Delari said, "She romanticizes somewhat but that's the truth. My son – call him Grade Drocker because that was the name he preferred – had a mission. You saw him. Even at the end… He denied his heritage and he denied himself so he could war against the Night. And, in the end, it gained him nothing."

The woman said, "He was hunting a monster in the Holy Lands when the slavers came. In the night. Surprising everyone. There hadn't been any ships sighted. Mother said so. That it couldn't be. That there hadn't been any raids for years. Aparion and Dateon kept them away. She kept saying that all the way down to the ship. That's almost the only thing I remember about that night."

The earth fell away beneath Piper Hecht.

His earliest fixed recollection was of being dragged aboard ship by foul-smelling men who spoke a foreign language. The ship had pretended to be a trader. The slavers took only younger women, girls, and small children. By the score.

Earlier memories visited his dreams, too. He never remembered when he woke up. He had spent thirty years forcing all that to go away.

Principate Delari and the woman studied him intently. Delari said, "You seem disturbed."

"I'm thinking about what she said. We live in a harsh world."

"Warm his coffee, Heris. Piper, I may have to practice a small sorcery on you."

Hecht had regained control. Despite his internal turmoil.

Memories. He had had a sister named Heris. An older sister.

Delari once said that this Heris was the image of her mother.

She matched those fleeting images tormenting him now.

"I think you have already. What's in the coffee?" His amulet itched only faintly, though.

Delari asked, "Again, are you sure your father was right, Heris?"

"Absolutely. He spent a fortune and most of his last year making sure. Hidden somewhere here, or at the Castella, are copies of his records. Before that, all the way back to when he first heard about us being taken, he looked for us and hunted down the men who took us. Almost every man who was on that ship. They died knowing why, too. Excepting the last few. Starkden, who planned everything, and some Deves who financed the expedition. Wherever Father is now, I'm sure he's glad about what happened to Starkden. But not about the Deves. They still haven't been found."

Delari grunted. Then turned his stare on Hecht.

Hecht could feel the earth shifting. He was not ready for anything like this.

The Principate said, "I've been trying to nudge you toward the truth gently, hoping you'd figure it out for yourself. But you're exceptionally, persistently, stubbornly blind."

The blond woman sighed wearily. She came to stand in front of him. "Don't you remember anything, Gisors?"

"Gisors?" he asked.

"The name my son gave you. I'm not sure why. It's an eastern name. As is Heris. We'll still call you Piper. You're comfortable with that and it's the name everyone knows. So there'll be no slipups. It's much too late to have you emerge as the long-lost child."

Hecht wanted to argue. To deny. To go back to his stories about Duarnenia. He had done an inspired job of selling. These people just were not buying.

So he went silent. He would admit nothing. No matter what. However great the shock. He was Sha-lug. He was the most promising product of the Vibrant Spring School.

Heris said, "The slavers were Deves. That's how they got a ship with so many men aboard into the harbor. That's why Father hated Deves. That's why he was in Sonsa. Everybody thinks it was because the Brotherhood wanted to plunder the Deves. He let them think that. He exploited their greed. But he came over from Runch because he'd heard that some Deves who financed that raid were in Sonsa.

"He was cruel and clever. And devious. He used the Brotherhood of War to engineer his revenge. And no one ever saw that. Because he gave them what they wanted."

Hecht betrayed no emotion. It was too absurd to be true.

They thought they knew who he was. Some Devedian who did know must have betrayed him. Or Anna had. Or Titus Consent. This would be a trick to get him to open up.

"Once he realized who you must be, your father… He forgave you the hurt you did him."

Could the Sha-lug Else Tage have fired the blast that crippled and slowly killed Grade Drocker had he suspected that the Special Office sorcerer was his natural father?

He could have. Knowing no more than that. He had had no reason to love Grade Drocker. Nor had Drocker had any reason to love him. The man had tried to kill him only days earlier.

"He insisted on directing the Calziran campaign. He wanted to shield you and bring you along."

Hecht had a hundred questions. He did not mouth a one.

He would not anger anyone by arguing. Neither would he concede anything.

"He failed. Once it became obvious that he wouldn't last long enough, I came down and took over. I've tried to bring you along. I've celebrated a few successes. But never those I hoped to enjoy. My grandson has become the most important soldier in the Chaldarean world. But he won't admit that he's part of my family. And, after generations of breeding the most powerful sorcerers in the Episcopal Chaldarean realm, the line has burped up children with less grasp of the power than your average pig farmer."

Hecht took a calming breath. "I thought we were going to investigate the mystery of the unexpectedly healthy Cloven Februaren."

Delari and his granddaughter exchanged exasperated glances. Delari said, "As you wish, Piper. As you wish. You can't be forced. But you'd better assess the risks of persevering in refusing to admit the truth."

Was that a threat? Or just a statement of fact? Or both?

He began to catalog everyone who might know that in his once upon a time he had been Captain Else Tage of the Sha-lug.

The possible number was dishearteningly large.

He said, "If it is necessary, I'll be Gisors. I've learned that sometimes I have to be what others want me to be."

That had worked when he was a prisoner of the Grail Emperor. That had worked when he was employed by Bronte Doneto. To a lesser extent, it had worked with the Arniena, the Bruglioni, and when he had commanded the City Regiment during the Calziran Crusade. The trick was to make people see what they wanted to see while he got what needed doing done.

Principate Muniero Delari wanted no illusions. He wanted what he wanted. His intensity made that clear. "Heris. Assemble the staff. In the kitchen. We'll start there."

The staffers were not happy. The cook was in her nightdress, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. She was not afraid so demand, "Will this take long? I start my days early."

"How long it takes is up to you."

Turking and Felske were locals of middle age. Felske was graying and Turking would soon be bald. Service in the town house was all they had ever known. Unlike Mrs. Creedon, they had not been wakened.

The Principal asked, "Is there anyone living here that I haven't been told about?"

The staff exchanged appropriately puzzled glances.

"Well?"

Mrs. Creedon said, "I'm not sure I understand what vou're asking."

"I didn't stammer. Nor did I obfuscate. Who is living in my house without my knowledge or permission?"

The cook shook her head. The couple looked at one another, shrugged. Turking said, "No one, Your Grace. We wouldn't presume."

"Yet a man of medium stature, resembling my son, middle forties to fifty, always wearing brown, has been seen coming and going here."

The servants wilted under Delari's glare. Mrs. Creedon managed, "Could it possibly be young master Drocker, Your Grace?"

"It could not. I supervised the execution of his final wishes. I watched his cremation." The Principate glanced back, "Ideas, you two?"