At least they treated Talia with that same lack of respect—she came in for her share of sniping, and that was a positive sign, that she had been accepted as one of them, and their equal.

The sniping-among-equals was something she could cope with, though it was increasingly difficult to keep her temper when everyone around her was losing theirs. Far harder to deal with in any rational way were Orthallen’s subtle attempts at undercutting her authority. Clever, those attempts were; frighteningly clever. He never said anything that anyone could directly construe as criticism; no, what he did was hint—oh, so politely, and at every possible opportunity—that perhaps she was a bit young and inexperienced for her post. That she might be going overboard because of the tendency of youth to see things always in black and white. That she surely meant well, but . . . and so on. It made Talia want to scream and bite something. There was no way to counteract him except to be even more reasonable and mild-tempered than he. She felt as if she were standing on sand, and he was the flood tide washing it out from under her.

Things were not going all that well between herself and Kris either.

“Goddess, Talia,” Kris groaned, slumping back into his chair. “He’s just doing what he sees as his duty!”

Talia counted to ten, slowly, counted the Library bookshelves, then counted the rings of the knothole in the table in front of her. “He was claiming I was overreacting at the same time that Lady Kester was calling Hyron a pompous peabrain at the top of her lungs!”

“Well—”

“Kris, he’s said the same damn things every Council session and at least three times during each session! Every time it looks as if the other Councillors are beginning to listen to what I’m saying, he trots out the same speech!” She shoved her chair away from the table, and began pacing restlessly, up and down the length of the vacant Library. This had been a particularly bad session, and the muscles of her neck felt as tight as bridge cables.

“I just can’t see anything at all sinister in my uncle’s behavior—”

“Dammit, Kris—”

“Talia he’s old, he’s set in his ways—you’re frighteningly young to him, and likely to usurp his position! Have some pity on the man, he’s only human!”

“So what am I?” She struggled not to shout, but the argument was giving her a headache. “I’m supposed to like what he’s doing?”

“He’s not doing anything!” Kris scowled, as if he had a headache, too. “Frankly, I think you’re hearing insult and seeing peril that isn’t there.”

Talia turned abruptly, and stared at him, tight-lipped, fists clenched. “In that case,” she replied, after a dozen slow, careful breaths of dust-laden air, “maybe I should take my irrational fantasies elsewhere.”

“But—”