“I’ll take care of it,” Lia announced.
Isahn glanced askance at his sister.
“Sorry, would you like to speak with Nima?” Lia asked. “He’s the head of the household guard,” she explained to Hil.
“No, you go right ahead.”
“Eat, then. I’ll talk to him now, and I’ll find you soon.” Solaelia ducked out through the atrium.
“It’s fucking hot in here. Why didn’t you warn me? I’m sweaty,” Hildy complained as she speared a sausage and brought it to her mouth.
“Sorry, I forgot how it can get in the solars.”
“Like Domos in late summer.Deiwa,” she said, standing while chewing. “I’m going to take a bath.”
“Enjoy.”
“LordYaranbur,youhaveto wake up.”
Small hands shook Isahn from his slumber, and he trapped the offending arms in bindings of water magic as he opened his sleep-filled eyes. “What?”
“Lord Yaranbur!” the woman squealed. “Please! Sir!”
“Adana, I’m so sorry.” He released his hold on his housekeeper’s wrists, recognizing her voice in the dark. “What time is it? What’s going on?”
“There’s an intruder, sir.”
“What?” He leapt from bed, and the older woman hopped back, fluttering her hands.
“The guards think it’s your uncle. He’s in the basement.”
“Which one?”
“Lowest level, came in through the side door—”
“Just as we thought.” He yanked on a pair of trousers to accompany the tunic he’d worn to sleep. The woolen pants felt heavy and thick against his skin, not comfortable like the linen he’d worn in Domos.
“He’s near the vault right now. Guards are keeping their presence unknown, but they have him surrounded.”
“Of course,” he breathed. The vault was on the lowest level, right beside the tapestry.
“Your sister’s been made aware, but we can’t find your friend.”
Isahn thanked Adana and headed straight for the wall, hoping Hildy was already in position guarding the wall hanging. Rather than use the proper exit, he tapped expertly on the painting beside the door, and a discreet panel popped open.
With quiet precision, he took the stairs down to the first basement, where he slipped out onto the landing. Astutely, one of his guards, Yunus, turned from his position by the main stairwell to greet Isahn. They slunk into the gallery above the gymnasium and closed the door.
“Peros? Update?”
“It’s him,” the stocky man confirmed, keeping his voice quiet. “Out in the open, in the gallery.”
“Which gallery?” Isahn was pretty sure he knew which one, but Staridge had no less than four. It was prudent to confirm.
“He’s just outside the vault.”
“Is he trying to get in there?”
“No, sir. He hasn’t tried. We think he’s been looking at art.”
