Falken and Vani didn't return until well after midday.

"Did you find the earl?" Grace said, rising from her seat by the fire. She grimaced as she stood, holding her hip just as she had seen old ladies do when descending a staircase.

Falken cocked his head. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, really." Grace stretched herself tall, forcing the kinks in her legs and back to loosen. "Beltan decided to teach me how to wield a sword, that's all."

The bard let out a soft whistle. "You're letting Beltan teach you how to fight? That's not a good idea, Grace. That is, not unless you want to end up getting horribly maimed."

"I'm right here, you know," Beltan said, glaring down from the bed.

Falken paid the knight no attention. "We didn't find Elwarrd-I suppose he's out seeing to his lands again. But we did find the steward, Leweth, and he promised us the earl would be at supper this evening. So it looks like we'll finally get a chance to beg our leave. And none too soon. I think this rain will be turning to snow before long."

"Did the steward seem distressed to you?" Vani said, her leather garb creaking faintly as she moved nearer the fire. Grace knew that the Mournish woman-raised in the balmy south-found these northern lands harsh and frigid.

Falken rubbed his chin. "Now that you mention it, he did seem just a bit on the frantic side. I suppose he was just working hard to make sure the lord's supper would be a fine one. I'm sure the earl and the steward both know we'll be requesting our leave tonight, and it's not as if they get many guests to entertain here."

Vani nodded, but she didn't say whether she agreed with the bard's explanation or not.

"Anyway, that wasn't why we were gone so long," Falken said, unwrapping the bandages from his silver hand. "We found something interesting. Or Vani found it, anyway."

The T'gol rested her hands on her hips. "It would have meant nothing were it not for you, Falken."

Beltan climbed from the bed, and Grace sat down again as the bard and the assassin described what they had seen. The two had gone over every inch of the keep, telling the occasional servant they ran into they were looking for the steward. They would nod and listen as the servant offered directions, then would promptly pretend to get lost again so they could keep exploring. They even peeked into the earl's solar, behind the great hall, although they had found nothing special within: his bed, a chest for clothes and bedding, that was all.

They were about to give up and return when Falken realized they hadn't yet been to the mystery shrine. Every keep and castle in the Dominions had a shrine to the lord's favored mystery cult-even in Embarr, where the mysteries were not so popular as in other Dominions. Vani knew where the shrine was, for she had passed by it during her explorations several nights before. The shrine was a square stone structure that jutted from the back of the keep. It contained little more than an altar along with a trapdoor that led to a small family crypt.

"The altar was bare of anything but dust," Falken said. "There were no figurines, no candles, no cups for wine- nothing that would indicate any of the seven mysteries have been followed here in years. But many Embarrans aren't religious these days, so that's not unusual. On the other hand, the secret door opposite the altar most definitely was."

Grace shot a startled glance at Vani. "But I thought you didn't see anything unusual the night you went wandering."

"I didn't. Though I did have a feeling there was something I was missing. I told Falken about it, and so he took a closer look around the shrine."

"And it's no wonder Vani missed the door," Falken said. He looked at Grace and Beltan. "You see, the door is bound with Alth, the rune of shadow."

Despite her proximity to the fire, a shiver coursed through Grace. She leaned forward in her chair as the bard spoke in a low voice.

"The art of runebinding was lost centuries ago-at least until Travis Wilder showed up on Eldh-so the door's obviously ancient. It's likely no one in the keep even knows it's there- not even Elwarrd. The rune of shadow makes it completely invisible to the eye. Keen as her senses are, Vani couldn't see it, although she had the feeling she should see something."

Beltan gave the bard a critical look. "So how come you could see it, Falken?"

"Because of this." He raised his silver hand. "It grants me some degree of sensitivity to rune magic. Enough that I felt the presence of the rune of shadow once I stood close to the door. And by concentrating, I was able to glimpse through the veil of shadow and see the door beyond."

Grace folded her arms, trying to keep warm. "So what do you suppose is beyond the door?"

"It could be almost anything. My guess is that long ago a runebinder dwelled in this keep. Maybe he kept his secret books there. The door is sealed, but only with what looks to be a mundane lock. The rune of shadow conceals its presence, nothing more. If we had the key, we could open the door. But I imagine the key was lost centuries ago."

The bard's story fascinated Grace-there was so much history in this world, her knowledge barely scratched the surface-but she knew this was no more than an intriguing aside. The scientist in her longed to open the door and catalog all of the ancient artifacts within. But they had other purposes, and it was time to leave Seawatch.

The afternoon waxed and waned. Grace was just lighting candles against the falling dark when a knock came at the door. Falken and Beltan had returned to their chamber to rest an hour before, and Vani had ventured to the keep's kitchen in search of more oil for her leathers, which were not quite as supple as the T'gol wished. Grace opened the door, supposing it was a servant come to summon them to dinner.

It was the serving maid, Mirdrid.

"Forgive me, my lady. Is this an ill time?"

Grace had been staring. After all she had been through, sometimes the simplest human actions could still shock her. "Of course not, Mirdrid. Come in. Please."

The young woman curtsied, then entered. Grace sat by the fire and indicated Mirdrid should do the same.

"Oh! No, my lady, I mustn't sit. It isn't proper. I only came to show you this. You said you might wish to see it." She held out a folded piece of cloth. "It's the embroidery I've been working on."

Grace smiled, glad the young woman had felt comfortable enough to return. Evidently Grace was good at this whole not-being-terrifying thing. She took the cloth-it was surprisingly large-carefully unfolding it and spreading it on her lap.

The fire on the hearth went dim; her heart froze between beats.

"I made it for my father," Mirdrid said, her voice seeming to come from down a long corridor. "He's gone now, you see. It was just three days before you came to the keep. He had been getting sicker and sicker ever since Fallowing. So I started this for him a month ago. I wanted..." She smudged the tears from her eyes with the corner of her dirty apron. "I wanted him to be able to see it. Only I haven't had enough time, and it's not finished yet."

Grace hesitated, loath to touch the thing, then as if compelled by some dark force ran her fingers over the embroidered fabric. The pictures upon it were crude but expressive, rendered in uneven stitches of colored thread.

There were several images, arranged in a circle. Most depicted scenes of domestic life: men harvesting grain, women baking bread, children herding cows with switches. In many of the scenes there was a man with hair as yellow as Mirdrid's, watching over the task at hand. However, it was the scene in the center of the embroidery to which Grace's eyes were drawn. It showed the same man with yellow hair, only lying on a bier. Next to the bier was a tree, and perched in the tree was a shape stitched with black thread, like a dark stain on the fabric.

It was a bird.

Grace fought for words. "What is this?"

"It's a shroud for my father." Mirdrid knelt, smoothing the wrinkles from the embroidery with gentle motions. "Lord Elwarrd is so kind. He saw to everything himself. He put my father in the crypt, that's what he told me, right alongside all the lords and ladies of old. Wasn't that so wonderfully kind? And he said that when I've finished this embroidery, I can go there myself and lay it upon him. It's to help him remember what he did when he was alive. And see? My father's not alone. He'll always be watched."

Grace felt sick. "What do you mean, he'll be watched?" Mirdrid touched the shape of the bird. "We're all being watched, all the time. Isn't that the safest feeling, my lady? I used to be afraid of so many things, of the dark, of dying, but I'm not anymore. The eye watches us, and it makes sure we always do the right things, that we don't stray from the path before the end comes and-"

"Mirdrid, what are you doing?"

Both Grace and the serving maid started at the sound of the stern voice. They looked up. Leweth stood in the doorway.

Mirdrid rose, snatching the cloth from Grace and wadding it into a tight ball. "I was doing nothing ill. I was just talking to my lady, that's all."

"You should be seeing to your chores."

Mirdrid gave a wordless nod and hurried from the room, not so much as glancing at Grace.

"I'm sorry, my lady," Leweth said, his voice gentle now. "Was my sister bothering you?"

Sister? So Leweth was Mirdrid's brother. Which meant Mirdrid's father must have been the old steward. That was why Leweth seemed so young to hold the position; he had inherited it from his father just days before they came to Seawatch.

Grace took a deep breath to make sure her voice would be calm. "No, she was no bother."

Leweth nodded. "Supper will on the board soon. The lord requests your presence in the great hall immediately." Then he turned and was gone.

Grace hurried to tell Falken and Beltan it was time for supper, and when they started downstairs Vani was there. Grace wanted to tell them of her odd encounter with Mirdrid, but there was no time. And she wasn't certain what it meant-if it meant anything at all.

As they entered the great hall, Grace couldn't help a glance up at the gallery, but it was dark and empty, and she knew if she were to reach out with the Touch she would sense nothing there. Whatever it was she had glimpsed before, it had felt her attention, and now it was wary. If it even existed at all.

It's probably your nerves, Grace. They're just frayed after the shipwreck, and then being cooped up in a gloomy castle. No wonder you're seeing shadows.

All the same, it was hard not to think of the dark bird on Mirdrid's embroidery, and the words the young woman had spoken.

We're all being watched, all the time....

"Are you all right, Grace?" Beltan whispered in her ear.

She squeezed his hand. I'll tell you about it later, she spun the words across the Weirding, and by his surprised grunt she knew he had heard her.

As promised, the earl was present, and he stood as they approached the table. Grace felt some of her dread evaporating under the force of his smile. In the days since she had seen him, she had forgotten how handsome he was. He wore a sort of long vest over a loose shirt, breeches that clung tightly to strong legs, and leather boots.

"My lords, my lady," Elwarrd said, "you must forgive my absence these last days. There has been much to see to. Orders have come from Barrsunder requesting additional tithes of food. It's been hard to fulfill our duty to our king, and yet make certain we have stores enough for winter."

Grace saw Beltan and Falken exchange knowing glances. Grace thought she understood. Why would Barrsunder request more food if someone there didn't know a siege was coming? And depleting the resources of Embarr's keeps and castles would make them all that much easier to defeat. It seemed the king's advisors indeed prepared for war-against Embarr itself.

"You needn't worry, my lord," Falken said. "We've been well attended to, and the rest has done us good. But now that the threat of illness has past, it's time for us to-"

The earl held up a hand, smiling. "No, my lord, save your requests until supper is finished. These may be the hinterlands of the Dominions, but we do things properly here."

Falken pressed a hand to his chest and bowed. Grace wondered what the bard was thinking, but if the Touch could be used to read minds, it was a skill she had yet to develop.

They took their places at the table. Once again an empty setting had been arranged to the earl's left, although this time there was no place at the table for Leweth.

"I'm afraid the steward has duties that cannot wait," Elwarrd said, "so he's unable to join us tonight."

Vani took the place beside Falken, leaving Beltan to serve himself. Once again, it was Grace's duty to serve the lord. She poured wine and handed him the cup, and when his hand brushed hers it was like an electric charge, shocking her.

As before, they made idle conversation as they ate, but Grace hardly heard it. She could not stop thinking of the lord's presence; she could feel the heat of his body as if from a fire. Nervousness caused her to gulp wine, and soon she felt her fear subside, and a strange boldness came over her.

"My lord, I have a question for you."

Elwarrd raised an eyebrow. Before she could think better of it, she went on. "The empty place that's always set so carefully to your left. Who is it for?"

The others gaped at her, and Grace knew she had made a grave error. The wine-induced giddiness fled, leaving only a dull throb in her head. However, the lord didn't rebuke her for her rudeness. Instead, after a moment, he smiled.

"I'm surprised it took you so long to ask, my lady." Elwarrd's voice was jovial, but there was a hardness in his eyes. "Indeed, it does seem passing strange, does it not? That chair is for my mother. Every night, I bid the servants set a place for her. And every night she refuses to sit there. It is how she punishes me, you see."

Grace licked her lips. "Punishes you?"

"Yes, my lady. For my disobedience." He lifted the wine cup and took a reckless draught. His voice rose as he spoke. "You see, I haven't always lived my life precisely as she's wished. I have, on occasion, dared to disobey her. For these crimes, as a young man, she punished me by telling lies to the king, claiming I had a frail constitution, and begging him not to make me a knight, claiming it would be the death of me. And so I was passed over for knighthood." He drained the wine cup and wiped crimson fluid from his beard with the back of his hand. "And now that my father is three years gone, and I am earl in his stead, she punishes me still by refusing to acknowledge me as the rightful lord. Isn't that so, Mother?"

These last words became a shout. He shoved his chair back and stood. "Don't you think it's time you showed yourself to our guests?"

His body went rigid, the cords on his neck standing out as his voice echoed throughout the hall. Grace stared, unable to speak. She saw Vani rise and stalk fluidly toward the curtain that hung over the end of the great hall. A second later Grace saw it: The heavy curtain moved, as if someone-something- stood behind it. Vani reached out and snatched the curtain aside.

Nothing was there; the earl's solar was empty.

Elwarrd passed a hand in front of his face. "You must forgive me." His voice was low now. "I am weary from my recent labors, that's all. There are things I...that is, I must take my leave. Please forgive me."

And before they could say anything, the earl of Seawatch strode from the hall.

"Well," Falken said, "that was a bit on the awkward side." They had gathered again in Grace and Vani's chamber, not knowing where else to go.

Beltan spun a knife in his hand; he must have taken it from the dinner table. "I don't know where his mother has been hiding all this time, but it looks like we've gotten ourselves stuck in the middle of a family argument."

"A topic you know something about, is that not so?" Vani said, arms crossed.

Beltan thrust the knife into the mantel above the fireplace and glared at the T'gol. "Just what is that supposed to mean?"

Grace held a hand to her head. She didn't need Vani and Beltan's animosity right now. There was something going on, something she needed to remember.

"What is it, Grace?" Falken said, touching her shoulder.

"Something happened to me just before dinner. I didn't have the chance to tell you about it, but it was very odd."

She related her encounter with Mirdrid: the shroud the young woman had made for her dead father, and the bird that watched over him, embroidered in black thread. Then, as she repeated Mirdrid's words, Grace finally remembered why they had seemed so familiar at the time. She had heard words like them before, in the port town of Galspeth in Perridon, spoken by the clothier's daughter when she saw Grace's necklace.

You shouldn't wear that. He doesn't like it when you do odd things. Things no one else does....

"Something is wrong in this keep," Grace said after she told the others what she had remembered. "Just like it was in Galspeth. I think we should get out of this place. We're all well enough to travel now."

However, the earl had left the hall before granting them leave to go, and Falken still seemed reluctant to depart without permission. Grace supposed it was akin to Falken telling her to rob a bank just because she was a little short on cash.

"Elwarrd favors you, Grace," Beltan said gently. "We've all seen it. Maybe you could talk to him alone and ask permission to leave. I don't think he would deny you anything."

Grace felt their expectant gazes, and she knew she couldn't let them down, even though going to see Elwarrd was the last thing she wanted to do right then.

And is that true, Grace? Don't you want to see him after all?

Her body was trembling beneath her gown, but whether out of fear or anticipation, she didn't know.

"I'll do it," she said.

Finding the earl was easier than she had guessed it would be. She stopped a servant who was lighting lamps; an hour had passed since supper, and it was full dark. The servant had just seen Elwarrd minutes before, returning to his solar at the end of the great hall.

Grace pushed through the hall's massive doors. They dwarfed her, making her feel like a small girl doing something forbidden. The only light was from the fire that still burned in the cavernous fireplace. Grace walked across the hall, conscious of her echoing footsteps, to the heavy curtain drawn over the vast room's far end.

She cleared her throat. "My lord?"

The only answer was the snap of a burning log.

Perhaps she had not spoken loud enough. "Lord Elwarrd, are you there?"

Grace lifted a shaking hand, touching the rough fabric of the curtain. Then, steeling her will, she pushed the curtain aside and stepped through.

Lord Elwarrd, Earl of Seawatch, turned around.