Vorax exhaled hard, dragging his arm across his brow, and sheathed his sword. “Meara,” he said conversationally, “I suggest you return the Lady to her chambers, and do not allow her to venture out again unless his Lordship summons her. If I find you here again, I will not hesitate to strike. And if you think my mercy is cruel, remember what Ushahin Dreamspinner might do to her. He has no love for her kind:”

“Aye, my lord:” Meara stood sullenly, plucking at Cerelinde’s sleeve.

The Lady of the Ellylon stood unmoving. “General Tanaros is coming?”

“Aye.”

There was a change; a subtle one. She did not move, and even her lids did not flicker. Yet beneath her fair skin, a faint blush arose, tinting her cheeks. Something knotted in Vorax’s belly, and he stepped into her space, crowding her with his bulk.

“Lady,” he said softly. “Leave him be.”

Her chin rose a fraction. “You were the one to offer me Lord Satoris’ hospitality, my lord Glutton. Will you break it and be foresworn?”

“I would have slain you the instant Beshtanag fell.” He watched fear seep into her luminous gaze, and favored her with a grim smile. “Make no mistake, Lady. Neither hatred nor madness drives me, and I know where the margin of profit lies. If his Lordship heeded me, you would be dead.” He drew his sword a few inches clear of the scabbard, adding, “I may do it yet.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Her eyes blazed with terrible beauty. “Aracus—”

“Aracus!” Vorax laughed, shoving the hilt back in place. “Oh, Lady, whatever happens, we’ve ages of time here behind the walls of Darkhaven before the Son of Altorus becomes a problem. No, if you want to invoke a protector, I suggest you stick with his Lordship. And mind, if I find you plying Tanaros with Ellylon glamours and magics, I will see you dead.”

The Lady Cerelinde made no answer.

“Good.” Vorax nodded. “Get her out of here, Meara, and do not bring her again. Mind, I will be speaking to the Dreamspinner.”

He watched them go, the madling leading, tugging at the Ellyl’s sleeve. The sight did nothing to dispel the knotted, sinking feeling in his belly. It was providence that had made him choose the left-hand door, alerting him to untold danger. On the morrow he would assemble a patrol of his own men to scour the passages behind the walls, sealing off the madlings’ secret corridors, or as many as they could find. Something was wrong within the edifice of Darkhaven, crumbling even as the chasm had opened in the floor under his feet. He remembered the moon-garden by half-light, a shining figure beneath the stars, the heady scent of vulnus-blossom mingling with sulfur in the damp air, evoking painful memory.

Lord Vorax, what do you see?