Lord Duenn’s long-winded prattling allowed Elen’s shock to ease. Few were watching her, their attention on the lord’s booming voice and choppy gestures. She knew better than to protest, to argue, to push back. Duenn had all the power in this exchange. She had none. Her mind turned through what options might be left. The census papers were accurate. Archivist Heyadi would find them legitimate.

So, Kem first. Duenn would take the boy home and force him to wear a woman’s name, force him to marry to benefit the Manor, even imprison him for the rest of his life for fear he might run away, as his mother had done. Elen had taken Kem on longer and longer hikes as he grew older, so he would learn the ropes of overland travel. Aoving had taught him plant lore so he would know what he could eat in the wild and what plants could heal and which would poison. They had prepared, should this day come.

Now, the day was upon them, and she didn’t like the odds.

The intendant cleared his throat. When she looked at him, his right hand casually made the open-hand-to-closed-fist gesture that his sentinels used to mean “We need to talk privately.”

“Lord Duenn,” he said. “It will take the archivist some time to process the documents. Please allow me to offer you refreshments in my parlor. I can arrange for a suite of rooms if you prefer to rest. You have been traveling for some time, I conclude.”

“For some months, yes,” Duenn huffed, as if his impassioned speech had tired him. Maybe it had. He looked worn about the edges in a way he hadn’t fourteen years ago. “It would suit my bones to sit for a while and take refreshment. This has all come as a shock.”

“I can well imagine,” agreed the intendant. “My chatelaine will show you to a suite, and send food and drink.”

Duenn pushed past the militiamen, grabbed Elen’s arm so tightly she winced, and roughly hauled her to her feet. “The criminal comes with me.”

The intendant smiled in the pleasant way he had that seemed like an apology but was really a tactical maneuver. “Lord Duenn, this is an imperial Residence. I do not allow my outdoor staff and menials like deputy couriers to set foot in the wing set aside for the use of Manor visitors. We keep palace-trained menials in service here to attend to the Manor-born. If you are concerned about security in my Residence…” He paused to allow the accusation to sink in.

The lord said nothing, his refusal to answer a deliberate insult.