"How am I supposed to gather evidence if I can't talk to Tanis about it?" the dwarf demanded, waving the painting in front of the guard's face. "Well?"

The guard, nearly as old as Porthios, was unshakable. "The Speaker left orders for no visitors," he repeated.

"He didn't mean to shut me out, you doorknob!"

The guard's face grew even more stubborn. "Go talk to the Speaker, then."

"I will!" Flint promised. "And I'll be back!"

But the dwarf had no better luck outside the Speaker's anteroom at the Tower.

"He's in seclusion," one guard explained, "meditating and praying, as part of the Kentommen. Absolutely no visitors unless a crisis of state develops. Interrupting him now could mean canceling the Kentommen"

The dwarf practically threw the portrait on the floor in his ire. "This is a crisis of state! I'm in a state of crisis, by Reorx! Now open that door." He advanced threateningly toward the guards…

And suddenly found himself facing twin short swords held by a pair of grim-faced palace guards. "Sorry, Master Fireforge," one said.

Flint threw up his hands in despair. "Now what?" He stalked away down the corridor. "You elves and your traditions!" he shouted back.

He returned to the palace. There he found a spot on the steps and sat down to do some meditating of his own. Solostaran, now in seclusion, was the only one who could order the palace guards to admit him to Tanis's room. But the Speaker was in seclusion-unless, Flint assumed, Qualinesti was attacked by minotaurs or some such thing.

Porthios, who probably would not have aided the dwarf anyway, was under guard in the Grove, not to be disturbed for anything less than another Cataclysm. Gilthanas had pledged not to help Tanis in any way, and Laurana hadn't spoken a friendly word to the half-elf in more than a month.

Flint sighed. What a prime selection of helpers. Not for the first time, he wondered if it was time to move on to another spot in Ansalon, someplace with ale that didn't taste like rainwater and wine that didn't leave a dwarf reeking of blossoms.

Someplace like Solace, perhaps.

The dwarf threw that thought off, however, and reviewed the candidates. If Gilthanas even bothered to listen to the dwarf's entire idea, the neophyte guard almost certainly would raise an alarm that would scare off the murderer until another time-most likely until after Tanis had been banished. Which would not help the half-elf at all.

That left…

"Laurana, I have to talk to you," Flint said through the closed door.

"Go away, Master Fireforge," came the peevish reply.

"It's about Tanis."

A pause. Then the same voice, a bit less ill-humored, was heard. "I don't want to hear about Tanis.

"Fine," Flint groused. "I'll just let him die without speaking to you one last time. I'll let you know when the funeral is. In case you're interested in attending." He stomped on the marble floor, loudly at first, then gradually more softly.

The door swung open. "Flint, wait!" Laurana called, dashing into the corridor, past the dwarf.

"I figured that might work," Flint said smugly from next to her doorway. He traipsed into Laurana's chambers.

The elf swung around and faced the dwarf, then stalked back into the small sitting room, a common feature in the palace's private chambers; it was outfitted with fireplace, small table, and two straight chairs before the fire, one of which already held Flint comfortably ensconced. She slammed the door upon entering.

Her scowl gradually turned to a look of confusion as Flint sketched in the background that he'd sorted out. He concluded, "Then I realized 'the heir'!"

But the princess still looked mystified. "The air?"

"The heir," Flint corrected her. "That's what Ailea was saying. The portrait she held was of Gilthanas and Porthios. The murderer, the one I now believe slew Lord Xenoth and Eld Ailea, intends to kill the Speaker's heir, Porthios."

If he'd been hoping for a big response, Flint was to be disappointed. Laurana just sat there, stroking the edges of the pale yellow cloak she'd thrown over her gown.

"But we're all his heirs," she objected. "Me, Gilthanas, and Porthios. Which one?"

Flint sat back. He'd been thinking in terms of Porthios all along. Why not Gilthanas and Laurana as well? Someone seeking to move up the ascendancy to become Speaker would have to eliminate them, too. Pieces of the puzzle were missing, but Flint still had a day to reveal the slayer before the Speaker would renew his vow to banish Tanis.

The seeds of another idea sprouted in his brain. "What better time to kill Porthios than at his own Kentommen?" the dwarf asked.

"What better time to kill all of us?" Laurana asked reasonably. "We'll all be together in the Tower at the same time. But why, Flint? And anyway, the suspect can't be an elf. We don't do things like this." She turned away from him and faced the fire.

Flint sat a few moments, gazing at the princess's silhouette. "Ah, lass, you've seen so little of the world."

She still objected, rising and pacing on the hearth rug in her agitation. "You want me to get you past the guard to see my father. But you don't have enough evidence to warrant my interrupting the Speaker and canceling the Kentommen," she said heatedly. "Your only evidence is your guess about what Eld Ailea was thinking right before she died."

"But don't you see?" he boomed. " The heir'! And she was holding the heirs' portrait!"

"If I order the guards to let you in and it turns out that this is all nothing but an elderly midwife's fantasy, my father…" Her voice faltered, and she grew pale. "But if I don't, and something bad really does happen…" She sagged into the chair. "I'm too young to be making these kinds of decisions!" she complained.

Flint watched her, realizing that he was viewing the beginning of the metamorphosis of a spoiled little girl into an elf woman with great strength-if she'd only let herself show it. She jumped to her feet and resumed pacing.

"Why, Flint?" she asked. "Why would someone want to kill the Speaker's heirs? Not that I believe you for a moment," she hastily added.

"Greed," Flint suggested. "Vengeance. Insanity. Unrequited love. This isn't the kind of scheme someone comes up with overnight, you know. I'd guess the murderer has been working on this for years."

"Well, then…" Laurana faltered again. "Then he's probably someone we know."

"Well, certainly," Flint snapped. "What did you think?"

They glared at each other for a long moment, then Laurana looked away and softly said, "It won't help Tanis if we argue, you know."

Flint grunted. Then, more quietly, he asked, "How close is Tyresian in ascendancy?"

"To the Speakership?" Laurana looked surprised. "He's of the Third House. We are of the First."

"That leaves the members of the Second House?"

Laurana nodded absently. Flint pressed on. "How close is Tyresian in ascendancy, if he doesn't marry you?"

"Oh, about twelfth or thirteenth in line," she replied, then narrowed her eyes. "You don't honestly think it's Tyresian… Why, he's a member of the nobility!"

Deciding that Laurana still had a lot to learn about life, Flint abandoned the tack he'd been taking.

"How safe is Porthios?" he asked.

Laurana faced him again. "There are more than a dozen guards around the Grove. They can't see Porthios, but they could hear him if he called. I don't think anyone could sneak in, with them there."

Flint rose and strolled around the anteroom. Across the mantlepiece, Laurana kept a collection of whimsical dragon figurines. He picked up a golden one and examined it. "And Gilthanas will be with his regiment tonight? He'll be safe there, at least."

"Oh no, Flint," Laurana objected. "Gilthanas will be keeping a vigil at the Kentommenai-kath all night."