“Where exactly did you find it?” the gnome asked.

“The thing that ruled there had it,” Arvid said. “When it died, and everyone else was keening over the dead yeoman-marshal, I explored the private chambers. The thing was dead; the hoard was surely stolen goods, but we had been granted the right to the value of what we brought out, less a tax to the town. I confess—” Arvid chuckled at this. “—I did not declare the necklace, nor have it valued; I don’t know if Paks did. She had an almost gnomish attachment to law.” He winked at the gnome. “Stronger than yours.”

“I am—” The gnome stopped, confused.

“You are a kteknik,” Arvid said blandly. “I have met your like before. Do not worry; I feel no need to share this knowledge with others of my kind.”

“We know where Paksenarrion’s treasure came from,” the dwarf said. “Would you ask that?”

“I know already,” Arvid said, “and do not need to ask. It is no great secret, though the location of the elfane taig is not certainly known to my informants.”

“It is to me,” the dwarf said. “But we do not go there.” He paused, as the serving maid reappeared with a platter and picked up their used dishes. Another appeared with bowls of custard.

“Have the Sinyi moved back in, do you know?” Arvid asked, when she had left and the two rockbrothers had begun to eat.

“Oh, yes,” said the gnome, his voice now bitter. “They say they are cleansing the hall and we will all be invited when it is done—the Elder Folk, that is. They denied my prince’s request to send a delegation to search for any kapristi bodies, and said they would bring them to us if they found any.” He spat a small bone onto the floor.

“Ungracious,” Arvid murmured. “You were involved, were you not, in its construction?”

“In small ways only,” the gnome said. He glanced at the dwarf.

“We assayed the stone,” the dwarf said. “Declared it suitable; it was a …” He paused, then went on. “An agreement was reached between dwarf and elf, for the stone-right—”

“It was not a fair exchange,” the gnome muttered.

“It was not your stone,” the dwarf said. “It was ours—the king’s to give, if he chose, but he chose to trade.”

“Stone belongs to us,” the gnome said. “As Sertig wrought, so it should be: the rockfolk to the bones of the earth, the singers to the trees above.”

“Are you saying the king had no right—?”

“I am saying no prince would have so abused Sertig’s gift,” the gnome said. “And for a female to rule—”

Arvid cleared his throat; the rockfolk looked at him, eyes narrowed. “Rockbrothers, I am not of your kind, though I speak your language, and would not choose to hear that which might displease you later to know had been heard. Pray warn me away, or abate your quarrel.”

“Courteous,” allowed the gnome.

“Fine words,” growled the dwarf.