She fully approved of the anger she read in his expression. She shared it in fullest measure. Daphne had always been a whiner and a constant complainer. Chenaya hadn't liked her much. Still, she hadn't deserved such a fate. "Those men were hired," Chenaya continued, "by someone right here in Sanctuary."

Lowan leaned on the mantel and chewed his lip. He turned the goblet absently in his hands. "Did your man tell you who?"

"I don't think he knew," she answered with a frown. "Or if he did, he preferred to expire with his secret." She drank again and licked the corners of her mouth. "But he did tell me where the women were sold. That's why I was late coming home, Father. I made a side-trip to Scavengers' Island."

Lowan squeezed his eyes shut and muttered a quick oath.

"I can take care of myself!" she snapped before he could say anything. She didn't need his lecture on what a hell-hole Scavengers' Island was reputed to be. She'd seen for herself, had walked among the scum of humanity that dwelled there. "I hired a boat to take Reyk and me across. For anyone who asked I claimed to be a fugitive from one of Theron's purges. That wasn't hard. After a couple of fights most of the rowdies left us alone." She winked. You know how mean that falcon looks.

"It took days to find her," she continued after another swallow. "Turned out she was a special attraction at a particularly nasty brothel that catered to, shall we say, deviated tastes." She paused and smiled a malicious little smile, remembering. "Tempus Thales would've loved it." She shook her head and let the smile fade, wondering vaguely what had happened to that butcher. She looked up at her father and handed him her empty cup to set on the mantel. "You've known men, I'm sure, who could only get excited by violent rape. Well, the proprietor sent those to Daphne." Chenaya wrapped her arms about herself. Despite the fire's warmth, lingering memories of Scavengers' Island sent a chill through her. "They kept her locked in a room. Father, she was a mass of bruises and scratches. She still is. Every time she fought tooth and nail. All it got her was a reputation on the island and a lot more customers with ideas of taming her." She shuddered.

Lowan Vigeles refilled her vessel a third time and urged it upon her. Then he asked quite calmly, "Did you kill the proprietor?"

"I didn't get the chance." She took one more drink, then set the wine aside. She hadn't come here to get drunk with her father, and there were things she had to do come daylight. She didn't need a fuzzy head. "There was plenty of blood letting, though, when I broke her out. Some customers tried to get in the way. But as soon as Daphne spied her keeper she grabbed one of my daggers and leaped at him with a screech that, I swear, made my flesh crawl! The man didn't even get a chance to fling up his arms. I tell you, she carved him like a mince pie. I had to drag her off and hustle her down to the quays before the entire island came after us. Good thing I had a boat waiting."

"Where is she right now?" Lowan asked softly.

"Rosanda volunteered to bathe her. It's probably the first bath she's had since her capture. Speaking of Aunt Rosanda, can you keep her busy out here for a few days? Very busy? I don't want her spreading word of Daphne's return. I want that pleasure for myself, and I want it to be very special."

Lowan frowned. "Now I see. Daphne's just a tool for you, isn't she? Another thorn to stick in Shupansea's side?"

Sometimes, Lowan Vigeles could be irritating, particularly in the accuracy with which he saw her motives. Chenaya had to admit she intended to relish the moment when Shupansea learned about Daphne, but her own father shouldn't be so snide about it.

"You're partly right," she admitted sheepishly. "That Beysib bitch is going to squirm like a hooked fish." Chenaya hooked her little finger in the corner of her lip and stretched it upward to illustrate her words. "But my motives run a little deeper than that, as you'll leam in time." She changed her mind and took one more sip of wine. "I'm glad I rescued Daphne. No woman should suffer what she did. I've promised to find out who in Sanctuary was responsible for the caravan attack."

Lowan sat back down in his chair and met her gaze over the rim of his winecup. The firelight glimmered on the burnished metal and reflected strangely in his eyes. "Promised who?" he said cautiously.

"Daphne," she answered evenly, "and myself."

He closed his eyes. After a while she wondered if he'd fallen asleep. Then she saw him move to speak. "How will you even begin? It's been a year."

There had been weeks on the road to ponder that. It would do no good to ask the Hell-Hounds to investigate. Even before she left those bumblers seemed to have locked themselves in the garrison and hidden there. Nor could she rule out that one of their rank might be the guilty one. Certainly, they would have known of the caravan's departure. For that matter, it could have been anyone in the palace. Or, she had to admit, anyone who just kept a watchful eye on the city gates. That meant anybody in Sanctuary. No, she needed help to find her answers, and she had someone special in mind for

that.

Of course, Lowan Vigeles wouldn't have approved, so all she told him was, "I have a plan, Father."

She awoke at sunrise after only a couple hours' sleep. She could have used more, but there was a lot to do. She had promised Daphne a new life. It began today.

But before she could stretch and climb out of bed Rosanda knocked quietly and entered with a breakfast tray. Chenaya pushed herself up against the headboard and gawked in utter surprise as the noblewoman spread a soft white cloth over her lap and set the tray upon it. It contained several slices of cold roast meat, fresh bread, and a rare Enlibar orange. There was a vessel of water to wash it down.

"Aunt Rosanda," Chenaya protested, "this wasn't necessary. The men take care of everything, or we see to our own needs."

Rosanda shushed her. "I don't mind, really. It's been far too long since I lifted my hand in a kitchen. I baked the bread myself early this morning." She blushed and looked away. "I thought I'd forgotten how. It used to be the duty of every Rankan woman to bake bread, you know, but we've all become so spoiled. No wonder there are stories that the Empire is crumbling."

Rosanda turned to leave, but Chenaya caught her hand. "Rosanda," she said in confidential tones, "what happened between you and Uncle Molin?"

Sadness was reflected in the older woman's features, but then she drew herself erect. "Chenaya, no matter how long I live in this city of thieves and vipers," her eyes narrowed to angry slits, "I am still a Rankan. I can't turn my back on my heritage." Rosanda began to rub at some invisible spot on her palm. "Molin has forsaken it all. Ranke means nothing to him. He schemes with the Beysib fish-folk. He turns away from our gods and our customs." She threw up her hands suddenly in frustration, and there was a moistness in her eye. "I just couldn't stay with him anymore. I still retain my lands and my titles. But I needed to get away from the Palace and all its intrigues for awhile. You and Lowan Vigeles are the only relatives I have in this city, so I came here." She leaned down and placed a gentle hand on Chenaya's hair, smoothing it on the pillows. "You and your father are the best of Rankan society, of all that we hold ideal. I needed a little of what you have to remind me who I am."

It was Chenaya's turn to flush. Perhaps she should have taken time long ago to get to know her aunt. The old woman might seem air-headed, but there was a kindness in her that was endearing. "Thank you. Lady," Chenaya said simply. Then, she decided to trust Ro-sanda. "I asked Father to find a way to keep you here a while ..."