“Haven’t seen him since dinner yesterday,” the Warlord said. “Sneers at every dish that’s put before him, but he tucks into his food well enough. Here it is. This is his room.” He rapped on the door, waited a moment, then called in a ring of keys, selected a key, and opened the door.

Andulvar went in first, all his senses alert to some sound, some motion, a psychic presence that would indicate someone was in the room.

“Bastard,” the Warlord said.

Bristling, Andulvar turned slowly, his hand itching to call in his Eyrien war blade. But the Warlord wasn’t looking at him.

“He cleared out,” the man said. “The bastard just cleared out without paying his bill.”

Andulvar studied the room, noted the books on the bedside table, the clothes still hanging in the open wardrobe. “Are you sure?”

“Course I’m sure!”

“His things are still here.”

“Not the things he brought from Zuulaman.” The Warlord picked up the books, then set them back down before going to the wardrobe and riffling through the clothes. “He bought these clothes here in Dhemlan. Those books, too. My brother was in the bookshop the same day and saw the Ambassador buy them. But all the things he brought with him from Zuulaman are gone. Those bits of pottery and a book. There was a sketch on the wall, too. And the clothes.”

A chill went down Andulvar’s spine. There was no reason for the Ambassador to remain in Halaway now that the agreements were signed. No reason at all. And yet . . .

“Guess he didn’t think the things that came from Dhemlan were worth enough to take back with him,” the Warlord said with a trace of bitterness.

Andulvar left without saying another word to the innkeeper and flew back to the Hall. As he landed and started to walk toward the front door, three Warlord Princes dropped from the Winds and appeared on the landing web that was circled by the drive. Opal, Sapphire, Red. Even together, they couldn’t challenge Ebon-gray and hope to survive, but it would be a vicious fight. He shifted, deliberately placing himself between them and the Hall’s front door.

“We need to see Prince SaDiablo,” the Red-Jeweled Warlord Prince said.

“He’s not available,” Andulvar replied.

The Sapphire swore quietly.

“We need to see him,” the Red insisted. “We’re here on our Queens’ behalves to report some odd thefts that occurred last night.”

“What kind of thefts?” Andulvar asked, feeling icy claws wrap around his spine.

“Reports came in from several Provinces in Dhemlan as well as Amdarh,” the Sapphire said. “Items were stolen sometime during the night.”

“What kind of items?”

The Red’s smile had a bite but no humor. “If it came from Zuulaman, it’s gone. There’s no sign that anyone broke in to those homes and nothing else was taken.”