---
"Yes, young master," the steward said, and bowed his head.
"Do not come back without news," Fartray said, and then, because rage likes a threat to sit beside it, he added, "Or I will find another steward who understands fast."
The steward did not flinch. "As you wish," he said. He backed out with the same small steps he used for wild dogs and noble boys. The door closed.
Fartray stood alone with his breathing. He put his hands on the window frame and squeezed wood until the skin across his knuckles went pale. In his mind he saw two faces: a calm boy with bad hair; a bright thing with rude jokes. He pictured ropes. He pictured jars. He pictured a yard full of people laughing at someone else. He smiled then, a thin, hungry line.
"Gates," he whispered to the glass. "All gates."
