“Why—” Brilliana frowned. “The civil war? ’Tis clear enough: Wu and Hjorth formed a compact of trade, east coast to west, at the expense of the Clan; Thorold, Lofstrom, Arnesen, and Hjalmar returned the compliment, sending Andru Arnesen west to represent them in Chang-Shi, and he was murdered on his arrival there by a man who vanished into thin air. Clearly it was an attempt to prevent the Clan of four from competing, so they took equivalent measures against the gang of two. What made it worse was that some hidden members of each braid seemed to want to keep the feud burning. Every time it looked as if the elders were going to settle things up, a new outrage would take place—Duchess Lofstrom abused and murdered, Count Thorold-Arnesen’s steading raided and set alight.”

“That’s—” Miriam’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a Hjalmar, right?”

“Yes?” Brilliana nodded. “Why? What does it mean?”

“Just thinking,” Miriam said. Left-over grudges, a faction that didn’t want the war to stop, to stop eating the Clan’s guts out. She hit a brick wall. It’s as if someone from outside had stepped in, intervened to set cousins against each other… She sat up.

“Weren’t there originally seven sons of Angmar the Sly?”

“Um, yes?” Brill looked puzzled.

“But one was lost, in the early days?”

Brill nodded. “That was Markus, or something. The first to head west to make his fortune.”

“Aha.” Miriam nodded.

“Why?”

“Just thinking.” Hypothesis: There is another family, outside the Clan. The Clan don’t know about them. They’re not numerous, and they’re in the same import/export trade. Won’t they see the Clan as a threat? But why? Why couldn’t they simply marry back into the braids? She shook her head. I should have tried those experiments with the photograph of the locket.

The carriage drew up at the door of the Thorold Palace, and Miriam and Brilliana managed to get Kara out without any untoward incidents. Then Kara responded to the cold air by stumbling to the side of the ornate portico, bending over as far as she could, and vomiting in an ornamental planter.

“Ugh,” said Brilliana. She glanced sidelong at Miriam. “This should not have happened.”

“At least the plants were dead first,” Miriam reassured her. “Come on. Let’s get her inside.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Brill took a deep breath. “Euen of Arnesen plied her with fortified wine while she was outwith my sight. I should have seen it, but was myself beseiged when not following your lead.” She frowned. “This was deliberate.”

“You expect me to be surprised?” Miriam shook her head. “Come on. Let’s get her up to our rooms and see she doesn’t—” a flashback to Matthias’s warning—“embarrass us further.”