My formality had to be dictated by my errand. I said, “We are Thara Celehar, a Witness for the Dead, and we must speak to Osmin Temin.”

She looked even more scared, but she nodded and said, as she’d obviously been told to say, “If you will wait here, please.”

“Of course,” I said. She ran back up the stairs, and I looked around. It was a square room with lovely wood paneling; the staircase followed the walls around, with a broad landing just opposite the front doors, and above the landing was a large multipaned window with a pattern in stained glass as a border; it must have cost the building’s first owner a small fortune. The carpet was also beautiful, although old and worn.

The elven girl came back down the stairs, sedately this time, and said, “Please, othala, Osmin Temin will see you. If you will follow us?”

I followed her up the stairs. The second floor was two long hallways stretching out from the stairhead; my guide turned left, and we walked about halfway down the hall before she knocked at one of the doors.

“Come in!” called a woman’s voice; the girl opened the door and bowed for me to enter.

Osmin Pavalo Temin was a middle-aged elven lady, beautifully dressed and perfectly coiffed, with long tashin sticks like daggers through the bun at the back of her head. There was nothing remarkable about her face, except perhaps for a certain hardness in her eyes. I disliked her instantly and powerfully.

She inclined her head in something that was not quite a bow. “Othala. Your presence is an honor. How may we help you?”

I said, “We are Thara Celehar, a Witness for the Dead. We are witnessing for Tomilo Ulzhavel. We understand that you knew her?”

“Knew her?” Osmin Temin looked bewildered, but I could not tell if it was genuine or not. “We served on a foundling school board with her, five years ago, but that is barely more than an acquaintance.”

“We understand that you had a serious disagreement with her,” I said.

“Oh,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “We begin to understand. Someone has a busy tongue.”

“We are investigating the possibility she was murdered.”

“And what do you expect from us, othala? A confession?”

“If you happen to have killed her, yes, that would save us a good deal of time and bother.”

Her laugh was more like a snarl. “We didn’t kill her. What good would it have done us? Now, if you don’t mind—”

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in!” Osmin Temin said, probably louder than was necessary.

The door opened, and a part-goblin girl came in, wearing the same uniform as the elven girl who had answered the door, with her hair in those two long plaits, although this girl was even older, maybe as old as sixteen, which was old enough to leave school. She, too, looked scared. She came up beside me and curtsied to Osmin Temin. “Please, osmin, Min Tesavin needs you downstairs.”