GorTarim meant that Sironi, if faced with conflict between Rhomatumin law and Tarim's direct orders, would follow Tarim's orders without question.

Tarim's orders. Lidye's father's. Not Lidye's.

And Sironi gorTarim had deliberately avoided staling the reason for their arrest, for all his allusions to imposters.

Sironi would have stood at Tarim's back at all public events here in Rhomatum. Sironi should recognize Nikki, even if he didn't recognize the other two.

"It has to be an arrest because of who you are," she murmured back.

He raised a brow. "One would think. On the other hand, considering my rather . . . befuddled answers, he might well believe he was dealing with a half-wit, if not an outright imposter. With all due respect, my charming almost-sister, this most recent demonstration of filial rapport only verifies my conviction that when the time comes for me to face the Councilor any other official body, singular or pluralmy two brothers are going to be as far away as possible. Prefer- ably alone. Preferably asleep."

"Ah, but sleep brings dreams," she pointed out.

"True. Math, perhaps? A good set of calculus problems would keep them occupied."

"Or put them to sleep."

"Drugged!" He lifted a finger for emphasis. "That would be . . . nice."

His voice trailed off. He was staring straight ahead, a rather puzzled expression in eyes that were quite, quite unfocused.

She held her hand just off his elbowjust in caseand waited for him to return to her.

He was staring at the back of the guards, wondering to whom those men might belong, knowing it was important.

He should know. . . .

He did know, and the guard was ahead of Deymorin, not himself. Mikhyel sent a sharp-edged thought upstream against the ignorance: {GorTarim, Deymorin. Sironi goiTarim. Captain.} And knew he'd been heard when Deymorin's head jerked. And on the thread back to him came acknowledg- ment. Apology.

Anger. Against Tarim.

But anger wasn't in order. Yet. Mikhyel counseled Deymorin silently against assuming Tarim was responsible.

There were other possibilities, and falsely accusing Tarim might well turn Sironi actively against them.

Deymorin's broad shoulders relaxed.

So much depended upon who was actually in control of the Tower. If Anheliaa was in charge, their processing should be fairly straightforward. If he could just get to the Tower and talk, face-to-face with his aunt, their differences could be put rapidly into perspective. It wasn't as if they'd returned to Rhomatum to throw her out, he would argue.

With only Lidye romNikaenor to replace her in the Tower, they'd be fools to try to overthrow Anheliaa.

Anheliaa would understand that level of paranoid reasoning.

But Anheliaa's death was, of course, the eventuality Lid- ye's father awaited. And Lidye's father's man was marching them toward Sparingate. Lidye's father might well want their return to the City kept from Anheliaa. Possibly even from Lidye.

Lidye was, from his observations of her, a weak and eas- ily swayed individual. A father might well want strong- minded Rhomandis kept away from herat least until he had firmly established his own power base within Rhomatum.

Laughter burst from Nikki and Deymorin, sauntering arm in arm ahead of him. The mental thread that was a constant in his life these days carried images of other tun- nels, other underground rooms, and shared adventures.

And a determinedly cheerful outlook from Deymorin.

Deymorin didn't want Nikki worrying, he wanted them all to project confidence to their guards, not concern.

Mikhyel was doubly glad, then, that Kiyrstin had chosen to walk beside him. Pairing Deymorin with Nikki not only prevented Nikki from intercepting Mikhyel's dark thoughts, it gave his brothers this opportunity, however contrived, to share fond memories.

There'd been too much of himself and Deymorin and black history in recent days.

Deymorin and his adolescent friends had combed these tunnels for years. Nikki, born with the soul of a historian and infected early with Deymorin's capacity for getting into trouble, had been losing himself in them ever since Dey- morin first brought him here nearly ten years ago. But Mikhyel had never been part of those youthful explora- tions. Not Deymorin's earliest ones, not the later ventures with Nikki.

Possibly he'd been invited, he couldn't say for certain that he had not, but his life had been quite ruthlessly disci- plined in those days, by his own choice as much as any- one's ordering.

He stumbled yet again, would have gone to his knees but for Kiyrstin's hand on his elbow. Not Deymorin's doing this time, just an irregularity underfoot and his own grace- less self. Kiyrstin's hands steadied him, and Kiyrstin's voice reassured his brothersquickly enough, convincingly enoughthat Deymorin never thought to worry.

"I should let you make my case to him all the time,"

Mikhyel murmured to her, when Deymorin's attention had returned to Nikki.

"I wasn't certain. You looked very distracted for a moment."

"I was. I'm fine now."

She tipped her head as if to see him better. "Truth?"

"Truth," he answered firmly.

She gave a quick nod, declaring the topic closed, and slipped her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. Friend- ship. Support. And respect for his privacy.

Unorthodox in her appearance, uncompromising in her opinions, this Mauritumin lady of Deymorin's was nonethe- less a very comfortable sort of person, and Mikhyel wel- comed her as an almost-sister. Welcomed, as well, her custody of his hand that gave him an anchor to his immedi- ate surroundings.

"What is all this?" she asked, squinting past him at a blocked side tunnel bearing an official nonentry sign. Be- yond the blockade, barely visible in the flickering torch- light, were signs of in-progress renovations.

'The first Rhomatum."

"Underground? Grandfather Darius was a bit of an ec- centric, wasn't he?"

A hint of laughter touched her voice: deliberately, he was certain. Kiyrstin, like Deymorin, had decided to let Sironi worry about why his prisoners were not worried.

"Actually," he answered, striving to match her tone, "I'm quite certain it was a good idea at the time. If Darius is to be believed, the little squall that chased us in was a spring shower compared to the storms that ravaged this valley when the exiles first arrived. These caverns are natural.

They were here, ready to be occupied in those days. And safe."

"How far do they go?"

"We don't know yet. It's only recently been rediscov- ered. Historians are still piecing together what we've lo- cated with the old records. We do know these tunnels extend for miles into the Khoramali Range and toward Tower Hill, though the vast majority of the living areas appear to be in this area. They connect natural caverns of all sizes that the first citizens adapted for use as everything from stables to whorehouses to hospitals."

"How long?" The laughter was gone. Her voice held a hushed awe Mikhyel did not believe contrived. "How long did they have to live down here?"

"Years. For some families, generations. Until Rhomatum was capped, these warrens were all that kept them alive.

Even then, Darius had to control Shatum and Giephaetum before major construction could begin above ground. And that would have been . . . oh, the better part of thirty years."

"Thirty years""

"Eighteen years to recuperate from capping Rhomatum.

Twelve after Shatum. Life was not easy on Darius, Kiyrstin."

"But . . . but there were thousands involved in the exodus."

"Thousands?" Mikhyel asked, honestly amused this time.

There'd been five or six hundredincluding the children who originally followed Darius out of Mauritum.

"And thousands more followed," Kiyrstin continued, and that much was true. "Refugees from all over Maurislan.

Where did they put all those people? How did they make room? How did they feed them."

"With shovels, I should imagine," he answered lightly, finding the mood contagious. "And sheep. Lots of sheep."

She cast him a suspicious sideways look.

"Sometimes, Mikhyel dunMheric, you do remind me of your brother."

"My apologies, dear lady."

"Accepted. And my sympathy, dear lord, for your affliction."

"I do thank you."

Their joint laughter roused more interest from his broth- ers, who demanded enlightenment, to which Kiyrstin re- plied, "Mind your own business."

Deymorin shrugged, but his gaze slid down to their clasped hands, pointedly lingering there. Without quite knowing how, Mikhyel found his arm draped around Kiyr- stin's shoulders, and hers around his waist, for all the world like moon-touched lovers.

Which had to be Kiyrstin's doing, because it certainly wasn't his.

"Deymio, I"

Deymorin just shook his head and turned away. "My sympathy, little brother."

His almost-echo of Kiyrstin's words prompted another fit of laughter, which Deymorin picked up, and then Nikki, in a self-feeding loop that bordered on hysteria.

A prod from a frustrated guardsman wrenched Mikhyel almost painfully free of the loop. Once free, he slammed a wall down between himself and Deymorin, and walked for a time in grim silence.

"Seriously, Khyel," Kiyrstin's voice disrupted his darken- ing thoughts. "Where did they put all the people?"

"The prisons," he answered abruptly.

"Friendly."

Which might have referred to the ancient distribution, and might refer to his attitude. Repentant, he elaborated.

"They weren't prisons then."

"Old Darius must have been trying to discourage them into going back to Mauritum." Deymorin joined their con- versation without looking back. "Caverns. Huge ones. A whole series of them. They're the only part of the Old City that have remained in permanent use since the Founding.

When the City grew above, so did the crimeespecially since Mauritum insisted on sending us all the chaff. A few well-placed cave-ins, and you've as secure a prison as any warden could ask for. Thanks to Darius, we get the scut from all over the web. 'Specially in the Crypt." He glanced back with a wicked grin. "Better hope we don't get sent there. Barrister."

"Rings, brother, don't even joke about it."

"Crypt," Kiyrstin repeated. "Dare I ask?"

"The more grievous the crime," Deymorin answered, "the deeper they send you. The Crypt's the worst. And guess who sentenced each and every one of those charming individuals? Lovely place, Khyel. Primitive. Cold. Damp.

No privacy."

"Speaking from personal experience, Rags?" Kiyrstin asked lightly.

"Of course."

"Aha, the plot thickens," she said. "What was he in for, Khyel?"

"i__"

"Murder, Khyel," Deymorin prompted. "Tell her it was for successful murder."

"I" Mikhyel felt the hysteria building again and fought it down.

"Oh, never mind. For a politician, fry, you're an amaz- ingly second-rate liar. I was a professional inmate. Shep- herdess. Never made it any lower than the Pit, fortunately.

Most of the nonsense I was convicted of I even committed, though not necessarily at the same time they took me in for it. Not a bad system, actually. Get drunk, get a bit rowdy, wake up in the Pit, and spend the next few days repairing what you almost remember breaking. Learned a lot about carpentry and plumbing that way, I assure you.

Civilized my cronies in a hurry."

"You took a bit more convincing, I take it," Kiyrstin commented.

"Naturally," Deymorin said, and turned back to Nikki.

"Sweet Maurii," Kiyrstin shook her head. "The things we don't know."

"We?" Mikhyel asked.

"Mauritum."

"That the Princeps-to-be of Rhomatum was a delinquent juvenile? Because that's all it was, I assure you. We treat our adult criminals rather less kindly. Why should you know? We did our best to hide the fact, particularly from hostile spies."

She chuckled. "Rest easy, 0 keeper of Rhomatum's self- respect. No, just that the image Mauritum maintains of early Rhomatum is, shall we say, far different."

She tucked her arm in his, and led him off into a discus- sion of those differences, and he ceased his attempts to direct the conversation otherwise. The relationship between Kiyrstin and Deymorin baffled him. He admired it. He even envied Deymorin a woman who could joke with him under such circumstances.