## Chapter 491 — Back to the Holding The morning had been ordinary enough that Lethira only noticed the difference when it was nearly over. They had spent most of it together at the holding. No expedition waited at the end of breakfast. No messenger had arrived from Aelira or the Guild. The bathhouse footing still needed its proper plan, the range still ended in unfinished earthwork, and the house contained the usual collection of small jobs which could be done now or left until tomorrow without either choice becoming important. Lethira had checked the fading chalk around the bathhouse foundation, walked the edge of the range work and decided nothing there required attention today. A few arrows wanted their fletching inspected. One kitchen hinge had begun making a small sound she disliked. By midday, sunlight had moved across the front-room floor far enough to reach the scarred table, and lunch had become the most immediate task in the house. She stood at the kitchen counter cutting bread, with hard cheese, cold meat and the remains of yesterday's fruit beside it. Halfway through the second slice, she stopped. Something was different. Lethira looked towards Ian. She could not have said what he was doing differently, which irritated her slightly. After this much time together she had become accustomed to noticing when the projected body was tired because Ian had chosen to let it become tired, when some idea amused him before he said it aloud, when he was distracted by something ridiculous, and when quiet was simply quiet. This did not fit any of those. He had been with her through the morning, gone away for a time, then returned home. Nothing about that was unusual by itself. Yet the sense that something had shifted remained. Lethira put the knife down, wiped her fingers on the cloth beside the board and went through to the front room, coming around the table. There was no alarm in her face, only the particular attention she usually gave a trail after finding one mark that did not fit the others. She rested one hand on the back of the chair opposite him. “What happened?” “I went to Crownholt. I'm still unsure if it has scratched the itch I had.” Lethira's hand tightened slightly on the chair. “Crownholt.” Not the machine supplying an answer about Voss. Not old records discussed in Merrowford. Ian had gone there. She pulled the chair out and sat opposite him. The unfinished lunch remained on the kitchen counter, bread knife beside the half-cut loaf. For a few moments she simply watched him. The question of Crownholt had never quite left after they first learned that Voss remained alive and influential. Apparently this morning it had acquired rooms, roads and people. “All right.” Her forearms rested on the table. “Did you speak to Voss?” “Yes, he didn't collapse overcome by guilt. Which would have been easier but unlikely.” Ian gave her the full update on his visit. Lethira listened. The bread remained half cut on the counter while Crownholt accumulated between them: Crown Deep and the closed descent where Thomas had fallen; Arliss in the mage offices; Voss still sitting behind a desk after all these years; the gods mentioned to a man who had once helped hold Thomas over a failed Hero summoning; the east guest wing and the few dozen feet of courtyard Crownholt had once made impassable; Thomas's room; the letters; the blank archival copies and transcriptions; Arliss's frost and the small piece of impossible winter Ian had reproduced on his own hand. She interrupted very little. At the letters, her eyes narrowed. When Ian described Voss asking whether Thomas had survived the fall, she became completely still. The chocolate earned the faintest movement at one corner of her mouth. By the time Ian finished, the room had gone quiet around them. Lethira looked towards the kitchen, where lunch waited unfinished. “First, I think we should eventually eat.” She did not get up. “And I understand the letters.” Her fingers traced one of the old cuts in the tabletop. “I don't know whether Thomas or Isha would have wanted them destroyed. You don't know either. But Crownholt keeping copies of private words it obtained because the two of them were being forcibly separated...” She shook her head once. “I am not going to pretend I feel sorry for the archive.” A brief pause followed. “I'm glad you left people's memories alone.” Her gaze returned to him, narrower now. Months ago Ian had told her that his available power included minds, thoughts and the past, and had said he had not used it to rewrite people and would not. Later he had asked reality to make that boundary absolute where Lethira herself was concerned. “But in Crownholt, guards stopped you,” she said. “One told you that you could not continue. Afterwards, he accepted an answer that would not normally have been enough.” She rested both palms against the table. “I am less concerned that you walked into a restricted building than I am about how you got through the door. Did you notice that changing the person refusing you might have been one way reality could satisfy what you asked?” “No, I didn't actually specify how reality would do it. I just asked to let them accept my answer for passing.” Lethira considered that carefully. Her mouth tightened. “Then we don't know how it happened. It might have changed their thoughts or memories, some fact around the situation, or something neither of us would guess. That is the part I don't like.” She let that settle before asking, “Can you ask what it actually did?” “I can. But you are probably right, I honestly didn't think about it as it wasn't me consciously wanting to change them.” Ian shrugged. “Unintended consequence.” Lethira looked down at the table for a moment, her fingers moving across the grain. “When I want through a guarded door, I have to choose how to get past it. You can leave that part to reality.” She looked back at him. “And an unintended change would still be a change.” “So I would like one thing from you. If you ask reality to get around another person's refusal again, make changing that person—mind, memory, judgement, whatever else belongs to them—explicitly unavailable as the solution.” “Yes, I shall try.” Lethira held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. “Good.” Lethira stood. “Now I am going to finish making lunch before the bread becomes part of the discussion.” She returned to the kitchen counter and picked up the knife. The second slice came free, followed by a third. Cheese, cold meat and fruit gradually became a meal instead of abandoned evidence of an interrupted morning. After a little while, she glanced back over her shoulder. “And for the record, going to Crownholt was probably a terrible idea.” A small smile appeared. “I am not yet convinced that means I wish you hadn't gone.” “Me either. I also don't know what to do with the letters.” Lethira stopped with the cheese knife in her hand. “Then don't decide yet.” She set the knife down and brought the plates through to the table. “The Crown having them was one question. What happens to them now is another.” Lethira sat and pulled her plate closer. “They belonged to Thomas and Isha before they belonged to anyone else's argument about them. You can keep them somewhere safe until you have a chance to ask.” Her eyes met his. “You don't need to turn removing them from Crownholt into permission to choose their ending too.” “Exactly. They are outside of reality for now so safe. And I haven't read them.” Lethira nodded. “Good.” There was nothing more she needed from that. “I almost went to see the King, but I had reached a point of ... 'and do what?'” She chewed for a moment before answering. “That sounds like the right place to stop.” Her tone held no particular reverence for kings, only practicality. “You had already spoken to Voss, walked the places Thomas and Isha were kept, and found Arliss. Going to the King simply because he was the next person above Voss would have given you another person to confront.” Lethira picked up a piece of fruit. “And then what? Make him admit responsibility? Frighten him? Remove him? Listen while he explains the kingdom?” A small shrug. “Any of those might tell you something. None of them automatically tells you what to do afterwards.” She ate the fruit and looked across the table at him. “Did you actually want anything from him?” “I want justice without vengeance, without harming innocents.” Ian paused. “But there isn't a way. Not that I can think of. Voss seemed to be feeling... something. Maybe that will have to do.” Lethira set down the piece of bread she had been holding. “I don't think Voss feeling bad is justice. But I also don't think you are required to manufacture a punishment simply because the world failed to provide one.” She looked down at her plate, then back at Ian. “You went. You saw what remained. You spoke to people who were there. You took something Crownholt should never have kept. And then you stopped.” A short silence passed between them. “That may be less satisfying than justice. It may also be better than inventing something worse because you cannot bear leaving the account uneven.” For a while she ate in silence. Then she nudged the cheese towards him. “I think that is enough Crownholt for lunch.” “Yes.” Ian reached over and squeezed her hand and took some cheese to eat. Lethira turned hers beneath his and squeezed back once before letting him go. For a while, that was enough. Lunch resumed around the unfinished edges of the conversation. Bread, cold meat, cheese, fruit. Sunlight had reached farther across the front-room floor while they talked, and somewhere outside a bird had begun making an insistent argument from the hedge. Lethira ate another piece of bread, then reached for the cheese herself. Ian smiled at her. “Love you.” Lethira's expression softened immediately. “I love you too.” She reached across the table and rested her hand over his for a moment, then stole the piece of cheese nearest his plate. “Theft!” Ian smiled. “Call a warden.” Lethira chewed the stolen cheese with exaggerated calm. “Fortunately, I know one.” She reached for another piece, stopped just before taking it and looked at him. “Terrible conflict of interest.” Her hand withdrew with great dignity. She broke off a smaller piece from her own side of the plate instead. “What would you like to do for the rest of the day?” Lethira leaned back and considered it properly. “Nothing important.” She glanced towards the kitchen cupboard. “I want to fix that hinge before it annoys me enough to become a personal enemy. After that, I think I would like to walk down towards the stream, without measuring anything, surveying anything or discovering a new civilisation.” Her mouth curved. “Then come home, make dinner, and have an evening which requires no judgement about kings.” She took another piece of cheese. “That sounds excellent to me.” “Agreed. Is there anything we need from town?” Lethira paused and mentally worked through the kitchen. “Nothing urgent. We're getting low on lamp oil, and I would buy more salt before we actually run out. Fresh vegetables would be useful as well.” Her attention returned to Ian. “But none of that requires a trip today. If we go into Merrowford, I would rather it be because we want the walk than because the household has developed an emergency involving salt.” “I was thinking of looking for a bedside table, or two. The bedroom is a bit bare still.” Lethira glanced towards the stairs. “The two temporary ones have lasted suspiciously well for something we meant to replace.” Her mouth curved. “The low lidded storage bench beneath the eaves gives us storage, and the repaired bed finally feels as though it belongs there, but yes. The room is still sparse.” She thought for a moment. “We could look in Merrowford. I would rather find something old we actually like than buy the first pair merely because they match.” Then she added, “I still want some Wood Elf work upstairs somewhere. It doesn't have to be the bedside tables. I don't want the whole room to become human furniture simply because that is what is convenient to buy here.” She looked back at him. “So: lamp oil, salt, vegetables, and furniture we are not obligated to buy.” A small smile. “That sounds like a reasonable afternoon.” “Few more bits make it more homely, although I realise I am mentally spending your money as a kept man.” Ian smiled. Lethira laughed. “You are an exceptionally poor kept man. You earned money from a goddess, bought land with it, and then made me go back to the records office so I could own half.” She gathered the empty plates and carried them towards the basin. “But yes. You are already deciding how attractive furniture might look when purchased with my coin.” There was no real objection in her voice. “Let's have a look and if we see anything we see something.” “That is exactly how I want to do it.” Lethira set the plates down and glanced towards the stairs, mentally placing things in the bedroom. “Proper bedside tables if we find ones we like. Shelves would be useful. Something Wood Elf-made if we happen across the right piece, though I doubt Merrowford will provide much of that by accident.” She looked back towards him. “And we are allowed to come home with nothing except lamp oil and vegetables.” A brief smile. “Which means we will probably find something.” Ian took her hand and they set off. The western road had warmed since morning. Shade still held beneath the trees around the holding, but beyond them sunlight lay across the verges and packed road in broad uneven patches. Lethira walked at an easy pace beside him, their joined hands swinging only slightly between them. Crownholt did not follow in conversation. The house disappeared behind the trees. The stream crossed and recrossed their hearing as the road wandered nearer to it, then fell away again. A cart passed heading west, its driver lifting two fingers in greeting without slowing. Farther on, somebody repaired a fence beside a field while two goats contributed nothing useful. By the time Merrowford's outer buildings appeared, the morning had receded into something that had happened rather than something still occupying the dining table. Lethira squeezed Ian's hand once. “I think this was a better idea than spending the afternoon deciding what kings deserve.” The west gate brought them back into the familiar accumulation of noise: wheels over hard ground, voices from open shopfronts, a hammer somewhere deeper in town, food smells arriving without regard for whether lunch had already happened. They did not need the central market first. Lethira remembered a furniture frontage on the west side of town where older pieces had been mixed with newer work. Looking there did not already feel like commissioning something. They found it before the streets became properly crowded. A small table stood near the entrance, dark wood with one drawer and legs worn lighter near the feet. Behind it were two mismatched chairs, a narrow shelving unit and the corner of something larger beneath a dust cloth. Lethira slowed. Her eyes went immediately to the little table. “Well.” She tilted her head, judging its height rather than its decoration. “That is approximately the sort of thing we came looking for.” She looked at Ian. “Want to start here?” “Yes, my love.” Lethira led them inside. The frontage opened into a deeper room than the street suggested. Newer pieces stood nearer the back, while the front held second-hand furniture in varying states of repair: small tables, stools, narrow cupboards, shelves and chairs whose polish had worn differently according to the lives they had already survived. Lethira went first to the dark little table by the entrance. Up close, it was plainly old rather than deliberately rustic. The drawer moved with a slight resistance near the end of its travel. One rear leg had been repaired cleanly below the joint. The top carried several pale rings and one shallow cut rubbed smooth by years of use. She put her palm flat on it and judged the height. “About right.” Then she crouched enough to inspect the repair rather than trusting the table merely because she liked its face. A second small table stood farther inside, half-hidden beside a narrow cupboard. It was lighter wood, a little wider, with no drawer and a low shelf between the legs. It matched the first in almost no respect except approximate height. Lethira looked between them. “If we replaced the temporary ones with these, nobody could accuse us of buying a matching set.” Her expression suggested that this was not necessarily a disadvantage. The shopkeeper, an older man working at the back with a cloth and a jar of wax, noticed her interest but did not immediately descend on them. He finished the section he was polishing before coming forward. “Those two?” “Possibly,” Lethira said. “We're looking for bedside tables. Old is fine. Sound matters more than pretty.” The man nodded as though that improved the conversation. “Dark one's sound. Drawer sticks a little. Light one came from a farmhouse sale west of town. Shelf was replaced before I got it.” Lethira glanced towards Ian. “I like the dark one.” She rested her fingertips on its scarred top. “What do you think?” “They have character, I'd be happy with them.” Lethira looked from one table to the other again. “So would I.” She tested the light table with both hands, checking for movement. It rocked only a fraction on the uneven floorboards. The dark one was steadier, though its sticking drawer protested when she opened it a second time. “Different enough that it looks deliberate,” she said. “And neither is pretending to be new.” The shopkeeper named a price for the pair. Lethira's expression did not change, but Ian had seen her bargain often enough to recognise the small pause while she decided whether the number was merely ambitious or genuinely offensive. Apparently it was only ambitious. She made a lower offer. The shopkeeper countered. Lethira adjusted once, and he accepted. “Both,” she said. Her hand rested briefly on the dark table's scarred top. “We can replace the temporary ones tonight.” Then her attention moved past the tables towards the deeper shelves and cupboards. “We came here to look, not flee immediately after succeeding.” Ian looked around the shop as well. The place rewarded slower attention. Near the front, the furniture had been arranged to catch people from the street. Deeper inside, pieces were fitted wherever space allowed, sometimes stacked or half hidden behind one another. A narrow wall shelf leaned against a cupboard, its timber darkened almost black around the ends from years of handling. Beside it stood a small open bookcase with three shelves, sturdy but plainly made, one corner repaired with a new wooden pin. A taller chest occupied the wall beyond, but their bedroom already had the low lidded storage bench beneath the eaves and did not need more storage merely for the sake of filling space. There were stranger things as well: a low stool with one leg shaped differently from the other two; a small table whose top had been replaced with timber from another tree; a narrow cabinet with painted flowers faded almost to ghosts across its doors. Lethira had drifted towards the wall shelf. She lifted it carefully from where it leaned and turned it over to inspect the back. “This has been somewhere for a long time.” The shelf was simple: one broad plank, two shaped supports beneath it, no carving beyond a shallow line cut along the front edge. The wood had enough age and variation that the marks of hand tools remained visible beneath later wear. Lethira held it against the wall at roughly shoulder height, imagining rather than measuring. “Not beside the bed.” She lowered it again. “But perhaps on the wall opposite. A place for a lamp, a few books, whatever small things we acquire without noticing.” Her eyes moved to Ian. “I like this more than I expected to.” Ian smiled at her. Lethira caught it and looked back at the shelf. “That is not an argument.” Her mouth curved anyway. She ran one thumb along the shallow line cut into the front edge, then checked the supports again. “I think I want it.” She turned towards the shopkeeper. “And this as well, if the price is sensible.” Ian let her transact. The shopkeeper offered a combined price below the sum of the separate prices. Lethira countered, pointing out the shelf's repaired bracket; he defended the timber until she observed that it did not become younger because he admired it. They settled on a price that left neither looking victorious. Lethira paid. The shopkeeper marked the three pieces as sold and offered delivery later in the afternoon for a modest additional charge. Lethira accepted rather than turning the walk home into furniture transport. When the arrangement was settled, she stepped back beside Ian. “Well.” Her eyes travelled over the dark table, the lighter one and the worn shelf now belonging to them. “The bedroom is becoming inhabited.” Ian leaned closer and whispered to her, “It was quite well inhabited last night too.” Lethira went still for half a heartbeat, then colour touched the tips of her ears. “That was not the meaning I intended.” Her voice dropped low enough that the shopkeeper could not reasonably hear it. She glanced towards the newly purchased bedside tables, then back at Ian. “Although I concede the room was not suffering from lack of use.” The composure lasted until the corner of her mouth betrayed her. Lethira took his hand. “Come on. We still need lamp oil before you make me explain our bedroom to the furniture seller.” “OK, my love.” Lethira squeezed his hand and led them back into the street. The afternoon had grown busier while they were inside. A delivery cart had stopped half across one lane, forcing pedestrians around it, and somewhere nearby a merchant was loudly insisting that his onions were superior to onions available three stalls away. They bought lamp oil first. Salt followed from a provisioner farther along the market road, then vegetables chosen mostly by what looked good rather than what they had planned to cook. Lethira added a small bundle of herbs after smelling them and deciding the kitchen could use them. By then their original purpose had dissolved into an ordinary walk through Merrowford. They passed a pottery stall without stopping, then doubled back because Lethira had noticed a shallow blue-glazed bowl near the edge. She picked it up. The glaze was uneven around the rim, darker where it had pooled. One side carried a tiny firing blemish that looked like a thumbprint until she turned it towards the light. Lethira studied it for several seconds. “We do not need this.” She looked at Ian. “That is becoming a dangerous sentence in a house we are trying to make homely.” “Want is better than need when your well-off partner is paying.” Lethira gave him a long look over the rim of the bowl. “You have become disturbingly comfortable with this arrangement.” She turned the bowl once more, watching the blue glaze catch the light, and smiled. “Good.” Lethira carried it to the stallholder. “If I am financing your life of luxury, we may as well own a bowl we like.” “Hooray for bowls.” Lethira laughed. The stallholder looked between them, wisely decided not to ask, and wrapped the bowl in a piece of old cloth before handing it over. Lethira tucked it carefully into the shopping bag beside the salt. “There. An important household achievement.” She took Ian's hand again. “Furniture, lamp oil, vegetables and one entirely unnecessary bowl.” Her smile lingered. “I think we are doing very well.” “Back home? Or further reckless spending?” Lethira looked down at the bag containing the blue bowl, then along the market street as though weighing the possibilities with appropriate seriousness. “Home.” She squeezed his hand. “We have already demonstrated that wealth can survive furniture and ceramics. I would rather stop before we discover whether I can be trusted near rugs.” Her eyes brightened. “Besides, I want to see whether those tables actually look as good in the bedroom as they did in the shop.” She turned them towards the western road. They walked home. The bags made the return slightly less graceful than the journey into town, but not enough to matter. Lethira carried the vegetables and lamp oil while Ian had the wrapped bowl and lighter provisions. The road west gradually emptied around them until Merrowford became cart noise behind trees rather than a town at their backs. Neither returned to the subject of Crownholt. They talked instead about the shelf, whether the lighter bedside table would look better on Lethira's side of the bed, and where the blue bowl might actually live now that enthusiasm had committed them to owning it. By the time the holding appeared through the trees, the afternoon had softened. Lethira opened the door and carried the vegetables through to the kitchen. The house looked much as it had when they left. That would change when the furniture arrived. She unwrapped the blue bowl first and carried it through to the dining table, setting it in the middle. After several seconds she shook her head. “No.” Back in the kitchen, the counter received the same consideration and verdict. Lethira carried the bowl to the window ledge, where the uneven blue glaze caught the daylight, and stepped back. “Better.” It had acquired three locations in less than a minute. She looked towards Ian. “I may understand why furnishing takes people years.” “I fear even with Elven lifespan a dozen bowls might not find a home.” Lethira looked at the single blue bowl on the window ledge. “Then we stop at eleven.” She held the solemn expression for almost two seconds before her attention strayed towards the kitchen walls. “Or buy a shelf specifically for bowls. No. The bowl stays there.” She folded her arms, still considering the ledge. “For today.” Ian walked over and kissed her. Lethira's arms came around him without hesitation. She returned the kiss warmly, then rested her forehead against his for a moment, her hands settling at his waist. “The bowl can wait. So can everything else.” Ian stood on his toes and kissed her again. Lethira laughed softly into the kiss, then bent just enough to make the height difference less of a negotiation. When she drew back, her hands stayed at his waist. “I could simply come down here.” “I like having to reach for beauty.” Lethira's expression softened. “And you seem to find it amusing too.” “I do. You stand on your toes as though I have made myself deliberately difficult to reach.” She bent to bring them level again, close but not quite kissing him, and smiled at his face so near hers. “And then you look pleased about it.” “The calf exercises have a very good reward.” Ian kissed her. Lethira returned it, smiling against his mouth. Her hands slid a little higher around his waist, keeping him close as she drew back. “Then I suppose I should be pleased to support your training.” Ian put his arms around her and pressed himself tightly into her. “I wish I could stay here forever.” Lethira's hold tightened around him. For a few seconds she said nothing. Her cheek rested against the side of his head, the kitchen quiet around them except for the faint sound of water outside and the ordinary settling noises of the house. “I know.” One hand moved slowly over his back. “I don't need forever promised to me.” She drew him a little closer. “I like that you keep coming back.” Ian let his hand run down her back and rest on her rear. “Are you happy, my love?” Lethira's eyes stayed on his. “Yes.” The answer came without hesitation. Her hand settled at the back of his neck. “Not every moment. I still get angry. I still worry about things. I still have work I would rather not do and people who occasionally deserve to be shouted at.” A small smile. “But this house feels like home. My work is still mine. I have people I love, places I can leave for and somewhere I want to return to.” Her thumb moved lightly against his neck. “And I am very happy with you.” Ian gave a happy sigh and rested his head against her, with her hand on his neck. Lethira held him there. She did not fill the quiet. One arm remained around his waist while the other stayed warm and steady against his neck, fingers resting beneath the short hair at the back of his head. The blue bowl sat forgotten on the window ledge. Their shopping remained only partly put away. Somewhere outside, the stream continued over stone. After a while, Lethira pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Neither of them moved to do anything else. “I think we should do something that isn't standing here.” A beat passed. “Maybe.” Lethira's arms remained around him. “An impressively decisive plan.” She kissed his temple, then loosened her hold just enough to look at him. “We could put the shopping away before the vegetables become decorative. Or we could go down to the stream like we originally intended.” Her mouth curved. “Or we could sit somewhere and continue doing almost nothing, but with furniture involved.” “I shall put our produce away, then we can go down to the stream.” Ian put their produce away. Before they left, a cart pulled up outside with the furniture. Lethira went to the door and received the two tables and the shelf. The delivery workers carried all three inside and left them clear of the doorway. She checked the pieces, thanked the workers and watched the cart turn back towards the road. Then they walked down to the stream. The afternoon was warm beneath the open sky and cooler where the bank dipped beneath the trees. Water moved over shallow stone with the familiar uneven sound that reached the house only when the wind and leaves allowed it. They had come here often enough that no decision was required about where to sit. The holding lay uphill behind them. Merrowford was somewhere beyond the trees and road. Crownholt was much farther away. Nothing at the stream required either of them to care. Water passed. Leaves shifted. An insect made several determined attempts to land on the same piece of grass despite the breeze repeatedly objecting. For the rest of the afternoon, that was enough. --- In Crownholt, Voss reached the end of the working day with the archive anomaly still under restricted seal. The blank materials had not repaired themselves. No additional file had changed. Custody records still proved that Thomas and Isha's correspondence had once passed through Crown hands, while every located preservation of the private words themselves remained empty. Voss had not ordered reconstruction. Copying remembered fragments would contaminate the investigation; it would also put the words back in Crown hands. He left the restriction in place and turned to the work still waiting on his desk. He picked up a requisition from Crown Deep and read it carefully. The first question that occurred to him was what the proposed work would produce. The second arrived a moment later: who carried the cost if the assumptions were wrong? Voss disliked noticing the order. He read the page again before signing anything. --- Arliss remained in her office later than she intended. The plate from Ian's chocolate was still hidden in the desk drawer. Her original note about him remained in the locked case, unchanged except for the time she had added after their first conversation. She had told Voss nothing about the frost, its absence of detectable mana or Ian's claim that reality obeyed him. A threat, or a specific danger to unsuspecting people, would change her decision. For now, she could see no safety in giving Voss another impossible capability to investigate. She remembered where that had led with Thomas. Arliss opened the next ward report. A junior assessor had described a boundary fluctuation as *probably harmless*. She crossed out *probably harmless*, replaced it with *unresolved* and wrote in the margin: *Either establish harmlessness or describe the uncertainty.* A small missive appeared on her desk. Arliss stopped writing. There had been no knock, no movement at the door and no reaction from the wards. The paper simply existed beside the report. One word was written on it. **Ian** Arliss stared at the name. Then she laughed, quietly enough that nobody in the corridor would hear. “So that was the test.” She picked up the missive and read the single word again. Ian. No title. No surname. No explanation. The name changed surprisingly little. He remained the man with no mana who could reproduce her frost, remove letters from sealed archives and supply excellent chocolate. But he was no longer entirely unnamed. Arliss set the paper beside the ward report. After a while, the missive disappeared. She watched the empty patch of desk where it had been. Arliss did not write the name down. She did not need to.