visited Duenne’s Court. In those days, Károví was a minor province within the grand Erythandran empire. Though historical accounts from that time were unclear—and indeed, rewritten by subsequent rulers—one point was clear. Leos Dzavek and his brother had stolen three magical jewels from the imperial vaults. Lir’s jewels, gifted by the goddess to the Erythandran emperors, or so the legends claimed.
Whatever their origin, Leos Dzavek fled home to Károví with all three. He had quarreled with his brother, however, so when Leos launched a revolt, the brother led the emperor’s armies to retake the province. The brother was killed in battle, Károví regained its independence, and several other provinces broke away in the turmoil.
The empire had collapsed into splinters and factions, leaving only the kingdom known as Veraene. Leos Dzavek, however, had lived. It was the jewels, said the rumors, and their extraordinary magic that taught this man how to live centuries beyond the ordinary life span.
Centuries, yes. It was a hundred years later when the nameless elder brother returned to a new life as Leos Dzavek’s trusted retainer. Again the records contradicted each other, but the salient points were clear. The retainer stole the jewels and hid them, then killed himself before Dzavek could extract the truth from him. The jewels remained lost, most likely hidden in the magical plane. Since then, Dzavek had searched for them throughout Veraene, Károví, and all the other known kingdoms.
And now you have found them, Raul thought. One at least.
But which one? And where?
* * *
“WOULD YOU LIKE to see the public rooms first?” the young man named Uwe asked Gerek.
No, he would not. What Gerek wanted most of all was to sit alone in the dark. With a wet rag over his aching eyes. Then he could think over his interview, and prepare himself for whatever came next.
Raul Kosenmark had not allowed him that luxury, however. Instead, Gerek had eaten his midday meal with Mistress Denk while they reviewed the current household accounts, the monthly schedule, and other necessary topics. Finally Denk had released him to a runner for a tour of the house, while servants fetched his luggage from the freight company. She would arrange to have his office and private rooms ready within a few hours.
The runner was polite enough, but Gerek could not give him proper attention. He followed the young man from the office wing, down one floor, and through a maze of corridors that ended at a wide balcony overlooking the pleasure house’s entrance hall. It was all very grand. Tall windows lit the wide-open space, illuminating the many fine paintings and tapestries. The style was deliberately antique, the young man explained. Lord Kosenmark had imported many of the decorations from his father’s estates in Valentain. The rest he had acquired through antiquarian dealers along the eastern coast.
Gerek suppressed a yawn. He had risen well before sunrise that morning, endured three hours riding in the freight wagon, then used up his remaining wits and vitality during the interview with Lord Kosenmark. However, he suspected that Kosenmark wanted his secretary familiar with the house, so he dutifully followed the young man down the winding stairs to the entrance hall and gazed around.
Before them stood an arched entryway with a short hallway that opened into a much larger room beyond. Gerek could make out numerous couches scattered about, and several intimate groupings of chairs and low tables. Three maids were at work, dusting and polishing. One knelt on a richly dyed carpet, scrubbing at spots with a cloth. There was a musky scent in the air, an odor that reminded him of his father’s quarters on those days when his mother spent the day locked in her private suite, weeping.
“That is the common room,” the runner said. “Would you like to see it next?”
The common room was where the courtesans displayed themselves to potential clients. Of course, they were not so crude as to call it that. No, they entertained their visitors with music, conversation, and amusing games. They offered wine and a feast of delicacies from Lord Kosenmark’s famous cook. But the purpose was clear. Did the runner expect him to show an interest in the courtesans, then? Most men would. He had no idea if he were like most young men.
“I-I—” His tongue tangled on several different answers.
He forced out a breath to quell the tremors. Was about to try again, when the sight of a familiar figure undid his efforts.
“Let me show him the house,” Kathe