She frowned a little at this, but not in a surprised way. No doubt she had been thinking the same thing since the forecourt. “I’m scheduled to go to the Gray this evening, to meet with Lady Hynno.”

The Gray? I wondered.

“Reschedule it.”

“I can’t! I asked for the meeting. If I reschedule, she’ll know something’s wrong, and Mother has decreed that any news of these murders is to remain secret.”

Ramina stopped and looked pointedly at me. I flashed him a winning smile.

Shahar made a sound of exasperation. “She also decreed that I’m to give him whatever he wants.” She glowered at me. “He saw the bodies, anyway.”

“Yes,” I said, “but I would appreciate an explanation to go with those bodies. I take it this sort of thing has happened before?”

Ramina frowned at my forwardness, but Shahar only slumped, not bothering to hide her despair. “Never a fullblood before. But others, yes.”

“Other Arameri?”

“And those who support our interests, sometimes, yes. Always with the masks and always deadly. We’re not even sure how the culprit gets the victims to put the mask on. The effects are different every time, and the masks burn up afterward, as you saw.”

Amazing. In the old days, no one would have dared to kill an Arameri, for fear of the Enefadeh being sent to find and punish the killers. Had the world overcome its fear of the Arameri to that degree in just a few generations? The resilience — and vindictiveness — of mortals would never cease to astound me.

“Who do you think is doing it, then?” I asked. They both threw me irritated looks, and I raised my eyebrows. “Obviously you don’t know, or you would have killed them. But you must suspect someone.”

“No,” said Ramina. He sat down, crossing his legs and tossing his long mane of hair over the back of the seat. He regarded me with active conteks ctive conmpt. “If we suspected someone, we would kill them, too.”

I grew annoyed. “You have the masks, however damaged. Have the scriveners forgotten how to craft tracking scripts?”

“This is not the same,” said Shahar. She sat forward, her eyes intent. “This isn’t scrivening. The scriveners have no idea how this, this … false magic works, and …” She hesitated, glancing at Ramina, and sighed. “They can’t stop it. We are helpless against these attacks.”

I yawned. I didn’t time it that way, didn’t do it deliberately to suggest that I didn’t care about their plight, but I saw them both scowl at me, anyway. When I closed my mouth, I glowered back. “What do you want me to say? ‘I’m sorry’? I’m not, and you know it. The rest of the world has had to live with this kind of terror — murders without rhyme or reason, magic that strikes without warning — for centuries. Thanks to you Arameri.” I shrugged. “If some mortal has figured out a way to make you know the same fear, I’m not going to condemn them for it. Hells, you should be glad I’m not cheering them on.”

Ramina’s expression went blank, in that way Arameri think is so inscrutable when it really just means they’re pissed and trying not to show it. Shahar, at least, was honest enough to give me the full force of her anger. “If you hate us so much, you know what to do,” she snapped. “It should be simple enough for you to kill us all. Or” — her lip curled, her tone turning nasty —“ask Nahadoth or Yeine to do it, if you don’t have the strength.”

“Say that again!” I shot to my feet, feeling quite strong enough to slaughter the whole Arameri family because she was being a brat. If she’d been a boy, I would have slugged her one. Boys could beat each other and remain friends, however; between boys and girls the matter was murkier.

“Children,” said Ramina. He spoke in a mild tone, but he was looking at me, palpably tense despite that oh-so-calm face. I appreciated his acknowledgment of my nature. It did help to calm me, which was probably what he’d hoped for.

Shahar looked sulky, but she subsided, and after a moment I, too, sat down, though I was still furious.

“For your information,” I spat, crossing my legs and not sulking, thank you, “what you’re describing isn’t false magic. It’s just better magic.”

“Only the gods’ magic is better than scrivener magic,” Shahar said. I could hear her trying for calm dignity, which immediately made me want to torment her in some way.

“No,” I said. To alleviate the urge to annoy her, I shifted to lie down on the bench, putting my feet up on one of the delicate-looking columns that supported the roof. I wished my feet had been dirty, though I supposed that would only have inconvenienced the servants. “Scrivening is only the best thing you mortals — pardon me, you Amn — have come up with thus far. But just because you haven’t thought of anything better doesn’t mean there can’t be anything better.”