Marishka looked puzzled. Peto felt a twinge of disillusionment at how narrow the girl's goals must be. Even so, Peto had to admit that the thought of a match between them-some time from now when the grief of her father's death was over-would be both physically passionate and politically expedient.

Besides, the demands of Sundell often took him away from home. Better to have a beautiful, placid wife; a mother for his children who wouldn't contradict him.

And yet, it was with a pang of sadness that he thought honestly how ideal it would be if the spirited Ilsabet had some measure of her sister's beauty, or if she showed some signs of forgiving his necessary act, enough at least to attend the dinner.

Jorani's hidden tower room had no windows to alert anyone outside to its existence. Whatever air circulated in it came from cracks in its inside wall or rose from the base of the tower itself. It had the musty scent of river fog, and in the flickering lamplight Ilsabet saw bits of deep green moss growing in the corners.

Jorani had taken advantage of the diversion of the night's feast to show it to Ilsabet. She'd expected to see piles of scrolls and dust-covered spell books, silver amulets, precious gems, the magical lights of a wizard's den. Instead, she saw nothing more than cages of insects and bundles of dried plants, a handful of scrolls and a single ancient-looking book on the room's only table-a slab of marble mounted on the sort of granite the castle was built of.

"The baron who built the tower added this room to the final plans. According to the old accounts left here, he then killed the workers who knew of it. It would hold the source of his power, and the power of his descendants. Your grandfather used this room. Your father had no skill at all for potions, so he utilized it through me. One day the knowledge contained here will be entrusted to you."

She felt confused. "Is this some kind of sorcery?"