For a long time, El had marveled that these imperial lords possessed such power that they were not afraid of Spore. She had come to learn it was because the empire used its resources to seek out, burn, manage, and map the Pall and its irruptions. That, more than anything, was the knowledge she had set herself to learn. She’d always known the past might … would … catch up to them someday. When it did, she’d meant to be ready to run again.

Now this, taken utterly by surprise.

The viper shifted against her heart. Not yet, she whispered, quieting it. Not yet.

There was no point in being angry. She could kill Duenn but at the cost of her own life, and then who would protect Kem? She needed to wait for an opening, or make one.

They reached the Residence gates. The ringing of a bell was followed by the interlocutor’s huzzah and proclamation, announcing the arrival of the lord of Duenn Manor. By the time they crossed the entry plaza and entered the audience hall, the intendant was seated in his chair of office, looking composed.

He rose as a courtesy. Intendants were third-rank officials in the palace hierarchy and normally held lesser status than a lord of a Manor. But this intendant was born to a heartland Manor whose prestige must always outrank that of a provincial Manor, no matter how wealthy the latter might be.

“Lord Duenn. You are welcome in Orledder Halt.” The intendant’s gaze took in the order of march, eyes creasing with puzzlement as he noted Kem at the side of the lord, and Elen surrounded by Duenn Manor militiamen.

“Respected Intendant, please accept my courtesies.” Duenn gestured.

Two menials hurried forward with two boxes. The smaller, when opened, revealed itself to be a gift of precious oils in stoppered vials. The larger contained a cradle carved entirely out of hallow-wood, a precious gift, indeed.

The two interlocutors exchanged formal greetings. The Duenn Manor interlocutor presented the intendant with the caravan’s manifest and explained that the cargo was the promised supplies for the engineers.

The intendant examined the manifest, eyebrows lifting twice as he read something that intrigued or surprised him. After he had finished, he addressed the lord directly. “I will be relieved to see the road cleared at last. We have waited quite some time. The delay has affected all of our fortunes.”

“Yes, yes,” agreed Lord Duenn. “Indeed, Duenn Manor’s caravans do not normally use this route, as we reside in the western region of Woodfall Province. But that is not why I asked to accompany this caravan. For many years, we all assumed the fugitives had died in the Pall.”

“Which fugitives do you speak of?” the intendant inquired politely.