He had the expression of a man whose profound relief was horribly tempered by a dread that it wouldn't last very long. -- Terry Pratchett, Maskerade

Lethil awoke feeling as if she'd just crawled out of a tomb. Her head felt as if it was full of cotton wool. Her eyelids seemed to be weighed down with lead. She almost fell over her own feet several times.

"What's wrong with you today?" her grandmother asked, amazed and alarmed, when she knocked a slice of bread off her plate and almost spilled her glass of water while reaching for the butter. "Didn't you sleep last night?"

"Had a nightmare," Lethil said around a yawn. "Dreamed of bones."

Her grandmother looked at her sharply. "What were you reading last night?"

It's a strange but true fact that so many adults rarely think a child's thoughts and fears can be original to them. To their minds everything that goes through a child's head must have been put there by something else -- a book, a film, a teacher, a friend. "Where do you get these ideas?" they demand, never realising that the child did not get their ideas from anywhere. Lethil sensed this, just as thousands of other children have, and something deep inside her resented it. No one likes to be treated as if they're too stupid to think for themselves, no matter how well-meaning the person is who gives them that impression.

"I didn't read anything," she said indignantly. "I dreamt of it all by myself." As an afterthought she added, "I met Mother last night. I don't like her. Why does she hate me for something I haven't done?"

Her grandmother dropped her cutlery. Her grandfather's head appeared over the top of his newspaper.

"What?" Grandfather asked, his eyebrows raised. "Lethil, what are you talking about?"

Belatedly she realised that she probably shouldn't have told her grandparents that. They didn't know about the lady -- about Death. They certainly wouldn't be happy to know Death had taken her to visit her mother, without asking their permission first. "Nothing. It was a dream."

~~~~

News travelled slowly through much of Malish. The major towns and cities had messengers, newspapers, and even a newly-invented machine called an es'yamat[1]. The remote towns and villages got messages perhaps once a month, if news travelled especially fast. Even more remote villages, which had poorly-maintained roads and were just plain off the beaten track, were lucky if they got news once a year. Many parts of the empire's far-flung corners had only recently learnt that Ridanwes-Iqui was dead. News of Nalginton's death and Jalakanavu's regency had barely reached them yet.

Hamdeyahmar was one of those unfortunate, out-of-the-way villages. Its people knew virtually nothing about the happenings in the capital, and cared even less. They never expected the royal family's in-fighting to come barging into their peaceful, monotonous lives.

Now there were strangers living in their houses, eating their food, threatening them with horrible fates if they resisted, demanding money to leave the villagers unharmed. No one knew how to deal with this. It was worse than unexpected. The people might have been less astonished if the moons had fallen from the sky.

"We can't call our homes our own any more," one old woman complained to her neighbour as they did their washing, first looking around to make sure no soldiers were there to hear them.

"That one who calls himself a lieutenant has taken my granddaughter Mahiuljalkha as his concubine," the other old woman said. "He didn't even pay the nedradi[2]. The prince told my family we should be flattered. She says she's happy and her ridyinaid[3] treats her well. But I've seen the bruises on her arms and face."

"My son told one of those young brutes he would have to pay if he wanted to take our food," her friend said. "He got a broken nose for it."

Both old women shook their heads.

"Someone must do something," the second one said.

It was a sentiment shared by everyone in the village. But what could they do? They couldn't send a message to the capital. Shuradin had told them an impostor had seized the throne. They didn't know if that was true or not. So everyone resented the invaders, and everyone said something had to be done, but no one did anything.

~~~~

"Lethil worries me," Arásy said after breakfast. "There's something about her that makes me wonder..."

She didn't say what she wondered. Both she and Særnor knew.

"It isn't possible," Særnor said with an attempt at conviction he didn't feel. "She isn't a Caranilnav by birth. She can't be affected."

Arásy laughed humourlessly. "We Caranilnavs hardly hold a monopoly on insanity."

She had grown up hearing stories of relatives who went mad. Some of them started by dabbling in dark magic. Some of them were constantly tormented with awful dreams until they couldn't tell dream from reality. Some became obsessed with things that were better left untouched. Many of them were noted for an uncanny habit of looking through people -- something Arásy had noticed from both Kilan and Lethil. All of the mad Caranilnavs came to a bad end. By all accounts Malish's royal family was not particularly sane, either. Would Lethil be affected by madness inherited from her mother's family, or was the Caranilnav family curse the source of her oddities?

"We must keep a close eye on her," she said. "In case things get worse."

Her husband shook his head. "I think it's a lot of fuss over nothing."

A knock at the sitting room door interrupted their conversation.

"Come in," Særnor said.

"Excuse me, Your Graces," a servant said, opening the door and bowing respectfully, "but there's an official message for you from the Emperor."

Arásy and Særnor gave each other startled glances. Why in heaven's name was Kilan sending them official messages? What happened to ordinary letters?

"Thank you," Arásy said.

She took the sealed envelope from the servant, who bowed again and left. The royal seal of the Emperor of Carann -- a two-headed dragon under a tree[4] -- was pressed into red wax holding the envelope shut. She broke the seal and took out the letter. Særnor waited impatiently for her to finished reading it.

"Well, it's about time!" she exclaimed.

Her husband tried to see what their son had written. "What is it? Another baby? Nadriet's marriage?"

Arásy shook her head. "Kilan wants Lethil to visit, and he specifically says he wants her to spend time with Linyie. Here, read it."

Særnor read it. One line in particular jumped out at him. I have finally realised I was terribly wrong to ignore my daughter. "Thank goodness he's realised it at last!"

"We must make arrangements to visit as soon as possible," Arásy said, her mind already on bringing Lethil to the palace. "Meeting her half-sister will be just what Lethil needs."

Neither she nor her husband suspected anyone was listening. Neither of them would have been able to see Death even if they had suspected it. But Death heard every word.

~~~~

The distance from Zjurkyu to Zasordoth Palace was only a short step when one could travel across the universe in a split second. Death stepped out of the sitting room and directly into Kilan's office.

"Your stepdaughter will visit soon," she announced without preamble. "Your parents are arguing about dates and how long it takes to pack and travel here."

She really should have taken the time to check if Kilan was alone before speaking. Nadriet stared at Death as if she'd seen a ghost -- which was quite close to the truth, really. Kilan buried his face in his hands.

"Hello, Death," he said. His voice was rather muffled. With no little sarcasm he added, "How nice to see you."

Two years ago Nadriet had accidentally discovered her brother's relationship with Death. It was something she didn't approve of but never spoke of. She and Death had managed to avoid each other except for a few minutes when they couldn't escape a meeting. Each felt the instinctive aversion two women have for spending time in each other's company when they have nothing in common and know how likely it is that their meeting will end in a fight.

Nadriet no longer wore her hair in the innumerable ringlets she had once favoured. Instead she wore the currently-fashionable but by no means practical hairstyle that most of the ladies of the court had adopted. It required braiding the hair and tying the braids in a circle that was wider than the wearer's head. Death looked at Nadriet's hair and wondered how in the world she was able to walk through a door without getting her hair stuck in the frame. Did she turn sideways?

She had the common sense not to say this aloud. Instead she made her opinion known with an incredulous raised eyebrow, then pointedly ignored the latest example of fashionable lunacy.

"I believe your parents will soon be writing to you to arrange a date for this visit," she said, preparing to leave. "I see you're busy so I'll come back later."

"No, wait," Kilan said before she could disappear. "Can you help us solve this mystery?"

His words made Death remember the drama of the murder in the ballroom some years ago, and their attempts to solve it. "What mystery?"

Nadriet, looking none too pleased by this development, moved away so she could see what was spread over Kilan's desk. It was a map, Death saw at once. She looked closer and saw it was a map of Malish.

"Are you planning your invasion of Malish?" she asked dryly. Silently she added, You should wait at least a year.

Nadriet sniffed indignantly. She clearly did not share Death's sense of humour. Hardly surprising; very few people did. Not even Kilan did. He wisely decided to ignore that comment.

"I got a letter from Princess Ixerthi. Well, Gialma got a letter from her. Then he showed it to me. She thinks there's a band of cattle thieves who have a hideout somewhere in these mountains. Her scouts have found evidence that they're living around here." Kilan pointed to an area of the map circled in red. "But there's no way across the mountains there, and no village within miles."

Death examined the map more closely. She saw the mountain range separating Carann and Malish. She saw the arrows representing passes through the mountains. She saw towns in Istogu marked with blue circles.

"What are those?" she asked, pointing to the circles.

"Towns that have been robbed," Kilan said, moving to stand beside her.

Death didn't have to look up to know Nadriet was giving them her most disapproving stare. Well, let her. Death had a perfect right to help her husband, whatever her sister-in-law thought of it.

She tilted her head as she looked at the red circle, trying to visualise what that part of the mountain looked like in reality. There was a misconception among mortals -- and Reapers -- that she knew what every place in the universe looked like. This was simply impossible. She only knew what a place looked like if she had been there, and time had a nasty trick of changing things in unexpected ways.

"I'd have to check," she said slowly, "but I'm sure that part circled is completely impassable."

"That's what Ixerthi said." Nadriet did not sound impressed. "Can't you tell us something we don't know?"

Death ignored that remark. "There's a village over here that has caves near it. I suppose--" She reached out telepathically to search for the village. What she found gave her pause. How had she not noticed this before? "Never mind. I've found your thieves."

Chapter Footnotes:

[1] es'yamat = Essentially a sort of telegraph combined with a typewriter. A person in one town types out the message they want to send, the machine sends it, and a machine in another town types it out for the recipient to read.

[2] nedradi = Money a man pays to a family when he takes a woman from that family as his concubine.

[3] ridyinaid = Literally means "lord". Used by Malishese concubines to refer to their "husband". A concubine is not of the same status as a wife, so they're forbidden from calling a man their husband.

[4] No one is sure who chose this design for the royal seal or its intended meaning. It predates the Caranilnav dynasty and was used by rulers of kingdoms that flourished more than three hundred years before the empire was founded. (Death could almost certainly explain it, but no one has thought to ask her yet.)