Prok blinked at her. ‘You can love a stone, but do not expect it to love you back. Milady, that child has guarded eyes. His wounds now bear scars, and those scars dull all feeling. You may see that as a flaw, but I assure you, just as the body will protect what was damaged, so too will the soul.’ He swallowed down a mouthful of wine, meeting her glare with a calm expression. ‘All too often, in seeking to heal, we reopen wounds. Never a good idea, in my experience.’

‘The fact remains,’ Sandalath said, ‘I don’t know where he has gone, and the dinner bell has sounded.’

At that moment, Lord Anomander and Ivis arrived in the dining hall.

Relieved, Sandalath said to Ivis, ‘Young Wreneck is nowhere to be found, good sir. Both your gate sergeant and the surgeon here believe that I worry without reason, whilst the High Mason and the others say nothing at all. I am made to feel foolish.’

Caladan Brood spoke. ‘Thus far, I have made no effort to quest through the stones of this keep.’

Anomander grunted, and asked, ‘Why the reluctance?’

The Azathanai made no reply.

Ivis swung to Yalad. ‘Gather a squad and inform the patrols – find the lad.’

‘Yes sir,’ Yalad replied, rising from his chair. ‘Milady, again, my apologies.’

‘We shall assist,’ Prok said. ‘Madame Sorca? Bidishan?’

In moments the others, along with Setyl and Venth Direll, had departed the chamber, leaving Sandalath alone with Ivis and their two guests.

‘He shall be found, milady,’ Lord Anomander said, drawing out a chair and settling into it. ‘High Mason, you would not explain your reluctance earlier. Will you do so now?’

Caladan Brood hesitated, and then shrugged. ‘These daughters – the blood of their mother runs fierce within them. Since our arrival, I have felt them explore their power. This is a crowded keep, Anomander, and by that I do not mean those of flesh and blood as we find around us. Something else dwells here, and it knows I have come, and likes it not. Regarding Wreneck, however…’ He hesitated, and then shrugged. ‘He has acquired formidable protectors.’

‘All this mysticism tires me,’ Anomander said in a growl, reaching for a goblet. ‘This sorcery proves to be an insidious art, inviting the worst in us.’

Though Ivis said nothing, Sandalath – who had been watching him – saw in his expression something sickly. ‘Master Ivis, are you unwell?’

The man seemed to flinch at the question. He combed thick fingers through his greying beard, and then spoke. ‘This sorcery seems in step with our natural unravelling of decorum and decency,’ he said, eyeing Caladan Brood. ‘The forest is restless with earth spirits. I have seen with my own eyes the spilling of sacrificial blood, only it was no mortal doing the bleeding. High Mason, I am told your powers belong to the earth. What can you tell me of a goddess suspended above the ground on a bed of wooden spikes? Impaled through her body, even her skull, yet she lives, and speaks…’