“Pay attention, you silly girl,” the cook said.

Razai grimaced. She’d been listening for any sounds coming from upstairs, but the noise of the footmen clomping through the hallway outside the kitchen had drowned out anything else.

“Yes, Cook,” she said, appropriately obsequious. “Sorry, Cook.”

The job Renny Senshall had given her, determining whether two of her sister concubines were being abused by their patrons, had proven surprisingly difficult. The first problem had just been getting into the households. The concubines in question—paired with the older brothers of Renny’s own patron, Varsin Senshall—rarely left their homes, which meant the easiest option to watch over them had been to seek employment with the families.

Burton, the eldest brother, didn’t have any openings within his household, so Razai was still working out an alternate plan to spy on him.

In the meantime, though, a position had become available in the middle brother’s home. Tobin Senshall’s housekeeper had been looking for a serving maid. After securing a fake letter of recommendation from Renny, Razai had managed to get herself hired. She was going by the name Molly, the same name she’d used when masquerading as a prostitute, but she’d switched to a much homelier illusionary disguise, not wanting to attract Tobin’s attention herself.

The cook—a stout, ruddy-faced woman who went by no name other than Cook—shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Never mind. I’m finished with you for tonight. But mark my words, you’ll never become a kitchen maid if you can’t even handle the simplest of tasks. I’ve had girls like you before, always watching the men, sneaking down to their rooms in the middle of the night. It’s a good way to get yourself booted out the door. Now, I’ve finished warming the milk. Can you at least manage to pour it?”

“Yes, Cook,” Razai said. It wouldn’t do her any good to protest that she wasn’t interested in the footmen. She poured the warmed milk into the three mugs that were already waiting on a tray, quickly wiping up a spill while the cook’s back was turned.

“Now, then,” Cook said, returning with a jar in her hand, “just a dollop of honey in each.” She bent to her task, then handed the platter to Razai. “I trust you can manage to get that upstairs?”

“Yes, Cook. Thank you.”

“Go on with you, then,” the cook said, smiling as she waved Razai away. Cook pretended to be a harsh taskmistress, but her jovial nature always showed through eventually, even when she was reprimanding the girls. “I’ll wash the pot this one time, since Sara’s not feeling well. You make sure she drinks the whole thing, though.”

Razai nodded and carried the tray down the hall to the rear of the basement, then up the back stairs that led to the servant’s quarters. She shared a room in the attic with the other maids who worked in the kitchen—Edina, the kitchen maid, who handled the lesser cooking tasks, and Sara, the scullery maid. Razai’s own position as serving maid ranked somewhere in between the two, but for some unspoken reason, Sara hadn’t been considered for the promotion. Likely because the serving maid needed to be quick on her feet, and Sara was anything but.

There was a small table outside the room, so Razai set the tray down. Checking the hall to make sure none of the other maids had come out of their rooms, she slid a packet of gray powder out from where she’d hidden it inside her sleeve, then poured one spoonful each into two of the three mugs and stirred it in thoroughly.

Slipping the packet back into her sleeve, Razai picked up the tray and opened the door without knocking. “Warm milk and honey from Cook,” she announced. “Sara, you’re to drink it all.”

“Why bother?” Edina said. “She’s faking again.”

“I am not!” Sara said from where she was sitting up in her cot. She didn’t look sick, but Cook and the housekeeper had both believed her, and the housekeeper was much stricter than Cook. Razai trusted their instincts over Edina’s.

“Cook gave me enough for all of us,” Razai said, handing them each a mug.

Sara sipped from hers, then glanced at Edina and smiled mischievously. “I heard that the young master paid a call on a lady friend this afternoon,” she said, referring to Tobin’s oldest son.

“Oh, he did not!” Edina said. “He’s far too young for that sort of thing.”

“I heard it from Nell!” Sara insisted. Nell was one of the chambermaids.

“And what would Nell know about it?”

As they continued to snipe at each other, Razai drank from her own mug, then grimaced at the taste. She preferred whiskey for a nightcap, but the servants were only allowed watered-down ale at best. She pretended to drink the rest, then set it aside to wait.

Soon, the two women started yawning and stumbling over their words.

“I’m more tired than I thought,” Edina said, sitting down on her cot and trying to keep her eyes open. “Molly, can you take the mugs back down?”

“Of course,” Razai replied.

Sara didn’t say anything; she just set her mug to the side and stretched out under the covers.

After the two maids fell asleep, Razai checked their breathing to make sure they were all right. Herbalists sold the sleeping powder to customers who had trouble falling asleep, but it was strong enough that chirurgeons used it to keep their patients unconscious during surgery, when there was no healer around who could do so. It was supposed to be safe, but she’d only used it a few times in the past and she didn’t want to take chances. She wouldn’t have used it at all if she’d had a choice, but the two women were light sleepers. If either of them woke up and saw her missing for any length of time, they’d assume she’d snuck away from the house to visit a man, and then they’d gossip to everyone about it the next morning. The powder would keep them asleep for at least six hours, and Razai would finally have the chance to do the job she was there to do.

Razai waited another hour to ensure the housekeeper and butler had turned in for the night, then took the tray and mugs back down to the basement kitchen and washed them in the scullery. She’d learned early on that the kitchen staff didn’t allow anything to stay dirty for long. With the dishes clean, she no longer had an excuse to be away from her room. She headed back to the servants’ stairs, allowing her footsteps to be heard. Checking the men’s apartments as she passed, she saw a flickering light coming from underneath the butler’s door, but even as she watched, it went out.

She climbed the first flight of stairs, making sure to step on all the ones that creaked. Then she silently made her way back down to the basement and disguised herself as Greta, Mistress Elba’s lady’s maid. Elba was Tobin’s concubine, and nobody other than the housekeeper or butler would dare to question Greta if she claimed her mistress had sent her downstairs on an errand.

Using the key she’d stolen from the butler’s pantry earlier that evening, she snuck into the wine cellar and retrieved a bottle of port, Elba’s favorite evening drink. She poured a glass and returned the bottle to its place, then went up the kitchen stairs to the dining room, and from there to the mansion’s ornate front staircase. She’d practiced Greta’s voice and mannerisms for days, just in case, but nobody disturbed her along the way. Elba’s quarters were on the third floor, but it was too dangerous to remain in disguise there since Greta’s own room was nearby. Razai dropped the illusion and cast her invisibility spell.

The spell was as frustrating as it was useful—she had to move painfully slow or it would end, leaving her visible. Hidden from any prying eyes, she carefully, and slowly, made her way to the door that led to Elba’s apartment. There was a chair just outside, but it was a little too convenient. Razai couldn’t risk someone unknowingly sitting on her lap. She stood next to it instead, leaning back against the wall.

Settling in to wait, she drank the glass of port. It wasn’t whiskey, but it was better than warm milk.

#

When Ellerie arrived at the Council Building, she found Sarette waiting with a man she introduced as her Uncle Vartus.

“I didn’t realize you were going to be here,” Ellerie said. “I thought it was just Corec and me.”

“They don’t want me to leave,” Sarette said, scowling at the doors that led to the council chamber. “My mother complained to someone who complained to the Council.”

“I don’t particularly want you to go either,” Vartus said, “but since you insist, I believe we can convince them.”

They waited in somewhat awkward silence. Ellerie didn’t know Sarette very well. The weather on the journey to the ruins hadn’t been conducive to socializing, and the stormborn woman had spent most of her time with Treya and Corec. If Ellerie had been waiting with Katrin or Shavala instead, at least the awkwardness would have been comfortably familiar.

It was a relief when Corec arrived. He had an annoyingly useful ability to bridge gaps between different groups.

“Did I make it on time?” he asked. “I stopped on the way and picked up my new scabbard.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the sheathed sword attached to the harness on his back.

“We haven’t been called in yet,” Sarette said. “There was someone else ahead of us.”

He nodded, then turned to Ellerie. “We found another pack mule, so I think Boktar’s got everything ready to go for tomorrow. I feel bad sticking him with all the work.”

“So do I, but we’ve been busy. If I’m not careful, he always just goes out and gets stuff done without waiting for me. I’ve gotten used to it. At least he has Nedley now to help.”

That was all they had time for before being summoned into the council chamber. A wide, half-circle table took up the far third of the room. Behind it sat the nine men and women that made up the stormborn Council of Elders. Although the Council ruled Snow Crown and the rest of the Storm Heights, the chamber was surprisingly sparse. The building might have been constructed of tershaya wood, but it was still a log structure at its heart, like most other buildings in Snow Crown. It was no match for the Glass Palace in Terevas.

In addition to the Council, there was another stormborn man standing off to the side who hadn’t been in attendance the last time. He seemed vaguely familiar.

The man at the middle of the table, Rurik, First Seat of the Council, stood and addressed them. “Thank you for attending this session, Lieutenant Sarette, Stormrunner Vartus, Warden Corec.” Each title was accompanied by a nod to the bearer. Then he faced Ellerie. “I must apologize for our previous meeting, Your Exalted Highness. We didn’t realize that a member of the di’Valla family had come to Snow Crown. Not many of your people visit the Storm Heights.”

Ellerie froze. She’d suspected that Oracle Galina, the Fifth Seat, had guessed who she was, but for some reason, she hadn’t expected the strange woman to tell the others.

Corec stared at Ellerie, stunned, but she couldn’t spare any time to explain herself to him. She had to come up with a response that didn’t embarrass herself, her mother, or Terevas.

Quickly translating political courtesies from Elven to trade tongue, she said, “No apologies are necessary, Councilor Rurik. No titles are necessary, either, but if you insist, then Exalted will be sufficient. I’ve abdicated, and I’m no longer in the line of succession.”

The councilors exchanged concerned glances with each other and with the familiar-looking man at the side of the room. He stepped forward.

“Exalted,” he said with a small bow. “Lady Ellerie, I am Ambassador Tomek. We’ve met before. I apologize—while I haven’t seen you around the Glass Palace recently, I wasn’t aware of your abdication. If I had been, I would have let the councilors know of the appropriate term of address. I just this morning found out you were visiting Snow Crown, and I immediately informed the Council. I understand your intention is to leave tomorrow, but would you allow us to hold a reception this evening in your honor?”

So it hadn’t been Galina that had told the others after all. Ellerie recognized the ambassador now. The stormborn were an insular people and didn’t keep a full embassy in Terevas, but Tomek spent two months of the year there, splitting the rest of his time between Matagor, Larso, and Stone Home.

“It’s hardly necessary, Ambassador, but if you’d like to hold a reception, I’d be delighted to attend.” The flowery language still rolled off her tongue even after her years away from Terevas. She would have rather gone unnoticed, but now that they knew who she was, she had no choice but to play the role. “I must offer my own apologies. I had no intention of deceiving anyone about my identity. I didn’t use my title because I’m not here on official crown business, merely my own scholarly interest. I didn’t want to force any obligations on your people.”

“It’s not an obligation but an honor,” Tomek assured her before turning to Corec. “And Warden, you’ll attend as well, won’t you?”

“Uhh, sure. I guess.” Corec was usually more eloquent than that, at least in official situations, but he was still staring at Ellerie.

The woman to Rurik’s left spoke up. “Exalted…or Lady Ellerie? I am Head Magister Inessa. I would like to thank you for your discoveries in South Valley. Even as we speak, Magister Borya is searching our old records for any mention of Tir Navis, and there are at least three expeditions already planned to search through the new tunnel complex you found.”

“It was just a matter of luck,” Ellerie replied uncomfortably, “building upon your people’s own work.”

Was falling through a floor really worthy of praise? Hopefully the details of her escapade hadn’t made their way to the Council. She kept a fake smile on her face, trying to seem appropriately diplomatic. Why couldn’t Corec interrupt and distract them with warden business? The first time she’d met with the Council of Elders, they’d been more interested in him and had practically ignored her. She’d been angry at the time, but now it would have been a relief. Not wanting to be the center of attention was one of the reasons she’d left Terevas in the first place. Not the biggest reason, but well up on the list. Boktar would laugh his head off when she told him the story.

“Nevertheless, the information you brought back is invaluable,” Inessa said.

“Perhaps we can discuss it tonight at the reception,” Ellerie said. It would be easier to avoid the woman at a large party than when facing her in the council chamber.

“Of course.” Inessa turned her attention to Corec. “Warden, Magister Nadza has informed me of her troubles with the sword, and your request to take it with you when you leave.”

Rurik raised a finger in the air. “Point of…osvetleniye?”

“Clarification,” Inessa supplied.

“Point of clarification—you refer to the enchanted sword taken from the South Valley ruins?”

“I do.”

“In our last session, you said the magisters were enthusiastic about the find. We’ve never recovered an enchanted object in the ruins before. Why would we allow something of such historical significance to leave Snow Crown?”

“According to the latest report from Magister Nadza, the sword is completely immovable by any force we’ve tried, including magic. Only Warden Corec can touch it safely. Two of the men that examined it were seriously injured and required healing. In addition, it’s begun to emit light and sound at unbearable levels when it’s not in the warden’s possession, which obviously interferes with our plan to display it in the museum. The warden can move it for us, but what do we do once he leaves?”

Corec cleared his throat. “Magister Nadza suggested the museum could loan me the sword until we learn more. She thinks it’s possible that only wardens can touch it. There are people I can ask who may know more about it, or at least know more about enchanted weapons in general. I’ll send Nadza any information I find out, and if I learn how to make the sword safer for your people to handle, I’ll return it. The Ancients were able to leave it on display in Tir Navis, so it must be possible.”

Rurik looked to an elderly woman who sat at the far right end of the table. “Galina, what do you think?”

“The sword is an unusual find, but I’ve had no visions about it,” the oracle said. “It’s not important enough for Borrisur to make his will heard. I’ll trust Inessa’s advice.”

“Is that the weapon there?” Lesander asked, pointing to the sword. The councilor was a former scout, and it was he who’d suggested a route that allowed the expedition to reach the ruins in the middle of winter.

“Yes,” Corec said, drawing the blade and holding it across his palms to show to the councilors. It glowed with a pale green light. Unlike the previous times Ellerie had seen him handle it, there were no sparks.

“It doesn’t look all that dangerous,” Rurik said. Then he chuckled. “Other than in the obvious ways, of course.”

“I’d warn you not to touch it, Rurik,” Inessa said. “It’s hurt a number of people already, and not just the two who needed healers.”

Rurik slowly nodded. “I suppose it would be acceptable to loan the sword to Warden Corec, given that one of our own will be accompanying him.”

“That has yet to be decided,” Lesander said. “We still need to discuss Lieutenant Sarette’s status. Vartus, you told me she now qualifies as a stormrunner?”

“As a trainee, at least,” Vartus agreed. “I don’t pretend to understand how this warden bond works, but it appears to match the stories. She’s still new to it, but my testing suggests she’ll likely be able to complete the training this time around.”

“Then she should remain here and do so.”

Sarette said, “I gave my word that I’d travel with Corec and his companions, and offer them my services as a stormrunner, at least temporarily. That was what I agreed to in exchange for the binding spell.”

Ellerie kept her face expressionless. Corec had suggested the arrangement simply because, if he was going to attempt to act as a real warden the way Yelena did, he thought he’d need help from the people he’d bonded. But he didn’t have any firm plans for the future, and if Sarette really wanted to change her mind, he wouldn’t care. She hadn’t quite lied to the Council, but she’d come close.

“You’re a stormrunner and a member of the High Guard,” Lesander said. “Your place is in Snow Crown.”

“I’ve been relieved of duty, and I have no obligations keeping me here.”

“There’s still the trial—“

Oracle Galina’s voice rang out. “Your own judges have already said she doesn’t need to wait around for that, Lesander. Now, I don’t know anything about the girl besides what you told the Council this morning, but it seems to me that you and Vartus both missed your chances. The stormrunners released her from any responsibilities, and so has the High Guard. You already know what the result of the trial will be.”

“We have to follow procedure, Galina,” Lesander said in a placating tone.

“I know I’ll be discharged,” Sarette said. “It doesn’t matter whether it happens now or later. I’d planned to resign my commission anyway.”

Lesander sat back in his chair with a scowl.

“Did you really think you’d keep a stormrunner in the High Guard, Les?” Vartus asked him. “Even if you hadn’t put her on trial, she’d have rejoined us at Runner’s Summit.”

Another councilor raised a finger. “I have question,” he said in halting trade tongue, then switched to the stormborn language.

Inessa translated. “Zigor asks, if the warden bond can help a failed stormrunner, what about Sascha? He’s the only other young stormrunner left, and his powers are…not as strong as we’d like them to be. Vartus, you and the others won’t be around forever, and Sascha can’t continue the order by himself. Can the warden help him become a full stormrunner?”

They all looked at Corec expectantly.

“No,” he said firmly. “A warden can only bond a small number of people. Sarette was a special case. She came to me, and to the others, and we all agreed to accept her. Besides, she’ll be able to return to your people. I won’t keep her away forever.”

Galina said, “Then I think we’ve talked about this enough, and I don’t believe there’s anything for us to vote on. The girl can make her own choices. In the long run, we’re getting a stormrunner out of the deal, and that’s something we desperately need.”

“I agree,” Rurik said. “I’m sorry, Lesander, but this isn’t a matter for the Council.”

#

Leena draped her veil across her face as a gust of wind blew sand into the air. She’d been in the vast Wadalli Desert for three days now, and couldn’t decide whether sand was better or worse than snow. She wasn’t even sure if she was still in Sanvar—the desert extended past the border, and her method of travel made it difficult to find herself on a map. She’d been teleporting once each day after Seeking a safe destination. She usually ended up going north, northeast, or somewhere in between, but she had no way to identify her exact location.

She trudged through the sand as the wind picked up, died down, then picked up again. At this rate, she’d likely only make ten miles for the day, in addition to the forty or fifty miles she’d come from Traveling, but that would still put her ten miles closer to her goal. Plus, walking gave her something to do other than thinking about her parents’ deaths.

She’d spent months trying to get home, but after learning what had happened, all she’d wanted to do was leave. Perhaps it would have been better to stay and watch over her brother, but there’d be time for that later, once she’d made certain he was safe.

Could Sarlo’s friend Yelena really help her? He’d seemed sure of it, but now that Leena was traveling on her own again, doubts had started to creep into her mind. Was her Seeking even sending her to Sarlo? She’d been alternating targets. Some days, she would take out her map and compass and Seek a safe spot for Traveling, roughly in the direction she thought Tyrsall could be found. Other days, she’d Seek vengeance.

So far, both routes were pointing her in the same direction.

The air finally grew still, and Leena thankfully removed her veil. She wasn’t accustomed to wearing one, and it had grown too hot to keep it on under the afternoon sun, especially while also wearing the traditional Zidari dress she’d borrowed from her cousin, with its long sleeves and high neckline.

Being too hot was a concept she’d almost forgotten when she’d been stranded far to the north during winter. In Sanvar, there were only two seasons, dry and wet. Both were hot, especially in the southern region where she’d grown up, just outside Sanvara City. The Wadalli Desert was hot too, at least during the day. At night, it could grow chilly, though nothing like what she’d experienced when she’d been lost on the northern plains.

It would still be cold in Tyrsall when she arrived, but she was better prepared for it now. She’d borrowed enough money from her grandmother to buy warmer clothing when she arrived.

Her musings were interrupted when a shape suddenly burst out of the sand in front of her.

“Human not allowed!” it said in high-pitched, broken Sanvari. “Human empress agreed! These lands belong to vhithiss.”

The lizardman was huge—seven feet tall and twice as wide as Leena. Of the three lizardfolk tribes in Sanvar, the desertfolk were the largest. The creature’s scales were brown and black, and it carried a spear and a leather buckler. Its parietal eye, indicated by a patch of gray scales in the middle of its forehead, stayed focused on her, while its regular eyes, on either side of its head, darted back and forth independently of each other. The pose suggested that it thought she wasn’t alone, and was looking for her companions.

She swallowed down her fright and took a deep breath. She had little experience with the desertfolk. The swampfolk and junglefolk were more common in the south. “I am Zidari,” she said. “I have right of passage.”

“Zidari?” it asked, its tongue darting out to taste the air. “Prove it.”

She rolled her sleeves up to show the tattoos along her forearms. The Zidari normally kept their tattoos hidden from outsiders, but the lizardman wouldn’t be able to distinguish Leena’s accent or clothing well enough to identify her clan any other way.

“Hehh,” the creature said with a long, exhaled breath—a sign of doubt. “Skin marks can be fake.”

“They’re real,” she said. She untied her waterskin from her pack and poured water over her left arm, then scrubbed at it with her sand veil. “See?” She needed him to believe her. The last war between the humans, dwarves, and lizardfolk had ended twenty years earlier, but all three sides still attacked each other from time to time. The Zidari could hold themselves apart from the wars—the empress protected them from the other human clans, and the lizardfolk wouldn’t kill them without a good reason—but it only worked if people knew they were Zidari.

“Magic shaman?”

Leena bit her lip. The lizardfolk considered Zidari mages to be something akin to their own shaman. The Zidari had held right of passage through lizardfolk lands for longer than Sanvar had even existed, but in exchange, they were required to offer their services when asked. If she lied, she’d be violating a treaty older than anyone could remember.

She had to tell the truth. “I am, but I’m still in training. My abilities are limited.”

“Abi…abili…” The lizardman struggled with the unfamiliar word.

“My magic is weak.”

“Shaman lost his magic. You finder?”

“I don’t understand,” she said. “What do you mean, he lost his magic?”

“Lost! Had it, then it went away. You find his magic?”

“I can try.” What would they do to her if she failed?

“Come,” the creature said, motioning with its spear as it turned and strode away.

She moved to follow, and half a dozen more of the lizardmen rose up from the sand surrounding her. She jerked back in surprise, but they didn’t seem to notice, just falling in line behind their leader.

Gathering her nerve again, she caught up to the one who’d first greeted her. “Can you tell me more? How did the shaman lose his magic?”

“Pulled magic from bag to heal hatchlings who have blood-scale. Later, goes back, but bag is lost. Magic is lost.”

The shaman must have been an herbalist rather than an actual mage. Leena almost laughed, but she didn’t want to offend the lizardmen. They might seem primitive, especially the ones that lived this far from their cities, but the lizardfolk were as smart as anyone else. Their intelligence was masked by the funny accent they took on when attempting to speak human languages, but they could tell when someone was making fun of them. The fact that they could talk to her in Sanvari was proof that they were more than they seemed—she couldn’t speak the lizardfolk tongue at all, and understood less than a dozen of their words.

But she still breathed a sigh of relief to know they just wanted her to find a pouch of herbs and medicines rather than something more abstract. She might actually succeed.