trade in every port between Grayharbor and Ishnapur. But not many of the kin actually live here in the city anymore.”
    “I wonder what this one wants?” murmured Jehane Mor, then looked around as the hall door opened and two heralds in the flowing grays of the Ishnapuri branch of the Guild walked in. They looked alike enough to be brother and sister, and their accents, when they spoke their good mornings, bore the lilt of the far-off southern empire.
    Jehane Mor and Tarathan rose and bowed as one, speaking their names and Guild house in the formal style, and the Ishnapuri heralds replied in kind. “I am Ileyra,” the young woman said, “and this is Salan, my brother in both blood and the Guild.”
    “ ‘It is a very long way from Ij to Ishnapur,’” Salan quoted gravely, then added, with the ghost of a smile, “but we came by sea, which made the journey swifter. And safer, since I understand the overland route still runs through very wild country.” He sat down, reaching for the bread basket. “We have yet more meetings with the Masters today, but fortunately not until this afternoon.”
    Ileyra smiled. “We stayed out too late with the festival—every night there is more to see and do.” She shrugged. “Yet why not, when the Masters of this so-great city are all busy ahead of their Conclave?”
    Jehane Mor concealed her surprise. “I would have thought those on the Shah’s business would be given priority.”
    “We have appointments,” Ileyra assured her, “but always there are delays. The Masters may be late from earlier meetings, or their advisers cannot get through the press in the streets.”
    “But at night,” said Salan, with a gleam of white teeth, “we get to see something of the famous festival without detracting from our duty. You are also here for business, of course?” His tone made the statement into a question.
    “Sadly dull stuff and none of it with the Masters.” Jehane Mor set her plate aside. “But we may see you if you are attending the evening revels. The whole world, Naia tells us, is to be at Prince Ath’s party. It will be one of the great events of the festival.”
    Ileyra shrugged and held up her palms. “There are so many invitations. . . . And maybe we shall not see you anyway with all the masks, if it is such a large affair?”
    “True, although I am sure that we shall meet again here.” Jehane Mor stood up. “But now we must be about that dull business of ours.” The sister nodded, smiling, while the brother pulled a sympathetic face. Jehane Mor opened the door into the hall and waited until Tarathan had closed it before mindspeaking: “Odd, don’t you think?”
    “To come so far and be kept waiting? Yes,” Tarathan agreed. “And the Guild is so new in Ishnapur. Why would the Shah commission heralds for his business at all, let alone just one pair? I would have expected an ambassador, or special envoy at least.”
    “Something doesn’t add up .” Jehane Mor lifted her gray cloak from a peg beside the door. “The last rumors I heard centered around trade treaties or even a maritime alliance. That would require a full ambassador.”
    Tarathan tapped the paper with the Ilvaine seal against his hand. “I can’t imagine the Shah sending heralds for any other purpose than to announce the ambassador’s subsequent arrival. Odd,” he repeated, and the