...Why should one idle spade, I wonder,

Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder

To smoke and choke the sun?

-- G. K. Chesterton, The Ballad of the White Horse

"Father! Father!"

It was extremely rare for Shizuki to make so much noise. Even in his immortal form he usually moved as quietly as... well, as a snake. He could go anywhere he liked without anyone noticing him unless they already knew he was there. Now he shouted at the top of his lungs for the first time in centuries. Heads popped out of the windows as Siarvin's servants tried to see what was happening. They were disappointed. Shizuki ran straight to the garden, where Siarvin could always be found at this time, and the overhanging tree branches blocked their view.

Shizuki ducked under the trees and leapt over the carefully planted rows of nuyium[1] as if he was practicing for a race. He skidded to a halt in the middle of the dwarf inikul[2] patch, right in front of an amazed Siarvin.

"What under heaven has gotten into you?" his father exclaimed, dropping his shovel in his surprise.

It took several minutes for Shizuki to get his breath back. In the distance he heard the murmur of voices from the main house, followed by the distinctive and unmistakable sound of the front door closing. Siarvin, whose hearing was not as sharp, didn't notice anything.

With an effort Shizuki straightened up and forced his fangs to disappear. Forget the toll it would take on him. Now was one of the times when he urgently needed to speak clearly.

"I delivered the letter to Princess Abihira," he said in between gasps. "I left it in her room. She couldn't have helped seeing it."

"You told me that before." Siarvin took his arm and guided him over to sit in one of the garden chairs. "Are you quite all right? I warned you the sun might be too strong for you up on that roof. Why do you stay up there for hours when we have perfectly good chairs?"

Shizuki shook his head. "It's nothing to do with the sun. I just saw Princess Abihira arrive. She's in the main manor right now."

All the colour drained from Siarvin's already pale face. He stood as still as a statue for several minutes.

"What?" he cried when he got his voice back. "But... But we warned her! I was as clear as I could be without telling her too much! Can she not read?"

"She's been in Seroyawa. Perhaps we should have written it in Seroyawan," Shizuki said with unwonted sarcasm. His own inability to speak Seroyawan was a nagging pain at the back of his mind, a feeling of guilt that he knew was irrational but he couldn't argue away.

He knew there were thousands of people in Saoridhlém who were either maligned as "yaðar"[3] or politely described as "líuga"[4]. Most of them didn't speak the languages of their foreign parents or grandparents. Most had no more understanding of their ancestors' culture than the fully-Saoridhian people around them.

Shizuki knew from painful experience that there was nothing as embarrassing as someone twenty generations removed from their last ancestor to actually live in Seroyawa who still thought they understood everything about the place. He was mortified on her behalf when that person tried to tell actual Seroyawans that she knew their culture better than them, and wanted to convince them that something they had no problem with was actually very offensive to them.

That woman's abject humiliation years ago was a perfect example of how he did not want to act. He knew he didn't understand the first thing about life in Seroyawa. He knew that if he ever visited he would be as much of an oddity there as he was here. It was one of life's cruel ironies that Princess Abihira, whose only Seroyawan ancestor was Emperor Miaris[5], knew more about Shizuki's ancestral home than he did. Yet still he longed wistfully to speak Seroyawan. Tangled up with that longing was a lurking fear. If he ever met his birth father, would they even be able to communicate?

"--zuki? Shizuki? Are you listening?"

Shizuki snapped out of his thoughts. Briefly disorientated, he blinked up at Siarvin and tried to look as if he'd been paying attention. It didn't work. His father sighed and shook his head.

"As I was saying," he began with the patience of a put-upon tutor, "do you know why the princess is here?"

"Of course not. I came to tell you as soon as I saw her."

"Then go and see what you can overhear. For all we know she might be stupid enough to confront Haliran about her plans. She might even mention the letter."

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First impressions could always be deceiving. Abihira's first impression of Kiriyuki was that she was an infernal nuisance, and her first impression of Mirio was that he had the personality of a brick wall. She was wrong on the second count. The jury was still out on whether she was wrong on the first one.

Her first impression of Haliran-rúdaun was of a woman absolutely set on having her own way. Heaven help anyone foolish enough to try to deny her. For whatever reason of her own she was hell-bent on keeping the pottery for herself. Why a collection of old vases should matter so much to someone was an impenetrable mystery to Abi. She had never been able to understand why people would spend their last penny for some rare item to add to their collection, or why finding something unique mattered more to them than their family. She'd seen it in Líusal enough times to have a very low opinion of her sister's sanity. Now she was seeing it in Haliran.

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Collectors are lunatics, Abi decided.

"I understand that your sister wants these pieces," Haliran said in a sugary sweet tone. "But she must understand that many people want them. I was lucky enough to get there first; otherwise someone else would own them now."

Something about that tone set Abi's teeth on edge. It was far too gushy and kindly to be sincere. She was sharply reminded of the more patronising members of the Seroyawan court, the ones who thought she was just an ignorant foreigner and could never adapt to life in their country. The ones who also looked down on Mirio as nothing more than a half-breed, an embarrassment to the royal family. They hid their disdain behind a veneer of effusive politeness. Yet both Abi and Mirio had sensed the poison concealed beneath the sugar.

That association hardly endeared Haliran to her.

"How about a compromise?" Haliran said suddenly. Her tone remained obnoxiously sweet. "We can both have them. I'll loan them to her for, say, a year, and then she can give them back to me for a year, and so on."

Abi shrugged noncommittally. "I'll have to ask Líusal about it."

"It would be a very good way of solving this dilemma without any unpleasantness." If Haliran's normal voice sounded like that, it was a miracle everyone around her hadn't got diabetes. "Don't you agree?"

"Hmm," Abi said. She left it up to Haliran to decide if that was agreement or not.

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All things considered Abi had rarely been so happy to leave a place. The only thing to dampen her spirits was the thought of coming back to give Líusal's answer.

Haliran's servants showed her out of the sitting room. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of something green darting behind a curtain. When she paused and looked more closely there was nothing there.

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"It was something about pottery," Shizuki reported when he went back. His eyes were growing heavy and it was an effort to speak clearly. His fangs kept trying to push their way forward. His tongue flopped around in his mouth, trying to twist itself to form sounds an immortal wasn't capable of. He'd been in this form for far too long.

Siarvin blinked. "Pottery? Are you sure?"

Shizuki nodded. He gave up fighting and let his immortal form fade away. It was such a relief to not have to concentrate on never letting his appearance slip. "Heard them talk. Sister wants pottery, she came for it."

Siarvin groaned. "Of all the absurd things. And there I was imagining something terrible was happening!"

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When Abi arrived home she expected to find Líusal waiting for her. Surely she would want to know how things had gone. Probably she would go on a long and rambling rant against the audacity of anyone who dared propose a compromise with her -- especially on a subject of such importance as her collection.

Irímé might be there too. He would likely want to talk to her in private. It wasn't a conversation she was looking forward to. If she wanted any peace in her marriage she would have to convince him necromancy wasn't as dangerous as everyone thought.

Neither her wildest dreams nor her worst nightmares could have prepared her for what she actually found when she walked in.

Líusal was there, ready to pounce as soon as the door opened. Her expression could have been duplicated only by a politician awaiting the results of an important election. Irímé was there. He was poring over yet another draft of the guest list. Abi suddenly felt sorry for him.

Then she saw the third person in the room. The sight drove all other thoughts out of her mind.

"What-- Why-- What are you doing here?"

Kitri glared at her. "I'm here to make sure you don't do anything stupid."

"I'm not doing anything stupid!" Abi protested automatically, her mind still reeling.

"What about my pottery?" Líusal demanded, unable to wait any more.

Kitri's unexpected appearance threw Abi into such confusion that at first she couldn't remember what Líusal was talking about. "Your what? Oh! Er, I haven't got it."

She quickly explained the results of her conversation with Haliran. As expected Líusal threw a fit, shouted insults, and stormed off. Abi collapsed into a chair and paid no attention to her. At least Kitri was polite enough not to start yelling until Líusal was gone.

Silence fell -- the painfully awkward sort of silence that indicated an argument was imminent but the people involved were trying to pretend everything was just fine. Irímé looked from Abi to Kitri and back again. Thankfully he had the common sense to cast a sound-blocking spell before he spoke.

"Is this about the necromancy?" he asked.

The silence turned from an awkward one to a baffled one. Both women gaped at him as if he was a walking corpse himself.

"You know about that?" Kitri didn't even wait for an answer. "Good! Then you can help me convince this imbecile never to do it again!"

Abi opened her mouth to protest. She didn't get a chance. The room's temperature suddenly plummeted.

"Again?" Irímé repeated. His tone was so cold it gave her chills.

Kitri nodded. She ignored Abi's frantic hand gestures telling her to shut up. "She raised an entire graveyard last week. The whole town's still talking about it! They think it's the end of the world."

Irímé turned and glared at Abi. Compared to the atmosphere now, his tone a minute ago was practically as warm as Haliran's. "You didn't tell me about that."

Abi weighed up her options. Going on the defensive now would just convince them she knew she was wrong. No. There was nothing else for it. She'd just have to brazen it out.

"That was just a slight accident," she said. "It wasn't as serious as you make it sound. No one was hurt."

Kitri snorted. "No, they were all just frightened out of their wits."

"Why are you so determined to be a necromancer anyway?" Irímé demanded. He stared at Abi as if she was the most bizarre thing he'd ever seen. "Just give it up. No one wants any necromancers around. It was outlawed for a reason."

"And what was that reason?" Abi retorted smartly.

Both her opponents fell silent. Their abashed looks showed plainly that they had no idea.

Kitri tried to regain her lost ground. "People don't outlaw things for no reason."

Finally they were back on territory that Abi had actually prepared for. She had a dozen different answers ready for this sort of question. Now she finally got the chance to use them. "Of course not, but many things have been outlawed and then legalised again. Did you know that gas lamps were once illegal? People were afraid they'd cause fires."

Irímé did not look convinced. "Are you sure? I've never heard anything about it."

Abi ignored him. "Anyway, I can prove necromancy is safe. I'll show you right now."