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barbarian Tza’ab bandits—do they not acknowledge this themselves, Your Grace, with reference to chi’patros?” Serrano was in full spate now, like a cataract unhappily squeezed by too many fallen boulders. “‘Who is the father?’—they admit it, Your Grace! They are riddled with Tza’ab blood. And they are as nothing compared to the Serranos, who are pure in blood to the days of the great Duke Alessio I. We do not name bandits and bastards in our ancestry!”
    Quietly do’Verrada asked, “Then why do you fear them, Zaragosa?”
    “I have
told
you, Your Grace—”
    “That they have some unknown and unnameable power.” Do’Verrada sighed. “Do you know, I was at the Galerria today. I took my son, that he might be acquainted with such things as he must know. There was a clutch of Grijalva children there.” He paused. “They appeared nothing worse to me than children, Zaragosa—perhaps even Serrano children.”
    “They are not!”
    Do’Verrada lifted an eloquent eyebrow; Serrano had forgotten the honorific. “No, indeed; as you say, some of them are descendants of those first bandit-bred Tza’ab chi’patros. But a man, looking on them, sees nothing but what he sees when he looks on any family. Children, Zaragosa.”
    “Your Grace, I have told you what they are!”
    “You have told me what you
believe
they are—and, do you know, I very nearly succumbed? I believed, Zaragosa. For a moment, one moment, standing there before my
Marriage
, I believed …”
    “Your Grace, you
should
believe—”
    “… and then I recalled that if it were true, what you tell me, how could it not also be said of Serranos?”
    “Your Grace!”
    The Duke smiled. “Oh, admittedly you are pure in blood to the time of my ancestor, the great Duke Alessio I. But it might yet be argued that this is nothing more than Court politics, Zaragosa, and that you, seeing fresh talent in the Grijalvas growing beyond the execution of common and fair copies made of your paintings—and wishing to vehemently deny such self-described blasphemy!—seekto damage them so there is no chance any of that family might be appointed to the position you yourself hold.”
    “Your Grace! My family has held this position for nearly sixty years!”
    “And before that, Grijalvas did.”
    “Three of them only.” Immense derision. “And very briefly.”
    “Three. Caught between Serrano and Serrano.” Do’Verrada smiled. “It might be argued that you wish to discredit those who may be worthy of the position you yourself hold. Well, I say let there be proof.”
    “Proof! But, Your Grace, we
know
it to be true!”
    “Who does, Zaragosa?”
    “The Serrano family, Your Grace! We know it.”
    “Then provide me with proof.”
    “Grijalvas were not always painters, Your Grace. They were common craftsmen, no more, manufacturing such things as true limners require.”
    “That is your proof? The development of artistic talent? But, Zaragosa, it might then be argued that you yourself—and your father before you, and his father’s brother before
him
—claim a share of these magics, this dark power. Three Grijalvas served as Lord Limners prior to your great-uncle’s and father’s appointments to the post—and then were replaced. By a Serrano.”
    “They grew frightened, Your Grace, and returned to the common crafts so as to avoid exposure.”
    “Leaving the appointment as Lord Limner to your grandfather’s brother? Come, Zaragosa, why would a family of such power as you describe willingly step away from Court? It makes no sense.”
    “Has anyone ever accused the Grijalvas of having sense, Your Grace?”
    It was a small-spirited, mean-minded insult. But it angered the Duke. “Despite their lack of nobility, the Grijalvas have been closely allied with Tira Virte and the do’Verradas for more than one hundred years, Zaragosa. Are you forgetting Verro Grijalva? Despite his common birth, he was perhaps the greatest captain the armies of Tira Virte