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Seignur Veeoni’s Private Workroom


“You wished to see me, Researcher?” Anthora yos’Galan asked.

“Yes. Thank you for coming to me, Healer. I wish to advise you that a Director and four operatives of the Lyre Institute are on-station. Their ship is Eltoro.”

“Ah. Shall I rid us of them?”

“I ask that you will not interfere with them in any way. The Director, especially, is central to my Balance.”

Anthora considered the Researcher’s pattern. As always, it was difficult to parse, but she caught the glint of a knife’s edge among the dense threads.

“You may not endanger the station,” she said.

Seignur Veeoni inclined her head.

“Indeed, Healer, my past actions have taught me a stern lesson. I endanger no one but myself in this. The Director is central to my Balance. After I have secured her assistance, she will leave of her own will, taking her minions with her—or not, as she chooses.”

She was telling the truth, Anthora Saw, though one could not like it.

“No danger to the station or to any who depend on the station,” she repeated.

“I hold all danger to myself,” Seignur Veeoni said, and that was definitive. One could not, unless there was a very good reason, interfere in another’s Balance.

Anthora inclined her head.

“Please tell me, when the operatives are no longer necessary to your Balance.”

“I will.”


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Framed