Tarsilia thought silently for a few moments. “If the Guardians are involved, it stands to reason that the Seat of Twelve is involved.”

That sounded reasonable enough to me. Not good, but reasonable. The Seat of Twelve was the name given to the twelve most powerful mages who made up the governing Conclave council. Not exactly people I wanted to notice me. I looked to Garadin. He nodded in agreement. Great.

“Well, I know a man who should know what this thing is and what it does,” Tarsilia said, “but it’s been over twenty years since I last saw him.”

“Who?” Garadin asked.

“Justinius Valerian.”

My godfather looked stunned. It was a look I didn’t get to see on him very often.

“You were a student of the Archmagus?” he asked, clearly impressed.

“No, we were business partners for a time. That, and I slept with him.”

I didn’t even try to stop my jaw from dropping. One man had absolute authority over the Isle of Mid and everyone on it. The Archmagus. And Tarsilia had slept with him.

“For about five years,” Tarsilia added. “The sex part, that is. The business partnership dissolved long before that. We just couldn’t seem to agree with each other.”

“Sounds like you agreed with each other just fine,” I said.

Tarsilia winked. “That’s a different kind of agreement, dear.”

Garadin recovered quicker than I did. “Think he would remember you?”

She gave him a flat look. “I can guarantee it.”

That was more than I’d ever wanted to know about my landlady.

“As nice as getting information about this necklace would be,” I told her as diplomatically as I could, “there’s the small matter of time. I don’t have any. Not to mention, the Guardians take their orders from Justinius Valerian. If he wants the amulet, he’d just have the Guardians drag me back to Mid along with it. Let’s see what we can do to avoid me surrendering to the Guardians, shall we?”

Tarsilia shrugged. “Suit yourself. But until you get rid of that trinket, things are going to be busy around here.”

“They’re not going to be busy, because I’m not going to be here,” I told her. “The Khrynsani will be watching my rooms. When I make it obvious that I’m moving out, I should take my trouble with me.”

Tarsilia bristled. “You’re not letting goblin shamans run you out of your home.”

“It’s just temporary,” I assured her. “I can’t have Khrynsani visits becoming a nightly event around here. I won’t endanger you or Piaras. Don’t worry, I’ll be going somewhere safe.”

Tarsilia didn’t look convinced, but she decided to let it drop. I knew it wouldn’t stay that way.

My rooms above Tarsilia’s shop were small, which I preferred to think of as cozy. Cozy also had the added benefit of less to clean. I’ve never been one for clutter, so what furnishings and possessions I had were there because I either needed or simply wanted them. Less clutter also made it obvious from the moment I opened the door whether anyone had been there while I was gone. Everything I owned had a purpose and a place, and if it had been moved, I’d know about it.

Nothing had been moved.

As a Benares, I had an eye for the finer things in life, and I saw no reason why I shouldn’t have a few of them. Nothing too terribly expensive, just nice. I liked warm feet, so why shouldn’t I keep them toasty on a Nebian rug or two? I bought one; Phaelan gave me the other. I knew where mine had come from; I couldn’t say the same for Phaelan’s gift. As to furniture, I had a preference for warm-colored fabrics and dark wood. And on one occasion, Markus Sevelien had paid me with a particularly beautiful painting I had often admired in his office. It was of a fog-shrouded landscape with the ruins of a temple. Not the most cheerful subject, but I liked it.

These rooms were my home. I was being forced to leave, and that made me angry. Now all I wanted was someone to take it out on.

Tarsilia had come upstairs with me, my self-appointed bodyguard for the morning. Piaras was downstairs opening the shop. Garadin had left once I promised him that I would get myself to one of Markus’s safehouses. It wasn’t a lie. At some point during the day I was sure I’d find my way to a safehouse. I needed answers, and answers were difficult to come by when you were hiding. By no stretch of the imagination was I that good a sorceress even on my best day, strange amulet or not.

Boris darted around my legs and ran straight for his basket by the fireplace, no doubt to make sure his favorite toys were still there. Satisfied, he began kneading the old blanket I used to line his basket. At least one of us was going to get some sleep.

“Could you keep Boris with you for a few days?” I asked Tarsilia. “I don’t want him here in case someone gets really serious about breaking in.”

My landlady shrugged. “He stays with me most days anyway. Are you going to put a seal on the doors and windows when you leave?”

I hadn’t thought of that. As much as I disliked the thought of anyone in my rooms, using a sealing spell would just make any potential intruder think there was something inside worth taking—like the amulet hanging quietly around my neck.

“I don’t think so. No one will actually expect me to be staying here. If I’m not here, no one else should come sneaking around. Unless it’s Ocnus, then you can just sic Piaras on him.”

“You know how to spoil an old woman’s fun, don’t you?”

I went into the bedroom to change clothes and gather what I would need over the next few days. Nothing appeared to have been moved in here, either. I looked over at my dressing table. My one and only mirror was where I had left it—face down. When it came to getting from one place to another, Gates weren’t the only alternative to the front door. Mirrors would work in a pinch, and some sorcerers made a specialty out of spelling things through them. The one mirror I had was small and wasn’t on my wall. I’d seen firsthand the kind of nastiness that could make its entrance through a big wall mirror.

I took off the blood-stained clothes as carefully as I could. The leather jerkin was a total loss. The shirt could be washed, but I wasn’t going to be here to do it, so the shirt would have to go, too. Everything else was salvageable. As much as I would have liked to, I didn’t think sending a bill to the goblin embassy to replace my favorite jerkin would be a good idea. From what Tarsilia had just told me, I was sure I’d get other chances to collect.

I chose a blue shirt and my favorite brown leather doublet. It was my favorite because it had steel links woven between the outer leather and inner lining. It wasn’t light by a long shot, but those steel rings had saved my bacon on more than one occasion. The doublet also had leather sleeves, better for hiding what I wasn’t leaving my rooms without—a pair of slender daggers in forearm sheaths. They were also some of my favorites, for the same reasons. I topped it all with a pair of short swords strapped to my back. They fit nicely under a cloak, and wielded nicely in tight spaces. I now felt armed enough to set foot outside my front door.

“How close of a look did you get at the shamans?” I called to Tarsilia through the partially closed bedroom door.

“As close as I needed to. Those two were fresh from under a rock. Alix, Parry, and I took turns standing watch. He’s nice to have around the house when undesirables come to call.”

I found two clean shirts and put those in my pack along with my other things. “Did he go home with Alix?”

“Of course. But he told me he was just going to walk her home.” She chuckled. “He can put on the airs, but he’s no gentleman.”

I smiled and buckled the leather strap on my pack. “I think that’s what Alix likes about him.”

I came out of my bedroom and tossed the burlap sack with my ruined clothes next to the door. I flopped into a chair. Boris decided I was now acceptable for physical contact, and after a tentative sniff, rubbed his head against my hand, demanding to be scratched. I obeyed.

“A lovely couple,” Tarsilia concluded.

I knew she wasn’t talking about me and the cat. To her credit, she didn’t say anything else, or toss any meaningful glances my way. In this instance, even I could read her mind. But regardless of what Tarsilia wanted for me, it didn’t change my reality. The men I attracted didn’t have rooms or homes. They had lairs. Or lived in an island fortress and gave guided tours of the dungeons for fun.

I had a spotty history as far as the opposite sex was concerned. Any and all of my prior relationships had been at the mercy of my family, or more accurately, at the mercy of my family name. There was no middle ground. Men either ran for the hills when they heard who my family was, or they were just using me to get in with my uncle. Sissies or scoundrels—that was all I’d gotten in the past, and I didn’t want either one. I grinned at a couple of particularly pleasant memories. A couple of those scoundrels hadn’t been half bad at first.

Tarsilia had brought the sugar knots upstairs with us. She popped one in her mouth. She could do that all day and never gain an ounce. The thought of food made me remember something. I grumbled under my breath.

“What is it?” Tarsilia asked.

“I’m supposed to meet Alix for lunch today.”

“You’re afraid she won’t remember?”

“No, I’m afraid she will. Considering what’s happened, she’d be better off not showing up. I don’t want to attract more attention to myself than I have to. Having lunch with Alix might not be the smartest thing for me to do right now.”

“You don’t want to sit in an outside café at midday?” She finished off another knot and wiped her fingers on her work apron. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Replaced by survival instinct. Though a public place might be safe. Generally sorcerers don’t blow each other away at high noon in a public square.” I stopped. “I just described a duel, didn’t I?”