“We are witnessing for Tedoro,” I said. “Is there anything else we should know before we make our deposition?”

“She was murdered by Horthena Renthalar,” said Azhanharad. “He has confessed it to his Witness, and also that he was ordered to kill her by Osmin Temin. The circumstances of her murder are very clear.”

“Justice will be done,” I agreed.

“As best we can. Osmin Temin escaped us.”

I shuddered at the memory of Osmin Temin’s death. “You need not worry,” I said. “Her death was ugly enough to satisfy the most bloodthirsty of judiciars.”

“It was an ugly murder.”

“Yes.”

He scowled at me suddenly and demanded, “Are you well?”

“We are quite well, thank you,” I said.

His scowl deepened, and he said stiffly, as if I had offended him, “You were not, the last time we saw you.”

My face heated. I said, equally stiffly, “We assure you, we are well.”

He gave me an uncomfortably sharp look. “Are you a Witness for the Dead?”

“Tedoro is the last,” I said reluctantly.

“And you are well?”

“We are as well as we can be.”

“It is all any of us can do,” Azhanharad said, almost sounding sympathetic.

“Is there anything else, Subpraeceptor?” I said briskly.

“No, we do not … Wait. There was one thing. We found Isreän’s employer.”

“You did? How?”

“He came asking about bodies pulled out of the Mich’maika. Quite a bit too late, as it happens.”

“But why? He did not care for her.”

“Apparently,” said Azhanharad, “he had begun having dreams. He went to his prelate, and his prelate told him he owed it to her to find out what had happened to her, and advised him to ask us. So now he knows that he drove the poor girl to suicide.” Anticipating my next question, he added, “There was nothing we could do. He had done nothing illegal—or at least nothing illegal we could prove, although we are not convinced he is innocent of rape.”

“She did not remember it as rape,” I said, “but we doubt she had much choice in the matter.”

“Nothing we could prove,” Azhanharad repeated. “But he’ll be seeking help at Ulvanensee soon enough, for we cannot rid him of his dreams.”

“No,” I said. “There may not be anything Othala Chanavar can do, either. Dreams do not come and go at anyone’s bidding.”

“No,” said Azhanharad with grim satisfaction. “They do not.”

In the morning, after making my deposition concerning Tedoro’s murder, I went to the Prince Zhaicava Building and talked about funeral practices with Tomasaran. No petitioners interrupted us, and at noon she said, “Come to lunch at the boardinghouse. Vinsu and Aunt Rhadeän keep asking after you.”