“Down at the end, sir. Zaknil thought that room was the best suited for the house's valuables.”

“Indeed. Inform the commander of the watch to change the room to the cellar beneath the matron’s apartment.”

“The cellar?”

Taul gave him a knowing glance, as if they shared a secret. “We can’t even trust our vassals. House above all.”

Niral beamed, repeated the phrase, and added, “At once, sir.”

Two young knights patrolling approached, having heard, and repeated the phrase as well. One was of Xura’s line, but at this moment, the moment of destruction, they were bound. For if Ryldia fell, and they had something to do with it, Taul would bring them down as well. He’d not sit back like that agent, smoking hallucinogens to ease his suffering.

“I’ll fight,” he said under his breath. “Like that fool in the goddess court.”

He glanced at the crates as they traveled the length of the hall and fell in beside a large one carried by two lads.

“I’ll open this one below,” he said. He motioned for them to continue.

In the foyer to the matron’s private apartment, Taul opened a narrow door hidden behind a panel and they descended to the cellar. It was more than a cellar, of course. There was a hidden escape route in the event things didn’t go their way. In the time of unrest after the Fall, some had used it to escape, but Ryldia’s ancestor had remained and consented to the Fifth Accord. But only if Hosmyr’s high matron ensured their claim to the ancient orchard in perpetuity, no matter what calamity befell them, no matter what laws or accords followed. An ancient sorcerer wrote the deed upon a kith plaque and two matron signets sealed it for posterity. Hosmyr could never tax it, never seize it.

“But all things change,” Taul said to himself. “When my brother arrives,” he said to a knight escorting their belongings, “show him down here, please.”

The knight, consorted from Lor’Pelaun to Yelara’s daughter, bowed and left him.

It wouldn’t surprise him if Maunyn Ilor’Hosmyr himself rode up with an escort of knights to kick them out. When the servants placed the last shipment of crates, chests, and boxes in the cellar, he ordered everyone out. He started opening the crates. Ancient silks and embroidered linens wrapped the contents. It all smelled of age.

Within a crate, he found a footlocker made of ironwood with glyphs carved into it. The lid bore Toshtolin’s embossed sigil and symbols of kithvyrae na’sen, the assassin’s hour, surrounded it. Against his better judgment, he opened the box. Mornae rarely imbued ironwood. Its nature as a once living thing was too changeable.

He laid the contents out on the cellar floor, unwrapping each, but without touching the kithaun directly. Here indeed were the ancient treasures of Lor’Toshtolin: kithaun daggers and knives, needles and rings, bracers and other devices housing the presence of sorcerers, priestesses, and knights. Who in his house could risk using these devices?

Ryldia wore the matron’s ring, but the previous matrons’ thoughts and power stored within could not harm her without harming their house. They wanted her to succeed. Would the minds in these weapons and devices feel the same about him?

He unwrapped a two-foot-long package, revealing a kithaun spearhead. It was pure Vakayne steel from before the Fall, a creation of ancient sorcerers and smiths. It would need a shaft, preferably ironwood, but who could he trust to wield it? Surely not himself. He’d ask Balniss to get it fitted in Velkamas.

He inspected a small, flat ring with a silk cord tied on either side.

“I need help with this,” he whispered. He dared not touch it. Indeed, he was getting a nauseous feeling, as if the ancients stored within the devices knew he was looking at them. Would Balniss risk tangling with the voices within them? He ran up the steps and stood in the hall, calling for a servant.

“Has my brother arrived?” he asked the first that answered.

The servant shook his head.

“Go find him!” Taul said. “He’ll be in the trade master’s chamber. If not, send someone up the road to see if he’s on his way.”

He should have arrived by now. Taul paced while waiting, feeling strong, energized by the arsenal of tools at his disposal. Surely, they would be enough to help him.

Balniss turned into the hall leading to the matron’s apartment. “I’ve been writing new contracts,” he said, frowning. “Confirming old ones, ensuring the high matron doesn’t steal more assets out from under you.”

Taul motioned for him to follow, and together they descended into the cellar.

“Oh my,” Balniss whispered. “What are you planning, brother?”

“I can no longer wait for anyone to help me. I have a lead.”

“To what?”

“Better not to share anything yet. I wouldn’t want to compromise your position. We need you as a magistrate now more than ever. But I need help with these things.”

Balniss nodded. “I would like to know more, but I will do what I can.”

“Let’s start with these,” Taul said. He pointed to the devices he’d taken from the ironwood box and arranged them in a grid on a silk square.

“Kithvyrae,” Balniss said, squinting at the box.

“We haven’t had one under Ryldia’s rule,” Taul said.

“I think longer than that,” Balniss said. “This is dangerous, brother.”

“Help me make it less so.”

Balniss crouched before the devices and passed his hand over them without touching them. Taul sat cross-legged beside him and waited. Balniss took out a slip of cloth from a pocket and started separating the devices, grasping each gingerly with the cloth.

“I wouldn’t touch those,” he said, nodding to the left-hand side of the square. “These others have milder impressions. You’ll need to touch them to learn their use, though.”

Taul selected the ring and dared to press a finger to it.

“I am Taul Lor’Toshtolin, prime consort,” he said. “Our house is in need.”

He repeated the words like a prayer while rubbing the smooth steel. It warmed to his touch and a willowy voice seemed to whirl about his skull. Taul continued his supplication until the voice settled at the base of his skull and warmed considerably. The voice within the device did not speak with words, though Taul seemed to sense its meaning: press it to your chest and imagine a face and form. The flat ring was a disguise device, but he kept that knowledge to himself. His brother didn’t press. Taul was a prime consort, and like a matron, his secrets must be his own.

There was a long history in the ring. Layers of thought and feeling bubbled up. Taul set it down. He’d no interest in all that right now.

“What about those?” Balniss said, pointing to a pair of heavily embroidered bands.

Taul took them both, one in each hand, and rubbed them.

You will walk in shadow, they seemed to say. No other words came to him. It just repeated.

“You’re right,” he said, turning to Balniss. “They are simple.”

“Good,” Balniss said. His eyes betrayed a deep curiosity, but he refrained from asking what they did. “I’d stay away from the spearhead and those daggers. Weapons accumulate strong emotion. An inexperienced wielder often ends up dead, or mad.”

“What about these?” Taul asked about the knives and needles.

“Those needles must have belonged to a priestess or assassin. Could be dangerous. That knife seems safe.”

Balniss was pointing to a plain looking kithaun knife. It had a smooth ironwood handle and a silver guard and pommel.

Taul picked it up. It had a five-inch blade and a curved tip, more than enough to shank or slice if needed.