Valderra’s lips set in a firm line. “We have a severe curfew. There has been trouble at night.” She kept her eyes fixed ahead. “Malcontents. Criminals.”
Twilight had arrived when they reached Emerald Square in the very heart of Tarsis. A vast columned building, gabled and turreted, squatted on a hill overlooking the square. Valderra identified it as the City Assembly, with adjacent palaces for the city’s rulers. Tol took the opportunity to ask her the difference between a syndic and a prince.
“Princes are hereditary proprietors of the city’s affairs,” the girl said, eyes rising to the marble complex above them. “They’re descendants of the founders of Tarsis. Syndics are the chosen heads of city guilds.”
So princes were born, syndics made. That fit Tol’s impression of Hanira.
“It’s not correct then to call your mistress ‘Lady’?” he asked.
Valderra shook her head. She wore several tiny gold rings in each earlobe and these tinkled musically with the gesture.
“Syndic Hanira is not a Lady,” she said quite seriously.
Tol smiled. Miya would agree with that statement, no doubt.
Emerald Square was actually two intersecting squares, creating a cross-shaped plaza at the foot of Palace Hill. For the first time since entering Tarsis, the small party encountered other traffic. Virtually all of it was on foot, including several luxurious palanquins carried on the shoulders of bearers. Although cloaked in relative anonymity, the four riders drew stares.
“Horses must be in short supply,” Tol reasoned.
Valderra nodded. “Most were taken for the army.”
Golden House stood at the end of one of the arms of the plaza. Six stories tall and filling the width of the plaza, it was beautiful, but built like a miniature fortress. An outer wall surrounded it, and the house itself showed massive contours. Every corner, every window inlet and doorway was rounded and radiused, giving the impression the whole building had been cast in a single piece instead of constructed. Each window facing the square had its shutters open and a rack of candles burning on its sill.
The gate was closed. Flames leaped in brass braziers-or were they gold? Flanking the gate were guards in livery like Valderra’s, standing with spears ported.
Valderra announced their party. The guards exchanged disapproving glances at learning Tol had brought retainers. They began to protest, but Tol soon put a stop to that.
“Stand aside, you louts!” he bellowed in his fiercest battle — field voice. Both guards flinched. “I have business with your mistress, and these men are with me! Now admit us!”
Immediately, the near guard produced an iron key as long as his arm. It had been dangling from his belt, and Tol had mistaken it for a scabbard. The guard inserted the huge key into a slot in the gate and, with the other sentry’s help, twisted it until a loud clank announced the lock had disengaged.
Once Tol’s party was inside, the gilded gate swung shut and the lock clanged as it was secured. Belath muttered unhappily about being trapped inside.
Uniformed servants appeared out of the dancing torchlight and held Shadow while Tol dismounted. No one came forward to assist Sarkar or Belath.
“Will you see to my men?” Tol asked, and Valderra nodded.
Gesturing at the two warriors, she rode away toward a garden nestled between the wall and the house proper. The garden contained fruit trees, and lush green shrubs trimmed and shaped to resemble all manner of whimsical items-a bell, a leaping dolphin, a flock of birds rising into the air.
When she realized the two Ergothians hadn’t moved to follow her, Valderra halted between a leafy statue of a minotaur and a rearing unicorn.
“My lord,” Sarkar said to Tol. “Our place is by your side!”
“All will be well. Go with the girl. Be pleasant but vigilant. I will send for you if I need you.”
Unhappy but obedient, the two men followed their young guide into the topiary.
Tol was met at the door by an older woman in a high-necked, golden gown. Plump and gray-haired, she radiated competence and serenity.
“My lord,” she said, clasping her hands at her waist and bowing. “I am Zae, Keeper of the Golden House.”
“You are the syndic’s chamberlain?”
“Just so, my lord. Will you come this way?”
The entrance hall was staggering. Tol had never seen anything to equal it, not even in the imperial capital. The view overhead went straight to the roof, six floors above. At each level, on three sides, balconies faced the atrium. Underfoot, a carpet woven of golden thread covered a floor of polished black granite. Gilded statues, half again life size, lined both sides of the hall. Extremely lifelike, some statues were portly, some wizened and stooped, a few youthful and strong. Zae explained they represented former syndics of the Guild of Goldsmiths and Jewelers.
Between each statue was a bright globe, perched atop a slender marble column. Each globe emitted a soft, warm light. The air was sweet with the unobtrusive hint of floral incense.
The richness of his surroundings-the heavy tapestries, thick carpets, and ornate furniture-amazed Tol. Even the knobs and hinges of the doors they passed were covered with gold.
Zae told him the Golden House comprised two hundred rooms. Begun in the sixty-sixth year of the city by Syndic Morolin, the house had taken eleven years to build. Hanira had lived here since Year 221 of the city.
Realizing the figure meant nothing to Tol, Zae added, “She has been in residence for fifteen years, my lord.”
At the end of the monumental hall, a corridor crossed at right angles. Zae turned right, leading Tol to what she called the Minor Hall.
She stopped before a pair of tall double doors. They parted for her, swinging in silently. Each was quite thick and probably weighed several hundredweight, but no motive force was visible, here or in the room beyond. The great doors opened seemingly of their own volition.
A wave of noise hit Tol. The Minor Hall was revealed to be as large as the Feasting Hall of the Riders of the Horde in Daltigoth. Instead of an intimate dinner, Tol found himself facing a room occupied by at least fifty guests, all of whom seemed to be talking at once.
Zae paused and spoke to a man who wore golden livery and an open-faced helmet of shining gold. In response, he struck the stone floor with his staff, commanding attention.
“Guildmasters, syndics, and princes!” the fellow boomed. “His Excellency, Lord Tolandruth of Juramona!”
The chatter and clatter ceased instantly. All eyes turned to Tol. Striving to appear casual and calm in the face of so many judgmental stares, Tol unhooked the pewter frog at his throat and handed his cloak to Zae. He thanked her for her help.
“I am here to serve, my lord,” she said, and withdrew. The doors closed behind her.
The continued silence was deafening. Tol walked to the table. An enormous feast was laid out, but no one had partaken yet. All stood or sat around the long, heavy table, drinking from delicately shaped golden goblets. Most of the Tarsans were men, well fed and with red faces. Apparently they’d been drinking a while.
Hanira rose from her place at the head of the table. The only other face Tol recognized was that of young Prince Helx, seated at Hanira’s right hand. The blond prince did not rise but glowered at Tol, pale blue eyes tracing his every move.
“My lord,” said Hanira. “Welcome to Golden House.”
Tol executed a slight bow. “Thank you. I hope I have not inconvenienced you by arriving late.”
“Not at all.” She extended a smooth arm to indicate an empty chair. The single ring on her hand held the largest diamond Tol had ever seen. It flashed like a beacon in the glow of massed candles.
“Won’t you be seated?”
Those were the last words he would hear from her for several hours. She had placed him at the foot of the table, directly opposite herself. Although it was obviously a place of honor, Tol was vaguely annoyed to find himself so far from his hostess.
Spurs and sword jingling accompanied his every footfall. A servant stood at his chair, a gesture Tol at first did not understand, but as he approached, the servant pulled the chair out for him. When a second lackey offered to
