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Spinward Arcade and Dorms
Administration Hall


Ren Zel considered Anthora’s profile, which was unusually serious. He did not make the mistake made by many who assumed that his lifemate was little more than an airy idiot. If the Tree had engineered their mating to suit itself, it had not stinted them. Even with his so-called gifts reft from him, still he could feel her heart beating with his; he could taste her moods, and gauge the tendency of her thoughts.

“Did the day displease you, Beloved?” he asked.

She turned her face to him, silver eyes bright, and raised her wineglass.

“The day—no. Seignur Veeoni has allowed herself to be persuaded to a long Balance, Delia Bell is for the moment well fixed, and M Traven will have someone to talk to, and to share the burden of her duty.”

“Admirable accomplishments, surely?”

“Surely, they are. However, having done so much, I undid myself, by promising what I may not be able to deliver.”

“What did you promise, I wonder?”

“That I would drive the agents of the Lyre Institute from Tinsori Light in such a manner that they would not soon wish to return, and that they would argue against sending any other of their personnel here.”

Ren Zel sipped his wine.

Anthora had been perfectly capable of fulfilling that promise, once. Now, however, diminished—no, she rejected that assessment, and so would he—changed as she was…

“Old habits,” he murmured, and she laughed softly.

“Indeed. Old habits.”

“Is there another course that might produce the same results?”

“That is what I am mulling, to the detriment of our conversation,” she said. “It is possible that all is not lost. I will think upon it. Later. For now, tell me about your day.”


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Framed