"Do you intend to maintain it, now that you've taken up residence at the estate?" Rays asked, interested.

"I had not considered it," Kall admitted. "Other matters have been occupying my thoughts. Do you have an interest in hunting birds?"

"Not for that purpose," said Rays. "The greater Bladesmiles"—he spat again in distaste—"constantly seek the means to make information travel faster, short of using magic to fuel its steps."

"Of course. I have no doubt my father's specimens could be trained as messengers. If such a service interests the Bladesmiles, I'm certain we could come to an arrangement," said Kall. He went on, "If I may, Lord Rays, I would be honored to have you attend my gathering tomorrow. Beyond the pleasure of your company, I wouldn't mind continuing this discussion in my home."

"In more delicate surroundings?" Rays looked genuinely curious. "Well, lad, if you're brave enough to want me at your table, I accept your invitation and wish you good business." He slapped Kall on the back.

Jostled by the sudden movement, the goshawk let out an ear-splitting shriek and took flight, leaving gouge marks in Kall's leather gauntlet. She soared up between the buildings to glide huffily over the Gold Ward.

The raptor flew gracefully through the wide window of the aviary but came to rest on the ground instead of one of the perches scattered in tiers around the room.

The other raptors screeched in alarm as magic flooded the narrow space. The goshawk's wings twisted vertically, folding feathers and membrane slowly into the flesh of bare arms. Claws shrank into slender, feminine toes, which gripped the cold stone floor reflexively as the change wracked her body. When the transformation was complete, Cesira stood, instinctively reaching out with her thoughts to calm the frightened birds.

Forgive me. I will be more thoughtful in the future.

Cesira had no idea what her true voice sounded like. Mute from birth, she did not know why she could touch animals with her thoughts but not her voice, nor did she understand how Silvanus granted her speech when in animal shape, or heard her spells when she chanted in silence. She had simply accepted long ago that the gods must know the hearts and minds of their followers, and answer accordingly.

Forgive me, she repeated.

When all was quiet, Cesira strode briskly to the door of the tower, which led to a steep flight of stairs. On the landing, she put on the long brown cloak she'd left hanging on a peg earlier that morning. Time to become mistress of the house, she thought, blowing a stray feather out of her tresses.

A servant met her at the base of the stairs—the cook, if Cesira remembered correctly. "My lady," the woman said, curtseying quickly. "I've a message for Lord Morel."

Lord Morel, Cesira thought. Gods help her. She looked the woman over, noting with some relief that she bore the new symbol of Morel woven with ribbon into the collar of her frock: an emerald joined by an elaborate setting to a rather plain-looking stone. The official story was that Lord Morel meant the symbol as a tribute to Keczulla's roots, its rise from nothing to become the backbone of the Morel jewel business. Conveniently, it also bore the enchantment that allowed Cesira to converse with people, making the plain stone in essence more valuable than the emerald. Cesira did not miss the irony. What is it? she asked.

"It's from Master Dantane," the cook said, a little uneasily. "He again requests an audience. He wants to know when Lord Morel will be deciding whether he is to stay or go from the house." The woman's tone left little doubt of her feelings on the matter. If the rest of Amn was in the dark about Dantane's profession, it was certainly no secret to the house. "He'd like to speak with Lord Morel as soon as possible."

I'm sure he would, Cesira said. Please tell him Lord Morel will speak to him just as soon as he returns.

The woman curtseyed again and hurried away. Cesira's gaze strayed across the hall, in the direction of the other tower. The spire had formerly housed Morel's private offices. At some point it became the wizard's living quarters.

Must they all flock to towers and high places, Cesira wondered. She didn't see the appeal. Then again, she knew nothing of Syrek Dantane or his tastes. That worried her, more than she liked to admit.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Keczulla, Amn