She reached the duke’s outer office door and paused. Big double doors, closed, with a room on the other side. She took a deep breath and pushed the button set beside the door.

“Wer ish?” His voice crackled tinnily: a loose wire somewhere.

“It’s Miriam—Helge. I believe the duke wanted to talk to me,” she replied to the speaker.

“Enter.” The lock clicked discreetly and Miriam pushed the door inward. It was astonishingly heavy, as if lined with steel, and it drifted shut behind her.

Matthias, the frightening secretary, was waiting behind the big desk in shirtsleeves, his jacket slung over the back of his chair. This time she noted the pile of papers in front of him. Some of them looked like FedEx waybills, and some of them looked like letters.

“Helge. Miriam.” Matthias nodded to her, almost friendly.

“Yes.” Why does he make me so nervous? She wondered. Was it just the shoulder holster he wore so conspicuously? Or the way he avoided eye contact but scanned across and around her all the while?

“You have an appointment,” he said. “But you should call first, before setting out. So that we can send an escort for you.”

“‘An escort’?” She asked. “Why would I want an escort?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t you? You are a lady of status, you deserve an escort. To be seen without one is a slight to your honor. Besides, someone might seek to take advantage of the deficiency in order to approach you.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll think about it.” She nodded at the inner door. “Is he ready?”

“One moment.” Matthias stood, then knocked on the door. A muttered exchange followed. Matthias pulled the door ajar, then held it for her. “You may enter,” he said, his expression unreadable. As she passed his desk, he moved to place his body in front of the papers there.

Miriam pretended not to notice as she entered the lion’s den. As before, Duke Angbard was seated at his writing desk, back to the window, so that she had to squint into the light to see him. But this time there was nobody else present, and he rose to welcome her into his study.

“Ah, Miriam, my dear niece. Please come in.”

He was trying for the kindly uncle role, she decided, so she smiled warmly in return as she approached the desk. “Uncle. Uh, I’m unfamiliar with the proper form of address. I hope you don’t mind if I call you Angbard?”

“Not in private.” He smiled benevolently down at her. “In public, it would be best to call me ‘your excellency’ or ‘uncle,’ depending on context—official or familial. Please have a seat.”