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Territories, and Jardins, Defender of Truth and Eternity, to Our right trusty and well-beloved
seigneurs, lords and lady paramount, and warriors sworn, Greetings.’” She lifted her head and regarded the visitor’s only English speaker. “You can tell them that would be the high lord’s way of saying ‘Hi, everyone.’”
    “I told them what it means,” the spike-haired warrior said.
    “Good—then you should have no problem translating the rest of this for your friends.” She skimmed the first page, reading out loud the important parts. “He writes, ‘The Scroll of Falkonera, stolen of late by our enemies, has been recovered by the guardian Helada.’ Sounds like the thieves fell victim to its death curse. Too bad for them. He mentions the ages, and how he commissioned the smith Cristophe Noir to forge the scroll, and so on and so forth.”
    “Go to the end and read, Miss Christian,” one of the
jardin
warriors urged. “The bit about the jewels.”
    “Jewels, jewels.” Chris skipped ahead to the final paragraph of the summons. “Here’s something. ‘We therefore are well pleased to offer, for the elimination of this grievous threat, recompense to any oath-bound warrior of the Darkyn who should carry out a search to locate and secure the three gems. To he who successfully concludes this mission and delivers unto Us all three emeralds, We shall immediately grant the title of suzerain and rule of the territory of Ireland, including all present rights, properties, weapons, guards, warriors, and servants apportioned to the Irish
jardin
.’” She barely controlled a wince. “‘Given at Ì Àrd this first day of November in the nine hundred forty-fifth year of Our reign—’”
    “Aye, all of Ireland for the jewels,” the spike-haired visitor crowed, interrupting her. “I’ve told that to my brothers as well. In but a handful of days it shall be ours.”
    “This is not your territory,” a
jardin
warrior said. “It is
ours
to search.”
    “Excuse me. Excuse me.” Chris had to raise her voice to be heard over the angry mutters from the rest of the men. “This territory belongs to Lord Alenfar, and he decides what happens here. All requests to search for anything will be made to him.” She turned to the visitors. “If you have a problem with that, you can take it up with the suzerain, as he prefers to manage any problems involving visiting Kyn. Although I will warn you, he takes a very hands-on approach.” She described Lucan’s ability to shatter bones and rend flesh with a single touch before she said to the spike-haired warrior, “Make sure your friends understand exactly what I just said.”
    As the spike-haired warrior sullenly translated her words, the visiting Kyn lowered their weapons, and after a moment the
jardin
warriors did the same.
    “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to take care of the master’s business with Mr. Turner.” She nodded at their swords. “Lord Alenfar doesn’t allow sparring in the tunnels, and besides that, stronghold visitors are required to disarm upon arrival. You may leave your weapons here; Mr. Turner will take very good care of them.” When none of them moved, she took out her mobile from her pocket and held a thumb over the keys. “I can call the suzerain and have him come down here to explain his policy to you. Personally.”
    The spike-haired warrior translated one final time, and the visitors grudgingly moved one by one to place their blades on the counter.
    Chris almost said “thank you” before she swiveled around to face Turner and tap the invoice with an impatient finger. “Now, about this ammunition back order. I checked the terms of the bid, and according to paragraph seven on page fourteen, if the supplier can’t deliver on schedule, a penalty charge of . . .”
    As she complained about the problem she had already solved upstairs, Chris kept her back toward the men and watched Turner’s dour expression. A moment before she became