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"our James ..."
    Hannelore shook her head. "James will have his share. Is that what you did again—you did not eat at all so that your grandchild would eat more? There is enough soup today, Mandy. There will be enough to bring home to James, too."
    Dominick stepped back as the Order of the Mother gathered around the cauldron. Now even those faces that had looked dull or unreadable before were wearing fervent expressions. Some looked embarrassed, others openly eager. All hungry.
    So it had come to that, too. He had not known. He knew that, with the Factories failing, food, like everything else, had become scarce. He also knew that fifteen days ago Mierber had imposed a coupon system on its citizens, regulating and limiting the amount of food that people were allowed to buy per day, no matter how much money they had. But he had not made the connection between this and hunger. The coupon system did not apply to Bers, nobles, and Mentors. Did not apply to him.
    They seemed to remember that, to notice him, in a while, after a long silence interrupted by nothing but spoons clattering over bowls. There were whispers now, and looks in his direction. He ignored them, until he met Hannelore's shrewd, sharp and yet kind, not-sharp-at-all, eyes. He stepped towards where she sat in a soft rocking chair—just a tiny rich old woman at first glance, but Dominick knew to read people.
    "Thank you for your hospitality, madam," he said with a nod.
    She nodded back. "You did not eat."
    "I did not need to."
    She inclined her head. "Most of us do need to eat, unfortunately; it is an affliction that comes with being human."
    Dominick met her eyes again. "You did not eat, either, and your house is reached by strange pathways. May I ask, madam, if you, too, suffer from the afflictions of humans?"
    The old woman laughed, a quiet laugh, almost like little bells tinkling in the wind. "Such an almost direct question, my son. Will you make it entirely direct and ask if I were a samodiva? "
    The room grew very silent at that, eyes piercing Dominick's back like daggers.
    "I will." He sighed. "I see no reason for circumvention. Are you a samodiva or are you a witch, madam? What is this place? The paths that lead to it are not easily found. How did I come here?"
    Hannelore sighed, too, then smiled, but it was a smile full of sadness. "How did you, indeed? Only you know your own pathways."
    At that, Dominick almost laughed. "You sound very much like someone I know. Have you by any chance met Mentor Maxim?"
    "Yes. I have. Long ago, when I was young and silly, when I still lived in another house and easily shared the names of my friends, it was to him that I made Confessions. I am old now, my son, and perhaps even wise. And I have probably met more Mentors than you have."
    "Madam." This was the only word of thanks he could give her without the rest realizing that he had indeed thanked her. Careless. It was so careless and foolish of him to share the name of a friend amongst enemies who had Master knew what intentions or means to achieve them. It was embarrassing to have the possible leader of these enemies warn him. Young and silly, indeed.
    And what had gotten into him to ask her if she knew Maxim, anyway? She reminded him of Maxim, in a way, but she was not a Mentor, and Mentors and commoners did not mix too much and rarely befriended each other. Perhaps she had foolishly mentioned a friend's name before Maxim once upon a time; perhaps she had betrayed a friend before the authority figure whose present mentioning was poking into a bitter memory and was an insult ... Foolishly shared? Betrayed? People were supposed to share the names of reprobates with Mentors. It was good if they did. What was he thinking? This woman was but a reprobate herself.
    Yet, a reprobate she might be, but she resembled Maxim more than most Mentors Dominick had met did. She was a reprobate who was like a Mentor—only on the other side. This was a thought so aberrant that it might as