"Yes," Bran said carelessly, indicating his two guests. "Nimiar--and Danric there, whom you already know." He frowned. "Life, sister, why are there trees in here? Aren't there enough of 'em outside?" I gritted my teeth on a really nasty retort, my face burning with embarrassment. The lady spoke for the first time. "But Branaric, you liked them well enough at my home, and I think it a very pretty new fashion indeed." She turned to me, and I got a swift impression of wideset brown eyes, a dimpled smile, and a profusion of brown curly hair beneath the elaborate hat. "I am Nimiar Argaliar," she said, holding out a daintily gloved hand. Trying desperately to force my face into a semblance of friendly welcome, I stuck my own hand out, rather stiffly. She grasped it in a warm grip for a moment as I said, "Welcome. I hope...you'll enjoy it here." "Do you have a welcome for me?" Shevraeth said with a faint smile as he came leisurely up the steps and inside. "Certainly," I said in a voice so determinedly polite it sounded false even to my own ears. "Come into the parlor-- of you--and I'll see to refreshment. It must have been a long trip." "Slow," Bran said, looking around. "Roads are still bad down-mountain, but not up here anymore. You have been busy, haven't you, Mel? All I remember in this hallway is the mildew and the broken stone floor. And the parlor! What was the cost of this mosaic ceiling? Not that it matters, but it's as fine as anything in Athanarel." I'd been proud of the parlor, over which I had spent a great deal of time."