“Truly, I think it is.”

She inclined her head in agreement. “I was forced to act as I did. Let me ask you, Ramit. I would like to offer you my companionship for a few days. I would like to take you to the altars that lie in this region, to show them to you, to instruct you in their secrets.”

“Their secrets?”

“How to locate the altar which is closest to you, if you are lost. How to memorize the angles of the labyrinth. How to properly groom and care for the mare you ride.”

“A generous offer.”

“You have entered into a heavy obligation. It matters that you comprehend your duty.”

“What about Hari?”

She smiled ruefully. “There you must trust me. He’ll not recover for many days, perhaps weeks. But I promise you he will recover. Will you come? I’d like the company, I admit it.”

To enjoy the companionship of a seemingly reasonable human being, one who could teach her about what she had become! The temptation gnawed. She smiled tentatively. “I’d welcome such a lesson.”

“Tomorrow, we will leave. Here they are.”

Lord Radas walked in looking stormy and irritated with Kirit following, bow gripped in white hands.

“I smell blood,” said the girl. “Who are you? Are you all of them? Are there more?”

“I wonder where you are from,” said the woman softly, “and how you came to possess the cloak of mist, and its bowl and staff and Sapanasu’s light.”

The girl looked her up and down in a way Marit would never have dared do, knowing it more prudent to play the part of a supplicant. Then Kirit looked at Lord Radas. “Here are four. Where is Hari?”

“He has other business to attend to and will not be available for some days.” If the woman was pleased, or angry, or worried, Marit simply could not tell. Even her age remained a mystery. She might be middling young, or middling old, but her demeanor suggested she had the experience to take hiccoughs in stride.

The girl, on the other hand, had youth’s lightning ways. “That is a good arrow,” she said to Radas. “What wood makes it? I would see it.” She extended an arm.

“Don’t touch!” He stepped back, rigid with anger.

“You have a bow, and arrows,” said the woman in her pleasant voice. “And what a fine mirror that is hanging from your belt. May I see it?”

Those demon eyes really had a creepy shine, although Marit had to admire the girl’s lack of fear. “No. It is mine. He—gave—” She faltered, and for an instant looked as young as she likely was, an inexperienced child confronting the old and treacherous.

“He?” The woman leaned forward. “Who is he?”

The girl hesitated.

“Hari gave her trouble about it,” said Marit. “Sheh! I never saw a person spit fire like she did! Him just asking to use it one morning. Hari is a bit vain, wanting to look into the mirror, eh?” She finished more loudly than needed. The girl’s look of confusion faded.