Farilane leaned forward and rested her knuckles on the surface of the desk. “You know what I mean. Why did he pick you? Where did you come from? What exceptional skills do you possess to make the emperor reject all others and place you at the top of the imperial food chain?”

“I think it best to ask him, don’t you?”

“Obviously not, as I am asking you.”

“I can’t tell you the mind of the emperor.”

“See, I think you can.”

Reaching into her belt, she pulled forth her trusty field book. Opening it, she retrieved the sharpened graphite stick and flipped to the proper page. Walking to one of the bare walls she began to draw symbols.

“What are you doing?”

“Decorating your walls. They seem empty.”

“You’re writing. That’s illegal.”

“I’m not writing. These are symbols not letters. Feel free to arrest me, but you’d better do it before I finish, or I suspect you’ll be joining me in prison.”

Farilane was writing quickly, using big markings as she side-stepped her way along the wall. She got to the end and kept going around. When she got to the third wall, the First Minister moved out from the safety of his desk. Farilane drew the symbols faster, growing excited at what would happen if she managed to finish. As she rounded to the fourth wall, Martasen Dray used his long sleeves to wipe two of the markings away.

Farilane stopped. “Problem?”

“What do you want?”

“Right now, I’d really sort of like to see what happens when I complete this circle of Orinfar runes.” She grinned. “I never thought they were real, but then, I never thought magic was real, either.” Using the graphite stick, she made a circular motion in the air that encompassed Dray. “You don’t normally look like that, do you?”

“You think I chose to look this way?”

“Yes, and it’s genius. No one who can alter the way they appear would ever choose to be ugly. But by doing so, you make it so no one would suspect. And this room . . .” She turned, opening her arms to include everything. “It, too, isn’t how it appears. This is all for show, but it’s too orderly. No one tasked with your job could possibly function in such pristine surroundings. I’m guessing I’m standing in an absolute mess. And an illegal one, I imagine.”

Farilane put the graphite stick back in her book, and the book back in her belt. “Does the emperor know? Is he aware how you helped my brother cross the Bernum River, when the same storm prevented Kolby from reaching Merredydd? Does he know how Ruby Finn recognized you? Does he understand you’re a Monk of Maribor, and that the monks are magicians?”

“I am not a monk.”