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born to Luin.
    Montmoth – like Ash – had issues with
the god who had become the Sun, but the link to Astenar had
certainly benefited Aremal, which remained the most powerful and
stable Rhoimarch of the region. Montmoth's old Rhoi had sent the
current one there for some form of advanced schooling, and he'd
stayed away for almost two years, until his father had died
unexpectedly at the end of autumn.
    Arun Nemator had returned in time to be
judged, however, and brought this Thornaster back with him. Someone
who would be the focus of a lot of attention among the pale grey
towers of the palace in the centre of the sheltered Deirhoi Valley.
It would be a gamble for Ash to show her face there, but not truly
a great one, surely. Eight years had passed, and there were few who
had actually known her.
    "What's Pembury like?" she asked,
needing to distract herself.
    "Hilly."
    "You're a real wordsmith. You should
consider a career as a player."
    "And you would make a remarkable
diplomat, Ash. I shall recommend you. Now close your mouth and, if
you cannot master your tongue, say nothing."
    Ash snorted, but kept quiet as they
followed the hedge-lined side road to the Inner Stables. The
stallion came to a restless halt and Ash hopped lightly to the
ground, watching Thornaster as he dismounted. This was the second
time someone new had arrived just as her world had turned sideways.
But Ash was no longer a child and did not feel any need to confide
in this foreign Landhold. He was not Genevieve. He plainly saw her
as a potential spy, with useful herbal knowledge, but if he led her
to Genevieve's killer she would owe him her thanks. Until then, she
would play the part he had assigned her, would even make a game of
it.
    And consider her own opinions on
vengeance.
     

Chapter Three
    The Inner Stables, which housed the
most important Luinsels' horses, was all bustle and dash with an
underlay of dust and dung. The foreign Visel took her books out of
the saddlebag, handed the reins to the nearest stableboy and, with
barely a glance to see if Ash was following, headed into the
palace.
    For a short time Ash tried to imitate
the easy glide of his walk, but couldn't quite manage it. Genevieve
had coached her on how to walk, talk, look at people, hold her
hands, eat and laugh and do a host of things which subtly led
people to see her as male, but she had not been able to alter her
bone structure. Giving up the attempt, Ash's attention was caught
by the group of the people they were passing.
    An angular, bony man in lead pretended
to flick some speck of dirt from the sleeve of his dusky purple
coat, then raised stony eyes at the last moment and greeted
Thornaster with the merest fraction of a nod as he swept past, a
half-dozen followers and attendants trailing in his wake all taking
their cue from their master.
    Schooling her face not to reveal her
sudden interest, Ash took in the surreptitious glances over
shoulders, the guardsman whose mouth turned down suddenly, the
woman who checked at the sight of Thornaster and developed a sudden
interest in her hands, while her companion blushed and preened.
Fascinating. Thornaster was certainly not popular among the
Landsmeet, few reacting with pleasure at the sight of him striding
along. Not terribly surprising, given all the rumours of his
influence over the Rhoi, and their plans to remake Montmoth in
Aremal's image, but she hadn't expected people to show their
feelings so openly.
    Preoccupied, it was possible the Visel
didn't even notice.
    Thornaster opened their way, finally,
into an equally surprising apartment. Unless there was a
considerable space shortage, these small rooms were an insult to a
man of his rank, let alone a good friend of the Rhoi. A desk and
brazier barely fit in the first. The other contained only a couple
of chests, a pair of narrow side tables, and a bed that lacked even
bed curtains to cover the ceiling-scraping frame. Her own room, in
Genevieve's house, hadn't been much smaller.
    A