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Mirabeta quickened her stride. Elyril hurried to keep pace. Despite the countess's advancing age-she had seen well over fifty winters, a few less than twice Elyril's twenty-seven-she remained a trim woman, and her walking speed, when she had a purpose in mind, approached a jog.

Their footsteps echoed off the walls of the tower's entry hall. Elyril had never before seen it empty. Usually petitioners, merchants, and minor nobles thronged the building, trying to catch the ear of this or that member of the High Council.

They continued into the long, soaring hall of monuments. Towering statues carved from marble, quarried in distant Yhaunn, lined the hall. The sculptures depicted every Overmaster of Sembia since the founding of the realm. Plaques on the bases displayed their names. Magically colored lighting accented the statues to good effect. The exaggerated, heroic proportions of the sculptures made Elyril think of Volumvax. She licked her lips and looked for him in the statues' shadows.

Mirabeta did not look at any of the statues save the last, that of her dead cousin. There, she stopped. The statue had been completed only two months earlier. Kendrick Selkirk had served as overmaster for just over three years, long enough to get his image carved in stone before dying, but too brief to accomplish anything of note.

"There are no overmistresses in this hall," Elyril observed, watering the seed of Mirabeta's ambition.

"There will be," Mirabeta said.

From the far side of the hall, in the direction of the rotunda, came a man's voice. "Gloating ill becomes you, Countess."

Elyril and Mirabeta turned to see Endren Corrinthal walking toward them. The tall nobleman wore a long, ermine-trimmed blue jacket over a collared silk shirt and black breeches. Thick gray hair topped a craggy, careworn face. His overlarge nose had been broken at least once, and his beard and moustache only partially hid a ragged scar that marked his left cheek. A rapier hung from his belt and by all accounts, he knew how to use it.

Mirabeta affected a smile, though the hardness never left her eyes.

"And snide comments ill become you, Endren, who are already so… ill-becomed."

Endren chuckled as he crossed the hall. He bowed before Mirabeta.

"It is unfortunate, Countess, that you have never turned that sharp intellect to the public good."

"Quite the contrary, Endren. I have done exactly that for my entire life. And I plan to continue doing so. As overmistress."

Endren's eyes narrowed at Mirabeta's naked statement of ambition but he managed a polite nod. "We shall see," he said, and turned to Elyril and bowed. "Mistress Elyril. You are as lovely as ever. It is a pity you remain unmarried."

Elyril curtsied, wondering as she did how Endren's screams might sound as she offered him to Shar.

"It's a pity your own wife is dead," Elyril said, all innocence.

Endren started an angry retort but a man stepped out of the rotunda and called down the hall.

"Father! The highspeaker is calling for order."

The younger Corrinthal stood a head taller than his father. He displayed a stronger jaw, thicker frame, shorter beard, and no gray hair, but his eyes and nose looked so much like Endren that he could not be missed as the nobleman's son. He wore a heavy blade at his belt-its pommel was a stylized rose-and a holy symbol on a necklace around his throat-another rose, symbol of Lathander the Morninglord.

Elyril hated him instantly. This newcomer's soul shone like the sun. She refused to look at his shadow as he approached them.

"My son," Endren said. "Abelar Corrinthal."

Mirabeta smiled and held out her hand, which Abelar took.

"He could be none other," Mirabeta said. "A pleasure, young sir. I understand you were an adventurer in your youth."

Elyril smiled at the contempt her aunt managed to load onto the word "adventurer."

"A folly of my younger days, Countess. I serve Saerb and my father now."

"And Lathander," Elyril said, and could not quite keep the venom from her tone.

Abelar regarded her curiously. "Indeed. I call the Morninglord patron."

Mirabeta gestured at Elyril. "My niece and wallman, Elyril Hraven."

Abelar's brown-eyed gaze made Elyril uncomfortable. She feared that he saw through her, that he knew her secrets.

"Mistress Elyril," Abelar said, inclining his head. "I have… heard your name before."

Elyril could not bring herself to curtsy or speak, though she did force a half-smile. She touched her invisible holy symbol and resolved to kill Abelar at the first opportunity. Abelar regarded her so intently that she wanted to scream, "Stop looking at me!"

Endren saved her by speaking. "Duty summons us, Countess." He gestured for Mirabeta and Elyril to precede him and his son into the rotunda.

They did, though Elyril disliked having the Lathanderian dog her steps. She looked back at him frequently and changed direction as she walked to keep her shadow from falling on him. He answered with the expressionless, knowing gaze that Elyril already despised and feared. Her awkward gait eventually elicited a rebuke from her aunt. With nothing else to do, she bit her lip and endured the Lathanderian's presence.

The gilded doors of the circular chamber stood open. The low murmur of conversation floated from within. Ordinarily, city guards would have been posted at the doors.

"We shall see you inside," Endren said. Father and son stopped short of entering.

Mirabeta and Elyril walked through the doors and entered the chamber. Five pairs of doors opened into the room, and statues of notable council members from the past flanked each doorway.

A grouping of polished wooden tables ringed the raised speaker's dais, which occupied the center of the chamber. The dais was furnished only by an ornate wooden lectern. Glowballs lit the chamber brightly. Blue and silver pennons hung from the walls. Members of the High Council sat at tables and milled about. The Highspeaker, Dernim Lossit, stood on the speaker's dais, his ceremonial baton in hand.

The members' respective wallmen lined the outer edge of the room, away from the tables but near their patrons and patronesses.

All eyes turned at Elyril and Mirabeta's entrance. Half of the assembled members-those loyal to Mirabeta-stood and applauded at her appearance. Mirabeta smiled politely. She gestured for Elyril to take her place along the wall while she greeted her colleagues and found her seat at one of the tables.

A moment later, Endren and Abelar Corrinthal entered from a doorway opposite the one Mirabeta had used. The symbolism was lost on no one.

Again, half the assembled council stood and applauded. Endren accepted their plaudits with a raised hand and took his place at a table, smiling insincerely at Mirabeta. Abelar took his station along the wall, directly across the chamber from Elyril. Elyril felt the young Corrinthal's eyes on her, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of eye contact.

The highspeaker raised his ivory baton for silence and a hush fell. "A quorum being present, this emergency session of the High Council is called to order."

Tension hung thick in the air. Elyril saw it on the faces of the assembled council members. She noticed that almost all of the members and wallmen bore blades-unusual for a session of the High Council.

"Word has come that Kendrick Selkirk has died in office," Lossit said, obeying the formalities. "The realm is without a leader. It is therefore this council's obligation to select a successor from among its members. The dais is open for nominations."

Several members of the High Council stood to be recognized, though not Endren or Mirabeta. Custom demanded that candidates for overmaster not speak on their own behalf.

The highspeaker pointed his baton at Zarin Terb of Selgaunt and recognized him. Elyril knew Terb to be a supporter of Endren.