"If all this is true, Lady Yasammez," he said out loud, ending the long, whisper-scratched silence, "then there is nothing to be said by either Marchman or Funderling except that… we are sorry. We the living did not do these deeds-most of us did not know of them until now-but we are still sorry." He turned to Malachite Copper. "Is that so for you?"

"By the Hot Lord, but certainly!" said Copper, and then covered his mouth at having shouted such a strong oath in the very chapel of the Metamorphic Brothers' temple. "Ever since I came of age and my father passed this heavy secret to me-it travels thus, to each Copper heir-I have thought of my great-grandsire only with sorrow. I think he meant well but he plainly did wrong. If the rest of my family knew of it, I believe they would feel as I do and grieve at this family shame." He shrugged. "That is all there is to be said."

Yasammez looked from him to Vansen, and then paused, staring at nothing, making Vansen wonder to whom she spoke in her silent thoughts. Then she took up the great, dark ruby around her neck, slipped the heavy chain over her head, and let it fall to the refectory table with a loud clatter. As the rest of the assembly stared she drew out her strange sword, pure white in color but its glow as shimmery as mother-of-pearl, and set it atop its sheath on the table before her as well.

"This is the Seal of War," she said, gesturing with a long, thin finger toward the stone, baleful as a dying ember. "Because I bear this, the decisions of life and death I make are a bond upon the People-the Qar. This is Whitefire, the sword of the sun god himself. I swore that I would not sheathe it again until I had destroyed this mortal hall where our great ancestor, my father Crooked, fell." She swung her gaze around the table. Even Vansen found it hard to meet those eyes, which had looked out at the world since Hierosol itself was young.