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"I will be back tomorrow." He knew she didn't understand his words, but she knew that he was kind to her, and Mistress Lydia was cruel. He always silently wished that he could somehow buy Bronwyn from her, or just take her. Bronwyn would never be sold, however, least of all to Erik Rhondis, who would forever be stained by his name.

Erik walked quickly back into the large estate that Terrance Vorne called his home. Master Vorne was only forty, but had married the daughter of one of the most wealthy landowners in Hon-Taeth, and had inherited lock, stock and barrel from his rich wife when she had died of the Pale Sickness ten years ago. Now he lived with only his intolerable sixteen-year-old daughter Lydia and a large staff of servants. Terrance Vorne had little to do but to spend his fabulous wealth on all manner of extravagance while caring little for the treatment of those in his employ.

Erik trotted up the back steps and through the servant's entrance on his way to Mistress Lydia's private quarters. This was the part of the job he hated worst. Mistress Lydia was extremely fussy about the condition of her bedchamber, and considering she destroyed it with alarming regularity, putting it back in proper condition was usually a day's work in itself. If he was fortunate, however, he wouldn't encounter Mistress Lydia herself. If he did, and his luck existed at all, she would be in a bad mood. He could handle Mistress Lydia in a bad mood. It was when she was in a good mood that she usually became intolerable.

By now Erik had reached the main staircase in the Vorne household, with its ornately crafted handrails gleaming in the light coming through the windows above. The rug on the stairway was deep and soft, and his footfalls were completely soundless. The staircase was in the center of the house, and was often a great vantage point for overhearing conversations. Other servants frequently took advantage of such an opportunity, but Erik usually stayed away from matters that weren't any of his business. That way lay trouble. Today, however, his ears pricked up at the sound of his name being spoken by a voice he did not recognize.

"Have you any idea when Mr. Rhondis would be available?" the voice asked. He heard the voice of Mr. Staton, the footman, replying.

"Rhondis is busy tending to his duties. He will not be available to speak with anyone until tonight after he has finished for today."

"Yes, and pray, what time will that be?" the stranger's voice asked again. Mr. Staton could be quite difficult when he wanted to be, but the man seemed not at all put off by having to ask the same question twice.

Mr. Staton heaved a long sigh, but this time he answered.

"The servants generally retire at six o'clock this afternoon, but if they have unfinished duties they stay until they are completed. I have no real idea of when Rhondis would be available. I have even less of an idea why a man such as yourself would have any reason to speak to filth like him anyway."

"My reasons are none of your concern," the voice said, still as even as before.

"I meant no offense," came Mr.