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to hold a revolver to Ishmael’s head. “We explained to him what had happened, and why we were there, and he ordered my husband and Baron Strumheller to the Borders to prepare for an invasion, and I asked to accompany him back to Minhorne, because of my children.”
    “How did Strumheller escape from prison?”
    “With the assistance of the prison apothecary,” Vladimer said, “who declared him dead.”
    The archduke grimaced slightly. She could not tell him how near Ishmael had then been to death from overspending his magic to save her from the fire. “There were two attempts on his life while he was in prison,” she said.
    It did not, she realized, help. “You are quite certain he was Strumheller?” the archduke said to Vladimer.
    Vladimer smiled briefly. “He had all Strumheller’s nerve.” He didn’t elaborate.
    “What happened at the railway station?” the archduke said, his head twitching toward his brother.
    She told it, as she had observed, once more omitting that part that was hers and magical. The archduke would surely believe that Vladimer had dispatched both assassins—he knew his brother’s accomplishments—and he might be persuaded that the Shadowborn had overreached himself in his alarm.
    “You concur with this, Vladimer?” the archduke said.
    There was a silence long enough for Telmaine to wonder, if Vladimer betrayed her, what she would do, take flight, or face the archduke and the ruin of her life square.
    “Vladimer?” said the archduke, casting toward his brother.
    “Yes,” said Vladimer, rousing himself. “There is a threat, I am certain of that. Janus, I will pursue these Shadowborn with all my skills and resources, but the Borders need the ability to defend themselves properly. I told Strumheller I would get a ducal order to allow him to raise forces. I’m asking you to suspend the order of six twenty-nine.”
    Even the most indifferently tutored lady knew of the Borders uprising and civil war that followed, and the ducal order that had come with the peace. The order of six twenty-nine restricted the standing forces that could be maintained by the nobility, especially the Borders baronies, lest they be held in insurrection.
    “You told Strumheller that you would get a suspension of six twenty-nine,” the archduke said, in a tone so uninflected as to be ominous. To Telmaine’s surprise and perturbation, Vladimer seemed unaware of his misstep. A soft brush of sonn showed him braced in the chair, head lowered. Overcome with faintness, she feared. If the archduke realized, he did not—whether out of consideration for Vladimer’s pride or out of annoyance—acknowledge it. “I’ll take your word that Strumheller is who he claims to be,” he said, narrowly. “I’ll grant he’s done well by you and the Strumheller barony, but you know I’ve never shared your trust in him. The man’s a mage. You can’t convince me that he didn’t influence the man who helped him escape. Giving him a ducal order to raise forces in the Borders would be—”
    Telmaine bit the fingertip of her glove, stifling her urge to give the archduke a piece of her mind. Which would be disastrous, since most of the things she knew about Ishmael di Studier, including the greatness of his heart and the depths of his loyalties, she knew only because she had touched him as a mage touches another, mind and heart.
    Vladimer interrupted before the archduke found the word he sought. “Janus, Strumheller has not influenced me , if that is what you are so carefully not implying. He has neither the power nor the malevolence.” A shudder ran through the last word—he had but lately encountered one who had both. “He’s as loyal to you as I am. And there’s no one knows the Borders, knows the Shadowlands, knows the danger, better.”
    “I’ve already signed the order of succession recognizing Reynard di Studier as Baron Strumheller.”
    Vladimer jolted upright. “ What? When did that arrive? They’d