It was only a theory—could by no means be proved—but it wouldn't hurt to keep the theory in reserve. It might be useful.
Meanwhile, he should be the one to spread the news to the rest of the Council, if at all possible. How many other Council members had offspring likely to be invited to that aborted party? Not many—and none were likely to have mentioned the disappearances yet.
Good. He might be swimming in a sea of uncertainties, but he could make something out of this yet.
He straightened his back, called for strong wine, and began to plan what he would tell the Council. And as he did so, he felt a faint smile cross his lips.
At the very least, he would gain something. Triana had some ancient cousin or other who would swiftly claim her estate, but Aelmarkin's nearest relation was Kyrtian ... and Kyrtian was unlikely to want Aelmarkin's tiny holding or his business of breeding pleasure-slaves. When an estate went unclaimed, it traditionally went to the Head of the Council.
Which was, of course, Lord Kyndreth.
And if there was any question of whether or not it should be confiscated, well, Kyndreth could bring up that theory, branding Aelmarkin as a traitor, and overturning all possible objections to confiscating the property.
Kyndreth nodded to himself, feeling firm ground beneath his feet again. Good enough. He knew where he was now. He would call the Council Meeting, announce the disappearances, and see who reacted, and how. That would tell him a great deal—and in the meantime, he would send his stewards in to take control of Aelmarkin's possessions.
He took a long breath, and keyed the teleson. Shake the tree, and see what fruit fell—and how far.
And whatever happened, to make certain that it profited him.
"Well, Anster," he began, when Lord Anster's servant had summoned him to the teleson-screen, "it seems we have a mystery on our hands...."