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seen before. Then he turned away. “Hurry up.”
    Zhakka nodded, and touched my forehead with the tip of a finger. Her fists were the size of dinner plates; her finger seemed to sear like a brand when it touched me. I cried out and tried to slap her finger away, but she lifted her hand before I could. She was done.
    Sieh, his sulk forgotten, peered at the spot and nodded sagely. “That will do.”
    “Take her to Viraine, then,” said Zhakka. She inclined her head to me in courteous farewell, then turned away to join Nahadoth.
    Sieh took my hand. I was so confused and shaken that I did not fight when he led me toward the nearest of the dead space’s walls. But I did glance back over my shoulder once, to watch the Nightlord walk away.
----
    My mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. I say that not because I am her daughter, and not because she was tall and graceful, with hair like clouded sunlight. I say it because she was strong. Perhaps it is my Darre heritage, but strength has always been the marker of beauty in my eyes.
    My people were not kind to her. No one said it in front of my father, but I heard the murmurs when we walked through Arrebaia sometimes. Amn whore. Bone-white bitch. They would spit on the ground after she passed, to wash the streets of her Arameri taint. Through all this she maintained her dignity and was never less than polite to people who were anything but. My father, in one of the few clear memories of him that I have, said this made her better than them.
    I am not sure why I remember this now, but I am certain it is somehow important.
----
    Sieh made me run after we left the dead space, so that I would be out of breath when we arrived at Viraine’s workshop.
    Viraine opened the door after Sieh’s third impatient knock, looking irritated. The white-haired man from Dekarta’s audience, who had judged me “not hopeless.”
    “Sieh? What in demons—ah.” He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. “Yes, I’d rather thought T’vril was taking too long. The sun went down nearly an hour ago.”
    “Scimina sicced Naha on her,” said Sieh. Then he looked up at me. “But the game was to end if you made it here, right? You’re safe now.”
    This was my explanation, then. “That was what T’vril said.” I glanced back down the hall as if I was still afraid. It was not difficult to pretend.
    “Scimina would have given him specific parameters,” Viraine said, which I suppose was meant to reassure me. “She knows what he’s like in that state. Come in, Lady Yeine.”
    He stepped aside, and I entered the chamber. Even if I hadn’t been bone tired I would have stopped there, for I stood in a room like nothing I had ever seen. It was long and oval-shaped, and there were floor-to-ceiling windows down both of the longer walls. Twin rows of workbenches had been placed along either side of the room; I saw books, flasks, and incomprehensible contraptions on each. Along the far wall were cages, some containing rabbits and birds. In the center of the chamber was a huge white orb set on a low plinth. It was as tall as me and completely opaque.
    “Over here,” Viraine said, heading toward one of the workbenches. Two stools sat in front of it. He chose one of them and patted the other for me. I followed him, but then hesitated.
    “I’m afraid you have the advantage of me, sir.”
    He looked surprised, then smiled and gave me an informal, not-quite-mocking half bow. “Ah, yes, manners. I am Viraine, the palace scrivener. Also a relative of yours in some way or another—too distant and convoluted to determine, though Lord Dekarta has seen fit to welcome me into the Central Family.” He tapped the black circle on his forehead.
    Scriveners: Amn scholars who made a study of the gods’ written language. This scrivener did not look like the cold-eyed ascetics I’d imagined. He was younger, for one—perhaps a few years younger than my mother had been. Certainly not old enough for such stark