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Curator move among his guests. “And at least some of those gems on his fingers are bloodcrystals.”
    “Bloodcrystals?” said Agabyzus, a flicker of shock going over his bearded face. “I thought those were a relic of ancient Maat. You’ve encountered such potent sorcery before?” 
    “Once or twice,” said Caina. “It wasn’t pleasant.”
    “I imagine not,” said Agabyzus. “We shall have to exercise caution.”
    Caina nodded, looking at the palace. The Curator had bloodcrystals in his rings, and he lined his eyes in the same manner as the priests of ancient Maat. She wondered if there was a connection. 
    More to the point, she wondered what secrets he concealed in his palace. 
    Perhaps within she would find a secret that would lead her to Morgant the Razor and the Staff and Seal of Iramis.

    ###

    The banquet hall of the Curator’s palace was as opulent as Caina expected.
    The Curator’s favored Cyrican marble covered the floor, gleaming beneath the enspelled lanterns overhead. Delicate pillars of the same white marble supported balconies along the walls, and slave musicians played soft music in the shadows. Plinths stood in niches below the balconies, holding statues, ancient weapons, stone tablets carved with Maatish hieroglyphs, pieces of damaged armor, and other curiosities. Laminated wooden plaques denoted the significance of each relic – a sword from an ancient battle, a helmet worn by a long-dead king, the decree of a Maatish pharaoh. Beautiful slave women in gleaming silver collars and close-fitting tunics of white silk circulated through the crowds of guests, bearing trays of food and wine. Even before Caina had started terrorizing the Brotherhood of Slavers, that many female slaves of that age and attractiveness would have cost a fortune. Now their selling price would be astronomical, which was a sour thought. Her actions had inadvertently made the Curator and other owners of slaves richer. 
    That enraged her, but she accepted it with weary resignation. There was always evil in the world, no matter what she did. Perhaps the best she could hope was to ameliorate it.
    And to prevent greater evils from occurring. 
    “The fifth floor,” murmured Caina.
    “You’re sure?” said Agabyzus.
    “Entirely,” said Caina. “I eavesdropped on the slaves. They talk freely when they think no one’s listening. The fifth floor is the Curator’s domain. They say their master keeps all his greatest treasures on the fifth floor.” 
    “I suggest,” said Agabyzus, “that you wait until the dancing begins. That will last for some time, and will allow you to enter the fifth floor, find the Razor’s sword, and escape unseen.”
    Caina nodded.
    “What if there are wards you cannot penetrate?” said Agabyzus. “Or locks you cannot open?”
    “Then I’ll withdraw,” said Caina. “Or I could return later and break in when the Curator is absent.”
    “He will likely have guards,” said Agabyzus. “With his wealth, he would not leave his treasures undefended.”
    “I know,” said Caina. 
    Agabyzus sighed. “I admire your intellect and boldness, but you are nonetheless the most singularly reckless young woman I have ever met.”
    “You should have seen some of things I did before I met you,” said Caina. 
    The musicians changed their song, and the men and women among the guests paired off and began to dance. Caina watched them with a flicker of regret. She loved to dance, and it had been a very long time since she had enjoyed the opportunity. Corvalis had always found dancing tedious, but he had been willing to indulge her. Caina pushed aside the regret. With the guests focused upon dancing, Caina had the perfect opportunity to slip away and make her way to the palace’s fifth floor. 
    “Pardon, sir?”
    She turned her head. A Cyrican merchant approached Agabyzus and bowed. Like many Cyricans, he wore a mixture of the fashions of both the Imperial capital and the Cyrican provinces – a long