Carver—forgotten until this moment—was cautious in the face of the unknown; he’d obeyed Torvan’s orders to remain behind. It was probably one of three times that he’d obeyed anyone’s orders but her own since he’d joined her den. Smart Carver. She cursed her own stupidity, lowered herself to the floor, and then lay there on her stomach, as close to the open arch as possible, straining to catch the words. For the first minute or two, there weren’t any. Then, in a tone of voice that Jewel couldn’t have managed had she tried, The Terafin spoke again. “Gentlemen, while it’s been a pleasure to have your company, unless we can come to an understanding of circumstances, I will be forced to ask you to leave.” Silence, and then, “I have, as you can see, a visitor who arranged to speak with me.” “If I’ve come at an inopportune moment, I can return at another time.” It was his voice—Old Rath’s voice.
