“Very well, my Lord. I thank you for your condescension. No—do not trouble yourselves. No one need show me out.”

She bent her head briefly to the room at large and swept out. Nova went after, grimly intent upon courtesy.

Returning to the parlor several minutes later, she found Val Con slouched in a hearth chair, legs thrust out, winecup held loosely in his left hand. He appeared to be studying the toes of his boots.

Nova sat on the edge of the chair across from him.

“I apologize for calling you home so summarily, brother, but the truth is I was at wit’s end…”

He glanced up, eyes still very bright, and pushed the dark hair from his forehead.

“How long has she been at you?”

Nova sighed. “She’s been here every day for the past three months, demanding that ‘something be done’ about Shan.” She shook her head. “Then she began threatening to send Pat Rin to bring him away—and you know that would never do, Val Con…”

“Pat Rin would say something pompous and Shan would ignore him,” Val Con murmured. “So of course Pat Rin would become more pointed in order to ensure that his thick-headed kinsman had the right of things—”

“And Shan would bloody his nose,” finished Nova.

“Imagine me, I implore you,” said Val Con, rediscovering his wine and sipping, “fining the First Speaker his quartershare for engaging in fisticuffs with another Clan member.”

Nova frowned. “But you would not—unless… Do you mean to be Delm now, brother?”

He shook his head. “I most certainly would be able—my privilege and duty, as Delm-to-Be. The reference is Penlim’s Protocol, very dusty reading. Best you check it though, sister, since the trusteeship falls next to you.” An eyebrow slid upward. “How long do you think Shan can hold out?”

She set her lips primly. “I will go before the council of clans as First-Speaker-in-Trust at the end of the month and Shan will be free to return to the Passage.”