"Isn't it perfect?" Sapphire asked, looking blissfully at the folds of her new gown. It was cinched so tight a mortal woman wouldn't be able to breathe, but the effect raised the tops of her smooth breasts high into view through the plunging lace bodice.

"Yes," he answered. "But you would look perfect in anything… or nothing."

Chane made a strange sound as if choking.

Toret looked over in mild concern as the taller undead appeared to clear his throat. He made that sound so often that Toret wondered if he'd carried some physical defect from life into afterlife. But since the problem didn't interfere with Chane's ability to serve, Toret never bothered to ask.

This room pleased Toret more than any other except for the bedroom he shared with Sapphire. She, of course, had her own room for her jewelry, clothing, and accoutrements, but he insisted she rest with him by day.

Chane had ordered the furnishings for the sitting room, and Toret approved of his choices. When they bought the house, this room already boasted fine craftsmanship in its gray hearth and hardwood overlaid floors. Chane had thick Suman carpets of amber and soft russet delivered, and Droevinkan pastoral paintings graced the stairway walls leading to the upper floors. He contrasted light oak tables with dark mauve velvet furnishings.

If Toret hadn't known better, he would've sworn Chane took a modicum of pride in the finished effect. But there'd been that one tense moment when Toret hung a life-size portrait of Sapphire in an ornate bronze frame on the sitting room's west wall. What could be more beautiful, more the finishing touch to anything, than Sapphire?

The house had belonged to a wealthy but solitary merchant who died of consumption. Ownership reverted to the city, and it had been for sale nearly a year when Toret bought it. One attraction was a hidden passageway in the wall adjacent to the staircase, making him wonder just what the old merchant had been involved in. But one thing Toret had learned from Rashed was the absolute need for alternative escape routes. Each floor possessed a hidden entryway to the passage at the landings of the main stairway, and all three members of the house knew where each entry existed.

Since he and Sapphire both kept rooms on the top floor, the second floor was empty. The main floor consisted of the lavish sitting room and the dining chamber and the kitchens. The main area of the cellar was where they practiced sword-play, and Chane kept his own things squirreled away in a smaller room behind this.

Turning away from the mirror's reflection, Sapphire beamed at Toret.

"Are we going out tonight? I want to show it off."

"We hunted last night. None of us need to feed yet."

Her smile faded. "I didn't say anything about feeding, did I? I said I want to go out in my new gown."

Toret found just "going out" to be quite dull. If he refused, she was going to pout all night-and possibly throw things-but he felt like staying in.

"Chane, could you?"

His servant appeared lost in thought, but the last of the conversation caught suddenly in his awareness. For a second, a flicker of fright crossed his lean features.

Toret stared at him. Chane probably didn't care to take Sapphire out to frolic any more than he did. But Chane seldom displayed any expression besides boredom-except when he was hunting, and then there were moments when his nature surprised even Toret. Chane stood at full height and crossed his tightly muscled arms.

"I was to finish some studies tonight, master." Chane fingered what appeared to be a small brass urn or vial on a chain about his neck.

Sapphire's pout shifted dangerously toward impending temper.

"Yes, yes," Toret acknowledged quickly, "but that can wait. Your lady wishes to be entertained, and you don't want her to be unhappy?"

All he really need do was give an outright order, but Toret had always hated being ordered around, so he tried to avoid doing it whenever possible.

Chane blinked, his gaze shifting between Toret and Sapphire. He was about to speak when a knock sounded from the front door.

Toret frowned. In their charade as landless gentry, there were social contacts they'd made in order to keep up a good front-some even as high up as the city council-but it wasn't likely any would come calling here. This was probably another delivery for Sapphire. He'd tried to stop this, but the more money she got her hands on, the more baubles and garments she ordered.

"Chane, could you get that?" Toret said.

"I was going to my rooms to study," his tall servant answered.

All of Chane's dour nature had returned, and Toret's irritation got the better of him.

"Get the door," he said more slowly.

Chane's muscles jerked once. Toret saw him shake off the compulsive sensation and, once composed, walk instantly into the foyer. When Chane returned, he handed Toret a small folded paper sealed at the center with wax.

"This was delivered for you, master."

A message? Toret was tempted to have Chane read it to him but was worried that might make him look weak. He broke the seal, unfolded the paper, and read one short line.

I will visit you near the mid of night with information regarding your past in Miiska. Be alone.

There was no signature.

"What is it?" Sapphire asked. "An invitation? Is there a party?"

Toret's reading skills were limited, and he read the note twice before fully comprehending every word. Anxiety overran him.

Rumors had spread through bayside taverns and inns that a "hunter" in Miiska had destroyed all of its undead, which wasn't exactly true. Toret had survived. He heard enough variations on the tale that his amusement had waned and he'd tired of it. It was seldom repeated these days. But as he stared at the note, his imagination worked feverishly. No one knew of his time spent in Miiska. What if he hadn't been the only one to escape?

What if Rashed, the desert warrior, had actually survived and come to Bela, tracking his old companion-the one who'd run out on him?

That pompous, arrogant, sand-born, bastard of a… Images of the tall, perfect Suman undead smothered all other thoughts, wiping away Toret's contentment. Rashed with his crystal-blue eyes, so unnatural for his mortal race, and his ridiculous code of honor, and his ability to command. The idea of Sapphire coming under such influence made Toret squirm in agitation.

How long before the apex of the moon?

"Chane," he said quickly, "get your lady's cloak and take her wherever she wants to go."

Sapphire frowned briefly, then brightened. Toret knew she didn't relish Chane's company, but at least she could take her new dress out on the town. Chane hesitated.

"Now!" Toret barked.

Chane twitched again, glowering openly as he headed for the foyer.

"I don't want a cloak," Sapphire whined. "It'll wrinkle my dress."

"You'll look odd without one," Chane said. "Ladies wear cloaks."

"When I want your fashion advice, I'll ask you," she snapped.

"He's right," Toret said. "Put it on."

Sapphire obeyed, taking her cloak from Chane's long, outstretched arm.

"Hurry," Toret said. "The night is half-over. It's not long before the inns close."

Chane glanced suspiciously at him and at the folded paper. Toret stuffed it inside his runic and grasped Sapphire's pale hand to kiss it.

"Bring me back some entertaining stories, my love."

Sapphire returned Toret only a slight smile, apparently uncertain whether to be angry because he was sending her off with Chane or content to have her way.

"I'll have to go someplace expensive to be appreciated. Some extra coin would be helpful."

Anxiety was turning to fear. Toret jerked the purse from his belt and pushed it into her hand. "Here, this should be more than enough."