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As usual, Jerial wears a form-fitting tunic-this one of a silky black that
shows her petite but well-endowed figure. She stands beside a polished white
oak table desk that is almost empty, and her eyes are intent as she studies
Lorn. Beyond the narrow archway, Lorn sees the bed chamber, with the dark blue
coverlet set neatly on the narrow bed, and the tables as neat as the sitting
room where they stand.
 Dice? Lorn looks at the six white cubes on his sister s table.  I suppose
there s the uniform of a beardless junior lancer in your wardrobe?
 No. Jerial smiles back.  That of a young merchanter, a spoiled youth who has
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more coins than sense. Someone who loses most of the time, but loses little,
and wins seldom, but well. Not, shall we say, a scholarly enumerator.
Lorn looks from the dice to the wardrobe and then back to the dice.
 Why not? asks Jerial.  I can be a healer, or a brood mare. Neither will gain
me golds nor independence.
 You have the golds invested in the Exchange? Lorn raises his eyebrows.
 No. The Bank of the Clanless Traders. There s no interest, but far fewer
questions.
 Something like Jeron mer?
 You might say so, Jerial replies,  but I d appreciate your not asking.
 In case you re forced into being a brood mare? So I can t reveal anything to
father?
Jerial nods, then smiles wryly.  I like Cyad, Lorn, but not enough to consort
with someone I detest. So far, I ve managed to steer father away from people
like Ciesrt& 
 I see. His sister s words remind Lorn-again-that he has yet to do anything
about the impending consorting of Myryan to Ciesrt. His eyes light on Jerial s
face, taking in the determined and set chin, the hard and piercing blue eyes.
 What s Ciesrt s weakness? Jerial shrugs.  He has no strengths. Lorn nods.
 And no principles, except self-interest.
 You, my brother, do well enough to conceal such. Jerial s eyebrows both
arch.
 Maybe I m like him, then.
 No one would ever say that, even Dettaur, and he detests you. He thinks
you re the one who broke his fingers years ago.
 That could be a problem in time to come. I m leaving for Kynstaar in the
morning, Lorn says quietly.
 Is that why you re here?
 I thought you d like to know. He grins insouciantly, as if he were on the
korfal field or in a coffee house.
 At least you can be an officer, and Dettaur won t be that senior to you.
 If I don t get thrown from a mount or  accidentally incinerated by a
firelance, you mean? Lorn s laugh is half humorous, half deprecating.  I have
some chance of surviving there.
 You have no illusions, brother dear? Jerial s laugh is somehow both ironic
and supportive.  That will doubtless help.
 I wanted to talk about healing, he says.
Jerial nods.  You would.
 I ve seen you and Myryan do it. There s a black mist that enfolds you-is that
why you like black?
 Black has its uses, one of which is illusion.
 Ciesrt wouldn t like black, Lorn notes.  About the healing?
 I think of it almost as an order of sorts. It s the opposite of the surging
power of chaos, and there really are two kinds of chaos, the unclean kind in a
wound and the kind in the towers and the power cells of the firewagons-
 You ve never been near a tower, Lorn says.
 I don t have to be. Father has been clear that the chaos that powers the
firewagons is the same as the chaos that come from the towers. You ve all
talked about how the Magi i transfer that chaos into the firewagons, and I ve
certainly been close enough to firewagons to sense the difference.
 And you ve looked with all your senses. Most healers don t.
 Except healers raised in this house, counters Jerial.
 That s true enough. He glances from Jerial to the dice, and then back to her
fine-featured face, a visage that, for all its beauty, might have been carved
from sunstone or granite.
 What do you want to do with what I show you? Jerial asks.
Lorn offers a lazy smile, hoping he will not have to respond verbally.
 Brother dear& you re sweet when you want to be, but you use everyone and
everything. Her hard smile softens.  Sometimes.
 I ve tried not to hurt either of you.
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 You ve learned to use people, including us, without hurting them, but it s
still use, Lorn. Remember when you gave both Myryan and me those chaos-cut
emeralds set in cupridium.
 Yes, Lorn admits warily.
 You never told mother and father, did you?
 No.
 But they knew all the same. Jerial smiles as if the answer were obvious.
 I suppose so.
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