

## THE QUEEN OF MAGES

## MINDFIRE

## Book 1

### by Benjamin Clayborne

Copyright 2012 by Benjamin Clayborne

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 by Benjamin Clayborne

All rights reserved.

Distributed by Foyle Press

Find the author online:

http://benjaminclayborne.com

Twitter: @BenClayborne

Cover art © 2012 by Melissa Erickson

http://kreugan.com/

c:r20140203:rc1

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter 1: Amira

Chapter 2: Dardan

Chapter 3: Katin

Chapter 4: Liam

Chapter 5: Amira

Chapter 6: Katin

Chapter 7: Dardan

Chapter 8: Amira

Interlude: Viktor

Chapter 9: Katin

Chapter 10: Amira

Chapter 11: Liam

Chapter 12: Katin

Chapter 13: Dardan

Chapter 14: Amira

Chapter 15: Amira

Chapter 16: Liam

Interlude: Taya

Chapter 17: Katin

Chapter 18: Dardan

Chapter 19: Liam

Chapter 20: Katin

Chapter 21: Amira

Chapter 22: Liam

Chapter 23: Dardan

Chapter 24: Amira

Chapter 25: Katin

Interlude: Mason

Chapter 26: Amira

Chapter 27: Dardan

Chapter 28: Amira

Chapter 29: Dardan

Chapter 30: Katin

Chapter 31: Liam

Chapter 32: Amira

Chapter 33: Liam

Chapter 34: Dardan

Chapter 35: Katin

Chapter 36: Amira

Chapter 37: Dardan

Chapter 38: Amira

Epilogue

Afterword

About the Author

### ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To begin with, I'd like to thank Dave Robison, for some good early feedback and a very well-timed death threat.

To all the Mythic Scribes, a cacophony of ideas, each more inspiring than the last, with special thanks to (in no particular order, and including but not limited to) Antonio del Drago, Brian DeLeonard, Phil Overby, John Haley, Chris Spatz, Tristan Gregory, Anita Howitt, Garrett Butler, Sam Slappey, Michael J. Sullivan, Kyle Hannan, R. Scott Kimsey, and Derek Bowen, for knowing absolutely everything about everything.

To Lois McMaster Bujold, for sparking my inspiration.

To my parents, for getting me through college without a cent of student debt.

To my children, for being a mirror.

And last but never least, to my wife, Jean, without whom none of this would be meaningful.

### PROLOGUE

On the day of his murder, Lord Keller Skarline first attended a most eventful session of the Greater Council.

Duke Terilin Faroa stood and hunched forward over the council table. "My lords. Your majesty." He nodded deeply at the king, who watched him with tired blue eyes. "Allow me to present a most disturbing report. A courier arrived this morning, bearing news that the Vaslanders mobilize on the other side of Cold Hills Pass. Their warriors come south from the hinterlands to join a growing army. It is clear that they mean to come across the mountains and strike again into Garova."

Keller Skarline watched from a seat along the wall of the council chamber as the dukes of the council muttered and cast dark looks at one another. They ignored Keller; he was but one of many observers, unremarkable.

Duke Faroa, ever the showman, dramatically held up a chubby finger. "Let us not forget the lesson of two decades past. Vaslanders are a bloodthirsty, ruthless people. They will burn and pillage as they go, as they did when we were young men. The royal army must be sent north at once to meet this threat and throw the savages back into the cold where they belong."

A chorus of _Hear, hear_ met his pronouncement. But Duke Loram Arkhail would never let Faroa have the last word, and Keller had his eye on Arkhail even before the younger duke stood to speak.

"You would break twenty years of peace and prosperity by wasting resources on a folly," Loram Arkhail said calmly, stroking his pointed beard. "The Vaslander tribes have no strong leader to unite them now, as they had old Gerhard during the war. And our fortresses in the mountain passes are doubly strong, compared to, _ahem_ , two decades past."

Terilin Faroa scoffed. "Are you suggesting we wait? I assure you, the Vaslanders will not hesitate. Strong as our fortresses may be, they can be overrun. A full assault on our part is imperative."

"An assault?" Loram smiled. "You would compound your folly by trying to send our men _across_ the Black Mountains?" The high passes were difficult to negotiate even when not blocked at either end by fortresses: Vaslander at the north, Garovan at the south. Undisciplined savages the Vaslanders might be, but Garovan armies had broken themselves on those bulwarks before. Keller had even seen them with his own eyes, once. Faroa _was_ a fool if he was suggesting an invasion.

The king broke in. "If I wanted endless debate, I would bring a Steward in here." Everyone laughed politely, even Duke Faroa. "I will look at the reports myself."

Terilin Faroa nodded and sat down abruptly, glaring at Loram Arkhail while the council moved on to other business. Keller watched Duke Faroa for a while. The man was an inveterate schemer, always transparently jockeying for position and favor. He thought he was clever, but didn't seem to realize that the king found him tedious.

The meeting ground slowly to its end, and the king departed posthaste, vanishing through the rear doors, escorted by his retinue of bodyguards and servants. Keller stood up, stretched, and took a moment to examine which dukes and counts and other lords clustered together in gossiping little groups. He saw only the usual patterns, and so sauntered out, his cloak swishing around his boots.

His _valo,_ Rory, lurked outside in the antechamber, along with two dozen others. _Valai_ were not permitted into the Greater Council meetings, to avoid doubling the number of people in the already crowded council chamber. "M'lord," Rory muttered to Keller, falling in beside him.

"War is perhaps delayed for the moment," Keller said as they walked.

"Prince Edon will not be pleased." Rory's eyes darted around, watching for eavesdroppers.

"When is Edon ever pleased? I need you to go to the Citadel and check with Sir Edvan about an army courier. Faroa claims to have reports showing Vaslanders massing at the border."

Rory nodded. "Will you be safe alone?"

"No one is ever safe," Keller murmured as they came to a cross-corridor. Banners hung at each corner, all depicting the sigil of the royal house, the silver eagle with flaming talons on a checked field of purple and blue. The eagle's watchful eye stared out at them.

Keller watched Rory move off down the corridor. He was loyal, and obedient, and best of all, he kept Keller's secrets close. He was as good a _valo_ as Keller could want.

It was not far to the king's chambers, not the way Keller went. The servants' ways within the royal palace Elibarran were well-lit, narrow passages that connected all the newer parts of the palace. He would not be seen by other nobles as he moved about, but the servants who infested the ways could not be avoided. They ducked their heads and muttered "M'lord" as they passed. No doubt some of them reported to the likes of Faroa and Arkhail. Keller often wondered how many of his own spies whispered into more than one ear.

He came out a narrow door in the corner of a wide hallway, near the king's study. The guards recognized him and let him pass. Inside he found his majesty, King Viktor of Garova, standing over a map of the northern border, sipping a glass of wine.

His chief bodyguard, Sir Mirlind, lurked in the corner, still as a statue. The man had absolutely no patience for intrigues. Keller did not waste effort trying to deceive or subvert him.

"Your majesty," Keller said, bowing low.

"Mm," the king said, not looking up.

Keller cleared his throat. "Your majesty will be unsurprised to learn that I agree with Duke Arkhail. I have heard nothing of an impending Vaslander invasion. I am looking into whether Duke Faroa's report is accurate. It would be unkind to accuse him of fabricating the story, though it cannot be discounted."

King Viktor drained his wineglass and poured some more. "If the treasury had a copper for every time someone swore the Vaslanders were going to invade again, we could simply buy Vasland outright." He laughed, but Keller heard a note of despair in it.

"Do you believe there's cause for concern, sire? The realm is strong, our treasury healthy, our people prosperous. Twenty years of peace have been good to us. Even the Vaslanders cannot be so foolish as to think they can successfully invade unimpeded. Especially not when we have advance warning, and more defenses in place."

The king wandered over to the window and peered down into the gardens. "The Vaslanders do not bother me. I crushed them before, and I'll do it again if they ever present a real threat." He swirled the wine around, some golden vintage, and eyed Keller. "But the northern dukes all seem convinced that Vasland is about to boil over the mountains again. They'll continue to agitate for war if I do not make a gesture to appease them."

"Agreed, sire," Keller said.

"So. I'll have the Army Council send a regiment to each pass. Have them do exercises, make a show of strength. That should mute Faroa, and not break the treasury."

"A wise plan, sire—"

The door flew open with a _crack_ , and Keller spun around at once, hand going to his dagger. Sir Mirlind tensed and reached for his sword. But then Keller saw the interloper, and he bowed again. "Your royal highness."

Prince Edon, heir apparent to the throne of Garova, strode into the room. "Skarline." It was his usual greeting: blunt hostility laid bare. Prince Edon was tall, broad, muscular, with icy blue eyes and curly chestnut hair that made him look the young image of his father.

King Viktor stared coldly at his son. "Have you no courtesy, boy? We are engaged in a discussion."

Edon stopped near Keller and glared down at him. "Trying to keep my father on the path of peace, coward?"

Keller ignored the provocation, and forced a smile. "Merely keeping his majesty informed, your highness."

Edon turned to face his father. "I heard of the discussion in council. Vasland intends to invade us! Why do we not march at once?"

"Running headlong into every situation with swords drawn is unwise," King Viktor chided. "I would hope you'd have learned that by now. We have only reports that some Vaslanders may be gathering, and that from unreliable sources."

The prince glared down at Keller. "See how you've turned my father into a coward, too, little lord. Perhaps you hired a woods witch to cast a spell and wither his manhood?"

"Idiot!" Viktor threw his wineglass down, shattering it on the wooden floor. Keller flinched, shielding his eyes.

The king stalked over to his son, overtopping him by an inch, and stabbed a finger into the boy's chest. It made a clinking sound. _Is the prince wearing mail under his shirt?_ "If you ever managed to attend a council meeting, you might learn that there is more to ruling a kingdom than warfare."

Edon shrank back a bit under this assault, but the fire in his eyes was undiminished. "It is a king's duty to protect his kingdom! It is plain as day that the Vaslanders are up to no good. Send me at the head of your army, and I will prove it."

"I am dispatching regiments to let the Vaslanders see our strength. Your assistance," he hissed, "is not needed." He went back to the window.

"Father, I—"

"GET OUT!" Viktor roared. Keller did not think that the king desired any further advice this day, and briskly followed Edon out the door.

Outside, the prince stormed away. His own personal bodyguard, Sir Thoriss, cast a cold glance at Keller, then fell in behind the prince.

Keller sighed. The position of spymaster was tough and unrewarding. By tradition the spymaster was not a duke of the Greater Council; dukes all had far too much to do. Keller was the third son of a count, with little chance of inheriting his father's countship. However, he had shown adroitness at gathering information and seeing hidden patterns. He had impressed King Viktor a few years prior when he'd brought news of a conspiracy among several dukes to murder another of their number—Loram Arkhail, in fact. Duke Terilin Faroa had been among the conspirators.

Viktor had wanted all their heads, but Keller had convinced the king to let him undermine the conspiracy more quietly, in the name of stability. When Duke Arkhail suddenly decamped for his seat at Thorncross, and the leader of the conspiracy died in a fall from a horse, the other dukes lost their nerve and the plot was undone. Keller had told each of them that the king knew of their treason, but had magnanimously chosen not to take their heads, as long as they behaved themselves. It would benefit the realm not at all to lose several dukes at once.

As a reward, Viktor had made Keller his new spymaster... after the previous one was dismissed for failing to detect the plot.

Keller had to speak with many people each day to gather all the intelligence he needed, and he had no time to spend dawdling in the halls. He walked briskly along, passing into one of the palace's old stone fortifications. Viktor's great-great-grandfather had expanded the palace, adding modern wooden sections between the ancient mortared towers. The castle had become a proper palace, no longer just a vast fortress, but now a structure that truly represented the power and glory of Garovan kings.

But the stone towers remained cold, drafty places. Someone had hung huge tapestries on all the walls here, trying and failing to hide the bones of the fortress. _As well paint flowers on the hide of a bear._ He wondered if Rory had found Sir Edvan yet. There was no particular reason to fear for his safety here, but it did not hurt to be cautious.

Keller found his way to the palace guards' command, near the practice yard. He met with the captain of the palace guards, Portio, a man he liked. Portio had been a dashing swordsman in his youth, but middle age had thickened his belly and stolen most of his hair. He was firmly in Edon's grasp, or so Edon thought. Keller paid the man handsomely for information on Edon's doings.

"The prince, he is acting suspicious today," Portio said, watching several of his men spar in the yard. Portio was from Parilia, a nation off to the northwest of Garova. Friendly, but wary. "Wearing armor in the palace, as you said. Being even more of a grumpy man than usual. I do not like it."

Keller snorted. "He accused me of hiring a witch to put a curse on his father. That boy gets strange ideas. Has he asked anything of you today?"

Portio shrugged. "Just one thing. To keep my men off the east ramparts, over the square."

The ramparts? Was Edon meeting secretly with someone? This was quite suspicious. Edon was blunt as a hammer. What intrigue could he be getting up to? "Anything else?"

"My men's reports, they are always the same. The prince rides and hunts in the forest. Practices in the yard. Has whores in his chambers. Two or three at a time, I hear." He sniggered. "Never will there be a man more disappointed by marriage."

Keller felt sorry for any woman unfortunate enough to marry Edon. He thanked Portio, slipping him a small purse, and strode away.

He felt as if half his efforts were keeping tabs on Prince Edon, not for the prince's own sake, but to protect the royal house. Even the king had hinted a time or two that Keller should focus less on affairs of state and more on keeping Edon from ruining the royal family.

It twisted Keller's stomach to think that one day, some disaster might befall the royal house of Relindos. Aside from Edon—and, well, Viktor, who was strong and wise but had such a temper—Keller was fond of them all. Queen Alise was nicknamed the Queen of Hearts by the people, for her kindness and gentleness. Princess Taya spent so much time arranging entertainments and frolics for the palace's guests that the mistress of rooms often joked that she should retire and let Taya run things. Karina, the younger princess, acted as her older sister's messenger, flitting about the palace and ensuring that everything was properly arranged for whatever game or masque Taya had planned. Karina was sweet as honey, but there was no harsher taskmaster in all the palace. With the royal summer ball fast approaching, the girl would be sterner than ever.

And little Luka, the apple-cheeked boy who pored over every text in the palace library, day after day, reciting old, dusty facts about which king fortified which wall of which tower, confounding his tutors to no end. The Darling Prince, they called him. It was a second son's duty to act as chief advisor to his elder brother, and when Edon inevitably took the throne, that job would fall to Luka. The boy would be good at it. Keller prayed that that day would not come for many years. Perhaps Luka's bookishness would temper Edon's belligerence.

That belligerence had never shaded into subtlety before, and that worried Keller. He found his way to a narrow, rarely-used stone stairwell that spiraled up to the ramparts. He went slowly, listening for any noise. If Edon was meeting with someone, he wanted to overhear that conversation.

No sound came but wind whistling over the ancient stones of the palace wall. Usually, guards patrolled all along here, but not today, as Portio had said. Keller took a few more steps, emerging cautiously into daylight. Still, no one was there. He looked over the parapet, out at the capital city of Callaston itself, which spread toward the River Brinemoor in the distance. A brown haze hovered over the city, the child of chimneys and furnaces.

He could see the manses of the nobility, closest to the palace, in the neighborhoods just beyond the Great Square, followed by the haunts of the merchants and traders and craftsmen further on: trade halls, shops, markets, smithies. The city got rougher near the docks, where it was full of warehouses and whorehouses, malthouses and gambling dens.

A scrape of boots on stone sounded behind him, and he spun. Before him stood Edon Relindos, holding a thick quarterstaff in his hands. "Your highness—"

The staff whipped up, cracking Keller squarely on the temple. He tried to lurch aside, but the staff hit his knee, and he buckled, collapsing against the parapet. Again and again, the staff struck, on his head, chest, arms. Everything was stars and noise and screaming pain. He realized he was hearing words. "No more of your poison, coward."

Keller felt himself lifted up, and then the warm afternoon air whistled past his face as the flagstones in the square below rushed up to embrace him.

### CHAPTER 1

### AMIRA

Lady Amira Estaile's hand drifted from one dress to the next. "Hm, this one could do. In green, perhaps, dark green. And lower the bodice a bit."

"Then the shoulders should be wider too, m'lady," the dressmaker offered.

Amira smiled. "Yes, that would be fine. And no lace here." She traced a finger along the décolletage.

"If m'lady desires so," the little dressmaker said dubiously.

Katin Berisha, Amira's _vala_ , rolled her eyes. "I think m'lady will be distracting enough without excess cleavage on display."

"Oh, hush. It will give them all something else to gossip about." Which would be a nice change. Her common birth, recent ennobling, and dead husband had been tittered about quite enough in the noble parlors of Callaston. Amira could understand their fascination, but it grew tiresome. She rubbed at her aching temple absently.

Katin sighed and turned to the little old dressmaker. "When can it be done?"

"Oh, well, I am quite busy with my other orders for the summer ball," she fretted. "So many ladies are ordering new dresses... My seamstresses are already quite overwhelmed."

_All part of the game,_ Amira thought. "Katin?"

Amira's _vala_ drew a small velvet purse from the folds of her dress. "An extra silver should be enough motivation for your girls," she said dryly, holding up a coin.

The dressmaker cleared her throat. "Countess Besiana next door thought it wise to motivate _each_ of the three seamstresses assigned to her dress."

Amira snorted. "Shameless! I believe we can afford to match the countess's generosity," she said to Katin with a wink, although the pain in her head was making it harder for her to keep smiling.

Katin sighed and pulled two more silvers from the pouch. "I trust that my lady's dress will be ready the same day as the countess's."

"A countess must come first, of course," the dressmaker said, pocketing the coins, "but I assure you, Lady Amira's dress will be ready in plenty of time for the ball." She simpered at them and toddled out the door on her stumpy legs. Her assistants gathered up the sample dresses and scurried after her as a housemaid showed them out.

It had thrilled Amira to be able to summon one of Callaston's preeminent dressmakers to her manse, but her pounding head had drained all the fun from it. She held her smile rigid as she swept out of the sitting room and led Katin up the stairs.

When Amira reached her bedroom, she could not hide it any longer, and collapsed against the bed, moaning and clutching her head with both hands. The headache came in slow, pounding waves that took forever to crest and break.

Katin clucked her tongue and shut the door quickly. "You need a surgeon."

"No! They'll just put leeches on me, or do something equally useless." Amira lifted her head up and tried to smile. "I'll be fine."

"If your head doesn't crack open from the pain. I saw you grinding your jaw." Katin went over to the window and flung it open. "At least get some air."

"Yes, yes." Amira pushed to her feet. "Help me get this blasted corset off."

The headaches had been getting worse, coming almost daily now. Amira had come to dread the first sign of it, a tension behind her eyes. The pain built slowly, then erupted into pulses of agony that shattered her concentration. She'd barely been able to make it up the stairs this time.

Katin made quick work of the buttons on her dress and unlaced the corset, and shortly Amira rested in a chair by the window, clad only in her underdress. The high-walled garden behind her manse would thwart any prying eyes.

Amira inhaled deeply, nose tingling at the mixed smells of Callaston. The city had covered sewers, but it still reeked of smoke and effluent anyway. At least the roses in her garden added a pleasant, masking sweetness.

"Perhaps we should get out of the city," she said. "The invitations have thinned now that everyone's preparing for the summer ball. Plenty of time for a trip to the country." Her headache had mostly subsided now, but she felt unnaturally warm. "Nobles go out to the country all the time. Or even to the sea."

"It would take weeks just to get to the sea," Katin stated flatly.

"Yes, dear, I wasn't actually suggesting—ugh. As your mistress, I command you, prepare us for a journey into the country, et cetera and so on."

"What—just the pair of us?"

"Are you concerned about the other servants?" Amira chuckled. "I'm sure they'll be thrilled to have a few days to themselves."

"You still haven't hired a house major. They'll likely let the place rot if I'm not here to shout at them. But that's not what I'm worried about," Katin said darkly. "Two women alone on the road..."

"Pish," Amira said. "We'll have the driver with us, and we're hardly going into uncharted wilderness. The land is thoroughly settled for leagues in every direction."

"Yes, well..." Katin sighed. "Where in particular are we going?"

"I don't know. Wherever is pleasant. Surprise me." The headache had all but vanished; Amira very nearly felt like herself again. The promise of the summer ball came back to her, and she was thrilled all over again.

———

It took the rest of the afternoon for Katin to pack Amira's bags, or rather to direct Amira's other servants to pack them. A _vala_ was supposed to anticipate her lady's needs and ensure that all her affairs ran smoothly. Katin accomplished this by snapping incessantly at the other maids. Sara, the youngest, squeaked and scurried whenever Katin said her name. Sometimes Amira wondered if Katin deliberately tried to terrify the girl. It would be easy sport, but Amira felt sorry for the poor thing.

Katin was right about hiring a house major, though. Every noble residence of any size needed a major to run the place properly. A _vala_ was a personal servant whose attentions should be directed toward her mistress. Amira knew Katin didn't exactly mind ordering the other servants around, but she still complained about having to do two jobs.

Amira could barely sleep that night, alone in her vast canopied bed. The headache had returned, slightly weaker than before, but it was the impending journey that kept her awake. Amira had wanted to see all the wonders of the realm since she was a little girl: the towering Black Mountains; the southern highlands with their dramatic canyons; _Angaril Saeth_ , the Skysilver Spire, a mysterious monolith far to the northwest; the famed clifftop city of Seawatch.

Upon her marriage to Valmir a year ago, she had thought her dreams would come true. His wealth had brought her a certain kind of freedom, but it had also constrained her. Valmir's business dealings had kept him tethered to the city, and Amira had been swallowed whole by the maw of noble society. There were endless dinner parties, masques, dances. She enjoyed them, but she wanted to see more of what the world had to offer.

Then winter had come, and a spate of galloping cough had run through the city. Everyone shut their homes tight, but somehow Valmir had caught it, and he was one of the unlucky few not to survive. There had never been deep love between them, only a sort of friendly acquaintance, but Amira found herself missing him anyway. She thanked the Aspects she'd never been consumed by the fantasy of a marriage wrought from true love. Their union had been convenient for them both, and she had certainly gotten the better end of the deal, what with not being dead.

She felt a vague twinge of guilt that she'd returned to Callaston society so soon after Valmir's death, but he'd been a practical man. He wouldn't have minded. The mourning month had barely ended when the invitations started pouring in. Luncheons, dinners, garden parties, all of them an excuse for Callaston's noble matrons to inflict their bachelor sons upon her. Not that Amira didn't enjoy the company of handsome men, but she needed a palate cleanser before the summer ball. She could not go as far as the Black Mountains, so a trip to the countryside would have to suffice.

She supposed she would eventually marry again, but thanks to the resources she inherited from Valmir, she need not rush. The redoubtable Mister Hendricks oversaw the day-to-day management of her assets; he would let her know if her financial situation ever threatened to become dire.

After a long while lying in the dark she went to wake Katin, in her little cell adjacent to Amira's bedchamber. Katin sat up, cursing, and made some tea. Amira only wanted to talk, and Katin was content to listen drowsily. Night always made Amira feel lonely and isolated, as if all the life and charm had gone out of the world. Even when Valmir had slept next to her, she could not shake the feeling. Having someone to chat with, even if it was only idle gossip, drove away some of that terror.

She jerked awake some time later, realizing she'd drifted off in her chair. Katin was gone, probably back to her cell, so Amira climbed into bed and dozed a while longer. The curtains were drawn, and dawn crept in slowly.

Katin had said that the coach would arrive early. Amira rose once the sun peeked through the window. She fetched the garments they'd set out the night before. A travelling corset, not so tight as the dreadful thing she'd worn yesterday, and a clean underdress to go beneath it. A simple blue linen dress, to ward off the heat, with little white flowers embroidered on the sleeves. A wide-brimmed hat, for the sun, and tan leather gloves.

Amira washed from her basin and brushed out her honey-blonde locks, then tied them back with a cord. Katin could do something with her hair later. She started to dress, but couldn't tighten the corset properly on her own. Finally she gave up and called for Katin, who woke and helped her, cursing some more. Katin helped powder Amira's face and apply a little color to her eyes, but as always refused Amira's offer to do the same for her. It was as if the girl _wanted_ to look plain.

Her clothes and accoutrements required two entire trunks, for no _vala_ would dare risk letting her lady be unprepared for any circumstance the countryside might offer. One never knew when a masque would leap from behind a hedge and demand one's attendance. The maids wrestled the trunks down the stairs to the foyer.

The morning had dawned cool, and light breezes ruffled the trees outside. The hedge maples on Willbury Street were old and grand, their branches nearly making a natural arbor across the road. Amira had worked herself up into great excitement over this jaunt, and she waited impatiently in her sitting room, watching the morning traffic through the window: servants going to the grocer, milkmaids and butchers making their deliveries, merchants heading off to conduct business.

Soon the coach arrived. Katin had managed to find a coachman who was willing to take them for an unknown number of days toward an unpredictable destination. His name was Huffman, and he was a gray-haired stork of a man so tall that his breeches barely reached his boot-tops. He never seemed to smile, but Katin had said his price was fair. Amira found him delightfully solemn.

The coach itself was crafted in elegant simplicity, its dark wood shiny with countless layers of polished lacquer, but otherwise devoid of ornamentation. A cunning little step folded out from the undercarriage, springing forth with a _click_ when Huffman tugged on it.

Amira's chef, a heavyset, mustachioed Parilian named Fortino, came wheezing out of the manse bearing a pair of baskets stuffed full of cheese, bread, apples, grapes, figs, and smoked oysters imported at great expense from the coast. Amira thanked him for his foresight, while Katin clucked at the excess. "A basket for each of us? Is there a famine coming?" she muttered when Fortino had his back turned.

Huffman and Fortino, being the only men present, heaved the two enormous trunks onto the coach, lashing them to the luggage rack. Huffman bowed to Amira and held out his hand to help her up.

As she settled onto the cushions, a squeaking noise drew her attention. She looked out the open door of the coach and saw a rotund woman, dress askew, striding toward her and calling out Amira's name. A gaggle of maids trailed behind, making futile attempts to finish dressing her. The Lady Besiana Tarian, Countess of Hedenham, and Amira's neighbor, ground to a halt at the coach door, blocking Katin from climbing aboard. The _vala_ glared at the countess's expansive back.

"Amira, dear! Surely you are not going on a journey, today of all days?" The countess eyed the trunk perched above her as if it might somehow be to blame.

Amira bowed her head, a necessary token of respect. Amira was no countess, not even a baroness, just an unlanded lady, the lowest rank of the nobility, but it annoyed her to have to bow to this nag of a noblewoman. "Ah, yes, I'm afraid I am, my lady," she said, pursing her lips. "I just need some time to clear my head before the summer ball. I've been having the most awful headaches, you see."

"How dreadful," Besiana said, slapping away the hand of a maid who tried to straighten her sleeve. "Dreadfully unfortunate, that is. You see, my son has sent word—he is arriving in the city this very day!"

The countess had been plotting for months to introduce Amira to her son. Apparently he preferred to stay in Hedenham with his father, and only came to Callaston rarely, on business of their house. Amira's social calendar had, by some unfathomable coincidence, been completely full during his last several visits.

"Oh, my, that is unfortunate," Amira said, knitting her brow in feigned distress. "But I simply cannot wait if I'm to feel well for the ball."

"Oh, of course," Besiana said, chuckling lightly. "Ah, the ball! He'll stay for the ball, I'm sure of it. I'll see to it! You two should attend together. You'd make the most elegant couple."

Amira gave a bright smile. "It would not be an impossible thing!"

While the countess worked out the meaning of that, Katin impatiently slipped past her and up into the coach, clutching the snack baskets in either hand. "Pardon me, m'lady, we must be going." She pulled the door shut and pounded on the roof. Huffman snapped the reins briskly, apparently as eager to escape the countess's grasp as Amira was.

"Do let me know when you return, dear!" the countess shouted after them as the coach pulled away. "I shall tell my son that..." Her voice faded as the coach picked up speed.

Katin frowned out the window. "I'm going to find out which of our servants gossiped to _her_ servants about this trip, and have them flogged."

"Oh, hush," Amira said. "Servants gossip."

"I don't," Katin grumped, plucking a grape from one of the baskets and gnashing at it.

———

Willbury Street curved so that its ends both met the same road, a wide avenue named the Grainway, populated by shops and businesses with apartments stacked atop them. The coach joined the traffic on that road, passing by the little grocer where Fortino went twice a week to purchase fruits and vegetables, and other local shops that Amira had come to know.

Barely a block later, Amira realized they'd pass right by the local temple. "I want to stop there," she told Katin.

"What? Why?"

"For a blessing."

Katin rolled her eyes. "I suppose we left early enough. Please be quick." She hammered on the roof and shouted to Huffman. "Stop at the temple!"

He complied, bringing the coach to a halt squarely before the temple's door. Three stone steps led up to it, and Amira knocked on the doorframe three times in rapid ritual before entering. Katin stayed in the coach, which suited Amira fine. Katin never wanted to pray, or receive blessings, or even set foot in a temple if she could avoid it.

One could find temples of the Niderium in every city, town, and village in Garova. There were dozens in Callaston alone. Amira sought them out often; she liked praying to the Caretaker and the Aspects. It made her feel safe and calm. The Elibanders, who had come to this land centuries ago, had brought their religion with them. They worshipped a god called the Guardian, who rewarded control, conquest, and strength. But the native Caelanders' spirit-worship had been too hard to wrest away, too ingrained in the rituals and patterns of their daily lives.

Some dusty old scholar had claimed a vision of the true god, whom he called the Caretaker, and founded a religious order that merged the Elibanders' monotheism with the spirit-worship of the Caelander natives. The _Devoshim Niderium_ , as he'd named it, had expanded over the centuries to nearly blanket the realm in temples, administered from its headquarters compound in Callaston. Virtually all Garovans worshipped the Caretaker, although Amira had heard tales of backwaters where people still prayed to spirits in the water, air, and earth.

Like most Niderine temples, this one was long and narrow, with a high, arched ceiling. A clear glass window at the far end admitted some light, but mostly the temple was lit by candles in wall sconces. Amira strode past the eight altars where a few folk prayed, and found the temple's steward reading something atop his lectern. He looked up and smiled. "Good morning, Lady Amira," he said quietly, closing a large, leather-bound book of real paper. It must have cost a fortune; parchment was cheaper, but the Niderium could afford the finer things.

"Good morning, Stew—er, _Sendraj_ Alfin." Amira grimaced, hoping no one else had noticed her flub. Proper nobles used the Elibander title, not the commoner's "Steward." "If it please you, I'd like a blessing. I'm starting a journey today and I wish it to be safe and enjoyable."

"Indeed, m'lady? That sounds most pleasant. Although I notice you say 'I' as opposed to 'we.' I assume your _vala_ will be attending you on your journey, as is proper, so that is a curious turn of phrase." He peered over her shoulder. "M'lady really ought to encourage her _vala_ to visit the temple. We can hardly see to her spiritual welfare if—"

"Yes, _Sendraj_ ," Amira blurted, not feeling at all bad about cutting him off. Stewards would ramble at the slightest provocation. She wondered if they learned it at Ulisharran, or if the Niderium simply sought out men who loved the sound of their own voice. Besides, there was no way to get Katin into a temple short of dragging her. "But I am in rather a rush, so if you would...?"

"Ah. Of course. Please step into the Eye."

Alfin's little wooden lectern sat at the edge of the Eye of Sanctuary, a circle set down into the floor by three shallow steps. Amira descended to its center and stood with her hands clasped as Alfin straightened up and hefted his shepherd's crook.

"By the Caretaker and his thousand names," the steward began, addressing no one in particular. "I call for a blessing on this lady, as she begins a journey. Her path is known and unknown. I invoke the Aspect of Courage, to help her take the next step. Her benefit is known and unknown. I invoke the Aspect of Joy, to help her prosper in its light. Her destiny is known and unknown. I invoke the Aspect of Chaos, to help her face the mystery to come." He reached out with the crook and lightly tapped Amira on the top of her head.

Amira smiled. Stewards might ramble in conversation, but the rituals of the Niderium were tidily efficient. She dropped a silver into the donation urn, whispered her thanks, and departed.

Katin tapped her foot impatiently as Huffman helped Amira climb back into the coach. "Properly consecrated?"

"I made him put a curse on you," Amira teased. Katin rolled her eyes and thumped on the roof.

They followed the Grainway for half a mile, then turned north along the Way of Trade, two broad avenues that flanked a grass parkway that was used for the annual Wintergift feast. Soon they reached the Great Square. Hundreds of vendors, shoppers, beggars, and supplicants crowded the square, and it took several minutes for Huffman to thread his way through, shouting and cursing at the pedestrians obstructing their way. Amira glimpsed the high stone walls of the great castle Elibarran, seat of the crown of Garova. From what she'd heard, it was more palace now than fortification, though the walls looked impressive enough. She was of too low station to have been invited in by the royal family or others at court, but when the royal summer ball came, all the nobles in the city would be allowed to enter. She tingled with excitement at the prospect.

They escaped the Great Square and soon passed through the city's western gate, called the Trade Gate in the typically practical fashion of Garovan commoners. It had a fancy official name she'd forgotten, some confusing phrase from the old Elibander tongue.

"So, where are we bound?" Amira asked as the road turned from stone to dirt beneath them. Callaston had not been attacked by any army in decades, and it had long since overflowed its walls. Cottages, shops, fields, and farms dotted the landscape around them.

"West." Katin smirked at her. "Surprise!"

Amira pursed her lips. "I find myself less exhilarated than I had hoped."

"You wanted to get out of the city. Well, here we are. What were you expecting on a half day's notice? It took all the time I had just to get packed and arrange the coach." Katin sniffed. "There are a few noble estates we could call at. Countess Isilian, for instance—"

"No, no. We'll stay at wayfarers' inns. I may as well have stayed cooped up at home if we're simply going to camp out at some lady's estate. I want to visit the _country_."

———

The plains west of Callaston soon gave way to low hills threaded with gentle streams. Occasionally Amira could glimpse the silver ribbon of the River Brinemoor running parallel to the road a mile or so to the south. As the sun slipped behind the western hills, Huffman called out from atop the coach. "Inn ahead, m'lady, and it's getting on toward dark. Should we stop for the night?"

Amira's headache had returned with reinforcements, and the jostling of the coach had not helped one bit. She stopped rubbing at her temple long enough to push the curtain aside and spy a cozy inn beside the road. She nudged Katin, who had drifted off, slumped over one of the baskets. The _vala_ twitched and woke, smoothing her dull brown hair back and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Katin called out for Huffman to stop once Amira pointed out the inn to her. Amira would gladly have done the shouting herself, but she was a proper lady now, and ladies were supposed to refrain from raising their voices.

Huffman helped her down from the coach. When her foot struck the ground, a cascade of agony erupted in her head. She turned away from Huffman for a moment, gritting her teeth against the pain, and forced out a "Thank you, sir," before he could think her unbearably rude. A gawky young boy came hopping out of the inn to help with the trunks.

The Inn of the Western Well followed the same plan as most Garovan inns: a common room taking up most of the ground floor, with the kitchen behind it, and a winding stairwell leading up to the bedrooms. Through the arch to her right Amira saw a handful of guests at dinner. Food was the furthest thing from her mind as she tried to ignore the growing pain. She felt as if a white-hot dagger was being slowly and inexorably driven through the top of her skull.

The innkeeper, a fat old man who smiled at everything, bowed and gave them the guest register to sign. Amira scratched in _Lady Amira Estaile_ , a lone Elibander-style name beneath a sea of common Caelan names. There were no other nobles staying here at the moment, it seemed. Her _vala_ put in her own name beneath it, _Katin Berisha_.

The innkeeper led them to their room at the end of the upstairs corridor. Katin slipped the man a few coppers and he bowed and smiled his way out, shutting the door. Amira felt hot. She threw open the windows, which looked out behind the inn onto a grassy yard where a few guests strolled.

The cool evening air didn't help. What she needed was privacy. And to get the damned corset off. "Help me undress, would you," she said as evenly as she could. Katin did, while Amira took deep breaths, trying to steady herself. "I'm famished," she lied. "I don't suppose you'd see if the kitchen can spare a plate or two for us." She smiled tightly at her _vala_ , trying not to wince.

Katin eyed her for a moment, but nodded and went out. When the door snicked shut, Amira collapsed onto the bed, buried her face in the coverlet, and released a keening wail. The pain was worse than ever, as if a blazing ember scorched her from within. She couldn't picture anything else in her mind's eye, no matter how hard she willed it. All she saw was a scorching, blistering sun, filling every corner of her being.

She slid down to the floor, her shift crumpling up against the bed. The pain ebbed for a moment, and it was then that Amira realized she could actually _see_ the ember. It was a steady orange glow, easily visible when she shut her eyes. Which she did, allowing the ember to occupy all her attention.

It felt odd, as if it had some physical presence within her head. Not just where the pain lay, but beyond it. _Go away, you wretched thing,_ she thought at it bitterly.

It moved.

Amira gasped, flinching as if she could escape from her own thoughts. When she settled a bit, she looked at the ember again. It was still there, but... off to one side, somehow, no matter how she turned her head. _Move,_ she thought again, and it jumped a little more, this time to the other side of her vision.

_What is this?_ The little ember fascinated her. Sparks and lines flitted around it, as if she'd rubbed her eyes. The sun had set; colors washed out of the world, leaving everything in twilight. Amira spent a minute or two pushing the ember around some more, until thumping steps echoed in the hall outside. Instinctively Amira _shoved_ the ember away hard, trying to hide it—

The room brightened suddenly, and she turned to see a small, flickering flame burning on the wall. Astonished and entranced, Amira gaped at it, until the door swept open. Katin stood there in silhouette, a tray in her hands. "Why is it—a fire!" She darted over and balanced on one leg, stamping the flame out with her boot. "Amira, what happened? Why is it so dark in here?"

"I... I was trying..." She gulped, her throat dry. Suddenly she felt absolutely starved. "I was trying to light the lamp..."

Katin deposited the tray atop the dresser, and looked around. She picked up the tinderbox. "This was on the other side of the room."

Panic rose in Amira, and she burst into tears. "I'm sorry... I don't know..." She clenched her eyes against the anguish and confusion. _Aspect of Chaos, help me!_

Katin knelt down and wrapped her arms around Amira. "Hush, it'll be all right, it was nothing. You'll be all right."

Amira sniffled, holding back sobs. "The... the food..."

Katin nodded briskly. Her tone was just as clipped. "Right. Here you go." She handed one of the plates down to Amira.

The food was good, still faintly warm, a slice of fatty roast pork and spicy mashed potatoes and peas, and even a biscuit with butter and honey. Amira wolfed it down, sitting on the floor as Katin watched, ignoring her own food. She had to stop herself from licking the plate clean. "More?" Amira asked, but Katin felt her forehead.

"You're burning up. You need to lie down. You infuriating girl, why didn't you tell me your headache was back?" She took Amira firmly by the arm, guided her into the bed like a child, and covered her halfway with the sheet. "Go to sleep," she said, but Amira already had.

### CHAPTER 2

### DARDAN

Lord Dardan Tarian reined to a stop on the crest of a stony ridge, gazing southwest toward the pale walls of Callaston. The morning haze had lifted and Dardan could see acres of farms and cottages laid out between him and the city. The little homes, smoke wafting from their chimneys, looked pleasant and inviting, but Dardan had to go into the city itself. Callaston was crowded, and it stank. He'd spent more than enough time here as a boy.

His _valo_ , Liam Howard, rode up beside him, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun. "Looking for something, m'lord?"

"An excuse to avoid visiting this foul city."

"Surely your lady mother isn't such unbearable company," Liam deadpanned.

Dardan snorted. He kicked his horse to a safe walk down the hill, toward their one-wagon caravan below. He thought about the sheaf of parchment in his satchel, a pile of contracts and documents from his father, destined for the Tarians' trade agent in Callaston. As usual, he would have to spend tedious hours overseeing the details.

They still had to reach the city first. A handful of guards bracketed the wagon, keeping a watchful eye, though there was little risk of banditry this close to Callaston. Dardan came up alongside their captain, a young, chiseled man with flinty eyes.

"M'lord." Captain Reed bowed slightly. "Will we be accompanying you in the city once we arrive?"

Dardan shook his head. "Escort the wagon to the warehouse, then return to the manse. You can quarter there for the night. Mother may have letters to send back with you. Then I think you can return to Hedenham. I'll be in the city a few days, and we're taking nothing back but ourselves."

"Your mother the countess will insist on an escort," Liam interjected.

_Of course she will._ Countess Besiana fretted for Dardan's safety every time he left the city, though he'd made the trip back to Hedenham a dozen times with no escort save his _valo_. This time would be no different: she'd insist, he'd decline. All part of the routine. He shrugged at Liam, ending the conversation.

Dardan eyed the wagon once again. All the cargo looked undisturbed, the wax seals still intact on the crates of raw iron and copper, smithed tools, and bales of wool and flax. Dardan's father the count always insisted he take some goods with him on his trips to the city, if for no other reason than to keep up appearances. Arriving in the capital with freight in tow reinforced the image of Hedenham's prosperity.

The ashstone walls of Callaston loomed ever closer. The Festival Gate stood wide open, and a steady stream of wagons, horses, and travellers issued forth, but a long line waited to enter. Royal inspectors examined all cargo entering the city, to extract import duties on the relevant goods. Dardan's wares had already been inspected, taxed, and sealed at a royal trading house in Hedenham. Still, it was a long line. _I hate waiting._

When they reached the end of the queue, he nodded at Liam. The _valo_ rode ahead, looking through the line. He returned shortly. "Men with Duke Visail's colors guard a wagon near the front. All else are commoners."

"Is Visail with the wagon?"

"No, nor his kin, that I could tell. Just guards and servants."

Dardan considered. It was a noble's privilege to skip to the head of the queue, but a duke far outranked the son of a count. "We'll wait," he said, irritated at the further delay.

Finally, Visail's wagon made it through the gate, and Dardan motioned to his own driver. They pulled out of the line and cantered to the front, bypassing all the commoners. Dardan empathized with their envious looks, but he wanted to get this over with. The men at the gate made a cursory inspection of the seals and the manifest, and waved Dardan and his men into the city.

Captain Reed bowed to Dardan and led his men after the wagon, which had turned down toward the river and the warehouses there. Dardan trotted away toward the north of the city, Liam at his side.

Callaston reeked, and it would only get worse as summer approached. Dardan was used to the open fields and heath of Hedenham; here all the people and buildings and waste were packed too tightly together. Not to mention the tendency of Callaston's nobles to embroil him in their tiresome intrigues. He especially did not relish the memory of Countess Rambul's last dinner party, and its aftermath. Nonetheless, his duty brought him here, and he would see it discharged. Quickly.

The main avenues of Callaston formed a rough grid, though even the widest streets curved around ancient inns, trading houses, shops, malthouses, and manses. The city was more than four hundred years old, having grown from a small riverside trading post in Garova's early days, and it showed. Some past kings had tried to impose more order on the city, but Callastonites had more than once rioted against attempts to demolish their favorite malthouses for the sake of straighter streets.

Dardan wended his way through that haphazard plan, eventually reaching the Grainway, and then Willbury Street. Many of the city's streets lacked trees, but Willbury was well-shaded. He was almost able to forget he was in crowded Callaston at all.

The Tarians' manse sat at the bottom of the curving road, sheltered from the bustle of the city, though alas not entirely from the smell. Dardan saw the house major, the prissy and gray-fuzzed Bertram, waiting impatiently out in front with a pair of stableboys. Dardan dismounted and gave the old man a friendly nod which was returned precisely. Liam greeted the major with a jocular bellow and a clap on the shoulder. Bertram's face turned a soft shade of purple.

"Mother, I've arrived," Dardan called out in the foyer. He tossed his hat onto the demilune table by the door. He was sweaty from the ride, and the countess would no doubt insist he clean himself up at once.

"Dardan, my dear boy!" came his mother's squeak from the top of the stairs. She glided down, trailed by her _vala_ , the perpetually nervous Rose. Spending a lot of time around Besiana could do that to a person. "It's so good to see you." She pecked him on the cheek, then sniffed. "Mister Howard, have you been letting my son sleep in barns the whole way here?"

"No, m'lady, that's how he always smells," Liam said. Dardan fought down a grin.

"Off to a bath, I won't have your foul stench permeating the house. BERTRAM!"

"Yes, m'lady?" The major nearly leapt forward, hands clasped expectantly.

"My son will be hungry, of course. Prepare a snack for us at once."

"It's good to see you as well, mother," Dardan said, not waiting for her to pause, as that could mean quite a long wait.

"Off with you. I shall be in the sitting room." Besiana strode away. Rose followed, although not before giving Liam a besotted grin. The _valo_ winked at her.

Dardan snorted once she was gone. "I thought I told you to stop tumbling the maids."

"Perhaps I remind them of your father, m'lord," Liam said. He was more handsome than Dardan, they were both well aware. Dardan had lost count of the times someone had assumed that _he_ was the _valo_ , and Liam the lord.

A small suite of rooms had been made ready for him. He washed from a painted porcelain vase, ignoring the bar of lavender-scented soap that sat beside it. _A man should not smell like flowers._ Liam helped him dress in garments that had already been laid out for him: linen shirt, waistcoat, breeches, hose, and velvet slippers. Besiana insisted he dress like a city dandy whenever he was here. Whether he matched the furniture seemed more important than his own desires. Would she never realize he was a grown man, almost twenty years of age?

Dardan found his mother in the sitting room, chatting with the family's trade agent, Mister Dobbs. The room was as absurdly ornate as everything else in the house, with golden sconces along the walls, plush chairs for lounging and reading, a high plaster ceiling carved with children and flowers and painted in garish colors, and a narrow cherrywood table that had once belonged to his great-great-grandfather.

Bertram brought in plates of fruit and cheese while they went over the trade contracts. Goods in, money out, the endless wheels of commerce. Dardan paid close attention the whole time, but wished he were somewhere else.

By early evening, the trade agent had gone. Captain Reed returned with his men, and Besiana insisted they stay in the city several days, overriding their objections. It seemed Dardan would have an escort back to Hedenham regardless. He caught his mother fluttering her eyelashes at the handsome Captain Reed, though, and his stomach turned. _No wonder._

Once the guards had gone off into the servants' hall, Dardan settled down to a simple dinner with his mother: robin's-egg soup and roast lamb and garden greens, cold crab bisque, warm soft nut bread with honey and butter. He'd given Liam an evening at liberty, deciding that at least one of them should get a bit of entertainment while they were in the city. Dardan let the envy wash over him as he thought about Liam having a drink with the lads in a malthouse somewhere.

Besiana nattered on about the usual noble trivialities. Upcoming marriages, who was cuckolding whom, news from points west and south. Casually, she mentioned the young widowed lady who lived next door. Besiana brought her up every time Dardan visited, and he was growing tired of hearing about her. Tonight, Besiana lamented that the lady had gone on a sudden trip that very morning.

Dardan sighed as he tucked into his second helping of lamb. "Yes, mother, I'm sure she's quite lovely. Should we ever chance to occupy the same city at the same time, I would be glad to meet her." _If only to shut you up._

"Oh, but you must remain here until the royal summer ball," she replied. "I'm certain Lady Amira will be attending. Perhaps you could accompany her."

He hesitated. "I had only planned to be here long enough to handle our business affairs."

"My dear boy, you have missed the summer ball the last two years. Your absence is spoken of."

His last nerve frayed. "By whom? Anyone whose opinion I care about?" he snapped.

Besiana recoiled a little and slowly put down her fork. "I am only thinking of your future happiness, my dear boy."

"You're only thinking of the family legacy. You couldn't give two coppers about my happiness." He felt righteous saying it, but regret crept in as soon as he saw his mother's hurt expression.

"Dardan! I care about nothing more than the happiness of my children. But that happiness is tied intimately to this family's legacy." She leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering. "You are almost four years a man, and it is past time you married."

"I will consider it in my own time," he replied, stabbing at a morsel of lamb on his plate. "Besides, this girl is no maid. You've told me about her late husband, and her wealth. I don't care how amazingly beautiful you claim she is, it's obvious you only want her for her money."

Besiana narrowed her eyes. "Money is what keeps us in robin's-egg soup and two houses full of servants. It may be enchanting to pretend that our lifestyle is by the divine grace of the Caretaker, but you are old enough to know better." She picked up her fork again. "And so what if she is not a maid? Neither are you, unless I miss my guess."

Dardan choked on his wine, spraying droplets onto the table. He coughed, dabbing his napkin at the purple spots soaking into the silk tablecloth. "Mother!"

"Well? You are almost twenty. Your father had bedded his first girl by the time he was fourteen." She shrugged.

Dardan was shocked. He would not discuss bedroom affairs with his _mother_. It was perverse!

Besiana went on, unruffled. "Petulance does not become you, Dardan. Lady Amira is young, beautiful, childless, wealthy, and was married barely half a year before her noble husband passed on. She is of common birth, true, but she is a commoner no longer."

Dardan's jaw set. "I will not be forced into a marriage."

"I wouldn't dream of it, dear. Unlike your sister, you have shown no congenital hostility to the idea of marriage, merely the reluctance common to young men. But you are also your father's eldest son. You have a duty to this house to—"

"I know my duty!"

" _You have a duty,_ " she rode over him. "Strong unions between nobles are strands in the web that keeps us safe. Things are simpler in Hedenham, I know, but here you can barely go a day without the dogs nipping at your heels. Think, for once, what might happen to this family if you were to eschew your duty for a year, or a month, or even a day too long."

She would not be content until he gave in. The woman was indefatigable, and he did not want to simply walk out of the room. "I have said I would be happy to meet the lady," he bit out. "When will she return?"

"Most likely a few days hence. She did not see fit to inform me of her plans in detail."

"Father expects me back within a week."

"I will send a message that you are staying for the summer ball. He can argue with me if he likes."

Count Asmus Tarian did not like arguing with his wife. They'd had some barn-burning screaming matches when Dardan was young, with the eventual result that Besiana spent all her time in Callaston, while Asmus stayed in the country. Asmus came to the city a few times a year to do his marital duty, and spent the rest of it chasing girls all over Hedenham County.

Besiana seemed satisfied by Dardan's capitulation, and changed the subject. Once the meal had ended and the dishes were cleared away, she led him to the sitting room and gave Bertram explicit instructions that they were not to be disturbed. The old major frowned disapprovingly, but he nodded and shut the doors. Even Rose was left outside.

Mother and son settled onto the couch. Dardan was glad that the evening candles muted the room's garish color scheme. His mother seemed focused inward, which was unusual. "Is something amiss?"

Besiana sighed. "A most terrible thing occurred. Lord Keller Skarline fell to his death four days ago."

Dardan stared. "What?"

"From the front wall of Elibarran, right into the Great Square. He almost flattened an apple cart, if the story is accurate."

Dardan had met Keller Skarline once or twice, at this function or that, but had not really known much about him. Except that he was the king's spymaster, a fact which was supposed to be secret but which everyone knew anyway. "I assume he was pushed," Dardan said.

"He did not seem the type to walk absently along the merlons," Besiana said. "The crown is investigating, of course. They even have a pair of Wardens looking into the matter, so I hear. The first question is, who would benefit from his death?"

"Anyone who wanted the post of spymaster to open up, but I can't think of anyone who'd want it _that_ badly. But you have your ear to the court, of course," Dardan admitted. The one disadvantage to spending most of his time in Hedenham was its distance from the political machinations of Callaston. He despised court politics, but could not deny their importance.

"Many rumors fly. The one that piqued my interest was that Lord Keller favored a more subtle approach toward the Vaslanders, a position shared by our own Duke Loram Arkhail."

"The Vaslanders? What of the Vaslanders?" Dardan asked. They hadn't crossed the mountains in twenty years, since King Viktor had thrown them back when Dardan was just a babe in arms.

"Their warriors gather across the northern border," Besiana said darkly. "Duke Faroa favors an immediate attack against them. So does Prince Edon, it seems. Our own Duke Loram, however, calls for restraint."

Dardan's stomach roiled. Only a few counties stood between the Black Mountains and Hedenham. Dardan's home hadn't seen fighting in the last war, but some towns not terribly far to the north of Hedenham had been sacked and burned. If the Vaslanders did invade again, Hedenham—his father, his sister, his brother, his people—might suffer.

But Count Asmus Tarian owed his direct allegiance to Duke Loram Arkhail of Thorncross. If Duke Loram favored a subtle approach, then Asmus must perforce agree. He couldn't understand _why_ Duke Loram would be so cautious; Loram's seat at Thorncross was even closer to Vasland. Loram hadn't fought in the last war, though. His father had been the duke then, and Loram had been away to the south somewhere. Perhaps he'd never seen the destruction with his own eyes.

Dardan had. When he was ten, his father had taken him north to Cold Hills County, in Seawatch. The land had begun to recover by then, but they still saw the ruins of countless destroyed towns and burned farms. Count Asmus had wanted Dardan to see with his own eyes what the Vaslanders had wrought.

Pieces fell into place in Dardan's mind. "Faroa might have wanted Skarline out of the way, if Skarline's reports supported Loram's position. And Blackwall suffered badly in the last war." Dardan had been to the Dukedom of Blackwall once as well, along the northern hills where the Vaslanders had held Garovan territory for a long part of the war. The destruction hadn't been as severe there as in Cold Hills, since the Vaslanders had used it as a base of operations rather than just pillaging it, but the few Garovan folk who lived there had all had a permanently haunted look. Dardan had seen them cast their eyes up the towering mountains as if expecting a wave of Vaslanders to sweep over it at any moment. "House Faroa lost some family in the fighting as well. Though perhaps there's a simpler explanation. Blackwall is renowned for its mines and smithies. Perhaps Faroa has a surplus of blacksmiths who need employment turning out swords and shields."

Besiana shrugged. "Well. Whatever his goals, I hardly think murdering young lords is an effective way to achieve them."

But Dardan cared nothing about Keller Skarline or Terilin Faroa now. Visions of Vaslander berserkers rampaging through Hedenham Town filled his mind. "Father must know of this," he declared. "Although... he may insist on readying the garrison."

"I thought your father always kept the garrison readied," she said. _Your father,_ Dardan noted, not _my husband._

"Father directs them in hunting down brigands and poachers, yes. But mobilizing them for war is another story entirely. Only by the king's authority may that kind of order be given. The king will not be pleased if that happens without his approval. They are the king's soldiers, not father's. Too many dukes and counts have suborned garrisons in the past for the king to ever turn a blind eye to that sort of thing."

"Then I will petition his majesty at the next court, to send such an order to the Hedenham garrison. The next court session is the day after tomorrow, I believe."

"What if the king doesn't listen? Father may try to convince the garrison commander to mobilize anyway."

Besiana started. "What? He couldn't do that! Could he?"

"Father and the garrison commander get along quite well," Dardan said, "which you would know if you ever spent any time there."

"Hm," Besiana said, eyeing him coolly.

"This is delicate, but... Do you recall Baron Parvis Stanton?" he asked.

"Of course. Wretched, selfish little man."

"Well, the other week he was accused of raping a farmgirl."

"How horrid! Oh, dear. Though I can quite believe the charge."

"Father ordered him to stand trial, of course, and even though father would sit in judgment as befits the noble accused, Baron Parvis chose to flee and hide instead. The baron obviously feels his guilt. Father may be impulsive and brazen, but no one who knows him can rightly accuse him of countenancing injustice. So he ordered the garrison commander, Captain Orrel Stanton, to find and retrieve the baron."

"Oh my!" Besiana's hand flew to her breast. "He ordered Parvis's own brother to find him? I remember that boy!"

"The very same. The spitting image of his brother, in fact, though commendably loyal where the baron is treacherous."

"Did he do it?"

"Yes, without hesitation. I've never heard Captain Stanton speak ill of his older brother, but he took a detachment of twenty men and a Warden and rode without delay. He returned a day later with the baron in chains."

It pleased Dardan to see his mother, for once, at a loss for words. Finally, inevitably, she spoke. "I had no idea the county was such a hotbed of scandal," she nearly giggled.

"Yes, well, I'm sure it pales when compared to the daily mischief of the Callaston nobility," he said dryly. "The upshot is, Captain Stanton respects father and is quite likely to obey if he orders a war footing."

"Oh, dear," Besiana muttered. "Then the king's permission is all the more critical. I shall endeavor my utmost to attain it." She stood, and Dardan followed suit. "I'm afraid I am quite tired, my boy. We shall speak further in the morning. ROSE!"

The nervous _vala_ scurried in, but was forced to backpedal as the countess swept out. Dardan watched them go, then sat back down, alone at last.

Speaking with Besiana always left him agitated. He stared at the wall for a while, letting his aggravation wind down. He'd just begun to consider searching the kitchen for more dessert when Liam popped his head in. "Evening, m'lord," the _valo_ said brightly, his face a little flush.

"You're back early," Dardan noted.

"Ah, well, m'lord looked so glum when I left, I couldn't bear to leave you in your mother's clutches." He brushed a stray lock of sandy hair out of his eyes. "It seems you're rid of her already, though."

"Not soon enough. She harped at me about the widow again." Dardan supposed he probably still looked glum. "We'll be staying in the city for the summer ball."

Liam nodded. "You'll need a new suit, and all the usual nonsense. We'll start on that tomorrow, if it pleases m'lord." He cleared his throat. "You look tired, m'lord. We've had long days of riding, so maybe it's best you go to bed."

Curse the man, he was right. Dardan trod gloomily up the stairs, and dismissed Liam for the night. He washed again and dressed for bed in a linen nightrobe. He gazed at himself in the mirror, at the broad chin, the too-short nose, the small dark eyes. He'd been told his face had a pleasing symmetry to it, but girls never swooned over him the way they did over some boys. Over Liam. Perhaps they'd all just been humoring Dardan his entire life.

The dinner conversation came back to him. His mother assumed he'd bedded a girl. It spoke well of him, he supposed, but she was wrong. He almost had, a few times. Once was the farrier's daughter in Hedenham Town, when he was fifteen. He'd followed her around all during the Wintergift feast, drunk on spiced ale, gazing at those long eyelashes, savoring that sweet laugh. She'd snuck him back to her bedroom, but they'd just ended up talking through the night and kissing a little. She'd been so warm and soft. He woke up lying next to her, still fully clothed, in the sober gray light of dawn. When she'd woken, she'd thrown him out at once, fearful that her father would discover him and try to nail horseshoes to his feet in a rage. He'd mooned after her for weeks on end.

Then there had been the night after his sixteenth birthday. Liam had been his _valo_ for a few months already—nobles were only supposed to have _valai_ once they came of age at sixteen, but Asmus had declared there was no sense waiting, and who would care, out there in the country?—and had taken him to a little brothel on the edge of Hedenham Town. Dardan made it as far as the foyer before panicking and running out into the night. Liam had at least had the sense not to mock him openly about it, but for days afterward, the man's every expression looked like a smirk.

There had been a few opportunities since, this girl or that who fancied bedding a lord. Dardan had resigned himself to the idea that his first bedding would wait until marriage, to whatever woman would have him. _Perhaps it will be this Amira,_ he mused. _But if she's really so beautiful, what would she want with the likes of me?_

### CHAPTER 3

### KATIN

Two days after the Inn of the Western Well, Amira suddenly announced that they would go for a picnic in the countryside. Katin's plea that they stay on the road was brushed aside.

They rented horses from a farm they happened upon. Both mares seemed pleasant enough when the farmer brought them out, but that didn't last an hour. Katin's horse bounced through the grass, bruising Katin's rear and changing direction so often that Katin wondered if the beast was going mad. Only because they were now miles from the stable did she stay atop the foul creature. Amira rode a little ways ahead, and of course _her_ horse was obedient and graceful.

At least the day was pleasant. They wound along beside a burbling stream, heading slightly uphill through grassy gullies beyond the farm. Huffman, the driver, brought up the rear of their little party, perched on one of his draft horses and concentrating on staying upright. He was a poor rider for such an excellent coachman. Katin kept looking back to check on him, hoping he didn't fall and break something.

They found a quiet meadow beside a crook in the stream. In the shade of a sycamore, they weighted down a blanket with rocks. Everything in the basket tied to Katin's saddle had been bought at farms, inns, and little markets along the road: cold spicy sausage, fresh crusty bread, a jar of honey and another of strawberry jam, dried apricots and peaches and walnuts.

Huffman loomed, wringing his hands as Amira and Katin lounged on the blanket, nibbling on chunks of apricot. After a while Amira sighed and commanded the coachman to sit down and enjoy himself. Katin didn't think the man had the capacity to actually express happiness, but he did look grateful to rest on something that wasn't constantly moving.

Katin watched her lady discreetly as they ate. Amira had avoided Katin's questions the morning after the Inn of the Western Well. She insisted the fire had just been an accident. Katin wasn't so sure.

It frustrated her that Amira was so cavalier with what she'd been given. Valmir's offer of marriage had saved them both from a harder life, but it had been Katin who'd gained the most benefit from it. Amira's only duty had been to help her mother run the brothel, and Amira would some day have inherited it. She'd never have to lay with men for money, as Katin had. Amira's insistence that Katin come along as her maid had been the sweetest thing she'd ever heard.

But Amira's carelessness could ruin them. She was a noblewoman now, and she needed to act the part. Her impulsive girlishness had to be put away. Valmir was not here to protect them; his sudden death had left Amira a widow at the ripe old age of nineteen.

"What a lovely day," Amira mused, startling Katin. "It does make one appreciate the countryside more, spending so much time as we do in the city."

"Yes, all this greenery is just fascinating. Does m'lady have some plan in mind, or shall we continue on westward until we're swimming in the sea?" Amira threw an apricot at her, but Katin batted it aside, sticking her tongue out. Huffman looked appalled that a _vala_ would disrespect her lady so, but she'd known Amira for a long time before the girl became a noble, or even a merchant's wife.

Amira stood, planting her hands on her hips and taking deep breaths. Finally she strode off toward the stream. Huffman, alarmed, dropped his food to follow her, but Katin stopped him with a hand on his arm. "M'lady is twenty paces off. I believe she can make the trip back unaided." The coachman stared after Amira, dubious, but finally the tension went out of his legs and he settled back.

Amira watched the stream for a while, holding very still. Katin watched the sunlight glint off her lady's golden hair, and listened to the leaves fluttering in the branches above. It was easy to forget her troubles here, she had to admit. But then she began to consider the real threats that might appear: wild animals, bandits, sudden storms. She kept glancing at the distant trees, nervous that any sign of movement might herald an attack.

Suddenly Amira's hand flew to her temple and she staggered. At the same moment, a splash erupted from the stream, and a puff of steam billowed up from it. This time Huffman was up like a shot, long strides taking him to Amira in seconds. Katin was close behind. "Come back and sit, m'lady," she said over Huffman's "Are you all right, m'lady?"

Amira nodded, and followed them back to the picnic without a word. She sat down and cast an eye at Katin. "Did you see?"

_See? See what? The splash?_ She glanced back at the stream, which flowed placidly along. "Yes, it's a very pretty stream," she offered. _What in the world is going on?_

Amira ate again, and they passed another hour by the stream before Katin suggested it might be time to return. The sun was drooping down, and it would take a while to reach the farm and find somewhere to sleep. Katin did not relish the prospect of spending the night in a hayloft.

———

Night had almost fallen before they found another inn, this one much smaller and in worse repair than the Inn of the Western Well. Their travels had brought them halfway to Bridger's Rush, and Katin hoped Amira would turn them around after this night. She wanted the safety of their manse again, no matter how badly Callaston smelled.

The Smiling Willow's innkeeper sweated constantly from his rolls of fat, and despite Katin's attempts to bargain, he claimed he had only one room available, and that one smaller than Katin's cell in the manse. Amira wearied quickly of their haggling, and she snapped at them until Katin gave up, paid the man, and escorted her lady to the common room.

Amira devoured two large bowls of beef and carrot stew, and all the bread the cook could bring. Katin had never seen her so famished as on this trip. Normally she ate lightly and exercised regularly, always insisting how important it was to keep herself slim. Perhaps it was just the excitement of a trip into the countryside, but Amira had been acting so peculiar the last few days. Even for her.

The meal much improved Amira's mood, but by the time they got to their room Katin was completely out of sorts. She shut the door and turned to her lady. Amira had only really _been_ a lady for less than a year, and they'd known each other so much longer than that, that in private they treated one another as equals. Usually.

Katin would have to be blunt. Amira was excellent at turning aside conversations to suit her own ends. "Amira, what is the matter with you? You've been acting very strange since we left Callaston."

Amira did not look at her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, the fire at the other inn. The... the whatever that was, at the stream today. And you're eating like a horse." Suddenly a terrible thought seized her. "Amira! Are you _pregnant?_ "

Amira's eyes bulged. "No! Oh, my goodness, no. You know I haven't been with a man since Valmir."

"Well... not that I know of... I just..." Katin flinched inwardly. Of course Amira couldn't be pregnant, why had she said something so stupid?

"When would I have had time? You're with me practically every moment. And why would I hide that from you, of all people?" But Amira did not seem displeased. On the contrary, she met Katin's eyes now, smiling. "I have something to show you. But help me undress first."

Katin did so. Amira shook out her hair and flexed her fingers. "Blow out that candle." She went to stand by the door as Katin looked at the little candle sitting on the bedside table. She blew it out, though the stand-lamp near the door still cast soft shadows through its frosted glass globe. Amira ignored it, focusing on the candle from across the room. "Watch."

Katin wondered what Amira could be up to. _Perhaps she's learned how to breathe fire, like that magician we saw last Wintergift._

Amira stared at the candle for a long minute. Then her hand came slowly up, as if to reach for something, but she did not move forward. The candle suddenly flared back alight.

Katin jerked back from it. "What the—" She gulped down a curse. "How did you do that?"

"Blow it out again." Katin hesitated, but obeyed, and waited a few more seconds as Amira stared intensely at the candle, as if she could light it by sheer force of will. The wick burst into flame again. This time Amira's hand never left her side.

If she hadn't known Amira for so many years, she would likely have fled the room screaming. But something held her in check. Trust, perhaps. She swallowed her pride with a dry mouth, and made a silent prayer to the Aspect of Courage. "Tell me what is going on," she pleaded.

"The headaches," Amira said, drifting over to sit down beside Katin on the bed. Her eyes looked a little red, and she drooped as if sleepy. "The last few days... I can _see_ the pain, in my head. It appears as a, a little ember, perhaps. A little orange ball of flame in my mind's eye. But it's not just my imagination. It moves. I can _move_ it. And when I _push_ ..." She flicked her fingers at the candle. "The pain goes away... and that happens."

Katin understood all the words, but together it made no sense. "You can start fires with your _mind?_ "

Amira smirked. "I'm glad you understand."

Katin groped for something to say. "The headaches... are they getting worse?"

"On the contrary, they've been getting better since that first inn. That one was the worst yet. I felt like my head would split open. When you went to get the food, I ended up writhing on the floor..." She stopped and hugged herself for a moment. "That was the worst pain I'd ever felt. Worse than anything." She took a shuddering breath, and Katin saw a tear fall from one eye. Amira wiped it away quickly. "But since then, they've been getting better. And the ember has been getting brighter."

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Katin demanded. The bitterness in her voice surprised her, and she bit her tongue to hold back another outburst.

Amira paid it no mind. "It's only been three days, dear. I'm just getting a handle on this myself." She leaned over and blew out the candle. Seconds later it burned again. "The ember seems to persist now, and my head barely hurts at all."

Katin's gut clenched. This was a _disaster_. "We have to go back to Callaston. At once. It's not safe to stay here."

"We need sleep," Amira said, yawning. It was barely full dark, out through the windows. "We can decide in the morning what we'll do next." She yawned again. "I get so exhausted after doing that a few times." She curled up on the bed, her head resting against Katin's hip. Katin wanted to talk to her more, to find out what this madness truly was, but Amira was asleep in seconds, snoring softly.

Katin gently lowered Amira's head onto a pillow. She paced for a while, thinking. _We must keep this hidden. No one can ever know._ The prospect of keeping this secret for years or decades felt like a crushing weight. Someone would find out eventually, and what then? They'd lose everything, be outcast, or burned for witches, or, or... She had a vision of an angry mob outside their manse, throwing torches through the windows, and she shuddered.

And Amira wouldn't make it easy. She'd want to experiment and practice with this power. She would never ignore something this interesting; it would be another adventure to her.

———

In the morning they found Huffman in the common room eating breakfast. He grumbled politely about the filthy spot in the stable where he'd put down his bedroll, and Amira promised him a room of his own at any further inns. Huffman nodded in gracious surprise, and went out to look after his horses. Katin clenched her jaw. The girl was too free with money, even if she did have a lot of it.

Breakfast this morning was oily sausage and fried potatoes. Amira stared down at them, concentrating. "M'lady, what are you doing?" Katin muttered.

Amira shushed her. "I fancy blackened sausage," she said with a glint in her eye.

"Amira, _no_ —" There was a _pop_ and Katin felt a wave of heat on her face. One side of the sausage turned black instantly, but then the pool of oil it sat in caught fire. Amira yelped and lurched backward, toppling over in her chair and crashing to the floor. The common room's only other diner twisted around in his chair to look, bushy black eyebrows raised in surprise. Katin shouted at him, "Help! Fire!"

The man darted across the room, bringing a cloth napkin. He smothered the flames, splashing oil everywhere and knocking sausage onto the floor, but the fire went out quickly. The cook burst out of the kitchen, waving her spoon and demanding to know what had happened.

Katin came to Amira's side, helping her up. There were no candles or lamps lit in here, as it was morning. "There must have been a hot ember in the oil," she said quickly. The cook stared, incredulous, but Katin made noises about her lady needing to recover and ushered Amira out at once. Amira was still blinking, confused, and let herself be pulled along.

Katin slammed the door to their room. "What in the black spirits is wrong with you?" She fought to keep from shouting, but it was a near thing. "Can't you go one day without doing something so... so reckless?"

"I'm sorry," Amira snapped. "I _had_ to. Using it makes the pain go away."

"I thought you said there was hardly any more pain!"

"I lied!" Amira shouted. "It's getting better, I swear, but it still hurts. I didn't want you to worry any more than you had to."

"I have to do all the worrying, because you never do," Katin bit out. "Amira, don't you realize how dangerous this is? If someone finds out about this... You have to talk to me. We have to work together, or the world will drag us down into the muck again."

"I was never in the muck," Amira sniffed at her.

Katin turned away and pounded a fist on the wall to keep herself from slapping Amira instead. She said nothing, trying to let her anger ebb.

After a minute, she heard Amira sigh behind her. "I'm sorry, Katin. I just... I forget that I'm not really a lady."

"You are a lady," Katin countered, turning to face her. "By law and custom."

"But I was never born to it. I never learned how."

"Well you've fooled all the other nobles," Katin said. "This... this power you have. You have to be careful. _We_ have to be careful. Promise me you won't do anything that stupid again."

"I'm not stupid," Amira whispered at her, eyes downcast.

"Promise me," Katin insisted. When Amira nodded slightly, Katin went on. "And promise me we'll go back to Callaston. Today. Not tomorrow, not after another picnic in the woods or another inn almost burned down." Amira nodded again, and sat down on the bed, seeming to draw into herself.

Katin hated to browbeat her closest friend, but she had no choice. Amira would never learn caution otherwise, and Katin could not watch her every second.

She fetched her coin purse and went back to the common room. A young boy kneeled on the floor, scrubbing at it where bits of flaming sausage had left char marks, as the cook watched over him. Katin apologized for her lady's clumsiness and offered a few pieces of silver for their trouble.

The cook accepted them. "You'd best be gone soonest," she said irritably.

———

Huffman had them on the road within an hour. Katin directed him east, back toward Callaston, as Amira sat quietly in the coach, hands folded on her lap.

They rolled through the countryside in silence. Amira looked out the window from time to time, but mostly sat studying her hands. Katin had felt righteous and commanding when they left the inn, but those feelings had faded. Now she just felt acid climbing her throat.

A wall of storm clouds passed by them to the south. Cold wind curled in through the windows, but they were spared rain. They ate in the coach as it bumped along, and in the late afternoon came back through a village they'd stopped at the day before. When Amira spoke, she startled Katin out of a drowsy reverie.

"I want to stop there." She pointed at a little temple by the side of the road, isolated from the other buildings. "To pray."

Katin reflexively wanted to deny her, but instead she said, "Fine. I'll go in with you."

If Amira was surprised, she didn't show it. Katin had no use for the Niderium, not after a childhood spent praying for salvation that would never come. Only luck and her own hard work had saved her from the perils of Cleavesport's streets. Where had the Caretaker been, all those years? She never saw the Aspect of Joy, or Ardor, or Sacrifice. Her world was nothing but Terror and Despair, and her own Courage. She would not credit the Caretaker with that.

But she was not going to let Amira out of her sight until the girl learned to restrain herself. Not that she could stop Amira from using this strange power of hers, but maybe Katin's presence would remind Amira to be more careful.

The temple's long entryway led past the usual altars to the sacred circle beyond. Her lady knelt down at the altar of Despair, clasping her hands on the edge of the stone, almost touching the little statue of the mouse. Katin stood back a ways, watching. There was no one else present, not even the steward. He was probably in the privy.

Katin listened for a while as Amira whispered to herself. _She probably chose Despair to make me feel bad,_ Katin groused. _I'd pray if there was an Aspect of Slapping Sense into People._

The steward appeared a few minutes later, bowing when he saw them but otherwise leaving them undisturbed, much to Katin's relief. She'd sought help from Niderines when she was a child, but the priests never had more to offer than comforting words and prayers. How were prayers supposed to feed an empty belly?

Eventually Amira stood up, wiping her eyes. They were red, Katin saw, but now she had a look of determination and marched straight out the door. Amira said nary a word for the rest of the day's ride, but her dejection had vanished, and she stared clear-eyed out the window as the coach rolled along.

———

They reached Callaston two days later. Amira's mood had thawed a bit by then, and Katin was able to make some conversation with her, for which she felt grateful. In the silence Katin had started to feel an unbearable loneliness.

The house servants all fussed over Amira from the instant she stepped out of the coach. Katin let them, keeping her distance. Amira was her closest friend, but she was becoming something else as well. Something disquieting.

She helped Amira settle in, then went over the letters that had arrived in their absence. A few dinner invitations, and several from gentlemen who wished to accompany Amira to the royal ball. She took them to Amira, who flipped through them. "Ugh. No. No. Oh, here's Count Vondulian again. I'm surprised that old prune wasn't camped on the doorstep when we arrived. Will he never give up?"

"Some men cherish the chase," Katin said.

They had not been home an hour when Countess Besiana Tarian's _vala_ showed up with an invitation to luncheon the next day.

"The woman pounces the moment I return," Amira said.

"You've put her off long enough, m'lady. It won't do to make enemies of the neighbors."

Amira sighed. "Fine. One more tedious introduction won't kill me. Let's meet this son of hers."

### CHAPTER 4

### LIAM

Liam tried not to wince as Dardan repeatedly stumbled over his own words. The young lord had made half a dozen sallies at describing Hedenham County to this Lady Amira, and each time, he said the wrong word, or got caught up in irrelevant details, or simply trailed off awkwardly. Liam had seen Dardan tongue-tied with a pretty girl before, but this was agonizing.

"They seem to be getting along," Liam murmured politely, leaning against the wall of the Tarians' sitting room. Lady Amira's _vala_ hummed dubiously and did not return his glance. She was quite focused, this Katin Berisha, closely watching both Dardan and Amira.

Luncheon had been served out in the Tarians' garden, a fine meal of sautéed greens, fresh-baked rosemary bread, grilled pheasant, mushroom bisque, and herb-encrusted pork loin. Liam and Katin had, for a wonder, been invited to join the nobles at the table. The countess no doubt wanted to ensure that even Amira's _vala_ would approve of the Tarians. After luncheon, the party had retreated inside so that the eligible lord and lady might converse and get to know one another better. Protocol did not demand Liam's attendance here, but he was not about to miss his master's first meet with a prospective wife. Katin clearly shared his interest, which spoke well of her. Any _vala_ who would leave her lady's side in such a situation was no _vala_ worth having.

At least out in the garden, Dardan had not had to speak much. Besiana had been happy to blather while everyone else ate. But now it was Dardan's turn, and he was fumbling it badly.

Liam could quite understand. Amira was even more beautiful than Besiana had insisted. Liam had stared at her for a moment when she came into their foyer, then made himself look away, feigning indifference. Dardan, however, had gaped at her for several seconds before remembering himself and bowing over the lady's hand. Later, when Besiana and Amira were distracted with chattering, Dardan had caught Liam's eye with an expression of utter disbelief. Amira, even in her demure, high-necked powder blue dress, drew every eye. Even disagreeable old Bertram's jaw had gone slack when he saw her.

But it was Amira's _vala_ who drew Liam's eye. Katin was young and slim, and pretty, though in a much more conventional way than her lady. Her hair was a dull brown, and her smiles were tight and never reached her eyes. She reminded Liam of a doe, lonely in the woods and fearing danger behind every tree. He silently cursed his distractedness and tried to focus on the nobles.

Besiana sat across from the young couple, eyes twinkling. Liam could tell she was fighting to keep her mouth shut. As well she did; the whole point was to observe Amira and her son, to begin to gauge whether they could make a suitable couple. Liam had watched one such meet several months ago, between Dardan and a baron's daughter, that had ended with them arguing angrily with one another. Dardan had been horribly embarrassed, but Count Asmus (and, less openly, Liam) had found it highly amusing and cracked jokes about it the rest of the day.

Now Liam had only pity, and hoped someone would put an end to this soon. Amira, for her part, did not seem openly repulsed by Dardan's verbal ineptitude. She knew just how to flatter Dardan, responding with subtle compliments on his skills at riding, hunting, leadership. After a while Liam began to wonder if she was trying to fluster him on purpose.

Besiana had prepared them with what she had learned about Amira. The lady had married Valmir Estaile, a wealthy merchant, only a little more than a year earlier. He'd found her in some city out to the west, Bridger's Rush or Cleavesport or somewhere; it was unclear. She had apparently been a merchant's daughter. A month after returning to Callaston, King Viktor had granted Valmir peerage, raising him to the lowest level of the nobility. No lands, just a title, but still, any man would find it a great honor. Amira, as his wife, automatically became a noble as well. The reason for the peerage was also unclear, though Besiana had heard rumors of "special services" rendered to the crown, whatever that meant.

Then Valmir had died abruptly this winter past, after a short illness. Even though he'd been Amira's senior by a good fifteen years, he'd had no children anyone knew of, not with Amira or any other woman, and so by law all his holdings passed to her.

From unwed common girl to wealthy lady of the realm in just over a year... She was either extraordinarily lucky, or exceedingly devious. Liam was inclined to be a little suspicious based on the story alone, but now that he'd met her, he could hardly believe her capable of such treachery.

After some time, Amira pleaded exhaustion. "I did return from my trip only yesterday," she explained, "and I'm afraid my reserves are quite drained." When she stood, Dardan practically leapt to his feet to take her hand. Liam came to his master's side, and Katin to her lady's.

Dardan's mouth worked for a moment. "My lady, I have had a great pleasure—that is, it has been my pleasure—a pleasure to meet you. I, um..." He trailed off, casting about as if someone might step in and save him.

Besiana coughed a little. "The ball..."

"Mother," Dardan muttered.

"Indeed?" Amira asked, looking amused.

Liam could not help himself. "I believe m'lord said he meant to ask m'lady something."

Dardan gulped. He was trapped and he knew it. Liam could barely contain his glee. "My lady Amira... would you—would you consider attending the ball? With you? I mean—the royal summer ball, with me?"

A sheen of sweat glistened on the young lord's forehead. That he had asked the question was a miracle in itself; he didn't even want to go to the ball, the fool. Besiana looked pleased as punch.

"Well," Amira said, glancing at the countess for a moment before returning her attention to Dardan. "As you were so courageous in asking, how could I say no?"

"What?" Katin blurted out, stunned.

"Really?" Besiana said, equally surprised. "I mean... really, how delightful!" She clapped her hands.

Dardan's jaw simply hung open. After a few seconds he blinked a few times. "Um... thank you?"

"Not at all," Amira said. "This will be my first time at the ball. I'm sure you'll be able to show me everything." She bowed to the countess and swept out of the room. Katin followed close behind, glowering at everyone.

Liam was going to have to get Dardan _very_ drunk tonight.

———

"That was a cruel trick," Dardan said as he held his arms out. The wizened little tailor scampered from one side to the other, measuring the cut of Dardan's half-finished new suit and marking adjustments here and there.

"Woe betide m'lord, he who must attend the greatest feast in the kingdom with the most beautiful woman in the realm." Liam snorted.

"You and my mother planned that, didn't you?"

"I wish I could claim that level of foresight, m'lord, but alas, it was merely a fortunate coincidence." Dardan sighed and hefted his arms again as the tailor prodded him and asked him if he could kindly hold still for five seconds at a time. Dardan certainly could have summoned the tailor to the manse, but he'd wanted to get away from his mother for a while and had insisted they go out into the city.

The sun was nearly set when they emerged from the tailor's shop. Callaston's tall streetside oil lamps had already been lit. "What say we go for a walk, m'lord?" Liam suggested.

"Hm? Yes, of course." He let Liam lead the way, paying no attention to their path. Liam made a beeline for the the nearest malthouse: Tarrington's, catering to lords and wealthy merchants, situated as it was in this upscale part of Callaston.

The room was somehow both well-lit and musty, sunlight slanting in through the windows to glint off motes in the air. Three men, two with flutes and one with a hand drum, sat on a platform at the side of the room, piping and pounding merrily. Liam found an open booth and sent a serving boy to fetch ale and fried onions. Dardan slid into the booth, looking doubtful.

Liam felt just the opposite. Going into a malthouse energized him like nothing else. Ale was all well and good, and he loved the traditional snack of battered and fried pearl onions as much as the next Garovan, but the real allure was in the freedom to speak. By tradition, men left their titles at the door, and said what they willed. Well, as much as they dared to. Everyone knew stories of some ale-soaked _valo_ who had said the wrong thing to a duke, and later regretted it.

It was also the best place to talk about women, since they were customarily banned from malthouses. In Callaston, at least, and most towns Liam had been to. He waited until he'd had his first sip of ale, then started in. "All right, you've spent half the day moping about. Stop it before I knock your hat off. You'll be with the prettiest girl at the ball! You should be dancing with joy, though I suppose I've been your _valo_ long enough to know you better than that."

Dardan glanced up. "What are you on about?"

Liam shoved the bowl of onions at Dardan hard enough that the younger man had to catch it before it tipped into his lap. "I've seen moths less dazzled by a torch than you were by that girl."

Dardan snorted, pushing the onions back. "So what? She's a pretty girl. We've got them in Hedenham too, you know."

"Your eyes nearly fell out of your head. Don't deny it. I was watching you the whole time."

"Can't a man be charmed?" Dardan finally took a gulp of ale.

"Charmed? Is that what it was?" Liam popped a bit of fried onion into his mouth. "Tell me one thing, anything, that you learned about her today, that you didn't already know."

Dardan paused. "Uh. Well, there was... uh... she..." He trailed off. "Oh, shut up."

Liam laughed. "See? You were hooked the moment she walked in the door. I'll admit, she might be the prettiest girl I've ever seen, but it's not my legacy that's on the line here."

"Yes, well, you got to stand over by the wall, with her _vala_. Who was much less distracting. See? I did notice something besides the lady." This time he took a deeper drink. "You don't think there's anything to worry about, do you?"

"About what?"

"That she told us so little of herself. I mean, mother already gave us the important details, but..."

Liam shrugged as he crunched on another onion. "Some girls don't talk much of themselves. Well, a few girls. Well, before today, I would have said there might be one somewhere. Look, unless there's something in particular you're concerned about, have a drink and thank your good fortune. You'll see her again, no doubt. The countess will want you to meet her at least once more before the ball."

"By all means, let's repeat today's disaster."

"You got her to say yes. Hardly a disaster."

"I meant all that came before it. By the Caretaker, I was nervous."

"Look, you don't have to meet with ladies if you don't want to. You are a grown man."

"Try telling that to my mother."

"Next time you should tell your mother to go stuff herself."

Dardan snorted. "She's determined to get me married off. She's already acting as if I'm deep into a proper courtship."

"Make a good impression on the lady, and maybe you will be."

Dardan just grumbled at that, and took a drink. Clearly he was going to need several more cups of ale. Liam signalled to the serving boy.

With their second round in hand, Liam raised his cup. "To limited responsibility."

"To the Aspect of Courage," Dardan said.

"Don't go all devout on me, Dard," Liam chortled. They clinked their cups together and drank.

Evening turned to night as they drank through more rounds and plowed through baskets of onions. Lamps were lit, the crowd grew, and Liam glanced up to see a familiar face coming toward him. "Gareth!"

The stocky, red-haired man leaned on their table, carrying a basket of fried onions. "Liam Howard, you young bastard," he crowed in a thick voice. His bulbous nose shone red from too many cups of ale. That was typical for Gareth Ainsley, _valo_ to Lord Skender Faroa. Usually a _valo_ helped his drunken master back home after a night at the malthouse, but with Gareth and Skender it was usually the reverse.

"Serving boy now, eh?" Liam cracked, eyeing the basket. "Lord Skender get tired of your nose?"

"He got tired of your sister first," Gareth shot back with a grin. His eyes went to Liam's boothmate. "Dardan, ho there." Dardan mumbled a greeting around a mouthful of onions. "Come and join us?" Gareth asked.

"Don't mind if we do," Liam said, sliding out of the booth. Dardan, surprisingly, followed without objection.

"What's with him? Never seen a lord look so down," Gareth said as they wove through the crowd.

"Dardan's got himself a date for the ball. He senses wedding bells in his future, whether he likes it or not."

"Poor man," said Gareth.

Lord Skender Faroa, heir to the Dukedom of Blackwall, sat alone in another booth. He had long dark hair pulled into a queue, and black eyes with irises so wide the whites were almost invisible. His nose was sharp and his smile always grim. Liam found him unsettling, but he thought the company would be good for Dardan.

At the next table sat two black-coated men, drinking only water. Their eyes scanned the crowd warily. _This duke's son isn't foolish enough to go unprotected, even in the nice part of town._

"Good evening, gents," Skender said, raising his ale.

"Skender," Liam said, sliding in. "How's things up north?"

"Cold." He smiled thinly. His eyes fixed on Dardan. "Why so glum?"

"Lord's in love," Gareth snorted as he shared the onions around.

"Is that so," Skender said, his smile deepening slightly. "Do tell."

Dardan shrugged. "Hardly. The widow who lives next door," he said. "I'm escorting her to the summer ball."

"Are there so few eligible maidens that one must chase old women now?" Skender took the tiniest sip of his own ale.

"She's no crone," Liam put in loudly. "She's of an age with m'lord. Just unlucky to be widowed so young." He gulped his ale. "Anyway, what of you? If you've got a girl half so beautiful to bring to the ball, I'll eat this table."

Skender raised up his left hand. A golden band glittering with iridescent onyx stones encircled his ring finger. "My betrothed, sadly, remains in Blackwall."

Liam coughed on his ale. "The likes of you, getting married. Gareth! I thought a _valo_ was supposed to protect his lord."

"Knives, plots, poisons, that's easy. Protecting a man from himself, that's where it gets tricky." The red-haired _valo_ chuckled, but the eye he cast toward Skender was wary.

"So, Dardan," Skender said. "No doubt you've heard about the regiments his majesty dispatched to the northern passes."

"Of course."

"Where does your house stand on the Vaslander threat?"

Liam glared at Gareth. "Well no wonder."

Gareth at least had the good sense to look embarrassed. "Just doin' as I'm told."

Dardan tapped a finger on his mug. "You know as well as I do what our position has to be. What I'd like to know is why your father's so bent on starting a war."

Skender's eyes narrowed a little. "A fair question." He sipped at his ale again. The cup was still nearly full. _Either he can't hold his liquor... or he prefers to be the only one sober._ It occurred to Liam that there were benefits to being the last man standing.

Skender went on. "I know how you love to study history, Dardan, so you're well aware of how much damage the Vaslanders did to Blackwall in the last war."

Dardan nodded. "I'd think Duke Terilin would want to prevent war, not engage it."

"Any wise man would, but, ah... Do you know how my mother died?"

Gareth was holding very still now, staring down at the table. Liam thought he could see the man biting his tongue.

Dardan shook his head. "I only knew she'd died in the war, along with... others."

Skender took another tiny sip of ale, as casually as anything. "Father moved us all to the south of the dukedom when the Vaslanders invaded. My mother, my sisters, and I were all taken to an old castle in the southern hills, and then again south to Gravensford when the Vaslanders came closer."

"Gravensford? Doesn't the royal family have an estate there?" Liam asked.

"The very same," Skender said. "Many nobles of Blackwall were housed there during the war. My mother, however, felt as strongly about the defense of Blackwall as my father did, and refused to stay long. She left us children in the care of others, and returned north to help my father." His smooth tone never changed, as if he were recounting a day at the shops on King's Street. "By then, we had pushed the Vaslanders back north a ways, and reclaimed the keep at Iceford. Mother saw to the defense and the wounded there, while father led sorties north, to weed out pockets of Vaslanders who still held some towns and villages." His black eyes gleamed in the candlelight, and he paused for a moment. "He returned to find Iceford under attack. Forces spread too thin had let a band of Vaslanders slip through and reach the castle. Somehow they gained entry, and..." Here he paused, his voice showing a little strain for the first time. "Few in the castle survived. Father found my mother in the kitchens. She was still warm." He sipped at his ale again and fell quiet.

No one else spoke, either. Gareth no doubt knew this story already, which explained his grim expression. Liam felt sick.

"So you see," Skender went on after a minute, "my father has quite enough reason to hate Vaslanders, and to want them all dead. He will not risk them reaching his borders again. I find myself compelled to agree." He smiled again. "But this is such a sad topic. Tell me more of this lady of yours," he suggested.

Everyone seemed relieved to change the subject. Dardan spilled everything he knew about Amira, which still wasn't much. Liam found it interesting that the summer ball and the prospect of courtship seemed to unsettle Dardan, but when he spoke about Amira herself, his face lit up.

"And what about your betrothed?" Liam asked Skender, once Dardan had finished. "She couldn't come down for the ball?"

"She preferred to stay in Blackwall," Skender said, but for once Liam thought he detected a hint of irritation in his reply. But so what? Men could talk freely here. Liam took another gulp of ale.

"Well at least tell us something about her," Liam insisted, wiping his mouth. "Dardan told you all about his lady."

Skender pursed his lips. "She's the daughter of Count Ebersbach. A lovely girl."

Liam waited. "And?"

"And that is all I wish to say about her."

Liam snorted. Who did Skender think he was? Liam was already flush from all the ale, and he could feel the heat in his cheeks. "Come on, man, Dardan told you everything _he_ knows about Amira."

Skender's thin smile disappeared completely. "You forget yourself, _valo_."

A palpable chill rose around the table. Gareth, still barely conscious, started in with a drinking song, and Dardan joined in quickly. Liam and Skender had locked eyes, but Liam looked away first. He clenched his hand around the table leg to keep himself from smashing in Skender's face.

He cut himself off about then, to regain some of his wits before they had to stumble home. Several other nobles Dardan or Skender knew stopped by to chat, as Dardan guzzled another three mugs of ale and Liam's fury slowly cooled. How had Skender gotten him so enraged?

When they made to leave, Gareth was snoring face down in a bowl of onions. Skender still had half his first mug left, and nodded slightly as Liam put an arm under Dardan and half-dragged him from the malthouse. Liam was glad to leave those dead black eyes behind.

They stumbled along through the dark, from one pool of lamplight to the next. "Skender wa'n't too happy wit' us, I thin'," Dardan slurred.

"That was a right awful story he told, m'lord," Liam agreed, slipping back into _valo_ formality. He had to take care of his master; that would keep his mind off Skender.

"Urgh," Dardan said, and vomited on the street. Liam danced aside just fast enough to avoid the splash. His lord wiped some spittle away with a sleeve and leaned up against the darkened window of a jeweller's. "Too much ale," he groaned.

"Not enough onions," Liam joked lightly. "They soak up the ale."

Dardan laughed. It was hard to tell in the dark, but Liam thought the night out had served his master well.

"We should get you home, m'lord. You need some proper food." All they'd had since luncheon was ale and onions. Besiana would be irritated they'd missed dinner. _No, wait. She'll be preoccupied with preparing for the ball._ She might let them alone for once.

Liam kept his eyes open as they went home. Even in the affluent, well-lit streets of northern Callaston, nobles still got robbed or stabbed from time to time, but they made it to the manse without further incident. Bertram brought out a tray with broth and baked carrots for Dardan and demanded that he eat. The young lord choked down a few bites before begging off and going upstairs to his rooms. Liam helped him wash and dress for bed. Dardan was already half-asleep when his face hit the pillow.

Liam hoped he'd be able to fall asleep just as easily, but once he was in his own chamber, he felt the rage creeping back upon him. Skender, that arrogant bastard. Where did he get off acting like that in a malthouse? If the man wasn't going to play fair—or at least get drunk—then what in the black spirits was he doing in the place?

Liam tried to calm himself down, but he couldn't. He wrapped his fist in his pillow and slammed it into his mattress a dozen, two dozen times. Only when his arm began to grow sore from the exertion did he collapse onto the floor, breathing hard and curling himself into a ball to keep from lashing out.

He'd let it happen again. When was this going to stop? One of these days he was going to lose control in public, and do something he knew he'd regret. He tried to keep his distance, not let people provoke him.

His father's face flashed before him. Liam crawled onto the bed and drank a sip of water from the glass on his bedside table. He didn't want to think about his father. He wanted no part of the man, and yet he was his father's son, wasn't he?

The rage had drained, leaving a morose numbness behind. He had little to look forward to now; the ball was only a few days away, and Countess Besiana would keep Dardan close. Liam would spend most of his time standing around, watching nobles nattering on. There'd be no more evenings at the malthouse for him, not for a while. _That might be a good thing, if the likes of Skender Faroa's going to be hanging about._

He wondered when Dardan would see Amira next. Everyone would be busy the day before the ball with last-minute preparations and adjustments, but perhaps the day before that, another meet could be arranged. Dardan and Amira would need to spend much more time together before an offer of marriage could even be considered. Liam wondered who they'd present the offer to; he'd heard of no male relatives, no father or uncle or brother or cousin. _Don't put the cart before the horse. Any marriage offer's a long ways off. For all you know, Amira will change her mind at the last minute and skip the ball altogether._

Instead he thought about going down to the servants' quarters to see if any of the girls were still awake. Maybe Paula or Tria would be up for a little roll in the hay. His thoughts drifted, and he found himself thinking about Katin instead. Perhaps the offer of marriage could go to Katin. Yes, Katin would do nicely...

Liam realized he was smiling dreamily at the wall, and scolded himself. _Don't go mooning, idiot. You're twenty-six, you should be past that sort of thing by now. And you've only met the girl once._ Grumpily he turned over and planted his face into the pillow.

He fell asleep hoping to dream of Katin, but instead found himself fleeing through a forest from giant, angry onions who all had the smirking face of Skender Faroa.

### CHAPTER 5

### AMIRA

Amira's stomach fluttered as she stood rigidly in her gown, just out of sight at the top of the stairs. Everything was arranged perfectly: her hair, the dress, her powdered face, and most importantly, her sense that this night would be extraordinary.

Katin paced on the landing, stopping every so often to glare down past the iron banister. Her own dress was fine enough, though of course simple when compared to her lady's. Katin claimed the absurdly large bustle on her dress would keep menfolk from venturing too close to her rear. The thought made Amira giggle.

Katin jerked to a halt and stared at her. "Don't ruin your appearance," she snapped. "Lord Tarian will be here any moment."

"Oh, hush," Amira said, still amused. "Not a hair will be out of place, I assure you."

"I still can't believe you actually accepted."

Amira shrugged as much as she was able, confined as she was in the gown. "It put an end to Count Vondulian and the like pestering me. And besides, it was so pitiful watching Lord Tarian all flustered and falling over himself. I couldn't help it. He's hardly an ogre, anyway."

Katin sighed and muttered something about complications.

Amira ignored it and thought over her own appearance again. True to the little dressmaker's word, Amira's gown had been ready three days prior to the ball. She'd created a silk in shimmering dark green that glinted wherever the light hit it. A long vee of powdery gray silk rose from the hem in front, culminating in a low curve under the swell of her breasts. They only felt slightly squished by the built-in corset. Her décolletage was bare except for a gold cat's-cradle necklace Katin had found somewhere, but lace climbed the sides of the neckline, surging into a froth at each shoulder.

A golden net dotted with emeralds lay woven into her honey-blonde hair, which had taken forever to shape and tease properly. Tendrils of hair snaked down past the emerald pendants hanging from her ears. White silk gloves completed the ensemble. Her hands already sweated within them, but it would be crude to remove them before arriving at the ball.

Now she waited, excitement pounding at her heart. She looked forward to Lord Tarian's reaction when he saw her. With luck, he'd be even more astonished than the first time they met.

They'd gotten to meet a second time, two days ago, for another walk in the garden behind the Tarians' manse. Besiana had tried to keep her distance, but while Amira and Dardan chatted, the countess had crept closer and closer, trying to overhear without being imposing. Eventually Dardan had snapped "Mother!" and after that she had finally left them alone. At least that time, Dardan had managed to string a few coherent sentences together.

Katin continued pacing. Amira sighed at her. "You'll wear a hole in the floor and fall atop Fortino in the kitchen if you keep on like that. What are you so worried about? You'll be with me the whole time."

Katin shook her head, causing her twin looping braids to swing back and forth. "This is not some simple dinner party, Ami—m'lady. The whole of Callaston's nobility will be there. The _king_ will be there. You must be careful."

"I promise not to disrobe in front of everyone," Amira said.

Katin made a moue at her. "I'm more concerned you'll burn down the palace."

Amira pursed her lips. Did Katin have to try to ruin _everything?_ Of course Amira wouldn't use her ember at the ball. Her headaches had completely vanished, and the warm little glow in her mind's eye seemed content to sit and pulse for hours, even if she didn't use it. She'd practiced as much as she could since her return to the city, but with all the preparations for the ball, she just hadn't had much time.

Or much privacy. Not that her servants intruded unduly, but Amira had never realized just how much they were underfoot until she wanted time to herself. It would seem suspicious if she banished them from her presence, so she'd had to make do with late-night experimentation in her bedchamber, the curtains drawn, using a little candle on her night table. Blow it out, push the ember into it until it flared alight, blow it out again. When she pushed the ember out, she could see it as a tiny silver bead, floating in the air, that she could command to move this way or that. Katin couldn't see the bead.

Amira heard quick footsteps down below. "He's here, m'lady!" one of her maids called out—Sara, it sounded like. Amira couldn't see anything from where she stood. Her stomach fluttered again.

Katin gestured impatiently. "Get on with it."

Amira heard the door swing open. "Good evening, m'lord," Sara squeaked. "Don't you look dashing!"

"Thank you," came Dardan's voice. "Is Lady Amira...?"

"She'll be down in a few moments, m'lord," Sara said.

Katin caught Amira's eye. Amira held her hand up, and Katin waited, frowning. _Mustn't seem too eager._ After several heartbeats, she nodded at Katin, who then looked down over the banister. "Lord Tarian," the _vala_ called down. "May I present Lady Amira Estaile."

Amira took a deep breath and stepped forward. She'd been holding still so long, her feet had half fallen asleep, but she managed to avoid stumbling. She came out onto the landing and halted at the top of the stairs.

Lord Dardan Tarian stood below, with his _valo_ Liam lurking behind him. Dardan's expression told all. His jaw dropped even further this time, though he managed to catch himself sooner, and swept off his hat as he bowed deeply. "My lady. You look extraordinary."

"Thank you, my lord," Amira said. "You, as well. 'Dashing' is the word, I believe." Sara blushed to hear her own words out of Amira's mouth.

Well, the girl was right. Black silk trousers, black longtail jacket, over a starched white shirt that buttoned halfway up and split into a vee of gray silk that matched hers in color and shape, if not in size. _We match? How did—ah, Besiana, so clever._ Dardan's mother had no doubt conspired with the dressmaker and Dardan's tailor. A silk cravat that matched the emerald of Amira's dress was stuffed into the top of Dardan's shirt. A northern mastiff, the sigil of House Tarian, was picked out in silver thread on the cravat. Dardan looked every inch a proper lord, and yet at the same time so young, clutching his hat. _I wonder if I seem so young._

She made a quick prayer to the Aspect of Courage and started down the stairs. Katin appeared at her elbow, ready to make a grab if Amira tripped, but she made the descent without incident.

Dardan reached up and took her hand, bowing over it and boldly planting a quick kiss on her glove. "The coach is waiting without, my lady. If you are ready?" Dardan's smile held, but it could not hide his nervousness.

Sara brought forth a fringed green evening shawl, but Dardan said, "If I may," and took it from her, gently draping it around Amira's shoulders. The party trooped outside into the twilight.

Compared to Huffman's simple coach, the one that sat outside was a gaudy colossus. It was easily twice as long; painted in crimson and gold, the seats padded with crimson silk pillows, and drawn by a team of four white horses with silver plumes fastened to their foreheads. Even the wheels were gilded. The driver, an old white-haired man with gnarled fingers, wore a crisp red coat and white breeches. Clearly the Tarians had spared no expense for the trip to the ball.

In moments they were en route. The coach even rode over the cobblestones more gently than Huffman's had. Amira realized belatedly that Countess Besiana must have taken a separate coach. _Thank Sacrifice._

Dardan made an effort at small talk as they rode. So far he had been pleasant enough company; that is, when he managed to actually get some words out. He apologized in advance for his poor skill at dancing. Even beneath his nervousness, Amira could see that he was full of himself, as all young men were, and possessed of some wit and charm. He was not particularly handsome, but not repulsive either. She'd rejected prettier men. So why hadn't she rejected him?

Her stomach simply would not sit still. It was the ball that had her so excited, not Dardan. The royal ball marking the first day of summer was the social highlight of the whole year, and every noble in Garova was invited. Along with, so the stories went, entertainments of all kinds: jugglers, singers, dancers, magicians, tricksters, menageries from far-off lands, and more. Not to mention the food, a panoply of dishes from a dozen nations, lined up on silk-draped serving tables a hundred feet long.

Dardan was recounting a fire-breather he'd seen at a previous ball, when Liam interrupted. "We've arrived, m'lord."

Huge mirrored stand-lamps stood in the Great Square before the palace, casting an amber glow up the wall. Long scarlet banners patterned with golden flames had been hung down from the battlements. The tremendous iron gate of the palace Elibarran stood wide open, a line of coaches creeping through it.

"A line," Dardan grumbled. "I hate waiting."

"M'lord hates waiting," Liam agreed. Dardan shifted in his seat, accidentally elbowing Liam in the ribs. Liam chuckled quietly. Amira watched, amused. _They get along well. That is a good sign._

The coach trundled forward, stopped, moved again. After a few minutes they finally got through the gate and into the coachyard. Amira could see a long red carpet that led away through a colonnade. Countess Besiana had tried to explain the layout of the palace to her, but it had been a futile effort. Maybe if she had a map...

She could see nobles proceeding up the carpet, some arm in arm, others holding hands in the formal manner, their _valai_ trailing along. Amira's pulse quickened as their turn to disembark approached.

Finally the coach rolled to a stop, and a liveried footman opened the door, revealing a set of permanent stone steps, the red carpet snaking right up them to the top. _Wonderful. More stairs._ Dardan gave her a hand down, at least.

Faint music drifted to her ears, and she smelled something warm and rich and sweet and tangy all confused together. Her stomach growled, but thankfully no one seemed to hear it. She'd been too busy all afternoon to eat.

The footman, dressed in the royal purple and blue of House Relindos, bowed crisply before Dardan, who gave him their names. The footman gestured up the carpet. "M'lord, m'lady, please follow me."

They passed through through the colonnade and under another iron portcullis. Beyond it lay the foreyard, a broad, simple garden decorated along its edges with yet more slender oil lamps burning bright. The red carpet continued through the center of the garden, through another archway and out of sight. But the foreyard was already packed with people, all of them servants by their look. Several musicians plucked at strings in one corner of the yard.

The footman paused. "M'lord, m'lady, your _valai_ may take their pleasure here."

Amira started. Had Besiana mentioned this? Katin looked alarmed. "But what if m'lady needs me?" she said.

The footman raised an eyebrow. "There will be servants at the ball to meet your lady's every need."

Amira felt awful that Katin wouldn't get to see the ball, but there was nothing for it. "I'll be fine, dear," she said, pasting on a smile. Katin's glanced at Amira's forehead for a moment. "I'll be fine," Amira repeated firmly.

The footman cleared his throat a little and took a tentative step into the foreyard. "M'lady, if you would..." His eyes flicked toward another couple rapidly approaching behind them.

Katin hesitated another moment, then pursed her lips and turned to go. She stopped short to find Liam holding his arm out for her. Katin stared at it like it was a viper, but then placed her hand on it, and rigidly followed him into the crowd of _valai_.

The footman led Amira and Dardan onward. They passed through a hall strung with tapestries, and another with windows overlooking the foreyard, and on and on, until finally they came to a doorway framed by thick velvet curtains. As they approached it, the sounds of revelry grew, along with Amira's excitement.

The royal herald waited there, an old man with thinning gray hair and a deeply lined face. Beyond him, Amira glimpsed what must be the grand ballroom. Her pulse pounded.

The footman whispered to the herald, then took Dardan's hat and Amira's shawl and strode quickly back the way they'd come.

The herald turned to face the room beyond. "Lord Dardan Tarian of Hedenham, and Lady Amira Estaile." His voice cut through the noise, and Amira stepped into a dream.

Her entire manse and gardens could easily have fit inside the ballroom. The whole room shone gold, with gilded marble columns every ten feet along the edge. A forest of crystal chandeliers hung above, hundreds of candles banishing all shadows. A balcony encircled the upper part of the room, with string quartets perched at either end. The hubbub was so loud that Amira could hardly hear what they were playing.

Nobles stood clustered in small groups around the perimeter. The middle was given over to dancing, and a few couples were so engaged at the moment. The ball had only just begun; the formal dances would come later, and Amira would not miss that for the world, not even if Dardan had nine left feet.

Those closest to the entryway turned to watch Amira and Dardan descend the short steps into the ballroom. Amira recognized a few of the nobles, but most were strangers. The men, and not a few of the women, stared at her with envy. There were also a few resentful looks, all from ladies. No countess or duchess would appreciate a lesser lady drawing her husband's attention. But Amira was thrilled to see the men's jaws go slack. She glanced up at Dardan, and was even further pleased to find him gazing around defiantly, puffing out his chest as if to ward off challengers.

Her reverie was shattered by a resounding squeak. Countess Besiana approached at speed, knifing through the sea of nobles before her. The rotund old woman beamed with pride at her son. "My boy! You've arrived at last. Oh, my dear, don't you look spectacular," she added to Amira, taking her hands for a moment. "Let me show you around."

Amira hoped that "show you around" meant "show you to the food," but alas she spent a good half hour being paraded before barons, counts, dukes, their wives, their sons, their elderly dowager mothers. She met Duke Albrecht Visail, Countess Kiria Harnum, Count Ivian Rambul and the great old Duke Fortarin Eltasi of Seawatch. The middle-aged Duke Terilin Faroa was so enchanted with her beauty and spoke with her for so long that his much younger wife eventually dragged him away by force, her cheeks red with fury.

Amira was introduced to Duke Loram Arkhail, Dardan's liege lord, who bowed graciously and stroked his beard while eyeing Amira from head to toe. She met Grand High Steward Aerandin—head of the Niderium, the _Epirro Ulishim_ himself—whom Besiana traded jests with; Lord Yarvin; Lord Lairnos; Duchess Anteria; and Countess Isilian, the last of whom Amira had met before. She was even introduced to a Warden of Aendavar, a young man named Mason Iris whose hair had already gone white, and who wore gleaming silvered armor beneath a black cloak. For a wonder, he seemed more interested in observing the crowd than in gawking at Amira. Just as well; Wardens were reputedly fierce swordsmen, and it unnerved Amira a little to think of his attention turned on her.

She lost track of the names within minutes and even the faces and gowns and suits all began to blur together. After scores of introductions, Amira had to interrupt Besiana. "My lady countess, I am most grateful that you have introduced me to so many remarkable people, but I confess that I have not eaten since luncheon and am growing a little light-headed."

"Oh, my dear! Let us away outside, and I will show you. All the best entertainments and delicacies are out in the gardens, of course." She drew them through the crowd to a smaller antechamber that was still thrice the size of the Tarians' sitting room. Along its walls stood tables absolutely stuffed with food: fowl and pork, beef and rabbit, and other meats she could not identify, drowning in brown sauces and red sauces and white sauces, covered in honey and jelly, and an entire suckling pig that had been prepared solely for use as a decoration. There were breads and cheeses, melons and berries, and curious little pink-and-white crescents she had never seen before arranged around glass bowls of lumpy red sauce.

And she didn't get to eat any of it, because as soon as she started to veer toward the servants who waited by the stacks of empty plates, Besiana tugged on her sleeve. "No, no, my dear, this is all local fare. Garovan cuisine. The _interesting_ dishes are outside." Amira gazed wistfully at the food as they passed, but let Besiana guide her onward.

Dardan, at least, did not seem astonished or even impressed by any of it. He noticed Amira was looking at him, and smiled a little. "It's a bit much, isn't it?"

Amira realized she must look a gawking fool, and tried to moderate her expression. "This does not stir you, my lord?"

Dardan looked alarmed, as if he might have said the wrong thing. "Ah, no, I don't mean—that is, it's certainly impressive. I just, ah..."

"You didn't even want to be here," she teased.

His mouth worked for a moment, and then he glanced at his mother, who bulled on ahead. "We had better catch up."

They came out into the evening, at the top of an immense stone staircase. At its foot sat the Queen's Courtyard, though in truth it was more like a plaza, a smaller replica of the Great Square outside Elibarran's gate. Gardens and hedges receded into the dimness beyond, but there were oil lamps aplenty casting light over the central area.

Dozens more nobles milled about here, with an air of excitement the ballroom had lacked. Amira was startled to see a man with a huge, drooping moustache throwing flaming torches into the air, and snatching them before they hit the ground, laughing gaily all the while. A group of shirtless, muscular tumblers wearing bright green and red trousers leapt and rolled and flung one another overhead, to the amusement of a flock of tittering ladies. Amira saw a semicircle of golden cages arranged at the bottom of the stair, each bearing some exotic animal. One of them was an enormous tan-haired cat, with black stripes and fierce fangs, pacing back and forth. Its gold eyes glinted at her. Beside it, a large, clumsy green bird stretched out fantastically wide wings, and squawked and bit at its cage with its wickedly hooked beak.

Along one edge of the courtyard were yet more tables with food piled on them. The nobles here seemed to be carrying their own plates, handing them to be filled by the servants standing beside each table. Besiana showed Amira and Dardan to a table stacked high with clean, empty plates. "It's so delightfully common fetching your own food!" Besiana squeaked. Amira forced herself to laugh.

Dardan interposed himself between his mother and Amira, and began explaining how the crown sent across borders and seas for fantastic dishes from foreign lands. He seemed relieved to have something to do. Amira held her tongue and nodded politely. "Each table represents the cuisine of one nation," Dardan said. "It's considered vulgar, but I'm actually quite partial to Vaslander food."

Amira chuckled. Liking _anything_ having to do with Vasland would be frowned upon by virtually everyone. Perhaps the Vaslander table was a test, to see who would dare eat from it.

The first table held the cuisine of Liahn, a nation across the ocean to the east. There was a huge steaming pot of tiny white grains, and several large bowls of various meats and vegetables arranged around it. The practice seemed to be to heap the grains, which stuck together in a mass, onto one's plate, and then pile meat and vegetables on top. Amira gamely took a small portion. It was heavily spiced, and the smell alone made her eyes water. For some reason this reminded her of Katin, and she wondered for a moment how her _vala_ was getting along.

The next table was from Vasland. There were skewers of plump brown sausages and pink pickled turnips. The sausages smelled delicious and the turnips vile. Dardan boldly took several of each, and Amira agreed to try some. The next table, and the next, and the next all contained strange delicacies, and Amira's plate was soon overloaded.

They retired to tall tables draped in silk, arranged in the center of the courtyard. Dardan had brought two entire plates heaped high. _Is he really going to eat all that?_ And he did, rapidly churning through both plates and going back for seconds. Some women might be put off by such gluttony, but Amira found it amusing. Why not gorge oneself at the crown's expense?

Amira restrained herself from wolfing down her own meal, but it was delicious. Most of it. The tiny grilled bird's eggs—she'd already forgotten which table they were from—tasted foul, and she hid the remainder under some of the sticky white grains. There was wine aplenty; she found herself a little tipsy after a few glasses. She knew she could tolerate a lot more, but she didn't want to embarrass poor Dardan by out-drinking him.

She watched the fire juggler again, and there was a bard, a real live bard brought over from Eliband. This was a rare treat; they were master singers and storytellers, who trained for years at some great academy across the sea, and put Garovan minstrels to shame. This one sang lengthy, ribald songs, nearly without pausing for breath, and changing the words to mock any noble who ventured too close, much to their delight.

A balding, dark-skinned man wearing a glittering red robe appeared at one point, casting sparkling flames into the air seemingly from his fingertips. Amira wondered for a moment if he had the ember like she did, but his fires were just a conjurer's trick. A green-eyed woman with hair down to her knees and skin painted gold, wearing little but sheer silk, whipped and spun a long tendril of multicolored fabric in dizzying patterns. All the menfolk watched her with interest. Even Dardan, until he saw Amira looking at him. His cheeks flushed and he turned his back on the dancer.

When they finished eating and watching the singers and dancers and magicians, Dardan worked up his courage and haltingly invited her back to the ballroom for dancing. She accepted gladly and let him lead on, her toes and fingertips tingling with excitement.

The formal dances had already begun when they arrived, and they squeezed in. Amira had only learned a little of the formal court dances, but the rest wasn't too hard to pick up. She spun and twirled between numerous partners, losing sight of Dardan before suddenly colliding with him again. He gritted his teeth in concentration and moved stiffly—so much for the hope that he might be a brilliant dance partner—but Amira found the whole thing delightful anyway, as she twirled beneath the glittering chandeliers.

Later dances proved more complicated; Amira had to apologize several times for stepping on feet. She didn't want to stop, but soon she took pity on her victims and guided Dardan to the edge of the room.

"That was exhilarating," Amira remarked, catching her breath.

"Dancing is not normally my favored pastime, as I'm sure was obvious. But I must admit, I did enjoy it." Dardan paused; he'd had a moment of confidence there, Amira saw, but it faded as he looked at her again. "Um... would you—perhaps a separate dance?"

They found a section of the ballroom away from the long paired lines of the formal dances, where couples moved about with no order at all. This time Amira led the way, and soon she and Dardan held one another, moving slowly with the music that drifted down from above.

_This_ was what she'd dreamed of. The golden room, the rich attire, and the sweet melodies all conspired to intoxicate her. The wine had helped, too, but this was a feeling far beyond simple inebriation. She sent countless tiny prayers to the Aspect of Joy as she and Dardan danced.

The magic of it was interrupted only when someone bumped roughly into them. Another young man, his hair a bit mussed, eyes glazed and face flush from too much wine, barely kept his balance as he ricocheted off Dardan. He turned to glare at Amira's partner. "Watch yourself, man!" he called out, in much too harsh a tone. His own partner, a pale young lady in blue, looked mortified.

"My apologies," Dardan said curtly. He bowed slightly, first to the other lady and then to the man who'd jostled him.

The drunken young lord glowered, his stillness standing out amidst the scores of whirling couples around him. The pale lady tugged at his hand, and he resentfully turned away. "Cowardly lout," he said, much too loudly to be anything but a deliberate insult.

Dardan did not go red, as Amira might have expected a young man to do. He merely rolled his eyes, took Amira's hand, and led her to another part of the floor, where they resumed dancing. "My apologies, my lady, for interrupting the dance."

"Not at all," she said. Dardan suddenly looked different; less like a chore to be tolerated, and more like—

A voice rang out. She lifted her eyes to see the royal herald standing on the balcony, the better to be seen by everyone in the ballroom. "His majesty the king awaits in the throne room."

"The receiving line," Dardan muttered, his face falling as they came to a stop. He had been enjoying himself, perhaps unconsciously mirroring Amira's rapture. But now duty intruded, and that suddenly dampened his mood. It made Amira hate the herald.

Everyone began to scurry for the exit. "Why such a rush?" Amira asked.

"The line lengthens quickly," Dardan said, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow and offering his arm. "Waiting an hour just to bow before the king for five seconds is not my idea of time well spent."

"Why not wait until later, when the line has dwindled a bit?" she asked, but when Dardan frowned at her, she suffered a moment's chagrin. What had she said wrong?

Dardan's mouth worked for a moment, and he flushed. "I apologize. I forget that you have not—that I take these customs for granted." He moved briskly, joining them to the stream of nobles. Amira had to skitter along to keep up; she could not take long strides in this gown. "I would gladly wait as you suggest, but those who appear near the end of the line are looked upon unfavorably."

The throne room was up another long staircase and past several more halls. Amira was quite turned around by the time they arrived. Luck was not wholly against them; there were only a few dozen nobles ahead of them in the line by the time they joined it.

Elibarran's royal throne room was far less ornate than Amira had imagined it might be. The throne itself was a massive chair said to have been carved as a single piece from the bole of a great oak, polished to a high sheen. Its back was carved to appear as woven branches, intertwining high. The rest of the room was panelled in a similarly dark wood, with high windows all along one wall, and painted portraits of former kings hanging along the other. Aside from that, and a row of low-backed chairs beneath the portraits, there was little decoration.

Yet the room spoke of power, and iron will. In contrast to the frivolous opulence of the ballroom, this was a place where ruling was done. Amira could imagine the intimidation one would feel when brought before the dais. She already felt nervous, and she was still fifty feet back in the line.

And there sat the king, dressed splendidly in royal purple and blue, his surcoat showing the royal arms upon his chest, his heavy golden crown resting atop light brown hair flecked with gray. His Majesty, Viktor II of the Royal House of Relindos, King of Garova, Defender of its People, Protector of the Realm, and numerous other titles besides. His beard was still mostly brown, his eyes lidded as he watched the nobles pass. He did not look old, just... worn.

The woman in a dark blue gown who sat by his side, on a smaller throne, must be Queen Alise. She smiled gently, kindness in her large brown eyes, nodding graciously at each lord or lady as they bowed before the dais. A silver circlet sat atop her golden curls. To the king's other side stood a large young man, of an age with Amira, with blue eyes and a thin golden circlet resting upon his chestnut hair. His hands were clasped behind his back and his mouth was set in a severe line. He nodded curtly at each noble. Prince Edon, the king's eldest son and heir apparent to the throne of Garova.

A willowy, very pretty young girl, wearing a demurely cut but bright red gown, stood next to the queen. She smiled brightly at everyone who passed, making some jest here or there, giving some life to the whole tedious undertaking. _That must be the king's elder daughter, Taya._ Amira could see why she was so popular.

The other royal children, Karina and Luka, were not of age, and so were not present. Little Prince Luka would certainly never tolerate hours of standing and greeting hundreds of boring grown-ups. Lucky him, he had years yet before he had to endure such pleasures.

The royal servants kept the line moving in efficient routine. The herald, who seemed to have an endless memory for names, introduced each noble as they bowed or curtseyed or knelt as they were able. "My liege" or "Sire" or "Your majesty" drifted back to Amira's ears time and again.

Soon enough it was Dardan's turn. He gave her hand a comforting squeeze before stepping forward to kneel alone.

"Lord Dardan Tarian of Hedenham," the herald intoned.

Dardan bowed his head deeply. "Your majesty. I regret that my father the count is not present, but matters detain him in Hedenham."

"Yes, of course," the king muttered. Dardan took the hint and moved on, stopping a few yards away to wait for Amira.

She stepped forward, heart fluttering. "Lady Amira Estaile," the herald said. Amira bowed her head and curtseyed, though with her starched petticoats and tight corset, she simply lowered three inches for a moment. As she rose, she looked up at Prince Edon and was startled to see a line of blazing silver light erupt from the side of his head.

He stood in profile, speaking quietly to some old knight standing beside him. The silver line seemed to run from above Edon's ear up to the top of his scalp, even visible through his circlet. It pulsed brightly, as if someone had dripped molten silver on him. But he did not seem to be in any distress, and nobody around him was panicking.

Yet Amira could not move. She stared, until the prince faced her and caught her gawking. He frowned at her. The silver light had disappeared the instant he turned his head.

"M'lady," Dardan hissed at her. Amira realized she'd been standing there far too long, and the nobles next in line were glaring. The herald made little shooing motions with his hand, and now the royals were all watching her curiously. Amira stepped away quickly, saying, "Your majesty, your highnesses."

As Dardan took her arm to lead her from the room, she glanced back at Prince Edon. He stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open, one hand half-raised, as if he'd seen something astounding in her as well. _Something like silver light._

### CHAPTER 6

### KATIN

_Damn that careless girl. Why didn't she tell me I'd be separated from her all evening?_ Katin rubbed her hands together. The evening air had cooled quickly and she'd begun to wish she'd brought a shawl of her own. The best warmth to be had out here in the foreyard was beneath the tall lamps along the yard's outer walls, but the space around them was already clogged with people.

The foreyard had no fire-eaters, no jugglers, no fantastic foreign delicacies. Just hundreds of idle _valai_ , supping on warm stew and bread from wooden bowls. At least there was the small group of musicians to entertain them, but after the third go-round of "Summer Starlight" Katin began to consider beating them to death with their own fiddles.

As in the song, the stars twinkled brightly; there was no moon tonight. The low hum of conversation droned all around her. She turned a little to glance at Liam, who had shadowed her the whole evening as she drifted around the yard.

Occasionally she spotted _valai_ she had met before, while attending Amira at some masque or dinner party, but she was too worried about Amira to strike up conversation. Even with Liam. _He_ seemed to know quite a few of the _valai_ , but stuck close to Katin anyway.

At least he was easy on the eyes; that was all she could say in his favor. Handsome men had an innate arrogance, and Katin was suspicious of him, even though they'd barely shared a hundred words since they met.

He caught her gaze and smiled. She reflexively smiled back, then yanked her eyes away and increased her pace. He had tried to make conversation a few times, but she'd merely hummed noncommittally. She wished there were some other way to distract herself here.

But there was none. The wine they were served was watered down, making it difficult to get drunk, though a few _valai_ had managed. The palace servants overseeing these so-called festivities paid close attention to those who grew unruly, and escorted the offenders out before anything untoward could happen. Katin would have gladly watched dogs fight over a bone.

Liam startled her when he came around to look squarely in her eyes. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Quite." When he held his gaze on her, she glared back. "Don't stare."

"My apologies. You looked a little... extremely annoyed."

She almost snapped at him, but realized that would be playing right into his hands. Her throat felt dry, so she instead asked him if he would be so kind as to fetch her a cup of wine. He nodded and departed at once.

As soon as his back was turned, Katin darted between two groups of _valai_ and sat on a stone bench partly hidden behind a hedge. Maybe he'd take the hint and leave her alone. But no; she clenched her jaw when he found her only a few moments later. "Ah, here you are," he said, not realizing she'd tried to ditch him—or perhaps pretending.

Katin pursed her lips and took the wine. "Thank you."

"It seems one must move mountains to wrench a few kind words from you," Liam said. His voice was light, and his eyes twinkled.

"Do not presume to know me," Katin said.

"I presume no such thing. I merely speak from experience." He glanced down at the bench beside her. "May I?"

She wanted to tell him to go away, but could not bring herself to be quite so rude. She nodded, and he sat, out of arm's reach. "I feel that I must apologize, Miss Berisha. I seem to have done something to displease you, though I haven't the slightest notion what that might be. I suppose I ought to apologize for that as well."

"I am merely worried about my lady," Katin lied. Well, she _was_ worried about Amira, if not only that. "And about your master's intentions."

"Intentions? What intentions? He was browbeat into this by his mother. I'd be amazed if your lady ever wanted to see him again after tonight. She'll be lucky if he doesn't trample her feet in the ballroom."

"You speak so poorly of your master for one who presumably received training on how to act as a _valo_."

Liam grinned. "The whole city already knows what an awful dancer he is. I spill no secrets of his, I assure you."

"Well it is poor form to speak ill of your master. Tell me about yourself. Where are you from?"

Katin hoped he'd take the bait, and he did. Men loved to talk about themselves, and Liam was no exception. "Hedenham County, born and bred," he began. "I've been in m'lord's service, oh, four years now. I was in his father's house guard before that, but his lordship the count picked me to be his son's _valo_ when he came of age, and sent me off for training. My father's a wool merchant. I had the best tutors. No deprivations to speak of."

"How did the son of a merchant become a guardsman?"

"I, um... ran away to join the king's army when I was fourteen."

Katin laughed, then caught herself. It would not do to let him think she found him amusing. Which she most definitely did not.

"Hardly an unfair response," Liam admitted. "My father was significantly less amused when he found out."

"I thought the royal army only took men of age?"

"Indeed, but I was big enough at fourteen to pass for sixteen, so they were fooled and let me in. Although in hindsight I suspect they knew better, and simply chose not to turn away a healthy young volunteer. I served for two years before my father tracked me down. The beating he gave me..." He shook his head. "Count Tarian knew my family, and heard of my story. He offered to train me as a guardsman, a fate which my father took to be some sort of punishment." His grin gave the lie to that.

"But not you, I take it." Katin realized she was actually interested in his story, and no longer simply aimed to fill the silence. _Damn it. When will Amira come out of that accursed palace?_

"No. Father assumed I'd follow him into the wool trade, but... numbers, finance, all that, I can't stand it. I can _do_ it, I just don't like it. The chance to use a sword, that's what my blood called out for." He waved imaginary steel, then let his arm drop. "Alas, guards at a country manor have much in the way of idle time, and I ended up helping Lord Dardan with his studies. We grew attached, and when he came of age, his father made me his _valo_."

"Does a _valo_ get into more fights than a guard?"

"Many fewer," Liam said. "Although I do eat better."

"You try so hard to amuse."

"You're smiling," Liam shot back, with his own grin for accompaniment.

Katin realized he was right, and wiped the grin from her face. "Well. A remarkable story."

"Remarkable?" he laughed. "Hardly. There are a thousand more like it. Where are you from, that such a story would be considered remarkable?"

This irritated her. "Somewhere just as interesting as Hedenham County," she said defensively.

"That would be no great trick," Liam replied, leaning toward her just a little. "And where would that be?"

She sniffed. "I do not wish to blather about my past." _Nor will you ever learn about it._

"Ah, so you wrest my life's story from me with your feminine wiles, and leave me out in the cold." He shivered.

"I did not—!" She caught herself, feeling hot around the neck. She raised her cup to drink again, and found it empty. Maybe the wine wasn't watered down quite as much as she'd thought. "You are rude, Mister Howard," she said.

"I consider a day wasted if I haven't offended a lady by its end."

"M'lady is the lady. I'm just a _vala_." She looked at him again. He seemed to be enjoying this. She wondered if he could take such jibes as he handed out. "Does it not reflect poorly on your lord to have such a lout for his _valo_?"

"It's to balance m'lord's sobriety. Too much dutiful restraint will kill a man just as surely as a dagger." Suddenly he frowned, as if he'd gone a step too far.

"So you _can_ stop talking," she said. "I wouldn't have thought it possible."

"The company of an intriguing lady loosens my tongue," he admitted, smiling again. It _was_ a lovely smile. Too lovely.

"There you go, calling me a lady again. I see your game, sir. I suppose next you'll compare my beauty to that of a swan."

He touched her hand. When had he crept so close? "Beauty is weak coin," he said softly. "I'll take interesting over beautiful any day."

She jerked her hand away and laughed. "Do such lines usually work?"

His mouth worked soundlessly. Clearly he hadn't expected _that_ response—

A voice calling out caught her attention. After a moment she recognized her name: _Katin! Katin!_ shouted over and over. Liam noticed as well, and they both stood up at once, glancing about.

At the palace door stood Amira, with Lord Dardan at her shoulder. Amira searched the crowd, clearly trying to find them. "Katin!" she shouted again.

Katin gathered up her skirts and rushed toward her lady. _Something is wrong, something is terribly wrong._ There had been a warm glow around Katin, which she only realized when it fell away to let the darkness close in again. _Please don't let her have used that terrifying power of hers..._

She pushed through a group of half-drunk _valai_ , one of whom tried to grope at her as she passed. She heard a slap, and glanced back to see the man tumble to the ground, with Liam's hand raised above him. He stopped for a moment, giving the reprobate a glare that froze him halfway to his feet, then continued on, taking Katin's arm. She wanted to jerk away but could not make herself do it.

Dardan saw them first and pointed them out to Amira. Moments later they came within reach. "M'lady, are you all right?" Katin asked, a little breathless from rushing across the foreyard.

"Lady Amira is feeling, uh, unwell, I believe," Dardan offered. He looked confused and a little flushed himself.

Amira stepped forward, taking Katin's hand. "I feel _very warm_ ," she said, and Katin did not miss the emphasis.

"Oh dear!" She put a hand up to Amira's forehead. "Oh dear, we must get you home at once. M'lord, forgive me, but would you please summon the coach?"

Dardan looked further confused, but nodded and moved off. Liam hesitated, his eyes on Katin, then followed his master.

As soon as they were beyond earshot, Amira grabbed Katin's arm and pulled her to a nook beside the archway. "Something happened in the throne room. It was Prince Edon. He had... I don't know, some sort of light coming from his head."

Katin stared. "From his _head_? I don't suppose you confused the prince with a stand-lamp..." She was relieved that Liam was gone for the moment. Something about him unnerved her. She shook it off. "Was there trouble? A fight, or something?"

"No, no. We were in the receiving line, and when my turn came, I looked at Edon, standing next to his father. There was a line of silver light glowing along the side of his head." She traced a finger down to her ear. "Then he looked at me, and... I think he saw the same thing in me."

Katin glanced around, checking that no one had come near. "Are you certain he was not just taken by your looks? I've seen that reaction in men before. Dardan nearly fell over when you met."

Amira shook her head frantically. "This was different. He had turned aside to speak with someone, and that's when I saw the light. And when we left the throne room, he looked at me, and—" She cut herself off when she saw Liam trotting up.

"M'lady, the coach awaits."

Their old gray driver stood waiting at the stone steps. Katin helped Amira into the coach, but when Dardan made to follow, she held up a hand. "M'lord, I beg of you, stay and enjoy the ball. It is likely no more than a woman's troubles." She caught Liam's eye, hoping he'd get the message.

Dardan hesitated, and Liam stepped into the gap. "M'lord, she will be all right."

His master furrowed his brow, but nodded. "My lady, I will visit on the morrow to see that you are well," he called out to Amira. Then he turned to the driver. "Take them to her manse, then return here."

From within the cabin, Katin could not see the driver, but felt the coach shake a little as he shifted his weight. "Ah, yes, m'lord," came his voice. "But, ah, the custom was for a single round trip..."

Dardan smacked his hat against the side of the couch and shouted. "You will be properly paid, fool! Now go!" The old driver needed no more encouragement. He whipped the horses, and the coach lurched into motion.

Amira had slouched against the back wall of the cabin, feigning distress. Once they were out of sight, she sat up straighter. "I feel bad for ruining his evening. He'd finally started to enjoy himself."

"Amira! The prince?" How could she even think about Dardan at a time like this?

"Calm down, there's no need to panic." Amira reached up and started untangling the golden net from her hair.

"Tell me everything that happened. Quietly," Katin added. "The driver can likely overhear."

Amira told the tale of her evening: the ballroom, the courtyard, entertainments and cuisines from faraway lands, dancing in the ballroom... Katin tried hard to retain her focus, but she felt envy creeping in.

When Amira described the throne room and the receiving line, Katin interrupted to ask for details, but Amira shrugged. "I don't really remember. There were dozens of people about, but once I saw that light... It's all a blur." She snorted. "They say the prince is dim, but he seemed bright enough to me." The girl seemed overly pleased by her jest. Katin wanted to slap her.

Instead she sat back and thought. This must be related to Amira's ember, but how? Did Edon have it too? "Show me again where you saw the light."

Amira turned her head and pointed. Katin leaned in close, pulling at Amira's hair to see better. Amira squeaked and slapped her hand away. "Stop that!"

"We must know if there's any visible sign of it!"

"Well at least wait until we arrive home. My hair is in enough disarray as it is. The servants will gossip."

"They'll already gossip, with you coming home so early." The ball often lasted till dawn, Countess Besiana had said. But Amira glared at her, so Katin let her be.

Coach and horse traffic was virtually nonexistent this late, but crowds of men and women roamed the streets, dancing and drinking and singing. The commoners made their own ball on summer's eve, a ragtag celebration that spread through much of the city. Last year, not yet nobles, Amira and Valmir had taken all their servants out onto Willbury Street and set up a table with food and refreshments for the neighbors. Katin had fallen asleep on the steps of their manse some time after midnight, and had awoken later to find Amira still dancing and smiling and laughing.

Tonight, the crowds slowed the coach some, but before terribly long they arrived home. Katin rushed Amira inside, declaring that her lady was feeling quite ill and taking her up to her bedchamber at once. She called for broth and bread and commanded the other servants to keep their voices down, so as not to disquiet their mistress.

Once alone, she helped Amira out of her gown and into nightclothes, and then examined her scalp. She could see nothing unusual at all beneath Amira's hair. If there was something amiss, it was invisible to her.

Sara brought in a covered tray bearing warm soup and bread for Katin and Amira both, although Amira protested that she was still full from the delicacies at the ball. Katin's envy sprouted fresh thorns at that.

"We should leave," Katin said once Sara was gone.

"Returning to the ball would seem very odd," Amira said.

"Be serious. I mean leave the city."

"What? Why?"

"If you aren't simply going mad, then Prince Edon likely saw in you what you saw in him. He does not have a reputation for gentleness. What if he comes here, looking for you?"

"What, show up on our doorstep with a regiment of royal soldiers?" Amira laughed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I am not being ridiculous! Do you think these walls will protect you if the royal family decides you're some kind of threat? Do you think the king will hesitate to strip your peerage, if they investigate you and your true history is uncovered?"

Amira blanched. "He can't do that. Peerage is irrevocable."

"Unless obtained by deceit." Katin forced her voice into a harsh whisper. This discussion could _not_ go beyond the walls of this room. "Do you think anyone would leap to your defense, if it were discovered that you are the daughter of a madam, with a whore for a _vala_?"

"Stop it! Why are you trying to frighten me?" Amira's face was red and she seemed close to tears.

"Because this childishness is going to get us killed. After they take your title we'll be lucky if they don't hang us both!"

Amira trembled. But Katin had to make her understand. The shield of her title, of Valmir's wealth, was nothing but paper and wind.

She opened her mouth to speak again, but Amira interrupted. "Go to bed. I have no more need of you tonight." Her voice was acid.

"Amira—"

"Go," Amira repeated, and turned her back.

Katin felt chagrin settle upon her. "Yes, m'lady," she whispered. She waited a handful of heartbeats, but Amira did not say anything. Katin went off to her own cell, feeling a hollow in the pit of her stomach.

She lay awake in the darkness for a long time, fearing that their safety had come to an end.

### CHAPTER 7

### DARDAN

Dardan paced from one end of the sitting room to the other. Thirteen steps each way. Across, and back. He half expected to see a rut worn into the carpet.

Liam stood by the door, opposite one of Amira's other servants, Sara or something. The girl seemed to quake with fright every time Dardan came near. "More tea, m'lord?" she squeaked.

"I don't want any blasted tea, I want to see Lady Amira!" he barked at her. The girl blanched and scurried out the door, lukewarm tea almost splashing out of the pot she carried.

Liam, for once, held his jests. Dardan was in a truly foul mood. Amira's early departure from the ball had been disappointing enough, but then he'd had to endure taunting from some other lordlings once he'd returned without her. Skender Faroa had been there, naturally, and while he hadn't said anything, his smirk told all. Dardan had burned with embarrassment and forced himself to walk away from the duke's son.

He'd never wanted to go to the ball anyway, and with Amira gone, he'd had no reason to hang about. He made his excuses to his mother, but extricating himself from the party took longer than he'd hoped: a number of noble matrons had noticed his companion's departure, and must have thought there'd been a falling out. They'd descended upon him with invitations to breakfasts, luncheons, dinner parties. He'd recklessly accepted any number of them in order to escape. Now he'd have to spend another week or more in this appalling city.

At home, he'd found he couldn't sleep. He sat at his window, staring across at the drawn curtains of Amira's manse. He'd had to admit to himself that he had enjoyed Amira's company, but it was muted by his resentment at being abandoned. After a while he'd gone to bed and drifted into fitful sleep.

Morning had come too soon, after dreams of running through a field with hundreds of matrons chasing after him, all carrying their naked daughters on their shoulders. It should have been erotic, but within the dream he'd been terrified.

Etiquette demanded that he call on Amira to see if she was well, even though he'd been terribly embarrassed by her departure. Sara had shown him to the sitting room, and soon Amira's _vala_ arrived to inform him that her lady was still unwell, but might soon attend on him if her spirits improved.

Well, it had been long enough, near on an hour. Making a gentleman caller wait was a favorite pastime of noble Garovan ladies, but this was becoming intolerable.

Footsteps approached, and Amira's _vala_ came in again. She gave an odd look at Liam, then took a deep breath and focused her gaze on Dardan. "M'lord, Lady Amira is feeling somewhat better. Pray wait a few more minutes for her to dress, and she will attend you presently."

Dardan knew he should try to be polite, but he snapped anyway. "Yes, well, I've waited this long, what could another few minutes possibly hurt?"

Sara would probably have fainted at his tone, but Katin just raised an eyebrow. "M'lord might recall that Lady Amira is not _choosing_ to waste m'lord's time. She was severely unwell last night and m'lord would best reconsider his tone if he wishes to meet my lady today." She whirled around and nearly stomped out.

Dardan was aghast. "The insolence—!" But then he glanced at Liam, who appeared to be having a convulsive fit. It took Dardan a moment to realize that his _valo_ was trying, and failing, to conceal great mirth. "Liam!" he shouted.

It took several moments for Liam to compose himself. He leaned on the wall and took several deep breaths before turning to face his master. His mouth twitched a few times but he managed not to burst out again. "Yes, m'lord?"

Dardan almost berated him, but stopped himself. It would just make Liam laugh more. _Curse the man, he's got the better attitude for this. Why can't I have such composure?_ The only time he ever saw Liam raise his voice or grow irritable was in the malthouse, which was exactly the place for it. Liam would never shout impatiently at an innocent maidservant.

He collapsed onto a couch and sighed. "Never mind." He didn't feel like apologizing or explaining. He just wanted this to be over.

Finally, the Caretaker be praised, Katin entered again, followed by her lady. Dardan rose at once. Katin showed no further signs of hostility, her face a serene mask. Instead she stared at the ceiling, not noticing Liam, who in turn pretended not to stare at her.

Amira wore a simple blue linen dress, her hair combed out straight and held by a plain silver clip. She was still radiant, if a bit drawn. But she smiled to see Dardan, and took his hand. "My lord, thank you ever so much for concerning yourself with my welfare this day."

He nodded, bowing low over her hand. He stopped short of kissing it; this was not the right time for that. But he felt much better just seeing her. It was hard to retain his animosity in the face of her beauty. "I was distressed to see you depart last evening," he said, leading her over to one of the couches, where they sat. "I hope—"

A pounding came from the entry. They all swung their heads to look. Katin was nearest the door and leaned out. _What now?_ The pounding came again, and someone else rushed past in the hall, followed by the sound of the front door opening. "May I help you?" he heard Sara say, and then she cried out.

Dardan shot to his feet, and Liam was already moving toward the doorway. His dagger had appeared in his hand, a short-bladed dirk he kept in a sheath at the small of his back, under his coat. Dardan had never seen him actually use it in anger, and had only seen him draw it twice before.

Loud booted footsteps echoed in the hall. Liam pulled Katin behind him and backed into the room. A man in helmet and armor appeared in the doorway, wearing a checked coat of purple and blue over mail and leather. His sword was sheathed at his side.

The guard glanced around, then stepped aside and nodded. A swarthy, mustachioed man, clearly of higher rank, came into view. A captain of guards or some such. He had black hair and dark eyes. Dardan marked him as Parilian. "Lady Amira Estaile," the man said, his eyes settling on her.

Dardan interposed himself between them. Katin had gone to Amira's side, and Liam still stood closest to the door, his dirk in his hand. He was not threatening anyone with it, just holding it down at his hip. The king's men might not even have noticed it. But what he thought he could do with it against armored men with swords, Dardan had no idea.

"What is the meaning of this?" Dardan demanded. King's man or no, it was still shocking to barge uninvited into the home of a lady.

"His royal highness Prince Edon, he commands to be brought to him at once the Lady Amira. And her _vala_." His eyes went to Katin, the obvious candidate.

Amira stood. "What is this about?"

"The prince's business, m'lady. Please, with me you will come."

"I would hear more about what this business entails," Dardan said. "Who are you?" He was becoming agitated. How dare this man make demands of them?

The guard captain bowed slightly. "I am Captain Portio. Might I have the pleasure of your name, m'lord?"

"Lord Dardan Tarian, son of Count Asmus Tarian of Hedenham," he intoned in his most authoritative voice.

The guard captain was unimpressed. "How fortunate. The prince, he has commanded your attendance as well. And your man."

Dardan's mouth worked but no sound came out. What on earth was this about? He could not rightly ignore such a command, but this was most improper.

The guard captain spoke again, impatient. "His highness is not accustomed to waiting on his lessers. At once we must go, all of you."

Dardan saw no choice but to comply. He looked at Liam and nodded. The _valo_ casually sheathed the dirk, which he had kept palmed. Neither of them had brought swords into Amira's house, and the guard captain seemed unlikely to let them return home to arm themselves.

Dardan looked at Amira. Something intense passed in the gaze between her and her _vala_ , but Dardan had no idea what it meant. After a moment, Katin stepped forward. "My lady is in no fit state to travel. At least she must dress properly."

"She is clothed enough, and there is a coach. She will be protected from prying eyes." The captain stepped aside and gestured to the front door.

Dardan picked up his hat and took Amira's hand. "I will not leave your side until this is resolved, I swear it," he announced. She met his eyes silently.

Katin and Liam followed them out. Three guards stood in the front hall, and several more waited outside beside a coach. It was as ornate, if not quite as large, as the one they'd taken to the ball the night before. Two of the guards rode along on the runners; the other guards were all ahorse, including Captain Portio, who led the way.

The curtains were drawn, but there was no glass in the windows. They could not talk without being overheard by the guards. Not that Dardan knew what they could even say to one another.

_Mother!_ he thought suddenly. Did she know what had happened? Surely one of Amira's servants would have the wits to run next door and tell the tale. Once the countess found out, pandemonium would ensue, which might not be for the best. There was little he could do about it here, in any case.

Was this something to do with the ball? Amira had grown ill immediately following their turn in the receiving line. Prince Edon had been there. But nothing had happened aside from Amira lingering a few seconds too long. Surely even Prince Edon would not exact some sort of retribution for such a trivial mistake.

He cast about for other ideas, but nothing came. He watched his companions. Amira stared off into space. Katin's head kept swiveling, as if she were searching for a way out. Liam breathed evenly, his eye on the door, his foot tapping rhythmically.

Dardan was still mulling over why Edon might have summoned them when the shadow of Elibarran's wall fell across the window. He pushed the curtain aside and saw that they had returned to the palace's coachyard, where they had last been only the night before. But the red carpet was gone, and there were no liveried footmen waiting to escort them. Only armed guards.

This time they took a different path, the four of them herded swiftly along like so many sheep. Two guards and the captain led the way, and two more brought up the rear. Dardan kept Amira's arm in his, and looked back to see that Katin had taken Liam's hand. The _valai_ tried to keep their expressions neutral, but Dardan thought he saw fear in Katin's eyes, and fury in Liam's.

They were taken through halls, up stairs, along corridors, deep into a part of the palace that few ever saw. They passed into one of the wooden constructions that filled the gaps between stone towers, and stopped before a wide double door of pale blond ashwood. The walls and ceilings here were painted sky blue, with clouds and cherubs frolicking across them. It looked like a nursery.

Captain Portio knocked on the door. "Enter," came a gruff voice, and Portio led the whole party into an antechamber dominated by a wide oak desk carved with scenes of naval battle. Behind the desk stood a balding, white-haired man with leathery skin. He too wore a surcoat of the royal colors, and beneath it Dardan glimpsed gleaming steel plate. A gray cloak flowed over his shoulders, and one hand rested on the golden pommel of the longsword at his hip.

"Thank you, captain," he nodded. The guard captain bowed slightly and withdrew, leaving two of his guards behind. "M'lord, m'lady, please, sit," the armored man said. "I am Sir Gaelan Thoriss, Prince Edon's man."

There were four plush chairs set out, low seats with thick velvet padding. Dardan nearly fell into his in shock. _Gaelan Thoriss?_ The man was legendary, famous across the realm for his feats in battle. In the Vaslander war, he'd supposedly held a tower against twenty Vaslander berserkers all on his own for an entire day, until reinforcements showed up. He must be older than Dardan's father, but Dardan could not think of a man he'd less want to match swords with.

Sir Thoriss waited until the four of them sat down. "Prince Edon wishes to speak with you," he said. "I apologize for the abruptness of your summons, but his royal highness is very busy and must attend to many important matters. If you will please wait here, the prince will see you shortly." He left through a narrow door in the rear of the room, closing it behind him. Moments later another door opened, and in came a serving girl bearing a tray of wine and bread and cheese. Dardan had not eaten since breakfast, but chafed at the idea of taking food from this prince who had all but kidnapped them.

Liam and Katin were not quite so picky. Barely waiting for nods from their masters, they each began to eat and drink. Amira considered the food for a moment, then nodded to herself and started methodically chewing on some bread.

Eventually Dardan gave in and nibbled on some cheese. But no sooner had he taken his first bite than the narrow rear door opened and Sir Thoriss emerged again. "Lord Tarian, if you please." He gestured within.

Dardan hesitated. He'd sworn to stay with Amira, but again he was left with no choice. He searched her eyes, and she nodded. "I'll be all right," she whispered. He clutched her hand for a moment, and went.

The room beyond was a study of some sort. There was another desk, smaller than the one outside, with narrow legs carved like those of an elk or deer. A closed double glass door led to a balcony. Behind the desk sat Prince Edon, dressed much more simply than he had been at the ball. But now he seemed somehow more dangerous, removed from the public formality of the throne room. And of course he'd had them brought here without warning or consent, which did not endear him to Dardan.

The prince looked up at him and leaned back in his chair for a moment. "Lord Tarian," he said affably, and stood.

Dardan went down to one knee. "Your royal highness," he said, eyes cast to the floor. He saw Sir Thoriss out of the corner of his eye, waiting against a wall.

"Rise," Edon said at once. Dardan stood, glad that the prince was not one to needlessly prolong ceremony. Edon stared at him for a few moments. "You attended the ball last evening with this Lady Amira, yes?"

Dardan nodded. "Yes, your highness."

"How did you come to know her?"

"Er... her manse is adjacent to my mother's, the Countess Besiana. She introduced us not a week ago."

The prince nodded. "Does the lady strike you as unusual?"

"Unusual? Your highness, I confess I do not know what you mean." Being rudely summoned before the heir to the throne with no explanation was highly unusual, but he was not about to say that.

"Anything strange about her. Anything... odd." Edon stepped a little closer. His eyes bored into Dardan's.

"I'm sorry, your highness, but no. She is a little less practiced in the ways of nobility, I suppose, but she's only been a noble for less than a year. Her husband—"

Edon cut him off with a wave. "Yes, thank you. Thoriss."

The knight ushered Dardan out. Amira looked up as he returned, her eyes wide. _What happened?_ they asked, but he held his tongue. Dardan sat again, taking Amira's hand and trying to smile reassuringly.

Sir Thoriss looked at Liam. "Young man, come with me." Dardan watched Liam rise slowly and walk toward the rear door. As he passed by Sir Thoriss, the knight put a hand on Liam's shoulder. "The dagger, son," he said. Liam for once lost his composure, looking astonished, and drew the sheath out from under his coat. Sir Thoriss tucked it into his belt and followed Liam into the prince's study.

A few minutes passed before Liam returned, looking collected once again. Liam shrugged a little at Dardan's querying look, and he sat back down, glancing curiously at Amira. Next Sir Thoriss took Katin inside, and this time the door was closed for many minutes. Dardan began to worry, and saw that Liam's foot was tapping madly, his eyes pinned to the door.

But eventually Katin returned, looking blank, and finally Sir Thoriss asked Amira to follow him. Dardan rose to his feet abruptly, and the guards in the room lurched forward, as if to restrain him, but then they stopped. Sir Thoriss stared at Dardan as if at a harmless insect, and Dardan quietly lowered himself back into his chair—after giving Amira's hand one more good squeeze. She smiled at him, and stepped gracefully through the narrow door.

Thoriss returned a few moments later, closing the door behind him. He nodded at one of the guards, who slipped out into the hall. A minute later, the guard returned, followed by Captain Portio. "Come with me please, m'lord, and you as well," he said, glancing at Liam and Katin.

Dardan stood up, staring dumbly. "But my lady is still within—"

"Your lady will be well cared for." The guard captain had reached the end of his patience. "It is time for you to leave." The other guards crowded up behind them, and there was nowhere to go but out. Dardan glanced back at the narrow door, now closed, and made a silent prayer to the Aspect of Terror.

### CHAPTER 8

### AMIRA

"Rise," Edon said.

Amira came to her feet. She stood motionless as Prince Edon frowned at her. She was aware of Sir Thoriss standing by her side, but she kept her eyes forward. Her heart thumped. She focused on sweet thoughts, trying not to panic.

"Thank you, Thoriss, that will be all," Edon said after a moment. Amira heard the door open and close again behind her, leaving the two of them alone. Warm sunlight streamed in through the glass doors behind Edon. Up here, high in the palace, it was very quiet.

Edon stood from his chair. "Turn around."

Fright clawed at her insides. What was he going to do? She turned her back to him, and stopped. "All the way," he said, and she came around to face him again. His eyes were narrowed in scrutiny.

He came to her side and leaned in close. She dared not move. "So it is..." he muttered, brushing her hair aside.

His touch made her flinch, and after a moment it was more than she could bear. She jerked away from him. "Leave me be!" she exclaimed. For a moment she was afraid he would grab her or hit her, but he held up his hands.

"Calm, my lady. Please, come here." His voice was softer now. He did not seem as menacing, but she was still frightened. She made herself walk back over to him. He came around to her side again, gently pushing at her hair. His finger traced a line along the side of her head, from her crown all the way down to her ear. He stood half a foot taller, and stretched up to look down on her from above, then went to her other side and repeated the inspection.

She shuddered a few times, but held still. In a moment it was over, and he turned and walked behind his desk. As he went, she caught a glimpse of silver light from his own head, but only when he was exactly in profile. At all other angles, it seemed invisible.

He sat down and looked at her, steepling his fingers in thought. "I think you see what I see," he said.

_He knows. He sees it too. Oh, by Terror! Does he have the ember?_ She didn't know what to say. She was startled a moment later when he grimaced in pain and put his hand up to his temple, squeezing his eyes shut. _The headaches? The headaches! Does he not know how to use the ember yet?_ "Does your head pain you, your highness?"

Edon's head snapped up. His calm had vanished, replaced with a steel glare. "Don't concern yourself. We have much to discuss, you and I."

A mad thought came to her. She could... she could use her power to kill him. Couldn't she? If she aimed it just right, say, inside his brain, and then ignited it... or perhaps that would be aiming it wrong. Murdering the crown prince did not seem like a good idea, even to save herself for the moment.

Even if she did, then what? Sir Thoriss was just outside; the palace crawled with guards. As she thought, he stood up again and came over to her. "You see it, don't you? You see the light?"

She looked up at him wordlessly. He grabbed her arms and pulled her in close, his hot breath on her face. " _You see it, don't you?_ "

"Y—yes, my lord—your highness," she corrected, her voice wavering as she tried not to sob. Why was he being so cruel? She had done nothing to him.

"What is it? Some witchcraft? Some conjuring of the black spirits?" He shook her roughly. "Tell me! Tell me what you know of this!"

She cried out. His fingers dug into her arms, and he was strong, too strong. "I don't know! You're hurting me!"

He seemed to come to himself just then, and let go of her arms, but he only moved back an inch. "Tell me, or by the Aspect of Wrath you'll end up down in the dungeons howling for mercy. The crown still has men serving who know how to make a woman suffer."

She was so terrified that she could barely register what he meant. She could only whimper a little. Her knees shook; she locked them to keep from collapsing.

The prince finally threw his hands up and stalked away. "Useless. You don't know anything." He considered her, eyes icy. "But perhaps not entirely useless." He approached again, put his hands roughly around her, and pressed her close. She could feel him hard against her belly, and with one hand he pulled her hair, forcing her head back, and leaned down toward her lips.

She screamed and _pushed_ and there was the sound of sizzling meat. The prince staggered away from her, shrieking, his hands flying to his face as he stumbled over his feet and crashed to the floor. Amira saw the ember in her mind, pulsing angrily, and she felt exhilarated.

Prince Edon writhed on the floor, his hands clasped against his cheek. Heavy boots thumped outside, and the narrow door banged open. Sir Thoriss stepped in, his longsword in hand, and took in the scene. His eyes went from the prince to Amira, and he brought his sword arm back to swing.

Blood spurted out from his ears, followed by smoke and a stench of charred meat. Amira realized she'd pushed her ember out again, this time with deadly aim. Thoriss collapsed, his sword clattering to the floor from lifeless fingers.

Amira leapt over his body and ran out the door, pulling it shut behind her. There was no one in the anteroom. Blood roared in her ears, and the ember pulsed brightly in her head. She saw the door the servant had come through, the one who'd brought the food. The tray still sat on the desk, a few slices of cheese and bread left on it. She'd grown hungry again, and grabbed what she could before bolting out the servants' door.

A narrow corridor beyond led past a side table, presumably where the bread and cheese had been prepared. A large knife lay on the table, and Amira thought to grab it, but let it lay. She'd be suspicious enough without carrying a knife around. _And I have the ember._ Sir Thoriss's corpse loomed in her mind's eye. She felt tendrils of panic and grief reaching for her. _No. I have to get out of here._

She found a stairwell that led down several floors. On the way down, she passed a washerwoman carrying a basket of linens, but the woman paid her no mind.

Suddenly Amira ran out of stairs, and was dumped into a room with three hallways leading in different directions, and one shut door. How far down had she gone? How many floors up were Edon's chambers? She had no idea where she was now. There were no windows down here, just candles in wall sconces.

She tried one of the halls at random. Voices and warm air came down it, and she peered around a corner to see a wide room where several women beat at linens with wooden rods. High, short windows let in what looked like daylight. _The palace laundry?_ Hanging from hooks at one end of the room were a row of servants' dresses. Perhaps Amira could disguise herself, but she couldn't possibly reach the dresses without the women noticing her.

When one of them turned about to fetch something, Amira darted out of sight. She went back and tried one of the other halls, but approaching voices turned her back again. On the verge of panic, she pulled open the one closed door. The room beyond was unlit, but after a moment she could see that it was a linen closet, piles of sheets stacked as far back as the candlelight reached.

The voices grew louder. Amira threw herself onto the frontmost pile and pulled the door shut, plunging her into darkness. She scrambled back by touch until she slipped and fell between two tall piles of linens. She held her breath, praying they wouldn't open the door. After long, tense heartbeats, the voices outside began to fade.

She waited a while, listening to her own breathing in the darkness. The panic and fear were replaced by numbness and drowsiness. It was warm in here, and the linens all around her were so soft...

———

Amira blinked awake some time later, in pitch blackness. It took a few moments before the day's events came crashing down on her, one by one. Edon's summons; his attempt to—to rape her. Sir Thoriss bursting in, sword drawn. By Wrath, what had she done? The old knight's angry face hovered before her in the darkness, blood streaming from his ears. She saw, now: she'd pushed the ember right into his head, into his brain, and lit it. Tears and sobs came unbidden, and she planted her face into the linens to muffle the sound.

She'd killed a man, and wounded a prince. The latter seemed worse, maybe because Sir Thoriss couldn't seek revenge. But Edon surely would. Couldn't she just kill him, too? _Can I? I don't even know what I did. Am I a monster, like him?_

No. It had been self-defense. But waves of fear rolled over her, driven by the knowledge that she was in serious trouble. She remembered the willow switch her mother had kept on the wall of their townhouse, an ever-present threat. But she'd never done anything like this. _They don't just switch you for murder._

She took some breaths and recited the names of the Aspects. _Terror. Despair. Wrath. Chaos. Edon, you fiend._ She whispered curses upon his name. _Joy. Ardor. Sacrifice. Courage. Protect me from him._ She had to get out of here, to get home, to safety. Katin would be there, Amira knew it. She and Dardan and Liam had been missing from the anteroom; they must have been sent away.

She struggled up out of the cradle of linens and crawled back to the door, listening for as long as she could stand. She heard no footsteps, no voices. Perhaps Edon's men still searched for her, but she could not hide here forever. She whispered a prayer to the Aspect of Courage and pushed the door open. The room outside looked the same, though the candles had burned down a ways.

Her earlier terror still lurked, but now determination muffled it. _There must be a safe way out of here._ She did not want to use her power to harm anyone else, but knew she might have no choice. _I must be careful. Katin would be careful. Katin was right, curse her._

The laundry was dark and empty, the high windows admitting no more daylight. She must have slept half the day. She stole a candle from one of the sconces in the hall and went to the dresses hanging in the corner. She sorted through them until she found one that might fit. Her own dress was sweaty and stained now, and its condition the least of her concerns.

She found a tub of cold water that tasted clean. Clean enough, anyway, so she took several gulps, then stripped off her dress and sweat-soaked shift and rinsed herself off. She shoved the ruined garments in a corner where they might be overlooked for a day or two, and put on the servant's dress. She'd found no underclothes that might fit, but at least her slippers were still wearable.

Her silver hair clip went into a pocket, and she tied her hair up in a bun and wrapped a kerchief around it. Now she could pass—barring close inspection—for a palace servant. Amira hoped Elibarran was big enough that not all the servants knew one another. Walking around late at night would be peculiar enough already.

The servants' ways were blessedly empty. She put the candle back and wandered until she found a pantry, where she ate a pair of sausages and some bread going stale. She took an empty tray and carried it before her, hoping it would make her look less suspicious.

_If I can find the coachyard..._ She found a door out of the servants' ways, that led into the open halls of the palace. A pair of guards stood at one end of the hall she came into, so she turned the other way. But in the very next hall, two more guards stood beside an archway, chatting quietly. There was nothing but to try it.

"Shouldn't you be in the ways, girl?" one of them said suddenly as she passed.

She ducked her head. "Sorry, sir, but... m'lord, you see, he wants for more food," she stuttered nervously—not having to feign it—and held up the empty tray. "He said he'd—he'd beat me if I took too long, an' this way's faster." She let her speech decay into the common rhythms of western Garova. It was still easy; she'd only been gone from there a year and some.

She hoped the guards would think she meant Edon, on the premise that he'd be as cruel to the servants as he'd been to her. They exchanged a look, and the one who spoke had a gentler tone this time. "On your way, then." Amira scuttled away.

She wound through other halls until she stumbled across the grand ballroom. In the dark, its sleeping grandeur was oppressive rather than exciting. But she recognized the doorway she'd come in with Dardan, where the herald had announced them. Could that have been only a day ago?

From there she backtracked, trying hard to remember which way they'd turned at which crossing. The silver eagle on the royal sigil seemed to watch her hungrily from pennants at every intersection.

She rejoiced when she found the foreyard, and could see the coachyard beyond—but two more guards stood in the archway that joined them. A servant girl leaving the palace in the middle of the night would not go unchallenged. _No! I'm so close!_ The guards did not look likely to move any time soon. There had to be another way.

She spied a narrow door in the corner of a hall and took it, finding herself in the servants' ways again. Just down this hall was a little nook with a privy in it. She took the opportunity to relieve herself for the first time in hours. The smell coming up through the hole stung her nose, but then she began to wonder. Callaston had covered sewers running under much of the city, allowing waste water to flow down into the Brinemoor. Elibarran was built at the north end of the city, farthest from the river and the docks. If Elibarran connected to the city's sewers...

She went out and found the nearest stairwell. At its bottom was a short hall with several doors. She opened them one by one, finding mostly storage closets. The last door was half-stuck and creaked when she yanked on it, but when she finally pulled it open, she was met with a wave of eye-watering stench. The hall beyond faded to darkness.

Amira took a deep breath and plunged forward. The wooden walls quickly gave way to stone, meaning she was in—or under—one of the old towers. The hall here was narrow enough that she could touch both sides at once, until the walls fell away on both sides and her footsteps began to echo. Burbling water sounded from ahead of her.

It occurred to her that maybe her ember could light the way. She concentrated and pushed it out of her head. She could see the little silver bead floating before her, but it did not illuminate anything, not even when she moved it near to the wall. Perhaps there was something in here she could set alight, but without being able to see, it might be futile or even dangerous to try. She sighed and let the silver bead dissipate. She thought about returning to find a candle, but the prospect of backtracking sickened her.

She took probing steps forward until her slipper landed in something wet. She felt liquid flowing over her foot, and tried to pretend that it was clean water, despite the stench. But she could feel which way the liquid was flowing—and that meant downhill was to her left. She turned that way and followed the rivulet slowly through the darkness. After several minutes, a faint silhouette became visible—or was she seeing things?

The silhouette resolved into bars. She came to a metal grate that spanned the width of the tunnel. Dim light crept in somewhere ahead. _Almost dawn? I really did sleep half the day._ Katin and Dardan would be worried sick by now... if they were still all right.

Part of the grating turned out to be a gate, old and rusted. A padlock sat in grimy pieces on the floor next to it, the broken hasp still clinging to the latch. No one had been through here in ages. She wondered if the royals even knew that this way existed.

Amira passed through the gate and pushed it shut behind her. She turned around, then jerked back when she noticed the steep drop just inches before her feet. She slipped on some unidentifiable muck, but held tight to the grating, which groaned in protest.

The flow of wastewater dripped down over the edge. A stagnant pool lurked below. She'd have to jump; there was no ladder. If the pool was shallow, she might break her legs on landing. Of course, if it was deep, she'd be up to her neck in shit.

The only way out was down. She took a deep breath, gagging on the smell, and lowered herself backward over the edge, to shorten the fall. Then her hands slipped, and panic flared as she plunged downward.

### INTERLUDE:

### VIKTOR

King Viktor II Relindos, Defender of the People, Protector of the Realm, stubbed his toe on a chair and cursed.

He'd woken bleary-eyed, his bladder taut, and stumbled out of bed toward the privy. But apparently he'd left a chair in the middle of the floor—he did not remember doing this—and so crashed into it in the predawn gloom.

The queen rolled over in bed and murmured something in her sleep. She always slept long. Viktor woke early no matter what he did. Staying up late drinking invariably left him with headaches, but he wasn't about to put drink aside. And on the night of the summer ball, well, a king was the greatest of men, wasn't he? He should have a thirst to match. And he had. And now his head felt like an overripe melon.

Pissing in the privy gave him such base pleasure that it almost made the early waking worthwhile. He stumbled back to bed, lay down, and could not sleep.

When the first spots of sunlight hit the wall, he rose again and put on his dressing robe and slippers. His chief secretary had left a scrap of paper listing the day's schedule. The Greater Council would meet, and he had a visit to the docks. The docks? He hated going to the docks, bumping the entire length of the city in a damned coach, his bones rattling the whole way. Why was he going to the docks? Oh, the Parilian ambassador was leaving. Or a new one was arriving? He couldn't remember. He didn't care.

Ah, but he also had a meeting with the Army Council! He'd get to see his troops in formation, drilled within an inch of their lives. He missed the martial life. Ruling was altogether too full of finance and politics. If only he could find some way to spend more time managing his army. Maybe he _should_ attack Vasland, and lead the army himself.

None of these thoughts were new; they were his daily catechism. He quietly opened the bedroom door and went out, leaving his wife snoring happily. _She_ had no problems sleeping, the witch.

Two guards stood in the dressing chamber, and four more, he knew, in the antechamber beyond. He was in no mood for greetings, but his tea was waiting as always, the mug perfectly warmed and wrapped in a towel. _Not enough honey._ He added a little more from the jar and drank, beginning to feel human again.

The morning was a parade of ritual. Washing, dressing, meeting with his secretary, breakfast with his wife and children—Edon was absent, of course; the boy was so unreliable—meeting with the castellan, meeting with the undercaptain of guards, as Captain Portio was away on some errand. Writs to sign, decisions to make, messages to consider. Lord Gessim showed up at some point and murmured reports from his spies. The man had taken well to the job of spymaster. He had eyes and ears everywhere, and his information was already more thorough and timely than Keller's had been.

He stopped by the palace library to check in on Luka. The boy spent a few minutes regaling his father with stories of ancient battles and kings long dead. Viktor listened patiently, then patted him on the head and said he'd see him at supper.

The Army Council met in a brightly lit chamber just above the practice yard. The three knights-general in charge of the royal army stood stiffly in their formal plate and cloaks, their adjutants lurking behind them, all awaiting the king's pleasure as he strode in. "Gentlemen, good morning," he said, feeling cheerful for the first time that day.

"Majesty," they said in unison. Two of them had served in the Vaslander war. The third, Sir Edvan, was younger, but a veteran of the Braenar Crags. The Black Mountains devolved into confusing, frosty hills in the east, and Vaslander raiding parties were a continuous nuisance in the Crags. Sir Edvan had distinguished himself in rooting out and hanging several Vaslander chiefs who had been making trouble.

Sir Pennian and Sir Laurence waited until Viktor settled into one of the comfortable velvet chairs before they sat. Edvan, as the most junior, both in age and experience, sat last. "Feeling well, sire?"

"Better now that I'm here," Viktor said. "Give me the report."

Sir Pennian coughed once, and his adjutant handed a long sheet of parchment down to him. Pennian had started to grow fat; Viktor noticed the pouchiness developing along his jaw. _He spends too long at the ledgers, and not time enough in the yard._ "As your majesty instructed, our garrisons in the counties of Riftwall, Warhorn, Black Dells, Cold Hills, and Braenar have sent men out on maneuvers. The garrisons in Haven, Iceford, Witchdale, Tyndam, Vannar, and Elsingham have doubled their readiness, and the fortresses in all three passes through the Black Mountains are on their highest alert."

"While I agree with our need for readiness, sire," Sir Laurence put in, "I must remind you of the extra cost this heightened state of activity entails. Duke Faroa of Blackwall and Duke Eltasi of Seawatch have so far borne the cost themselves, but I fear they will apply for reimbursement from the crown before long."

"Let them," Viktor said, flicking his hand.

Edvan scowled. "Duke Faroa cornered me the day before yesterday, sire. He made known his displeasure at being forced to bear this cost. He said that as Blackwall is a shield to the kingdom, so should the kingdom contribute toward Blackwall's efforts."

"I suppose he said this all somewhat more subtly," Viktor grinned. Edvan was a trustworthy and honest young man. If Prince Edon had had wits and even a touch of his mother's goodness, he'd have been like Edvan.

Sir Edvan nodded. "I think he hoped to sway my opinion so that I might pass his thoughts on to you, as if they were my own." He snorted. "The man is obvious."

"And tedious. What of Westrift and Thorncross?"

"No complaints I've heard, sire," Sir Laurence said. "Duke Loram supports your majesty's position. Duke Maximillian of Westrift has not been in Callaston for months, and has not sent any word on this matter. Few of his garrisons are affected, though, so perhaps he chose to keep quiet."

"A wise man," Viktor said. "I could do with more quiet dukes. Now, what of the Wardens?"

Pennian shifted uneasily. "Well... it seems Warden-Commander Ebersbach rejected eight of the last ten candidates we sent him. He seems to be growing pickier of late."

Sir Laurence drummed his fingers on the table. "We have too many knights in this army and nowhere to put them. If Ebersbach keeps turning his nose up at our men, we will have to turn some of them out, unless more funds can be appropriated."

Viktor sighed. "I shall speak with Ebersbach, then, and make him see reason. Although perhaps you should stop minting so many knights."

"Yes, sire," Pennian said, frowning. "But with the current promotion schedules, you see, and with the number of men we have, and the rate at which men leave service—"

"I'm sure you'll think of something." Viktor clapped his hands. "Let's inspect the men."

The balcony outside looked down onto the practice yard. An entire battalion of foot stood at the ready in perfect lines, helms and pikes gleaming in the sun. Their captain stood at the fore, his sergeant at his side. When Viktor appeared above, the sergeant shouted a command, and every man in the battalion snapped his pike up in unison, then spun it around to the other arm. As one, they stamped a boot when the action was completed.

Viktor applauded. "Bravo! Well trained." The captain down below saluted sharply, and spun on his heel. The sergeant continued shouting, and after several more maneuvers, the individual lines turned and began to march from the practice yard.

"You've kept the men well-disciplined," Viktor said to Sir Pennian.

"Begging your pardon, sire, but it's Sir Edvan who's got them all in lockstep," Pennian said. "The men follow him. He's a natural leader."

This, Viktor could believe. Inspiring men was not Pennian's strong suit, but he excelled at organization and planning. He was worth his weight in gold for insulating Viktor from the grinding tedium of ledgers and numbers.

Sir Laurence kept a weather eye on how the dukes of the realm made use of the garrisons and the soldiers stationed within. Keeping a standing army had been a genius innovation of one of Viktor's ancestors, a hundred years ago or more. Before that, kings of Garova had oft suffered insurrections from dukes and counts fielding their own armies. With a permanent force that owed its allegiance directly to the king, Viktor could much more easily control his dukes, who were mostly relegated to overseeing economic matters in their domains. As they should be. Dukes became dukes because their fathers were dukes. Knights became knights because they earned it. And Wardens... Viktor had never understood their particular zealotry, their desire to fuse service to the Caretaker with martial aims, subject to the army and yet separate from them. But they obeyed, and that was enough for him.

As the last soldiers departed the practice yard, Viktor's stomach rumbled and he thought about luncheon. He came back inside to see a palace guard conferring with one of the adjutants. Then the adjutant went whispering to Sir Pennian, who blinked at him in alarm. Viktor walked over to them. "What is it?"

"Sire, uh... it seems there's been an incident. With... Prince Edon."

Viktor's heart sank. _Not again._ "What happened?"

"It seems..." Pennian gulped, clearly not wanting to bear bad news to his liege. "He's been attacked, sire."

"What? Where is he? Take me to him at once!" Viktor's voice, at least, remained undiminished by time. Men leapt to obey upon hearing it. They always had.

"He's in his chambers, sire," the palace guard said nervously. "I'll take you there."

Sir Mirlind, Viktor's chief bodyguard, stepped out of the shadows. "His majesty knows where his son's chambers are, idiot," he said. He had a drooping gray moustache and chubby cheeks that made him look like a friendly uncle, but Viktor had never known a man quicker to anger.

So Edon was still in the palace. They wouldn't have to go find him out in the woods somewhere. The boy had no fixed schedule. Some days he left at dawn to ride and hunt in the royal preserve; other days he stayed in his chambers until nightfall. Still others he spent in brothels in Callaston. He gave Viktor fits. How would the boy ever rule, when he had no discipline?

And now this. Why did Viktor always have to assume that when trouble found Edon, it was Edon's fault? Not for the first time, he regretted the custom that the king and crown prince had no _valai_. Some said it was to make them self-reliant, rather than having a personal servant at hand. But a _valo_ might have been able to keep Edon out of some trouble. Sir Thoriss was a brilliant warrior, but he could not even begin to protect Edon from himself.

Sir Mirlind led the way as they left Pennian, Laurence, and Edvan behind. Edon's chambers were halfway around the palace. Viktor found himself huffing by the time they arrived. _I'm growing as soft as Pennian._ Coaches everywhere, plush carpets, servants handling your every whim. Even without a _valo_ , he was coddled. In the field twenty years ago, his whole entourage had been two men who helped him into his armor, fetched him food, and guarded him with their lives.

His son's chambers came into sight. Several guards milled around outside, some with swords drawn, but they hastily sheathed them when they saw who approached. One even went to his knee. Viktor was heartened when the man's comrade slapped him over the head and told him to get up. Nobles wasted their time kneeling to kings. Servants and guards had jobs to do and no time for such nonsense.

Captain Portio, head of the palace guard, stood by the door. "His highness is inside," he said, and pulled open the door for the king. He caught Viktor's eye for a moment, and the king saw apprehension.

Within the antechamber, Edon sat in a plush chair, toying with a dagger. He had a huge white bandage covering his left cheek. The palace surgeon, Lord Ulin, stood next to him, tapping his fingers together nervously. He was a little man, hunched and bald, with a face like a rat. He was cordial enough, but Viktor had always thought him craven. There was one who would never face battle like a man.

The king and his son gazed at one another. "What happened?" Viktor asked after a moment.

Edon glanced up at Lord Ulin. "That is all," he said calmly. Lord Ulin made haste to leave. "All of you, wait outside," Edon said, eyeing the various guards.

Viktor waited as they all left. Edon looked down after a moment, and realized he was sitting while the king stood. He got up, leaving the dagger on a side table. "Father, I'm afraid I made a mistake. I brought a girl here. She went mad and attacked me."

The king was not even remotely surprised, only dismayed by the predictability of it. Edon's bedroom exploits were a constant source of gossip. Viktor had no problem with a young man sowing his wild oats, but with Edon it had gotten out of hand too many times. It was becoming an embarrassment, and Edon had better learn—

"She killed Sir Thoriss."

Viktor's eyes bulged. "Is that a joke?"

Edon shook his head. "I don't know how, but she burned my face with a candle, and when I recovered enough to look, Thoriss was dead on the floor." He glanced over his shoulder. "He's still there, in fact. Ulin wanted to remove him but I thought you should see."

Viktor frankly didn't believe his son, so he went into Edon's study and looked. There, face-down on the floor in a pool of blood, lay Sir Gaelan Thoriss. Blood had leaked from his ears. His sword lay on the floor next to him, clean.

Viktor was stunned. How could something like this happen? Some girl managed to kill one of the greatest knights in the land? And how? The blood from his ears spoke of a blunt strike to the head, but any such blow would have caved in his skull, or broken the skin at least. Viktor had seen enough heads crushed by maces to know that.

Edon came up behind him. "She must have surprised him when he came in."

The king pushed past him back into the anteroom. He'd known Thoriss for decades. They'd fought together against Vasland, and old Gerhard. Thoriss had taught Viktor how to use a shield properly, as a lad. It was inconceivable that he'd died this way. Old age, perhaps. An assassin's knife, even, or better yet defending his prince from such. But a girl, just a girl...

"You are to never bring women into the palace again," Viktor bit out. "If you want to go whoring in the city, fine, as long as you stay quiet about it. You wouldn't obey me on that count even if I did command you not to. But if you so much as look at a woman on the palace grounds, I will have Lord Ulin make you a eunuch, and your brother Luka will be the next king." His rage was cold inside, and he kept it tamped down. It had served him well in battle in the past, turning him into an unstoppable whirlwind of steel and death, but now all it could do was fester.

He turned and barked at the door. "Captain Portio!"

The guard captain poked his head in. "Sire?"

"You sent your men to find this woman?"

Edon interrupted. "I took care of it, father! They will find her. You needn't be involved."

"If you were capable at all, I wouldn't even have known about this," Viktor spat coldly, and turned back to the guard captain. "Well?"

Portio nodded. "I gave them her description and told them to scour the palace, sire."

The king sighed. There was no keeping this quiet now. Guards would gossip even if you threatened to cut off their thumbs. "You saw her yourself?"

"Ah... yes, sire. I, uh... I brought her here at his highness's command. And her _vala_ , and the other lord and his _valo_ , too." He grimaced, his eyes flickering nervously between king and prince.

Red began to creep into the edges of Viktor's vision. _A lady. He brought a noble lady here._ He turned to face his son. "You sit down in that chair, and if you have moved so much as a muscle when I return, I will kill you myself." The rage made his voice waver, made his body tremble, but he had to stay in control. He turned and stalked out the door, resolutely placing one foot before the other.

In the hall, he took Portio some distance away from the other guards. "You had better start at the beginning. To leave out any detail would be an act of surpassing foolishness."

Portio gulped and licked his lips. He glanced at the prince's chambers and began to tell the story. The prince had commanded him to retrieve this Lady Amira and Lord Dardan. He took guards to their adjacent manses and retrieved them. He brought them to the prince's chambers, leaving them in Sir Thoriss's care, and later, at Thoriss's instruction, escorted Lord Dardan and the two _valai_ to the coachyard, where he saw them off again. Portio said that afterward he'd returned to the guard office, only to be informed that the prince had been attacked and that Sir Thoriss was dead.

"His highness commanded me to send my men out searching for the lady. Terrible, that burn on his face was. I found Lord Ulin and sent him up, and he cleaned it and bandaged it well. The prince will be scarred, though."

The shock had worn off and Viktor found himself grimly accepting the details. His son was disfigured. Well, worse had happened to better men and they'd thrived despite it. No noble maiden would turn down a marriage into the royal house, not if she had any sense, not even if the prince were a deformed dwarf with mismatched eyes. Still, he knew it would always pain him to see the scar on his son's face, and recall this debacle.

But what seared it into his memory was that his son had clearly tried to rape a noble lady. He vaguely remembered this Lady Amira; she'd been with Count Tarian's son in the receiving line the night before. He only remembered because after she'd knelt, she'd stared up at them for what seemed like forever before her escort pulled her away. At the time he had assumed she'd just been stunned by all the pomp and ceremony, but why would Edon have her in particular brought to the palace the next day?

The name Estaile sounded familiar. Yes, that was it. Valmir Estaile, that clever merchant he'd granted peerage to last year. The man had done a fine job in Vasland, orchestrating some ruse to disrupt their lumber trade. It had been one of Keller Skarline's schemes, he thought.

His late spymaster weighed on his mind. They still had no idea who'd murdered the man. Captain Portio had claimed that Skarline had ordered him to keep his men off the east ramparts that day, claiming he had no idea what Skarline was up to. Viktor had had Portio arrest a few suspects, making a show of it. They might never solve it, but they couldn't look like they hadn't the first clue who was responsible.

Viktor sighed. He'd missed the last several things Portio had said, and asked the man to repeat himself. He thought he detected annoyance in Portio's eyes, but the man wouldn't dare criticize him for it. _Wouldn't that be a nice change, if someone for once had the guts to tell me to go fuck myself?_ Portio finished by apologizing profusely for having been involved in this, but of course, he said, he couldn't have disobeyed the prince.

"You didn't think to dispatch a man to bring me this news? You know my son is impulsive and reckless. _Anything_ he does out of the ordinary, I must know of at once. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, your majesty," Portio said, inclining his head deeply.

"And call off your men from searching. The lady has likely fled the castle already, and may have returned home."

"Should I return to fetch her again, sire?" Portio asked.

The king glared at him. "The last time she was _fetched_ to the palace, she was nearly raped. I will decide what to do about her later."

Viktor spun on his heel and strode back into Edon's chambers, closing the door himself. Neither of them was going to enjoy this.

For once obeying his father's command, Edon hadn't moved from his chair. He stared sullenly at the floor. Viktor came to a halt before him. "Get up, boy."

Edon looked up, anger and fear in his pale blue eyes. After a moment, he slowly stood, coming eye to eye with his father.

Viktor stared at his son for a moment, then slapped him so hard that he fell to the floor. "You are the greatest fool I have ever had the misfortune to meet. More's the pity that you're my son and I can't have your head for this, or I would." Fury boiled in his veins. _Imprison the boy,_ he felt like calling out. _Off with his head. He is no good son of mine._ Edon glared up at him.

"Be glad I didn't hit you on the burned cheek," Viktor went on. "Maybe then you'd remember this and become a man worthy of a kingdom." This was no time to go easy on him. "You will leave for our estate at Gravensford this very day, or mark me, you will live to regret it. You will stay there until I send for you, and you will not leave the grounds. There will be no ranging out to find women to fuck, and Sir Mirlind will be going along to ensure that you do not have them brought in, either. Perhaps some time to yourself will teach you the humility and discipline you so desperately need."

He turned and left the room without hesitation, without another word. Sir Mirlind stood just outside, bouncing from foot to foot. He had no doubt heard Viktor shouting and seemed relieved to see his king unharmed. "Sire?"

"My son will be travelling to Gravensford today, at my command. You are to go with him and ensure that he gets into no trouble, especially of the female kind. Keep him penitent, but keep him safe. Sir Ilvin can take your place while you are gone." He glanced one last time at the door, then put it behind him and went off. Sir Mirlind and several other guards followed him. "By the Caretaker, I hope this makes him more the man he needs to be. Kings cannot be coddled."

"Indeed, sire. I will see to the arrangements. If you will excuse me." Mirlind bowed and turned back toward Edon's chambers.

Viktor addressed Captain Portio. "See to Sir Thoriss, and alert the Citadel that I expect a full martial funeral for him." The Parilian nodded and turned back as well.

Viktor's foul mood persisted all the way back to his study. When he got there his luncheon of ham and potatoes was cold, his wine warm. He could have ordered replacements, but he ate and drank anyway, wringing whatever little pleasure he could out of the meal. And he thought.

Lady Amira. Something would have to be done, but what? Summoning her back to the castle—to apologize on his son's behalf, to warn her to remain silent about this incident—was out of the question. Viktor still wasn't sure whether the woman had actually killed Sir Thoriss, or if Edon had lied about that as well. _If she didn't kill Thoriss, who did? Edon? Why on earth would he do that?_ The only thing he knew for certain was that the poor girl was probably terrified, wherever she was. Perhaps he should have Lord Gessim send someone to quietly look into it. Or perhaps he should go himself to apologize. No, he could not debase himself so, not for an unlanded lady raised barely a year since, not even if she had almost been violated. For a countess or a duchess, perhaps he might...

Ah! The queen. He could send his wife. She hardly stopped gossiping long enough to draw breath, but when the need arose she could listen well, those big brown eyes so open and comforting. She could listen to Amira's story and apologize on her son's behalf, and most importantly convey that this was a story that needed very badly to stay quiet. Threatening Lady Amira would not do, but perhaps Alise could play up the importance of protecting the royal family's reputation, and by extension the royal family's ability to rule, and the stability of the kingdom...

### CHAPTER 9

### KATIN

"We have to go get her!" Katin shouted.

"You forget your place, girl," Dardan said hotly. His fists were balled up and he looked about ready to explode. Katin didn't care. Amira was lost, Amira was gone, who knew what the prince would do to her? _I know what the prince would do. Men like him only have one use for women._

She ground her teeth, trying to figure out how to make Dardan see reason. They stood facing one another in the Tarians' sitting room, while Countess Besiana sat on a couch fanning herself. She'd been overcome when they'd explained what had happened. Rose stood by, nervously patting Besiana's shoulder and murmuring soothing nonsense.

Liam leaned against the wall, tapping his thumb against his lips. His hooded eyes stared off into nothing. Katin would take support from any quarter, even from him, but he was not likely to gainsay his master. He did not look half so handsome now.

"I would curse the king to his face if I thought it would bring Amira back," she said. "I will not lose her, not after—" She cut herself off and turned away, planting her hands on the back of a couch to avoid beating it with her fists.

At the palace, the guards had put them into the coach and sent it away. Dardan and the _valai_ had all been too stunned to speak, and besides, more guards still rode on the runners, ready to overhear. The instant they'd arrived on Willbury Street, Besiana had burst forth from her manse and shrieked praise to the Aspect of Despair that Dardan was unharmed. She'd ushered them all into their sitting room, even Katin, and demanded to know what had happened.

Uneaten cheese and fruit sat on a shiny silver platter on one of the end tables. Bertram, the Tarians' fussy and high-strung house major, had brought it unbidden, but none of them had the slightest appetite. The major had glowered silently around at them when he returned to find the food untouched.

Nobody said anything for a moment. The panic and fear were draining away, leaving only exhaustion behind. Katin gave in and sat down on the plush lavender couch.

She looked over at Dardan. He was staring at his mother, and Liam was staring at him. _Do any of them have the faintest idea what to do?_

"Father must hear of this," Dardan said at last. "I will go myself. Edon may be heir to the crown, but this insult will not stand."

Besiana snorted. "Don't be foolish. Insults worse than this stand all the time, if given by kings and princes." She seemed to have gotten over her initial shock, and her eyes narrowed shrewdly.

"Mother, he kidnapped us! He interrogated us! And then he threw us out, keeping the lady who I had a duty to protect! This is a stain on our house's honor and we cannot ignore it!"

"I do not suggest we ignore anything, my boy. And I know you will not listen, as you have the righteous fury of unblooded youth, but I must try anyway. Challenging Prince Edon to a duel may seem like the only honorable path, but I assure you that there are many other weapons in the noble arsenal." She sighed, and clucked in disappointment. "This is what comes of you spending all your time in the country. Noble society carries on with or without you, and you disregard it at your own future peril. I will not live forever." Katin thought she heard Liam snort, but when she looked, he was as placid as ever.

"Then what do you propose we do?" Dardan said.

"For a start, we ensure that this is not kept silent." She glanced up at Rose. "Fetch the servants."

"What... all of them, m'lady?"

Besiana nodded. "And send someone next door for Lady Amira's servants as well. Bring everyone in here."

———

Within minutes, the dozen or so servants the Tarians kept, and the half-dozen of Amira's, had all been gathered in the sitting room. They lined up anxiously in two ranks by the wall. Amira's servants tried not to gape at the opulence of the room. Some of them even succeeded.

"Is this everyone? Good." Besiana turned to face Dardan again. "Dardan, my boy, I seem to have forgotten everything you've told me about what happened this morning. Please start again at the beginning, so that I may be certain I have everything straight."

Katin's jaw dropped. _She means to ensure that every maid, cook, and stableboy between here and the palace knows about what happened to us._ This was bending the rules almost to the breaking point. Servants overhearing gossip by chance was one thing, but this...  
Dardan frowned at his mother. He hesitated a moment and eyed the servants, then began to speak. He recounted their abduction by the royal guards and his curious interrogation by Edon. Liam told much the same story: Edon asked whether Amira was unusual, leaving Liam baffled. Katin's interrogation had taken somewhat longer. She said only that Edon asked her the same questions, and that she had no idea what he was talking about.

But she did. She knew that Edon had been trying to ascertain whether they knew anything about the silver light, which he had no doubt seen in Amira just as she had seen it in him.

A _vala_ was supposed to keep her lady's confidence, though it would have been foolish to say that to Edon, who clearly did not care about such things. Katin had had plenty of practice lying to men far swifter and more vain than Prince Edon, so instead she'd played stupid. When Edon had asked if Amira was strange at all, Katin said something about wanting to eat cheesecake in bed, as if this were the height of oddity. Edon kept prodding, unwilling to directly mention the silver light, even going so far as to ask if Amira ever had suffered a head injury. Katin answered by talking about her lady's poorly styled hair. Edon had grown frustrated and dismissed her. But Katin said none of this in the Tarians' sitting room, as the servants looked on in horrified fascination. Little Sara looked as if she were about to faint.

When the retelling ended, Besiana stood up. "How dreadful! Well, at least you are all safe, but I wonder about Lady Amira. Surely she would come to no harm at the hands of our noble prince." Then she turned to look at the servants lined up against the wall, as if they had appeared out of thin air. "Well what is this? Has all the work of keeping this house been finished forever and ever?"

The Tarians' servants nearly ran from the room. Amira's servants lingered a moment, until Katin dismissed them. "I'll be back soon," she murmured to Sara, and gave the girl a reassuring pat on the arm.

When the servants were all gone, Dardan rounded on his mother. "You know that they will spread the manner of how they came to learn all that, as well as the meat of it. It will get back to the prince and he will know what you've done."

"That was my intention, dear. There is something you may not understand about the royal family." She patted the seat beside her, and Dardan sat. "The king does not like his eldest son. He thinks the boy is a brute idiot. He is mostly right, except that Edon is more clever and cunning than he lets on. He is impulsive and does stupid things with alarming frequency, but when he sets his mind to a goal, he rarely fails to achieve it, one way or another.

"And not only Edon will hear of this little gambit of mine. The king will, as well, and he will know that we consider the insult to Lady Amira to be just as severe as the insult to us."

"Do we?" Dardan asked. "I mean, I do, but is that the role we wish to play in this?"

Besiana hesitated a moment and eyed Katin. "I believe Lady Amira would appreciate our support, and think all the more favorably of us. Would she not, Miss Berisha?"

Katin nodded. "I believe anyone would, m'lady." She had to work to keep her expression neutral. How could the countess think about impressing Amira at a time like this?

Besiana clapped her hands together. "There is much to do. You ought to return home, dear, and rest. There is nothing else for you to do but wait. We will let you know if we hear anything about your lady."

Katin curtseyed to the countess and turned to leave. Liam came up beside her. "If I may escort you home, miss," he said calmly.

She could not think of an excuse to refuse him, and so nodded silently. She took his arm and he guided her out of the manse, down the front steps, into the afternoon sunlight. "You must be distraught," Liam said after a few moments.

"My emotions are my own concern," she said, and winced at the harshness of her own voice.

Liam seemed not to notice, or perhaps not to care, for he stopped and took her hand. "I know how you feel," he said, leaning in close, as if in confidence.

Anger bubbled up, and before she knew it she had slapped him full across the face. "How dare you!" she cried, and pulled her arm from his grasp. She ran the rest of the way to Amira's manse, and slammed the door behind her.

She went immediately up to Amira's bedchamber, closed and locked the door, and collapsed on the bed, sobbing. It was about Amira, perhaps lost to her forever; it was about Liam, trading on her grief to gain favor, as if she were merely some prize to be won.

She felt as if it would never end, but each tear carried away a little of the sadness. Before long she had cried herself out, and in defiance of a _vala_ 's proper place, she kicked off her shoes, crawled under the blankets of her lady's bed, and closed her eyes.

———

She woke in darkness, her mind and mouth full of cotton. She crawled out from under the covers and poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher that was always kept ready. She drank twice, visited the privy, and changed into a clean shift and dress before reality settled on her. She didn't want to think about Liam; instead she made herself focus on what she could do about Amira.

The worst she considered first of all. If Amira were dead, her manse and servants would likely fall to Valmir's nearest living relatives, whoever they were. She'd never heard him speak of any kin, but no doubt they existed. Garovans were fastidious about bloodlines, and a relation would be found to inherit the property. If that happened, well, Katin would be happy to serve whoever it was, in whatever capacity. A lifetime working in a Callaston manse was better than most alternatives. _If_ they'd let her stay on. The prospect of being turned out terrified her.

If Amira were still alive and still in the palace, though... had she fought Edon with her ember? What could she really do with it? Burn him, perhaps, but then what? Amira was not a stupid girl, but her intellect had always been applied more toward frivolous pursuits and charming conversation than toward anything one might refer to as cunning or strategy.

By now it had been half a day since she'd last seen Amira. As much as it pained Katin to sit on her hands, there was nothing else she could do.

At least she could avoid being completely idle; a manse such as Amira's never lacked for chores. She needed something to distract her, at least until Countess Besiana returned with some news.

It was still well before midnight. The other servants stopped what they were doing when Katin came into the scullery. She'd tied her hair back with a kerchief and rolled up her sleeves. "Our lady will return to us, I am certain," she announced, her thumping heart belying her outward confidence. "You all heard what the countess said. The way to protect ourselves is to ensure that the word spreads. Your friends, your family, everyone must hear of this." The others all nodded slowly. Sara looked frightened as she always did, but Katin thought she saw a hint of determination in her eyes. Or maybe she was just seeing what she wanted to see.

She picked up a washcloth and began to scrub.

### CHAPTER 10

### AMIRA

A slight lessening of the stench was Amira's first hint that the river was near. Her world had shrunk to an endless series of pitch-black sewer tunnels, permeated by the smell of decaying vegetables, rancid grease, and worst of all human waste. Her stolen servant's dress was soaked with muck and filth.

The endless dark was relieved only occasionally by morning light slanting down from the public drains. Twice she'd almost had nightsoil dumped on her head as she passed under one. She kept her hand on the wall, following the flow downstream toward the Brinemoor, and tried to ignore the skittering and squeaking she heard from time to time. _Rats. Just think of them as large mice._

Her strength had begun to flag. She was terrified that she'd pass out and drown in the sewage. But the scent of the river gave her a surge of energy.

A pale blue dot grew in the distance. The sound of the river echoed up the tunnel toward her, the sweetest sound she'd ever heard. The dot grew into a circle, and finally she stood at the lip of the drain. The waste spilled down a few feet into the river itself. Compared to the first drop, back at the palace, this would be easy.

She plunged in. Her body stiffened with shock at the water's chill, and when she surfaced, she gasped and swam to a stone quay at the water's edge. With a final push, muscles aching, she heaved herself onto the quay. She spent several long minutes gulping down air, savoring the river's relatively clean smell.

She had to get home. Would Edon have guards searching the city for her? Well, she'd find out sooner or later. She looked down at the patch sewn on the breast, the silver eagle with its flaming talons. She'd already attract attention, wet and filthy as she was, but with the royal sigil it would be even worse. She pulled and picked at the thread until it came loose, and threw the patch into the river.

There was plenty of traffic on the docks, longshoremen and porters and sailors swarming over the piers where ships had put in. A few of them wrinkled their noses as they passed her, staring at her rumpled hair and grimy dress, but she ignored them; she wanted nothing more than to be home safe.

She went north past the docks and their warehouses, past the hostels, brothels, malthouses, and gambling dens that catered to sailors. Past the homes of the poor, mean tenements occupied by a dozen families. She wanted to tell them all what a monster Prince Edon was.

Further north, where the homes and shops grew less shoddy, Amira came to a low brick wall, barely taller than her. A strong man could climb it with ease. It stretched off in a curve to either side, and Amira realized this must be the wall of Ulisharran, the headquarters of the Niderium. She could see one of its spires peeking over the wall. Perhaps that was the legendary Temple of Aendavar. Or it could be something else entirely. She'd never paid much attention to the Niderium itself, as much as she loved praying at her local temple.

She followed the wall, and her heart leapt when she came to the Way of Trade. Amira kept her head down and went north with the flow, staying out of the way of coaches and men ahorse, cargo wagons and city constables watching for trouble.

The sun was near its peak by the time she reached the Grainway. She made it to Willbury Street, hoping that none of the local shopkeepers would recognize her as she passed, if they managed to look past her filthy dress to recognize the lady they'd all seen before.

None of them did. She turned onto Willbury Street, leaving the noise and traffic of the Grainway behind. Two ladies and their _valai_ were out for a stroll; she recognized one of them as a neighbor of hers, but they pointedly ignored the soiled servant girl. Amira moved steadily along past the maples until she stood across the street from her manse. No one was outside, but next door, before the Tarians' manse, stood a large, ornate coach, a driver, and two guards.

It took Amira a moment to realize that the guards wore cloaks checked purple and blue, and the coach's side bore the eagle of House Relindos. _They came for us._

She wanted to scream, to run, and thought to hide in the stables, when the door to Amira's own manse opened and Liam and Katin came out. Amira gasped and began to call to them, but then bit her tongue. No, this time she would not be impulsive. She waited to see what the _valai_ did.

They walked next door, right up to the guards! The taller of the two guards stopped them for just a moment, exchanging a few words before letting the _valai_ pass inside.

_If Katin is not afraid of a royal coach..._ What was going on in there? _Who_ was in there? She had to know.

She trembled as she put one foot before the other. _Am I putting myself into their clutches again?_ she wondered. The guards would stop her, wouldn't they? And they did, when they noticed her aiming for the Tarians' front door.

"Halt," one of them said, holding a hand up and scowling at her filthy dress. "What business have you here?"

"I—I was sent on an errand for Countess Besiana Tarian," she said, trying to sound small and harmless.

The guard peered at her. "What's your name?"

"Miss—Marks," she said. Marks was her maiden name.

The guard who'd questioned her glanced at the other, who shrugged. The first guard went inside, and returned a minute later—with Katin. Amira's _vala_ nearly shoved the man aside to get a look. Her face went white. She grabbed Amira's arm and dragged her inside at once.

Two more royal guards lurked in the entry, but Katin ignored them. "Where on earth have you been!" she cried, throwing her arms around Amira, who returned the embrace. They both burst into tears, but Katin quickly wiped her face with a sleeve and stepped back to look at her lady. "No one knew where you were. The queen said—oh dear—"

Amira gasped. "The _queen_ is here? Why?" Aside from perhaps Prince Luka, she could not think of a less threatening member of the royal family. _Better her than Edon come to visit._

"To apologize, I gather. On behalf of her son. Liam just came to get me." She looked down at Amira's filthy, unfamiliar dress. "I think you have a tale for us as well," she muttered.

"Wait." Amira grabbed Katin's wrist and pulled her toward the stairs, away from where the queen's guards might overhear. "What did Edon ask you about?"

Katin glanced around, double-checking that no one was close enough to hear. "About your power," she whispered. "Not in so many words. He asked if you were strange in any way. I said nothing. He asked Dardan and Liam the same thing, but of course they had no clue what he was talking about. What _happened_ to you?"

"Time for that later. Let's go meet the queen."

"Like that? You look like you fell into a sewer!"

"I did," Amira smirked. "The story will ring truer if I've got the smell to prove it. Come on." Against Katin's protests, she strode into the sitting room.

Besiana and Dardan sat together on one of the long couches. Liam was propped against the wall behind his master as usual. Besiana's _vala_ sat in a chair nearby, and a lady with golden curls sat with her back to the door, with an unfamiliar dark-haired woman at her side. Four more royal guards lurked around the edges of the room.

Dardan glanced up when he saw them enter, looked back down for a moment, then shot to his feet, eyes wide open. "Lady Amira!" he shouted. His mother gasped, holding a hand to her breast, and the golden-haired woman turned around in her chair to look. "Where?" she said, casting about for a lady and seeing only two servants. It was Queen Alise.

Amira fell to her knee. "Your majesty," she squeaked down at the carpet.

"Please, rise, my lady," the queen said. Her voice was musical, full of life and vigor. Amira had never felt half so common as she did now. This was a woman who clearly knew what power she commanded. Amira stood up and met the queen's eyes.

They were the same brown pools she'd seen at the receiving line, but now she was much closer, and the wrinkles at their corners were more apparent. The queen was not beautiful, but motherly, and at once Amira wanted to curl up in her lap like a child. Then she made the mistake of picturing this, and a laugh erupted from her lips. She covered her mouth and winced. "My apologies, your majesty, everyone. I have had the most dreadful day."

The queen stood up. "My lady Amira. You have endured much, and on behalf of the royal house of Relindos, I apologize for what transpired yesterday. We have part of the story, and I believe your friends here are much intrigued about what happened to you, as am I. Please, sit." She gestured at an empty chair. The dark-haired woman beside her was obviously her _vala_ , with a spine and a face so full of iron that Amira was terrified of her at once. But the woman did not stare; her eyes moved about constantly, as if searching.

Bertram, the house major, squealed in protest when Amira made to sit on a silk-upholstered chair with her soiled dress. He bade her wait while he fetched a towel and lay it on the seat. Amira wondered if the queen would be annoyed at the delay, but that smile stayed ever on her lips.

Amira looked around. She wanted to tell her story, especially to tell Katin where she had been, but she felt overwhelmed by the crowd. "Ma'am, the—the guards?" she whispered to the queen.

Alise smiled and nodded in understanding. "I believe I shall be safe if left alone with our friends here," she said over her shoulder. The man nearest the door nodded and led the other guards out into the foyer.

Once they were gone, Amira began her tale, but she could not relate what had really happened with the prince. Instead she said, haltingly, "He said... he accused me of hiring a witch to cast a spell on him... to make him fall in love with me." It sounded absurd, and she blushed from the telling of it, but he _had_ called her a witch. Sort of. Maybe he believed in that sort of thing, hedge witches and magic potions and such. _The idea doesn't sound as absurd as it used to._ Queen Alise's eyebrows went up, but she said nothing.

Amira let out a sob, only half-feigned, when she said that he had subsequently attacked her and tried to tear off her clothes. She had to elide everything about her ember, of course, and only Katin looked at her askance when she said that she'd thrown a burning candle at Edon's face, splashing hot wax onto him. The prince's shout had brought Sir Thoriss running, but he'd burst into the room just as she was running from it, and Amira said she'd unintentionally knocked him down. From then on, the story stayed true. Her flight through the servants' ways, the laundry and the linen closet, skulking about after dark. Besiana squeaked in horror when Amira described her descent into the sewers. Dardan ground his teeth the whole time and dug his fingernails into the couch's armrest. The queen nodded and encouraged Amira to go on when she faltered.

Finally her story came to its end, and everyone was silent for a moment. "You are a remarkable young lady," the queen said at last. "I am sad to inform you that Sir Thoriss was found dead, however."

Fear washed over Amira for a moment, but the queen's eyes did not seem accusing. "How?" Amira asked after long moments of silence, pretending not to know. "How did he die, I mean?"

"I do not know," the queen admitted. "He had bled from his ears, but there was no other visible injury, so his majesty the king told me. I did not see him myself." Her eyes sparkled at that, but Amira did not know what to make of it.

Amira put her hand over her mouth for a moment. "I don't—I couldn't have done that, could I? I just collided with him, I thought he fell, but..." She sobbed once, and bit her hand to make herself stop. She could feign any emotion if she had to, but the grief and regret were real.

The queen clucked. "Now, now, dear, no one can rightly blame you for what happened in there. Perhaps Sir Thoriss hit his head on the wall as he fell, in just the wrong way."

"I've seen men fall from a galloping horse," Dardan interjected, startling Amira, "and rise unharmed, while others trip over their feet, hit their head on soft earth, and die from it." He stared at her, looking a mix of miserable and relieved.

"Just so," the queen agreed. "We may never know what truly happened. But that is behind us, and cannot be changed. The important thing is that Prince Edon has departed the city for some time." Her eyes narrowed. "And so must you."

Amira blinked. "Ma'am? I don't understand."

Alise turned her head slightly and locked eyes with Besiana. The countess sat up straighter and cleared her throat, looking over at Amira. "Rumors fly around the city with blinding speed. I don't know _where_ they come from. But alas, though all here know that you are completely blameless in this whole affair, it would be best if you spent some time out of the web, so to speak. Soon enough some other scandal shall arise, and this one shall be forgotten." She hesitated for a moment and cleared her throat again. "Unless you have a country estate I'm unaware of, we would be honored to host you at our manor in Hedenham County, the seat of House Tarian."

"What?" Dardan asked, startled. Amira tried not to glare at Besiana. The countess had played this very well; Amira would be in unavoidable proximity to her son for an extended period. She gained a small measure of respect for the countess.

Besiana ignored her son, and instead eyed Queen Alise. The queen tapped her fingers together. "Hm. Not so far as to seem like a flight from retribution, but not too close either. It is settled, then." The queen stood, and everyone else shot to their feet. She turned to face Amira once more. "Again, my lady, I am deeply sorry for what has occurred. Should you ever have need of my assistance, it is yours."

Amira went to her knee again, taking the queen's hand and kissing it lightly once. "Your majesty. Thank you." She'd completely forgotten she was still in her filthy servant's dress. The queen seemed to ignore such trivialities.

Queen Alise smiled once more and left. Her stoic _vala_ followed her out, and there was much commotion outside as the queen's guards escorted her from the manse.

Amira looked around. Katin stood at one wall, Liam at the other. The air had gone out of Besiana and Dardan after the queen left. Hosting the queen in one's sitting room was a draining experience, it seemed, even for someone as formidable as the countess.

But Amira felt invigorated. She was home—almost—and safe. Her ordeal was over. An extended stay in the country would be an ordeal of another sort, but one for which she was much better prepared. Just then Sir Thoriss's face flashed in her mind's eye, and she felt a wave of grief all over again.

For now, at least, no one would deny her anything. "As you all must expect, I am quite exhausted," she said, letting herself slouch. It was not feigned. "I must return home and recover. I gather the queen would like to see our backs sooner rather than later."

Besiana ushered her from the room, Katin following close behind. Dardan bowed to Amira as she left, but Besiana barely gave them time to wave a farewell.

"You are correct on that account," Besiana said. "I would suggest several days' rest before you travel, but I believe the queen would not take it as kindly as she usually does. You must leave on the morrow. I will arrange a coach, although I suspect Dardan and Liam will insist on riding those horrible beasts."

"I believe they're called 'horses,' m'lady," Katin said dryly.

Besiana sniggered, then giggled at herself. "Oh, dear. We are all out of sorts today, aren't we? Well. Off with you, my dear," she said, patting Amira's cheek. "You must sleep and eat and recuperate. The future will hold better days, I believe." She smiled, satisfied, and went back into the sitting room, closing the door behind her.

By the time they stepped outside, the queen's coach was gone. Amira wasted no time assembling her own servants and assuring them that she was well and unharmed. Sara nearly fainted when she saw her lady, and then cried tears of joy for hours thereafter, every time she saw Amira again. Katin finally had to send the girl out to the gardens to get some air.

Once they were finally alone, and Amira had washed and dressed properly, she sat in her bedchamber with Katin and told her the parts she had omitted from her story to the queen. Katin's eyes were hard, but she listened intently and did not interrupt.

"I trust you know how serious it is that you... did what you did to Sir Thoriss," Katin said. She seemed afraid to say the words.

"Of course. But the man had his sword out. He was going to kill me." The grief and terror came rushing back, making her stomach feel like an empty pit, even though she'd eaten. She seized on her ember for comfort. "It is only by this that I survived." She tapped her temple.

Katin nodded slowly. Amira thought about the argument they'd had the night of the ball. _Two nights ago. Such a long time._ She felt a pang of regret at how cruel she'd been to Katin, but dredging that up would just hurt them both.

Afternoon turned to evening, and Amira talked much about the upcoming journey, to take her mind off Edon and Thoriss and all that horrifying mess. Katin pointed out that Besiana was clearly setting her up for a marriage proposal. Amira had supposed that she might remarry, if she found the right man; certainly she had no need to marry for wealth any longer. Dardan could very well be a tolerable match, if not half so charismatic as Valmir had been. Though marrying Valmir had been entirely for the sake of convenience. Amira got financial security, and Valmir got a beautiful, vivacious wife who he could show off.

She'd have to see how things went in Hedenham. At worst, she'd turn down the offer and come back to Callaston. _And what if Edon's here? What then?_ Keeping Edon off her mind was harder than she thought.

Katin and the other maids went through the ritual of packing again. Her _vala_ asked Amira's leave to go back to the Tarians' manse and inquire about the arrangements. Hedenham Town was sizable, with its own dressmakers and jewellers and everything, and what they did not pack they could buy once they arrived. No doubt the Tarians would provide everything Amira would need anyway, all the better to impress upon her their seriousness about Dardan's courtship.

When night came and supper was done, Amira asked Katin to bring her an unlit candle. Katin looked at her oddly, but complied. Amira sat in her chair and held the candle before her. The ember sat there in her mind, pulsing as calmly as ever. Whatever this power was, she had best master it. Should she find herself in peril again, she wanted better options than fleeing in panic or accidentally killing someone.

She moved the silver bead into the candle's wick, and held it there a moment. Nothing happened. She slowly began to push energy into it, and after a moment the wick caught fire. Katin sat on the floor, watching intently. Amira blew out the candle and tried again, this time pushing even more gently. The wick smoldered for a few seconds before igniting. She repeated the experiment two score times, fascinated by how the little bead moved and how its energy flowed.

Katin finally insisted that they needed to sleep well before travelling. By now, Amira was well and truly tired, and fell easily into a dreamless slumber.

### CHAPTER 11

### LIAM

On the third evening of their journey to Hedenham, their coach stopped at a town called Ketterford. After a tolerable dinner at the inn, Lady Amira pled fatigue and turned in. Dardan wanted only rest as well, so Liam followed him to his room and began to help him dress for bed. "I suppose I should start properly courting Lady Amira," Dardan groused all of a sudden.

"Yes, m'lord?"

"I can't imagine I'll find someone better, and I'd have to go through all that rigmarole again. The introduction, chatting mindlessly. I find it easier to talk to her now."

"That's good, m'lord. It'd be a pity to have gone through all that trauma with Prince Edon and have nothing to show for it."

Dardan frowned. "That's not something to make light of, Liam."

"Of course not, m'lord. Will there be anything else?"

"No, I'm wearied. Good night."

Liam was not tired in the least, so he found himself wandering the halls, and chatted up a comely young maid. She was all smiles at his attention, but the third time he realized he'd been silent for half a minute while thinking about Katin, he growled a good night at the startled girl and stomped off.

———

The next night they came into Potterton, a handful of homes and shops scattered around a ramshackle inn that had somehow attracted the services of a minstrel, so they were all serenaded while they ate dinner. Afterward, Dardan courageously asked Lady Amira if she would fancy a stroll around what passed for the town square. She assented, and so their _valai_ followed behind as the lord and lady made a slow circuit in the deepening twilight.

Liam took a deep breath and offered his arm to Katin. She confounded him; he'd never met a woman who was so game for banter, yet stared so coldly as if he meant some harm. Girls either cozied up to him or told him to get lost at once.

To his delight, she took his arm, but kept her gaze studiously ahead. When Dardan made a subtle shooing motion, Liam slowed his walk, to give Dardan and Amira a bit more privacy. Katin made no objection.

"Our masters seem to enjoy one another's company," he observed. "I'm pleased as well to be able to walk with you."

"Indeed. It would be a waste of warmth to walk separately," Katin said.

"That is not what I meant."

"You should speak more plainly, then, or I might misunderstand you again."

Liam stared. "Was there a burr under your saddle today? You are acting strangely."

"My apologies, Mister Howard. Are you upset that I failed to simply fall over and spread my legs for you the moment we met? As I recall it was when my lady first met your master, at his manse. I think it might have been received poorly had we begun fornicating on the rug."

Liam came to a dead stop, aghast. "What do you mean by speaking this way?"

Katin cast an eye after Amira for a moment, then looked up at Liam. "Why, I merely had some words with a few of the maids at your lord's manse, before we left. It seems you've had quite a number of adventures there."

Liam's face grew hot. "This is no appropriate conversation." He stiffly offered his arm again. Katin took it a moment later. Dardan and Amira had gotten farther ahead, so Liam made haste to close the gap. What business was it of hers if he had tumbled a maid or two... or five?

Katin went on. "Indeed, such a conversation might make a woman faint with fright. We are such delicate creatures."

Liam hesitated. "Fine, then. If you wish the truth, those girls propositioned _me_."

"Oh dear! Have I made some error by turning a cold shoulder?"

Despite her words, Katin still held his arm. Liam tried to let himself calm. "Is it so wrong to say that I found you to be fine company at the royal ball?"

"On the contrary, it is quite a nice thing to say. If only I didn't suspect the motive behind it."

"The motive—!" Liam gritted his teeth. _Calm. She's just trying to get you riled up._ Maybe he was taking the wrong tack. "I suppose you'd prefer it if men were all gelded and kept as pets."

"Some men, perhaps. Not all." She smiled.

"Well, that's a relief. Humanity would come to its end, otherwise."

"I suppose your sweethearts in Hedenham would be displeased by that."

"I have no such sweethearts." It was true. More or less. Some girls seemed to think they meant more to him than they really did. But that was hardly his fault.

"No?"

"No. I mean... no."

"So which is it? No, or no?"

"I will admit that there have been some young women for whom I have had... affection." He eyed her sidelong. "At the moment, there is only one girl I have my eye on."

"Hm. You should make sure she knows that." They'd come back around to the inn, and Katin slipped her arm out of Liam's. She strode off without another glance.

Dardan was saying goodnight to Amira. He boldly bent down and kissed her hand, and her eyes widened in what looked like amusement. Katin collected her and they went into the inn.

"M'lord is wasting no time, I see," Liam murmured as he came to his master's side.

Dardan shuffled his feet a little. "I confess I'm not pleased with mother's meddling, but Lady Amira is... a remarkable woman."

"M'lord is indeed lucky," Liam said. _Luckier than me, it would seem._

———

Two mornings later, the coach rumbled into Hedenham Town. They passed shops and homes and finally came to the wide, stone-paved town square. Buildings here favored walls of a whitewashed plaster, with high peaked roofs of slate. Hedenham had always been prosperous, surrounded by farms and forests to the west and north, and hills bearing copper and iron mines to the east.

Children ran alongside Dardan's horse as he tossed coppers down at them, laughing and calling out the names of some he knew. This was his habit whenever he returned; it cost but little and taught the children early to love their lord. Lord-to-be, rather.

On the north end of the square was the magistrate's office, with its hammer painted large on the outer wall. Liam saw someone emerge from it as they approached, and recognized Dardan's father, Count Asmus Tarian. He was a voluble man, tall and broad. He always reminded Liam of a hairless bear. His _valo_ , Bannis—they all called him Old Ban—lumbered stiffly along behind him.

Dardan cantered ahead and stopped before his father, who had turned at the sound of hoofbeats. Liam followed close behind. The count smiled up at his son. "My boy! I thought you'd be back days past. Stayed for the summer ball, did you?"

"And more besides," Dardan said, forcing his own smile.

The coach thumped to a stop behind them, and Katin and Amira peered out the side window. Asmus glimpsed them and grinned at his son. "Brought me a gift, eh?"

"Lady Amira is here as our guest," Dardan warned, "and I am presently courting her. Thus I will kindly ask you to keep your charms to yourself. Hands off her maids, too, if you please."

Asmus grinned, holding his hands up. "As you will, my boy. A man should have his own pleasures. I suppose you could at least introduce us, hm?"

"Of course." Dardan dismounted and helped the women down. Katin and Amira, anyway; Sara looked terrified as usual and stayed hidden in the coach.

Amira had dressed this morning in a lovely shade of peach, and had done her hair up in an elaborate, showy braid. Clearly she'd expected to meet the count and wanted to appear as radiant as possible.

Even old Asmus, veteran of a thousand boudoirs, was stunned. "My lady Amira," he said, bowing low over her hand but, Liam noted, not kissing it. "Welcome to Hedenham. It is an honor to meet you."

"The honor is mine," she said, bowing in return. "Your lands are remarkably fertile and pleasant."

"My son and I have worked hard for long years to ensure prosperity," Asmus said, near bursting with pride. _Is there a man that Amira cannot beguile? Well, me, I suppose. And Prince Edon._ Liam wondered what trouble the prince might have gotten up to out at Gravensford. It made him feel a bit safer to know that the royal estate was as far to the northwest of Callaston as Hedenham was to its northeast.

Dardan looked around the square. "Where's Ilya?"

"Your brother is with Master Stephens until the evening. He's already saved the man a hundred gold crowns, going through his books and finding errors. The boy will make a fine master of trade some day."

Dardan's little brother would be happy to know they'd returned. He idolized Dardan and always said how well he'd serve his older brother when he was grown. Liam hoped that Ilya's enthusiasm persisted through adolescence. Soon he'd start to notice girls, and then all bets were off for a few years.

Asmus told them that he still had business to conduct in town. In the meantime he formally granted Amira full use of his house and grounds, and insisted that the party decamp to the manor at once to rest and recuperate.

———

The Tarians' ancestral manor house, Tinehall, lay a mile north of the town, on a low rise beside the road. The manor was in fact two large parallel buildings, one hidden behind the other, with a broad grass courtyard between them. It was surrounded by a hundred and ten acres of grounds, gardens, stables and other utility buildings. A long gravel path led from the Hedenham road up to the manor.

The house major, old Gerald, came forth with what looked to be half the domestic staff: footmen, maids, a few stableboys. Gerald greeted Dardan and Liam warmly, and bowed low when introduced to Amira. The chief maid took the women inside at once, to show them to their quarters and see to their comfort. After such a long journey, the women would need plenty of rest. Liam did not miss that Katin glanced over her shoulder at him just before vanishing inside. He was going to have to figure out what to do about that girl.

"Gerald, we're famished," Dardan said. "We'll take luncheon in my father's office."

The count's office was adorned only with treasures the count had acquired over the years: the mounted head of a stag that he'd killed with a knife after his bowstring snapped; a rusted sword that he'd taken from a surrendering Vaslander chief during the last war; a black stone pyramid a foot high, received as a gift from some foreign merchant he'd once done business with. Other trinkets, arranged in no discernible order, had piled up along the walls.

Dardan settled into his father's seat while Liam remained standing. They waited in companionable silence until Gerald arrived with a tray bearing plates of ham, bread, onions, and beans. He turned to go but Dardan said, "No, please, stay. Let us all sit, in fact. The count will be some time, I'm sure."

Liam shrugged and sat, but Gerald looked uncomfortable. "M'lord," he intoned, in a sepulchral voice that always made Liam think of impending doom, "I would not feel comfortable sitting in the count's own office."

Dardan shrugged. "So be it. Tell me of my father. How has he been these last weeks?"

Gerald blinked at the young lord. "Irrepressible, as always. His mood seems well. He only threatened to whip me once this week."

Liam snorted. Asmus would threaten his servants at the slightest provocation, but they all knew he would never actually strike any of them. He was equally likely to promise titles and lands simply for being brought a delicious bowl of soup.

"Thank you, then," Dardan said, dismissing the old major. Gerald bowed and went out. Liam hoped he was getting along well; he always made life at the manor feel well-ordered.

Liam tucked into his food as soon as Dardan did. "Worried about your father's reaction to our news, m'lord?"

Dardan shrugged. "He'll shout obscenities and promise divine retribution, and two minutes later shrug it off as the common mischief of young men. I'm more concerned about the garrison."

They had just finished eating when footsteps heralded the count's approach. He strode into the office with Old Ban following right behind, who took the count's hat and leaned against the credenza by the door.

"My boy! I see you've eaten without me." Asmus chuckled. "Oh, and now your _valo_ makes casual use of my office, eh? I should have you flogged," he added to Liam. Liam held back a smile as he stood up, bowed to the count, and moved over to join Old Ban.

Dardan vacated his father's seat. "It is good to see you, of course, but I have urgent matters to discuss."

Asmus plopped into his chair and snatched up a crumb from Dardan's plate. "Go on, then."

Leaving out many small details, Dardan recounted his trip to Callaston, the business done there, and his introduction to Amira. His eyes glazed over as he began talking about how lovely she was, how graceful, how ladylike... Liam glanced at Old Ban, whose eyes were about to roll out of his head.

"Yes, yes, an outstanding example of noble womanhood, I quite comprehend. I've met the girl, you know," Asmus cut in. "None of this sounds especially urgent."

Dardan jumped ahead to the morning after the ball, when they'd been summoned to the palace and the prince had tried to have his way with Amira. The count's face grew cloudy, his eyelids lowered, and he listened intently, asking curt questions about this or that detail. The only part of it that stuck out to Liam was when Asmus said, "And _is_ there anything strange about Amira?"

"Not that I know of," Dardan said. "We all agreed that Edon had got into a panic about witches, claiming Lady Amira had had a spell cast on him. I think we can all agree how unlikely that is," he added with a snort.

"What about you?" Asmus said, swinging his attention to Liam. "Is there anything odd about the lady?"

"Nothing remarkable, m'lord," Liam said, straightening. "She has a somewhat unusual past, but nothing that raises my hackles."

"If a woman don't raise your hackles, she ain't worth knowing," Old Ban said.

As Dardan had predicted, once his recollection came to a close, Asmus leapt up and cursed House Relindos for swine, thieves, traitors, and worse. And just as predictably, in scant minutes he wound down. "I suppose your mother is engaging in her usual machinations."

Dardan stared oddly at his father for a moment, then nodded. "I do not pretend to understand what she does, speaking to her lady friends, but no doubt she will turn this to our favor in some small way."

Asmus dismissed his wife's doings with a wave of his hand, and sat down again. "Well, I'm glad you all emerged unscathed, though Lady Amira may bear some hidden scars that will only become visible in time."

"She is quite resilient," Dardan insisted.

"If all you have said is true, she will make a fine wife, I'm sure. You are intending to marry her, of course."

Dardan paused. "To propose, yes. At some point. There is no rush. And whether that proposal becomes a marriage is out of my control."

Asmus snorted. "Don't let your mother hear you say that. And don't dally too long, or you may wait yourself out of a perfectly acceptable fate."

Dardan nodded, looking down at his hands for a moment. His eyes were clear when they came back up. "I don't know how long we'll need to stay away from Callaston. Mother said she would send word when matters had settled. Prince Edon may be in Gravensford for some time."

Asmus snorted a laugh. "House Relindos could not banish their son from the city and let you and Amira stay. It is as likely a way to preserve their honor as it is to encourage the other nobles of Callaston to forget the whole thing and move on." He rapped his knuckles on the desk. "Fear not. There is always plenty to do here. Baron Parvis and Baroness Lalia are at each other's throats again, and I want you to go mediate. I've got half a mind to order them to marry each other just to see the fits they'd throw."

Dardan frowned. "Parvis? What happened with his accusation?"

Liam had almost forgotten about that. It had been quite the scandal. Parvis Stanton might have convinced them all of his innocence had he not fled when Asmus ordered him to stand trial.

"Oh. Well, I found him innocent."

Dardan stared, mouth agape. "Father, he fled from justice. How could such a man possibly be innocent?" he asked, echoing Liam's thoughts.

Asmus sighed. "I spoke with Baron Parvis privately before the trial. He admitted that he'd lain with the girl, with her permission, but said that later she changed her story."

"You _believed_ him?"

"I have only his word against hers. His attempted flight speaks poorly of him, but it was possible that events happened as he said, and he feared an unjust verdict." Asmus was growing agitated. He'd always been willing to explain his decisions to Dardan, saying how important it was that Dardan learn firsthand how a count should render justice, but rarely did Dardan challenge him.

Dardan took a deep breath. Liam could tell that he wanted to argue, but instead he asked, "So what happened?"

"I forced Parvis to admit in open court that he had lain with the maiden. You should have seen her father. I was afraid he'd try to kill Parvis then and there, guilty or innocent. The girl testified that Parvis coerced her. I had no cause to doubt her, but..." He waved a hand, as if trying to shoo away the whole situation. "If she turns up with child because of this, Parvis will have to pay her family fifty gold crowns."

"Someone should tell the baron that brothels are cheaper," Old Ban said.

Liam flinched a little, expecting Asmus to berate his _valo_ , but Asmus just pressed his lips together and glared.

"You should have found him guilty," Dardan put in. "It's not right to let a man take advantage of a common girl like that, even if he is a noble. It's a sure way to turn the common folk against us."

"I believe I have a reasonable grasp of how the common folk feel about us, boy," Asmus snapped. "I chastised Parvis in open court for his foolishness, before all the goodfolk of Hedenham Town. He won't soon forget that, and neither will they."

"Loud words will bring little comfort to the girl," Dardan countered.

"Barons are not so easily dispensed with," Asmus said. "His story was barely plausible. But say I did find him guilty of rape. Now the other barons begin to fear that a single commoner's accusation may bring an end to them. Would that be good for the county, do you think?"

Dardan had no answer this time. Asmus drummed his fingers on the table, waiting.

"Did you get our message about Vasland, and the garrison?" Dardan asked, abruptly changing the subject.

"Vasland? Oh, yes. Days past."

Dardan waited. "And?"

"And I went to Captain Stanton and suggested he might want to prepare his men."

"You _what?_ " Dardan rose half out of his chair, but plopped back down. "The letter said specifically not to do that!"

"Oh, are you the count now?" Asmus said. "I am always happy to consider advice from you and your mother, but it was my decision. Besides, I didn't order Captain Stanton to do anything. I merely explained the facts to him and let him make the decision on his own. That he chose to begin readying his men for war was a happy coincidence."

"House Relindos will not split hairs so finely! After the trouble we've already had with them..." Dardan shook his head. Liam wanted to put a hand on his master's shoulder, to try and remind him to be calm, but to intervene now would be foolish.

"I will deal with House Relindos if it comes to that. Now speak no more of this."

"Fine." Dardan's voice was even, but his hands were white-knuckled on the chair's armrests. "On to other matters. I will go to deal with the barons, but I'd been hoping to spend as much time as possible with Lady Amira. To improve my chances."

"I know how it works, boy! But Hedenham needs strong hands to guide it, and I am only one man." Asmus leaned forward. "You know this will be your domain in time. You cannot slack off on the reins, or the horse will leap into a river at the first chance."

The son ground his teeth. "Yes, father, I know, but—"

"But what?" Asmus barked. "The work awaits. You will have plenty of time to tarry with the girl. We will all dine together this evening, but on the morrow you will go to deal with Parvis and Lalia. You are no doubt tired and need what rest you have time for. Off with you."

Dardan hesitated, then stood and bowed low before his father. Lower than was appropriate. Asmus noticed, and his eyes narrowed. Liam wanted to grab Dardan and drag him out before the lords started shouting at one another, but Dardan hastened out before another word could be said. Old Ban watched them go, a lopsided smirk on his weathered face.

Out in the hall, Dardan started to speak, but Liam grabbed his arm and marched him out into the yard, shushing him the whole while. "Let it be," he barked at his master once they were outside. "Your father loves to argue, but even he has his limits."

Dardan stewed, clenching and unclenching his fists. He stalked off toward the stables, and when Liam made to follow, Dardan waved him off. "Go, rest. I'll be fine."

Liam followed him anyway. Dardan got into moods like any man, but it was Liam's duty to stay with his master. Well, except in bed, or on the privy.

But Dardan was not having it. "I told you to go."

"My duty—"

"To the black spirits with your duty! Can't a man be alone if he wants?"

Liam was growing more tense by the moment. He nearly had to run to keep up with Dardan. "A ride, then, m'lord. You've been gone for weeks, you'll feel better if you see the—"

What he would see, Dardan never heard, for he spun and shoved Liam so hard that the _valo_ lost his balance and landed sharply on his rear. "Leave me alone!" Dardan growled, and strode off toward the stables.

_Jackass._ Dardan was probably seething over some perceived insult to his manliness. He'd get over it. He'd better, anyway.

By the time Liam stood up and dusted himself off, he heard galloping hoofbeats, and a moment later spied Dardan atop a stallion, racing down the gravel path to the road. In moments the young lord was lost to sight. He'd never catch Dardan now; his master was a better rider, and the Tarians kept fast horses.

For a few moments Liam felt adrift, so he thought ahead to when Dardan might return, and that led him to think what Count Asmus would do if he discovered his noble son was running about unaccompanied. The prospect of informing Asmus of this soured his stomach, but he knew it paled by comparison to what Asmus would do if Liam waited to tell him, or, the Aspect of Courage forbid, tried to hide it from him altogether.

Still, he wandered the grounds for a few minutes, stopping by the kennel to watch as Fenimore, the old dog handler, fed the hounds. This made him think of Gerald again. The house major had become a widower long before Liam had come into the Tarians' service. Some years later, apparently, he'd found companionship with grouchy Fenimore, of a sort one did not speak of publicly. They kept their relationship quiet, and Count Asmus did not bother them about it. It might have bothered Liam to see young men act so, but Gerald and Fenimore were harmless codgers.

Liam summoned up his courage and returned to the count's office. Someone had closed the door in the interim. "Come," came Asmus's gruff reply when Liam knocked.

He went in. Old Ban still stood exactly where they'd left him, and said nothing as Liam planted himself before the count's desk.

"Where's my son?" Asmus asked before Liam could say anything.

"He... knocked me down and ran off, m'lord." It sounded even more embarrassing out loud than it had in his head. "He took his horse and galloped down the road."

It was Liam's turn to be sniggered at, and when he turned to look at Old Ban, the count's _valo_ didn't bother to hide his grin. "The count ever tried that with me, I'd sit on him till he came to his senses," he drawled.

"You did once, as I recall," Asmus said dryly. "Children. The bane of my existence! I'd disown the boy if he weren't my son."

While Liam pondered the oddness of that declaration, Asmus stood up and motioned them both to follow. "He'll be back for dinner. Tarians know better than to let their stomachs stay empty for the sake of pride. Come, let's see how the womenfolk are settling in." He eyed Liam as they walked. "That _vala_ of Lady Amira's. Think she'd be a tough nut to crack?"

"You have no idea," Liam muttered.

### CHAPTER 12

### KATIN

The weeks passed by in a rush of rides, picnics, dinners, dances, and courting. Katin lost track of how many excursions they'd made, mounted on feisty mares to visit a serene lakeside, or trundling along in a coach to meet the many barons and merchants of Hedenham County. Amira never seemed to tire of it. At night, in her chambers, she'd discreetly practice with her power. Her control over the thing seemed to grow by the day. It had become routine, even to Katin, and she barely worried any more whether they'd be discovered.

Occasionally Katin got into a panic that Edon might come after them, but all the letters from Besiana were run-of-the-mill gossip, or missives about trade and commerce and family business. The terrors they'd gone through in Callaston dwindled into the past, and Katin grew to cherish the safety and serenity of Hedenham.

Dardan certainly kept busy. His father constantly dispatched him to settle disputes, oversee road repairs, meet with barons, and so on. Two or three days at a time he'd be gone, and when he returned he spent every waking moment with Amira. Sometimes she went with him on his trips, to meet this or that noble or merchant, which meant Katin went too. The only time Amira declined was when Dardan went to visit Baron Parvis Stanton; the women had heard terrible stories about him and wanted no part of visiting the man. Katin grew nauseated simply upon hearing his name.

Amira's travels with Dardan meant that Liam spent much time near Katin, and he spent most of it in pursuit of her. She had hoped he would take her hostility to heart, after that conversation in Potterton, but it seemed to only increase his resolve. What lengths a man would go to, to bed a woman! Surely there must be easier targets in Hedenham.

Katin did not trust him precisely _because_ he was so handsome and charming. But he strove daily to prove his worth. When the footmen and maids and stablehands walked into town on their day off to visit the shops or some passing caravan, Liam would only go if Katin was going as well. If she'd rather tarry in the gardens, or just sit in the servants' hall and talk, Liam was always game. When she told him—only on occasion—to leave her alone, he did so without argument. When they spoke, his tongue was always sharp, and he was always ready with a jest, but he never turned them against her.

Amira found the whole thing endlessly amusing. One afternoon they took tea out in the garden, with the menfolk nowhere in sight. "You really are making things hard on the man, aren't you," Amira observed.

"I see no reason to do otherwise."

"Is he really so despicable? I know you are reluctant to engage in... certain activities," Amira said, for once keeping her words cautious. She actually even glanced around to ensure no one was near.

"I wouldn't call him despicable, m'lady. He's so blasted charming, and handsome, and he's never even tried to put a hand on me. I'm onto his game."

"Dear me, I can't tell if you disapprove of him or not," Amira laughed.

Katin just barely stopped herself from telling Amira to stuff it. Instead she crossed her arms and pointedly asked if m'lady needed anything. Amira merely smiled and continued sipping at her tea.

———

On a bright, cloudless morning, two months into their stay in Hedenham, Amira declared that they would go into town to visit a trade caravan that had stopped there. The summer heat had finally broken, and there had been a spell of cool days and rainstorms for the past week.

Dardan and Liam were off with Asmus, attending to some matter. Supposedly they were due back that afternoon. It would have just been Amira and Katin and a pair of Tarian house guards, if not for Calysane Tarian, Dardan's sister.

The girl was Chaos incarnate. The Tarians' middle child, she was fifteen, only months from her coming of age. She resented having to wait to attend to the dinner parties and dances that she considered her birthright. She would interrupt and correct anyone—even her father—who still called her "Calys," which she dismissed as a childish diminutive. She was _Calysane_ , and one forgot that at one's own peril.

Everyone called her Calys anyway.

She invited herself along on every daylight excursion, refusing to be left out of anything that might be amusing. Her governess, a tired woman named Clara, had long since given up trying to mold the girl into a proper lady. Calys guffawed, repeated ribald jokes, bluntly stated truths without regard for tact, and generally gave everyone fits. This endeared her greatly to Katin.

Naturally, she had attached herself to today's party the instant she caught wind of it. Amira never objected to her presence, but thought the girl was silly, never mind that she was only four years younger. She pointedly ignored Calys wherever they went. Calys either didn't notice or didn't care.

They took horses this day, rather than a coach. "It's been a dog's age since there was a caravan in town," Calys was saying, as they ambled past a barley farm. "I always fancy looking at the dresses. They always have such odd styles!" She pulled back her sun bonnet, letting it ride below her short-cropped hair, which barely reached to her neck. Calys had wanted it cut short, and her father had refused, so she had snuck to the gardener's shed and used pruning shears to do it herself. Count Asmus had been enraged, not so much at the messy haircut as at the defiance. But five minutes later he was laughing heartily and speculating on whether his wife would faint if she saw Calys's hair.

The sun smiled down on them as they came into Hedenham Town. The trade caravan with its garishly painted wagons had shown up the previous evening and set up shop in the square. Townsfolk swarmed all around it, _ooh_ ing and _aah_ ing over the fine silks, haggling over odd trinkets, warily examining the strange foods from foreign lands. Calys claimed that she'd heard the caravan had gotten its wares from ships docking at Seawatch, far to the northeast.

The party pulled up short when a young man came running out of Master Stephens's counting-house on the edge of the square. Ilya Tarian was coming into the gawky phase of his youth, his arms gangling down his side like a scarecrow. His true name was Illadrin, but unlike his sister, he preferred the shorter nickname. He bunked with other apprentices here in town, yet most nights made the trek to Tinehall for dinner with the family.

"Hello, sister!" he shouted out. "Lady Amira," he added, bowing deeply to her.

Calys looked down at him as only an older sister can. "Shouldn't you be inside counting something?"

"I saw you through the window and asked Master Stephens for a moment to greet you. Is Dardan back soon?"

"This afternoon," Amira said. "I believe we will be dining at the manor, all together."

"Yes, it's been _days_ since you and Dard made lovey-dovey eyes at each other," Calys said, sniggering. Amira ignored her, but Katin thought her jaw tightened a little. Amira had become very picky about how her developing relationship with Dardan was referred to. She had made it clear to Katin that she was most certainly not in love with the man.

"Calys is just jealous that no one makes eyes at her," Ilya smirked.

"My name is _Calysane!_ " the girl shrieked, kicking her leg out at her brother. Her horse danced back suddenly, and she lost her balance, clinging to the saddle for a moment before righting herself. Ilya scampered back inside the counting-house, cackling.

———

The caravan made for a fine diversion, though Katin saw little that she might actually want to own. They browsed a while, then visited the splendid temple beside the square. Amira stopped to pray there every time they came into town, and Katin had long since resigned herself to it.

They took luncheon at the Copper Kettle, the large homey inn across from the temple, rather than return to the manor. They had finished eating and were having their tea when hooves clopped on the stones outside. Moments later the Tarian men burst in the door, arguing.

"The baron will find a way to avoid paying for the repairs, father, you know I'm right."

"He'll do what I tell him, and that's that!" Asmus growled back. Dardan threw his hands up, but then spied Amira and the others from across the common room. He doffed his hat, straightened his hair, and made for them. Katin felt a twinge—some feeling she could not quite identify—when she saw Liam behind him.

Dardan approached the table and bowed to the womenfolk. "Lady Amira. You look radiant." Katin watched her mistress as she smiled up at the lordling and spoke to him. It was a true smile, reaching her eyes. Despite her protestations that she was not in love with him, Amira had also confided that in all the time she'd spent with Dardan, she'd never seen a cruel mark in his behavior. Like all men, especially the young, he was prone to occasional fits of anger and pride, but none of his rancor ever survived past the moment, and he went out of his way to be courteous and generous toward commoners. It was not unusual for him to stop what he was doing to converse with this farmer or that carpenter or blacksmith, simply to ask how they fared and whether there was anything their lord could do for them.

Amira had finally come to the conclusion that if Dardan did propose marriage, she would accept. She had admitted to Katin that aside from being plain of looks and a little short on humor, there was little that could be said against him. She might not love Dardan, but they both knew that that was no bar to a noble marriage. The other Tarians were feisty and thoroughly loving, and Hedenham would be a pleasant enough place to live one's life.

And what about Katin's own life? Liam had not once slackened in his quest. She had grown angry when she'd caught herself thinking once that maybe it might not be so bad, to feel his lips on hers...

"Katin? Katin!" Amira said.

Katin started, and then blushed when she realized that everyone else was staring at her, just as she'd been staring at Liam. "M'lady?" she said, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. Calys was giggling quietly behind her hand, and right then Katin did not feel charitable toward her.

Dardan cleared his throat. "It would please me to take my lady to visit Baroness Dyane's gardens. They are most wondrous. Our last visit to the baroness's manse was in the evening, and so we did not see them."

Everyone agreed that this was a wonderful idea. As they all prepared to leave, Katin found herself standing beside Liam, and Dardan strode up to them. "I believe that we shall be quite well attended, what with father, Old Ban, and Calys and Clara, and the house guards. Perhaps you two should take some time for, um... a stroll." He nodded firmly, clearly satisfied, and left. Katin's cheeks burned. Had Liam enlisted his master in conspiring to send the _valai_ off together? The nerve of the man!

Liam offered his arm to Katin. "If miss is ready?"

Dubious, she took his arm. She realized her heart was pattering as she watched the others mount up and trot away across the square. "I fear for this town when Calys comes of age," she said, trying to ease her own nervousness. It had gotten harder for her to make cracks at Liam's expense.

Liam snorted. "Asmus will reap what he has sown. Calys's parents are two of the most stubborn people I've ever met."

"That poor woman Clara. I doubt there's a governess alive who could bring Calys in line."

"Ah, the world's a better place with Calys the way she is. Gives a spark to the whole thing. But, erm, Calys is not the young lady I wish to speak about just now." They'd been strolling slowly along the edge of the square, and now Liam came to a halt and turned to face Katin. "Miss Berisha, this is not something I do often, so pray forgive me if I express myself poorly."

Katin raised an eyebrow. "Now you sound like a lord. Am I to expect bad news?"

Liam laughed. "No, nothing like that. I'm far too fond of you to, er..." He trailed off, looking a little startled at what he'd said.

She could not pass up that opening. "Do go on. I'm ever so keen to hear more on this topic."

"Ah. Yes. We've, well, we've spent quite some time together these past months. I feel that we've come to know each other quite well. Er, when in Hedenham—that is, in Hedenham, when a man wishes to... to bring a proposal to a lady..."

She felt her jaw drop open, and clamped it shut. Was he about to _propose_ to her? A man like him, waiting for marriage? Her mind reeled at the prospect.

And how dare he think that she would be amenable to such a thing? When had she ever given him the slightest hint that she might have an interest in him? Merely because they spent so many hours in one another's company? Merely because she'd allowed him to take her on long walks around the Tarians' gardens? Merely because... _Oh dear._

Liam had stopped when her mouth opened. "Go on," she said, not trusting herself to express anything more complex.

"Ah, well, when a man wants to bring his proposal to a lady—that is, a proposal of marriage, well, um..." He trailed off again, staring into her eyes.

She could not bear it any longer. "Wha—are you actually—I can't believe you'd go as far as marriage to get me into bed!"

Liam's eyes went wide. "What? No! Oh no, no, I'm not proposing to _you_! I would never—I mean, not never—but you—augh!" He grunted in frustration and stomped a few steps away.

Now Katin was thoroughly befuddled. "What in the black spirits is this about?" she demanded.

After a few moments Liam turned back. His words came out between gritted teeth. "I am bringing you a proposal of marriage from Lord Dardan to _Lady Amira_."

Katin's eyes grew wide, and she felt a grand idiot. "Oh. Oh! Then... they're waiting at the baroness's garden?"

"Yes, and we'd probably have finished this conversation and arrived there by now if you'd have just let me speak." Liam sighed in frustration. "As Lady Amira has no male kin, m'lord and the count concluded that the offer should be presented to you."

Katin gulped, trying to push her heart back into her chest where it belonged. "Um. Well. In that case, I hereby accept your offer, on behalf of my lady, Amira Estaile." That was the easy part, at least.

"Then we had best get going. You know how m'lord hates waiting." He stiffly offered his arm. His frustration had degenerated into mild disgruntlement.

Katin took his arm and let him lead her along. _That could not have possibly gone worse._ And for the first time in her memory, Katin felt ashamed at how she'd spoken to Liam.

———

Baroness Dyane's house major said he'd been expecting them, and led them through the manse to the gardens behind it. Hedenham Town was less cramped than Callaston, so the gardens stretched out of sight into the distance—although perhaps it was an illusion, for the garden had many winding paths, high hedges, and topiaries shaped like birds, fish, and deer, and one that appeared to be an enormous frog. Katin inhaled the scents of roses and daffodils and bluethistle; they had a calming effect on her, which she desperately needed. Every time she thought about the conversation in the square, her pulse began to race again.

Liam led her along a path toward the sound of conversation. They came around a curve and spied Lord Dardan and Lady Amira standing arm in arm before a tranquil pool. Count Asmus stood a little distance away, watching them as they chatted. Old Ban lurked behind him. The governess Clara stood on the other side of the pool as Calys crouched to examine something in the water. And sitting in an iron-wrought chair by the edge of the pool was a little noblewoman, old and withered, with close-cropped silver hair. She was dressed as fine as any of them, and Katin recognized her as Baroness Dyane Ulmic. Her _vala_ , who seemed equally old though less frail, stood behind her.

They came to a stop just out of earshot. Liam waited a few moments until Asmus chanced to look over at them. The count's eyes widened and he tilted his chin up in inquiry, and Liam nodded deeply to him. Asmus broke into a wide grin. He glanced over at Dardan and nodded as well.

Dardan let go of Amira's arm and stepped back. He turned to face her, and went down to one knee. Amira, seeming surprised—but this could be no surprise, not really—put a hand up to her breast and gasped.

"I want to hear," Katin urged, stepping forward and pulling Liam with her. They came close enough, behind Amira, to overhear Dardan speaking.

"...lady, I would be honored beyond any man who lived or has yet to live, if you would become my lady wife." In his hand was a tiny box with something glinting in it—the rings. He held it up to Amira.

"I accept," she said, and Katin could hear joy in her voice. She knew Amira, and _that_ was not feigned. Dardan rose, drew the smaller ring from the box, and slipped it onto Amira's ring finger on her left hand. In turn, she took the larger ring and placed it onto Dardan's left ring finger. When facing one another, holding hands, the rings would be far from each other. At the wedding, a second pair of rings would be exchanged, to go on the right hands. Each ring would then have a matched partner, symbolizing the eternal bond.

The little ceremony ended, and even Calys clapped with tears in her eyes. Katin came up and embraced Amira, and they cried into each other's hair. Amira might not be in love, but even she was still susceptible to the emotion wrought by a betrothal. Amira showed Katin her ring: a band of silver between two bands of onyx, with a long emerald curving along the upper side. At the wedding, Dardan would receive another like it, but larger. Katin went to look at Dardan's ring, which was bright yellow gold with a crosshatch pattern and a fat round amberstone mounted upon it.

Even Count Asmus looked misty-eyed. He gripped his son by the shoulders and pulled him into an embrace. "I'm proud of you, m'boy," Katin overheard him mutter.

Old Baroness Dyane beamed to have hosted this event, and insisted that they all stay for tea and cakes. Calys accepted on her brother's behalf before anyone else could speak, and even Amira laughed at her enthusiasm.

———

It was evening before they left, their original dinner plans thwarted, but no one minded. They'd stayed so long that Dyane had her servants prepare extra places for dinner. Finally the meal ended and the whole group departed for Tinehall.

They crossed the town square in the twilight. Katin felt drained. Her dismay at what had happened with Liam battled against her elation at Amira's good fortune, and finally the elation had won out. But just barely. Katin looked forward to getting a good night's sleep; in the morning, the memory would be a little less sharp.

Rapid hoofbeats drifted to her ears from the road ahead. She perked up. Who would be racing along in the dark at this hour? He'd likely make his horse stumble, or worse. Moments later the galloping mount became visible around the curve of a street, a dark blotch in the dusk. The rider seemed to notice the party ahead, and slowed to a trot. Two Tarian guards, one carrying a torch, moved ahead to screen the rider.

"Who's there?" Count Asmus called out as the man came within shouting distance. The rider was breathing as hard as his horse, whose head drooped as it came to a stop before them.

"Is that the count? M'lord, it's... it's me, Yancey Stearns," the man said between gasps for air.

"Farmer Yancey? I thought you'd taken goods to Callaston," Dardan said, riding over to him. "Where's your wagon?"

"No, not—not important," the man went on. "Your wife, the, the countess. She... sent me to tell you..."

Tendrils of panic began to slither around Katin. She glanced over at Liam, who leaned forward intently, watching the exhausted farmer.

"The king... the king is dead. He's been... been murdered. By Prince Edon."

### CHAPTER 13

### DARDAN

Dardan stared dumbly at the farmer. Was this a joke? A lie? Why would Yancey of all people deceive them? What if Yancey had been deceived? But he said he'd been sent by the countess, Dardan's own mother.

Asmus lurched forward on his horse. "Speak again, man," he said, incredulous. "You say the king's been murdered? By his own son?"

Yancey nodded. "I heard the news... with my own ears, m'lords," he said, beginning to catch his breath. "The countess, she said I was to take her best horse and head back here at all speed. She even gave me a pouch of silver to speed me along, she said, to buy new horses as mine got blown out," and he produced a little leather pouch that clinked and handed it to Dardan. "I'm sorry it's not fuller. I didn't reckon I had time to haggle. This is the fourth horse I've been on, plus I spent a silver for a room at an inn last night. I'd been riding so hard I couldn't barely walk for all the saddlesores, m'lord, begging your pardon." He seemed to notice then that there were women present as well, and quickly doffed his hat. "Oh, uh, m'ladies."

Dardan's initial shock was fading, but the uncertainty and the taste of bile rising up his throat were no better replacement. "Tell us from the start, sir."

The farmer nodded. "I'd brought some cows for sale at the market, and got my silver, and went to the countess's house—er, m'lord's house, I mean—to pay my respects, and see if she had any news for m'lord, since I was to head back out to the county. Was almost night, then, and she told me to sup with the servants and find a spare room, sayin' there was no need for me to waste my coin on a city inn. So I slept, and when I woke the whole house was in a fit, like someone'd kicked an anthill. And I asked what was the matter, and one of the servants said the king was dead, and she broke down crying and couldn't say no more. So I went to find the countess, who, um, begging your pardon, but she was mad as a hornet. She told me that it was true, the king was dead, and that his own son, the prince, had done it. And she put me on the horse and told me to bring that news to you, as soon as I could." He wiped his brow, still sweating even in the evening chill. "I rode off just past dawn, yesterday morning, and thank the Caretaker, it was a swift ride."

Everyone stared at each other in the silence that followed. Even Asmus seemed rattled. "You've done well, son," the count said, riding forward. "It's late, and you're in no state to ride back to your farm. You stay at the Kettle tonight, and keep this as a reward for your good service." He took the pouch of silver from Dardan and handed it back to Yancey. "Don't worry about the horses. This news is far more important than any few pieces of horseflesh. Did you learn anything else as you were leaving the city?"

"No, m'lord. I saw few people about, but them I did see looked afraid. The guards at the Festival Gate let me out without so much as a glance. They looked to be arguing with each other."

The count nodded and dismissed the man, who walked his tired mount over toward the inn. "We must make haste to Tinehall," Asmus said.

———

Gerald was waiting at the door when they rode up. "M'lord is quite late," he muttered, "and dinner has gotten cold." A trio of stableboys darted out to assist the riders; Gerald went to Asmus's horse himself.

Asmus dismounted and handed the reins to the old house major. "We stayed long at Baroness Dyane's, but other news has come." He put a hand on Gerald's shoulder. "The king is dead, sir."

In the flickering torchlight, Gerald's somber face seemed to collapse in on itself. "The... what?"

"It is true. Come, we must talk. Inside, all of you." Dardan watched as the others filed past him into the house. Gerald sagged, holding himself upright only by the reins in his hand. Dardan went to him and took his arm. "Are you all right?"

Gerald tried to steady himself. "I... I will be, m'lord, thank you. You best get inside." Dardan nodded and went, turning back once to watch Gerald as he led the horse away.

A fire roared in the sitting room's hearth, and the wall sconces were all lit. The room was paneled in wood and decorated with hunting trophies. The dead-eyed animal heads sticking out from the walls had unnerved Dardan as a child. He'd grown used to them, but just now they seemed full of rancor and malice.

Asmus warmed his hands at the fire. Even with the torches on their ride back to the manor, it had still been too dark to reliably make out expressions. Now Dardan saw woe, fear, and dismay on all sides. Amira seemed shocked, her face pale, as she settled into a chair. Katin stood firmly behind her, unwilling to move more than two feet away from her lady, as if a threat were present in the room with them. Liam furrowed his brow and chewed on his thumb. Old Ban was the only one who looked calm, although perhaps he was just better at hiding his distress.

Dardan felt lost. He didn't even know where to begin; what to think, what to say, what to do.

Calys was the first to speak. "Why would Prince Edon kill his own father?" Dardan looked at her, and for all the times she had seemed like a miniature version of his mother—willful, cunning, energetic—in the flickering firelight she seemed little more than a scared child.

"Calysane, go to your bed. I will speak to you in the morning." Asmus's voice was strained and low. He stayed facing the fire.

It usually took brusque shouting to get Calys to do anything, but now she nodded and went out, Clara following after. Dardan gave his sister's hand a quick squeeze as she went by.

He went over to his father and spoke quietly. "Will Gerald be all right? He seemed distraught. I know he served the royal house before he entered our service, but..."

His father glanced sidelong at him. "He knew King Viktor as a young man. They were friends. Gerald will grieve, but he will be fine." Asmus straightened and turned around, facing the others. "We have much to do. I do not doubt Yancey's tale, but we must prepare for whatever may come."

"What is likely to come, my lord?" Amira asked. There was a tremor in her voice, but still she looked Count Asmus right in the eye. The memory of the afternoon blossomed in Dardan again, only now a shadow lay across it.

Asmus stalked around the edge of the room, looking up at the hunting trophies. "I cannot say for certain. I assume that Edon tired of his father's disrespect and somehow managed to convince some younger lords to support him. But the king is no fool, and would not have let Edon build up a power base on his own. There must have been some treachery involved."

The political implications seemed less important to Dardan than the here and now. "We must send out messengers to all the barons," Dardan said, "and to further north and east, into Tyndam and Everfleet, to inform our neighboring counts."

Asmus nodded. "Yes. And to the duke's hold. Loram Arkhail is presumably still in Callaston, but the duchess and his seneschal must be informed. And we must send someone to Callaston to confirm the story, and find out whatever other news they can."

It seemed so obvious in retrospect that Dardan felt an idiot for not having thought of it. "Yes. I will go."

Asmus shook his head. "No. You must stay here, at least for now. I will need a right hand who carries my authority."

Dardan felt even stupider. Of course he had to stay. He was not thinking clearly; the whole day had thrown him for a loop. They'd left before dawn to go deal with another of Baron Parvis and Baroness Lalia's spats, about some damaged wall between their lands. Asmus had ordered them to split the repair costs, which had led to another round of arguing. Finally the count had cursed them in a rage, threatening to exile them both to Vasland if they didn't cooperate.

Then the Tarians had ridden all the way back to Hedenham Town, and the whole engagement surprise had to be arranged. The afternoon's euphoria had exhausted Dardan as much as all the riding, leaving him doubly tired.

The count seemed to sense Dardan's fatigue, and told him to get some rest at once. He agreed, but insisted upon escorting Amira to her own chambers first. The east wing of the main house held several sets of comfortable apartments, including those of his siblings. Ilya's were unoccupied for now, since he was bunking in town with the other apprentices. Those were meager accommodations compared to living in a manor house, but every time they spoke Ilya had some new adventure to recount. He seemed to like it there.

Ilya. The boy would probably learn the news by the morning. Dardan itched to ride out and find his brother himself, but Yancey would no doubt recount his tale to everyone at the inn's common room. The gossip would spread like wildfire. Ilya might have already heard.

Dardan shook the thoughts away. Amira glided along beside him, subdued. They came to the apartments they'd lent her, Katin leading the way inside. Amira paused at the threshold. "My lord, this has been a day of both great joy and great sorrow. I pray that the light of day will raise our spirits."

"As do I. My... my lady." _My love,_ he almost said, but it seemed out of place. He bent down to kiss her hand, but she stopped him with a finger on his chin.

"I do believe a betrothed couple is entitled to at least one of these," and she leaned forward and kissed him.

He had kissed girls before, of course, playing as children, or with maidens of the town when he was younger. But none of that had prepared him for this. All that passed through his mind was clouds and rain and silk and leaves rustling in the wind. After an eternity, Amira pulled back, her lips glistening. She opened her beautiful gray eyes and looked up at him. Whatever she saw made her grin wide. "Good evening, my lord," she said, and closed the door.

———

He woke at dawn, and lay abed for a few minutes. The reality of the previous night's news came back slowly, almost like recalling a dream, but he knew it had been real. Soon the noises of morning activity drifted through his door, so he rose and summoned Liam to assist with his morning ablutions.

His father found them at breakfast. "I've sent off three men to spread the news to Thorncross, Caswick, and Everfleet. And I sent Topher Belwin off to Callaston, to see what he can learn there."

"Belwin... the ironmonger's son? Why him?"

"He's quick of wit and he blends in. Not that I expect him to need to engage in any subterfuge, but he was the best man I could think of for the job. Beyond that, today we must address the townsfolk and let them know that all is well."

"All is hardly well," Dardan said around a mouthful of eggs. But he held up a hand before his father could argue. "I know. Reassurance is important."

The meeting was held out in the town square before the Copper Kettle. Someone brought out a box for Asmus to stand on as he shouted out to the townsfolk. Dardan stood beside his father, scanning the worried faces before him. Most of them looked shocked, as was to be expected. A king's death was never pleasant, but the manner of Viktor's death was almost too much to believe.

Asmus did his best to reassure them, saying that even a king's time came eventually. He reminded them that the harvest would be upon them before long and that they should keep their minds on the land and their work. After he was done, he spent a few minutes going through the crowd, stopping to shake hands and pat backs. Count Asmus was never quiet, not even now, but it was as if he left a trail of calm behind him as he went.

They returned to Tinehall for a nearly silent luncheon. No one, not even Calys, had the gall to make idle conversation just now. Afterward Dardan asked Amira for a walk in the gardens, which she accepted. They passed by the flowerbeds and the manicured lawns, by the topiaries trimmed in the shape of mastiffs.

His betrothed said little, so Dardan kept his peace as well. As they passed the reflecting pool at the far edge of the gardens, she came to a halt. "My lord—Dardan," she corrected herself. "I must get used to calling you that."

Dardan smiled. "It will take time, I suppose." He marveled that he could speak to her so easily now. His breath still caught whenever he saw her, but at least the debilitating nervousness had gone.

"There's something I must tell you. When..." She paused, and took a deep breath. "This is very difficult for me. Please, I beg your forgiveness in advance."

Something in her tone worried him. "What is it?"

"Well... back in Callaston, when her majesty the queen spoke with us... I did not tell the whole truth about what Edon said to me."

Dardan was surprised. He glanced at Liam, who stood a few paces off, near Katin. The _vala_ watched her lady intently. Liam raised an eyebrow and shrugged slightly.

"Go on," Dardan said. "What did he say?"

"What I told everyone—told you—was that he'd accused me of hiring a witch to cast a spell on him. I implied that he'd used it as an excuse to have me brought to him, so that he could force himself upon me. But what he actually said was... slightly different." Now she met Katin's eyes. Her _vala_ nodded urgently.

Amira sighed. "What he actually said... was that he thought that _I_ was a witch, and had put him under a spell myself. And that the only way to break it was for him to lay with me."

Dardan recoiled. "Black spirits! Is he mad? And why didn't you tell us this before?"

"I thought it didn't matter. Something stopped me from quite saying the truth before Queen Alise, and once I'd told that story, it didn't seem wise to try to clarify it. At the time, I hardly knew you and your mother. And besides, we were going to be far away from Edon. His family had banished him to their estates. I wanted to put it behind me. But now... I fear he may come for me."

Dardan blinked a few times, trying to come to terms with this awful news. He needed to marshal his thoughts, so he took a few slow steps away from Amira. How likely was Edon to actually come after her? If he really believed that he had to... to do this horrible thing...

Before, he'd been only a lout of a prince. Now he was the king, a murderous king, if the tale was true. Dardan had to do something. He went back to Amira and took her hands. "Amira, my darling. I will speak to my father. We will make certain you are safe and protected."

"Thank you, truly," she said, and the perfect smile on her face lit Dardan's soul like never before. He silently cursed the black spirits again for throwing this obstacle before them. _What did a sweet girl like this ever do to deserve the wrath of a monster like Edon?_

———

Count Asmus glanced up from writing something as they entered. Old Ban sat at the side table, squinting at parchments. "Can it wait?" Asmus said. "I'm amidst a letter to the Arkhails."

Dardan planted his feet. "We must speak. It is urgent."

Asmus paused, then sighed and lay down his quill. "What is it?"

Dardan guided Amira to a seat before Asmus's desk and sat beside her. "Lady Amira has told me something important." He looked to his betrothed. "Do you wish to say it, or should I?"

"Please," Amira said. Dardan recounted their conversation in the garden.

Asmus's eyebrows nearly climbed off his face. "You really believe Edon would come and try again to kidnap you?"

"He did it before. I see no reason why he would not do so again."

Asmus scoffed. "Before, he was merely an idle prince, whose misguided affections may have led him to do something untoward. Now he is a king and has far more pressing issues."

"'Misguided affections'?" Katin said, not bothering to hide the scorn in her voice. "M'lord, Edon tried to _rape_ her."

Asmus waved his hand. "Whatever you may call it, it is past, and a fluke. At that time, Lady Amira had no attachment to our house." He pointed at Dardan. "Now she is your betrothed, and is due our protection."

"Edon will not know of our betrothal, and even if he does, he may not care," Dardan argued. "Amira believes the threat is real, and so do I. We must ensure her safety in case Edon comes after her."

"Ensure her safety how? Fortify Tinehall? Build a bulwark around the town? Perhaps we should simply raise arms and march on Callaston!"

"Foxhill Keep. We can hide there if Edon comes." Foxhill Keep was an old abandoned fortification a mile or two north of the manor, just off the Thorncross road. Dardan had gone there many times as a child, exploring the ancient stones. It was still defensible, as he recalled, with a small keep surrounded by a stone wall. A few men could hold it easily. Not that he was expecting a siege; he just wanted a place to hide Amira if necessary. "All we need are some provisions, and a little warning."

Asmus laughed suddenly. "You're as mad as Edon. You really suppose this is necessary?" He sighed. "Very well. I'll humor you. But you can see to the provisioning yourself. If Edon does come... I suppose I'll misdirect him, say you've gone off to visit Baroness Lalia or something." Asmus stood up and irritably waved at them. "You've bedeviled me enough to last a month. Begone." As they turned to go, Asmus said, "Dardan, wait. Tarry a moment."

Dardan gave Amira's hand a squeeze before she and Katin left. He watched them go, then turned back to his father.

Asmus spoke quietly, perhaps the quietest Dardan had ever heard from him. "If I do this, it would almost certainly count as treason. She had better be worth it."

Dardan puffed out his chest. "She is. I'd stake my life on it."

"You already have, my boy."

———

It was critical that the plan remain secret. Dardan caught up with Amira to remind her and Katin. He noticed during that conversation that Katin seemed to glare every time she looked at Liam. He wondered what that was about; hadn't they been getting along?

In the night, Dardan sent Liam to fetch supplies from the kitchen: beans, dried fruit, salt beef, hardtack. He had Katin pilfer a few blankets and pillows from the maids.

Dardan and Liam packed it all up in sacks and rode to Foxhill Keep to stash it away. The only thing they didn't have to bring was water; the keep had a cistern built into it, to catch rainwater, and it was still full enough to sustain a few people for a few days.

As far as he knew, no one had seen them go. The missing supplies might be noticed, but in a house as large as Tinehall, sometimes things got misplaced for a while. No one would think anything of it.

As they carried the supplies up into the keep, Dardan struck up conversation. "I never had a chance to ask how your little stroll with Katin went yesterday. It can't have gone too poorly, considering her answer to the proposal. And yet I noticed her staring daggers at you today."

Liam grimaced. "Her acceptance was the only pleasant part of it, m'lord. I managed to muff the question the first time. She thought I was proposing to _her_."

Dardan laughed. "Really! Liam Silvertongue, I'd have thought to name you. I'm surprised you've spent so much energy chasing that woman and not caught her yet."

"I'm as surprised as you are, m'lord. Not to brag, that is. I've never met a woman who spurned me so easily, and yet persisted in giving me a chance."

"Perhaps the Caretaker is testing you," Dardan said, unable to hide his smile. Liam just shook his head in wonder.

### CHAPTER 14

### AMIRA

Earlier

Amira closed the door on Dardan's stunned expression. The kiss hadn't been _that_ amazing, she was sure, but her betrothed had seemed to enjoy it.

She could hardly dwell on such things. King Viktor was dead at Edon's hand. She armored her mind against roiling emotion. Collapsing into a blubbering heap would do no one any good.

Katin, unsurprisingly, looked about ready to explode. "We have to get out of here! Now! Tonight!" She began scrabbling at the dresser, yanking the drawers open and scooping handfuls of clothes onto the bed.

Amira walked over to her, spun her around by the shoulder, and slapped her lightly across the face. "Calm down," she ordered. The _vala_ stared at her, agape. Amira pulled Katin over to the bed and sat her down. "Edon is not here. It does us no good to panic." She let go of Katin's hand and waited a moment to be sure the girl would not get up at once. Amira fetched water from the side table and waited until Katin drank it. "Listen to me. We've only just heard this news. For all we know, it's a mistake."

"A mistake?" Katin all but shrieked. Amira held up a warning finger. She would not let Katin panic. "A mistake?" Katin repeated, quieter. "You know that's absurd. What are we going to do?"

"What can we do?" Amira sat down beside her _vala_. "Flee into the woods? Take a ship from Seawatch and sail for Liahn?" It felt odd being the practical one for once. Amira did not want to ever see Edon again, any more than Katin did, but it was not as simple as pulling up stakes and hightailing it for the hills.

Amira watched her _vala_ for a minute as the girl calmed. "We must do something," Katin said. "I will not let you just sit here and wait for him to show up on the Tarians' doorstep."

Amira sighed. "You cannot even know that he will come. Surely a king must be too busy to personally bother every woman who takes his fancy."

"You know bloody well it's more than that."

"Fine, I admit it, but our options are limited. Should we reveal my power to the Tarians? One of the women in this room, as I recall, has repeatedly and strenuously insisted that _no one can ever know._ " She raised her eyebrow pointedly.

Katin glared right back. "You must do something. Convince them that you need protection."

"Hm. It would be no great trick to convince Dardan. He's head over heels. He'd challenge the king to a duel, if it came to that."

"And if the king has the same power you do? How would that duel turn out?" Katin's panic had subsided, but Amira could see she was still furious. She felt her own anger rising, and went over to the washbasin. She splashed water on her face and dried it, taking time to calm herself.

A thought struck her. "What if we had somewhere to hide?"

———

She felt awful about lying to Dardan as they stood by the pool. Well, not lying outright; merely adjusting the truth a little. The result was the same, she told herself. Edon believed she had some eldritch power, and might come after her again.

That was the only difficult part. Dardan took it from there, convincing his father that some hiding place must be prepared. Amira was surprised by his fervor. She had seen men fall over themselves for her before, but none of them had ever gone so far as to try to thwart a king.

The next days were spent in tense waiting. Count Asmus had sent men off to try and find out more; news from the direction of Callaston was sparse. It was late in the night, six days later, when a rhythmic thumping sound woke Amira. She sat up in the dark. Her eyes had adjusted enough to make out the candle on the nightstand. Without thinking, she pushed her ember at it, and it sprang alight. She peered out the window but saw nothing unusual in the moonlight.

The thumping came again, loud and urgent. Someone was knocking at the manor's door.

She had tried to avoid thinking of Edon, but he invaded her mind. Edon had already been a monster to her, and hearing that he had killed his own father made him something worse. Every night since then, she'd gone to bed wishing she'd killed Edon instead of Sir Thoriss.

She assumed that Edon must have developed the same power she had. And he'd had two months of privacy at Gravensford to practice with it. She'd imagined him, striding into the great throne room of Elibarran, raising a hand and snuffing his father's life out, while the queen screamed...

The knocking stopped. Someone had probably opened the door. Perhaps she should wait until someone came to fetch her—or they might not at all. It might be nothing, some news unrelated to the king's death, but impatience got the better of her. She went into the adjoining servant's cell and woke Katin, who cursed her as usual.

They put on dressing gowns and robes and went out into the hall. From the main stairs, Amira heard voices in the sitting room and saw shadows flickering through the doorway. It was well after midnight, but the whole house seemed to have woken. She pulled her robe tight and went downstairs.

Count Asmus was in his nightrobe, crouching on a settee. He seemed haggard, only half-awake, but listened to the man before him: Topher Belwin, son of an ironmonger. He had eyes the same unremarkable brown as his hair, and a face so plain that it took Amira several moments to remember who he was.

Old Ban stood behind the count, and Gerald, the kindly old house major, sat nearby in his own nightrobe. A couple of house maids lurked in another doorway. Dardan tried to warm his hands as Liam poked the hearthfire back to life. Luther, the Tarians' master-at-arms and part-time blacksmith, came waddling up and bowed to Amira as he squeezed past.

Topher paced restlessly as he spoke to the count. "They said some lords was killed, too, but I don't know the names, and they didn't neither. They also said a rumor that the prince—the king—had married some duke's daughter, but they weren't sure they believed it. I talked to another man who swore that Edon burned his father alive."

Amira winced. It could just be a coincidence... _Don't be foolish. You knew it._ She exchanged a glance with Katin. Her _vala_ had caught the phrase about burning as well, and scowled.

Topher went on. "I got within sight of the Festival Gate, but it was closed up tight and all the guards had pulled in. That mob of merchants and farmers wanting to get in to the markets was right angry, I can tell you, but no matter how they howled up at the guards, nobody would say when the gate might open again."

Asmus nodded at him. "Well done, boy. You must be exhausted."

"I'm fine, m'lord. Do you need me to do anything else?" Topher offered.

"No, no. It's late, and you should rest. There'll be a spare room somewhere around here, Gerald can find you a bed—"

"Thank you, m'lord, but I have to get back to father. He'll be worried sick." He bowed before the count and left.

Dardan finally noticed Amira standing there. He came over, but they were both in their nightdress, and he hesitated before her. "Amira. Are you all right?"

"Yes. It sounded like he didn't learn much."

Asmus came to join them. "With the city gates closed up, there was little he could do. You should all go back to bed. We'll need our rest come the morning." His gaze lingered on Amira for a few seconds more, until she bowed a little and turned back to the stairs.

"It seems your caution was in the right," Amira said to Katin when they were back in her chamber.

"I'm not happy about it, if that's what you mean by your tone. M'lady."

Amira bit her tongue. Her words had come out harsher than she'd intended. Katin's overabundance of caution frustrated her, but it galled even worse for her to be proven right.

The Tarians spent the next morning in the sitting room again, going over everything Topher had told them. Aside from King Viktor being dead, they could not conclude much of anything.

The gates of Callaston had not been closed until three or four days after the king died, which implied that it had taken Edon that long to solidify his control over the dukes, the army, the Wardens, and the city constables. Many folk—nobles, mainly, since they had country estates—had fled the city. Topher had heard that several lords had been killed. Whether Edon was also responsible for those deaths was unclear. Some said there had been fighting in the palace; others said that Edon had quietly had some lords executed. There were other, more ludicrous rumors, but these were discounted out of hand: Edon had married his own sister; Edon could breathe fire; Edon had conquered Callaston at the head of an army of Vaslanders. The debate wound down with Asmus resolving that they stay vigilant, and keep alert for any news.

Dardan confided to Amira afterward that Asmus had set watchers on the road to Callaston, in case Edon did come. This comforted Amira, but only a little.

———

She was grateful for it five days later, when a Tarian guardsman came riding up to Tinehall as if chased by black spirits, and told the count that a large party of armed men was coming up the Callaston road. They were perhaps two hours behind him.

Inside of half an hour, Amira, Dardan, Liam, and Katin were all mounted on the Tarians' fastest horses, with saddlebags packed as if for an overnight stay. "We're off to see Baroness Lalia," Dardan announced at the front door of the manor. "We should be back in a day or two at most." Gerald and a few other servants were present, helping arrange things. Asmus watched them go, a big smile plastered on his face. He had told no one else of the guardsman's warning yet; his men watching the road had been instructed to report directly to him, and only him.

Baroness Lalia lived in the south of Hedenham County. When Dardan and Amira and their _valai_ reached the road—out of sight of the manor house—they turned north. Amira hoped the ruse would work; only Asmus and Old Ban knew their true destination, and they were men of many years, who could lie convincingly to a king. The servants were mostly young, but as long as they believed Dardan's claim, they would repeat it earnestly if questioned. Amira hoped it would not come to that.

It had been midafternoon when the news came, and by dusk they had ridden to the keep and found a place to settle within its walls. It sat atop a low hill, a few hundred yards from the road, bracketed on either side by forest. The hill before the keep was clear of trees; a wide field of ankle-high amber tussock grass covered it.

The keep itself was as cold and charmless as Amira expected an old fortification to be. Dardan told her that it had been built more than a century ago, against the threat of some earlier Vaslander incursion. It was three stories high, surrounded first by an expanse of weedy dirt, and then by the outer wall, twenty feet of tightly-fitted stone. The gate faced west toward the Hedenham road, but the door into the keep itself was on the east side of the structure. Anyone breaking through the gate would have to go halfway around the keep to assault it.

They hobbled the horses at the keep's entry and went up to the second floor. There was a small firepit below a window that would let the smoke out. The light might give them away, were someone to approach the keep from the forest behind it, but Dardan judged that Edon's men would not search anywhere near here. Not tonight, at least.

There was not much conversation. Nobody really wanted to speculate on what Edon might do, or what they might have to do if Edon found them. Dardan had brought cards for five-jacks and played a few hands with Liam, but both men were clearly distracted. Amira spent most of the evening wondering how long they would have to stay there. Asmus would send word when it was safe to return to the manor.

The four of them settled down for the night on what thin bedding Dardan and Liam had stashed there. It was hardly comfortable, but they were all young; sleeping on stone for once seemed like an adventure to Amira.

She spent the next day exploring the keep and wandering in the yard, taking care to stay out of sight behind the walls. Katin followed her around sullenly, alternately complaining about having nothing to do, and insisting that they should be riding for the hinterlands.

They had gone back up to the second floor of the keep for something resembling afternoon tea when they heard the sound of a horse whickering. Liam went to look out the window at the horses hobbled down below, and then cursed when the whickering came again. "That wasn't ours," he said, and drew his sword.

Dardan was sitting on an old rotting stool. He bolted to his feet, grabbed his scabbard, and started buckling it on as he went for the stairs. "You two stay here," he ordered the women. Amira nodded, and once he and Liam were gone, she went to the window. She could see the horses below, but nothing odd, until movement caught her eye. Someone was coming around the corner of the keep. She jerked back before they could see her.

Katin had picked up a shard of wood perhaps an arm's length long, a fragment of decaying furniture they'd found in an adjacent room. She hovered near the stairwell, keeping herself between it and Amira. Amira could see fear and determination written plainly on her face.

Then Amira heard someone cry out—a girl's voice. _Who in the world?_ The question was answered moments later when Dardan and Liam came back up the stairs, dragging Calysane Tarian with them. She wore a cloak, the hood drawn back. "Let me go, you oaf," she growled at her brother.

Dardan did so, but very deliberately put himself between her and the stairs. "Keep your voice down. What in the black spirits are you doing here?"

"It so happens that I'm here to tell you something," Calys said, crossing her arms. "King Edon came to the house yesterday evening."

"We all assumed that would happen, m'lady," Liam said. Unlike Dardan, he didn't seem angry, but there was little humor in his voice.

"Well I overheard father and the king arguing. They said—"

"You were _eavesdropping_?" Dardan gaped. "Calys, you should not have done that! It's wrong to begin with, and on a private conversation with the king, to boot! And you might have been seen!"

"I wasn't!" Calys protested.

"How can you be sure?"

"Because..." Calys hesitated. "Oh, bother it. It's the closet next door to father's office, the one that opens into the rear hall. I didn't go anywhere near father's office door, which had king's guards on it. The wall in that closet is practically as thin as parchment."

"I'll be certain to alert father to this problem when I speak to him next."

"Wet blanket," Calys muttered. "Well, I suppose you don't want to know what they were saying."

"That is not—" Dardan cut himself off. "Just tell us."

Calys sighed dramatically and tossed her hair, all the while glaring at her brother. Amira fought to keep a smile off her face. Calys would thoroughly bedevil some nice young man some day. Finally the girl spoke. "They spent most of the argument—what I heard, anyway—threatening each other. The king kept saying that he wanted to know where Lady Amira was, and father just kept saying you'd gone off south to visit some baroness, and had no idea when you'd be back. And Edon didn't believe him! He just about called him a liar. I wish I could have seen father's face. He probably wanted to sock the king right in the jaw for that one."

"Stick with what's important, please," Dardan said.

Calys looked like she wanted to argue, but perhaps her tongue was held in check by being surrounded by four angry adults in a cold, ancient keep. Amira had to know more. "Go on," she said after a moment, trying to sound encouraging.

"Well, the king said father had better not be hiding you. Father tried to get Edon to say what he wanted you for, but he wouldn't." Calys narrowed her eyes. "Why _does_ he want you?"

"That's none of your concern," Dardan said. Amira was sure Calys had not been told the story of what Edon had done to them in Callaston. Even Dardan did not know the whole truth. Amira felt a pang of grief at having lied to the Tarians about that; but how could she have told them? And now Edon's presence might force the issue. "Answer the other question," Dardan said. "How did you find us?"

"Well, after Edon left, father and Old Ban talked for a minute. And Ban said something about how he hoped the 'old keep' would hide you well enough. It wasn't hard to figure out what he meant. So I, um, went to the stables, and borrowed Prancer. I thought you'd want to know what happened."

She was so guileless that Amira, for once, felt sympathy. Calys had just wanted to help them, never mind that Edon would judge her harshly for it, if he knew.

Dardan still glared, though it had softened some. "Well you can't go back now. We can't risk you blabbing our whereabouts to anyone."

"I would never!" Calys said, indignant.

"Not on purpose, m'lady," Liam said smoothly, taking Calys's hand and guiding her over to one of the few intact chairs in the keep. "But you are young, and even you must admit that you have a loose tongue from time to time."

Calys grumped a little but did not disagree. In fact, she was gazing up at Liam adoringly. Liam seemed to realize this, and put his back firmly to her, walking to the window and looking out. Amira certainly hoped that there was nothing more to that than childish infatuation. Katin, she saw, looked livid.

Dardan stalked about, eyeing the stairs as if he might bound outside at any moment. Clearly he thought Calys might have been followed, but no shouts came. The three women sat and chatted quietly.

The day's shadows grew long. Amira did not want to think about Edon, for that way lay only terror and grief. Sir Thoriss's face loomed before her again, and she tried to banish it. She studied her betrothal ring for the hundredth time, hoping to find some new facet she'd missed before; anything to distract her.

Her reverie was broken by the realization that everyone had stopped talking, and in a moment she recognized why: hoofbeats. Lots of them.

"What now?" Dardan said, and grabbed his sword again. "Keep her up here," he said, meaning his sister. Calys had the good sense not to argue.

Amira wanted to go with him. She'd be in less danger than he probably thought. But she took Calys's hand and gave her a smile. "Thank you for coming, whatever your brother says."

Calys grinned, but it did not break the worry in her eyes. They all wondered who was arriving now. Katin looked at her makeshift club as if realizing it would be no use against a large party of armed men, which is what the hoofbeats portended.

"Where is she?" came a roar a few minutes later, and Amira recognized Count Asmus's voice. Calys went pale, and even Katin looked scared.

"We should go meet them," Amira said, standing.

Dardan's sister did not move. Katin knelt down beside her. "Better to face him now, m'lady, and get it over with."

The girl nodded slowly, clasped her hands together, and stood up. They went down the stairs to the yard, to find four men waiting for them: Dardan and Liam, and also Count Asmus and his _valo_ , both mounted. Amira wondered where all the other horses were; it had sounded like there had been dozens.

"You must be one of the black spirits yourself, to run off so foolishly as that!" Asmus roared when his daughter appeared. "With the king about, you ride here? I thought you at least had your mother's wits, but it seems I was mistaken!"

Calys's spirit seemed undiminished by the assault. Amira thought she looked mulish, ready to fight back. "Father, they had to—"

But Asmus gave her no chance. "I had to drag out every man I could find looking for you! At first I thought maybe you'd gone off to sneak a peek at the royal soldiers, but then one of the lads saw your tracks heading off north. I never thought you'd be fool enough to come straight here! What if the king's men saw you?"

It was not a question meant to be answered. Dardan came to his sister's side and took her hand. "Calys was very brave to come here, father. Even though she knows it was foolish." This he said after catching his sister's eye. "Go back home. We will be well." He looked at Amira. "There's a search party out front of the castle. Father told them to wait there, so they will not know that we are here, only that Calysane came here for some reason."

"And we will return home this instant. Calys, fetch your horse. Now." Asmus's face was a thunderhead. Amira had seen him play at anger a few times, but this was the first time she'd really seen his wrath.

Calys looked at her father, and then at Dardan. Her eyes watered but tears did not fall. She rudely yanked her hand away from Dardan and started walking toward her horse.

Before she reached it, another shout came. "Count Asmus!" A man came riding around the corner of the keep; Amira saw that it was one of the Tarian house guards, in green and silver livery. He halted before his lord and bowed slightly from atop his horse. "M'lord, there's... there's men on the road. Armed men. A lot of them."

"What?" Asmus reared his horse around and trotted away, Old Ban following. The guardsman gave the women a quizzical look, then bowed to them and raced after his lord.

Armed men. Amira knew it was Edon; it had to be. She couldn't just stand here. She picked her skirts up off the ground and ran as quick as she could toward the gate. Katin and Dardan both called after her, alarmed, but Amira ignored them.

She came to the gate. Just outside it stood a party of men, mostly Tarian house guards, with a dozen or so townsfolk and farmers also mounted, on what looked to be every last horse the Tarians owned. Luther, the master-at-arms, was there as well. Asmus had not skimped when creating his search party. Amira looked past them, down the long sloping hill toward the Hedenham road. There she saw several hundred armed men, stretched out in ranks and coming toward them.

Amidst them were banners in purple and blue, with a silver eagle in the middle.

Dardan saw them and cursed aloud, then blanched and looked at Amira. "My apologies. How on earth did they find us?"

Calys looked utterly mortified. "They... they must have followed me... but I was careful, I went through the woods off the back of our estate, how would they have known?"

"They're here now, m'lady. Blame won't help," Katin said. "Come, away from the gate."

Asmus was a little ways off, arguing with Old Ban and one of the guardsmen. "I bloody well know who it is! Just..." He aimed a bewildered scowl at Amira for a moment. "Get everyone inside, and close the gate."

"But, m'lord—"

"Do it, or I'll do it myself!" Asmus shouted, and in moments the entire search party had drawn through the gate into the yard, and several men were busy shutting and barring the gate. The others looked around nervously, and Amira felt the weight of their eyes on her. They would know Amira and Dardan had not come with them on the search for Calys. Would they blame her for this mess?

When the gate was barred, Asmus strode over to his son. "Take the women into the keep. I will deal with his majesty." He looked at Amira. "Do not let him see you."

"He must already know she's here," Dardan said. "If he demands you produce her—"

"Just go!" Asmus shouted. He turned away and climbed the stairs on one side of the gate, until he stood atop the wall and could look out over the field.

Amira wanted badly to see what Edon was doing, but she let Dardan lead her to the rear of the keep and up to the chamber where they'd spent the last day. Katin stayed right by her side. Calys came quietly, as if suddenly realizing that the consequences might be much more serious than a scolding from her father. Dardan saw them settled in, then led Liam back down the stairs.

The women waited a few minutes, but Amira could not stand it. She'd already found the stairway to the roof, the day before, and strode for it.

Katin yelped and raced after her. "M'lady, what are you doing?"

"I mean to see what's happening. Come, or don't, but I must know."

Katin groused but went along. Calys did as well, most likely wanting not to be left alone. Amira could understand, even if the girl served no purpose but to get in the way.

Amira pushed open the trap door to the roof and climbed out. Her dress was dirty after a day away from the manor, tromping all up and down the keep, and its marred beauty bothered her. She scolded herself for caring; it was not important now. She went to the edge of the roof and looked out through an arrow-slit in one of the merlons.

The sun had just set, but there was still plenty of light in the sky. Below, arrayed in a broad arc along the hill before the keep, milled a mass of soldiers—two or three hundred, at a guess. Half a dozen Relindos banners were scattered among them. A small fleet of wagons came up in the rear, carrying provisions or something. A few torches had been lit against the creeping twilight.

Amidst the mass stood a group of knights in polished armor. In the center of them all was a man, taller than the rest, in golden plate. She shivered when she realized that it was Edon.

### CHAPTER 15

### AMIRA

Calys found another arrow-slit to look through and stared down at the royal soldiers. "What are they going to do with us?"

"Nothing. Nothing with you, at least." Amira prayed that was true. "Edon is here for me."

The younger girl shifted her feet. "Why?"

Amira met her eyes. She looked terrified, to tell the truth. Katin stood beyond her, her lips pursed into a white line, and she shook her head vigorously. But Amira felt that she had to say something. "Edon thinks I have some... magic power." She grinned. "I don't think he's quite right in the head." Katin let out a pent-up breath and looked away. Calys, eyes wide, stared out at Edon.

A few minutes passed in relative silence. There was some commotion among Edon and his men, as the soldiers rearranged themselves, for—for what? Battle? Against two score men cooped up in an old keep, and three women? She looked down at the gate below. She could see Asmus and Dardan standing to one side of it. She could make out their voices, but not their words. The Tarian house guards and the other men of the search party had spread out along the entire length of the wall facing Edon's little army.

She felt terribly guilty about having caused all this— _No, it is not my fault. Edon is mad,_ she told herself again and again, though she knew she did not quite believe it. She also knew that Dardan had more love for her than she did for him. How monstrous was she to have traded on that?

Amira looked at Edon again. He turned about, addressing his men, and she saw a flash of silver light as he went into profile. She was reminded suddenly of the shock she'd felt in the throne room of Elibarran, seeing that molten silver light for the first time. She wondered how much Edon had learned about the power. Amira had been practicing for months, when she had the privacy. She could use her ember with accuracy, at least when lighting candles. There was not much other call for starting fires out here. She'd begun to learn that she could stretch the bead out into a line, like a silver thread, which let her heat a substance more evenly. Sometimes she'd just hold the bead in place for a while, feeding energy into it and feeling its warmth.

Once, just once, she had killed a beetle with it. They'd been out on a picnic, and the little black bug crept across the blanket toward their plates of lamb. When no one else was looking, she pushed her bead into the thing and lit it. It popped and smoked and went still. Dardan looked around for the source of the noise, but Amira distracted him with idle chatter and brushed the dead beetle back into the grass.

It had troubled her a little, even though squashing the insect would not have. But if it came down to a fight... if Edon tried to kidnap her again...

She came back to herself as Edon and a pair of knights mounted up and rode toward the castle. They came to a stop quite close, within what would be an easy bowshot, had there been any archers in the keep.

"Count Tarian," Edon bellowed. "Why have you shut yourself up in that old keep?"

Asmus shouted back, his voice booming even louder than Edon's. "When armed men approach in force, I take precautions. Why have you ridden here?"

Amira thought she could see Edon's face turning red. She wondered how the burn she'd given him had healed, and wished once again that she'd given him worse. "I am here for Lady Amira Estaile. Send her out at once and I shall leave."

"I'm afraid the lady is a guest of House Tarian here in Hedenham County," Asmus shouted back. "It would be most rude of me to simply hand her over as if she were a sack of grain, before she has taken her leave of us, of her own free will." These last words he pronounced slowly and clearly. Edon would not miss his meaning.

"I am your king and I order to you produce her at once!" Edon shouted.

"A proper king does not randomly kidnap his subjects!"

Edon did not reply to this. Instead his gaze lifted upward, until he was staring straight at Amira. She lurched away from the arrow slit; had he seen her? Had he seen her silver light?

She risked a glance again after a minute of silence. Edon was speaking to the two knights by his side. One of them turned and cantered back to the main body of soldiers.

"They're going to attack," Katin said, her voice breaking. "Can't you..." She leaned in close to Amira. "Can't you stop them?"

"I'd be as likely to hit our men as theirs from this distance, even if they came over the walls. Besides, I think Edon's too far away."

Despite their whispering, Calys overheard and butted in. "What are you talking about?"

"Quiet," Katin hissed at her, not even bothering with a _m'lady_ to soften it. Her knuckles were white from gripping the edge of the parapet. Amira might be able to protect herself if it came to fighting, but how could she protect Katin, too? And Calys?

The twilit sky gave everything a purplish cast. A few high, wispy clouds still glowed faintly orange. Torches had been lit along the keep's wall, and Amira could hear restless muttering from below. They all sensed battle approaching. The back of her neck prickled.

Several of Edon's knights and attendants rode forward to him, and came into a circle as he said something, gesticulating. Then the other men all went back, save for the original two knights who had accompanied Edon forward. He called out again. "You brand yourself traitor, you who do not obey your lawful king. So be it." He placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward.

Amira's breath caught when she saw the silver bead dart forth from Edon's forehead. So he _had_ learned to use the power. The bead floated steadily over the ground, toward the gate of the keep. Was he going to set it on fire? She needed a better view. She went around to an exposed part of the parapet and leaned over it.

What could she do? Even if she shouted to the men below, they wouldn't understand. There was enough water in the cistern to douse a few small fires, but if Edon had the same power she did, he could ignite blazes on every part of the gate, and kill anyone who came close enough to try to put them out. He—

The bead stopped within the gate, and over the course of a few seconds it began to grow brighter and brighter. Amira had never seen her bead do this; even when she poured all the power she could into it, it had never shone with such intensity. "By the black spirits," she breathed, squinting but unable to turn away.

"What?" Katin said. She peered as if there might be something she could see.

"It's so—"

A terrific _crack_ clouted her in the face, and Amira fell back onto the hard stones of the keep's roof. Her head throbbed, and everything was blurry. Katin was on her back as well; Calys had been farther from the parapet, but she had still fallen onto her rear.

Amira blinked until her vision came back into focus. She wobbled to her feet and looked down over the battlements again. The gate was gone, reduced to splinters that hung in its frame. One of the Tarian guards had been knocked off the wall. He lay on the hard dirt, dying or maybe dead, impaled by shards of wood a foot long. The other men all shouted and screamed, and Count Asmus, who had been standing on the wall to the side of the gate, clung to a crenel, dazed and flailing. She could not tell which of the shapes below was Dardan.

A second bead of light sped forth from Edon. This time it raced even faster than the first, to the tower at the northwest corner of the wall. When the bead went inside the tower, Amira could still see it just as clearly, as if the walls of the tower were glass to it. The bead grew bright again. She grabbed Katin, who had just managed to stand up, and pulled her away from the wall. "Get down!"

Both women hit the stone just as a colossal _whump_ shook the air, and when Amira stood and looked again the tower had collapsed into rubble, still too high for a man to climb easily, but useless for defense.

_By Terror, how is he so strong? I can barely start a fire, and he can annihilate an entire castle!_ She shook with fright, her mind racing. _Chaos—Terror—Despair—help us—_

Edon still sat ahorse, illuminated by the torches his men carried. He had leaned back a bit and crossed his arms, as if surveying the damage done. The Tarian and Hedenham men down below ran about in a panic.

Calys had crawled over to the far edge of the keep's roof. Katin grabbed Amira's arm and pulled her away from the parapet. She couldn't have seen the silver light, but she might guess what had caused the explosions. "How is he doing that?" Katin said in a fierce whisper.

"I don't know! He's... he's different, somehow."

"We have to get out of here." She turned and began to pull Amira toward the trap door.

"I can't leave them all to die," Amira protested.

Katin ignored her and dashed over to Calys. "M'lady, you find somewhere to hide in this keep, and you do not come out until everyone has gone. Then you make your way home when it's safe."

"How—how will I know when it's safe?" All of Calys's brio had gone out of her, and she looked a terrified child under the light of the low moon.

"When you hear nothing," Katin said, and took Amira's hand, dragging her toward the trap door again. When they reached the little room where they'd slept the night before, Katin stopped, looking around, keeping Amira behind her. _How will she protect me from this?_

She can't, foolish girl. You know what to do.

But there's no escape.

Escape?

Amira felt as if something were crushing her heart. Her breath came shallow, and she fell to one knee. She couldn't make a decision like this. She couldn't...

"Amira! What's wrong?" Katin grabbed her arm, but Amira yanked it away and stood on her own.

"I'm... I'm all right." Her breath steadied. She thought about the men down below, hurt, injured, dying, dragged into a battle, all because of her. She could not make them die for her. She _would_ not.

"Come on," Amira said, making for the stairs. Katin rushed along after her.

The horses that Dardan and Amira and the _valai_ had brought were still hobbled behind the keep. Amira ordered Katin to help her unloose them at once, and when that was done, they led the beasts around to the gate.

There had been no other explosions. The gate hung in tatters before them. The corner tower had collapsed even further. Bleeding bodies were strewn around both.

She looked up to the wall. Someone had helped Count Asmus to his feet. Dardan and Liam stood beside him, swords drawn.

"You have tested my patience," Edon was shouting. "Send the girl out, and we will leave."

Amira ran up the stairs beside the gate. When she reached the top, puffing slightly, Asmus turned to look at her. His face was pale, his sweat glistening in the firelight. He was startled to see her, and all formality had been lost to him. "What in the black spirits are you doing here? Where's Calys?"

"Lady Calys is hiding in the keep," Amira said. "But Edon is here for me. You've seen what he can do. You cannot fight him. All of us will die if I do not submit. I must surrender myself to him." Katin gasped.

Asmus bared his teeth. "No! I will not let this... this little boy do this! He may be our king now, but he is no good man!"

"What good will dying do you? Submit, and live to see another day," Amira pleaded with him.

"No. I will not turn you over." Asmus looked back out at Edon, who seemed to be waiting for a reply. Firelight glinted off the spears and swords and helms of the men behind him.

"Then help us escape." Katin bulled forward, grabbing Asmus by the tunic, heedless of his station. "If Amira is gone, he will chase us, not bother with you."

Old Ban chuffed. "They'd ride you down in seconds."

Amira stared at Katin. "But the keep—if I flee, then Edon might take revenge—"

Katin whirled on her. "I will not be taken prisoner to soothe your conscience!" Amira was startled by her fierceness.

Asmus eyed the two women, considering. "I cannot rightly countenance you going into his hands. We can make a sally to cover your escape."

Dardan gaped at him. He'd gotten a mail shirt from somewhere, Amira noticed. "It would be a massacre! You saw what he did to the walls. Imagine what that would do to a man!"

"Not to mention that we have few weapons and even less armor," Liam added.

Amira could not think of what to say. If she fled, Edon might punish the rest of the men. But he might punish them anyway, even if she did surrender. The decision would not get any easier with time.

"We will buy her time with our lives," Asmus declared. He locked eyes with Dardan, nodding slightly, then looked over at the collapsed tower. "Horses could pick their way over that, but they could easily slip and break a leg, which would check the whole venture. But... if we rush out the gate and engage Edon's men, you two could sneak out and go along the moat. It's steep to escape, but the horses should be able to make it, if you go around to the side of the keep. In the dark, they will not see you. You can escape into the trees beyond. Do not tell us where you will go. If we are taken, we cannot betray you if we do not know your destination."

Dardan pushed forward. "I will go as well. I will not leave my lady to the wilderness in the night!"

Amira bristled a little. She wished again she could have—would have—told him about her power. "I am not helpless, Dardan," she said. "Katin will be with me. We can survive." She realized with a start that she'd implicitly agreed to Asmus's plan.

Dardan's mouth worked, and he looked to his father for support, but Asmus had decided. "My lady, you need a disguise." He looked at his son. "Get two horses ready. Find a guardsman her size, and have her don his armor. Her _vala_ , too. They will need every edge if they are to escape. And hurry! Edon will not let us tarry long." He faced out at the king, and cupped his hands over his mouth. "How do we know you will let us alone if we send her out?" he shouted. "You've already killed some of my men with whatever black art you've used!"

Dardan punched his fist into his hand angrily, then ran along the wall. He came back a moment later with two of the shorter Tarian house guards. The men both wore wool under leather and mail, with tabards that showed the Tarian house colors. Dardan led them and Amira and Katin down the stairs and out of Edon's sight. "Out of your armor," Dardan said to the men, and it took a few moments for them to realize that he was serious.

Liam led two of the horses together to form a crude screen. Amira and Katin quickly stripped down to their underclothes. A few moments later, Dardan flopped the borrowed men's armor over the saddles. "Hurry," he muttered. "Father's not getting anywhere with the king."

Each man had provided a leather vest, a mail shirt, leather leggings, and a tabard. Amira pulled on everything except the tabard. Being marked with Tarian colors seemed unwise. The leather fit reasonably well; the mail was heavy and cold, but she judged it worth the discomfort, for a little extra protection. _Not that it would protect me against Edon._

Katin managed to dress even faster than Amira did. Her borrowed clothes were a little bulkier than Amira's, but in the dark, it would be disguise enough. Both guards had provided leather caps as well. Amira and Katin hurriedly pinned each others' hair up tight; long hair swinging down their backs would be noticeable even at night.

"Good enough," Dardan said when they appeared from behind the horses. The two guardsmen now wore only their wool; they looked like ordinary townsmen. "Get mounted." He gave Amira a sheathed dagger, which he jammed into a saddlebag where she could reach it if necessary. Liam came over to Katin and gave her his own dagger. She hesitated, then took it, murmuring thanks to the _valo_. He said something to her which Amira could not hear, but she thought she saw Katin stiffen and turn away abruptly.

Dardan called up to Asmus, who waved back. "We are coming out now, your majesty," he said, and went down the stairs. All the other men followed him, and mounted up in a mass.

Amira and Katin were at the rear of the party. They would lag behind as the main body of men went out, and once clear of the gate, ride along the moat trench to the right, while the men broke left and made for the woods. The hope was that Edon's men would follow the count's party, leaving Amira and Katin to sneak around the side of the keep and escape.

The whole plan seemed mad to her. Only Asmus, Old Ban, Luther, and the Tarian guards had swords, and they accounted for only half the men, if that. The others had nothing beyond the occasional dagger or working knife. How could they possibly fight hundreds of armed soldiers? She sidled her horse over to Katin. "They are all going to die," she whispered, and could not keep fear out of her voice.

"They are dying for us. Do not be ungrateful." As harsh as her tone was, Amira was glad she could not see Katin's expression.

And then the mass of men were moving, hooves clopping in the darkness. Amira faced out past them, toward Edon. As long as she was looking in his direction, she thought, he would not be able to see her silver light.

When the last man had cleared the gate, suddenly Asmus shouted "Yah!" and two score horses broke into a gallop, angling off to the south.

"Go!" Katin hissed. Amira kicked her horse forward. It picked its way over the broken remnants of the gate, and then she turned it to the right to descend into the moat. It had been a steep trench in the distant past, but time and wind and rain had weathered the sides into slopes. Still, it was only several feet deep; Amira's torso and head would be visible above its rim, if someone happened to be peering in that direction. She prayed to the Aspect of Chaos that they were not.

A loud bang sounded out of the darkness, and she felt a pang of terror strike her. Edon had used his power again; to what effect, she did not know.

It was dark enough here that the horses had to pick carefully along through the tall weeds that had grown up in the years since the keep had last been used. And when they reached the outer corner, they were stymied: the collapsed tower had partly fallen into the moat. They would have to go up the bank of the moat to go around it, exposing them more. She prayed that Edon was still distracted, and wished she'd gone the other way from the gate. But there was no time to turn back now.

Amira nudged her horse upward. The beast had to scramble to make the top, but it found its footing. She brought it around, then realized there was a great racket to her left. She turned and saw that a mass of men had somehow moved back toward the castle—toward her and Katin. Horses wheeled about, only a stone's throw away.

She looked back to find Katin, and gasped as a mounted knight came toward her, his sword out. His full armor gleamed in the firelight, marking him as one of Edon's. He had swung past another rider, and now seemed to fixate on the two of them. To him, Katin and Amira must seem two mounted soldiers—the enemy, to be slaughtered.

"No!" shouted a voice, and Amira realized it was Dardan's, as her betrothed rode up alongside the knight and crashed into him, sword swinging wildly. Both men briefly came unseated, but the knight quickly pulled himself back into position. Dardan, clinging to his saddle, hopped down deftly, and sprang up back into his seat.

The knight came around toward Amira again. Her horse shied backward as several more mounted men came forward. Most of them seemed to be Edon's, but there were at least two Tarian men. The whole mass of them were pressing toward Amira and Katin. Somehow, the Tarians' escape had been thwarted, and Edon's men now forced them completely in the opposite direction.

"Go! Around them!" Katin yelled, but this drew their attention, and Amira knew she had to act or they would all die. She looked at the nearest of Edon's knights, and flung her bead at his horse's foreleg. But she missed, and a bright spark appeared on the ground, where some dry brush caught fire. If Edon had been looking in that direction, he could not have missed the sight of the silver bead flying through the air. She hoped fervently that he was distracted.

Again she pushed, this time hitting the beast in the hoof. It didn't collapse as she hoped, but leapt to the side, causing its rider to nearly tumble. She didn't want to make things worse by killing someone, but part of her wanted nothing more than to slaughter the lot of them. She was horrified by her sudden bloodthirst, and tried to focus.

She pushed her bead out again and this time hit the horse square in the chest. The beast screamed and reared. This time, the rider did fall off, and the horse bolted, weaving away through the madness.

Two more riders rushed toward them, and Amira's horse jumped forward, out of the way. She could not identify Katin in the melee. As she prepared to use her ember again, Dardan and another man intervened, matching swords with the knights. This time Amira aimed for the broad flank of one of the enemy horses, and hit it squarely. The horse's skin sizzled and popped, and the beast collapsed onto its hindquarters, emitting a shriek. The knight fell off, dropping his sword, and Dardan's own blade caught him square on the side of the helmet, knocking it off and causing the man to collapse. Dead or stunned, Amira could not tell.

Dardan turned to see her, not ten feet away. "My lady! You must go! Where is Katin?"

Amira could not tell. Beyond the nearest group of men fighting, Edon's infantry seemed to be drawing closer. They had not yet encircled the keep, but soon there would be no escape. The only way out was back along the side wall and through the trees beyond.

"I don't know," Amira replied. "I have to go, or this is for nothing! Protect her! Promise me!" She turned and kicked her horse viciously, and the beast sprang ahead.

"I am not leaving you to go alone!" he shouted, chasing after her. He caught her within a few lengths, and kept up. Amira looked back, and saw the fighting recede quickly into the darkness. She hoped no one had seen them depart.

They galloped past the debris of the collapsed tower and around the side wall of the keep, putting them completely out of sight of Edon's force. Here they slowed to a trot; the ground was flat and the grasses short, but who knew what sinkholes or stones might be lurking in the darkness.

Amira kept looking back, her heart in her throat. The sounds of fighting faded to a dull roar. Once they heard another _crack_. Soon they reached the tree line. The moon hung low on the horizon ahead of them, giving barely enough light to see in the open. In the trees, they'd be nearly blind.

"Dismount. We'll go on foot," Dardan said. "It'll be slow but we can feel our way along safely, and the horses will be at less risk."

Amira was shaking. She dismounted, nearly falling off, and pulled her horse forward by the reins. The beast snorted and resisted. Amira listened for Dardan's movements ahead and followed him.

Branches grabbed at her and rocks turned up underfoot. Twice she tripped and nearly fell, and once a sharp twig stabbed her in the cheek, causing her to cry out and drop the reins. Dardan came back to help, hacking at the branch with his sword so that her horse could pass. After that, she had to stop for several minutes when she started having a fit, crying and sobbing as terror and anguish washed over her. Dardan stood by, watching uneasily.

Near an hour into the woods, she felt as profoundly lost as she imagined was possible. The terror had passed, and a sense of determination had settled on her. "Are we far enough in to risk light?"

"We have no light," Dardan called back softly. "I had a flint, but it was still in the keep."

Amira hesitated. Katin wasn't here to argue. And Dardan had a right to know. Besides, Edon did not seem likely to give up simply because she had slipped off into the darkness. When morning came and neither Amira nor her corpse were found in or around the keep, he would know she had escaped. If she was to find any safety, she and Dardan would need to use every resource available. Her power was too important to keep to herself.

"Stop," Amira said. She knelt down, feeling for a dry branch or stick, and found one almost as thick around as her wrist. She touched all along its length, gauging its dimensions. Some damp grass was stuck to one end, but the other end was dry enough.

Amira took a deep breath, held up the stick before her, and said, "We do have light." She pushed her bead into the tip of the stick, and stretched it into a broad line, feeding energy into it. In a moment the tip began to glow, and then it erupted into flame.

Its light illuminated Dardan's startled face, and Amira began to explain.

### CHAPTER 16

### LIAM

Liam's eyes slowly blinked open. Faint, angular shapes lay scattered across the forest floor. As light crept back into the world, shades of gray awoke into color. The shapes resolved into fat, wet, brown leaves. Liam tasted dirt and blood in his mouth, and felt a growing ache in his lower leg.

Only the buzzing of insects intruded on the silence. He heard a scraping sound, and turned his head to see a red blur that he eventually recognized as a fox digging in the dirt. The fox noticed him, and watched carefully for a moment before bounding away.

There were trees all around him, a dense copse of witchwood. Liam sat up slowly, aching all over. When he shifted his right leg, his ankle screamed in protest. He shouted in pain and tried to hold very still, to avoid more agony.

He was deep in the woods. As he tried to recall why, last night came back to him, the steel and blood and deafening crashes that rent the keep's stone walls as easily as a child might smash a castle made of twigs.

Once their sally party was past the gate, they'd broken into a canter toward Edon and his men, then wheeled left to try to race past them. There was another tremendous bang, and he heard a man and a horse scream behind him. In a moment of fury Liam had kicked his horse into a gallop and yelled "Hedenham!" as he charged at the edge of the formations of royal soldiers. Half of the Hedenham men followed him, but the rest hung back, and he thought he'd heard Asmus shout something. He knew he shouldn't separate from them, but he'd seen himself in his mind's eye, breaking through and leading them all to safety.

But their charge had faltered before a line of mounted knights that swung around the edge of the king's formation, and Liam's group broke into splinters. Another group of knights came up the middle, pushing Dardan and the rest of the Hedenham men back toward the keep. Liam raced to rejoin them, losing men left and right to swords and spears in the dark. The defenders were weakened and disarrayed. _If we hadn't been cut in half by my stupid charge..._ He'd let his rage take control of him, that deep rage that welled up unbidden.

Fighting a desperate retreat, he thought he'd seen Amira or Katin emerging from the moat near the ruined tower, but it had been impossible to be sure. Dardan had gone off toward whoever it was as Liam turned back to fight off one of Edon's knights. The man was in plate head to toe, and Liam kept dancing his horse out of range, until there had been another of the startling thunderclaps, terrifyingly close, and rubble had rained down from the keep wall onto them. Liam's horse had spooked, galloping frantically away from the keep and into the trees on the sideslope. Racing through the dark, he'd almost gotten the beast under control, when a branch had caught him in the chest, knocking him half off the horse, catching his boot in the stirrup—

He poked gingerly at his ankle, which had swollen up, painful to the touch. Somehow he'd gotten it untangled and crashed to the ground without breaking his leg, or his neck, but the horse hadn't been interested in stopping to check on his health. Liam pulled off his boot, trying not to scream.

He felt half a coward for leaving the battle behind. He salved his pride by telling himself he'd been lucky to survive as long as he did, facing knights in plate. _Being dead would do me no good._ He wondered if Amira had gotten away, or Katin. That woman wouldn't go down without a fight.

A broken tree branch lay on the ground near him, freshly splintered at one end. It must have been the one he collided with. It was long and thick enough to use as a crutch. _Now I have my revenge on you, branch,_ he thought, putting it under his armpit and letting it take his weight.

The horse's hoofprints remained as faint outlines in the soil. He figured out which direction he'd come from, and began to limp back toward Foxhill Keep. It was slow going with the crutch, and every time his right foot scraped against the ground, slivers of fire raced up his leg.

When faint voices echoed through the trees ahead, he got down on his belly and wormed his way forward. Peering through brush, Liam could finally see past the edge of the trees onto the low grassy hill before the keep. Lines of tents surrounded one large purple tent that must be Edon's. Sentries walked the edge of the camp.

Liam watched for a while. The sun was above the trees, but only just. He waited as it rose and shadows got shorter. He was thirsty and hungry, but he'd suffered worse. He could wait.

As it happened he did not have to wait long. After less than an hour, someone shouted an order and the soldiers began pulling down their tents and packing up to leave. Edon came out of his own tent and was immediately surrounded by a coterie of knights. They moved off while other men struck Edon's tent. But it was not the last tent to be taken down; that honor went to a pair of small tan tents adjacent to it. When Liam saw why, he almost cried out.

Katin and Calys were brought forth from those two tents. Each of them had their hands bound, but Calys's bonds were cut almost at once. She was put on a horse and escorted away by a pair of knights, down toward the Hedenham road.

Katin was put into the back of one of the supply wagons, and tied to its railing. Liam felt that deep fury start to rise in him again, but he could do nothing. Katin was surrounded by royal soldiers on all sides. He wouldn't make it twenty paces before someone saw him and put a sword through his heart.

He waited, letting the fury wash over him. Interminable minutes later, the knights and Wardens and Prince Edon— _I'll never call the man king,_ Liam thought bitterly—mounted and rode off, followed by wagons and the infantry. Katin's wagon was in the middle of the pack, and several soldiers walked alongside her. Liam had had a fantasy of sneaking to it and breaking her free, but it would have been impossible even had his ankle not been injured. He realized he was pounding his fist uselessly into the dirt, over and over, scratching the skin of his hand on roots and rocks.

When the last of the army disappeared from sight down the Hedenham road, Liam still waited another five minutes before he stood. His legs cramped, and he had to lean against a tree for a few more minutes, massaging the blood back into them. When he could limp again, he went out onto the field before the keep.

A great rent had been torn in the keep wall between the ruined gate and the crumbled tower. _What in the name of Chaos made those blasts?_ It had frightened him beyond all reason. It was as if Edon had summoned thunder out of nothing.

As he moved into the open, he began to realize that what he'd taken for a refuse pile was in fact a shallow mound of corpses. He came close to it. It did not smell yet, but fat flies buzzed around, landing on the rivulets of drying blood.

Liam recognized most of these men. The Tarian guards all seemed to have their tabards on, still; the rest were townsmen, folk he'd known for years. He walked around them, keeping his distance. Not that there was any threat from the dead, but he didn't want to retch.

When he came to the other side of the pile, he cried out. There he saw Asmus Tarian, with a huge straight gash down from his shoulder to his stomach. Blood and fabric clogged the wound. His eyes were open. Liam could not stand the idea of getting near enough to close them.

He turned away and heaved up what little remained in his stomach. After a while he went back to the pile. He pushed some of the bodies out of the way, hoping beyond hope that he would not find what he feared.

But neither Dardan nor Lady Amira were there. Neither, oddly, was Old Ban. It had been near-impossible to keep track of everyone in the dark. Edon had, it seemed, captured only Calys and Katin. So where were Amira and Dardan?

There was no way he might track them now. His horse was gone, and his ankle raged. He went into the keep and found that all the rest of the food they'd brought with them was missing. The soldiers must have taken it when they searched the keep and found Calys. At least the cistern was still mostly full; he cupped his hands and took several blessedly cool gulps of water. That would sustain him for now.

He limped down to the Hedenham road, his good leg aching and his bad ankle burning. It was barely over a mile back to the manor, but he dreaded every step as his muscles throbbed. He eyed the manor with blessed relief as he approached, hoping old Gerald had stayed safe—had he come to the keep? He didn't remember seeing the man.

He came to the stone arch at the edge of the Tarians' estate where it met the Hedenham road. He had seen no one since leaving Foxhill Keep. His desire to get inside and rest was sidelined by a sudden burst of caution. He peered around the arch and saw a small party of royal soldiers waiting at the top of the long gravel path to the manor. They couldn't see him, but if he crossed the arch they might. He cursed quietly. How long would they be there? Had Edon stationed them there in the hopes that Amira or Dardan might foolishly return to the manor? It might be hours or days before they left.

He had to find shelter somewhere. An isolated farmhouse would do, if he could find one whose owner would let him in... but then Edon might have men patrolling around here as well. In the town there were far too many homes for Edon's men to watch. He'd have a better chance there. Maybe he could rest at the inn.

Liam went back along the road and cut across a potato field to reach a small stand of woods that led to more fields, and then to the edge of Hedenham Town proper. His injured ankle wasn't getting any better, and his good leg was growing ever more fatigued. He'd have to cross through the whole town from here to get to the Copper Kettle, but it was too likely to be watched. He'd have to find somewhere else.

His whole body felt beaten as he limped into the town. The sun was high now, and growing hotter. Few people were about, which suited him; the fewer who knew he was here, the better. He went until he came to a high hedge on a narrow lane, and followed it around to the manse that fronted it. He found himself pounding on a door, barely able to stand. After a minute the door cracked open a hair, and a gaunt eye peeked out at him.

"Please... I'm Lord Dardan's _valo_ ... I need..." He collapsed, sliding down onto the front stairs, banging his ankle again and nearly passing out from the agony.

He sensed motion as he flickered in and out of consciousness. Once he thought he was floating. His legs dangled. He fell onto something soft. Water splashed on his face and trickled into his throat, and then he slept.

———

Liam's eyes opened in darkness. He was warm, and all was still. He turned his head toward flickering candlelight. There was a slight gasp, and a shape—a girl?—stood and raced from the room. "He's awake!" was all he heard.

He struggled to sit up a little. His ankle still hurt, but not as badly. He saw that it was raised on a stack of pillows, a cool cloth draped over it to help the swelling. Someone had undressed him, he realized. He was in a bedchamber, small and bare, a lone candelabrum providing the only light.

The shuffling of footsteps snapped him back awake. Through the door came a woman with wrinkled, pale eyes beneath a cap of silver hair. The Dowager Baroness Dyane Ulmic, ancient and frail, settled into a velvet-upholstered chair not an arm's length from him. He blinked at her and vainly tried to sit up a little more. "M'lady," he muttered, his throat dry.

Dyane's _vala_ , Polly, who was equally old but substantially taller, stood by. She held a cup of water out to Liam, and he drank deep.

"Good evening, young sir," the baroness said. "You seem to have met with some difficulty."

Liam coughed. "Yes, m'lady."

"Rumors are flying now," she said. "Tales about what happened at the old keep." She waited.

"I was there," Liam said. "Count Asmus—this may shock you, m'lady, but Count Asmus is dead."

He thought her jaw set a little, but otherwise her deeply lined face showed no reaction. "A tragedy," she murmured, glancing down at her hands. Her skin was like fine parchment, white and translucent. "Tell me what you can."

It took him the better part of an hour to explain it all. He kept drowsing, and once fell asleep entirely, mid-sentence. He had no reason to hide anything from her; Baroness Dyane had been friends with the Tarians since before Liam was born. And what worse could Edon do to them than what he had already done?

The enormous explosions that had torn holes in the keep's wall were the hardest to explain. He likened them to thunderclaps striking very nearby. He grew angry when describing how Katin had been taken roughly away, and felt that deep rage clawing at him again. Baroness Dyane showed little expression at any of it, listening intently, her hands clasped on her lap.

"I remember Lady Amira's _vala_ ," she said when he was done. "You love her, it is plain, and ache to go to her."

Liam was taken aback. "No—no such thing is true, m'lady."

"Hush, boy. I have seen more lovesick young men in my lifetime than you can fathom. The way your eyes unfocused when you spoke of her, how your cheeks reddened when you said she'd been taken." She flicked a finger, a tiny gesture dismissing a thousand young men like him.

It peeved him. "Well what does it matter, unless m'lady knows where she is?"

"If that disagreeable whelp Edon took her, I imagine she'll be accompanying him back to the capital." She eyed him. "You're likely to do something rash when your strength is returned, and I hope you will listen to sense before you do."

Her bluntness angered him, but he could not throw her hospitality in her face and storm out. _Or limp out._ He bit his tongue and looked away.

Dyane clucked her tongue. "It is so hard to reach them," she murmured to her _vala_. Polly nodded knowingly, and stared down at Liam like a cat considering a mouse.

"What would you have me do?" he said. "The count is dead. Lord Dardan is the count now, I imagine, unless Edon attaints him. And I haven't the foggiest notion where he is."

"Since you did not find his body at the keep, I imagine Lord Dardan has escaped into the woods with his betrothed. That Edon did not pursue, and instead has headed back toward the capital, means that whatever great need he had to find her, there is something even more important."

"Keeping his throne," Polly said. "He's only been king a short while. The dukes will be sniffing for weakness. Edon will have his hands full getting them in line."

Dyane nodded. "That gives you some freedom, my boy. It seems to me that you have three paths before you. You can head off to find Lord Dardan, but unless you are a skilled tracker you have a slim chance. He and Lady Amira will likely be fleeing with all haste and have quite a head start. Assuming, of course, that they still live. Your second choice is to go to Callaston, and follow your beloved."

Liam started to protest, but at a glance from the baroness he quieted. What did she know of his feelings for Katin? Certainly he enjoyed her presence, though the _vala_ took pains to scorn his every attempt for her affection.

She was right about one thing: Katin would likely be taken to the palace, maybe thrown in a dungeon cell. Sneaking in and breaking her out would be impossible, not to mention getting past the city gates, which for all he knew might still be closed.

"Your third choice is to take neither path. Seek another destiny." Give up, she meant. Take service somewhere else, or work as a laborer. Well, he was lettered and schooled enough to avoid menial labor, that was certain, but the prospect still did not appeal to him. Besides, he had a duty to his lord. Dardan had not released him.

He gathered what little scraps of humility he could find. "May I stay here a while?" he asked as politely as he could. "A day or two, to hear what news comes. Perhaps Dardan will return in secret, and it would shame me to not be here if he did."

"It'll be longer than that before your ankle's mended properly," Polly warned him. "Don't be a fool and make it worse by trying to walk on it."

Dyane nodded. "You may stay as long as you like, so long as you are useful once you are healed. I have little enough time left in this life, and care to spend none of it on layabouts." She lifted one hand, and he saw now that she had a dark wooden cane tipped in gold. She thwacked him on his uninjured leg and he yelped. "Aside from your ankle and some other mild bruises, you have no injuries. Polly here inspected you well."

"I hope she liked what she saw," he quipped. The old _vala_ laughed.

Dyane ignored it. "You are young and will recover quickly. In the meantime, I will bring you any relevant news I discover, as a courtesy. I strongly suggest that you do not leave the house for now. If Edon's men are still about, they may be searching for you."

Liam thanked her, and the old baroness stood slowly, hobbling out. Polly closed the door behind them, leaving him to his thoughts. How would he ever find Dardan, or rescue Katin?

———

He took the old _vala_ 's advice and stayed off his feet as long as he could tolerate it. His ankle began to mend quickly. Within two days he was able to walk on it for short periods. Polly still clucked her tongue at him whenever she saw him up and about, but Liam had always been quick to heal, and now there was no time to waste.

Dyane invited Liam to luncheon, and told him that Calys had been returned unharmed to the family manor. With Count Asmus dead and Old Ban missing—no one had seen him since the battle—she didn't know who Calys would turn to. Someone would have to run the county. A messenger had already been dispatched to Callaston, to inform the countess of her husband's death. Liam did not envy whoever had to deliver _that_ news.

Ilya was unharmed as well; he'd gone to ground in town. Edon and most of his men had headed off toward Callaston the morning after the battle; the few patrols he'd left behind departed two days after that. Supposedly he'd left instructions with the local garrison to have Dardan or Amira arrested, should they return.

Once Edon and his men were all gone, Ilya had come out of hiding and gone to his sister. Liam could not fathom the burden the boy had inherited. If Dardan did not return, or had died, Ilya was now Count Illadrin Tarian of Hedenham, at twelve years old.

The bodies of the Hedenham men had all been retrieved from the keep. The townsfolk grieved for their lord and for their lost friends, family, and neighbors. A memorial service was planned, but Liam resolved at once not to even try to attend it. Not that Edon would be searching for him in particular, but it seemed plainly foolish to let so many people know he was still in Hedenham.

Even though Edon's patrols were gone, Dyane asked Liam to stay hidden within her manse for another day at least. He did, despite a constant itch telling him to get moving.

Finally Dyane gave him leave to go, if he wished, but also offered him a permanent position, working in the stables at her family's house out in the country. "The third option is always open, if you choose it. When I pass, my son the baron will inherit my personal holdings, though he's twice your age if he's a day. I will ensure that... what is your family name, boy?"

"Howard," he said.

"Then I will ensure that Liam Howard may always here find a roof over his head, and work to fill his days, if he desires it." She gave him a small purse of silver. "Either way you will need some funds at the least. I would not have you become a thief."

Liam stared down at the little pouch. He thought about Dardan, and Katin. A wave of anger overcame him for a moment, but he squelched it. "Why do you assist me so, m'lady? I'm just a _valo_."

Dyane stared up at him. She was a good foot shorter, but her gaze made him feel small. "House Tarian has always been good to House Ulmic, and to Hedenham County. I will not pretend that you in particular have earned much good will, but you served Asmus's son, and for that alone you deserve help."

———

A horse she could not give him, but with Edon's men truly gone, Liam did not hesitate to go to the manor and ask Calys for one.

She relented in the end, but at first she begged him to stay. "My brother _will_ come back!" she insisted, as they sat on the wide couch in the sitting room. Clara sat next to them, arms crossed and watching Liam with narrowed eyes. "You must be here when he does!"

"He may, yes, m'lady," Liam agreed, "but I do not know when, and I have no idea where he's gone. I cannot help look for him from here. He does not know that his father—your father—"

"Don't!" she shrieked. "Don't say it. I cannot bear to think about it." She turned away, stifling sobs, but that ended quickly, and she stood up. "Go, then. Take a horse. Find my brother, or don't, I don't care. Ilya and I will have to rule this county in the meantime."

Clara sighed, repeating what must by now be a common refrain. "Neither of you are of age, m'lady. Your brother will need a surrogate to carry out the county's affairs for the next few years."

Calys planted her hands on her hips. "Yes, yes, someone with experience will help, but my brother and I may be all that is left of the Tarians, for all you know. We can send for—oh, I don't know, Baron Yane or someone. He's old, he'll have some idea what we should do." She turned to look at Liam. "What are you still doing here?"

Liam bowed and left. It heartened him to see that Calys had regained her usual nerve. If the county was spared further trouble, she would become quite a formidable lady, never mind that her younger brother would be the count in name. Stronger men than Ilya had been controlled by overbearing sisters before.

He found old Gerald in the entry hall. The house major seemed more somber than ever. They nodded silently at one another. Gerald cleared his throat and mentioned that Amira's maid Sara had been hiding in Amira's rooms ever since Edon showed up, too terrified even to come down for meals.

"I suppose it would be cruel to just pack her off to Callaston," Liam said, "even if the gates have been opened."

"I could not countenance such a thing," Gerald intoned. "Count Asmus..." He seemed to deflate a little at the mention of his late lord's name. "House Tarian would not harm such an innocent girl so." He turned and shuffled away.

Liam followed him to the stables. "Some of the horses came back in good condition, though there's likely a few still wandering around in the woods," Gerald said. "With the count... with the count gone, and Lord Dardan too, well, you have your pick."

Liam looked them over. He could not bear to take Count Asmus's favorite horse, a pure white even-tempered palfrey named Cloud. Instead he chose a younger stallion, reddish-brown and with a bit of a temper. The horse seemed to match his mood.

"What's this one called?" he asked Gerald while feeding an apple to it. The beast bit it in two and gulped down the pieces, then bumped his muzzle against Liam repeatedly until he showed empty hands. The horse looked annoyed by this.

"Bandit," Gerald said. "On account of how he steals all the apples."

Liam laughed. "I think we'll get along well," he said, and helped Gerald with the saddle.

The sun was high and hot as summer drew toward its close. Liam cantered Bandit around the yard a bit to warm him up. Gerald had packed up a camp roll and some provisions; Liam would be able to bivouac out in the wilderness and save silver. He took a sword, dagger, and bow, as well.

He brought Bandit to a halt before Gerald. "Good luck, old man."

Gerald shrugged. "The watchword of the Tarians is duty, not luck," he said, and went back to the manor.

Liam rode down the gravel path to the road. He stopped and looked along it in both directions. There was no traffic just now, no farmers returning from market, no travelers. A cooling breeze came out of the east, ruffling his hair, and Liam put on his hat. He inhaled deeply, savoring the scents of grass and dust and nature all around.

He reached into his pouch and pulled out a silver coin. One side showed the profile of the late King Viktor II. The reverse depicted the eagle of House Relindos. Looking at it made Liam angry.

He knew his duty was to go after Dardan, but desire tugged at him. "All right, Bandit. Let's see which way we go. Heads, it's north to the keep to track Dardan. Tails, the capital and Katin." Sunlight glinted off the coin as he flipped it high into the air.

When Liam was a boy, his father had once told him, "When you truly can't decide between two paths, flip a coin. In that instant, when the coin's in the air, you'll know in your heart which side you want it to land on."

Liam caught the coin without looking at it, stuffed it in his pouch, and turned south toward Callaston.

### INTERLUDE:

### TAYA

Princess Taya Relindos stood at the top of the Grand Stair of Elibarran and watched her brother, King Edon, as he stood surrounded by a circle of dukes. Most men Edon's age would be impressed by the fine clothes, the jewelled rings, their aura of power. Edon looked at them like bugs underfoot.

She had scarcely seen Edon when he had first returned from Gravensford. Death and fire had roamed the halls of Elibarran, and Edon had confined Taya to her rooms. The guards posted at her door were loyal only to her brother. Meals were brought in while she stalked about like a trapped cat. She'd had only her _vala_ for company, and Juliet had gone almost as stir-crazy as Taya, despite the opportunities presented by several days cooped up privately. Juliet stood behind Taya just now, and the princess felt comforted.

Then the news had come that Edon was leaving the city again, a bare ten days after arriving. In that time she had softened up the guards and gotten some gossip out of them. And then there were the palace servants, who would sooner stop breathing than gossiping. Their words had been hard to believe, at first: Viktor, the king, her father... dead? It could not be. Then the certainty, borne by every tongue, that it had been Edon who had murdered him.

Taya knew that Viktor and Edon had not gotten along. The whole _kingdom_ knew. But it was a far cry from paternal derision to murder... or it should have been. She had been let out of her rooms just as Edon was departing, and had only enough time to rush to the stables and ask him, "Is it true?"

He'd glanced down at her from atop his destrier, imposing in his golden plate, and nodded once before galloping away, a score of knights and lords in tow. He'd left Terilin Faroa as his seneschal, but the craven duke dared not impose his will on Taya. It had been easy to make Faroa divulge Edon's destination.

Why Hedenham County? Relindos had no holdings there. Taya made up for lost time in the following days, interrogating every servant, guard, and courtier she could get her hands on. There were all sorts of rumors and stories about Edon, and the only one that stuck in her mind was about a lady, a noble lady, whom Edon had had brought to the palace. It had been the day after the summer ball, the same day Edon had decamped for Gravensford without warning. She hadn't seen him since the ball; she'd stayed up until dawn carousing, and slept half the day. By the time she'd woken, Edon was gone, and her father would not speak of it.

A few of the palace guards and servants spoke of a lord and lady who had been summoned by Edon, but none of them seemed to know the details—who they were, where they lived. Taya suspected that Captain Portio might know something, but she could not turn him. He pled ignorance or found some way to excuse himself whenever she thought she had him cornered. Others might have considered it bad luck, but she suspected that the good captain was deep in Edon's pocket.

With Edon gone for weeks, she'd more or less put it aside, but after Edon completed his coup and left for Hedenham, Taya had begun to wonder. Who was the lady? A daughter of a Hedenham baron? Why would Edon depart the city so soon after taking the throne? What could possibly be so important?

———

Taya did not particularly miss her father, except as one misses an ancient oak finally blown over by a storm. The landscape was different now; she could not fail to notice it wherever she looked.

Viktor had had such high hopes for his firstborn son, hopes that withered as time revealed Edon to be a malevolent, lecherous brute, his cruelty kept in check only by the threat of his father's wrath. Viktor's two daughters did him no good; he had no time for them, leaving them to be raised and attended by their mother and their maids. Queen Alise was gentle; too gentle for the rigors of child-rearing, and so Taya had been abandoned to the ministrations of a series of nannies and governesses. None of them had lasted long, except Mrs. Hastings. That crone had been more than equal to the task... and had left Taya with scars that none could see.

Luka had been his father's last hope, but he'd turned out bookish, utterly indifferent to matters of state and war. A final disappointment. No wonder Viktor had spent so much time drinking.

Taya drank, but not to excess. Only to the point of pleasure. And unlike her father, she had goals that she could effect herself, rather than trusting to blind chance. She was almost eighteen. Already her network of informants in the palace rivaled Lord Gessim's. Between them and the others she questioned, she pieced together that Edon had returned from Gravensford accompanied by a dozen young lords who obeyed his every command with alacrity. Sir Mirlind, whom Viktor had sent to keep an eye on Edon, was not among them; Taya was sure that Edon had killed him before returning to the capital.

Edon and his men had burst into the throne room while Viktor held court. The king, having not yet sent for his exiled son, was infuriated that he'd returned. He'd ordered his guards to arrest Edon, only to watch helplessly as a thunderclap flung them across the room. More guards attacked the prince and met the same fate. Viktor fled, and Edon followed. None saw what happened next, but more thunderclaps were heard, and Edon returned to the throne room, spattered with blood, where he sat upon the Oakheart Throne. King Viktor was not seen alive again.

Edon had immediately summoned the _Epirro Ulishim_ himself, Grand High Steward Aerandin, to perform a curious dual rite: the burial ritual, to consecrate Viktor's body and prepare him for his return to the earth; and the coronation, to formally invest Edon as king. Only a few nobles had been permitted to attend, to attest that both ceremonies had been rightly performed. Taya had not seen either.

There was fighting afterward; a few dukes tried to resist their new king, but the rebellion lasted no more than a day or two, and the traitors were either killed in the fighting or captured and put to death. It had not taken long for Edon to gain control over the dukes, the army, the Wardens, and the Niderium. The Niderium had almost been an afterthought; they had significant wealth but did not involve themselves in the politics of the realm. Edon's visit to Ulisharran was nothing more than a formality, to remind the priests of who was in charge.

The Wardens had holed up in their little fortress. Taya did not miss that none of them had ridden with Edon to Hedenham. It had taken Edon longer to bring them to heel than she would have expected. Once Edon again returned to Callaston, he sent for Wardens to serve as his bodyguards. He sought to bind them to him, that much was obvious. Edon might not have much cunning, but brute force seemed to serve him well enough.

Taya did not fear for her own life. She and Edon had always gotten along, more or less, mostly because they had no shared interests and thus nothing to conflict over. Edon rode and hunted and whored; Taya kept busy with arranging entertainments for visiting nobles and dignitaries. It was her cover for collecting information and establishing her own little power base. She would not be passive and weak like her mother.

But now Edon had power, power that Taya had craved and had long known would never be hers. Her stomach had sunk whenever Viktor had called her to his study, wondering if today was the day he'd inform her that she would be married off to this duke or that count. The end of her freedom, to while away her years as a gussied-up brood mare in some far-flung manor, seeing to the household in whatever absurd little domain fate sent her to.

Fate, it seemed, was not without a sense of irony. She had lost her father but gained a chance at power, a chance at ruling. Edon was strong like an ox, and about as clever. Taya's mind was sharp and her will iron. The realm would never accept a ruling queen, but women had ruled from behind husbands and brothers before. All she had to do was to let Edon occupy the throne while she quietly arranged events to suit her. It wasn't glory she wanted; just the knowledge that the realm danced to her tune, even if her brother was the piper.

She had been worried at first about competition from Edon's new wife, who was the youngest daughter of the Duke of Westreach. Cheraline Artalis—Cheraline Relindos, now—was plump, pretty, and, as far as Taya had seen, perfectly obedient, at least in public. As Edon's wife, she'd be ideally positioned to influence her husband in the most subtle of ways. But by all reports, the girl was just as quiet and servile in private, as well—information that pleased Taya, and had cost her a pretty penny in bribes to the girl's maids.

Edon had married the girl only a few days before departing for Hedenham, and spent every evening trying to get her with child. Even someone as dim as Edon knew the value of getting started on the business of making heirs.

Taya came back to herself when Edon finally broke from the cluster of dukes and started up the Grand Stair, with the Wardens at his back. Taya straightened her spine and rested one hand gently on the banister. "Your majesty," she called out as Edon came up the steps toward her. Taya bowed, and her _vala_ followed suit.

Edon looked up at her. "Sister," he said, flat and cold as winter ice. There was a round, shiny patch on his left cheek, the size of a plum. Only a minor disfigurement, but the rumors said it had been inflicted on him by a woman he'd brought into the palace. A noblewoman...

Taya smiled at him. "I am glad to see you've returned safely. Might we converse? I have much concerning our family to speak to you about."

Edon jerked to a halt. Taya felt satisfaction at getting his attention. She just hoped it wasn't the wrong kind of attention. She tried not to envision their father, fleeing from his son, cut down by whatever terrible power he wielded.

"The family? Very well. Come along." He strode off without another word, the two Wardens hewing close to their king. One of them she did not know; he was of middling age and had only arrived in the city recently. But she knew the other: Mason Iris, he of the young face and white hair, who had been at court that spring and summer. His silvered armor and gleaming sword peeked from beneath his black cloak; the sigil of his order perched upon his shoulder. Warden Iris spared her a slight nod, but he watched only for physical threats. _Your wariness will be of no use against me, Warden._

———

In Edon's study, Taya sat demurely on the edge of the chair Edon offered her, her hands crossed on her knee. Today she had deliberately worn a high-necked gown of soft gray, cut to conceal her charms rather than enhance them. Her brother he might be, but she had seen him look at her with hungry eyes before. He would never act on it, she knew, nor would she let him. _Power or not, I'd rip your balls off if you tried that with me._ She wanted him focused, not distracted. They'd left her _vala_ and the Wardens outside. She hoped the men knew better than to bother Juliet. Taya's _vala_ did not tolerate pushy men.

Edon had been back from Hedenham two days already. All his time since then had been taken up with governing the realm. The wheels of commerce and politics did not grind to a halt merely because a king died.

"What concerns you?" Edon said, dropping into his own chair. He was still young, but already seemed as tired as their father always had.

She hesitated for effect. "It is difficult to begin... I say this from a place of love, dear brother, but I'm afraid I must be blunt. You murdered our father."

Edon had been rubbing his eyes. He stopped abruptly and glared at her. "Who are you to accuse me?"

"It is not an accusation. It is merely a statement of fact. I am no one to judge matters of state and war. You clearly believed that Vasland was a great enough threat to... do what you did. As is your right, as king."

"And I mean to finish that," Edon said. "When I leave here again, it will be for Vasland. Father's death will not have been in vain."

Taya nodded. "And I hope you have a rule as long and fruitful as any king's. But like all men, you are not perfect. You have your flaws."

"Get to your point," Edon said.

"None can doubt your strength. But I mean it as no insult when I say that cunning and cleverness have never come easy to you. Let me help you on that account. I know you have councillors and lords at your call, but none of them have the safety of this family as their primary concern. By contrast, this family is all that I have." She held her breath and waited. Would Edon take offense? Would he let her in?

He stared at her. For a moment Taya thought he was angry with her, but he blinked and looked away, as if considering something. Finally his eyes met hers again. "Come here." He stood and went out to his balcony. Taya followed, and stood at the railing.

"Choose a tree," Edon said, looking down into the gardens below. There was no one around, only the stillness of a summer afternoon.

"A tree?" Taya pointed at a tall, spindly poplar, a scarecrow of a tree she'd always liked. "That one."

Edon stared down at the poplar, and a moment later its trunk exploded into shards. Taya jerked back a split second later when a thunderclap struck her ears. She stared dumbly at her brother. Her mouth worked, searching for words, until at last she simply went back inside and sat down again, if only to stop the world spinning about her.

How had she missed this? How could Edon have this astonishing power without her knowing? She gritted her teeth and tried to contain the anger that roiled up, to save it for later. She was going to have unpleasant words for several of her informants.

She listened without interrupting as Edon explained this power he'd discovered he had, and how at Gravensford he'd been gripped by an iron certainty that he had been ordained for a higher purpose: Garova would be challenged by a great evil, and he would lead his people through that darkness, to a glorious destiny that lay beyond. He said the Caretaker had spoken to him. At the moment, Taya was in no position to doubt him.

Though she was astonished, she did notice the vagueness of his claims of a higher destiny. But the power he wielded was undeniably real. She waited until his explanation wound down, then cleared her throat. "What is this evil we must fight? Vasland?"

"No. Not Vasland. They are an ordinary threat. But I don't know for certain. I think it has to do with that..." He trailed off.

Taya ventured a guess. "The noble lady you brought here."

Edon snapped his gaze up to her. "What do you know about that?"

_Careful._ She held up her hands. "Only what palace gossip said. You brought a lady here, and she injured you and fled." Taya had been careful not to stare at the scar on Edon's cheek. And she did not mention the other parts of the rumor: that Edon had tried to rape the girl, or that she had somehow also killed Gaelan Thoriss, hero of a hundred battles. "Majesty. Brother. We should work together! I have resources and skills that you do not. I could never best a man in battle as you could, but sometimes subtle words will get you what you want more quickly and cleanly than any show of force could."

Edon had always been one to stare, but now his gaze pierced in a way that Taya did not remember from their younger days. She felt relief when he nodded slowly. "You are right. A king should make use of all the tools at his disposal."

Taya gave him her fondest smile. She _did_ like him, even if he was a bit thick. "Thank you, brother. Of course, I can only help you if I have all the pertinent information." She touched her own cheek, and looked at his.

Edon blinked, and touched his scar. "Yes... this..." He told her the tale, how he had seen this lady Amira at the receiving line. Taya remembered her. She had stood, staring dumbly like a cow, making everyone behind her wait. Not the first newly-raised noble to make a spectacle of herself, for certain.

Except Edon said that he had seen in her a shining light, like molten silver. He had her brought to him the next day, along with the count's son who had accompanied her to the ball, and their _valai_. Edon wanted to know what this silver light was. No one else at the ball had seen it. Not Sir Thoriss, not anyone. Edon had interrogated Lord Tarian and the _valai_ , but they all seemed to know nothing. When Amira was brought before him, he saw the silver light again.

Here he hesitated. Taya sat on the very edge of her seat, rapt. Edon was sometimes taken by fancies and nonsense; even as a child he had often claimed that witches casting spells on him were responsible for his misbehavior. But she believed that he had seen this silver light as he claimed.

After a moment, Edon continued. This Lady Amira had told him nothing, and then used her power to burn his face. When Sir Thoriss came in at his shout, she killed the old knight with her power and fled.

Then he refused to say any more about that day except that father had banished him to Gravensford. To Taya, it was plain that he and Viktor must have had a fierce argument.

"So after you... returned from Gravensford, you sought out this Lady Amira again, in Hedenham?"

Edon looked away. He nodded and told Taya about his journey there, and the Tarians' efforts to conceal Amira, and the pitched battle that had been fought at an old keep.

"Why not chase after her once she escaped?"

Edon pursed his lips for a moment. "I had to return here. The realm needs stability. I could have sent men after her, but they would be no match. I must find her myself." He stared not at Taya, but through her. "I must know more of her. Of this power we share." He sat up a little straighter. "I captured her _vala_ , hiding in the keep. She is down in the dungeon. I questioned her, but she's an idiot. She knows nothing. I should have her head off."

Taya's heart leapt. "Let me have her," she said in a rush. "She may know something. You are so... intimidating. I may be able to soothe her, as with a nervous mare."

After a moment Edon nodded. "Very well. I shall have her sent to your rooms."

"No," Taya said abruptly. Edon squinted at her. "My apologies, your majesty, but let me handle this. I think a delicate touch is required."

Her brother's eyes drooped. He seemed exhausted, and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. Taya bowed and went out, feeling a warm tingle in her chest. Edon had given her exactly what she wanted.

She collected Juliet from the anteroom and returned to her chambers. There was a great deal of planning to be done.

### CHAPTER 17

### KATIN

Drip.

Sixty-four.

Drip.

Sixty-five.

In the pitch black of the dungeon cell, Katin sat with her back against the wall and her legs drawn up before her. There was no light here, and no sound save for seeping water, gathering and splashing onto the floor somewhere. She had counted— _drip—_ sixty-six drips since she'd started. Or since she'd last started over. Sometimes she lost count. Sometimes she fell asleep between drips, and woke to find a blaze of light from the cell door as a meal tray was slid in for her.

Eight meals had been delivered. Or was it ten? Or twelve? Or maybe that was the number of times she'd relieved herself in the corner, where a pipe let in air that was foul, but at least not stale.

Footsteps scraped the stone outside in the hall. Voices spoke, and she would have laughed when she realized she could understand words, if her throat had not been dry, her eyes sore from crying. "Is this it?" came a woman's voice. What was a woman doing down here? _A dungeon is no place for a woman._

"Yes, your highness." A man's voice. The door opened, and the light of a lamp dazzled Katin. She threw her hands up before her.

"Oh dear," said the woman again. "Oh dear, oh dear, what has he done to you? Hush, it's all right." Soft hands on her arms helped Katin to her feet and guided her from the cell. Katin did not struggle.

She was taken to another chamber, still within the dark, stained stone of the dungeon, but there were no bars here. Only a table and some chairs, and a cup of water. The cup was pressed into her hands, and she drank. A moment's clarity struck her. Why would the Caretaker do this to her? To Amira? They had been safe, in their little manse, until that monster had come along. Katin wanted to scream.

Her eyes had adjusted to the lamplight. Across the table from her sat a young woman, perhaps the same age as her. Beautiful, slender, a face that could heap scorn with only a slight twist of the mouth, but that for now looked only gentle and lovely. It took Katin some minutes to calm, and not until the third time she looked at the young woman did Katin realize that a silver circlet sat atop her head, with an emerald centered in it. Katin at last recognized Princess Taya Relindos.

She gasped and fell to her knees. "Your highness," she croaked, and coughed.

Princess Taya laughed, a sound of warmth and happiness Katin had forgotten existed. "Please, my dear, do not strain yourself. You have gone through quite some trouble, as I understand." She sighed and looked up at another woman, who must be her _vala_. The _vala_ was severe, her arms crossed tight, a freckled face below red hair pulled into a bun. "We will take her to my chambers. This is no place for her."

The _vala_ 's frown deepened. "Are you certain, your highness?"

Taya ignored her and looked at Katin again. "Your name is Katin, yes? Listen to me. I have heard some of what my brother, King Edon, did in Hedenham. I know he brought you back from there. You are the _vala_ of Lady Amira Estaile, is that right?"

Katin froze. Why was the princess here? Had Edon sent her? Edon had interrogated Katin each night when his little army stopped on the road, but she'd played stupid, the same as she had when he'd abducted them all the day after the summer ball. She'd pretended to know nothing of Amira's power. She'd been terrified that Edon would rape her or kill her, but he had never so much as raised his voice.

Katin had hoped that she'd be turned loose when they arrived in Callaston, maybe sent back to Amira's manse. But instead they'd gone straight to the palace, and Katin was taken to the dungeons. To await what fate, she had no idea.

And now the princess had come for her. _Play stupid._ "Where am I?" Katin whispered around a tongue that still felt caked in dry saliva.

"In the dungeons beneath Elibarran," Taya said. "I think my brother did not know what to do with you."

"That'd be a first," her _vala_ quipped.

Taya ignored her. "Katin. I need your help, to undo some of the damage my foolish brother has done. I have little power myself, but I can do this." She nodded, so certain of herself, and gestured to her _vala_. "We will take you out of here."

The frowning _vala_ produced a servant's dress in roughly Katin's size. She helped Katin remove her own filthy dress, soiled with days of travel and waste, and put on a fresh shift and the replacement dress. Taya nodded approvingly. "You will pass for a servant until we reach my chambers. The jailer has been paid. He will say nothing of this."

Katin had so many questions, but she held her tongue. She would not do anything that would delay her leaving this place of black spirits. The _vala_ , who Taya introduced as Juliet, led the way out, guiding Katin up narrow stone steps until they emerged through a wooden door banded in iron. They seemed to be back in the palace proper, and Katin almost cried again when she saw sunlight, real sunlight, filtering in through a high window.

Two guards joined them, appearing out of nowhere and trailing along behind Katin as she followed Taya and Juliet through the palace. The men had faces blank as stone, but their eyes moved ceaselessly, watching for any threat to their princess.

Taya's chambers were high in the palace, overlooking the gardens. The guards stayed outside as Taya took Katin into the antechamber. Doorways led off to a sitting room, sun room, and bedchamber, which had a wardrobe and a small cell adjacent for the princess's _vala_. A narrow corridor led to the privy, tucked away in a corner.

Katin stood in the antechamber, shifting uncomfortably in her servant's dress. When Juliet closed the door behind them, Katin let out a shuddering sob.

"Shh, it's all right," Taya said, coming to her side. "You are safe here. Come, sit. We have much to talk about."

Katin was taken into the sun room and set in a chair by the window. Bright sunlight flowed in, doing wonders for her spirit. She still hadn't said much; she wondered if she could keep up the façade of stupidity. She would try, at least, until she could determine what Taya wanted with her.

"Now, Katin." Taya sat in another chair opposite her. Juliet stood watch by the door. Katin had seen no other servants in Taya's chambers, but she appreciated the _vala_ 's caution. "I have pieced together much of what happened in Hedenham, but frankly a lot of it is quite hard to swallow. I must know why his majesty is so interested in your mistress."

Katin blinked. "My... Lady Amira? Do you know where she is?"

"I was hoping you could tell me. My brother is very interested in finding her, but I don't know why."

Katin kept her face slack. "I don't know what you mean. Does his majesty know where m'lady is?"

Juliet glanced at her, disbelief on her face. "She cannot be serious."

Taya took a measured breath and leaned back, steepling her fingers. "Once I found out that Edon had brought you back from Hedenham, I went and did a little research. I know that your lady was married to the late Valmir Estaile, and that they were granted peerage last year. Lord Estaile was a cautious, cunning, and thorough man, according to all who knew him. He would _never_ have let his wife take a _vala_ as stupid as you seem to be, no matter how long you'd known her."

Katin's head jerked up a tiny fraction. She was astonished at how much Taya knew, this princess who was renowned only for her interest in casual diversions. But she kept her face slack, and shrugged. "Have I upset your highness?" she said in a small voice.

"I am not upset yet," Taya said, but there was an unmistakable snap to it. "But if you continue this ridiculous game, I may yet become so." She sighed and lowered her voice. "I apologize. I do not mean to frighten you. But Edon is clearly mad. If I am to help you, and help your lady, and help the realm, I must know what is going on. Please. Let me help you."

She seemed sincere, but Katin had known women who could make a man they'd known five minutes believe that they were deeply in love with him. Still, Taya did _seem_ to want to help...

After a moment, Katin straightened up and took a composing breath. "I apologize as well, your highness. Your brother is terrifying. This act was all I could think of to keep him from... hurting me."

"You're lucky," Juliet said. "He might have done it anyway, had he suspected you knew something."

"His majesty is preoccupied of late," Taya said over her shoulder. She turned back to Katin. "Thank you for trusting me. This far, at least. Now, I must ask again: Why is Edon so interested in your mistress? Is it because of this power they share?"

Katin gasped, and tried to stop herself, but it was too late. She turned her face away in a futile effort, then sighed and turned back to face the princess.

She expected to see scorn or triumph, but saw only compassion. If Taya already knew about the power... "Why do you want to help Lady Amira?"

"Because my brother wishes to hurt her," Taya said flatly. "And that makes her my sister. I gather she has the means to defend herself, with this power—which I confess I do not even begin to understand—but she is only one woman, and Edon has the whole strength of the realm to turn against her." She'd begun to turn red, and her voice grew clipped. When she finished speaking, she turned her face away from Katin slightly, and her nostrils flared. After a few moments she looked at Katin again. "I want to find her before Edon does. I want her to know that she has allies in this palace."

She seemed sincere. Katin's mind warred over whether to trust her. "Could you free me, if I help you? Your highness," she added quickly.

"You bargain with a princess?" Juliet snorted.

Taya waved over her shoulder. "Such a thing could be arranged, though I cannot make extravagant promises. This," she glanced around, "is something of a sanctuary, but the palace at large is not under my control."

Katin stared down at her hands. What choice did she have? If she refused to help the princess, she'd end up back in the dungeon. She could lie to Taya, but the princess seemed to know so much already. If Katin was caught out in a lie...

As much as it tore at her, she had no choice but to trust Taya. _In for a copper, in for a crown._ "Amira does have a power similar to E—his majesty. She is not nearly as strong, though. He was able to tear down the walls of Foxhill Keep with merely a thought."

Taya raised an eyebrow. "You saw this?"

Katin nodded, remembering the great thunderclap that knocked her down, the terror of a monster in the dark smashing the walls of the keep with invisible fists. "He destroyed the wooden gate with a single blast, and collapsed a corner tower with another. My lady... my lady and Lord Dardan escaped, after Count Asmus led a feint to distract his majesty."

There was no need to mention her own attempt to escape alongside Amira. Katin had gotten separated from Amira in the darkness and chaos, and then her horse had reared, and she'd had to slide off or risk being thrown. The horse bolted, and Katin had no choice but to scramble back down into the moat. She'd gone back in through the gate, found her discarded clothes, and changed back, knowing that if she were found in men's clothes, Edon would assume she'd been up to no good and probably have her head off.

She'd gone back into the keep and found Calys hiding under a staircase. Katin joined her, saying nothing, and waited for the inevitable. After near an hour, soldiers had come into the keep, and soon found them cowering under the stairs. They'd been taken out into the field and into a tent, one of many that had already been erected. A short while later, Katin had been taken alone to a much larger tent. Edon was there, and he recognized Katin. He questioned her in the presence of several Wardens and knights, but Katin played just as stupid as before. Edon had asked where Amira and Dardan had gone. Katin had nearly been overcome—they'd escaped! But she was terrified to be surrounded by all these armed men, and by Edon himself, and she was able to hide her joy. She claimed that she did not know where Amira was; her lady had sent her back into the keep to hide with Calys.

There was no one to gainsay her. Calys had not been privy to their escape plan, and Katin overheard someone say that every man who'd gone out on the charge was dead. She did not hold in her tears at this. _Asmus. Old Ban. Liam._ She was taken back to the tent, but Calys was gone, and she did not see the girl again.

———

Katin told Taya what she could about Amira's power. The princess seemed disappointed that Amira could not tear down castles as Edon could.

"Now. Do you know where she went?" Taya asked after Katin finished her explanation.

Katin shook her head. "Count Asmus insisted that she not tell us her destination. I only know that she and Dardan escaped, because his majesty asked after them." She'd seen the rest of the bodies in the gray morning light, dumped in a pile. Count Asmus. Guards and retainers. Liam must have been somewhere in that pile. A nightmare of blood and death. The memory twisted her insides. "May I ask... what happened to King Viktor?"

Taya's lips set, and Katin was afraid she'd made a mistake, but the princess spoke after a moment. She laid out a story of vengeance and murder, Edon returning unheralded and seizing the throne from his father, swiftly and brutally. The princess could not hold in her own tears, and wept freely.

They spoke for a while longer, tentative exchanges about what Taya knew of royal doings, what Katin knew of Amira and Dardan and Hedenham. Taya clearly sought clues about where they might have gone, but Katin had no information to give.

The princess seemed satisfied with the general truth—that aside from her mysterious power, Amira was an ordinary noblewoman who had gone to a lord's country manor as part of courting. All those weeks in Hedenham seemed so frivolous and irrelevant to Katin now.

Taya clapped her hands together suddenly. "Well. I'm famished, and you must be as well. We'll have food brought here." She stood up, and Katin leapt to her feet.

"Your highness, I cannot thank you enough for... rescuing me from that place. When..." She gulped. "When might I be let go?"

Taya tapped her lips. "Hm. For now, you must stay here, in my chambers. There are others who would try to learn what I have, through significantly less pleasant means. It will not be possible to arrange your release while Edon is here. He may yet go off in search of Lady Amira again. But while you do remain here, we will need a story to cover it." She looked at Katin, then gazed up and down, as if sizing her up. Her smile brightened, and now it had an edge that Katin had not seen before. "I have it. We will spread the rumor that you are my bedgirl."

"What!" Juliet shouted, just as Katin gasped.

"Oh, hush, the both of you," Taya snapped. "It is only a ruse. And here I'd thought I'd shed my governess when I came of age," she said, glaring at Juliet. The _vala_ was red-faced, and did not shrink back from the princess's gaze.

"I'm sorry, your highness," Katin said. "But that seems quite... risky, for one of your station."

"Princesses can do what they like, if they have the stones for it," Taya said. "I'm afraid you'll have to dress the part, though. When my maids see you in the right garb, the gossip will take care of itself."

Katin reeled. She knew that some nobles took bedgirls, but a _princess_ ... "Won't King Edon be upset that you've brought me here?"

"Let me worry about that. His majesty has bigger concerns. If he does discover you're here... well, you won't be in much worse a position than you were before." She stepped close to Katin and ran a finger across her neck.

Katin shuddered. Suddenly her view of Taya shifted terribly. Until moments before, Taya had been warm, lovely, helpful. There was something cruel in her touch, as light as it was. This slight girl frightened her in a way that the hulking Edon never had.

Taya just smiled. "Juliet, see that our guest is cleaned up." She smiled at Katin and then disappeared out into the antechamber.

Juliet, glowering, told Katin to stay put until she came to fetch her. When the _vala_ left, Katin breathed a sigh of relief she hadn't known she'd been holding in. _Safety. Of a sort._ She did not expect it to last.

After a while Juliet returned and took her to Taya's bedchamber. Katin saw now that it had its own bathing alcove, and a separate privy for Taya's use. The bathtub was a brass monstrosity forged in the shape of a swan, and already filled with steaming hot water.

Katin needed no encouragement to strip down and step in. Juliet left her alone as Katin washed, using a bar of rose-scented soap and a long wooden brush to scrub every last speck of dirt from her body. She hadn't had a proper bath since the day before she'd left for Foxhill Keep. She pushed that memory away; she would not let it ruin her calm just now.

A towel lay folded neatly on the floor beside the tub. No one was around, so when the water had cooled Katin stepped out and dried herself off. Juliet came in a few moments later, with Taya just behind her. "Ah, very good. Now come along." Katin gulped and followed the princess into her bedchamber.

"You'll stay in here," the princess said. "You will have a daily bath and can use the privy, of course, but stay off the balcony during the day. The whole of the palace will soon know I have a bedgirl, and I do not need to flaunt your presence." She went into her wardrobe while Katin stared around. The princess's bedchamber was as ornate as one might expect: a huge four-poster and its rich silk brocade curtains, a vanity with a threefold mirror as tall as Katin, a bookshelf with more tomes on it than Katin had ever seen together in one place. The balcony doors were gilt-edged glass among windows that stretched almost the entire length of the outside wall.

"Here we are," Taya said, and returned with a slip of red silk that was embarrassingly sheer. Katin had worn such things back in Cleavesport, of course, but the memory did not warm her any more than the garment would.

The memory of Taya's finger on her neck came back to her. _Would you prefer the headsman's axe? Or perhaps Edon would destroy you with his mind, just to save sharpening a blade._ She took the dress from Taya and stared at it.

"Well? Try it on. The palace would never believe I would let a bedgirl look anything less than alluring." The princess's smile was wicked now.

Katin girded herself and dropped the towel. Juliet stood by the door, her frown deeper than ever, her cheeks burning red, her arms crossed so tightly she looked as if she were trying to stop herself from hitting someone.

But Taya drank her in, eyes travelling from head to toe as Katin carefully donned the wispy silk garment. The princess giggled and clapped when Katin was dressed, and ran off to fetch a pair of red slippers with heels raised high. They were bulky and awkward, and made Katin's feet hurt, but she was not about to argue with the princess.

"Well done, I think," Taya said, walking a circle around Katin to examine her from every angle. "We'll do something with your hair later." Her enthusiasm was repulsive. At least in Cleavesport, Katin had gotten paid for such things.

"Your highness," Katin said to Taya, "I'm sorry to interrupt, er, this, but... the food? I haven't eaten since..." _Since the black cells,_ she'd almost said. Taya's eyes lit up at once.

"Of course! How silly of me. Even a bedgirl must eat. Juliet, see to it."

"Yes, your highness," the _vala_ practically snarled back, and stalked off.

Taya seemed not to mind her _vala_ 's tone. She flounced over to her bed and laughed to herself, kicking off her shoes. "Now. You have done me quite a service today. I promise that I will do everything in my power to protect you from my brother, and to help find your lady. And of course to find a way to get you out of here safely. I do not promise that I can bring a peaceful end to all this; Edon has his own designs, and things may not end well for Amira. But even if that happens, I am confident that _you_ will be safe."

Katin bowed as low as she could without falling out of the absurd gown. "I cannot thank you enough, your highness. I don't know what I've done to deserve such a blessing as you." One thing Katin _had_ learned was that most nobles soaked up praise like sponges soak water.

Taya proved to be no different. She climbed off her bed, came over to Katin, and embraced her. "Fear not. You are safe now."

Juliet soon returned with Taya's maids, two old battle-axes who Katin wouldn't bet against if they were set to wrestle a bear. Taya's _vala_ had composed herself in her absence, having returned to a plainer scowl.

The maids carried trays of bread, cheese, berries and fruit, and a jug of wine. They were stern and silent and held only scorn in their eyes for Katin.

"Ladies, this is my new guest, Celia," Taya said, smiling wide at them all. This was the first Katin had heard of a false name for her, but she would remember it. "She is to be treated with honor and dignity." Katin could hardly meet the eyes of the old women, wondering what they must think of this girl in her revealing gown. Thankfully, Taya dismissed the maids and Juliet closed the door.

Taya glanced out the window. "Dear me. It'll be time for dinner soon. My brother at least has retained the evening meal for the family while he is in the palace. Not that mother ever attends." She clucked her tongue.

"I cannot imagine why the Dowager Queen would not wish to dine with the man who killed her husband," Juliet said.

Taya waved a hand. "Mother can see to her own affairs. Come, help me dress." She and Juliet vanished into the wardrobe, as Katin sat by the window eating, grateful for real, fresh food. The slop in the dungeon had kept her alive, she supposed, but that was all that could be said in its favor.

The princess returned a short while later, dressed formally in gown and pearls. "My maids will be busy in the other rooms. You may ask them should you need anything. However I would recommend that you retain the 'stupid act' when anyone else is present, including the maids. Only the three of us know the truth."

"Yes, your highness," Katin said, rising once more and bowing as Taya went out.

"A moment, your highness. I forgot something," Juliet called. She pushed the door half-closed, but instead of going back to the wardrobe, she stalked over to Katin until they stood eye to eye. "Do not think, even for a moment, that she will be yours," the red-haired girl growled. She held Katin's gaze for several more seconds before withdrawing.

Katin watched the _vala_ go. _What have I gotten myself into?_

———

The screams came through the door, rising in a crescendo before finally dying away. Katin lay on the feather bed in Juliet's little cell, listening. When the sound was gone, she sat up and waited.

In a few minutes the door opened and Juliet peered through at her. She wore only a silk shift, wrinkled and damp with sweat. Her hair was unbound, red tendrils sticking to her face and shoulders. She said nothing and turned away, leaving the door open.

Katin went out into Princess Taya's bedchamber. The princess lay on the bed, stark naked, skin glistening and arms askew. She inhaled deeply, sighing a little after each breath. When she heard Katin enter, she propped herself up on one elbow and smiled. "You're red as a beet. Afraid of what they'll think of you, hm?"

"No, your highness," Katin said, truthfully. She _wanted_ everyone to believe the ruse that she was Taya's bedgirl. As long as nobody connected her with the frightened _vala_ who Edon had stashed in the dungeon, she was safe. Safer, anyway.

The ruse served more than one of Taya's ends. Upon Taya's return from dinner that first night, Katin discovered, to her horror, that Taya's own _vala_ was her bedgirl. Even to Katin, that seemed perverse. _Valai_ were trained to be confidantes, companions, servants, and valets all rolled into one, but sharing her mistress's bed in that way was madness. _Valai_ had to be rational in order to properly serve their masters, and an intimate romantic attachment was a sure way to subvert that.

Taya was still speaking, and Katin snapped back to the present. "Your highness?"

"I _said,_ it's so good having you here. Now we don't have to be quiet any more." She giggled and looked over at Juliet, who sat on a chair facing the balcony. The door was open and a cooling breeze came in. The redhead glanced over at her mistress, the faintest of smiles on lips.

Katin could think of no response, so she sat down as well. After a bit, Taya stood up, sweat still dripping from her breasts, and drew a robe around herself. She picked some grapes from the bowl on her desk. "Delicious. There's nothing sweeter than cold grapes after a good lay." She giggled again.

Katin had only been here three days, and already she ached for freedom in a way she never had in the dungeon cell. There, at least, she'd been left alone. Here, Taya constantly harassed and teased her, making lewd remarks about the wispy silk dresses she made Katin wear, or ordering her to wait in Juliet's cell while the _vala_ and her lady were abed. All her warmth and courtesy had melted away, leaving only a cruel core. Taya had at least allowed Katin out onto the balcony, but only after dark, when all the lamps were extinguished so that she wouldn't be silhouetted.

And she had to sleep beside the princess in her enormous bed, in case someone burst in on them in the middle of the night. The bed was comfortable, and Taya left her alone. Mostly. Katin had woken one morning to find Taya caressing her leg, and shrieked, which had only made Taya laugh.

Just now, Taya seemed in as good a mood as she was likely to be, so Katin made a venture. "Your highness, is there any way I might be permitted to at least visit the gardens? I do so truly appreciate your graciousness toward me, but I have not had a chance to go outside since his majesty brought me to the palace." She still hoped that Taya would find some way to let Katin escape the palace entirely, but whenever she mentioned it, Taya merely said that they would have to wait at least until Edon left the city. Not that Katin had any idea when that might happen.

"No," Juliet growled, standing up suddenly. "It's too dangerous."

"Oh, hush," Taya said. She'd wandered over to Juliet, and gave her breast a pinch through her shift. The _vala_ slapped her mistress's hand away, and Taya chuckled. She turned to look at Katin, popping another grape into her mouth and swallowing it before she replied. "She is right, though. It would be dangerous. The rumor has taken root, and every noble in Callaston now knows I've got a bedgirl. So for you to be seen about the palace would be even more scandalous than I could tolerate."

"There must be some way," Katin pleaded. "Put me aside, or... perhaps a disguise?"

The princess rolled her eyes. "It's only been three days, girl. Are you that anxious to be away from the only princess you're ever likely to meet?"

"I just... I'm not used to this sort of thing, intrigues and being in such danger. I just want to... to be able to breathe a little." What she really wanted was to escape this place and make for Hedenham, to see if Dardan and Amira had returned, or at least to visit Amira's manse. The servants must be in despair by now, wondering what had become of their mistress. And poor Sara! She was probably still in Hedenham, cooped up at the Tarians' manor, frightened out of her wits.

There was a narrow servants' door in the corner of the antechamber, but unlike the one Amira had used to escape from Prince Edon, this one was kept locked day and night. Taya's two old maids had keys, tucked deep into the bosoms of their servants' dress. And they were always together. Katin might be able to overpower one of them, but even that would be risky.

Taya walked over and plopped onto Katin's lap, running a finger down her cheek. "Be patient, my peach. These intrigues take time to bear fruit." Katin glanced over at Juliet, who was staring daggers at her, gripping the chair's armrests so hard her knuckles turned white.

Katin had had enough. She grabbed Taya by the midriff and pushed her off, then stood. "Your highness, I mean no disrespect, but I am _not_ your bedgirl to be toyed with!"

Taya's slap so surprised Katin that she stumbled and fell to one knee. She began to rise, but Taya's voice came cold. "I did not give you leave to stand. Now attend me closely, girl." She bent down, cupping Katin's chin in one pale hand. "I am helping you, just as you helped me. But I am still your princess, and not to be trifled with." She pushed Katin's head away roughly. "Leave me, the both of you."

She sauntered to her bookshelf and pulled down a tome. Katin stood and followed Juliet to the adjacent cell, meekly closing the door behind her.

Katin wanted to cry. _No, I will not._ But she did. The tears dripped down onto her silk, soaking through. Would she never be free of this monstrous family?

Juliet sat on her bed, staring. For once, she didn't look angry. She just watched Katin, her hands folded on her lap, her fiery hair thrown back over bare shoulders.

Katin slid down to the floor, sniffling. It wasn't the slap or even Taya's harassment. Katin had been _safe_. Ensconced in the manse in Callaston, no one paying attention to her, no one threatening her. Growing up on the streets of Cleavesport had meant unending vigilance. There had been no one to protect her, no one to hide her. She'd had to find abandoned attics, hidden cellars, even once an air shaft deep within a merchant's manse, accessible only by a rope she'd hung down from the parapets above. She'd lived there a month, until one day a maid threw open a window and saw Katin—Karen, then—crouching amidst her stolen bedding and food.

She'd taken a risk with Taya. She'd told herself it was the only way she'd stay alive. Now Amira might be in more danger by Katin's words, and the thought made her sick.

And so the tears came flooding out. She cried more, but quietly, lest Taya become annoyed by her sobs. Juliet merely watched. Each tear carried away a little of the grief and anxiety, until Katin was left numb.

The cell only had the one narrow bed and a little nightstand with a hand mirror and a brush. Juliet was not the sentimental type, and seemed to have no keepsakes or trinkets. But now she moved over on the bed, leaving a clear space. Her eyes were still hard, but at least she wasn't scowling.

Katin hesitated, then climbed onto on the bed, pulling her feet up under her. "Thank you."

"She does it only to torment me," Juliet said at last, looking at the door. "She knows how I feel." She meant Taya's teasing; she would never care that Taya had struck or scolded Katin.

How the _vala_ felt about her lady was obvious; Katin just didn't understand why. "Does she feel the same?"

Juliet shrugged. "I don't know. She was the one who..." Her hand clenched into a fist and then opened, several times. "She's so forceful." She fell silent, and looked away. "She'll use you."

Katin glanced at the door. She would have to behave. Taya could caress her cheek all she wanted if it meant Katin might get a chance to escape.

### CHAPTER 18

### DARDAN

Dardan's horse picked slowly through the brush. They'd stayed off the roads ever since Foxhill Keep, which meant slow going, but it was no doubt safer. If Edon sent men after them, they could not risk being easily found on the Thorncross road.

In the light of that burning branch, hidden in the woods beyond Foxhill Keep, Amira had explained her power to him, and why Prince Edon wanted her so badly. If Dardan had not seen Edon tear down the walls of the keep with nothing but a glance, he'd have called her mad, no matter his love for her. The idea that a person could use their very mind to create fires and death was upsetting enough, but for it to be the province of the woman he'd fallen in love with, the woman he'd become _betrothed_ to...

And yet he had no choice but to stay with her. They'd run for three days since the keep, sleeping as they could in hollows and clefts, by riverbanks or nestled in a grove of poplars. Aside from the food in Amira's pack, which was meant to sustain one woman for a few days, they had no other provisions.

That, at least, had not been a problem. The morning after Foxhill Keep, Amira simply waited in a clearing until food came wandering by—as it happened, an elk. It froze, startled to see her. She held up a hand, there was a _pop_ , and then the elk dropped to the ground, dead.

She'd explained to Dardan that she could push this "ember" of hers at anything she could see, even into the brain or heart of an animal, killing it instantly and with no fuss. Once he'd gotten over his initial shock, he'd asked if she could cook the meat the same way, but when she tried she just ended up charring it. Instead they built a campfire, and Amira provided the spark, saving him from several minutes of rubbing sticks together.

He sawed off the elk's haunch and lashed it to the back of his saddle; it would keep for a day or two at least, in case they found no more large game. Nuts, berries, and leaves made up the rest of their meals. Dardan knew just enough to identify the poisonous plants from the edible ones, but gathering them was tedious work. Still, he reflected, it was better than being Edon's prisoner. Or dead.

He had no idea what had happened to the rest of the men. His father, Liam, Old Ban... the guardsmen, the townsfolk. Or Calys, or even Katin. Once they'd escaped around the side of the castle and made for the trees, there was no going back to look. He regretted leaving, but how could he have let Amira run off into the darkness alone? If only he'd known about this power of hers. Why hadn't she told him?

Well, it was obvious, wasn't it? He couldn't imagine what it would be like to discover having such a power, much less trying to explain it to someone else. Witchcraft was nothing more than a superstition in Garova, but then nobody had ever met a real witch. To suddenly become one must have been terrifying for Amira.

He glanced at her as they rode along, descending along a gentle slope into a little dell. She'd always been a lively girl, but since the keep she'd been subdued. He'd ranted at her, once, the morning after Foxhill Keep, demanding to know how she could have been so cruel and foolish as to conceal the truth from him. She had not argued; instead her face had gone white and she'd turned away while tears fell. Dardan had felt so awful that he said nothing else for hours, and now—

—his head spun at the sound of an arrow whistling through the trees. It missed his head by inches, and before he knew it he had slid off his horse and drawn his sword.

Amira still sat on her horse, glancing around in startlement. "Get down!" he shouted at her, and she dropped clumsily between the two stallions. Dardan crouched between their mounts, trying to see into the shadows beyond the trees.

Leaves crunched as men approached. "Come on out, you," a rough voice said. "We ain't gonna hurt you any."

"That arrow didn't seem too friendly," Dardan shouted back. _Bandits. Just our luck._ Several men had melted out of the forest and surrounded them. The largest wore a rusty mail hauberk and a kettle helm. The others were all dressed in browns and greens that would blend in to the woods easily, camouflage made all the more effective by the dirt and filth that caked them.

"We just want the horses," the big man said. "Man's feet get tired, walkin' through this wilderness all day."

Dardan pulled his horse a little closer. The bandits wouldn't hurt the valuable beasts, if they could avoid it, which made them effective shields.

He glanced at Amira. Her face was set in determination tinged with fear. Dardan whispered, "I can't kill more than one or two, even if they don't have more archers hiding in the trees. Can... can you stop them?"

She met his gaze with those beautiful gray eyes. They could make his knees weak, but now he was almost shaking in terror. But he could not show it. Not to her.

It seemed forever before she nodded. "I'm coming out," she shouted, "to offer you even more than you could have dreamed." How could she make herself sound so confident?

Amira stood up straight and took off her leather cap. She held her hands wide and stepped out from between the horses.

"By Chaos, it's a girl," one of the men said. The others muttered as well, and someone whistled. It made Dardan's blood boil to think what they'd do to her, but she stayed calm and kept her eyes on the big man.

"A better offer, girlie?" he asked, and looked around. "I think we just hit the king's own treasure, boys," he laughed. The other men cackled, as well. Two of them held bows, the rest swords or axes. The bowmen had each nocked an arrow, but they hadn't drawn yet.

"Oh, I haven't even gotten started," Amira cooed. "The offer is this: Leave, or I will kill all of you, starting with you." She pointed at the big man.

Some of the men laughed at this absurd display of bravado, but one or two looked worried. They had the wits to wonder why an outmatched traveler—a woman, no less—would say something so obviously foolish.

The big man didn't laugh either. He had been holding his own sword out from the start, and hefted it now. "I got a sense of humor, the boys all says, but that ain't funny." And he stepped forward. Amira pointed a finger at him.

The _pop_ that emitted from his head was startlingly loud in the still woods. The big man fell to the dirt, no more gracefully than the elk had, and slid down the slope at the edge of the dirt trail. Smoke rose from his ears. Dardan's bowels clenched, even though he knew exactly how it had happened.

The other bandits began to shout. One of the bowmen started to draw, and he dropped next as Amira's finger trained on him. The other bowman yelped and ran.

Two of the bandits lurched forward, shouting and swinging their swords. Dardan leapt out and intercepted them, slashing one across the leg and pushing the other back down the path. Dardan had years of training under his belt, at Luther's hands, and the bandits were no match for him.

The second bandit tripped on a rock and fell as Dardan swung at him. Then he heard Amira cry out. Dardan left the bandit sprawling and sprinted back to the horses.

Amira was on the ground, half-buried under another bandit. Dardan made to stab the man, but Amira scrambled out from under him and it was clear he was already dead. She had drawn her own dagger, and spun back and forth, searching for threats. But only one of the bandits was still in sight. It was the man Dardan had wounded, limping away through the trees. Everyone else had fled.

Dardan kept careful watch for several minutes in case the bandits made another go at it, but the big man had clearly been their leader. Seeing him die just as Amira predicted, when she had wielded no weapon, had no doubt terrified the rest. Dardan still felt his heart thumping in his chest.

He checked on the horses and saw that they were unharmed. They were not war horses, but they had been well-trained in Hedenham, and they had moved only a few steps away from the fight.

Amira sat on a boulder, taking deep breaths, her head down between her knees. Dardan knelt on the soft earth beside her. "Are you all right, my dear?"

She brought her head up. Her eyes were red, but tears had not flowed. "Yes. That was easier than I'd... hoped."

"You did well," he said, trying to reassure her. But she shook her head angrily, stood up, and strode away.

Dardan wanted to follow her, but he held himself back. He was the one who'd insisted they stay off the main road. Running into a nest of bandits in the woods was just bad luck, and she could hardly blame him for it. This was still the safest path to Thorncross.

And Thorncross was the safest destination Dardan could think of. Even if Edon wasn't chasing them, they could hardly saunter back into Hedenham Town. Dardan didn't know if Duke Loram Arkhail could help them, but it was their best chance. House Arkhail had their ancestral keep at Thorncross, a few days' ride to the north. There, at least, they could rest and recuperate... if they could avoid any further ambushes.

———

Just now, Amira seemed to want to be alone, so Dardan went from one bandit's corpse to the next, taking anything valuable. A few coppers, a few silvers, one good dagger, one decent but rusty sword. He took the bow and quiver off the dead archer. It was a poor piece of work, but better than no bow at all, which was what they'd had so far. The mail hauberk on the big man was too hard to remove by himself, and it wouldn't fetch a silver from a blind man anyway. The kettle helm would at least provide a little protection for one of them. He took it and tied it around a saddle strap. Lastly he guessed which of the dead men was the smallest, and struggled to pull the man's clothes off. Amira wore her borrowed armor over nothing but her underclothes, and the bandit's wool trousers and tunic would serve better.

Looting the bodies came curiously easily to Dardan. He'd seen little of death, he was glad to admit; he did not fancy himself a hard man who would turn a callous eye to misery and pain. But he felt no pity or remorse for the bandits. The choice between his life or theirs was an easy one.

Finally Amira came back and insisted they go on. "Maybe there's a bounty for these bandits somewhere," she joked lightly, and Dardan was glad to see her in better spirits. But he watched the trees closely as they rode along.

They found a wide stream as it grew dark, and luck granted them an overhang where spring floods had carved a sheltering hollow. They'd be hidden from sight, unless someone happened to stand directly across the stream.

Dardan gathered firewood again, and Amira brought the kindling alight with a glance. In minutes they had a crackling campfire. He carved two hunks from the elk's haunch and spitted them on a branch. They roasted slowly over the fire, juices dripping into it and sizzling.

Amira watched him over the flames as they chewed on the blackened meat, but she said nothing. Her eyes were hooded, her face drawn. She'd kept her honey-golden hair up in a tight bun most of the time, but now it made a drape over her shoulders. It was dirty and dulled by sweat and travel, but it made her no less alluring. Dardan silently reminded himself that they were not married yet.

They finished eating, and Dardan felt drowsy, but Amira stood. "I feel filthy, and these clothes are stiff and smelly. We both need washing." She went over to the stream and began to undress.

Dardan felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment, but he could not make himself turn away. Amira paused once, to glance over at him, but when he didn't move, she shrugged and continued peeling off her leggings.

She kept her underclothes on—she'd had to hack the bottom off her shift to fit it into the wool trousers—as she waded into the stream and dunked her clothes, beating at them with a rock to get the grime out. The flickering firelight did not illuminate her well, but Dardan's mind filled in the blanks. He felt his trousers getting tighter and finally tore his gaze away.

He was amazed that Amira had not once complained about being out in the wilds. Every other noblewoman he'd ever met would gasp with horror at the prospect of sleeping under the stars for even a night. And now here she was, washing her own clothes in a cold stream.

After a few minutes she sloshed back onto the shore and laid her wet garments out by the fire. "Don't let pride force you into discomfort, my lord." She did not attempt to cover herself. Her wet shift clung to her breasts in a most unladylike way. She stared at him, unflinching. "I'll throw you in the river myself if you don't go wash," she warned. "Prince Edon can likely smell you from here."

Dardan was too embarrassed to argue. He went over to the stream, staring out into the darkness and pretending that his betrothed was not sitting a few yards away, watching him undress. How could they ever have a proper marriage after this? It was scandalous.

_Ha! Scandal? No one will ever know but us, will they?_ The surrounding forest was quiet but for the sounds of insects and little nocturnal creatures scampering about, and the stream burbling by slowly. Only the trees and the hares and the elk would know, and they would never tell. _Or would they? A week ago I'd have laughed at the idea of someone starting fires with their thoughts. Maybe the trees_ will _gossip when we're gone._

Dardan still wore the same fine wool shirt and vest and trousers he'd had since they'd left Tinehall for Foxhill Keep, good travelling clothes that did not particularly mark him as a noble. He saw no reason to dress fancy for riding across the county. Normally he'd have a formal suit rolled away in his saddlebags for when they called at some other noble's estate, but in their haste to depart Tinehall Liam hadn't packed one for him. Thus what he wore was all he had, plus the leather cuirass and mail hauberk he'd borrowed from one of the Tarians' guardsmen. He'd felt bad for depriving the man of his armor, but Count Asmus had insisted that the heir to Hedenham be decently protected.

He'd left the armor by the fire and took off his vest and shirt. He used the same rock Amira had, beating at the clothes until they no longer felt stiff and oily. Then, still mortified by the idea of exposing himself before his betrothed, he waded waist-deep into the stream and struggled to take his trousers off underwater. He only fell over twice, and arose from the stream with a splash each time, shivering as the cold night air touched the water on his skin. _This seems worth the trouble,_ a part of him mocked.

But he was resolute. He treated the trousers to the same cleansing-by-rock and then, somehow, got them back on. He emerged from the stream soaked head to toe. At least his trousers no longer felt embarrassingly tight.

Amira stared into the fire, warming her hands. Her shift had dried, but she had not donned her other clothes, leaving her arms bare to the shoulders, and her legs... Dardan virtuously plunked himself down on the other side of the fire, laid out his clothes to dry, and bade her good night as he lay on the spongy earth of the bank. How could he possibly think such base thoughts at a time like this?

Yet it was the image of Amira sitting by the fire that finally lulled him to sleep.

———

Dardan hoped that Duke Arkhail himself was at Thorncross, though he might have still been in Callaston when Edon returned. Arkhail served on the Greater Council, so he was in the capital most of the time. If the duke himself wasn't at Thorncross, Dardan hoped that his family or seneschal would be able to help them. They might have a better idea of what to do than he did, and could take charge of the situation.

It was three more days' slow ride through the woods before they came to the farms on the outskirts of Thorncross. Riding over fields would attract too much attention here, so they had to risk going on the road. Dardan prayed that the king had sent no men this way. Amira had proved she could kill quickly and at need, but a few bandits were quite a different story than a royal regiment.

But the only armed men they passed on the road wore the gold and green of House Arkhail, and were thus the duke's men. They had watchful eyes but no words for Dardan and Amira, just two travellers among the other traffic on the road: farmers driving carts, shepherds driving flocks, traders and merchants with their wagons full of goods, growing thicker the closer they came to Thorncross.

The sun was high when they reached the town itself. Thorncross Town was not large, but it was the dukedom's central market, and so its square was almost the size of the Great Square in Callaston. It was ringed by wayfarers' inns, and rang with an endless cacophony of barkers and bargaining. Dardan had been here a few times, shadowing his father when Asmus met with the duke.

He made a silent prayer that Asmus was still alive, and another for his siblings. His mother, he knew, needed no prayers. The woman was indestructible.

The duke's castle was a great gray lump, rising up on a hill beyond the far side of the square. The sight of it dissolved his anxiety almost completely. Soon they'd be back on solid ground.

On the flank of the hill, Dardan could see the great grove of honey locust trees that gave Thorncross its name. They were beautiful at a distance, but up close one found that they were covered in long, narrow thorns. The thought made him glance aside at Amira.

She looked back at him and smiled. The nights after the riverbank, he had wrestled with his conscience. They would be married, and it was not right for a man to bed his betrothed before the wedding. Dardan would not fool himself by claiming that a riverbank was not technically a bed. Liam would poke fun at him for being so righteous, even in circumstances such as these. _Liam. How could I forget him?_ He guiltily added a prayer for his _valo_.

When had Amira become so important to him? There was never any question in his heart that they would travel together, even after she revealed her astonishing secret to him. Perhaps the betrothal had done this to him. One did not wed unless one was certain, beyond any doubt, that one would hold fast until death. He would never let that deteriorate, never spend months apart like his parents... No, this power of hers would not change his commitment.

They _would_ be wed, Dardan told himself. Even if it had to be in some pitiful village temple, with a drunken steward presiding and a cow and a pig to witness.

He realized he was staring at her, and averted his eyes. "Sorry, my lady. I'm a bit distracted."

"There are quite a lot of people about," she murmured, dancing her horse closer. Her leg brushed his, making him tingle. "It would perhaps be best not to use terms of nobility where we might be overheard. There's no sense in advertising our station."

Dardan's cheeks burned even worse, and he reflexively looked back to see if there was anyone following them. So many people moved about that there could be half a regiment hiding among the market stalls, and he'd never know. _I brood over love while my lady is thinking of how best to protect us._ "Yes, of course, my—my dear." He wondered what onlookers would make of them. Amira wore her hodgepodge of stolen and borrowed mail, leather, and wool. She had a sword now, looted from the bandits, and her kettle helm. Anyone paying attention would know her for a woman, but perhaps they'd be taken for hired swords. It was rare for Garovan women to take such work, but not unheard of. It would have to do.

They rode around the edge of the market, keeping well clear of the stalls. Barkers shouted their wares: iron goods, glass goods, sweet fruits, bread and pastries, eggs and milk, chickens and pigs for sale. Dardan's mouth watered; they hadn't eaten anything but wild meat and foraged nuts and berries for days.

Amira was looking at the food too. "Perhaps we should eat first," Dardan suggested.

"We don't have much coin."

"It'll only be a few coppers for a loaf of bread and some butter."

"Won't the duke's family feed us? We should save our coin if we can."

Dardan shrugged. "Maybe. Even if they can't provide any substantial help, at least they could do that. But what's a few coppers? We can get more if we have to."

Amira narrowed her eyes at him. "How?"

He opened his mouth, but stopped. He had been thinking like a noble, like someone with resources and authority. Right now Dardan only had a small pouch of silver with him. They had nothing else besides their meager possessions and Amira's ember. With her power, they could simply take what they needed, but he would never countenance such a thing. "Fine. If they don't feed us, we can return and buy bread."

Amira nodded and rode on. Dardan followed, glad she could not see his embarrassment again.

The duke's castle was no gussied-up pretend palace, like Elibarran in Callaston. It was a true fortress, solid and stark, with only one gate and one sally port. Thornstar, the ancient Arkhails had named it. The gate was open, a colossal iron portcullis drawn up by huge chains. A wooden drawbridge spanned the moat, guarded by men in Arkhail gold and green. They stopped and questioned all who approached.

To seem as unthreatening as possible, Dardan and Amira dismounted before they came close and walked their horses the rest of the way. The guards at the tip of the drawbridge waved them to a stop. "What business here?" asked one, who wore a conical helm and a bushy black beard.

Dardan stepped forward, butterflies in this stomach. They had discussed how to approach the duke's family. It would be best if a few people as possible knew their true identities, Amira had insisted, and between them they had come up with a ruse. "I bring a private message from Duke Arturin Surroi of Tidemere, for Duke Arkhail, or the duchess, or their seneschal. Whichever of them is present. It must be given into their hands only." He patted his cloak, suggesting a hidden parcel, which did not exist.

The guard took in his appearance. Dardan hoped he didn't look too disheveled from the days of travel. The man conferred privately with his comrades, then told Dardan to wait. He went into the castle, and many minutes passed as they stood out in the hot sun, sweating. It would be unwise for Dardan and Amira to converse, but he could not help glancing at her every so often. The other guards had noticed her as well, and though she was dressed similarly to Dardan and just as dingy, her beauty still shone through. She drew her dagger and began picking at her nails, casting dark glances at the guardsmen.

Eventually the first guard returned, escorting a wizened old man hobbling along on a cane. He had a kindly, round face despite his years. Dardan thought he looked familiar; he'd seen the old man hanging about on the margins whenever Asmus and Duke Loram met. The old man stopped on the drawbridge and looked at Dardan. "Well, bring them in, I suppose," he said in a scratchy voice. "They haven't the look of murderous assassins." The guard rolled his eyes and gestured inward.

The narrow castle yard curved around the wall of the broad stone keep. A wooden guardhouse sat just inside the inner gate, and the old man led them within, their horses having been taken away by a stableboy.

The old man settled into a chair behind a scarred wooden table. "These furnishings do nothing but irritate my rear," he announced, and dismissed the guard. The guard hesitated, and the old man barked, "If you're worried they'll kill me, well! It would be a relief after all these years of dealing with mutton-headed young men like you. Out!"

Once he was gone, the three of them were alone. There was only the one chair, so Dardan and Amira perforce remained standing. "Well? I was told you have a message. This is as much privacy as we're like to get in this confounded place."

"Er... might I have the pleasure of your name, sir?" Dardan asked.

"You asked for me! I'd have thought you already know it. Very well, then. I am Elmer Brahim, seneschal to House Arkhail. Any message meant for the duke or his mother can be entrusted to me."

Amira spoke before Dardan could. "Please accept our apologies, Mister Brahim," she said sweetly.

"Lord Brahim," he snapped. "Customary title for the Arkhail seneschal."

She bowed slightly. "Again, my apologies. We mean no harm, I assure you, but I'm afraid we've undertaken a bit of deception to see you."

Brahim raised an eyebrow. "Oh ho, perhaps my time has finally come," he said. "Well, get on with it. Who are you?"

Dardan cleared his throat. "I am Lord Dardan Tarian, son of Count Asmus Tarian of Hedenham."

Brahim stared at him. "So you say. Well, what cause would I have to doubt you? Aside from the fact that you're dressed like a mercenary and you stink from what I guess is days of travel. Counts' sons usually manage to wash once in a while."

He listened as Dardan explained how Edon had invaded Hedenham and attacked them. He even described the explosions Edon had created, but left out any reference to Amira's power. Their journey north since then did not need much detail, and he also left out the bandits. Explaining how the two of them had overcome or escaped half a dozen armed men might raise awkward questions.

"We had hoped Duke Loram—House Arkhail—would be able to provide succor to us," Dardan finished. "I'm afraid we have nowhere else to turn."

Brahim harrumphed at them. "We had the news of the king's death days ago, but you seem not to be aware that Duke Loram too has been killed."

Amira gasped, and Dardan froze in shock. "What?"

"At the palace, when King Edon returned. You said you had news of Edon's return, didn't you? Duke Loram and Prince Edon never agreed on anything. While Viktor lived, my lord was quite well-positioned. But Edon apparently considered him an enemy. It is possible that Loram attempted to undo Edon, after his patricide, and failed. One of Arkhail's retainers raced to us with the news, though we kept it quiet for a time. Loram's son Gulhin is the duke now, but the lad's just sixteen. Of age, to be sure, and of course he already knows everything there is to know about ruling, as all young men do." He smirked at Dardan. "Now, this power you speak of, to make thunder, or whatever it is..." The old man scratched at his beard thoughtfully. "It sounds preposterous, but you seem sincere. And assuming you are who you say you are... you do have Count Asmus's look, I'll grant you that. I've met the man often enough, though apparently never when you were around."

"I've been to Thornstar a few times before, my lord," Dardan put in.

"Yes, well, I don't remember you. I'm sure I had more important concerns than attending to some count's spawn."

Amira spoke. "Lord Brahim, please, can you help us? We've seen no hint of Edon's men since we fled, but I fear what he may have done to our friends in Hedenham. If Edon is willing to kill dukes, what hope is there for the rest of us?"

Brahim barked a laugh at her. "You are young, girl. What would you have me do? Duke Loram was a crafty man and a good master, but if your story is true, there is no standing up to Edon. A wise man would reaffirm his fealty and keep his head down."

Dardan's voice gained an edge. "That is not an option for us. Edon holds some grudge, and will likely do us harm if he finds us. We must flee, or hide, unless we can find some power of our own to oppose him."

Brahim stood up. "You will not find such power here," he said. "Whatever malfeasance has gotten you in Edon's poor graces, we will not share in it. House Arkhail has already taken a grave wound and I will not let it suffer further."

"Sir," Amira pleaded, "if we could perhaps speak with—with Duke Gulhin, or his lady mother the Dowager—"

"No!" Elmer Brahim shouted at them. "You will not taint this family! I now know it was a mistake to even give you this audience, would that I'd known that before. Guard!" The door flew open and the guard who had escorted them in burst through, sword half-drawn. "Escort these two out of Thorncross. _Away_ from Callaston." He looked at Dardan one last time, as if that last command had been a favor to them. "See that you do not return here." He stood glaring at them, white-knuckled hands gripping the edge of the table, as the guard put a hand on Dardan's back and prodded him out the door.

Their escort was mounted even before their own horses were brought, and they were taken along a side road away from the market, east toward Tyndam County. The guards watched them with keen eyes, and though Dardan's stomach rumbled, he did not dare ask to buy bread at the market. Amira too watched the market's stalls slip by, but said nothing.

Dardan shook with anger as they rode. Weren't dukes responsible to help their subject counts? He understood that House Arkhail too had suffered at Edon's hands, but were they all simply supposed to all roll over at Edon's command? What good was a king who terrorized and murdered his own people?

The guards said nothing to them, and after a few hours let them loose and turned back toward Thorncross. They'd been taken well past Thorncross's outlying farms, perhaps to discourage Dardan and Amira from bothering the commoners. The road here carved through deep, dense forest. Dardan waited until the guards were well away, then took his horse off the road and into the trees.

He found a clearing a hundred yards into the woods. The terrain here was no different from Hedenham or Caswick, thin aspens and black poplars clustering everywhere they hadn't been cleared for farms. The clearing was in a little glen between two low, stony hills.

Dardan dismounted and sat on a broken tree stump, not bothering to hobble his horse. Amira rode up to him and slid down as well. "Are you all right?"

There must have been grief written on his face, despite his attempts to maintain control. House Arkhail had forsaken them, and he had no other plan. All their travel through the wilderness had been for nothing. Dardan pinched the bridge of his nose to keep tears at bay, tears of grief and outrage and confusion. "We may as well give up," he muttered.

"Don't say that! We will find some way out of this."

He barked a bitter laugh. "How? Our own duke won't help us. We can't return home, or go to Callaston. My father might have other resources to call upon, but I have no idea what to do." The admission was like a splinter tearing through his flesh. He'd always prided himself on knowing how to use what his father had taught him, how to deal with tricky situations.

That was the old world of prescribed forms and behaviors. Even in the bitterest disputes between the barons of Hedenham, there had always been an expectation that some resolution could be achieved. Now people were trying to kill him. He felt plunged into the unknown.

He was surprised to find Amira kneeling before him, her hand on his chin. "Dardan. Listen. We _will_ get through this. I don't know how, but I will not give up, and I know you won't either. We are stronger together than alone."

Dardan stared into her eyes. How could she be so certain? But the sight of his betrothed kneeling there, showing such confidence, made him find a little strength of his own. He nodded. "Yes. You're right. We just... We need to keep moving." He stood up, and she followed. They held hands now, a tiny gesture that made him feel anchored.

"Where is there that we _can_ go?" Amira asked. "There must be somewhere..."

Dardan thought. A few minutes ago, it had seemed hopeless, but if he took the view that there was indeed an answer... "We can go east. Tyndam Town. Count Barnard Kirth is the lord there. Our families have known one another for many years."

Amira's face closed up a little at this. "After that rotten old seneschal..." But she stopped herself. "Yes. Of course. As you say."

There was still daylight, so they mounted again and rode east along the road for a ways. Dardan stared resolutely ahead, glad that they had a destination, and worried that they might be doomed no matter what path he chose.

### CHAPTER 19

### LIAM

Liam could reach Callaston in only a couple of days if he pushed, but he had only the one horse and could ill afford the silver to buy another. Staying at inns each night would also eat into his funds, so he camped in fields and woods to save money. _At least once I reach Callaston, I can find a proper bed at the Tarians' manse._ Besiana would be able to help him rescue Katin, he was sure of it. In the meantime, he still needed to eat; hunting took too long, and inns along the way provided easy meals, though they used up precious silver.

Callaston's gates were still closed when he reached the city. Hundreds of merchants, farmers, and traders camped outside the Festival Gate, waiting for Edon to order it open once again. To kill some time, Liam made acquaintance with a merchant from Hedenham. He'd never met the man before, and so Liam gave the name Will instead, but they were both familiar with the county and got on famously once that fact was discovered. The merchant let "Will" sleep under his wagon when an evening storm rolled in and drenched them all.

The merchant told Liam that there had been a near-riot when Edon's little army had returned a few days earlier, and the gate had been opened just long enough to admit them. All the merchants waiting outside thought this meant they'd be let in too, but when the gate slammed shut after the last soldier, the drivers and traders became enraged and started pounding on it. Archers atop the gate had let loose a few warning arrows, and the crowd had had a sudden change of heart, hurrying out of range.

The morning after Liam's arrival, the gates were flung open to cheers and an instant struggle for a place in line. The gate guards still had to inspect every wagon and traveler, and it was half the day before Liam made it through the gate. By then the guards were so tired of examining spindles of fabric and crates of lettuce that Liam, a lone man mounted, was waved through with barely a glance.

He headed straight for Willbury Street as the afternoon sun slid downward. It was still hot, but there was plenty of shade in the streets. The Grainway was busy as ever, and Liam sighed with relief to leave the traffic behind as he turned onto the street where, he hoped, Besiana Tarian's manse still stood.

And there it was, unchanged from his previous visit, but Liam cursed quietly when he saw two soldiers standing before it, wearing purple and blue. One sat on the steps, and the other stood by, chatting and bored, not paying much attention to anything. Liam forced himself to look away, and rode past feigning disinterest.

_Well that's a damned pisspot._ He'd been counting on Besiana's help, or at least on being able to ask, even if there might not be much she could do. Were the soldiers there to keep someone out, or in? Was Besiana even there? He would have to investigate without attracting attention.

Liam rode along to the Grainway and crossed it to a white-fronted little building next to an alley. He tied up Bandit to a post outside, glanced around to see if anyone seemed to be watching him, and went into the grocery.

The long tables inside bore baskets that would normally hold lettuce, squash, cheese, bread, beans, and all the other sundry goods needed for a well-stocked kitchen. But the baskets were mostly empty; the closed city gates had taken a toll on the available produce. Hopefully things would return to normal now. Liam had heard of the horrific things that happened inside cities during an extended siege.

Besiana's chef came here twice a week, but Liam had never been in here. Just now, only one other man stalked the aisles. Probably some noble's chef; he wore an apron and consulted a scrap of parchment.

A bell had tinkled when Liam opened the door, and in a moment a burly, ruddy man came out through a curtain behind the counter. His hair was thinning and he had a great red mustachio obscuring his mouth. Liam scratched absently at his own face, where sandy brown whiskers had started to grow in. He'd stopped shaving, figuring that a beard could prove a useful disguise in a place where he might be a wanted man.

"What kin I do fer ya, sir?" the burly man asked. He had the accent of the northern river valley, the Icerift.

Liam strode over and held out his hand. "Will White," he said. "Might I have your name, sir?"

"Bryan Lightfellow," the man said, shaking hands. "Not sure I've seen ye 'round here afore."

"No, perhaps not. Is there somewhere more private we can speak?" Liam asked, nodding toward the curtain. "I have a matter to discuss."

The greengrocer raised his bushy eyebrows and considered Liam for a moment, but nodded and led the way back to his storeroom. He casually grabbed a broom, as if he might start sweeping, but Liam noticed that the broom had an unusually thick handle. _Clever._ Bryan Lightfellow was well-muscled, and Liam had no doubt he could swing that "broom handle" with deadly force if necessary.

The curtain fell back behind them, and Liam spoke quietly. "I happened to notice some of the king's men outside the Tarians' manse, down Willbury. Is the countess there?"

Lightfellow was silent for a few seconds, so Liam drew a copper from his purse, flipping it casually into the air. The grocer snatched it before it fell, but then placed it atop a box of apples instead of pocketing it. "I'm not sure I kin take yer money yet, stranger," he said. "Why d'ye want ta know 'bout the countess?"

"I'm an old friend of the family, and I'm concerned. I've just returned to Callaston, after hearing the most dreadful rumors. If the countess is in trouble..."

Lightfellow tapped a finger on the broom. "I don't know what interest his maj'sty's got in th' Tarians, but the countess is hale, far as I know. Her chef still comes fer supplies, an' he ain't said anythin' about her bein' unwell." The grocer waited a moment longer, then shrugged and pocketed the copper coin. "The servants go in an' out, but it's plain as day the countess ain't got the freedom ta roam about, if ye follow."

So Besiana was there, but locked up. Infiltrating the manse wouldn't be too difficult, if there were only the two guards... but there was no way he could get to Besiana without the servants knowing, and _they'd_ all recognize him and gossip their little hearts out.

He could probably get her a message, if he left it with Lightfellow to give to Besiana's chef when he next came in. The Relindos guards probably weren't searching the beans and flour when he brought it back. But what would he say? What good would it do to let Besiana know he was here? Even if she could reply by the same mechanism, it could take days just to have any sort of conversation.

And if the messages were somehow found out, great harm would come to them both.

Liam drew a silver from his purse and handed it to Lightfellow. "This conversation never happened," he urged. "I was never here."

Out on the streets again, he resolutely turned Bandit away from Willbury Street, frustrated beyond words. There were others in Callaston that he knew, other nobles, commoners, _valai—_ but no one he trusted enough to try to go against the crown. If he was going to rescue Katin from Edon—if she was even still alive—he was going to have to do it alone.

———

Liam let the flow of traffic carry him all the way north to the Great Square. He passed several malthouses, and wanted badly to go in for a pint, but he had to watch his silver.

The royal palace loomed above. Its huge iron gate was closed; only a small sally port to the side let anyone in or out. Liam let himself fantasize about scaling the walls like a hero out of legend, but cruel reality kept intruding, and he saw himself falling to his death after a guard shot him with a crossbow.

Evening drew near and the vendors began to pack up their wares. If Katin really was in the palace, he wasn't going to rescue her today. He tried to keep her in the forefront of his mind, to hold the lurking rage at bay.

It was dusk when he found a public stable down near the docks, and put up Bandit for the night. The stallion whinnied at him, and Liam gave up his last apple. "I'll be back for you, I promise," he said, patting Bandit's muzzle.

He found a cheap sailor's hostel even closer to the docks, but the owner of the laughably-named Sailor's Delight demanded ten coppers a night for a cell that should have cost two or three. Once in his tiny, dingy room, he counted his coins again, and was dismayed to find how much he'd spent already. He wasn't used to having to manage funds so tightly. His perspective had been ruined by years spent serving a lord who always had plenty of coin at hand.

The next morning dawned clear and cool. Liam was up early and rode straight to the palace. He called at the sally port as soon as it opened, to see if the palace was hiring servants. The man at the guard house just inside told him that although the palace frequently needed new personnel, they had left all their hiring to a business concern that specialized in recruiting servants for nobles.

The clerk at the recruiter's office, however, took one look at Liam and said that he would be unsuitable for even a minor noble household, let alone the palace. Liam hadn't thought he looked quite _that_ travel-worn. Surely the stableboys and scullery maids weren't expected to be refined, he reasoned, but the clerk rudely asked him to leave.

He found himself in a malthouse after all, on the edge of the Great Square. The pints here were costly, but he was starting not to care, and anyway he could nurse a single pint for hours if he had to. The serving boy gave him dark looks every time he passed, probably wondering when this cheap lout would free up the table for more generous customers.

Evening had begun to creep through the windows when Liam saw a familiar face enter the hall. The man had bright apple cheeks and looked to be about twelve years old, but he only appeared young: Pater Uxhart, who had been in Liam's regiment in the Royal Army, all those years ago. Pater hadn't aged a day, so it seemed. He was actually older than Liam, but the other men had joked that he should still be holding his mother's apron strings. Pater had always taken it with good humor.

He came in alone and took a seat nearby. Liam looked him over, and his heart leapt when he realized that Pater wore a servant's tunic, with the royal sigil on the breast. If Pater worked in the palace...

Liam tossed back his ale for courage, and waved down the serving boy. The lad's face brightened a little when Liam asked for another drink and a basket of fried onions to be brought over to his new table. The boy ran off as Liam slid out of the booth and sauntered over to Pater.

"Shouldn't you be home with your mum?" Liam asked, leaning on the edge of the table.

The man looked up, confused for a moment, but then his eyes widened in recognition. "Liam! Liam Howard! Well aren't you the Aspect of Chaos, showing up out of the blue."

Liam slid into a seat. "Fate makes strangers of us all, I'm afraid," he replied, smiling. "And look at you! Working for the king, eh? What have they got you doing, wiping his bottom for him?"

"Hah, don't make japes about the king," Pater said, but still smiling. "He can hear mockery a mile away, they say."

"How'd a lout like you end up in the palace? I gather you've got to be at least a noble's bastard to have even a chance at working in there."

"I got lucky," Pater said. "After you left—your father pulled you out of the regiment, wasn't that it? Well, I got made corporal on account of the hole you left, and then there was a new regimental horse captain a bit later, and we got to be friends. He ended up the palace stablemaster, and hired me on as his assistant when I mustered out." He sipped his ale. "Can't complain, though serving nobles is a hundred times worse than serving officers. At least officers got discipline. Nobles are all like hummingbirds—this! No, that! No, do it this way! No, wait, I can't find my arse with two hands!" He guffawed, and Liam joined in. "What about you? I thought your dad had taken you out back east."

Liam shrugged. "Ah, I ended up as some noble's _valo_ for a bit, but... didn't suit me," he lied. "Dad wanted me to be 'better than that,' meaning soldier work. But I never had a better time than being in the field with you lot."

"So what since then? I'm surprised you never lit out for the hinterlands like you always swore, to see the Skysilver Spire and all that. I suppose you wouldn't be here if things were still looking up, money-wise. You looking for work?"

Pater was sharp, Liam had to admit. "Anything'll do. I can read and write, and keep books in a pinch. I don't suppose your master needs another assistant?"

"Nah, just me. I don't even work with the horses so much. Mostly I deliver messages for him and help with counting and sums. He's got a bunch of hostlers who oversee the horses themselves."

"Any openings there? I know a fair bit about horses."

"All full up right now, I'm sorry to say."

"Really! Even stableboys?" Liam felt desperate, but he couldn't let it show. He just had to be a man looking for work.

"Well... they come and go more than any others, but we've got too many right now. Although..." He looked around and lowered his voice. "Rumor says the king's going out again, at the head of a _real_ army this time. To ride against Vasland."

So that was it. As badly as Edon might want Amira, if he really thought Vasland was becoming a threat again—and for all Liam knew, it might be—war against them would no doubt be more important. No wonder he'd come back to the capital.

Liam realized he wasn't listening, as Pater went on. "...so when they go, half the stableboys will probably go with them. But I don't know that that'll open up any spots. We'll have half the men, but only half the horses to tend to, if you follow."

Liam nodded. "Well I'll be around a bit. If a place does open up, could you put in a word for me? I can muck out a stall with the best of them," he bragged, puffing out his chest.

Pater laughed. "Of course, anything for an old mate from the wars." He chuckled. They both knew they'd never seen real war. Back then the prospect had seemed glorious, but it was ten years since, and they'd both learned a thing or two.

They spent a few more minutes catching up, but before Liam had to come up with an excuse to leave, Pater begged off. "Got to get home to the wife," he said, with a smirk that somehow ended up looking sad, and stood up.

Liam was astonished. "You're _married?_ "

Pater wore no rings that he could see, but nodded just the same. "She's a good woman. She cleans for a merchant. No children yet, not that we haven't tried."

"But where's your rings?"

Pater shrugged. "Saving up for a farm. Every copper spent on jewellery's a copper not spent on the farm, she says. I can't argue. I don't want to be a stablemaster's assistant forever. Besides, the only ring that matters," he tapped his chest, "is the one she put around my heart."

Liam rolled his eyes and laughed. "Same old Pater."

"G'night, mate," Pater grinned, and left.

In his cot that night, Liam thought of Katin again. She was all he could see when he closed his eyes. For all he knew, she wasn't in the palace; she'd been sent away, or she was dead, or, or, or... But he'd made his choice, and he had to see it through. He wouldn't waste all this effort just to turn around and go chasing after Dardan. By now, he reminded himself, his lord could be a thousand miles away, and Liam might never find him.

———

On the slim chance that Edon had simply set Katin free after their return, Liam found a spot on Willbury Street where he could watch Amira's manse without being seen. After half a day watching, he saw no one enter or leave except for a pair of maids. Maybe Katin was cooped up inside; but talking to the servants, who might recognize him, could put the royal guards on his trail.

Instead he went to the servants' door of the other adjacent manse, where none of the staff knew him. A pretty young maid answered at his knock. "Good afternoon," Liam said, giving his best smile. "I was led to believe I could find a Miss Katin Berisha here."

The girl smiled back at him, slightly confused. "Oh, no, that's next door. But... she ain't been around since all that strangeness a couple months back."

Liam apologized and left. _So much for luck._

Three days after his encounter with Pater, all the news in the streets was of King Edon departing the city again, this time at the head of two thousand swords—no, _ten_ thousand—no, only a hundred swords, plus a _dragon_. Liam's coins had dwindled alarmingly, but the morning after that a boy came running into the hostel, carrying a message for Liam:

Spot opened up. Welcome to the palace, stableboy. - Pater

Liam returned sedately to his room, then hooted and danced about. He was one step closer.

It turned out that in the commotion involved in saddling half a hundred horses for King Edon and his most loyal lords and knights and Wardens, a bleary-eyed stableboy had gotten confused in the dawn mist and ended up walking into a horse's rear. The beast took this unkindly and gave the lad a kick that shattered several ribs. Pater prayed for the boy, but seized on the opportunity and talked the stablemaster, a man named Chester Dormouth, into letting him hire an old friend who'd shown up seeking work.

Liam hadn't been far wrong when he'd joked about nobles' bastards working in the palace. Most of the stableboys turned out to be the young sons of nobles, legitimate or otherwise. It was a tradition for the sons of dukes and counts to serve in the palace for a few months, ostensibly to prove their loyalty to the crown and the realm. Of course, even there, nobles jockeyed for position. The stables were for the sons of nobles who didn't have the clout to get their sons positions as pages, squires, or assistants to the Greater Council.

Liam didn't really understand why nobles thought it was so important to have their brats running around the palace, playing at grown-up jobs. Dardan had served here for a season, he recalled; not in the stables, but rather as cupbearer to the Greater Council. Liam couldn't fathom how bored Dardan must have been, twelve years old and sitting through endlessly droning political debates.

He had no idea how Besiana had gotten her son positioned so highly. The rumor around Tinehall was that she'd done it to show up the count after he'd refused to let Dardan be away for so long. Dardan hadn't wanted to do it either—Liam could hardly blame him—but Besiana had run roughshod over both her son and her husband. It was part of the reason, he'd come to understand, why Besiana had lived apart from Asmus for several years.

Nobles' sons or not, the stableboys were most young and uniformly terrified of Chester and his squad of lead hostlers who oversaw the stableboys. Pater assured Liam that Chester wasn't unduly harsh or cruel, but handling the royal stables was serious business, and keeping the stableboys on their toes was good for everyone.

Chester's threats and scoldings had fire to them, but they were no worse than anything Liam had heard Count Asmus say. He winced at the reminder; he'd never again hear Asmus threaten to use him for archery practice.

So Liam pretended to be intimidated and went about his work. Since Pater knew him, he had to use his true name, Liam Howard, and hoped it would raise no suspicions. Edon's men might never think to look right under their noses.

The stableboys shared a common bunk room in a wooden building right behind the stables. On his first night there, three of the older stableboys—all still younger than Liam by years—tried to corner him, to see what he was made of. Rather than let them start a brawl, he beckoned them forward and whispered how he'd once gouged a man's eyes out with his own thumbs, merely because the man had insulted his mother. The story was cut from whole cloth, but he told it so casually and with such ruthlessly precise details that the boys left him alone after that. Liam tried to ignore the anger, hiding beneath the surface, that had given a malevolent glint to his eye.

———

The stablehands were kept busy, but still managed to gossip. And there was plenty to gossip about, even with Edon gone, along with much of the royal army's Callaston garrison. Even the Wardens in residence at the palace had gone with him. Liam hoped that Edon hadn't taken Katin as well, but nobody mentioned any women riding with them.

Duke Terilin Faroa seemed to be ruling in Edon's stead, and kept a close watch on the rest of the royal family: the Dowager Queen Alise, the princesses, little Prince Luka. Like most commoners who spent their time outside of Callaston, Liam had never paid much attention to the royal family. House Tarian had been his only concern. Now he found himself absorbing every tidbit of information about House Relindos that he could. Queen Alise never left her chambers, apparently by her own will, while Karina stayed confined at Duke Terilin's command, despite constant pleadings to be let out. Taya went where she willed, riding into the city or the royal preserve. Liam saw her once, young and slim, straight brown hair glossy in the morning sun, as she left for a ride. She moved with purpose, a commanding presence even at seventeen. Her vala was a flame-haired girl with an impressive frown, who never went out of arm's reach of her mistress and glared at any man who came close.

On Liam's third night in the bunk room, several of the boys were gathered in a corner betting coppers at dice. Liam threw a time or two, but mostly listened and encouraged the others to keep talking. They spoke about Taya, mostly, making the sort of lewd comments young men do when their mothers aren't around to box their ears.

"I bet she'd fancy a real companion on those long, hard rides of hers," said Jonny, a yellow-haired duke's bastard, punctuating his remark with a leer as he sipped thin honey mead from a chipped wooden cup.

"Her highness wouldn't wipe her arse with the likes of you," another boy said, tall and reedy and trying in vain to grow a moustache. "I hear she doesn't much like boys, anyway."

"Oh, shut it," Jonny said back, and the others all hooted their derision at tall and reedy's claim.

"I've seen nobles with stranger vices," Liam put in, sitting on an upturned onion crate and leaning against the rough wooden wall.

"What do you know about it, old man?" Jonny spat at him. "Old man," that was all they called him, which suited him fine. The less his name was spoken aloud, the better. At twenty-six, he felt less like a grown man than he had at eighteen, but he was still a decade past most of the brats.

Liam sat up. "I knew of a lord once who had a different boy brought to him every night, and had the lad lashed down like a pig for slaughter. Then he'd paddle him with a board—" He reached out and slapped the nearest lad sharply on the thigh, making him jump and yelp. "—while the lad used his mouth on him, until he did his business." He leaned forward and locked eyes with Jonny. "They said he preferred blond boys, 'bout your age."

Jonny paled, but the other boys all guffawed, and started calling Jonny "Paddle."

Liam waited until the cacophony died down. "So Princess Taya fancies girls, does she?" he asked tall and reedy.

"So I heard," tall and reedy said, and this time, the other boys didn't interrupt. "I had it from a washerwoman I bedded—"

"You did no such thing," another boy interrupted, but he looked fascinated all the same.

"Shut it. Anyway, this woman says..." He looked around and lowered his voice, making everyone lean in, even Liam. "She says Taya's got herself a bedgirl cooped up in chambers. Makes use of her twice a day, she does. She said you can hear her screaming at night, even through the walls." He rapped on the wooden wall at his side.

"Is that so," Liam whispered back, feigning awe. A bedgirl was hardly much of a transgression, even for a princess.

Kris nodded eagerly. "She waited till the king was gone, of course. Everyone knows he's a terror to his family. I heard he even keeps his own little wife locked up in their chambers, for fear the guards will all try to bed her. She's a right beauty, they all say."

The gossiping continued into the small hours. Liam eventually drifted away to bed. _Three days in the palace, and not a hint of Katin,_ he thought, turning under the thin blanket. He said a few quiet words to the Aspect of Despair and let sleep claim him.

### CHAPTER 20

### KATIN

Princess Taya proved to be endlessly mercurial. The next day she was as pleasant to Katin as could be, as if their little contretemps had never happened, and suggested that Katin might soon be given a chance to go outside. But the day after, she made no mention of it, nor the day after that. When Katin asked again whether Edon had left yet, Taya said sweetly that she mustn't be impatient.

Each night, Katin found herself unable to sleep and crept out to the balcony once Taya dozed. She sat in the chilling breeze, a spare blanket wrapped around her, watching the moon's smiling crescent set. She would nap in the daytime, in Taya's bed, when the princess was gone. Once she was startled awake by the old maids when they came in to tidy up, and nearly cursed at them before she remembered to act stupid. They made her sit in the corner while they cleaned, and shook their heads as they closed the door behind them.

The sun was well into its downward slide one afternoon, when something tickled Katin's nose as she lay on Taya's bed. She inhaled deeply and realized that it was smoke. Wood smoke.

Katin went out into the antechamber. The maids were nowhere to be seen, but the smell of smoke was stronger here. She sniffed around until she came to the locked servants' door. Here the smell was strongest. She put her face to the doorframe. She could hear nothing, and there was no heat. _Is there a fire in there?_ She couldn't open it, but...

When she opened the door to the outer hall, the two guards there spun to face her. One leered at her wispy silk gown, but the other's eyebrows raised in alarm. "You, get back in there!" he said.

"I thought I smelled something," Katin said, letting her eyes glaze over. "Do you smell something?" She sniffed for emphasis.

The guard paused, and sniffed as well. "Smoke?" He turned his gaze on her. "What did you do, stupid girl?"

"I smelled something," she repeated blankly.

The guard brushed past her, ordering his partner to watch her. This he did, looking her up and down with a grin. "Pity the princess can't make proper use of you," he purred.

She wanted to hit the lout, but just stared. "Huh?"

"Eain!" came a shout from within. "There's a fire in the servant's passage. Raise the alarm!"

Katin looked into the antechamber. The servants' door was open now, and smoke poured out of it. The leering guard ran off down the corridor, shouting "Fire! Fire!"  
Guards and servants came running within minutes, bearing buckets of water. Katin backed away from Taya's rooms to let them in. _I could flee now,_ she thought. _They'll all be distracted._ But to where? The gate guards weren't going to abandon their posts, and she was several floors up and halfway around the palace from the front gate. Maybe she could find somewhere to hide, as Amira had, and escape through the same sewer tunnel... although Amira had told the queen about that, so maybe that way out had been since barred.

She sensed someone moving behind her, and turned.

Liam.

She gasped, and he grabbed her wrists, quick as lightning, before she could embrace him. "Hush, girl, it's all right, they'll put out the fire. You'll be safe, understand?"

Katin felt tears welling up, and bit her lip. Liam kept talking, barely a whisper. "They'll move the princess to temporary chambers, and you with her. Lower in the palace, and easier to reach."

She gazed at him. His hair had been cut quite short, and he had a beard now, well-trimmed, jutting out where his chin did. His mouth was uncovered, and his lips she remembered well. It took her a moment to notice his servants' tunic, the royal sigil on the breast and... a horseshoe below it? How had he gotten into the palace? How had he found her?

"You're in the stables?" she whispered. He released her arms, and she had to cross them tightly to stop herself from grabbing him.

He nodded. "I will get you out of here. Be on the balcony the night after tomorrow, at midnight." He stepped back a little and scrunched his face into a glower. "Leave me be, harlot," he said loudly, then turned and left. She wanted to laugh at the serious expression on his face, but there were too many people around. Instead, she granted herself a few seconds' smile, hiding it behind her hand, then stilled her face and turned to watch the bucket brigade that had formed.

Taya's two old maids erupted through the crowd, faces pink with exertion. When they saw Katin standing exposed out in the hall, they nearly had conniptions, and dragged her back into Taya's chambers at once. Alone again, Katin buried her face in a pillow and screamed with joy.

———

The fire had started from a candle carelessly knocked behind a shelf in the servants' ways. The whole of the apartments were wood and painted plaster, and there was some damage to the princess's wardrobe.

As Liam had predicted, Taya's residence was moved wholesale to a smaller, less ornate set of apartments two floors down, so that repairs could be undertaken. Katin was kept in Taya's old sun room until the dead of night, when one of the maids turned up carrying an ill-fitting servants' dress. There were few eyes to see them as they went to the new rooms.

Taya was in a foul mood the next morning, muttering about careless servants and what a disaster it would have been had she been present. She never seemed to consider that Katin had actually been present, and in more danger than anyone, but by now Katin expected no less of her.

The princess was gone the whole day. Katin risked going out onto the balcony. It was only one story above the gardens below; too far to jump, but perhaps if she had a rope of some kind... It would still not do to be seen, so Katin went back inside after only a few minutes, and spent the rest of the day looking through Taya's wardrobe, wondering how she might fashion a rope out of the clothes there.

The next evening, Katin tingled with excitement. She would sneak out onto the balcony again once Taya was asleep. Perhaps Liam would scale down from a balcony above, to carry her off into the night. She had to be ready.

Taya and Juliet had gone to an evening reception for some nobles, but it had grown quite late, and they had not yet returned. When a distant bell tolled eleven, Katin's worry intensified. If Taya returned at the wrong moment...

Half an hour later came the sound of footsteps, and then a door opening. Laughter. Katin climbed off Taya's bed and sat on a chair. She waited, tense as a drawn bowstring.

Several minutes passed before the bedchamber door opened and Taya stumbled in. Juliet followed, smiling for once. _What in the black spirits could make that girl grin so?_ Taya was clearly drunk, her gown half off one shoulder, her hair mussed. "I do believe th' count got th' message," Taya slurred, cackling.

Katin stood and waited for Taya to notice her. The princess finally glanced at her, and waved a hand cheerily. "Oh, my dear, what a wonderful night!" She hiccuped and laughed again.

"Your highness," Katin said, bowing. As drunk as she was, Katin hoped Taya would be abed soon.

But the princess instead danced around to some unheard tune, taking Juliet and then Katin and whirling them about. "We should have th' musicians up here!" Taya exclaimed.

"I fear they've left the palace by now, your highness," Juliet said. She was quite sober, but still hardly frowned even when Taya danced with Katin.

"Pish," Taya slurred. "Fetch 'em back. I command it."

"Don't be silly," Juliet said, becoming less amused.

"Am I your mistress 'r not?" Taya shouted. "Go!"

Juliet seemed taken aback. Katin held her breath; she'd seen the two women argue before. She could never guess in advance whose will would win out. But this time, Juliet let out a tense breath and bowed. "Yes, your highness." With an unreadable glance at Katin, she left.

Taya kicked off her shoes and padded over to Katin. "I fancy a foot rub," she said, and pushed Katin into her chair. The princess pulled up her own chair and plopped into it, setting her feet on Katin's knees.

The remaining minutes dwindled as Katin pushed and rubbed at the princess's feet. She tried to keep herself from staring at the balcony door, but her eyes would not obey her. Taya prattled on about some foppish count who had spent the whole evening making eyes and lewd suggestions at her.

It would be midnight soon. Katin's pulse raced. She had to get outside. She looked at the bed, wishing Taya would get in it already. The covers were rumpled, the product of a pre-dinner dalliance with Juliet. How long would Taya's _vala_ be gone?

If Taya didn't go to bed soon... well, Katin could simply choose to do nothing. Liam would not find her waiting, and she would be stuck here. Who knew if Liam would ever get another chance? No. She had to do it. She could not merely hide and hope everything would turn out all right. Not this time. She had to get out of here. _She'll use you,_ rang Juliet's voice in her memory.

Her hand slowly crept up Taya's leg, massaging her calf and then her thigh, fading into a gentle caress. The princess had slouched into her chair, but now her head came up and she stared, surprised, at Katin.

"Your highness's _vala_ will be gone a while..." Katin said.

Taya's eyebrows almost climbed off her face. "Well, how unexpected," Taya said. "I think y'may be right." She stood and led Katin over to the bed.

"Wait, your highness," Katin said. "I have an idea." She reached back to those days in the brothel, and gave her most lascivious grin. Her insides were a black pit, but she could not let that show. She went into the wardrobe and found the silk ribbons she'd seen there once. She fetched a handful and brought them out.

Taya had taken the opportunity to remove most of her clothes. She wore only her shift now, but had hiked it up around her hips, and Katin jerked to a halt when she saw Taya pleasuring herself. Katin forced herself to smile, and held up the ribbons.

"What're those for?" Taya asked when she saw them.

Katin climbed into the bed and pressed a finger against Taya's lips to silence her. She took Taya's wrist, wrapped a ribbon around it, and bound her to the bedpost. Taya gasped and giggled. "How wicked," she murmured.

Katin felt arousal as well, but she knew it was only her body's base reaction. She wanted to find something heavy and hit Taya with it. Instead she hastily bound Taya's other hand. The princess moaned now, squirming in anticipation.

But her tone changed when Katin ripped the sleeve off the princess's discarded dress, twisted it into a gag, and wrapped it around Taya's mouth. The princess grew confused, and then angry. But she could say nothing, only muffled grunts emitting from behind the gag. Katin had to dodge aside when the princess tried to kick her.

Midnight would come any minute now. Katin had to get out onto the balcony—

Footsteps, and a door closing. _Juliet!_ Katin leapt off the bed and rushed over to the door. The room was lit by wall sconces, but there were also candlesticks. Katin grabbed one and blew out the candle.

"Your highness, I couldn't—" Katin swung the candlestick into the back of Juliet's head, knocking her to the floor. Katin felt much worse about hurting the _vala_ than she had about merely tying up the princess. Juliet was possibly the angriest person Katin had ever met, but she did not inspire revulsion like Taya did.

Juliet was not unconscious; she moaned in pain as she lay on the floor. Katin grabbed her arms and dragged her to the bed, where she used the rest of the ribbons to tie the _vala_ to one of the bed's legs and gag her as well. "I am very sorry," she whispered to Juliet.

She stood and looked at the princess again. Taya's eyes held poison. Katin said nothing and turned away. She wrapped a spare blanket around herself and went to the balcony door.

A chill breeze slithered through the blanket and her gown as she stood out in the night, waiting, tense. Would Liam come? Had she just signed her own death warrant? She could hardly see, even when her eyes adjusted to the dimness. The gardens below were as dark as pitch. She leaned over the railing and looked again.

A shadow moved. Or was it her imagination? She had to risk it. "Liam!" she hissed.

"Katin!" came the reply. "Catch!" The darkness shifted, and Katin jerked back as something slapped her in the face. She grabbed it before it could fall again: a thick rope, knotted at the end. She tied the rope around the railing and wrapped the blanket around her hands. Going over the railing took a great deal more nerve than she thought she had, but finally she flung her legs over and took the rope in her blanket-wrapped hands. She slid down much faster than she thought she would, the blanket protecting her hands from friction burns.

Liam caught her as she landed, and she reflexively embraced him, clinging tight. When she drew her head back to look at him, he smiled and quickly kissed her, his whiskers poking her lips. She was startled, but did not object. "Little time to lose. Come on."

He led her behind a hedge, to a door that let back into the palace. Liam carried a small sack, and when they were hidden again, he pulled a blue woolen dress from it. Not servants' dress at all, but an ordinary dress. "Change," he commanded in a whisper, and she was too nervous to question him. She had her wispy silk gown half off before she realized he was still watching her, but it was too dark to see much. Being ogled by the man who'd come to rescue her was the least of her worries.

Liam produced two silver hair clips in the shape of butterflies and had her put them on. Her hair was not too messy, combed as for bed. Liam seemed satisfied when the clips were in place, and led her onward.

They were in the servants' ways, under one of the stone towers. Katin wanted so badly to ask Liam how he had found her, how he had arranged their escape, where they were going; but any delay could mean death. They turned, and turned again, and Liam said, "Ah-ha, here we are—"

He came around a corner and collided with a servant who was walking the other direction, a chubby young man with dark hair and a confused expression. For the briefest of moments, he hesitated. Then his eyes went wide and he shouted, "Guards—!"

Liam struck the man in the face, then crashed into him, knocking him over. By the time they landed, the _valo_ had plunged his dagger into the man's chest. Liam clamped his hand over the man's mouth to muffle his screams. The servant gurgled and flailed his arms uselessly under Liam's weight. Liam drew the dagger out and stabbed twice more, eliciting a jerk from the man each time.

Katin bit her hand to keep from shouting. She had seen death before, on the streets of Cleavesport, in the field before Foxhill Keep, but never with such savagery. Liam knelt on the servant until he twitched and died, then drew out his dagger, wiped it on the man's tabard, and sheathed it. "Come on."

Katin took his hand. Liam had gotten a spot of blood on his pant leg, but it would be hard to see in the darkness. She began to feel grief for the poor man who had just died. _But the risk was too great._ She blinked away tears.

Up a flight of stairs, they came out into a hallway lined with tapestries. Darkness reigned here, with only a stand-lamp at one end providing faint illumination. They went out through a narrow door, and Katin gasped when she recognized the coachyard. There was the gate!

The man-sized sally port to the left of the gate had a guard shack just inside it, hard against the wall, warm yellow light spilling from its window. Two guards stood watch there, and there were no doubt more men inside the shack. The sally port itself was shut and barred, not with a wooden bar one could lift, but a metal bar that slid out of the palace's wall and secured the door firmly in place.

Liam stopped her when the shack came in sight, and turned to whisper at her. "Listen. You are a prostitute."

Her stomach dropped. "How did you kn—" she gasped, just as he said, "I'm smuggling you—what?"

"Nothing. Go on." _Oh, by Despair! What have I done?_ His eyes glinted with reflected light from the shack, and moments passed, but he said, "I'm smuggling you out after you came to service Duke Terilin Faroa, but he rejected you. Understand? Say nothing unless it can't be helped." He grabbed her arm and pulled, rougher than she thought would be necessary for any ruse. She had no choice but to stumble along.

Liam's face was stormy when the light illuminated it. The guards saw him coming, and one stepped forward, holding up a hand. "Who goes there—oh, you." He stared at Katin for a moment, but just a moment. "The duke's done already?"

"He didn't like her," Liam said. "Open the gate."

The guard _tsk_ ed and held his hand out, palm up. "First things first."

Liam fished into his pocket, drawing out a handful of silver. He dropped two coins into the hand of each guard, then made to pass. The chief guard stopped him with an arm across the chest. "Seems to me our silence's worth more'n that." He showed yellowing teeth.

Katin felt Liam tense, but there was no choice. Whatever arrangement he'd made, they'd changed it, and they had the swords. He dumped more silver into their palms, until finally one of the guards leaned in through the shack's window and spoke some quiet words. A creak and a groan, and the metal bar drew back. The first guard pushed the door open and nearly shoved Liam and Katin through it, out into the Great Square, and freedom.

———

It was a long, cold walk down the Way of Trade. Callaston didn't technically have a curfew, but the city constables patrolled at all hours, and in the dark they'd accost anyone they felt like. Twice Liam pulled Katin into a dark alcove when they heard footsteps approaching. She clutched him, feeling his heartbeat, savoring his warmth and dreading the conversation to come.

He led them to a dingy hostel called the Sailor's Delight. He had to pound on the door to be let in, and the rheumy-eyed owner answered it in his nightrobe, glaring and cursing, only quieting down when Liam gave him a copper for his trouble.

At long last, with the door to his room shut and the lamp lit, Katin let out a mighty sob, embracing Liam and showering his chest with her tears. He held her close and said nothing. After a minute he guided her to sit on the bed.

"How did you find me?"

"I had to put together some gossip. First was that Edon had brought a woman back from Hedenham with him and stashed her in the dungeon. Second, Taya's bedgirl was on every tongue—pardon the pun. They said she was some idiot girl. I figured you might be both of them." He wasn't meeting her eyes.

"So you set the fire to get a chance to talk to me." Suddenly she was angry. "You didn't know for certain it was me, did you? I could have been hurt, or burned alive! What if it really had been some idiot girl, too stupid to escape, burning to death because of you?"

His cheeks reddened. "Would you rather I'd not tried at all? I didn't even know for sure that you were in the palace. Maybe Edon had left you in a shallow grave somewhere." He stopped, looking down at his hands. " _Were_ you her bedgirl?"

Katin gaped. _He's worried about_ that _, of all things?_ "Of course not! It was a ruse, to hide me from Edon. And to cover the fact that Taya's _vala_ is her bedgirl."

Liam drew back, stunned. "The royals really do think they can get away with anything, don't they?"

Katin shrugged. "I'm just glad to be gone from there. That _vala_ of hers is almost as mad as her mistress." She gulped and told Liam what she'd had to do to escape.

His eyebrows climbed almost as high as Taya's had. "I'd like to have seen the look on her face," Liam said, grinning.

"It wasn't funny at the time," Katin said.

"So why did Taya want to hide you from Edon?" His grin disappeared. "What did she want with you?"

"She..." Katin hadn't thought her stomach could fall any further. She was glad she hadn't eaten in hours. "She wanted to know about Amira. About why Edon wanted her so badly."

Liam's eyes widened. "You know why?"

_I told the likes of Taya. How could I hide it from Liam?_ And so she told him everything she'd told the princess, although Liam was stunned and asked many fewer questions. By the time she finished, he was up and pacing around the little bedroom.

"Tell me Amira cannot do the monstrous things Edon can."

"No! Her power is much weaker, and it is just a tool, no more. Edon was a monster even before any of this happened. Amira is good, you know it. You know her."

"I thought I did." He shook his head, leaning against the wall for a moment. "If only we'd known..."

"Blame me if you must. I swore her to secrecy. Can you imagine if we'd explained this power months ago? Before going to Hedenham, before the summer ball?"

Liam chuckled, his eyes crinkling a little. "Dardan would have had conniptions, in that contained way of his." He mimicked his master, shaking violently while trying to hold very still. Katin laughed, for what felt like the first time in memory. Liam sat down on the bed next to her, and took her hands, laughing as well.

"How did you arrange our escape?" she asked when her mirth subsided.

"Ah, well, the plan was to bring one woman in, and later take one woman out, only not the same woman." Liam blushed. "I had to visit, ah, quite a number of... establishments... to find a woman who resembled you."

Katin's grin vanished. "What of her? Is she still in the palace?"

Liam shrugged. "Indeed, although by now I'm sure Duke Faroa is trying to explain to his wife that he has no idea who the girl is. I told her to arrive at his door at half past midnight, with a silver for each guard. I put her in a matching dress to what you wear now, with the same silver clips." He reached up and took them out of her hair. Here, where there was more light, she could see that they were only iron that had been painted silver. "She looked similar enough that I hoped the guards would think I was bringing her back out again."

"She'll be whipped, you realize," Katin said. "Duke Faroa will want to prove he knew nothing of her."

"Yes, well, I... I had to get you out of there." His face closed up a bit. "What was that you said, in the yard, when I started explaining how you were to pretend to be a prostitute?"

_No. No no no no._ She'd prayed he'd forget, but the man was too canny. Telling him about Amira's power was one thing, but this...

He must have seen the desperation in her face, for he took her hands in his again and leaned in. "Katin. Katin, look at me." She did, gazing into his deep brown eyes. "I love you. Do you hear me? I love you. There is nothing you can say that will change that. Unless you're actually Prince Edon in a wig." She snorted despite herself, but the dread came back.

_I love you._ He'd never said that before. Men had claimed it, men she'd barely known, but Liam had never said it... until he'd proved it. Her own feelings about him were muddled. She'd thought he was dead; even before that, she'd never let herself really care for him. Or maybe she had, and denied it to herself.

She could not be ungrateful. He'd done her a good turn. A _great_ turn. She owed him. Anxiety like she'd never known clawed at her innards. It almost caused her physical pain. _I owe him._

The first word was the hardest. "You must promise me you will never repeat this to anyone. You cannot even tell Amira you know, if we ever do find her again, unless I allow it." Liam nodded, his frown showing his confusion.

She took a deep breath and let it out, then another and another, until she felt calm enough to speak. "Amira and I lived in Cleavesport when Valmir Estaile found us. That much is true. But... Amira is not the daughter of a silk merchant. And I... I'm not anyone's daughter. I was an orphan." She bit her lip. "Orphaned girls only have one use in a town like Cleavesport."

She couldn't even say the word, but she didn't have to. Liam grasped her meaning at once. "You... you were a prostitute?" Katin shut her eyes and turned away. She'd scream if she saw betrayal on his face. "What about Amira? Her as well?"

"No!" Her voice trembled. "No... She was—is—the daughter of the woman who owns the... establishment."

"Where you sold your body to men," he said flatly.

Now she looked at him and bristled. "And you've never been to a brothel, I suppose?"

Liam's mouth worked for a moment. "I... Yes. I suppose I have." All his humor was gone now. "But you—"

"I had no choice. It was safety and security." Her face had grown hot. She was surprised to find that she was angry, not embarrassed. "Should I have stayed on the streets for the sake of your pride? Is a used girl not good enough for you?"

"No! I mean, yes. I mean, it doesn't matter, of course! I just... I did not suspect this, not at all. It will take some getting used to." But he let go of her hands and stood. "Are there any other surprises in store? _Are_ you really Prince Edon in a wig?"

"No, and no."

"Then tell me your story. Please." Liam leaned against the wall again. He'd given her some space; or was the space for him?

———

Karen was a quiet little girl. Her mother died when she was four. Who knew who her father was? No other relations were found, and Cleavesport had no orphanage. The count did not believe in them. He claimed they only encouraged people to breed irresponsibly.

Karen fell in with a crowd of other street urchins who prowled the docks and alleys of Cleavesport, stealing and begging and running games and tricks, just to gather enough to eat. They squatted on the rooftops and in the attics and cellars of the goodfolk.

But Karen was small and weak. She was knocked around by the bigger boys. None of the others would help her, or protect her from their taunts, their fists. One day, a few years later—when she was a little bigger—she stabbed one of them with a shard of glass and ran away.

She hid. She came out at night, to scavenge and forage, a ghost in the streets, silent and invisible as a shadow in the dark. She came to know some of the locals, the shop owners, the goodwives and servants who lived in the poorest parts of town that Karen haunted. They took pity on her, giving her scraps or a copper here and there, or letting her sweep rooms for a hot meal. Some even offered her a place to sleep, but that took more trust than Karen had.

She grew bigger. She saw men start looking at her in ways that made her uncomfortable. She learned a little bit about what men and women did together, and thought it sounded horrifying.

She drifted to a nicer part of Cleavesport, begging for change, looking for loose purses, or unwatched merchandise in market stalls. In one market in particular, she saw a plump blonde woman, pretty but gone a little fat. The woman turned piercing eyes upon her. Karen ran.

She saw the woman again the next day, at a wagon that sold hot skewered pork. The woman sat on a stool and set down two plates. After a moment she caught Karen's eye and patted an empty stool next to her.

Something kept Karen from running. She shuffled over, moved the stool a few feet away, and sat down. "Who're you?"

"My name is Lucy," the woman said. "Lucy Marks."

Karen learned that Lucy owned a brothel, a place where men paid women to lie with them. Lucy said that her girls were treated well, and offered Karen safety: a bedroom of her own; food; clean clothing. In exchange, Karen would cook and clean and fetch and serve, and when she came of age, she would join the other girls, and lie with men for money, some of which Karen would keep, and some of which would go to Lucy.

"Of age" was years away. Karen had never had to think past the next day, and had never had more than two coppers to rub together. It seemed like something out of a story. Karen's instinct was to run and hide in her dusty attic. But this once she told her instinct to be quiet, and Lucy told her where to find the brothel.

Karen was taken in, and good to her word, Lucy gave her a bedroom—shared with other girls, but that was all right, for they were friendly and smelled nice—and food and clothing, as promised. And in addition, Lucy gave her a new name: Katin Berisha, in the Elibander style. All the girls had Elibander names; it made them sound like noblewomen, which enticed men and made them willing to pay more. Berisha, she was told, was an ancient Garovan queen, renowned for her beauty.

Almost immediately, Karen—Katin—met Lucy's daughter, Amira. Amira was a year older than Katin, and it was made clear at once that Amira would never lie with men for money. Lucy was training her to run the brothel, so that she would inherit it when Lucy passed on.

Amira and Katin became fast friends. Amira never asked anything of Katin beyond companionship. They talked in the halls, they gossiped late at night, they peeked at the brothel's lounge from the balcony above and whispered jests about the lecherous men down below.

Amira had been raised, mostly by servants, in a town house a short distance away. Lucy had scrimped and saved and connived her way to owning the brothel, insisting that her daughter would never have to work on her back the way Lucy had. Men called it a crime, for Amira was far more beautiful than any of the other girls.

A few years passed. Amira grew ever more radiant, and the day when Katin would first lie with men grew closer. And then, one day, when Katin was sixteen, Lucy told her that it was time.

Katin did not elaborate on that. There was no point, and anyway Liam did not ask. She skipped ahead to the day the following winter when Valmir Estaile had first set foot in the establishment. Like all men, he sought only companionship for the evening, but when he saw Amira he was struck dumb. He asked for her, and was refused by Miss Lucy. He returned the next day and offered double the usual price, but again he was rebuffed. Each time he came back, and was told he would have to make do with another girl, no matter how much he offered for Amira.

Finally, at the break of spring, he returned one last time, accompanied by a nervous trade agent. They ensconced themselves with Miss Lucy, and Valmir offered to marry Amira, proving his worth with documentation of his extensive wealth and holdings. She would have more money and comfort than Lucy could ever hope to offer her, and in exchange, Valmir would gain a beautiful, vivacious, and thoroughly charming wife, whom he could show off to his friends and business partners.

Lucy took the offer to her daughter. Amira might be flighty and impulsive, but she was no fool. She accepted the offer straight away, on the single condition that Katin become her maid.

Lucy was furious. Katin was a steady earner for the brothel; not in high demand, but not often idle. Katin sat and listened as Amira and her mother battled over her fate. Amira finally went to Valmir herself, and convinced him to pay something akin to a bride price—a year's earnings—for Lucy to release Katin. A princely sum to her, but mere pocket change to Valmir.

And so Katin had become Amira's maid, until Valmir and his wife had been granted peerage. At Amira's insistence, Valmir paid for _vala_ training for Katin.

"And then he died so suddenly, from the galloping cough." Katin shuddered, remembering the man who had helped free her. There had been no love between him and Amira, just an amiable partnership. They both got what they wanted. _Did I?_

She slumped a little, fatigue settling on her like a cloak. "We meant no harm by this deception," she insisted. "That life was left behind us, and it was one we never chose. You _must_ not tell Dardan. Amira might one day tell him, but that is her decision."

Liam stared away for a long minute. "It may not matter. For all we know, Dardan is dead, or they've fled across the sea, and we'll never hear from them again." He rubbed his eyes. "We need to rest. Half the night is gone, and we must leave the city the instant the gate opens. Taya will not be pleased with either of us, especially once my ruse is discovered." _Or that poor servant you killed._ Katin shook that thought off as Liam continued. "Which by now it probably has been. At least we don't have to worry about Edon."

"What? What do you mean?"

Liam stared. "No one told you? Edon and his army rode for Vasland a week ago."

Katin clenched her jaw. Taya had let her believe that she was still protecting Katin from Edon, that she could not be set free. _One more reason to hate that family._

They would need to rise in a few hours. Liam blew out the lamp, and they lay down in the narrow bed. Katin would have let him bed her, if he'd asked, but he merely held her until he fell asleep.

Katin hated to ask the Caretaker for help, but tonight she set aside her pride and made a prayer to the Aspect of Chaos that the morning would find them leaving Callaston, and not returning to the palace in chains.

### CHAPTER 21

### AMIRA

Amira and Dardan reined to a halt at the edge of the slope. They gazed down into the valley at Tyndam Town nestled beside a river. The River Kallain, it was named, after the first Elibander explorer to discover it. Not that the Caelanders hadn't already had a name for it, but whatever that had been was lost to history.

They saw no obvious regiments of royal soldiers waiting to arrest them. After a moment, Dardan nodded, satisfied of their safety, and they began down the long slope toward the town.

Dardan insisted that this Count Barnard Kirth, who ruled over Tyndam County, was a friendly man. Amira hoped so. Dardan's distress after Thorncross had nearly broken Amira's heart. Amira had certainly been disappointed herself, but aside from giving them money and food, what help could nobles provide against a power like Edon's?

Still, if Dardan believed that Count Kirth might help them, then she would not object. Certainly they could not receive any colder a reception than they'd had from that rotten Elmer Brahim.

Foxhill Keep plucked at her memory as they trod through the golden grasses toward the town. The fire and death and chaos had blurred, leaving only a bitter regret that she had brought it on by keeping her power secret, and that she had left Katin behind. The Caretaker alone knew what had happened to the girl.

At least Dardan had never chastised Amira for keeping the secret. He seemed to understand why she'd done it, and he didn't blame her for Foxhill Keep. Most men would have run screaming if they'd ended up betrothed to a witch. Dardan had forgiven her and stuck by her side. So why did she keep blaming herself?

She made herself focus on the land before them. Where Tyndam Town sat astride it, the River Kallain was no more than a wide, shallow creek that meandered off to the north. The town nestled in a valley between long, stony ridges crowned with pine trees. The main road was off to their right; Dardan had insisted that they approach from the woods, in case the road was watched by Edon's men.

No longer sheltered by trees, Amira donned her kettle helm against the sun's glare. The summer had been damply hot, but now, cooling autumn breezes came along more often than they had even a few days before.

They rejoined the road, and as they drew close to the town Amira could make out the details of individual buildings. The houses had steeper roofs than in Hedenham, of a reddish-brown wood that glowed in the afternoon sun. The walls were all whitewashed plaster, with spots of color here and there, ochres and yellows and tans. Chimney smoke settled into a thin haze over the town, penned in by the ridges to either side.

They caught up to a wagon drawn by an old draft horse. It bore a whole family, brothers and sisters and cousins and an old grandmother perched on the wagon's seat, next to a man who was likely her son. Three young girls, one of whom looked almost of age, gaped at Amira in her trousers and mail. They whispered and grinned at each other. Amira was heartened to see something so mundane and normal as children giggling.

One of the girls shifted over to the edge of the wagon and got Amira's attention. "Are you a soldier?"

Amira grinned. "Worse than that," she said. "I'm a witch!"

"Amira," Dardan muttered.

The girls in the wagon shrieked and laughed, and the oldest boy, barely of age, leaned over the side of the wagon. "You look more like a farmer's daughter," he judged. "You ever kill a man with that?"

Amira glanced down at her sword. She'd never even drawn it, this blade she'd taken from a dead bandit. A flash of blood appeared in her vision for a moment, the bandit collapsing into a heap as she pushed—"No." She glanced at Dardan. His jaw was clenched tight. What was he so grumpy about? There was no reason to shun contact with _everyone_. "I kill men with this," she said to the boy, and blew a kiss at him.

This drew more hoots and shouts from the other children, and the boy blushed. Amira grinned and looked directly at Dardan, whose cheeks were as red as the boy's. Now her betrothed stared straight ahead. Didn't he know when he was being teased?

"A whole family heading into town," she said, addressing the wagon again. "And finely dressed, I see." They were all in their best, starched linen dresses and bonnets for the girls, vests and neckties and shiny boots on the boys.

"There's a dance tonight in the square," said the oldest boy, who'd recovered from his embarrassment and clearly relished the attention from a beautiful woman, dingy though her clothes might be.

"Jimsy wants a kissy-kiss," sang one of the girls. The boy swatted at her but she ducked aside.

"Well," Amira confided, "dances are indeed a good place for kissing." She eyed Dardan again. A dance _would_ be a good place for kissing. It had been near on two weeks since Foxhill Keep, and nothing but gloom and terror since. She and Dardan could both use some entertainment.

The family's father, driving the horses, glanced back at her. "Quiet down, you lot," he snapped at his brood. "What business have you here, strangers?" he addressed Amira.

She waved a hand airily. "Following fortune, good sir. Tell me, is tonight's dance open to one and all?"

"Any who can conduct themselves peacefully," he said, eyeing her weapons. "We don't want troublemakers."

"Then we shall be no trouble at all," she said, smiling, and dropped back toward Dardan.

"What are you doing?" he whispered urgently.

"Having a chat. Is something wrong?"

"We should not be making ourselves noticed." His eyes cast around now, as if spies might be lurking in the grass all around.

Amira sighed. "We cannot spend all our days being grim and aloof. Not even at a time like this. In fact, I believe it's especially important that we keep our spirits up. Doesn't a dance sound like fun?"

"Fun? My lady—" He cut off, and glanced at the wagon. "Amira. We must go directly to the count and speak with him at once. There is no time for this."

"On the contrary, the count will likely be at this dance of theirs. What better place to approach him?"

Dardan shook his head. "I will not have it."

His refusal rankled Amira. "Well, I will," she said, and kicked her horse to a trot. Dardan did not race after her as she'd hoped he might, but nonetheless she did not slow down or turn back.

Tyndam's square was of a size with Hedenham's, though it was unpaved, a border of packed dirt around a well-tended field of grass. Amira steered clear of the magistrate's office on the near edge and rode for the inn on the other side. Townsfolk were setting up long trestle tables on the grass, to bear refreshments for the festivities.

She settled at a table in the common room of the River's Bounty and got a cup of wine. Dardan stepped inside several minutes later, slapping the dust from his clothes. He dumped himself into the chair opposite her and leaned in close. "What in the black spirits is wrong with you? You're doing nothing but calling attention to us. We should have gone to find the count's manor directly, as I said."

"I asked the innkeep. The count will indeed be at the dance tonight." Amira shoved her wine cup at him. "Drink."

Dardan stared down at it. "Why? Have you poisoned it?"

"Would that be preferable?"

"The way you're acting, yes," he said, but took a gulp, and another. A serving girl brought them more wine. They sat for an hour, trading drinks and loosening up as the sun went down and darkness settled outside. Dardan eventually ordered dinner, and devoured two large steaks and a mound of mashed potatoes. It dug into their silver, but she was in no mood to nag him about their finances. Count Kirth would help them with funds, or he wouldn't, and a few coins would make no great difference in their fortunes.

A rhythmic thumping came from without, followed by shouts and cheering. Amira drained her fourth cup of wine. She was quite tipsy now, but she'd always had a strong stomach. Even most men she knew couldn't hold their liquor half as well. Amira pulled Dardan to his feet, planted a kiss on him, and then ran outside into the evening, laughing at his startled expression.

A hundred townsfolk or more were scattered across the square, their hubbub filling her ears. A ragged group of local musicians played at one edge of the grass, wielding harps large and small, horns, drums, and a large bass viol. The music of Tyndam County seemed to involve a great deal of pounding and stomping; even the harps were used as percussion. It made for a grand cacophony, and even the old and infirm, seated on benches at the edge of the square, tapped their feet in rhythm.

Everyone else danced, or rested with cups of ale in hand. Amira saw the boy from the wagon dancing in circles with a brown-haired girl his own age. Two long lines formed across the grass, couples facing each other in formal dance. Others whirled around in exuberant pairs, hands held high. There was none of the grandeur of the summer ball, but a great deal more enthusiasm.

Amira doffed her mail shirt and piled it with her kettle helm and sword near where she'd tied up her horse. She dragged a protesting Dardan onto the grass, and they joined the long lines, clapping hands and swinging past each other in time with the music.

Torches on tall poles flickered over the proceedings, casting a skein of shadows. Amira's blood rose as the music filled her ears and sweat trickled down her back. After several minutes in the lines, she pulled Dardan away and they spun each other about. She finally caught him grinning, his worries left behind in a haze of drink and song.

After a half hour, Amira needed to catch her breath. She skipped aside, taking a cup of ale from one of the common tables. Dardan had been seized by a gray-haired matron who twirled him around like a rag doll, making Amira laugh. She gazed around the crowd, reveling in the simple pleasure of a country dance.

Only a minor fistfight marred the proceedings. Two middle-aged men, flushed and weaving drunk, clashed together all of a sudden, throwing clumsy punches. They were separated almost at once by a swarm of other men, who had the look of kin to the two brawlers. There were some nasty looks and sharp words cast, but soon enough the knots of men dissolved back into the crowd and it was as if nothing had happened.

She noticed a more courtly cluster of men standing to one side. They all wore finery and seemed to be centered around a man who, in his aspect, resembled Count Asmus. She wondered if this was Count Kirth. Made intrepid by drink, she marched toward him, still clutching her half-empty cup.

"Count Barnard Kirth?" she called out as she came near, taking care to enunciate clearly so as not to sound as drunk as she felt.

He turned his head, and blinked at the apparition who approached him: a sweaty, tipsy blonde girl wearing a tunic, leather vest, and trousers. "And who might you be?"

"A weary traveler, grateful for your town's hospitality." She bowed low and flung her arms wide, rather than try a curtsey.

"Odd raiment, for a girl," the count remarked. The other men around him chuckled knowingly.

"Odd times, m'lord," Amira replied. "A new king, nobles warring..." She shook her head sadly, but gestured back at the dance. "It is good to find such life and warmth in the world, as we head toward winter."

The count frowned. "Warring? What do you speak of?"

"Ah," Amira hesitated, raising her eyebrows. "Perhaps... a moment alone, my lord?" She took a step away from the crowd. There would be no true privacy out here, but the count nodded after a moment and followed her, his _valo_ trailing behind.

The count looked at least fifty years of age and was taller than Amira by a head. His dark blond hair had long since been overtaken by gray, but he kept it trimmed close. His beard had grown white at the chin, fading to pale blond along the jaw. Amira thought he would have been a wide, strong man in his youth, but the years had added quite a belly to him.

He came to a stop some distance away from the other men, who Amira assumed were barons and wealthy merchants. Amira could feel their eyes on her, and she forced herself to come no closer than arm's reach to the count. Hanging on the man would be all too easy in her state. He might not be the kind to tolerate such public affections from a strange woman.

"M'lord has no doubt had news of the king," she began. She had to stop herself from giggling. _Too much ale. Was this a good idea?_

Count Barnard nodded. "A week past," he said. "This celebration was meant to help raise spirits in the wake of that terrible news."

"And well done, may I say," Amira agreed. "Do you see that man over there?" She pointed out Dardan, who had escaped from the matron's clutches, and stood at the edge of the grass, bouncing to the music. "That is Lord Dardan Tarian."

Barnard jerked, and stared at Dardan. "Indeed... He does resemble the boy, though it's been a few years since I last saw him. If that is indeed Lord Tarian, where is his _valo_? Or his father? And who in Chaos are you?"

"A victim of King Edon's wrath," she whispered. "May we call upon you in the morning to discuss matters, my lord? I fear a full recounting of events would not be prudent here." She managed caution on that point, at least. Little lights swam in her vision. She was seized by a momentary madness to use her ember. _No. It would be impolite to incinerate the count._

Count Barnard exchanged an uneasy glance with his _valo_ , a man who seemed only half the count's age. After a moment, the count turned back to her. "Indeed. My manor is at the eastern edge of town. Come in the morning."

She bowed, thanked him, and withdrew. Her head spun as she weaved her way back to Dardan, slipping her arm through his before he noticed her. His face was flush and he smiled down at her. "Where did you get off to?"

"Oh, introducing myself to the count," she murmured. Dardan stiffened, looking around in a near-panic, and she laughed. "Calm down, dear boy! We shall meet him in the morning. It's all been arranged."

"But we should speak with him now!" Dardan said, low and urgent.

"We have other matters to attend to," she said, and kissed him again, long and deep.

"You bedevil me," he murmured when they came up for air, and suddenly she wanted him very badly. She drained her cup, then tossed it aside and dragged Dardan toward the inn.

She barely had patience for the innkeep's daughter to find them a room—the innkeep himself had gone out to the dance, it seemed, and the girl pouted that she had to mind the desk while everyone else got to go have fun. Upstairs they went, Amira improvidently bestowing the last of her coppers on the girl in a fit of gratitude. She slammed the door and turned to face her betrothed.

Dardan stood staring, like a big, dutiful sheep. She leapt onto him, wrapping her legs around his hips and clinging to his neck, smothering him with a kiss. He lost his balance and fell onto the bed, not exactly resisting, but flailing like a man thrown overboard, struggling against the implacable sea. Amira rolled off of him and started pulling off her boots.

"We're not married yet!" he gasped, propping himself up on an elbow.

"We're married in all but name." She flung her boots onto the floor and slid off her vest. "Should we go find a steward to say the words? I saw a temple on my way in. I'm sure the priest would be happy to perform a surprise midnight wedding for two complete strangers." She pushed him down and straddled him. She could feel him hardening beneath his trousers. Amira pulled her tunic and shift over her head. Her breasts flopped down, feeling suddenly cool, released from the sweaty garments.

Dardan stared, shocked and spluttering. "But—we are betrothed, the wedding—we cannot—"

Amira pulled him up so they were face to face. "I am bound to you," she declared. "I am pledged in my heart, with or without a ceremony. Don't you feel the same?"

"That is lust and drink I hear speaking," he insisted weakly.

She kissed him again, and then pulled at his shirt. Despite his protestations, he obligingly raised his arms until the shirt slid over his head. She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest, scratching him lightly with her fingernails, and he moaned a little.

It was short work removing the rest of their clothes, and the rest of Dardan's objections went with them. Back in Hedenham, Amira and Katin had speculated about Dardan's bedroom experience. Katin insisted that he must have been with at least a few girls—with Liam for a _valo_ , how could he not?—but Amira saw the nervousness in his eyes whenever she came close to him or touched his hand. She'd be surprised if he'd ever had even one girl.

Well, his nervousness was gone, but his inexperience showed. He didn't know what to do with his hands, grabbing her breasts too roughly until she pushed them away. "They aren't clay," she scolded him, and stopped her writhing. "You haven't done this before, have you?"

He stared up at her. Amira had pinned his hands up above his head, her face only inches above his, a bead of sweat hanging from her nose. Dardan shook his head a fraction. "No. I... almost, once..."

His breath felt hot on her ear when she nuzzled his neck. "Well I have," she whispered. "So hold still." She reached down between them and grabbed his cock, hard with the iron of youth, and pressed it up until it slid in.

"By Ardor," he groaned as she thrust down onto him slowly, rocking back and forth until the wetness had spread and he was all the way in. Her back was sore from the day's ride, so she bent over until her breasts pressed against him, sliding back and forth. His hands fell to the side, and despite her instruction he pushed his pelvis up with each stroke. His timing was poor, and she finally had to stop and tell him again to hold still.

As young men do, Dardan came quickly, just as she was starting to hit her own stride. He emitted a series of staccato grunts, and his whole body clenched repeatedly until he was gasping for air. Amira only slowed at this, and when he stopped she doubled her speed, sliding one hand between them to massage her little bud.

It took a few minutes of steady effort, and she nearly lost the thread a time or two when Dardan shifted under her, but he seemed content to wait. He probably had no idea what she was doing, the poor boy. Well, he'd just have to be taught. Men were so bad at understanding what went on down there.

When she finally came, she bit down on his shoulder to keep from screaming. He grunted at the pain, but to his credit he didn't try to shove her away. She slid off him, feeling the sticky wetness leaking from her, and wiped it away with the bedsheet. He was still at half-mast, and for a moment she considered using her hand or mouth on him, but she decided he'd had enough excitement for one night.

She nestled her head into the crook of his arm, and as her heart slowed she felt herself growing drowsy. She felt like they'd either be dead soon or live forever.

Dardan startled her when he spoke. "Will I be a father now?"

He sounded sweetly nervous, she thought, but it was a good question. "Maybe," she whispered. "Sometimes it takes months to get with child. Sometimes it only takes one try."

"We must wed now," Dardan insisted quietly. "Soon. Tomorrow."

"Soon," she promised. "But tomorrow we see the count." She drifted off, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, faint music lulling her to sleep.

———

They woke, washed, ate, and rode to the count's manor. Dardan cast furtive looks at Amira all morning, blushing and grinning like an idiot. She smiled back, but her head was pounding. _No regrets. There's work to do._

The manor was a rambling affair perhaps half the size of Tinehall. Amira wondered if Count Barnard had some larger domicile out in the hinterlands, or if Tyndam was just a humbler place down to the very last brick.

The house major let them in and went to fetch the count. This was a town house, not a country house, and the decor proved it. Though less ornate than even Amira's manse in Callaston, there was still art on the walls and patterned rugs on the floors, and not a stuffed stag's head in sight.

Amira wondered briefly whether the servants at her manse were all right. She missed her home and wondered if she'd ever be able to return to it. Hopefully her trade agent, Mister Hendricks, continued to manage her assets properly. She would hate to lose all that.

Count Barnard came into the hall, his _valo_ trailing behind. "Count Kirth," Dardan said, bowing deeply.

"Lord Dardan," the count replied evenly. "It is good to see you again. Your... er... companion here was not particularly informative last evening, only saying that there had been some trouble." He eyed Amira warily, seeming again baffled by her tunic and trousers. She'd left her armor and weapons outside, at the house major's insistence. She hadn't needed convincing; she had no skill with a sword, and the mail was hot and heavy.

Dardan nodded, eyeing Amira as if she were a troublesome pet. That bit of theatrics had been her idea; for this conversation, Dardan needed to appear in control. Amira would keep quiet unless absolutely necessary. "Ah. Yes, I'm afraid it is rather a long story... might we sit?"

Barnard's office was spare, a desk and chairs and a wooden cabinet filled to bursting with parchment. A double door led out to a grassy yard. Dardan sat before the desk, but Amira remained standing by his side as Count Barnard lowered himself into his own chair. A little lapdog with curly black fur leapt up onto the count and settled on his knee. The count scratched absently at the dog's ears.

Dardan began with small talk, thanking Barnard for his hospitality, and complimenting the previous night's entertainment. Barnard nodded graciously, but Amira could tell he was itching to know why they were there.

When Dardan finally explained Amira's true identity, Barnard glanced at her with an interest quite distinct from the usual sort of gaze men gave her. Dardan otherwise told much the same story as they had at Thornstar, again leaving out Amira's power but elucidating what he could about Edon's. And now he included their rebuffing at Thornstar by that foul old seneschal. Amira still chafed at that. At least Brahim could have let them speak to the duchess.

Count Barnard listened patiently, and when Dardan finished, the count cleared his throat and asked his _valo_ to fetch them all some liquid refreshment. Dardan insisted on water, saying that ale sometimes led to unexpected outcomes. Amira held back a grin.

"Old Elmer Brahim," the count mused. "He's been with House Arkhail for decades. Wise and cunning, he is. I wouldn't fancy a political contest with the man." He sipped his wine. "But it seems to me he was too quick to dismiss you, though I can't claim I'd have done any better in his position. Duke Loram, dead... I will have to travel to Thornstar to reaffirm my fealty to House Arkhail. Gulhin is a good lad. We had him here for a season once."

Amira felt it was time to contribute. "What would you have said that Lord Brahim did not, my lord?" she asked, stepping forward. Dardan shot a cautioning glance at her.

Barnard had been staring out the window, and now he turned to look at her. "I would first and foremost have asked this: Why in the names of all the Aspects would Edon Relindos be so interested in you? I have met many an alluring girl in my time, and no man would deny your beauty. Properly attired, I'm sure even kings and princes would gape at you, and Edon probably did, at the summer ball." He was right on that point; Edon had gaped at her, but not for her beauty. The silver light burned in her memory. "So the question, my lady, is this: What special power do you have over this man who can tear down castle walls?"

Amira had feared this. The longer Amira kept her power secret, the safer she was, but unless they became hermits, the secret would eventually come out. Only Dardan and Katin knew, besides Edon, and who knew whom Edon might have told? Well, if the count was going to help them, he had a right to know what he was getting into. She would not make the same mistake she'd made with the Tarians.

She wished the _valo_ could be dismissed, but Count Kirth wouldn't likely agree to it. Steeling herself, she stuck her hand out, palm up, and demonstrated a new form of her power, something she'd been practicing the last few nights.

The bead of silver light appeared over her hand, and at first only she could see it. She pushed energy evenly into it, and after a moment it turned white and she felt heat on her face. The bead grew brighter, and Count Barnard peered at it, his eyebrows crawling up toward his scalp. His _valo_ gaped as the bead lifted up into the air. The little black lapdog growled and then barked at it.

"Do not touch it," she said, "but feel how it gives heat." She moved the bead slowly toward the count, stopping it far enough away that he had to reach his hand out.

"By the black spirits..." he muttered. After a moment longer, Amira released her ember, and the speck winked out.

"Lord Dardan omitted another aspect of our journey. We were ambushed by bandits in the woods. I was forced to use this power to kill three of them." The blood sang out in her memory again. Corpses littered the forest floor. That had been the first time she'd intentionally used her power against someone, and she'd suffered days of silent grief afterward. Dardan had not needed to see that.

"This is the same power that King Edon wields?" Barnard asked.

"They are similar, but his strength is much greater." She explained about the silver light she and Edon had seen in each other. It scared her to reveal this to someone she'd just met. She prayed that the count would react favorably, or at least not try to have her killed.

He tapped his chin, considering. "Have you seen this 'silver light' from anyone else?"

"No. So far only Edon. I suppose it is some indication of this ability, but I have no idea why Edon would be so much stronger. I can start fires, and sustain a light like that for many minutes at a time without fatigue. I've no idea of his limits. At Foxhill Keep was the only time I've seen him use his power."

Barnard Kirth stroked his beard. "Elmer Brahim was right on one point," he said finally. "Whatever this power is, one cannot fight it. Not directly. And consider that even if Edon did murder his father, who will bring him to justice? All justice flows from the king, and with his father dead, he is now the king. A sticky situation, that. Perhaps he will bring himself to justice." He chuckled. "I apologize. I believe that if I were assaulted by my king, I would as well feel obligated to defend myself, no matter what authority he might have."

Dardan leaned forward. "M'lord, any assistance you can provide, no matter how... indirect... would be appreciated to the greatest degree imaginable."

Count Barnard met his eyes. "Elmer Brahim is wise to keep his head down and watch the winds." He paused, and glanced up at Amira. "But love is a funny thing. Your father and I have known each other even longer than we've known our wives. We were as brothers in the war, and for years before that. I could not forgive myself if I were to turn you away out of fear for my own safety." He stood up, and Dardan leapt to his feet. "Thus I will insist that you remain as guests in my house for a few days at least. Surely you need rest after your time on the road. And then I shall see what else I can do for you."

Dardan bowed. "My lord, I cannot thank you enough. It is good to know that there are still men of character in this realm."

"Think nothing of it, my boy," the count said, coming around the desk and putting a hand on Dardan's shoulder. "It is the least I could do."

Amira could not feel so grateful. Stay here, when Edon might be on their heels? She was still marshalling her words when Dardan spoke again. "My lord, there is one other boon I might request. Nothing material, I assure you." He reached down and took Amira's hands in his. _Oh, no. No no no, don't ask, I told you to wait..._

"If you might arrange that... that my lady and I be married this very day..."

Count Kirth laughed and embraced them both. "Of course! I only wish that your father were here to share in this joy, but he will be glad when he hears of it, I do not doubt."

Words failed Amira entirely. _I just had to bed him, didn't I?_

### CHAPTER 22

### LIAM

Dawn saw them through the Festival Gate. Liam walked Bandit, with Katin at his side, the better to keep a low profile. The gate guards paid them no mind, mixed in as they were with all the other morning traffic, and Liam breathed a sigh of relief once they were through.

Liam mounted Bandit and lifted Katin up. She still wore the same blue dress, which was not split for riding, so she sat sidesaddle before Liam, arms wrapped around his torso, head resting on his shoulder. She'd been quiet since they awoke, letting him lead the way. He thought she'd have been more excited about her escape, but her eyes stayed wary.

As they passed from Callaston's outlying farms into the countryside proper, Liam tried to lighten her mood with a jest, but Katin shook her head. "There is no mirth to be had now. We are hunted."

Liam started and looked around. There was no one else in sight, save a man driving a wagon on the road ahead of them, but he was alone and harmless. "No... ah, I assume you mean the royals."

"Taya will not simply curse her luck now that I am gone. She's as determined as her brother, and a good deal more clever. She will send knives after us."

Liam bent forward and kissed her temple. "I will not let them hurt you."

Katin twisted to glare up at him. "Am I to be reassured by pointless bravado? They will send armies against us, not one man at a time for you to duel. We will be overrun! Amira is the one who can kill with her mind, not me."

Why was she being so hostile? "I only said that I will not _let_ them hurt you," Liam said lightly. "They might kill me and hurt you anyway."

She jabbed her elbow into his side, making him grunt. "You might find this funny, but I do not."

Liam shrugged. "The world abuses us all, and we can laugh or cry. I know which one I wish to spend my life doing."

Katin ignored him, and they rode in silence for a while until Bandit started to snap his teeth. Liam got down and gave the stallion an apple. He let Katin ride while he walked alongside. He had good boots; she had only the thin slippers Taya had given her, and it would do them no good to ruin her feet before they reached Hedenham.

_It's the best place to go,_ Liam decided. Aside from his time in the royal army, he'd lived his whole life in Hedenham. They could get help from Calys, or others—Liam rejected out of hand the idea of going to his father for help—and maybe discover whether Dardan had returned in their absence. It had been the better part of a month since Foxhill Keep; if Amira really did have this power that Katin said she did, then maybe she'd been able to keep herself and Dardan alive.

Liam was vaguely unsettled by the possibility that Edon had taken his army to Hedenham. All the gossip had said that he was going to Vasland, but what if they were wrong? Taking Katin right back into Edon's hands would be a nightmare.

———

They had to go off the main road to a little village called Petherton to find an inn cheap enough for the funds they had left. The room they got was somehow even more cramped than the Sailor's Delight in Callaston had been. At least here the innkeeper was friendly, although when Liam lied that he and Katin were a married couple, the man pointedly asked where their rings were. Liam cribbed from Pater's story, and said they were saving every copper for a farm.

The bed in their room would fit them both, if just barely. That first night in Callaston, he'd been so exhausted he hadn't even thought about the fact that he was lying in bed with the woman he'd been chasing for months. Would she give in, if he asked? But he couldn't. He hadn't rescued her from Edon just so that he could turn right around and use her like any common whore. _She's quite the uncommon whore,_ he thought, then immediately regretted it.

It would be better—safer—if he simply slept on the floor. So he gallantly offered her the bed. "After what you've been through, you deserve a decent night's sleep."

"I didn't lack for comfort. Taya's bed was bigger than this room," Katin pointed out. "Even if I did have to share it with her."

"Oh. Well, I'm used to sleeping rough." He spread out his bedroll on the floor.

Katin stared at him for a moment, then blew out the lamp. They lay in silence for a while. Liam heard Katin's breathing slow, but it took him longer to fall asleep. Where had he acquired such honor?

In the morning he took her to a cobbler. "You'll need boots to make it to Hedenham, or you'll ruin your feet."

"I'll make you eat these boots if we end up needing the coin more," she warned him. The only boots they could afford were thin and seemed unsturdy, but would have to do until they reached Calys.

Their funds thus depleted, the next few nights were spent on Liam's bedroll in the woods. He again offered her the bedding, saying the ground would be good enough for him, but Katin stared him down and said they needed to share warmth. It was well into fall now, and the nights grew colder, so he gave in. _She has to convince_ me _that we should share the bedroll? Something really is wrong with me._

They soon passed into Hedenham County and found the crossroads at Harron's Dell. The townsfolk there said that Edon's army had turned northwest, along the Caswick road. Liam felt a palpable relief. They'd asked about Edon's army in each village they passed and had been met with angry mutters. Apparently Edon had been camping his men in whatever field they were passing by at sundown, trampling crops and upsetting livestock.

"What lies up the Caswick road?" Katin asked as they walked on that afternoon. They'd ridden the morning, and Liam wanted to give Bandit some rest.

"Caswick County, for starters. Then the road runs along the Black Dells through Witchdale, and into Cold Hills County and the Black Mountains. It seems Edon really is going to fight the Vaslanders."

Katin was holding his hand, and he felt her grip tighten. "With that power of his... If he uses it against them..."

Liam snorted. "Edon used his power against his _own people_. Vaslanders are less than animals to him."

He meant to elaborate on that, but he heard a rhythm building, and looked back to see a lone rider cantering along toward them. There was no one else in sight on the road, fore or back. As the rider closed, Liam could see a glint of armor under his cloak. He was only one man, and they were two, but Katin had no weapon...

Liam loosened his sword in its scabbard and discreetly checked his dagger as the rider approached. But he sped past, causing Bandit to shy back a little. Katin watched the rider go by with searching eyes.

Liam had begun to relax when the man pulled up short and turned to trot back toward them. He hadn't reached for any weapon, but Liam now noticed that he wore silvered plate pauldrons over mail, and a black cloak. _It could just be a coincidence..._

The rider came to a halt before them. No, Liam was certain now, and his stomach tightened. The crest emblazoned on the man's pauldrons, a sword lain across balance scales, was unmistakable. This was a Warden of Aendavar.

"Ho there," the Warden called.

"Good afternoon, sir Warden," Liam replied. The Warden blocked the road ahead of them, making Liam and Katin come to a stop. Bandit halted as well, eyeing the Warden's own horse. _Pray that this Warden is on his own business, and not sent by Princess Taya,_ Liam thought. Wardens occupied many roles; sometimes they were attached to army garrisons, as sort of spiritual warriors in residence. Other times they acted as roving constables, helping hunt down criminals and brigands. _Or escapees._

"What are your names?" the Warden demanded. It was not posed rudely, but the man's natural tone dripped with hostility.

"Will White, and this is my wife, Rose." Katin curtseyed, keeping her eyes down.

"Rose White," the Warden snorted. "Well." And he stared at them for what seemed quite a long time.

Liam ducked his head. "Might I have your name, sir? I recognize your device, but..."

The Warden's dark eyes penetrated deep. If he turned his gaze on the rocks, they'd divulge their secrets in seconds. "I am Jack Penrose, Warden of Aendavar." And he turned and rode off north toward Hedenham, perhaps a mite faster than before.

Neither Liam nor Katin moved until the man was out of sight past a bend in the road. Katin had been holding in her breath and nearly gasped for air. "That was close."

Liam waved it away. "Some Wardens are just suspicious by nature."

Katin shook her head. "We should get off the road. What if Taya sent him?"

"If he wanted to arrest us, he would have. Let's just get going."

———

When the setting sun illuminated a growing cloud of dust ahead of them, Liam began to feel uneasy. The road dipped here, giving them a view across a shallow valley.

Katin saw it too. "Is that...? It's getting closer." Her breath caught. "Where's the garrison in Hedenham?"

Liam gritted his teeth. _Damn it, she was right._ "A few more miles up the road."

Katin let out a strangled cry. "He went to get help. Soldiers. We have to hide!"

Liam leapt onto Bandit and put a hand down for Katin. "Save the I-told-you-so for later. Come on!"

He put his boots into Bandit's flanks harder than he ever had, and turned the horse off the road. The stallion bucked a little, but seemed to sense his riders' urgency and followed Liam's guiding hand. There was no time to try to obscure their tracks.

"Where can we hide?" Katin asked, clinging to Liam's back as they bounced across the hard ground. "You must know the land around here."

"Not well. This is all unsettled land for a few miles." The foliage here was mostly short tussock grass, with a few stands of poplars and blackleaf scattered about. _Not much cover. Unless..._ Ahead he spied a wide ridge, with a thick line of trees along its high crest. The face of the ridge was sheer, but it looked familiar. He'd been here before, perhaps on a hunting trip with Asmus and Dardan. Wasn't there a way up the ridge?

They found it, a narrow track wending between rock faces, a gap shattered by some ancient force, or just the grind of time. At the top, Liam dismounted to give Bandit a minute's rest. He stared back out over the grasses below.

The dust cloud came closer.

"Damn," Liam muttered, watching tiny silver dots bob across the pale yellow grass, soldiers following their obvious hoofprints. He wondered which one was Warden Penrose. "They found our trail."

"Then let's not sit here waiting for them," Katin snapped, and they rode on.

Towering clouds loomed above, their tops still orange in the setting sun. North along the ridge, rocks were piled high in a jagged fortification. Liam began to wonder.

"What?" Katin followed his gaze. "What's in there?"

He grinned. "Rock. And no hoofprints."

They couldn't hide in the rocks; the Warden had probably gathered a score of men to hunt them down. They'd be found if they didn't keep moving, even in the darkness... although if Bandit tired too soon, they'd be caught anyway.

The rocks were treacherous, the broken scree shifting under Bandit's hooves. Liam and Katin dismounted and walked the horse; he'd do them no good if he slipped and broke a leg, tumbling them to the ground to break their own necks.

Dark had fallen by the time they emerged out the other side. The tall clouds had gone by with no rain, leaving a clear, starry, moonless sky.

"Now what?" Katin hissed in the dark. "I can barely see."

Neither could Liam, but he knew where they were now. There were some farms not far north, and just to the east... "This ridge backs on a long slope. There's an estate beyond it. One of the barons. Now be quiet. I have to concentrate."

He couldn't see Katin's expression in the dark, and prayed she wouldn't become angry with him. _We have no choice. She'll have to understand that._

Down the slope they went. There were no trees here, just the ubiquitous tussock grass, but in the night they might miss a sinkhole or snake pit. Liam felt an itch and looked back. Little orange dots swarmed in the blackness beneath the tenebrous sky. He hoped they were confounded by the rocks, and still trying to pick up the trail.

He forced his gaze ahead. And suddenly a speck of light in the distance caught his eye. A hearthfire, perhaps.

Katin saw it too, and gasped, but Liam shushed her. Sound carried here. Only when the wild grass underfoot gave way to a spongy, manicured lawn did he speak. "Say nothing. I will do all the talking."

Katin gave his hand one last, tired squeeze. Liam glanced back one more time. He saw orange lights bobbing, maybe larger than before. Closer.

When he knocked on the door of the manor house, the loudness of it made him wince. A light glowed softly through a curtained window. Someone was home, that was certain. Would they answer to strangers in the middle of the night?

The curtain twitched aside and a shape was momentarily silhouetted against the light. Whoever it was let the curtain fall and came to the door. It clicked open a hair. "Yes?" came a man's voice still drowsy from sleep.

"I must speak with your master," Liam said as quietly as he could. "It's a matter of some urgency."

The man looked at him. "Is that... Liam? Liam Howard? By the Caretaker, what are you doing here?" The door crept open a hand further. Liam recognized Alvin, the house major. Not a man he knew well; they had no particular love or hate for one another.

"Please, if you can let us in, I will explain." He glanced back. They'd come around the side of the house, and could not see their pursuers; for all he knew the Warden was mere minutes away.

Alvin hesitated, then swung the door wide open. "Wait in the sitting room. You remember the way. Keep quiet." He looked out past them. "I'll stable your horse."

"Give him an apple or you might regret it," Liam said as lightly as he could, as he led Katin in past the major. She curtseyed quickly. Alvin eyed her with no small wariness, but went out, shutting the door behind him.

Liam led Katin to the sitting room. When he sat on the couch, he was suddenly overcome by fatigue, and feared he might fall asleep where he sat. Katin clutched his arm tightly, keeping him awake. A single hand-lamp burned in the corner of the room. If the hearthfire was the light they'd seen earlier, it had since been banked for the night.

Katin seemed as tired as Liam felt, but she leaned in close. "Liam, where are we? Whose house is this?"

"If the baron's not here, it doesn't matter."

Her eyes flashed a warning. "Liam—"

He shushed her and waited. A minute later, he heard the front door open and shut, and Alvin came back in, tightening his robe around him. Liam forced himself to stand once more. "I cannot thank you enough. Is the baron home?"

"Yes, and I must go wake him."

"Please, we don't mean to disturb him. Can it wait until morning?"

Alvin's eyes narrowed. The man was young for a house major, perhaps a few years past Liam's age. But canny enough to smell trouble. They'd only met a few times, when Liam came with Dardan on some visit or another. "I suggest you stay here." He left, slippers whisking on the carpet, and Liam sat again.

Now Katin outright glared at Liam. "Tell me whose house this is."

He said nothing. _She'll find out in a moment anyway. Better to tell her than for her to meet the man face to face unprepared._ But he couldn't say it. Instead he looked into her dark eyes. "Please trust me. It will be all right."

Her fingernails dug into his hand. She made to object, but he darted forward and kissed her. She was startled, and when he drew back her mouth hung open.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Liam stood, his knees shaking. He drew Katin up as well, and she held tight to his hand.

"...in the name of the malevolent black spirits does he want?" came a voice. Two men came around the corner: Alvin, followed by a shorter, younger, pudgier man, wearing a silk nightrobe and an expression of distaste.

Liam bowed deeply and Katin curtseyed just as low. "Baron Parvis, please excuse our late intrusion."

By the time he straightened, he could feel waves of fury coming off Katin. She nearly shook. He could not look her in the eye. _She'll forgive me. I had no choice._

Baron Parvis Stanton planted his feet and stared. "I'll admit this is not your usual mode of arrival. Though I suppose it makes sense that you arrive without your master."

Liam's heart fell. "Pardon me, m'lord, but does that mean Lord Dardan has not returned to Hedenham?"

"Not that I've heard, but that's for later. What on earth do you think you're doing, showing up in the middle of the night like this? And who is this?" His eyes shifted to Katin. Then he snapped at Alvin, "Bring up the hearth, it's cold."

The house major nodded and began laying new wood on the hearth at once. Liam cleared his throat. "This is Katin Berisha, _vala_ to Lady Amira Estaile, Lord Dardan's betrothed."

Parvis made to ask something, but a horse whinnied outside. Liam froze, and Katin gasped and clutched his arm. Someone spoke, barking instructions. _The Warden._ He thought he recognized that brusque voice.

The baron's head swiveled to the hallway. "Now what—is this your doing?"

"M'lord, please—please do not tell them we came in here. I will explain everything, I swear it by Sacrifice and Courage and Terror, but _please_ do not surrender us."

"Who is out there? Tell me quick and true or by the Caretaker I'll let whoever it is have the both of you."

"A Warden, sent by Taya Relindos to hunt us, and likely a detachment of men from the garrison." He held his breath.

Parvis glared. "Oh, is that all? And here I was, thinking it might be someone dangerous. Wait here," he said, and went out. Alvin stopped his preparations with the fire and darted after his master.

"Baron _Parvis_?" Katin hissed. "He's the one who raped that farmgirl—"

"Quiet!" Liam snapped at her. "Count Asmus found him innocent, and anyway what choice do we have?" He pulled from her grasp and stalked to the doorway.

"What are you doing?" Katin hissed at him. He shushed her and listened.

The front door creaked open again. "Yes?" came Alvin's voice.

The Warden answered, that memorable iron gruffness. "Good evening. We're looking for a man and a woman who came this way—"

"What's the meaning of this, trampling a man's yard at midnight?" Parvis snapped. "Who in the—ah, a Warden I see. Well? A man tries to sleep."

"My apologies for intruding, sir," Warden Penrose said, though Liam had never heard someone less apologetic. "We are tracking a man and a woman ahorse who may have come this way. This is the nearest shelter."

A pause. "The only man and woman here are me and the lady upstairs, and Wrath take you if she wakes up. The baroness will not be pleased if her sleep is interrupted."

"Ah—forgive me," the Warden said, sounding not at all contrite. A long silence ensued. Liam's heartbeat echoed in his ears. Finally there came a rustling sound, as of parchment being unfolded. The Warden said, "If you see a man and woman fitting this description, or with the names shown here, alert the army garrison, or the local magistrate and constables at once. M'lord," he added grudgingly.

"Yes, yes, be on the lookout. Off with you, before the baroness wakes." The door snicked shut on the Warden's farewell. "Watch that they leave," Parvis said quietly to Alvin.

Liam's gut unclenched. They were safe, for the moment. He wondered about the "baroness" upstairs. Parvis hadn't gotten married, had he? Was there really even a woman up there? It wasn't unlikely, knowing the baron.

He tiptoed back to where Katin stood. She gripped her skirt with white knuckles. "They've gone," he said to her. Katin said nothing, and turned her head away, jaw set tight.

Baron Parvis came back. Liam fancied he could see a halo of muted rancor surrounding the man. "Tired and in the dark of night is no setting for the discussion we must have. Alvin will show you to the servants' bunks. We will speak in the morning." He swept out, slippers whispering on the wooden floor of the hall, leaving Liam to wonder whether they were really any safer than before.

### CHAPTER 23

### DARDAN

Count Kirth's manor erupted into chaos when he announced to his staff that they would be arranging a wedding ceremony and feast to take place that very day. His wife, Countess Tria, swept forth from her chambers bearing her very own wedding dress. "The Caretaker did not bless me with daughters, and I will be cursed by the black spirits before I let this beautiful thing go to waste," she said. The menfolk looked on bemusedly as she and a gaggle of maids abducted Amira into the countess's chambers.

Dardan himself was provided with a simple suit of black linen that Count Kirth summoned from somewhere. In short order he had been marched to the town's temple, which had been built in the same thrifty style as everything else in Tyndam. It was narrow, the altars small, and the sacred circle only perhaps three paces across. Dardan was introduced to _Sendraj_ Tevin, a ruggedly handsome young steward with a flowing mane of golden hair. Somewhere, girls wailed that the Caretaker had chosen such a man for his servant.

After an interminable wait, during which a nervous Dardan was (by custom) confined to the sacred circle, Amira appeared. The dress might be thirty years out of fashion, but it did not diminish Amira's beauty one bit; rather it enhanced her radiance, and the flowers woven into her hair seemed as natural as if they had grown there.

Count Barnard and his wife served as witnesses, standing across the upper edge of the circle from one another. Their _valai_ stood between them on the other edges, forming a cross. At a properly planned wedding, a crowd of family and friends would encircle them in deep ranks, but four witnesses was the fewest that _Sendraj_ Tevin could accept.

Amira was so lovely that Dardan could barely attend to the steward's words. Amira recited the bride-oaths, and Dardan the groom's, and then at the last moment a young boy came running into the temple, carrying two thin golden bands. Dardan had no idea who he was, but Count Barnard smiled at him and ruffled his hair, then handed the rings to the steward. As Tevin led them all in the final chant, he handed one ring each to Dardan and Amira. She slipped the larger ring onto Dardan's right hand, and he put the smaller ring on hers. Tears fell from her eyes when they clasped their hands together, and Dardan felt a lump in his throat—but he was more stunned than anything else.

The ceremony ended. Dardan clutched Amira in a kiss as the count and countess and their _valai_ applauded. Amira was embraced by the countess and her _vala_ while Count Barnard shook Dardan's hand vigorously. "Well done, my boy." He nodded to the steward.

"May all that is good and holy lead your way," _Sendraj_ Tevin announced.

"May all that is good and holy lead our way," Amira and Dardan replied in unison. And like that, it was done.

———

If the townsfolk had any objection to a feast being arranged the day after a dance, Dardan saw no sign of it. The trestle tables reappeared, accompanied by long benches and a motley assortment of tables and chairs fetched from individual homes. Something of a dais was erected out of wooden boards at the edge of the square, and it was there, in the cooling evening, that Dardan found himself with his wife at his side, confronted by a townful of happy strangers.

Two whole pigs roasted on spits in the middle of the square, attended by a squad of local lads taking turns at the cranks. A variety of other dishes had been whipped up by supportive townsfolk: scalloped potatoes in butter, peas and carrots roasted with herbs, a salty beef stew, a soup of roots, fresh greens with little plump tomatoes, and more besides.

Dardan glanced over at his wife during a lull in the stream of townsfolk who came up to the dais to wish them well. She smiled charmingly at everyone, but when she met Dardan's eyes, her smile turned a little thorny. "Enjoying yourself, husband?" she muttered through her teeth.

"Shouldn't I be?" he whispered back. "It was kind of them to throw us such a celebration on such short notice."

"Indeed, they needn't have bothered. We should have left. What if Edon is coming?"

Dardan felt that his face had screwed up into a glower, and he smoothed his features. They needed rest and stability. A day or two here wouldn't make much difference. He sighed and turned away as Count Barnard introduced some baron of the county to him.

A few minutes later, he suddenly felt something pinch his arm. He looked over to see Amira's hand gripping him tightly. "Dardan," she hissed. "I see silver light out there."

Dardan started. "What?" He gazed out over the crowd of jubilant, increasingly drunken townsfolk, then realized how foolish that was, as if he could tell who in the crowd she might be referring to. A panic seized him for a moment when he thought that Edon might have snuck into the crowd—but the idea of the king skulking about in disguise as a townsman was preposterous.

"There. Halfway back, on the right. See that one man standing? The boy next to him."

Dardan squinted into the dimness; he picked out the standing man she'd referred to, and realized that he was one of the fellows who'd been involved in that brawl at the dance. The boy sitting beside him did not look familiar. "Are you certain?"

"Every time he turns his head, I can see it," she whispered again, and Dardan heard a pleading in her voice. "I must speak to him."

"We cannot march up to him _now_ ," Dardan muttered, glancing over at Count Barnard, who was thankfully distracted by a discussion with some merchant. "Tomorrow we'll find out who he is. You can speak to him then."

"No!" Amira snapped, then suddenly looked mortified. "No thank you, I'm full," she said loudly to cover it when Count Kirth and his wife both glanced at her with alarm. Amira forced a smile until they looked away again.

"Be reasonable," Dardan said. "You cannot go over there. And this feast will likely last to the small hours. You know we are obligated to stay here until all the guests have left." At least, such was the tradition. Dardan knew almost no one here, but still, tradition was tradition. "Whoever the boy is, he must live nearby. It will not be hard to find him, I promise."

Amira ground her teeth, and after long moments she sighed at him and crossed her arms petulantly.

Dardan's own mood was subdued the rest of the night. He hoped it would be taken as mere fatigue. The boy Amira had pointed out left early, helping some other older man—white-haired, probably an uncle or grandfather—totter away to sleep off what was likely a surplus of liquor. Amira seemed to glower even more deeply at this, but there was nothing Dardan could do about it.

_Another one like her,_ Dardan mused. He'd wondered whether she and Edon would be the only ones. It'd be simpler that way, wouldn't it? Well, this new one was just some harmless boy. It couldn't hurt to go talk to him, could it?

———

Dardan vaguely hoped for a repeat of the previous night's activities—this _was_ their actual wedding night, after all—but they were both exhausted beyond words by the time they reached their borrowed bedchamber in the Kirths' manor. Besides that, Amira still seemed tense from their disagreement at the high table. Well, she'd get over it once they found that boy in the morning.

Finding him took longer than they hoped. First Countess Tria showed up at the crack of dawn with an array of dresses and gowns for Amira to try on, so that she could have something proper to wear. The wedding gown was no longer appropriate, and the countess would not hear of a noblewoman—or, perhaps, any woman—wearing the dirty old wool and leathers Amira had arrived in. She settled on a plain silk dress, clearly something Tria had worn in her younger, slimmer years. It was in good condition, in a gray that complemented Amira's eyes.

Afterward, they attended a leisurely breakfast with the Kirths, which was served late on account of the feast. Then the count insisted on introducing them formally to several of the merchants and barons they'd met last evening at the feast. The newlyweds were naturally the center of attention, and it proved impossible to extricate themselves. Amira did her best to provide charming conversation, but Dardan saw how she eyed the door every five seconds.

Finally Amira simply stood up and excused herself on account of exhaustion. She dragged Dardan along, and some of the nobles sniggered at what they assumed were amorous newlyweds escaping to their bedchamber.

Instead they went out the side door. In spite of all the delays, tracking down the boy's identity proved easier than Dardan expected. The first townsman they came across knew all about the brawl at the dance. "Why, sure, that's the Carmichaels and th' Allisters," he said, shaking his head. "They been feuding for years. Th' usual nonsense. Someone steals someone's pig, and then before y'know it, there's blood on th' fields." He said that the boy was likely Dexter Carmichael, Sedge Carmichael's younger son. "Always gettin' in trouble, ever since he was little. His countship had to order them families to keep apart." He gave them directions to the Carmichaels' farm, a couple of miles east of town, up the slope toward the pines. Amira thanked him with an unseemly exuberance and nearly dragged Dardan away.

They'd need horses for a trip like that, but before they went more than a hundred steps back toward the manor, a ruckus arose. Four men carrying shovels and staves raced past them, in the direction of the town square. It took Dardan a moment to realize that the oldest of them was the same man he'd seen in the brawl, the same man Amira had pointed out standing next to the boy with the silver light. Sedge Carmichael. "That was him," he said, and Amira's eyes went wide. She lifted her skirts from the dust and began to run after them. Dardan grimaced and followed. What sort of trouble was this?

It was only a short run to the square. As Dardan stopped to catch his breath, he saw two clusters of townsfolk facing each other angrily, fists shaking and voices raised. Like Carmichael, the others all clutched improvised weapons: rakes, shovels, broom handles.

"There he is!" Amira whispered fiercely. She pointed at the young man, Dexter Carmichael, who stood in the middle of one group—not the one with his father in it—held by the arms by two other lads. Behind Dexter stood another older man, the second brawler from the dance. He was grizzled and windblown, and sported a mild black eye. No one else seemed to be wielding a blade, but the old man—Allister, hadn't that been the name?—held a big kitchen knife in one hand. Dexter sweated and shook, terrified.

Hoofbeats and a neigh distracted Dardan as a horse pulled up beside the group. "What in Chaos is going on here?" its rider demanded. Dardan took a moment to recognize him: Henry Jarvis, the town magistrate. They'd met at the feast; the man had been ebullient with drink, but now showed no trace of humor beneath his wide-brimmed hat. The horse huffed and danced around, mirroring its rider's agitation.

"He burned my barn!" old Allister shouted. "I told you he was always gonna be trouble, didn't I? I did! And you didn't listen, and now everything I built is gone!"

"Charlie, settle down and tell me what happened," Magistrate Jarvis said.

Amira tugged at Dardan's arm. "We have to help him," she hissed.

"We don't know what's going on," Dardan said, holding tight to her arm. She glanced up at him, her eyes burning. "Don't. Don't do anything. Please." He clutched her close and she wrapped her arms around him, but her eyes returned to the mob.

"...and I found him out in the trees, and he had soot all over him. Look!" Charlie Allister grabbed Dexter's hand and raised it up. It was streaked with black, and so were his sleeves. "I ain't never gonna recover from this, Carmichael!" he shouted at someone in the other mob.

"You give us our boy back!" a middle-aged woman yelled back, perhaps Dexter's mother. She stood right by Sedge Carmichael. The woman stepped forward, but threatening glares from several of the Allisters checked her. "He didn't do nothin', and if he did it were an accident!"

"Bull puckey!" Allister shouted back. "Your boy's been stealin' from my fields for years, and now I'm ruined. Well so are you!" And he plunged the knife into the boy's back.

Amira screamed, but so did several other people, drowning her out. The Carmichaels surged forward, swinging their makeshift weapons. Dardan had left his sword at the manor, but he swung himself between Amira and the mob anyway.

She tore herself from his grasp and reached a hand out. In the melee, no one would know how the old man died, but Dardan did. There was a faint _pop_ , almost lost amidst the yelling and clanking, and old Charlie Allister dropped to the ground, crashing into another man's legs and taking him down as well.

Dardan shouted incoherently and grabbed Amira, lifting her bodily and lumbering away from the fight. The magistrate bellowed for help.

Amira sobbed, her face red. "He killed him! I found one, and he killed him!"

"Shut up!" Dardan grunted at her through gritted teeth. He put her down at the door of the inn. Amira was crying, hands flailing in a panic. Dardan spared a glance back at the ongoing scuffle, then yanked open the inn's door and shoved Amira inside. "Innkeep! I need ale!" he shouted.

The young girl who'd manned the desk before came out from the kitchen, eyes wide. "What's going on? What's all the shouting?"

"Ale! Now!" Dardan roared, and the girl squeaked and disappeared back into the kitchen. Dardan guided Amira to a chair. She clenched her arms tightly together and rocked back and forth, sobbing. His impulse was to hold her, to comfort her, but the thought of what she'd done brought him up short. How could she be capable of that? Bandits were one thing, but this was an old man, a farmer...

The girl returned with a cup of ale. Dardan helped Amira drink; droplets splashed onto her borrowed dress, but he cared nothing for that now. She pushed the cup away and put her head down on her arms, sobbing quietly.

Dardan sat by her side. They couldn't just flee the town; that would raise too many questions. He wanted to shout at Amira, to demand to know what was the matter with her—how could she just kill a man like that?

The door banged open all of a sudden and Magistrate Jarvis came in. "Them—make sure they don't leave!" he barked at a taller man who wielded a quarterstaff, lurking behind the magistrate. Jarvis disappeared outside again as Quarterstaff came in and took up station by the door.

"What's the meaning of this?" Dardan demanded, standing up.

"Magistrate said you wait here, so you wait here. Uh, m'lord," he added, casting his eyes nervously between Dardan and Amira.

Dardan glared at the man and sat down again. Amira's head had come up at the intrusion. Dardan saw that her tears had already stopped.

Several minutes passed as the noise outside died down. There were more shouts, and at least one prolonged argument, but it no longer sounded like a brawl. Finally, Magistrate Jarvis came back in, followed by Count Kirth and his _valo_. "Them," the magistrate said, sounding relieved to have the count there to handle the nobles.

For all Count Barnard had been amicable before, now he wore a grim aspect. He stalked over and stopped just across the table from Dardan and Amira. "Magistrate Jarvis says you were present at the brawl outside. Is that so?"

Dardan glanced at Amira for a moment. The panicking girl of minutes before was entirely gone; now her jaw was set and her eyes gleamed. "Yes," Dardan said, returning his gaze to the count. "We were looking for Dexter Carmichael, in fact. Is he all right?"

"By the Aspect of Wrath, no. He's dead." Count Barnard shook his head briskly, as if to ward something off. Amira emitted a soft sob. The count's eyes flickered to her for a moment, then returned to Dardan. "Tell me what you saw out there."

Dardan recounted the argument and how Charlie Allister had stabbed Dexter in the back. He didn't want to lie to Count Barnard, who had been so kind to them, but he was not about to throw Amira under the cart. He said that he and his wife fled into the inn as soon as the fighting started.

Count Barnard stared hard at them for a moment. Then he spoke over his shoulder. "Magistrate, clear this building. I want no one else in here."

The magistrate gaped, then clacked his jaw shut and nodded. "Yes, m'lord." He gestured at Quarterstaff, and the two of them disappeared into the other parts of the inn. They came back shortly herding the cook and a couple of maids, as well as the handful of guests staying at the inn. All of them gazed perplexed at the count as they passed, but soon enough everyone was outside, leaving only Dardan, Amira, Barnard, and his _valo_.

Count Barnard let out a sigh and lowered himself onto a chair opposite them. "Charlie Allister would hang for what he did, but he's dead too. The strange thing is, I'm not sure how. Everyone else in that fight got cuts or bruises or broken bones, but Charlie's body is unmarked." He stared firmly at Amira now; she met his gaze, barely blinking. "My lady, why were you looking for Dexter Carmichael?"

Dardan's breath caught. _Damn. I shouldn't have said that._ He had to be more careful; he could not blindly trust even those who helped him, not if he wanted to stay alive. But now Dardan said nothing; this was Amira's decision.

"He was like me," she said quietly. She touched her temple with one pale finger. "The first I've come across, besides Edon." Dardan saw her shudder, but she did not break down crying. If anything, she grew more collected by the moment.

"And so you..." Barnard gritted his teeth. "No. We will speak no more of this. You must leave, first thing in the morning."

"Not today?" Dardan asked, surprised.

"Too suspicious, so soon after those deaths." He stood up, and the Tarians followed suit. "I will provide you with coin and provisions. It is the least I can do for the son of Count Asmus."

"What about..." Dardan glanced toward the door.

"I cannot mourn Charlie Allister. He was ever a thorn in my side, and I will not lose sleep over a man who would stab a boy in the back like that." He faced Amira squarely. "See that you do not let this get further out of hand, my lady."

Dardan had never seen Amira so chagrined before. She nodded curtly, not meeting the count's eyes any longer.

———

Despite the circumstances around their departure, Count Barnard provided them with a sack of gold and silver coins, and a pack horse loaded with provisions. They would not want for food or funds any time soon. As they departed the manor, Count Barnard had plastered on a smile, and Countess Tria seemed as joyous as ever, as if the previous day's deaths had not happened. Dardan suspected—hoped—that Amira's involvement would remain known only to Barnard and his _valo_.

They left Tyndam on the same road they'd come in. "We'll go to Seawatch," Dardan said when the town was at their backs. "House Eltasi has never gotten along with Relindos. They may be willing to help us." Amira nodded, staring ahead, not seeing. Dardan sidled a little closer. "Are you going to be all right?"

She whipped her head around, and the sudden glare on her face was so fierce that Dardan shied back involuntarily. "All _right?_ The second one like me that I ever met was killed before my eyes, and then I murdered a man in revenge! How in the name of Despair do you _think_ I am?"

Her wrath seemed unwarranted to Dardan. "I understand it's frightful, but it would have happened—the first part, at least—even if you hadn't been there. You couldn't have done anything about the boy."

"I damn well could have! If you hadn't kept me at the table—if we hadn't had to spend all morning with those idiots—"

"What was I to do? Throw Count Barnard's hospitality in his face? Do you really think you can go around acting as you will with no consequences? A man died by your hand! You have to exercise more control over your emotions. Count Barnard could have had our heads for what happened, or served us up to the king, power or no."

She wheeled her horse around to face him."You have no idea what it's like having this... this thing! It was instinct!"

Dardan halted as well; the pack horse was tied to his lead and came bumping up behind him. "Your 'instinct' is going to get us killed! You have to control it, or what's the point?"

"I don't know! I don't know what we're doing. What's there in Seawatch? Another noble, ready to turn us out at the first sign of trouble?" Amira kicked her horse into a canter before she even finished speaking.

Dardan swallowed his reply and followed her. What was _wrong_ with her? Yes, the whole episode had been distressing, but there was no reason to dwell on it so. And they'd surely find others like her, if that's what she was worried about.

He wanted to make her understand. But she kept ahead of him, and unless he galloped after her and shouted in the wind, she wouldn't even hear him. With the pack horse on his lead, he'd never catch up.

When they stopped to camp for the evening, well off the road, he tried to talk to her. As soon as he said that others like her had to exist, so there was no reason to be upset, she glared at him and stalked away through the trees. He ended up falling asleep by himself, grumbling.

In the morning he woke to find Amira lying beside him. She said nothing about the night before as they ate breakfast and readied the horses for travel, but her eyes were heavy.

Dardan soon learned that there was no point in mentioning what had happened in Tyndam Town. No matter how he tried to make her understand, she would not speak of it. So they would head on toward Seawatch. Even if Duke Eltasi couldn't help them, at least it would put more distance between them and Edon.

———

In a few days they left Tyndam County behind and crossed into Vannar County in the Dukedom of Seawatch. The wooded hills of eastern Tyndam gave way to a long, sloping plain that descended toward the sea. Jagged crags of pale, lichen-covered rock dotted the landscape, as if giants below had thrust their spears up through the ground. Villages were fewer but larger here, with plenty of open space to sprawl into. Afternoon rainstorms filled the little streams that criss-crossed the plain. It became a thrice-daily occurrence that they had to ford some rivulet that barely reached the horses' ankles.

When they came to the first large market town, Amira told Dardan that she wanted to linger for a day or so and look for others like her—"mages," she called herself and those like her.

Dardan objected, saying that they should make all haste for Seawatch. Amira replied evenly that he was welcome to go on to Seawatch if he chose, but she would tarry here. Dardan ground his teeth, but stayed. He spent most of a day watching the road, hoping not to sight a purple and blue pennant.

They spent similar days in other towns along the road, inching toward the coast. Amira had exchanged her dresses—gifts from Countess Tria—for the wool and leather she'd worn after Foxhill Keep. When Dardan suggested she was more fetching in women's garb, she gave him a look that made him instantly regret it.

At night, Amira made love rarely and reluctantly. Her moon blood came and went by the time they reached Elsingham County, and Dardan sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Aspect of Ardor that she had not gotten pregnant. Bringing a child into all this would be madness.

While Amira watched for fellow mages, Dardan gossiped with other travellers. He always asked about Hedenham, casually mentioning that he had family out that way. One night, a drunken wool merchant told him that the ruler of Hedenham had been killed. _Maybe it's only a rumor, or maybe he's thinking of Duke Loram,_ Dardan prayed, but he did not hold out hope.

When he told Amira this, she gasped and embraced him. Dardan was surprised and gladdened, but he also felt dishonest, since he had no idea if the merchant's words had been true. It seemed to mend some of the rift that had grown between them, though Dardan did not understand why. He still wished Amira would look forward instead of back.

One morning as the road brought them past a copse of willows, he saw what looked like a city shimmering on the horizon. It was Seawatch atop its high bluff, protected from pirate raids as well as from easy approach by land. Anyone attacking it would have a tiring uphill climb.

Cold winds off the sea soon began to slither between his clothes, and forbidding thunderheads rose up above the city. Just ahead of them on the road, Dardan saw an open wagon turn off to the south. In that direction he could see stony ridges marching off into the distance toward a solitary, pale mountain. "Ho there," he called after the wagon as they reached the turning. "What lies this way?"

The merchant twisted around to look at him. "Village, hour or so south. Closer shelter than the city." He gestured up at the approaching storm. "Don't wanna get caught out in the open." There did not appear to be anything resembling cover on the rocky plain that rose up toward Seawatch. Amira agreed with Dardan that they should find shelter, so they turned off the main road and ambled alongside the wagon for a ways, Amira chatting amiably with the driver while Dardan engrossed himself in the scenery.

The road undulated up and down between the stony ridges, until they saw a village ahead, hard against the mountain's foot. When rain began to fall, they thanked the wagoner for his advice and rode on ahead.

The village's inn loomed out of the mist as the rain grew into a torrent. The Giant's Foot, the inn named itself, the sign depicting a man dozing against the side of a foot as large as he was. The innkeeper was friendly enough, a rangy old goat whose eyes never left Amira. She pretended to ignore him. Dardan was too cold and wet to risk saying anything; he didn't want to offend the man and get turned out into the storm. "Welcome to Stony Vale," the innkeep said, smiling at Amira's chest.

They ate in the common room, fish stew and oily mushroom salad, and hard brown bread with butter, though here the bread was salted and the butter was not. Dardan was glad when they reached their room. He flopped down onto the bed and listened to the wind clacking a shutter somewhere outside.

Amira was undressing but suddenly stopped, staring at the wall. "Light. Silver light. I see it!"

Dardan sat up. "Where?"

Amira pointed, down and through the wall. "It's gone. But it was there, I swear it. It looked... small, far away." She started to pull her vest back on, but Dardan sat up and took her arm.

"No. Wait until the storm has passed."

"After Tyndam, I cannot wait again!"

"If you go out in the middle of a storm at the crack of night, every person in this village will think you're mad. If there is another mage out there, well, you said he looks far away, so he's not in the inn, agreed? Which means he probably lives here. He's not going anywhere. The storm will blow itself out by morning and we can find him then."

Amira's jaw set mulishly. "You don't know what it's like."

"I'm sure I don't. But going out there now is madness." He didn't want to have to argue with her further, and he was relieved when her shoulders slumped. She sat on the bed next to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Tomorrow," he said softly. She nodded, and they undressed for bed. It took an hour for Dardan to fall asleep, as he listened to the hammering rain lessen to a steady patter, Amira curled up warm against him. He could not help feeling that though they were on the same road, they were not pulling the same wagon.

———

Everything was still wet in the morning, but at least the sun shone between a few high puffy clouds. The air had that damp cleanliness, with a tang of salt from the ocean a few leagues distant. Amira tapped her foot impatiently, having dressed even before Dardan woke. "I saw it again. Whoever it is, he was walking around, and then he stopped over there," she said, pointing below the window. "Come on!"

They went down to the common room, where the innkeep brightly offered them a table, but Dardan said they fancied a walk before breakfast. Outside, Amira stopped and looked around, and asked Dardan what direction she'd been facing inside. He pointed, and she led the way around the side of the inn.

A rhythmic clanging came from up ahead. Just past the inn's stable was an alley, and beyond that a smithy. Dardan followed his wife around to the front of the building, a stone bunker with a wide, doorless gap in the front. She peered inside, then jerked back. "He's in there! Or... she."

"He. It's a smithy. Who ever heard of a female blacksmith?"

"Who ever heard of a female... whatever I am?" she retorted, slapping her trousers. "Come on."

Dardan rocked on his toes, nervously looking around. "We just go talk to him?"

Amira huffed and went inside, leaving Dardan to hurry after. _Madwoman._

The smithy's sulfurous air choked the pleasant morning air from his nostrils. He could see two men working at the forge. One of them put down his tools and came forward. He was a scarred man with a face clean-shaven, wearing trousers and boots but only a leather apron on his torso. He had little shiny patches of skin all over his muscular arms and chest, presumably where specks of hot metal had burned him over the years. Clearly this was the blacksmith. Was he the mage Amira sought? He was clearly much older than the three mages they knew of so far. "Greetings there, sir, uh... ma'am. You in need of ironwork?"

Amira peered past him. "Is that your apprentice?"

"Yeah, that's Garen," he said, squinting at her. "But if you need ironwork, I'm the man to see. Orville Walker, master blacksmith." He held out a hand for them to shake, which Dardan took, since Amira seemed unaware of it.

"Dardan Howard," he introduced himself. "My wife, Amira." They'd tried using aliases for their given names, but Amira had slipped and called him "Dardan" three times in an hour, so she gave up. Besides, she said, Edon would never be fooled by such a simple ruse. But there was no need to spread the Tarian name around, and Dardan had long since gotten past the instinct to introduce himself as a noble. It was better that everyone thought them to be commoners. So they used Liam's family name instead, which was the first thing that had come to Dardan's mind.

Amira brushed past the blacksmith. "Sorry, she's very curious," Dardan apologized. "Er, we'll just—Amira!" He chased after her.

She stopped in the rear of the smithy, staring at the apprentice. He was young and dark-haired, possibly handsome, though his face was streaked with grease and smoke and sweat.

Dardan came to Amira's side as she watched the apprentice—Garen—hammering a hot piece of metal against an anvil. He stood in profile to them, and eventually noticed that he was being watched. He glanced at them for a moment, then went back to his iron, but Dardan could see his body tense.

"Excuse me," Amira called to him. Garen stopped hammering and looked up at her. Amira turned her head, presenting her own profile to him.

He gaped at her as the hammer slipped from his fingers. Amira held her pose for a moment, then turned back, showing her most radiant smile. "My name is Amira. We need to talk."

### CHAPTER 24

### AMIRA

Amira's ember glowed bright, its warmth cascading all through her. The blacksmith's apprentice, Garen, stared at her in shock. He'd seen her silver light, and she'd wager it was the first time he'd met another mage. After a moment he bent down and retrieved his hammer, clearly shaken.

"It's all right," she said as gently as she could. "I know what you are. I am too."

Dardan tugged at her arm and hissed into her ear. "Amira, we should do this later."

The older blacksmith came around to face them, glaring irritably. "What is this about?"

Amira turned to the man. "Forgive me, master smith. Might I speak alone with your apprentice?"

The blacksmith—what was his name? He'd said it, but she hadn't paid attention. He squinted at her, not looking at all pleased. "We've got work to do now, ma'am, if you don't mind. We close at sundown. You can come back then." He glared at the apprentice. "You, get back to work. I don't pay you to stand around gawking."

Dardan pulled at her again, and reluctantly she followed him. _So close!_ She prayed the boy would still be there later. The memory of Tyndam Town pricked her.

"That could have gone worse," Dardan muttered once they were outside. "You can't just rush in without thinking, every time we find... someone."

He was right, Amira knew, but he had no idea how hard it was. She'd told him again and again, and he still didn't understand. She'd been living with the ember for months, and knowing that there was someone out there she could really talk to about it—it was magnetic. She held tighter onto his arm and let him guide her back to the inn. She nearly shuddered with elation and anxiety.

When they reached the inn, she let go of his hand. "I don't want to just sit around all day. Let's explore the village."

Dardan sighed. "People will ask questions."

"Let them. Maybe it's time my power became more public."

"No!" Dardan almost shouted. He cut himself off, embarrassed. "Just because Count Barnard reacted well, do you think that means every common shepherd and farmer and blacksmith will? Barnard is a learned man, trained to deal with unexpected situations. Half the people in this town, in any town, would panic and try to kill you. Kill us."

"I used to be a commoner, dear. We're more resilient than you think. If they know me first, it'll be easier. So let's at least introduce ourselves."

He stared down at her, those plain dark eyes crinkled with worry. It was that more than anything that had made her start to love him. He worried so much, and all for her. But despite what had happened in Tyndam, she could take care of herself.

"Just be careful. Promise you won't tell anyone about..." He glanced up at her forehead. "About that, until you warn me first. I can't protect you if I don't know what you're going to do."

Her spine stiffened a little. "I don't need protection. I need you to trust me."

"I do trust you!" he said loudly, then drew a calming breath. "But I need you to trust me as well. Aren't we in this together now? Forever?"

Sometimes she forgot they'd actually gotten married. For months she'd expected a big country wedding in Hedenham Town's square, so to carry it out on the spur of the moment in a strange town had been thrilling and confusing. Her rings were a reminder, but everything that came with it was harder to grasp.

"Promise me," he said, when she hesitated.

"Fine, yes, I promise," she said. She bounced on her toes, still eager to explore. "Let's go!"

"Let's eat," Dardan said. "We didn't have breakfast, remember?"

Amira blinked, and realized that the anxiety in her belly was, at least in part, simple hunger. In the inn, they breakfasted on eggs and sausage and more fish stew. She wolfed down her food and waited impatiently for Dardan to finish, tapping her foot. He ate slowly, smiling at her the more she frowned. Was he teasing her? Finally they went out for a walk.

Most of the buildings in Stony Vale turned out to be made of the same limestone as the mountain that loomed over them, the sharp peak the townsfolk called _Caddair Tuol_ , which meant "Great Watcher" in Old Caelan. Amira saw all the usual landmarks of a small village: a building with the magistrate's hammer painted on the wall, and the constabulary's shield below it; an unobtrusive temple next door; a weathered malthouse beside the inn. Amira half considered going into the malthouse to see how they'd deal with a trousered woman entering what was supposed to be a men-only establishment, but Dardan would panic, so she forgot about it. There was a greengrocer, a shop selling kitchenwares and dry goods, and no less than three fishmongers. They passed a weaver, a cobbler, a stonecarver, even a little trading house.

She led Dardan on a circuit of the village, stopping to chat at each shop. Amira did most of the talking, leaving her husband to glance around nervously. The townsfolk were all pleasant enough, though of course Stony Vale had its share of grumpy malcontents. One of the fishmongers chased them out when it became clear they weren't planning to buy anything. The cobbler gave Amira the hairy eyeball and followed her around his shop, perhaps expecting her to try to steal the shoes he had on display, even though they'd never fit her.

But the greengrocer was pleasant, and even offered them a bite of roasted turnip left over from his luncheon. A flock of goodwives descended upon them when they came outside, curious about these odd travellers and asking for news from parts beyond. Amira and Dardan's explorations had not gone unnoticed, and the townspeople were talking.

"Is it true the king's dead?" said one of the goodwives, a tiny black-haired woman in a brown woolen dress.

"King Viktor has died, yes," Amira said consolingly.

The little woman burst into tears, and one of the other women, not terribly old but with hair already going gray, patted her on the back. "She's always like this," the gray-haired woman explained, rolling her eyes; not cruelly, but as if treading old and wearying territory.

"I'm sorry," wept the little woman, "it's just so awful! I always heard he was such a good king, so kind and brave, and to hear he's died..."

Another of the women bulled forward. She had a pointy face and constantly smoothed her skirts. "I heard tell the Vaslanders are coming down into the valleys again," she insisted, though she mostly seemed to be addressing the other goodwives. "They'll trample all over us like twenty years past if a stop isn't put to them."

"You weren't but five years old the last time Vaslanders came over the mountains, Caroline," the gray-haired woman said. "Anyway, that's miles from here, and why would they come down into Seawatch? The capital's far west. That's what they'd be after."

"I'm sure King Edon will take his army to oppose them," Dardan said, catching Amira's eye. She frowned, not wanting to think about that monster, but Dardan was right. The Vaslanders wouldn't be able to stand against him, not with his power.

The women chattered a while longer before scuttling away. The sun was well past its peak, and Amira grew anxious to return to the smithy, even though it would be hours yet before it closed. Dardan finally relented and agreed to wait there with her, but first he wanted to go to the inn and check on the horses. She begged off and went straight to the smithy. Annoyingly, he made her promise yet again not to tell anyone about her power.

Amira perched on a low stone wall across the road from the smithy. She watched as various townsfolk went inside to place orders or pick up completed ironwork. After a few minutes, she saw a wrinkled, white-haired man walking down the lane toward her. He wore stout wool, no more adorned than any other she'd seen in Stony Vale, and carried a staff in one hand. A sword rode at his hip. The taller, younger man beside him had a sword as well, and in addition wore a mail shirt under a white tabard with a shield picked out in black thread on it: a constable. Amira waited, hoping they would pass by, but they came to a stop before her.

"Excuse me, miss," said the old man. "I'm Magistrate Baxter. This is Constable Adams." The taller man nodded crisply. "And who might you be?"

"My name is Amira," she said with a bright smile. "This is a lovely village you have here. We're thinking about settling, if there's land available."

"You and your..." The magistrate looked down at her hands for a moment, and seemed to notice her rings. "Husband?"

She nodded. "He's at the inn, looking after our horses, though I expect he'll be along shortly." _We have horses, and therefore money. We're no ruffians to be concerned about._ She hoped he took the hint.

Magistrate Baxter glanced up at the constable, then looked at the smithy across the way. "You have business with Master Walker?"

"Yes. A personal matter."

The magistrate's eyes lingered on the sword at her hip. "Ma'am, you're free to roam, but I'm going to have to take your sword as long as you're in the village. Strangers don't get free rein here."

"Is one woman with a sword so much of a threat?"

The constable took a half-step forward. "You can hand over your sword or leave the village, it's up to you." Amira didn't like the way his eyes bored into her.

The sword wasn't much use to her, despite Dardan's sporadic attempts to teach her how to use it, but she appreciated the looks of respect it got. With a sigh she slid the scabbard from her belt and handed it over. She also had a dagger hidden in a sheath at the small of her back, the way Liam had always worn his, but the magistrate didn't ask after it, and she didn't offer.

"This is a peaceful town, and I keep it that way by not taking chances." Baxter handed the sword to the constable.

"And what if I'm attacked?"

"Like I said, I keep the town peaceful," the magistrate said gruffly. "Don't start any trouble, and you won't have any trouble." He turned to the constable as they walked off. "To the inn," he said under his breath.

She hoped Dardan would be as accommodating when they confronted him. He probably would, though he'd argue more. Unarmed, he'd feel unable to protect his wife, and that would gall him. She supposed she could have followed them to the inn, to make sure Dardan didn't do anything foolish, but she didn't want to risk the blacksmith closing up shop while she was gone.

Sure as the sun rose in the east, ten minutes later Dardan came stomping up to her. "Are you all right?" he demanded. "The magistrate took my sword, and he said he took yours too."

She nodded. "I'm fine. He missed the dagger. And of course..." She tapped her temple. Dardan relaxed a hair, but he stayed grumpy, muttering imprecations into the breeze as they waited.

———

The sun slid ever downward. Amira could hear hammers ringing within the smithy, and wondered which was the master and which the apprentice. Garen came outside at one point to dump a bucket of soiled water on the dirt. When he straightened up, he caught sight of Amira and froze. She turned her head to the side again, to let him see her light, and when she turned back to catch his eye again, he flinched and ran back inside.

Finally the sun slipped behind a stony ridge to the west. Orville, the master smith, came out into the evening, and upon seeing Amira strode over to her. He wore a shirt and a heavy leather coat now. "What do you want with Garen, exactly?" he asked.

"I'm..." She stopped, and looked up at Dardan, who stood beside her with his brow furrowed. "We have to start with someone."

"You have to talk to the apprentice first," Dardan said.

"Master Orville seems a grounded man," Amira countered. "I think we can trust him."

"I wish I knew what you two're jabbering about," the blacksmith sighed at them. "My wife's waiting at home." He poked Amira in the arm. "Don't you cause that boy any grief," he said, and walked off, casting dark looks back at them.

A minute later, Garen came outside. He looked like a man about to be taken to the gallows; his coat hung on him like a shroud.

The smithy did actually have a door, sliding on wheels from behind the outer wall. "That's a cunning device," Amira called out to Garen as he clacked it shut.

"Master Orville designed it himself," the boy said. "Needs grease, but it's sturdy." He put his hands in his pockets. "What do you want?"

"To talk. I know what you saw." She ran a finger down the side of her head. "I see it too, in you. Oh! I haven't introduced myself. I'm Amira. This is my husband, Dardan."

"Dardan Howard," he said, glancing at her sidelong while proffering his hand to the boy.

The apprentice took it. "Garen Stills." He shuffled his feet a little, but his eyes pierced her.

"You had headaches, didn't you? Bad ones? And then they stopped, and you could... feel the warmth."

He bit his lip, and nodded.

"May I ask when that happened?"

"The headaches stopped about two weeks ago." He seemed reluctant to speak. Maybe because they were out in the open.

"No one else knows, do they?"

He shook his head firmly. "My mum was worried sick about the headaches, till they went away. Missus Walker, too. But they didn't know..." He looked down, and Amira saw a little bead of silver light zip from his forehead to the ground. Then there was a _piff,_ and a little cloud of dust rose from the dirt.

"I think we can help each other," Amira said, buzzing with excitement. "I think we _must_ help each other. You're one of the few I've encountered who can do this." Garen watched her, saying nothing. She had to get him to talk. "Is there somewhere private we can converse?"

The apprentice thought for a moment. "I'm... I'm going to dinner at master's house," Garen said. "Maybe... you should come."

Amira glanced up at Dardan and raised her eyebrows in question. He sighed and nodded. "We'll have to see how they react. This is very risky, Amira. Take it slow."

"I know," she whispered to him. "I will be careful. I promise." She stretched up and kissed him quickly, then looked at Garen. He watched them warily, his eyes white orbs in the gathering dusk. "Thank you. We would be honored to accompany you."

The boy nodded again, and strode off at such a pace that Amira almost had to jog to keep up. She managed to pull up alongside him, and kept between him and Dardan. She didn't want Garen to feel penned in.

He led them through the quieting village, away from the looming mountain and to a row of houses that ran up along a rocky slope. Hearths burned bright in them all. Amira was glad when she stepped out of the cold, salty wind, and into Orville Walker's house.

The door opened into a small sitting room, with a dining room behind it. A spicy, fishy smell came from the kitchen on one side, and another door led away down a narrow corridor, probably to the bedroom. There was no sign of children, no cribs or toys. Either the blacksmith and his wife had none, or they'd already grown up and gone off to seek their own fortunes.

The woman who bustled out of the kitchen at Garen's call stopped and blinked at the unexpectedly large party in her sitting room. Amira recognized her as one of the goodwives they'd met earlier: the sensible, graying woman. "Hello, Garen dear," she said. "I see you've brought some guests."

"Yes, ma'am, this is um... what was your name? Mira?"

"Amira Howard," she corrected him gently. "And this is my husband, Dardan."

"How do you do, ma'am," Dardan said, doffing his hat and bowing.

The woman chuckled. "Oh my, very well, thank you. Orville!"

The blacksmith came out from the kitchen as well, looking unhappy when he saw who stood in his house. "Mm," he grunted.

"They..." Garen stopped. "Um." He blushed, looking around as if he hoped someone might pop out of the walls to help him.

Amira stepped forward. "Ma'am, master smith, you have a lovely home. Your apprentice was kind enough to invite us along for dinner, although I understand if this is an imposition."

"You talk like a noble," Orville muttered.

Amira's stomach dropped, but she held her smile. The smith's wife clucked at him. "Orville, dear, be polite, they're guests." _For now_ went unspoken. "My name is Helen."

"Can they stay for dinner?" Garen asked. "If... if that's all right?"

"Well. I suppose so." Helen eyed Amira's trousers again. A woman dressed like a man had probably seemed more amusing out in the village than it did in her own house.

Helen conducted them all back to the dining room. Through some clever footwork, she managed to direct Amira to one side of the table and Dardan to the other. Orville sat at the head, with Garen at his left hand, while Helen went into the kitchen to fetch plates.

Orville looked around suspiciously, even at Garen. Amira kept quiet, mulling over how to open the conversation, wondering if Garen would even be willing to talk about his power. She'd hoped for a chance to speak with him privately. Trying to explain their powers to too many people at once would be awkward at best.

This close to the sea, fish was part of almost every meal. Tonight it was sea bass baked with mushrooms and spices, and roasted turnips on the side. There was plenty to go around; Amira could see Dardan's manners struggling against his appetite. He always did eat a lot. But he manged to confine himself to a reasonable portion.

"So," Helen said once they'd all been served and begun to eat. "What brings you to Stony Vale?"

Amira glanced at Garen, who stared down at the fish, poking at it with his fork. He wasn't about to jump in with an answer. "Yesterday's storm, actually," Amira said. "A wagoner told us we could find shelter here closer than Seawatch."

"Hah. That's all they think we're good for, up there," Orville crabbed around a mouthful of bass.

Helen pursed her lips. "What my husband means is that most folk haven't a reason to come here, off the main road as we are." She turned back to Amira. "But you've outstayed the storm."

"Yes. Well. Garen?" Amira stared at him until he lifted his eyes to meet hers. He was a handsome boy. A man, really, the same age as her if she guessed right, though he clearly hadn't had the benefit of city life to sharpen him.

He brushed nervously at his hair before he spoke. His words came out strangled, and he cleared his throat. "Missus—Missus Walker, I—" Now he looked at Amira again, eyes beseeching her.

_Now or never._ Dardan watched her as well, worry stalking every squint of those dark eyes. "Your apprentice is a very... special young man," she began.

"I'm beginning to think he's a bit touched," Orville said.

"Orville's always saying what a good apprentice he is," Helen put in.

"He does?" Garen said, blushing.

"Now you've done it, woman. He's not supposed to know that." But Orville grinned a little at his wife. She smiled thinly back.

"I'm sure his smithing is excellent," Amira said, "but that's not what I meant." She leaned forward. "Garen, can you light a candle for me?"

He blinked. "You mean..."

Amira nodded at him. The room was lit by sconces on each wall, but the candles in the middle of the table were closer at hand. She blew one of them out. "Go on."

Orville and Helen watched curiously. Orville seemed on the verge of making another crack, but he held his tongue.

Garen stared at the candle and pursed his lips. Amira saw the familiar silver bead lurch forth from Garen's forehead, wavering drunkenly as it approached the wick. This was a smaller target than before, when he'd just thrown his bead at the ground. Garen stuck his tongue out a little as he concentrated, and the bead grew in brightness for a moment. Suddenly the wick flared alight.

Helen gasped, and Orville shoved back his chair and stood up. "What in the—"

"Please, it's all right! It's all right." Helen was in reach, and Amira took her hand. Dardan, she saw, held quite still. He no longer reacted to Amira's power with astonishment, but having another mage using that power right next to him seemed to have unnerved him a little.

"How did you do that?" Orville demanded, jabbing a finger at his apprentice.

"I—I don't know, sir. There's a... there's a light, like a little weld I see in my mind's eye. And if I push it out..." He nodded at the candle.

Orville glared at Amira. "How did you know he can do this? Who in the black spirits _are_ you?"

It took a while to explain her ability and how she'd come to discover it. She left out that she and Dardan were nobles, and everything about Edon.

Instead she said that they were from the west, and that she had been searching for other mages since she discovered her power. She said mages could tell another mage just by looking, but didn't elaborate about the silver light. Orville and Helen were too bewildered to ask for details.

She was elated to have found another mage to speak with. If the Walkers didn't panic and throw her out, that is, or denounce her as a witch to the magistrate. She demonstrated her own power to them as well. She blew out all the candles in the room, then lit them in rapid succession. She boiled a cup of water, and charred a piece of roasted turnip. The Walkers, and even Garen, watched in amazed silence. The apprentice stared keenly at the silver beads she made.

"All I want," she finished, "is to spend some time with Garen. I think we can learn a great deal from each other. It is as with any trade, or skill, I suppose. One smith working alone can only grow in his craft so much, but two can learn from, and teach, one another. And who knows? Perhaps this ability will make Garen a better smith." She smiled warmly at him, and he blushed again.

Dardan spoke, finally. "Please forgive my wife. She has a great deal of enthusiasm. If you think it would be best if we simply left Stony Vale, never to return, then we will abide by that. In such case, all we ask is that you do not tell anyone about Amira's ability."

Amira grew angry. Why was he encouraging the Walkers to throw them out? "If we did leave," she said quickly to Garen, "I cannot guess what would become of you." She hoped that he, and the Walkers, would take the message: Garen might be better off if they stayed. Even if the smith and his wife bore no love for Amira and Dardan, they clearly were fond of Garen, and would hopefully see the value in him learning to control this new power better.

"Excuse us," Orville said brusquely and stood up again. He gestured toward the kitchen, and Helen dutifully stood and followed him out. Amira could hear them speaking in low tones, but it would be impolite to eavesdrop.

Instead she looked at Garen. "They will make up their own minds about what is to be done with us. What about you?"

Garen shook his head. He'd become marginally less tongue-tied as the night went on. "I don't know, ma'am," he said. "Smithing, forging, hammering. That's what I'm for."

"Leave him be," Dardan said. "He'll have to think it through, same as you did."

"The circumstances are different," she snapped. "There'll be no ball here." _No Prince Edon to wreak havoc._ Dardan just shrugged.

The Walkers returned in a few minutes. Helen brought in lemon pie and served up slices, saying nothing. Orville seemed annoyed and declined his.

Everyone else tucked in, and when their mouths were all full, Orville spoke. "You can stay. Whatever this nonsense is, I figure it's better if Garen knows how to use it proper. Send a raw boy into a forge by himself and he'll burn his hand off before the day's out." He glared at them all, especially Garen. "But you two strangers'll need to find your own lodgings. And Garen's still got to work at the smithy like normal. He can come train with you in the evenings, after dinner, wherever you end up staying."

"Or on my day off," Garen proposed.

"You still need to see your family," Orville admonished him, then glanced at Amira. "The boy stays here most nights. His family's an hour's walk out into the farms."

"I could ride there with you on those days," Amira said. "Using the power accurately while on a moving horse is a challenge all its own."

"I don't have a horse," Garen said.

"We have a spare," she said. Dardan was glaring at her now, but never mind him. "It'd speed the journey, and it would be lovely to meet your family."

"Amira," Dardan bit out through gritted teeth. She sighed. Didn't he realize how important this was?

"It's time for bed," Orville announced suddenly, standing up. "I'll show you two out."

Amira was prepared to argue, but Dardan stood up just as quickly and spoke over her. "Thank you kindly for your hospitality, master smith, Missus Walker. The pie was delicious." He came quickly around to Amira's side of the table and took her arm. She barely had time to stutter out her own thanks before Dardan dragged her out the door into the dark. Orville did not exactly slam it behind them, but it did clatter.

A quarter moon hung above the western horizon, barely augmenting the starlight. Amira shook off Dardan's arm. "What was that about?" she demanded.

"Offering him a horse? To go visit his _family?_ Are you mad?" She could barely make him out in the glow of hearthfires leaking through windows, but his posture was unmistakably threatening. "I told you to take this slowly! Have you never even heard of caution, woman?"

"Who knows where Edon is now?" she reminded him, bitterness leaking into her voice. "Do you? I have to teach this boy, Dardan. To learn from him. I will not lose him like I did in Tyndam."

"Are you still upset over that? Amira, it's been weeks! I've told you before, there was nothing you could have done."

She shoved her hand into her mouth to muffle her scream. How could he not understand? In Tyndam she'd finally recognized the hole that had been growing within her. Katin, her best friend, her _vala_ , could do nothing but watch while Amira explored this ability on her own. Even her growing love for Dardan had only filled the abyss a little. She didn't believe Edon would ever give up trying to find her, control her, possess her. She couldn't fight him alone.

And she couldn't shout all this at Dardan in the darkness. He'd never listened before anyway. "I'm going to the inn," she hissed at him, and stomped away.

She lay awake in bed for what felt like hours, eventually wondering if maybe Dardan had gotten tired of her and fled the town. She had just begun to drift off when the door creaked open and Dardan came in. She pretended to be asleep as he sat down on the bed beside her, and ran his fingers over her hair. "I love you," he murmured.

That's not enough.

### CHAPTER 25

### KATIN

Katin blinked away sleep and sat up when the morning sun hit her eye. The servants' quarters were small and bare, low cots between brick walls. The other two cots were both empty; the baron's maidservants had probably risen before dawn. Katin had been so exhausted from their flight, she'd slept right through.

She found a chipped basin and pitcher and washed her face and hands. Proper bathing would have to wait. _Where is Liam?_ Probably hiding from her. No wonder he'd avoided telling her where they were going. Baron Parvis Stanton was the one who had raped that farmgirl, though Count Asmus had found the man innocent. Well, nobles protected their own, didn't they?

Liam hadn't had any choice, he'd said. Well, he was probably right, but that didn't make it better. She'd stayed with him, trusted him, even tried to offer herself to him— _No, you don't have to—shut up—_

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to cry, and made herself breathe deep, reaching for a calm that might not come. He'd rescued her. Rescued, like a hero out of legend, spiriting her away in the night! But a hero did not brutally stab a harmless servant boy to death on his way out of the palace. Katin was not naïve enough to believe in legends.

Still, he'd saved her. So she'd offered him the bed, but then he summoned gallantry like a magician pulling a handkerchief from thin air, something that should have been impossible. Even in the woods on those cold nights, they'd lain next to one another, and he did no more than curl his arm around her shoulders. He'd made the chase, caught the mouse, and then nothing. Why was he toying with her?

She had thought about leaving, running away, going to hide where no one would ever find her. As if she knew where that was. But she would not leave him. She owed him that much. She owed him more. That debt would hang over her like a cloud until it was repaid. _Maybe I should... I should... give him..._

She realized that tears were indeed leaking from her eyes. She stood up and wiped them away, then took more breaths to prepare herself. She went to the manor's central hall, looking for Liam, and found him standing before Baron Parvis. Her spine stiffened as Liam's eyes flicked over to her for a moment, but then he attended to the baron again. "We will be gone as soon as possible, m'lord."

"How thoughtful of you," Parvis sneered. He twisted around in his chair and saw Katin. "I see your woman has deigned to rise, now that the morning chores are done."

Katin's face burned, but she curtseyed quickly and went over to Liam. "I'm sorry, m'lord." She wanted to explain how tired she'd been, but Parvis did not look like he wanted excuses.

"You two will work while you're here. _Valai_ you might be, but a house is always in need of hands. Alvin will task you." He stood up, brushing invisible lint from himself. He was dressed properly now, trousers and vest and coat. "I'm off to town this morning," he announced, and an enormously tall man with black hair stepped out from a corner and handed a riding hat to the baron. _That must be his_ valo. The huge man's stare made Katin feel like a bug underfoot. He said nothing and followed Parvis out of the room.

She and Liam were left alone. He smiled and reached for her hand, but she snatched it away. "You had to bring us _here?_ "

His smile wavered. Clearly he'd been hoping she wouldn't bring it up. "Well I didn't know of any other shelter nearby. Parvis hid us from the Warden! Would a prison cell have been preferable?"

Katin folded her arms. "Of course not. But now what are we going to do?"

Liam paused. "I'm not sure. I spoke with Alvin this morning. He has only gossip, as he rarely leaves here. Apparently Ilya and Calys went to Thorncross to reaffirm his fealty to the duke and to have Ilya declared the new count. There's been no word of Dardan or Amira."

Katin grimaced. Her hope drained away, a small warmth she hadn't even known was there, smothered by cold despair. "Then there's little reason to stay here."

"Let us stay a day or three, at least. We need the rest, after the journey, and last night. And anyway, Baron Parvis commanded we not leave the grounds for the time being."

Alvin sent Liam out to the stables, and gave Katin to a plump young maid named Chelsea, who set Katin at the laundry. She let the mindlessness of it wash over her. This scutwork was a long step down from serving as a _vala_ , but it suited her mood.

In the rear of the manor, near the washing room, was a little nook with undersized replicas of the eight altars one would find in a Niderine temple. Even nobles rarely had such rooms in their homes, and Parvis did not seem the type to spend time wordlessly in prayer, so Katin found it odd. She eyed the miniature temple every time she passed it, and with only slight dismay realized that she ached to go in and pray at the altar of Despair, with its tiny statue of a mouse, its snout pressed down close to the little plinth.

———

Baron Parvis was gone all that day. Again Katin and Liam were sent to the separate quarters for male and female servants. Despite everything, she missed his touch, holding close to him in the cold night, but sleeping in a warm manor house helped make up for it.

The baron returned the next evening, a smug smile plastered across his face. Katin glimpsed him in the hall when he returned, thick as thieves with Alvin and the baron's towering _valo_ , who she'd learned was named Marten.

Dinner came and went. Katin sat on the edge of her cot in the women's quarters, pulling tangles from her hair with a chipped old brush she'd borrowed. Chelsea and the other girl, Delia, were finishing with the dinnerware. Chelsea had taken pity on Katin, who had evidently appeared miserable, and sent her to bed early.

All during the day, as she'd scrubbed and thrashed at linens, she'd begun to allow herself a fantasy of staying here forever, an anonymous servant girl in an unremarkable country manor, not hunted or wanted by anyone. _I had the same fantasy in Amira's manse in Callaston, and look where I ended up._ How much farther would she fall? She'd already seen the bottom, and did not for a moment relish a return to it.

A shadow moved. She looked up, expecting one of the other girls to come in, but was startled to see Marten, the baron's _valo_ , filling up the doorway. His lank black hair framed ghastly cheekbones. His hands looked big enough to envelop her entire head. She swallowed down an instinctive cry. "Yes?"

"M'lord wishes a word with you. About your situation." His voice was deeper than any she could recall hearing. Like distant thunder.

She stood up, wary. "He has some plan for us?"

Marten shrugged. "M'lord is waiting."

Katin expected the _valo_ to lead her to the sitting room, but when he went up the stairs her breath caught a little. The _valo_ did not slow, taking the steps two at a time, and Katin reluctantly followed.

He led her to a large bedchamber beyond a double door, lit softly by stand-lamps at either end. Baron Parvis stood just within, reading a parchment. He looked up at their approach, and tossed the parchment aside onto a table, seeming pleased with himself. "Thank you, Marten. That will be all."

Katin stepped inside, just far enough for Marten to close the doors behind her. They latched shut with a chilling click.

Baron Parvis stood watching her, a vulpine smile etched onto his face, but his amiable tone belied it. "I must admit, when you arrived two nights ago, I was not best pleased. That _valo_ of yours..." He made a face. "I've never liked him much. He's full of himself. Puffed up, for a commoner servant. Of course, I saw him many times when we were boys, running about in town. I'm only a year or two older than him." His eyes sparkled, black in the dim light.

"M'lord...?" Katin prompted.

"Ah. Yes. I spoke with Ilya Tarian yesterday, though Lady Calys is quite obviously running things at Tinehall. I do believe that girl has the best qualities of both parents, such as they are. Barring some misfortune, she'll be a thorn in my side for decades." Parvis for some reason still wore his coat, and just now he shrugged it off, tossing it aside carelessly onto a chair.

"I'm glad to hear the Tarians are well, m'lord," Katin said. She felt her back brush against the doorknobs and realized she'd instinctively moved away from him.

Parvis snorted. "Everyone always is. They're such a sickeningly beloved family. I can't say I miss Count Asmus, of course. But what Edon did..." His smile disappeared. He looked like he'd smelled something foul. "Even the Tarians should not have suffered so. I pray thanks to Sacrifice daily that my lands were not in Edon's path."

_What do you want?_ Katin felt herself tempted to ask, but servants, even _valai_ , did not rush barons.

Parvis went on. "You and your _valo_ are a double handful of trouble, and I have gone to a great deal of effort to rid myself of you. It would have been easy for me to simply search out the Warden and report that you were indeed on my estate. Certainly he would have wondered why I lied, and of course I could have said that, for example, you had been holding my _valo_ hostage against my good behavior. Not true, of course, as we both know." He took a step closer. "But as you say, he was dispatched by the royal family—I checked on that—who are not in my good graces at the moment. So instead I went to Count Ilya, or should I say, Lord Ilya."

Katin blinked. "Lord Ilya? He is not the count?" _Then that means—_

"Dardan Tarian lives. And so does your lady, this Amira. Or at least, they did, some days past. You see, when I told Ilya and Calys that their brother's _valo_ had returned with you in tow, and that I had you both safe, they exchanged a most astonished glance with one another. Children still, the both of them, and easy to read. I saw that they hid a secret, and pressed them. They admitted that when they went to Thorncross, to have Ilya declared the Count of Hedenham, they were told that Dardan and Amira had called upon the duke some days after the unpleasantness at Foxhill Keep."

Katin's jaw hung open. _They're alive!_ Or they had been, however long ago this had happened. But if Amira had survived the days after Foxhill Keep, there was a good chance she still lived now.

Parvis went on. "Apparently, the duke's seneschal took umbrage at their presence and put them out, sending them off toward the east. Where they went from there, none can say. Of course, with Dardan known to be alive, Ilya cannot be made the count." The baron's smile had returned, making him look like a fat tom with a canary trapped between its paws. He held up a finger before his lips. "This is all in confidence, of course."

"Of course, m'lord," Katin murmured. If Dardan and Amira had gone east, perhaps they'd headed to Seawatch. They could be anywhere, really, but the flame of hope had sprung up anew in her heart.

She was startled to realize that Baron Parvis stood within arm's reach. "So the question remains, what is to be done with you? I gather that you and Mister Howard," the name came out with a sneer, "wish to find your masters."

"We... we will head north at once," Katin said, her lips dry. "Tonight. We will be gone and trouble you no more, this instant."

Parvis shook his head. "You will never make it that way. Warden Penrose has set patrols of men from the garrison on all the roads near Hedenham Town, looking for the pair of you. Tinehall is watched day and night. Even going straight over terrain, you would likely be caught." He held up one hand, and something glinted between his fingers: a gold coin. "But as it happens, there is a trade caravan wending its way through Hedenham County at this very moment. And tomorrow they will be stopping in Elmsburn, not five miles from here. I will pay for you to join the caravan, as apprentices. I have it on good authority that they will be heading east. You can use it as cover to follow after your mistress. I suspect that between you and your sweetheart, you have enough cunning to find a way to depart from the caravan when it has carried you far enough."

Katin's pulse raced. She tried to keep her breathing even. "M'lord, I cannot thank you enough."

He held the coin up now before her face, then with a twist made it disappear into his palm. "The deal is not sealed yet. As I said, I have undertaken this at great personal risk and expense. A barony is no bar to arrest by a Warden, and while I have no doubt that Count Asmus would have had the guts to stand up to this Penrose, I am equally certain that Calys does not. If I am to complete my perfidy against the crown, I will require... payment." He stepped aside and looked over toward the canopied bed. Katin had not paid it any mind before, and saw now that the bedcovers were thrown back.

_No! NO!_ A piercing shriek sounded inside Katin's head, a memory of laughter—

The merchant with the black moustache pushed her roughly down onto the bed. "Sir, there's no rush," she protested, "you've got me for the whole evening with the coin you paid—"

" _Quiet!" He slapped her hard across the face, and while she lay disoriented on the bed, he tore her clothes off and climbed atop her. She lay still, as she'd been trained—some men wanted to hit and hurt, Miss Lucy had told her, and they pay extra for the privilege. Just lie back and think of the hearthfire, and drink your tea, and put the memory behind you afterward. The bruises will fade. Why, you'll get three whole days off to recover._

The young man with barely a fuzz on his cheeks, but he had coin, and he was so terrified—

The dead-eyed captain who came in as regular as the tide, did his business and left without a word—

The blacksmith, who wore a cloak and hood as he crept into the brothel, thinking no one would recognize him, but who did he think he was fooling? He declared over and over that his wife was cuckolding him, so this was only fair—

"I can't," she whispered.

"You can, and you will, if you want my assistance. I've already given you more than you've earned. I could have held close the news that your lady still lives, and Lord Dardan. I could have told you nothing, and put you with the caravan tomorrow with no explanation, or let you stay here to rot, or simply put you out. I could have turned you over to the Warden, at no cost to myself." He took her hand, not roughly, not cruelly, just a simple touch. "I require only this. Believe me, it will not take long."

Katin felt encased in ice. _Escape. Amira. East._ Had anyone missed her? Being called up to the lord's bedchamber at night must surely have raised an eyebrow. No; Parvis had his reputation. No one would care. Liam would never know; the other servants would have been ordered to stay silent. _Liam never has to know._

And if I refuse? He'll turn us in. Back to Elibarran, to the dark cells, never to see light again. Edon will return, and he'll burn us with his terrible gaze.

Baron Parvis spoke, startling her. "This offer does not last forever," he said testily. "You need not enjoy it. You need only do it."

"Isn't there another way?" She almost sobbed the words. Parvis's silent glower was her answer.

A matching silence filled her mind. Then she prayed. _Terror. Sacrifice. Caretaker, protect me._

Katin took a step forward.

———

The wagons sat in a circle in the town square of Elmsburn, closed up tight against the night's chill. All the trading would have been done by sundown. Large shapes moved through the darkness: caravan guards, watchful eyes in the dark.

Katin sat atop the borrowed palfrey, holding perfectly still. _Susan Smith. Nothing bad ever happened to Susan Smith._ Liam sat atop Bandit a few yards away, the stallion whickering irritably at having been denied sleep. Baron Parvis had graciously lent Katin a horse, saying that speed was of the essence and that they should not take the risk of a single horse carrying two riders in the dark, even over well-travelled country roads. Katin could not have stood to ride double with Liam, and so she felt grateful to Parvis. That gratitude made her want to vomit.

Now they waited, concealed between two low wooden buildings on the edge of the square. Marten, the _valo_ , was a hulking shadow watching the rear approach, just in case. They had no reason to suspect anyone might be trailing them, but there was no sense in being lax.

Parvis had gone alone to the caravan master to arrange their passage. He carried a fat purse—ostensibly to pay for two new "apprentices" to join the wagon, but it was little more than a bribe. The caravan master would rightly wonder about being asked to take on two more hands in the dark of night, but such men lived by the shine of gold only. If the purse was fat enough...

She sensed something, and looked aside at Liam. He was staring at her. The faint glow of distant lanterns barely illuminated his face. "Are you all right?" he whispered.

Katin nodded and looked away. _Susan is all right._ She wanted Parvis to return, for them to be gone, for this to be over. They could still be caught. The caravan master might grow suspicious and decide to alert the town constables, who would send for the Warden at once. Her breath came shallow, drawing her attention inward, a bitter reminder of a price paid.

_Just a transaction. His coin's as good as any man's._ She bit her lip to fight the tears.

There came hoofsteps and a black silhouette ambling toward them. She recognized the shape of Parvis atop his horse. He stopped close. "It is done. Master Coalridge will take you on. I should not have to remind you how unwise it would be for you to return here."

Liam bowed as low as he could atop Bandit. "Baron Parvis, we are forever in your debt." He dismounted and helped Katin down as well. The horses would have to stay in Hedenham, but Parvis had given them a few changes of clothing and a battered leather trunk to carry them in.

"Hardly true at all," the baron said. He glanced at Katin. "In fact, should you encounter Lady Calys, you should thank her."

"M'lord? For what?"

"Why, it was House Tarian who provided the funds for this little adventure of yours." He chuckled, then rode between her and Liam. He and his _valo_ were gone within moments, taking Bandit and the borrowed palfrey with them.

Katin felt sick, but the pain she knew was written on her face would be invisible in the darkness. _That bastard told me he paid for it. But this didn't cost him a thing—never mind, Susan Smith doesn't care, Susan Smith knows nothing about it._

Liam squeezed Katin's hand. She let her fingers slide through his, not feeling anything. "Are you ready?" he asked.

She nodded, lifted her end of the trunk, and took a step forward. _Is the debt repaid now?_

A hulking caravan guard held up a hand at their approach. "Who goes there?"

"New apprentices," Liam called softly. "To see Master Coalridge."

The guard peered at them. "The wagon with the lantern." He watched them pass.

Caravan wagons were always brightly painted, but in the dark they all looked shades of gray. On the back step of one of them sat a man, squat and broad. He stood up at their approach, hefting a lantern. "You two the ones he sent?" he growled.

Liam nodded, bowing a little. "I'm Oliver Smith, and this is my wife, Susan." New names, new pasts, iron marriage rings to complete the illusion. Katin curtseyed. _I am Susan Smith._ "You must be Master Coalridge," Liam added.

"Aye. You two had best get within. There's a bunk in the laundry wagon you can share." He hopped off the step and led them on.

The caravan's horses stood haphazardly in the pen made by the circle of wagons, sleeping. Coalridge showed the "Smiths" to a wagon, larger than the rest, crammed to the brim with gear. Katin couldn't make out most of it. On either side were bunks stacked two high, barely wide enough for Liam and Katin to share one. Shapeless lumps covered in blankets occupied three of the bunks, snoring soundly.

"We leave at dawn. You'll get your jobs tomorrow. Don't wake no one." Coalridge stared at them for a moment longer, and patted at his coat, making something clink. He went out, shutting the wagon door.

Liam put the battered leather trunk atop a crate. He offered her the bunk. "There's some linens here I can lie on. Won't be too bad."

_Husband. Just pretend._ "No. A married couple would share," she whispered. Liam hesitated, then nodded and started to undress.

The bunk's thin straw mattress was little comfort, but better than the cold stone floor of a pitch-black cell. The crunch of boots on dry dirt marked the passage of guards outside. Katin counted their circuits for a while, until sleep came to drive away her uncertainty.

### INTERLUDE:

### MASON

Mason Iris walked over a field of ash, his black cloak sweeping the dust behind him. A day ago, this had all been buildings, homes, shops. Valjödl, the town had been called, according to a survivor Mason had found. Not that his knowledge of the Vaslander tongue was of any real use. King Edon didn't care what the towns were called. The Garovan soldiers gave each one names like "Speartop" or "Brownwall," whatever convenient appellation let them distinguish this smoking ruin from the last.

There was nothing left here but blackened timbers and burned corpses. Edon hadn't even sent a demand of surrender. He just rode up, his knights and Wardens around him, and began blasting away. It had taken him perhaps ten minutes to level half the town, and by then fires had started, from upended candles, hearthfires, cookpots, forges. The flames took care of the rest. A few Vaslanders made it out, running and screaming, cut down by Garovan outriders if they were unlucky enough to flee toward the invading army.

Edon and his army had been in Vasland more than a week. Against the thousands of dead Vaslanders, the Garovans had lost no more than a handful of men. The fortresses in the high passes of the Black Mountains had fallen first, their colossal stone walls crumbling before Edon's wrath. Once they passed into Vasland proper, they'd found a morass of Vaslanders who'd come together for some sort of convocation. The other men all agreed with Edon that the Vaslanders were obviously preparing to invade Garova, but to Mason they seemed disorganized—it was more like some sort of communal gathering. There were too many women, too many children and old souls for it to be a proper army.

But they'd seen the Garovans approaching and massed together by tribe, screaming for blood. One by one the tribes fell, their warriors thrown screaming into the air by the colossal thunderclaps that Edon could summon. The more observant Vaslanders turned and scattered into the forests and plains beyond. Edon marched after them, annihilating every village or holdfast he came across, in case Vaslander warriors had taken refuge there.

There were four Wardens with the Garovan army, and Edon kept them close. Mason was the least senior of the four. His counsel was not sought by the other Wardens, the king's knights, or the king himself. So he found himself with little to do, and after each battle—if such one-sided massacres could be called battles—he rode through the ruins of whatever town or village it had been, wondering who had lived there, what ordinary business they had been engaged in before the unstoppable Garovans destroyed them.

Edon had more than made his point, Mason thought. At least Mason hadn't been ordered to murder helpless villagers himself, but this whole journey was an insult to the very purpose of Wardens. Wardens were defenders, holy guardians, bringers of justice. This was nothing more than brute slaughter.

He kept his anger confined in a dark ember, counting the bodies by rote until the stench of death drove him back to his horse. Hawthorn snuffled and bumped him with his muzzle as he came close, and he scratched the white stallion behind the ears for a while.

He rode out of the smoldering town, back to where the main body of Edon's host was camped. The men were in good spirits; despite the frisson of terror that rippled through them whenever Edon used his power, they were all glad to be on the winning side. Many of them waved and cheered at Mason as he passed, even though he'd done nothing but sit by Edon's side and watch as the king single-handedly wiped out their enemies.

Wardens of Aendavar were, among other things, supposed to inspire the rank and file soldiers, and so he waved and saluted back as he passed. Wardens sometimes joked that you could put a scarecrow in a Warden's armor, and every garrison for a hundred miles around would burst with pride. Mason's first days in Vasland had been exciting by virtue of their strangeness, but now he felt as hollow as a scarecrow.

Hawthorn's meandering brought Mason across the eldest of the Wardens with the army: Harlan Carver, a bitter gray crag of a man who was easily twice Mason's age. He had nothing but contempt for Mason, and after he'd chewed Mason out twice in as many days—for daring to offer his opinion in councils—Mason worked hard to stay away from the man.

"What're ye about?" Carver growled at him, reining his own horse to a halt. The beast snuffled in the cold air, and seemed to eye Hawthorn with as much distaste as Carver did Mason.

"Nothing in particular. Am I needed?" Mason kept his tone even. He longed to snarl back at Carver, but kept it reined in.

"Stay away from th' king's tent. He's in a mood, an' I don't need yer foolishness givin' 'im fits." Carver spat at the ground and wheeled his stallion away.

Mason had been generally drifting toward the command tent and was glad for the excuse to avoid it. It certainly made it harder to gather information on the king's doings, as he'd been commanded to do, but he could not feel anything besides pleasure in avoiding Edon. _The fire-breather._

Even the men who adored Edon still whispered worriedly in the night about him. This strange power of his unnerved many stout men. Mason was perhaps more intrigued than terrified, but even he felt torn between obedience to his king, and a strong desire to destroy what was clearly a power not of this earthly realm.

But who could stand against Edon? Could Mason's master, the Warden-Commander of the Order? Jeremiah Ebersbach had been Warden-Commander longer than Mason had been alive and had not survived so long by taking bold risks. When Edon's grandfather, Viktor I, had ordered the Wardens into battle against the Vaslander invaders, Ebersbach had refused. Wardens were not soldiers; they had a higher purpose. Viktor had nearly had his head, but somehow Ebersbach stood his ground and prevented the Wardens from being sent to die en masse.

When Edon had brought blood and fire to Callaston and seized the crown, no one had been surprised that Ebersbach had ordered every Warden in the city to retreat to the Bastion. Ebersbach would not let them get caught up in the madness of the succession.

That matter had barely been settled when the king departed the city again, at the head of a small force, only a few hundred men. He'd returned a while later, followed by rumors of some sort of battle in Hedenham County.

Upon his arrival, Edon had sent for a pair of Wardens to serve as his new bodyguards. Apparently even great knights like Gaelan Thoriss would not suffice to protect the king now. Ebersbach had dispatched Mason and one other to attend the king. But before they left, he brought them into his study at the Bastion of Spirit, and told them in quiet, firm tones that they were to report back to him on the king's actions.

The Warden-Commander reported to the Army Council, and the Army Council reported to the king, so to have individual Wardens spying like this was something an unkind king might construe as treason. Ebersbach knew the value of intelligence, and deemed it worth the risk. Mason was not comfortable with it, but he would not disobey his lawful commander.

The other Warden so dispatched was Eben Ogden, a middle-aged man who affected calm at all times, even when that vein in his temple pulsed angrily. And by chance here he came, walking along a muddy row of tents, sword at his side and a thick walking staff in his hand. He waved up at Mason.

There was no need to ride here, deep in the camp. Mason dismounted and fell in alongside Ogden, drawing Hawthorn along by the reins. The two Wardens chatted amiably for a few moments, but then Ogden came to a stop and eyed Mason. "Something is on your mind."

Mason looked south over the rows of tents. He could see the Black Mountains as a shimmering gray band on the distant horizon. "Is our service to the king, or the Caretaker?"

Ogden paused before responding. He always did that; Mason envied him and had been trying to emulate him, trying to squash his habit of blurting out his thoughts. "I believe our service is to the Caretaker, through obedience to our king."

Mason frowned. That was not what he'd expected. "I do not understand why the Caretaker would countenance the slaughter of so many innocents."

Ogden shrugged a little and went a few more steps before answering. "The Vaslanders do not share our gods. Even the Caretaker cannot attend to all things."

"Maybe he has ceded the world to Edon and his like," Mason bit out.

Ogden came to a stop and caught Mason's eye. "Your tone suggests something."

"I suggest nothing," Mason snapped, feeling himself flush. He'd grown to feel a kinship with other Wardens, even those he did not like, and was more open with them. "Edon's power is unnatural. Why does the Caretaker allow it?"

"It is enough that he does allow it," Ogden said evenly. He put a hand on Mason's shoulder, which was probably supposed to be reassuring or supportive, but Mason found it patronizing. He barely managed to keep himself from shrugging it off. "Take solace in that the Caretaker has put you and Edon on the same side. Else you might be dead, and what good can the dead do?"

Mason waited, chagrined, until Ogden took his hand away and strode off. The older Warden stopped after a few steps. "His majesty has decreed that the army will return to Garova tomorrow at first light, by way of Thorncross. Perhaps the Aspect of Despair has heard your prayers."

Despair. Mason wondered again what madness had made him choose that Aspect when he took his holy vows. Each Warden chose an Aspect to represent him; it focused one's approach to serving in the Order. Most Wardens chose Courage or Sacrifice; others, Wrath or Chaos. Ardor and Joy were too feminine, and Wardens choosing those would be mocked. Terror was seen as cowardly.

Despair, to Mason, was realism. _Death stalks us all, and even the luckiest men witness it no less than once in their lives._ Hope and beauty were all well and good, but it would never do to forget the sorrow that could be wrought upon the world.

His thoughts returned to Valjödl. It seemed that Mason's only use on this campaign was to give silent prayers for the innocent dead.

———

Several nights later, the army camped off the road in Cold Hills County. The men were thrilled to be back in Garova, and even King Edon did not seem to mind the boisterous singing that sprang up after supper each evening.

It would be another two or three days to Thorncross. Mason had never been there, but he'd studied. He knew that House Arkhail had ruled it for centuries, since even before they'd raised the unyielding fortress of Thornstar on the hill above the town. He also knew that Duke Loram Arkhail was dead, killed in the fighting that had followed Edon's return to Callaston.

What did Edon want in Thorncross? Did he mean to eradicate the rest of House Arkhail? The thought chilled Mason's blood. Whatever perfidy Duke Loram might have committed in the days after Edon's coup, surely the Arkhails in Thorncross could not have had anything to do with it. They couldn't even have learned of Edon's return by the time Loram died.

Mason absently walked the camp perimeter as he contemplated this. Sitting in his tent held no appeal for him; the canvas walls closed in on his mind, and he had already seen enough of despair on the chill plains of Vasland.

A shape loomed up out of the darkness and grunted at him. "Majesty wants us. All o' us." It was Harlan Carver. He spun on his heel and stalked away without even waiting for Mason to reply.

Mason found his way to the king's tent. He seemed to be the last to arrive; the other Wardens were all there, along with every other knight and noble who'd come along. One of those was Sir Edvan Eltasi of the Army Council. Edvan was one of the three knights responsible for the whole of the king's army, and a grandson of the Eltasi clan; quite well-placed. Even Mason understood that his presence wasn't needed to oversee a force of just a few thousand men. His majesty had clearly wanted his highest-ranking soldiers to witness exactly what his power could do.

Edon was reading something, and after a moment he tossed the parchment down onto a table. He stared around at them, eyes flicking from man to man. Mason could almost taste the tension in the air. "We'll be at Thorncross soon, and then off to Callaston. Now that Vasland is dealt with, I must turn my attention to my next task. You are all aware of the power I wield. You may not be aware that I am not the only one who has it."

Murmurs swept the room, but Mason kept quiet. There had been endless speculation; no one really thought that Edon would be the only man with this strange power of his. He must have learned it from somewhere, which meant someone else had it too.

Mason glanced around. Sir Edvan stared silently at the table. Harlan Carver glowered suspiciously, as if there might be others in that very tent who could cause explosions like the king could. Most of the men in the room did not look at their king.

Edon gave the mutterings a moment to subside, and went on. "It is obvious that those with such power cannot be left to their own devices. They must be gathered, and brought under my aegis in Callaston. To that end, I will be dispatching parties to seek and gather such folk."

Mason gasped, saved only by the fact that several others did also. Some of them tried to cover it up with sudden coughing fits, which would have made Mason laugh... if what Edon was suggesting wasn't so appalling. To gather more like him all in one place? Mason could not think of a worse idea.

Edon seemed annoyed at having to wait for conversation to die down again. "Tomorrow the first such party will travel east, along the foot of the Black Mountains, toward the coast. Their activities will not be secret. Instead they will advertise their purpose, so as to attract those who share my power. Tell them that the king wishes them to come to Callaston to be treated as honored guests, and to help us both better understand our power. Tell them also that we will put them up in the palace or nearby, and that their families should come as well. We will find space for them all in Callaston."

Edon's head dipped a little as he leaned forward, looking like a bird of prey about to descend from its perch. "If they refuse, kill them."

There were no murmurs this time, just a collective holding of breath. Mason was glad he was back against the wall, or he might have staggered. Those Edon sought would not all be amenable to his invitation. Mason did not envy whoever would be sent to confront them. He could not imagine trying to kill someone who could do what Edon could.

"Wardens Carver and Ogden, you will lead the first party and leave at dawn. Take a score of soldiers with you. Anyone you find who has power like mine should be dispatched to Elibarran at once, with an escort. You may pull men from garrisons to replenish your own escort." He waved dismissal, and sat down in his chair. Sir Edvan crept close to the king and whispered fiercely, but Mason dove through the crowd toward where Carver and Eben Ogden already had their heads together.

Carver, for once, did not glare at Mason's approach. Instead he jerked his head toward the door. Mason and Ogden followed him outside, and Mason began to speak, but Carver held up a finger and led the two younger Wardens well away from the king's tent and the crowd of perplexed knights and nobles who now milled in a confused mass before it.

When they were clear, Carver faced them. "Mad, this is," he said.

"I agree, but our path is set," Ogden said. "I suppose I should pick out the men."

"And I suppose that leaves Veldis in charge," Mason said. Adam Veldis was the fourth and final Warden the king had brought along. He spoke little and did less, preferring to drink and gamble with the rank-and-file soldiers. He'd chosen Chaos. His impiety irritated Mason every time he thought of him.

"Aye, Veldis. Not that he'll have a damn bit o' interest in what ye do, so ye're on yer own," Carver said.

Ogden thumbed his chin thoughtfully. "If this plan of his majesty's works, I'd wager he's planning to turn these... people... into their own force. They'll have their own organizational structure, their own resources, their own political power base. Ebersbach isn't going to like that."

"Fer once I'd agree with th' old bastard," Carver said. "Come on. We won't be gettin' much sleep t'night." He tromped away.

Ogden waited a moment, then whispered urgently to Mason. "You'll be on your own, lad," he said, not unkindly. "Watch. Listen. And make damned sure Ebersbach hears every word of this when you get back to Callaston."

Mason had already known to do just that, but he nodded anyway. "I will see to it, I swear. May the Caretaker protect you," he said.

"All of us," Ogden said, and trod away.

———

Mason Iris and Adam Veldis stood stiffly behind Edon. They watched as he was greeted by Duke Gulhin Arkhail, barely a man, and son of the late, traitorous Loram Arkhail. The king and the duke exchanged formalities, then sat facing each other across a long, narrow table in the duke's receiving room in the castle Thornstar.

They listened as the duke reaffirmed his house's fealty to the king. In turn the king reminded the young duke that as long as House Arkhail remained obedient, he would forgive them the late duke's crime, and hold no grudge. Gulhin seemed immensely relieved by this; Mason thought he saw the boy shaking in his chair.

House Arkhail's ancient seneschal, a man named Elmer Brahim, had joined them, wobbling even with his cane to help him along. He sat next to his duke, bowing slightly to both duke and king. There were a few moments of polite chatter, and then Lord Brahim said that the Dowager Duchess wanted to speak with her son. Duke Gulhin excused himself and left the old seneschal with the king.

When Gulhin was gone, Edon's aspect changed. He'd worn a mask of cold formality, but now he leaned forward and his voice became more urgent. "I received your message about Lord Tarian and Lady Estaile."

Mason glanced sidelong at the king. What was this about?

"Indeed?" Brahim said. "I had feared my courier might have missed you."

"The courier met us on the road just after we left Callaston. Why did you not detain Tarian and Estaile, if you knew I was after them, as you said in your message?"

Brahim shrugged. "Call it an old man's instinct, sire. Something about them struck me as odd. I determined it would be better to be rid of them than to try to hang onto them. If that was the wrong choice, well, I'm the only one to blame. Neither his grace nor the Dowager ever knew they were here."

"Have you heard anything of them since?" Edon demanded.

"I had word not three days ago that they visited Tyndam Town, making no effort to conceal themselves. I couldn't say what mischief they got up to there, sire."

Edon nodded, considering, and changed the subject. The meeting wound down after that, with discussion of more mundane matters that drifted past Mason's ears. Instead he thought about the odd conversation about this lord, Tarian. Tarian... that was the ruling house of Hedenham County, was it not? And Edon had gone to Hedenham, shortly after his return from Gravensford. And there was that rumor, about a lady...

Eventually the king stood and took his leave. As they were about to go, the old seneschal called out again.

"Your majesty, forgive me, but there is one last thing. One of your Wardens dropped in for a visit a few days past. We've been honored to put him up, of course, but, er, he's scaring the children, you see..."

Edon actually laughed at this. What he found funny, Mason had no idea. "Send him to us. I can find a use for him."

There were several hundred Wardens scattered across the breadth of Garova. It took a dozen clerks at the Bastion just to keep track of them. Mason wondered which of his brother Wardens this man might be.

———

He was disturbed to learn, an hour later as the sun sank toward the horizon, that the Warden in question was Jack Penrose. They met in the castle's entry hall; Penrose waited there, spine straight and eyes searching. Mason had been sent to fetch the man and bring him to Edon, as if a page couldn't have done the job just as well.

Mason nodded as he came to a halt a few yards away. "Warden Penrose."

"Who are you?" Penrose asked suspiciously, as if Mason might have stolen his Warden's armor from someone else.

This annoyed Mason further, and he puffed out his chest for the introduction. "Mason Iris, Warden of Aendavar. Aspect of Despair," he added, daring Penrose to make some crack about his choice of Aspect.

Penrose said nothing, his dark eyes boring into Mason, so Mason went on. "His majesty requests your presence." He spun on his heel and strode off through the halls.

Penrose was famous among Wardens—or rather, notorious. Rumor said he'd become a Warden under suspicious circumstances—fleeing some crime in the southwest, supposedly—and he had not endeared himself to other Wardens with his brusque attitude and suspicious nature. But he was also famed for his relentlessness, which had been put to great use in hunting down bandits and criminals.

Some said he was a shade too relentless. The man could not come up in conversation without someone mentioning the stories about suspected criminals that had died in his custody before Penrose could bring them to trial. Jack Penrose seemed to be a law unto himself.

They came to where Edon sat ensconced with Sir Edvan and his other knights. They had taken over the castle's formal dining hall, and though they occupied only a fraction of it, the duke and his family wouldn't dare use it while Edon was present. The king was at the head of the duke's table, with his advisors on either side, finishing a light meal while they looked over parchments. Mason led the way down the long, cold hall, and came to a stop just as Edon raised his eyes. Mason introduced Penrose to the knights and nobles.

"Your majesty," Warden Penrose said, sounding very much like he found nothing majestic at all.

If it bothered Edon, he didn't show it. "Warden Penrose. I have a task for you." The king explained the purpose and method of the recruitment party he'd sent out from Cold Hills County. "You will lead the next such party. And I have an additional task. A lord and lady went east from here, more than a month ago. The lady has the same power I do, so be cautious, as she bears no love for me. I want her brought to Callaston by whatever means are necessary. _Alive._ "

Penrose nodded. "It will be done, sire."

"And take Warden Iris here with you. I mean for the Wardens to lead this effort, for now. Warden Veldis will accompany me back to Callaston. Sir Edvan," he added, his eyes flicking to the knight, who stiffened suddenly to have the king's gaze on him. "See that the Wardens have all the resources and men they need for this task." He waved dismissal and went back to his parchment.

Harlan Carver was not here, so Mason made a venture. "Sire, what crime has this lady committed?"

Edon paused in his reading and turned to look up at Mason. "Disobeying her king," he said in a tone as cold as a glacier. Mason said no more. He bowed and turned to follow Penrose and Edvan from the hall.

He cursed silently as he went. There was so much he had to tell Warden-Commander Ebersbach, and now that would be delayed. Weeks, months. Could he send a letter with Adam Veldis? He didn't know the man well enough to trust him. The things Mason had to say to Ebersbach would not please the king, and Veldis might let slip that such a detailed report was making its way to the Bastion of Spirit.

As they emerged into the day's failing light and headed for the army's camp outside Thorncross, Mason prayed that Ebersbach had other sources of information. The Warden-Commander wasn't going to hear from Mason for a long time.

### CHAPTER 26

### AMIRA

"I'm only saying that it will serve us better if they know."

"You promised me, repeatedly, that you wouldn't tell anyone about your power." Dardan glowered from the kitchen doorway.

Amira plunked the knife down next to the carrots and faced her husband. "Well then it was a foolish promise! They're going to find out eventually. It won't stay a secret, not from everyone."

"That's why it's dangerous for us to stay here," Dardan said. Amira heard heat, and maybe a little fear, in his voice. "People aren't going to react well."

"They will—" She stopped. It was no use going over all this again. She returned to attacking the carrots, and heard footsteps a moment later as Dardan retreated, probably to go brood in the sitting room. Why couldn't he understand? Edon wasn't hiding his power, and there were other mages out there as well. It was only a matter of time before everyone knew about them. Better that the folk of Stony Vale learn about mages from her—gentle, sweet, charming—than from a monster like Edon. But Dardan wouldn't hear of it.

Amira sighed and focused on the vegetables. She'd never really had to cook for herself—her mother had been able to afford a cook and maid for her townhouse, when Amira was little—but it gave her something to do while waiting for Garen to show up. Each night, after the smithy closed up and he had dinner with the Walkers, Garen came by the cottage so that he and Amira could practice their powers together. Dardan always sat and watched, even if he had nothing to contribute.

The cottage, only a few minutes' walk from the square of Stony Vale, had belonged to an old widow who'd died recently. All her remaining kin lived far away, so a neighboring widow, old Clarys, looked after the place. She'd agreed to let Amira and Dardan stay there in exchange for keeping it tidy.

During the days, Amira made an effort to get to know as many of the townsfolk as possible. Even if she couldn't reveal her power, at least she could lay the groundwork. If Dardan did change his mind, or her hand were forced by circumstances, she wanted to be prepared.

So she socialized with the neighbors, implying that Dardan came from wealthy parents and had struck out on his own with his doting wife in tow. She hinted that they might settle permanently in Stony Vale. This endeared them to a great many people, who appreciated the prosperity that a wealthy man could bring to the town. Amira made sure to spend visibly: she bought dresses, blouses, underclothes, and a proper bodice from a local seamstress, and put her vest and trousers aside for a while. As much as she liked the garments, the townsfolk would accept her more easily if she were dressed normally.

Most of them were pleasant enough, quite willing to chat with a beautiful stranger. Especially the menfolk. A few treated her with indifference or contempt, but she let that roll off her back. _You can't please everyone._

One to whom Amira could not endear herself was Constable Adams. No matter how polite she was to the man, he glowered and acted rudely. A few days after their arrival, Magistrate Baxter had come to the cottage to return Amira and Dardan's swords, with Constable Adams at his side. Baxter left them with a stern but polite warning that no foolishness would be tolerated. When his back was turned, Constable Adams spat at her feet.

———

A week after their arrival, Amira went for a walk in the woods. To the north and east of Stony Vale the land was cleared for miles, farms and sheepfolds stretching to the coast, but to the west a thick old forest came up almost to the edge of the town. Towering, solemn sentinel pines shaded the undergrowth with their boughs.

The forest held an immense silence. Amira loved it. She spent the whole morning there after Dardan declined to join her. He'd wanted to go for a ride, he said. He was still grumpy that they'd stayed in Stony Vale instead of continuing on to Seawatch; he claimed Duke Eltasi would help them. Dardan told her often how House Eltasi and House Relindos had no love for one another.

Well, Eltasi could wait. Amira had found a real live mage here in Stony Vale, and she wasn't about to give Garen up.

She threaded between the pines, struggling to enjoy the serenity of the forest while another part of her brooded about Dardan. She happened upon a little clearing, and noticed two boys, maybe six or seven years old, fighting with sticks and shouting merrily. Amira stopped and leaned against a tree, watching them with a smile on her lips.

After a minute, she heard a querying voice in the distance. A woman's voice, in the tone of a mother ready to scold her children. The woman emerged into the clearing: a youngish brunette, flush from exertion, striding purposefully toward the boys.

They stopped, stick-swords dangling at their sides, heads hung low. Amira couldn't quite make out the woman's words, but her meaning was obvious: _You boys are in trouble. Come home right now._

They started to follow, just as Amira glimpsed something moving in the trees beyond them. What was it? Brown, and large, and padding along on four feet—

A bear. A big one, its fur almost black in the shade. The woman swiveled her head at the sound of its footsteps, and she gasped. By instinct or reason, she moved between it and the children and backed away, keeping them behind her.

The bear's head came up as it snuffled at the air. Amira's heart thudded in her chest as the bear padded forward. The woman kept backing up. The children were trying to see, and finally one of them realized what it was and shrieked. The other boy did as well, and then they were both crying. The woman tried to shush them, while keeping the bear in sight.

The beast growled low, and had closed to no more than twenty feet from the woman. She had nothing in her hands, not even so much as a kitchen knife.

Amira felt her feet moving. She'd been watching it unfold, like a minstrel's drama, but this was no man dressed in furs, lurching about for the amusement of a common room's audience. That bear was well and truly interested in them.

The bear either didn't notice her approach or didn't care, because it growled suddenly and lurched forward. Amira didn't think: she flung out a silver bead and pushed as much energy into it as she could. The bear's head exploded in a shower of blood. It flopped to the ground, dead in an instant.

The woman had been silent, her voice perhaps paralyzed by fear, but now she screamed and stumbled back, knocking over one of the children, who wailed all the louder.

Amira hurried forward. "It's all right!" she said, her own voice loud in her ears. The brunette had begun to struggle back to her feet, and stopped halfway up to swivel around and look. Amira's blood felt on fire, but she forced herself to smile, and repeated herself as calmly as she could. "It's all right. It's over."

She knelt down by the boy who hadn't fallen over, the younger of the two. He stared at her with big brown eyes, as wide as the sky, and then flung his arms around her and sobbed loudly.

The young woman breathed heavily as she looked over at the bear again, as if worrying that it might get up and come after them. After a long minute, she got to her feet and picked up the boy she'd knocked over, and they clutched each other tight. The woman's eyes came to rest on Amira.

Amira felt compelled to break the silence. "Are you all right?"

She nodded once. "Did you do that?" Her terror hadn't left completely; perhaps one threat had simply been replaced with another.

"Um. Yes. It seemed the right thing to do."

The woman looked over at the bear again. "How?" She still clutched the older boy to her; he'd stopped crying and now watched Amira curiously. The younger boy had drifted to his mother's side, but seemed more interested in the dead bear than the conversation.

Amira almost spoke, but stopped herself. _I promised._

_To the black spirits with that._ This woman had a right to know. She could deal with Dardan later. "I have a... a gift, you could call it. I don't know where it came from." She paused. "My name is Amira."

"I've seen you," the woman said. "Around town. At the shops. I'm Mari. This is Josiah." She squeezed her son a little tighter. "That's Henry, over there." The younger boy paid them no heed; he'd crept close to the dead bear and was now poking it with a stick.

"Perhaps we ought to get out of the woods," Amira suggested, and Mari did not argue. She clutched her boys' hands tight and led the way to a house a stone's throw from the edge of the trees. Amira thought the forest could stand to be cleared much farther back, if there were bears willing to come that close to the town. Someone had gotten a start; there were a score or more of decaying stumps between the house and the woods.

There were two young girls inside the tidy little house, one who must be ten or eleven and another who was at most three. The older girl seemed to have been looking after the younger while Mari had gone out to find her boys. Mari introduced them as Anna and Gwendolyn.

Mari looked not much older than Amira, but with all these children she must be near on thirty. She offered Amira some water and bread. The bread had gone a little stale, but Amira accepted it graciously.

The boys seemed to have recovered from their adventure, so Mari sent them outside to play. "But I'll do to you what that bear didn't, if you go near those trees again." She pointed at a leather strap hanging from the wall. Henry and Josiah glanced at it with fearful eyes before skittering outside. Mari sent the girls out after them and watched them all through the kitchen window for a few moments as they ran around in the dirt. Soon her eyes drifted over to Amira, who sat at the table.

Amira had been considering what to say. She saw no hostility on Mari's face, just curiosity mixed with caution. "Well?" Mari said.

Amira gave an abbreviated explanation: the power had come upon her one day, and she'd been learning to use it since. She had no idea where it came from. She said she'd come across others who had it, but did not name them. Mari said very little during all this, only wiped absently at some plates as Amira spoke.

"Does all this frighten you?" Amira asked. She really had no idea what the woman thought. The bear attack must have been terrifying to Mari, but like her boys she'd recovered quickly.

Mari shook her head. "You seem honest. I don't see bad in you. What does your husband say?"

Amira shrugged. "He wants me to keep it a secret. But after what happened out there... It wouldn't have been fair to keep it from you."

"Hm. Well it's no secret now." She glanced out the window. "The boys'll talk," Mari said, "no matter how much I swear to thrash them. And then people will ask questions."

"Then tell them the truth." Amira felt emboldened. Dardan was going to have to deal with people knowing the truth sooner or later. Why hand fate the reins?

Mari nodded. "I will. But see that your husband don't feel betrayed or he'll brood for weeks, if he's like most men."

———

It was barely two days before the first questions came. Amira was at the greengrocer's shop; Tim Thorn was his name, a friendly, portly fellow forever offering samples of his wares. Amira had never known there were so many varieties of turnip.

A tall, thick-armed man with a mop of amber hair came in the door, and he immediately locked eyes with Amira, but seemed reluctant to approach. Finally she strode over to him, impatient for him to stop staring. "Yes?"

"You're... My wife said you saved her from a bear." His face showed that he only half-believed it.

"You must be Mari's husband." She held out her hand. "I'm Amira."

"Hugh Hamm." He shook her hand gently, as if afraid he might break it. Her hands were dainty compared to his enormous fists, but really, she wasn't made of porcelain. "The boys... they said you done witchcraft." He spoke quietly enough that Tim Thorn couldn't overhear.

"Something like that," Amira said lightly. "It's nothing to be scared of. Some people are strong, some very wise... I can do this." She held out her palm, and made a tiny flame dance above it, much too small to be frightening. Hugh's eyebrows climbed high, but he leaned forward to inspect the flame for a moment. Abruptly he nodded and left.

It was a day later that Hugh Hamm came to the cottage in the morning. Dardan answered the door before Amira could get to it, and when Hugh asked for her, Dardan pivoted to stare at her. "Excuse me a moment," he said to their visitor, and closed the door while Hugh tried to peer inside, confused. "Do you know what this is about?"

Amira pressed her lips together. She hadn't told Dardan anything. Butterflies batted her stomach. _You made your bed, girl._ Why had she been so cavalier about it? She'd known this would happen eventually.

She took a deep breath and told the story to Dardan: the forest, the bear, and how Mari had wanted to know what happened. "I couldn't very well lie to her face."

"Yes you bloody well could have!" Dardan shouted. "It's as if you deliberately sought out a circumstance that would allow you to reveal yourself."

"Oh, so I followed a bear around until it attacked someone?"

"You know very well what I mean." Dardan glanced at the door. "What does this fellow want?"

"I have no idea. He's Mari's husband."

"Does he know too?"

Amira couldn't meet Dardan's eyes any longer. "Yes."

He let out a long sigh, then turned and opened the door again. Hugh stood there, his hand half-raised as if he meant to knock again. "Er... I could come back."

"No, by all means, come in," Dardan said. "It seems we have no secrets here."

Hugh stepped inside, doffing his hat, and introduced himself to Dardan. "Um, Missus Howard..." He glanced at Dardan again for a moment, but Amira's husband was staring up at the ceiling and turning an alarming shade of red. Hugh cleared his throat and went on. "I was wondering... thinking, I mean, about the bear. It came awful close, and another one could, I mean, it might come to the edge of the trees, which ain't far from our house. I been clearing the trees meself, but it's slow work for a man alone. I was wondering if maybe you could cut down some trees for us, clear them farther from the house."

Amira looked at Hugh's thick arms. "Wouldn't you be better suited—oh! I see." He meant, couldn't she use her power? "Hm. I've never tried that. I suppose it could work..." She considered for a moment how she'd do it, her latent argument with Dardan fading away. Could she maybe push her ember into a line, and use it like a saw? "Well. I can try, at least. Lead on."

"Indeed. Why start exercising caution now?" Dardan muttered, and followed them.

It took Amira ten minutes to do what would have taken Hugh hours of exhausting labor. She hooted and laughed as the pine nearest the Hamms' house crashed down through other trees—away from the house, since Hugh had showed her where to make the proper cuts.

Dardan remained grumpy, but Hugh Hamm sang Amira's praises. Whatever doubts the rest of the townsfolk might have had, within a week Amira had daily visitors asking if she could come help with this task or that. Half of them simply wondered if she would relight hearthfires that had gone out; she suspected some of them had quenched their fires on purpose just so they could see her power in action. A farmer asked if she could break up some rocks in a field; a mason wanted her to apply heat to his mortar so that it would dry faster.

Even Magistrate Baxter gave in and sought her help when a wandering minstrel came to Stony Vale. This was a rare treat, as far off the main road as they were, and so everyone wanted to hear the minstrel sing, but the common room of the Giant's Foot was too small to fit the whole town. So they held the performance outside in the square, but as the evening deepened, the air grew unexpectedly, bitterly cold. Baxter wondered if there was some way Amira could warm them all up, without the expense and time of building fires. She obliged, casting her bead in a wide net over the whole area and slowly warming the air.

Amira was happy to help them all. The townsfolk came back with unexpected gifts of food and clothing, still somewhat skittish around a witch—"mage," she insisted on reminding them, was the term she preferred, lacking as it did the suggestion of macabre, gruesome rituals practiced under moonlight. She felt a persistent satisfaction, glad that she had found a way to make some use of her power without scaring people off. Dardan had been wrong, and it was all she could do not to rub his nose in it.

Even Garen eventually revealed his power to the townsfolk, when he saw how well they'd reacted to Amira. Oddly, the townsfolk were more worried by Garen; many of them had known him since he was a little boy, and he was well-liked, so it jarred them to see this side of him revealed. But they accepted this change and tried to figure out ways to put his power to use as well.

———

The silver bead sped through the air and buried itself in a boulder the size of a foal. Garen pushed energy into the bead, and the boulder cracked in half, little shards of granite careening through the air. "That's as small as I can make it now," he said, frustrated.

Amira gazed at the cloud of dust that had risen off the rock. It was becoming evident that this power was wielded by men and women in very different ways. Garen's power had grown with terrifying speed in these few weeks; he was easily as strong now as Edon had been at Foxhill Keep, able to smash huge boulders to rubble. A rocky hillside beyond the edge of town was pocked with craters the size of horses, the remnants of Garen's practice.

Amira herself had gained a great deal of control and finesse. She could etch black lines into parchment without burning through it; she'd never need an inkwell again. If she pushed her ember faster, she could cause a small tree to burst into flames in an instant. But that was the limit of her strength. Garen, by contrast, could no longer light a candle, because his smallest detonation would obliterate it, not to mention the room it was in. They'd had to find open space to practice in, lest he destroy the cottage and kill them both.

Dardan had come with them the first few times, but after a while he'd admitted he was bored to tears and instead stayed at the cottage—or, more likely, went to the malthouse. He'd been drunk a time or two when she'd come home, but he'd said nothing except to ask how it had gone.

Amira shook her head. Why was she thinking about Dardan? If he wanted to be a wet blanket, there was no reason to let that infect her mood. She focused on Garen again, thinking about what they'd learned of his power. He had no ability to stretch his bead into a line or a net the way Amira could. All he could do was cause explosions of varying sizes. Amira could spread her ember into a line or a sheet, to heat the air under a scrap of silk and make it float, or fry a fish from the inside out.

They'd both gained firm control over the aim and placement of their beads. Either of them could hit a rock thrown into the air; Amira could crack it in half with a well-placed strike, focusing all her power into a single spot, a sort of archery of the mind. Garen's attack would simply cause it to vanish in a cloud of dust.

Men had power; women had finesse.. as far as she knew. She'd only witnessed two other mages using the power, both men. _I'd have to find more mages to be sure._ Not that there were any others in Stony Vale, not that she'd seen.

Garen plopped down angrily onto on a dead log. It was late afternoon; Orville Walker had given him half a day off, thanks to a lull at the forge. Amira sat beside Garen. "Are you all right?"

"It's not fair," he said. "You can do all sorts of wonderful stuff with it. All I am's a glorified hammer."

"The world still needs hammers," she said, wanting him to cheer up. "Just think, you could... you could dig a quarry, or an entire mine all by yourself! That's got to be worth something, hasn't it?"

"I suppose," he groused. His bead appeared before him. Amira watched as he spun it around in circles, then made it soar high above them. He pushed, and a crack echoed through the air. Amira looked over her shoulder at a couple of townsfolk who stood at the edge of the field, watching. Their practices attracted gawkers sometimes, but they never ventured close.

"What if... what if I became a warrior? Or a knight?" Garen said. "Imagine, fighting off Vaslander berserkers! They wouldn't know what hit them. How do you become a knight?"

"You join the army, and rise through the ranks. Knights command many other men. It takes years of work, though. Supposedly men are raised only on merit alone, but everyone knows that noble sons find the path to knighthood much easier."

"Everyone? Everyone where?"

Amira froze. She'd still never revealed her or Dardan's true identities, not to Garen or anyone else in Stony Vale. And here she was, talking as if she had the insight of nobility. "Well, that's what I always heard. Anyway, let's not speak of such things," Amira said. "You don't want to be a knight. Killing is not pleasant."

Garen laughed. "How would you know? You've never killed anyone."

Amira looked away to hide her expression. "Let's speak of something else," she said, and stood up. She really didn't want to think about it. About the bandits. About Gaelan Thoriss. She'd forgotten what he'd really looked like; in her mind's eye, she saw him as a kindly old man covered in blood. The image did not please her.

But something had gripped Garen's imagination. "What if... what if two mages were dueling? Trying to kill each other with the power?"

Amira sighed. It was a good question. If she ever did confront Edon again... how would it go? "I'm not sure," she said. "I suppose it would come down to whoever got their bead out the fastest."

"If you could block it, that would really be something," Garen said, getting excited. His earlier dejection had vanished. He often went from exultation to melancholy and back in a trice.

"Block it with what? It goes right through everything we've tried. Stone, metal, cloth, water..."

"What about another bead?" He came around to where he could see her eyes. She forced herself to stop scowling. "What if you set off your bead inside mine? What if it, I don't know..."

"It... it might disrupt it, or something, I suppose. We could try it."

"Yes! Let's try it." He had his bead out and hovering before Amira could draw another breath.

She sighed again and pushed her own bead out. "Wait. Farther away. Just to be safe."

Garen nodded sheepishly and sent his bead all the way over to the rocky hillside. The importance of caution had become apparent early, when Garen had unintentionally caused a blast mere yards away from them. It had been weak compared to what he could do know, but the bang had knocked them both down and left a ringing in Amira's ears for half a day. One misplaced bead could kill them both in an instant.

Amira sent her bead after his. "All right. I'll move my bead into yours and then fire it." She took a steadying breath—the beads were about a hundred yards away, which was as far as either of them could reliably control—and prepared herself. She moved her bead to touch his, and got ready to fire it—

The instant they touched, before she could fire, both beads winked out of existence, and a sound like bees swarming filled her head for a split second, overlaid with an echo of ten thousand squeaky floorboards all being scraped with rusty saw blades.

She fell to one knee, grunting, but the sound was gone in an instant. Garen had clamped his hands over his ears. "Augh! What in the black spirits was that?"

Amira shuddered and stood up. "As soon as they touched..."

"That was horrible. I heard—no, I _felt_ an awful buzzing, like I was covered in bees."

"I felt the same."

Garen stared out at the rocky slope. "Let's do it again!"

Amira sighed, and nodded. They tried again, and the same thing occurred: the beads vanished as soon as they touched. The sound of bees filled Amira's mind for a fraction of a second, although since she expected it, it was somewhat less startling—but still unpleasant. They tried colliding the beads at close range, and found that they gave off no heat or shock. And at that range, it became evident that the beads did not quite have to visibly touch; when they came within a few inches of one another, about a handspan apart, was when they vanished.

They practiced trying to get their beads past one another, as if dueling. Inside of a hour they had both become relatively expert at stopping the other's bead before it could reach them. "Two mages might fight to a standstill, it looks like," Garen said, grinning.

His earlier doldrums had vanished, which heartened Amira. She smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "See? There's something you can do besides blow things up. You could defend people. Protect them."

Garen nodded, and met Amira's eyes. It was hard to tell, in the fading light of early evening, but she realized he was blushing. "A—Amira, I—"

"We should get back," she said, and turned away abruptly. Dardan would be waiting at the cottage; she should get home.

She glanced back at Garen. Now he looked dejected again, and Amira's heart nearly broke from the shame. Had she been making him think she bore some romantic interest in him? He certainly was a handsome boy, when the sweat and grime of the smithy were wiped away. But that ship had sailed; she was bound to Dardan. Well, Garen knew that, of course. Dardan... Dardan did too, didn't he?

### CHAPTER 27

### DARDAN

Dardan lifted his head off the table when he heard noise outside. He'd fallen asleep in the kitchen, waiting for Amira to come home. It had gotten late. Well, not that late; late if you counted by the number of drinks he'd had at the malthouse. Leary's, the place was called. Somehow he'd gotten home, gotten through the front door. He could see the door of the cottage from here, or something blurry that looked like a door.

Footsteps shuffled in the dirt outside. A laugh. The door creaked open and Amira came half inside, then stopped to look back and say something to someone—to Garen, obviously. Who else would it be?

Dardan wished she was speaking to him instead. Her smile brightened every room and warmed Dardan's heart. Usually. Right now he did not feel warmed.

When she closed the door and turned around, she jerked to a halt and gasped, because Dardan stood right there. He blinked and started back a little. When had he gotten up? Well, he was here now. "W'that Garen?" he slurred.

Of course it was. "Of course it was," she said, her facing closing up a little. Her nose wrinkled. Did he smell? His breath probably did. "We were practicing out in the field. We discovered something interesting about our power. The—"

"I wouldn' understan'," he said. "Might s'well be talkin' about smithin', for all I can..." He trailed off as he listed against the doorframe. Why was he so drunk? He'd been drunk before, plenty of times. It was always easier. _Liam._ That's why. He'd always had Liam to look after him. Now he had no one. Just himself.

"You should lie down," Amira said. "You need rest."

"I don't wan' rest!" he shouted. "I been restin' for weeks. I wan' somethin' t'do. Got nothin' t'do in this— _hic_ —speck 'f a town." It felt good to let his anger free. He could do his duty, if he had any. He couldn't do that, but he could do this. Wasn't it his right?

Amira's warming smile had vanished. "You're drunk. Come, lie down." She took his hand but he yanked it away. She wasn't going to control him, not again. She always had a plan, didn't she?

"Y'didn' keep yer promise," he said, jabbing a finger at her. At one of her. Why were there two? Wasn't one of her hard enough to deal with?

"The townsfolk have all been good to us," she said. "You know that."

"To th' black spirits w'them. None o' them can stop the prince... the Edon... king. King Edon. Not even him, th' boy." He glared at the door.

"Dardan, dear, please, come to bed," Amira said, reaching for his hand again.

Dardan shouted "No!" and shoved her away. She stumbled back, fetching up against the settee, and a look of horror and revulsion came across her face. But she said nothing. Dardan turned away, went back to the kitchen, and put his head down again. He was vaguely aware of footsteps, something moving, something nearby, then far. A door closing. And then blackness.

———

At some point he must have gotten up and stumbled to the bedroom, because he awoke there, half-dressed. Amira still slept, pointedly not cuddled up against his side.

Sometimes, when he got very drunk, he forgot some of what he'd done the night before. But not last night. Every moment of it came drifting back, along with a pounding headache, and he learned that grief and hangovers complemented one another in a fitting duet. He slipped quietly out of bed and went to get water, which helped a little. _Now what?_

He knew what. When Amira rose, Dardan had already packed a small leather case with some travelling essentials and stood by the front door. She stared at him from across the sitting room. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to Seawatch. You clearly don't need me here. Perhaps House Eltasi will help us where House Arkhail could not. I will return with an answer." He opened the door and walked outside.

He expected Amira to say something, some parting shot. "Be careful" was all he heard, and when he looked back, the door of the cottage had closed.

———

Dardan stopped a few times to let his horse rest, and once for luncheon at a roadside inn on his way to the city. He was having doubts about this; what kind of trouble would Amira get up to while he was gone? But he wasn't about to go rushing back to her. He had to do this. It wasn't as if his presence had ever instilled caution in her before. She could hardly be worse while he was gone. Dardan only realized how angry he was when his horse tried to buck him off after he'd thwacked the beast's hide with the reins one too many times.

The sun was about to set when he reached the gates of Seawatch; he was one of the last travellers through before the gates were closed for the night. The city sat on a bluff high above a rocky beach. Its wall ran from cliff to cliff, with one gate planted right in the middle. The cliffs to either side were too sheer and too high to be assaulted. Huge wooden cranes stood at the edges of the bluff, used for raising and lowering cargo to the seaside docks below. Narrow wooden staircases cleaved to the bluffs, allowing men to climb up from the docks, but the stairs could be easily destroyed from above to prevent raiders or soldiers from accessing the city that way.

The city had inns aplenty, and after a few inquiries Dardan settled on the Vigilant Mariner, which was not fancy, but neither was it a back-alley fleatrap: small and cheap and tidy, and right on the main road.

Dardan was exhausted from the ride, and even though there was a malthouse literally a stone's throw away, he immediately put it out of his mind. _You've had enough of that._ He planned to call on the duke in the morning, at his castle on the tip of the bluff; the last thing he needed was to show up nursing a hangover.

But getting in to see the duke proved enough of a headache on its own, and in the end he did not quite manage it. He came to the gate, wearing innocuous garb that might befit a merchant's clerk, prepared with the same ruse he'd used at Thorncross—claiming to be a messenger from Duke Surroi, in the south, with a private message for Duke Eltasi. But this time he was not greeted by the duke himself, or even his seneschal; instead, he was taken to a small chamber just inside the castle's gate, where he was told to wait. After near an hour he began to wonder if he'd been forgotten, but then the door opened and a man came in whom he recognized at once.

"Dardan Tarian?" the man said, jerking to a halt. Lord Gennevan Helgar was Duke Eltasi's grandson, the son of his eldest daughter. She'd married one of the younger brothers of the previous Count Helgar of Elsingham, the very county that Stony Vale was in. This made Gennevan a lord in title only, with nothing to rule over, though a barony might awarded at some point, if the stars aligned just so. All this Dardan knew offhand, for Gennevan had once stayed at Tinehall on his way to Callaston. They'd met a few other times as well, at this dinner or that masque. There had also been one particular incident in the capital, a year or more ago... Dardan wouldn't call the man a close friend, but they'd gotten on reasonably well the few times they'd met. Gennevan had the squat broadness common to Eltasi men, a pug nose, and wide blue eyes. Some said that House Eltasi had ruled Seawatch so long because they had sea eyes.

Dardan stood up and shook Gennevan's hand. "I wasn't expecting to see you. Actually, I'm here to see your grandfather. Or try to."

"No doubt, but the duke's always very busy. And he's old enough now that he's decided he can be picky about how he spends his time. I get the honor of dealing with unexpected visitors." His _valo_ had come in behind him and stood by the wall, watching the nobles with bored indifference.

Dardan knew it would be impolite to ask, but he needed this to stay private. "I hate to ask this, Gennevan, but the matter I have to discuss is quite delicate. Could you...?"

Gennevan blinked and glanced back at his _valo_. "What could possibly be so—" Gennevan huffed, then paused. "I see your _valo_ isn't here either. Very well. Davis, wait outside." The _valo_ bowed and withdrew. Gennevan sighed and sat down opposite Dardan. "Your presence here is already quite odd. We've heard that there was some trouble with the king, but reliable reports have been hard to come by." He shook his head. "Your father... I'm terribly sorry, Dardan. He was a good man."

Dardan froze. He'd heard rumors on the road. Had he known it in his heart, and denied it? But this was no time for weeping. He nodded slowly. It would not do to let Gennevan know that this information had been a surprise. "Yes. Thank you."

"I'm curious to learn what happened there, if you would," Gennevan said.

"I can provide quite a reliable report of what went on, which is in fact why I'm here." Dardan took a breath and glanced away for a moment. He then gave a quick outline of Edon's kidnapping the day after the summer ball, the retreat to Hedenham, the attack at Foxhill Keep, and his and Amira's travels since. He did not mention Stony Vale in particular, saying only that Amira was waiting somewhere outside the city. He also omitted Amira's power; that was a card he would need to play at the right time. "So you can see why we seek the duke's assistance."

"I don't know what he could reasonably do for you," Gennevan said. He'd interrupted Dardan's story to have his _valo_ send a footman for some refreshment, which now arrived: hot tea, and wine, and lemon cakes. The nobles remained silent until the footman and _valo_ were both gone. "Raising arms against the king, or anything of that sort, is of course out of the question."

Dardan waited, but Gennevan said no more. "What? Just like that, we're finished? Surely House Eltasi is willing to make more of a stand than that. I know you and Relindos have rarely been on the same side of anything. How many times since the war has Eltasi asked for more funds for ships to protect against pirates, and been rebuffed?"

Gennevan snorted. "That's all part of the game, Dardan. We ask for too much so that we might be granted what we actually need."

"Then consider that you might get nothing at all, if Edon has his way. He's obsessed with Vasland, and wants to invade it wholesale. And not by sea, mind you. Do you think Eltasi or Seawatch would benefit much from that?"

The other lord hesitated. "We might benefit from more men for the Crags," Gennevan said, tapping his fingers on his winecup. But then he rapped it down onto the table. "But that's all concerns for my grandfather. I still don't see why we ought to take sides against the king in whatever this little tempest of yours is about."

"At least you could get me in to speak with the duke. You owe me that much."

"Owe you?" Now Gennevan looked irritated. Did he even remember? Dardan's stomach had knotted up; he hadn't even wanted to bring up the... particular incident. It seemed crude. But it was also the only leverage he had at the moment.

"Yes, owe me. I think you'll recall a year or so past when you and I happened to be in the capital at the same time. Countess Rambul had thrown a masque, do you remember? And you requested my assistance in... cornering a particular young woman out in the gardens. Lady Sira Rambul, the count's daughter?"

Gennevan had looked perplexed at first, then suddenly went white. "What... That was just a bit of fun."

"Yes, I'm sure she thought so as well, until she turned up pregnant a few months later. You weren't in the city then, but I was. She called at our manse and spoke with me, saying her mother had found out and was demanding to know who the father was. She didn't know what to do. It would have been the right thing to convince her to name you, but I took pity on you, fool that you were, and said she should stay silent. Better to ruin one reputation than two, yes? Her mother took her to the countryside to sequester her until the baby came, which would have happened by midsummer, though I haven't heard any news of it yet."

Gennevan was staring down at his hands. Dardan looked there and saw matching marriage rings, diamonds on gold. "You wouldn't..."

"By the Caretaker, what do you take me for?" Dardan said. "I'm no blackmailer. I tell you this because I did you a favor—two favors, really. I prevail upon your good nature to return me a favor in kind." Dardan trod on thin ice here and knew it; it would profit him nothing to reveal Gennevan's misdeeds, and men had been known to kill to protect lesser secrets than this.

After a long minute, the other lord raised his eyes and nodded. "You are right, of course. I will speak with my mother and see what I can do."

"I'm sure your mother is a remarkable woman, but it is the duke to whom I need to speak."

Gennevan shook his head. "My mother controls much of the duke's calendar. If you would speak to him, you must convince her. I will go to her today—at once—and convince her of your import." Dardan stood when Gennevan did. The other man did not offer his hand this time, and instead bowed slightly. "Let my man know where you are staying and I will bring you news when I have it."

———

It was only a first step, Dardan knew, but he had weathered it. He returned to the Vigilant Mariner, ate luncheon in the common room, and then waited, watching craftsmen and milkmaids and sailors and constables flowing up and down the street. It was not until the sun had just slipped below the tops of the buildings across the way that he spied something of a procession coming down the road toward him, parting the crowd as they went. He recognized Gennevan Helgar in the lead, mounted on a white steed and accompanied by several other men who all looked to be either nobles or _valai_. A few Eltasi house guards trailed discreetly along behind the group.

Dardan had been sitting on a weathered wooden chair on the inn's tiny porch. He stood now and leaned on the porch rail as Gennevan and the others pulled up before the inn. "Count Tarian," he said, with a grin on his face. "Allow me to introduce you to my brother, Jeovan." He indicated the man beside him, a younger, slightly slimmer version of himself, who had the same lopsided grin. Jeovan gave a slight bow. "And this is Lord Mikan Mihel, son of Count Mihel of Vannar." The other man was older, probably thirty, and had a look like he was sucking on a bitter lemon. He bowed as well, but seemed to be more interested in looking around at the street traffic. Particularly women, Dardan noted. Gennevan did not introduce their _valai_. "We're off to the malthouse, if you'd join us."

Dardan had no particular desire to while away an evening with Gennevan, but to turn down the offer might hurt his chances of seeing the duke. And unless Gennevan or his companions proved to be utterly intolerable company, it would beat spending the evening alone in the inn. "I'd be delighted," he said. He had no fancier clothes with him than what he wore, so he fetched his horse from the inn's stable and they set off.

The malthouse was named Rapheson's, and like most, it allowed men only. Gennevan said almost as soon as they were seated that they'd be seeking feminine diversions later in the evening. Dardan smiled tightly at this, and said nothing about it. For a while the four lords and three _valai_ chatted about nothing in particular. Gennevan must have instructed his brother and Lord Mikan not to bother Dardan about his doings; instead they mostly spoke about other lords and barons who resided in or near the city. Dardan, not being particularly familiar with any of them, mostly listened, but Gennevan made an effort to include him in the conversation.

After a few cups of ale, Gennevan cleared his throat and nudged Dardan, then led him away from their own table over to an empty one by the window. "Mother has agreed to see you," he said. "Tomorrow, join us for luncheon at our house here in the city."

"Not at the castle?"

"Patience, Dardan. It took a great deal of convincing on my part to pull this off. Bide your time." He threw back the rest of his ale. "And as for me, I intend to bide my time in the company of women as beautiful as the city has to offer." He stood and waved over at his brother, who saw the signal and collected the other men. "You'll join us, of course?"

"To go to a brothel?" Dardan said. He held up his marriage rings. "Gennevan, I'm married now."

"Look at that dull thing," Gennevan said, grabbing Dardan's right hand and inspecting the plain gold band. "I'm married too, you dolt. These aren't noble daughters."

Dardan let himself be dragged along. He could not just abandon the party; it might sour Gennevan against him. Stewing silently, he followed along as they went a few streets over, and left their horses in the stable of Madam Pearl's. The foyer smelled of cloying perfume. Dardan immediately recalled the time when Liam had brought him into a similar place in Hedenham, and the memory did not particularly please him. But there was more at stake here than his own _valo_ 's amusement.

The brothel seemed to have two salons, one for nobles and one for commoners. After some confusion regarding Dardan's common clothes and lack of a _valo_ , he was allowed to join Gennevan and the others, while the three _valai_ were shuffled off by a dowdy matron. In mere moments, Dardan, Mikan Mihel, and the Helgars were surrounded by a number of girls already in various states of undress. Gennevan and Jeovan swung their matching leers every which way, while Mikan seemed to cast a thorough, appraising eye over each girl before passing on to the next one.

Dardan had been sweating even out in the cold at the prospect of coming in here, and his mood did not improve now that he was in the thick of it. Gennevan nudged him. "Take advantage of my hospitality, lad," he said. "Tonight's on me."

Dardan gave as wicked a grin as he was able, which was not much. He pretended to assess the various girls, and then picked a short, olive-skinned brunette who looked absolutely nothing like Amira. His wife would probably faint dead in shock if he knew he'd been in here; as headstrong and impulsive as she was, he couldn't even conceive that she'd ever approve of such a thing.

The brunette led him down a corridor with walls padded in velvet and lurid red lanterns hung from the ceiling, to a bedchamber more gaudily appointed than any he'd ever seen. "Would m'lord care for some wine?" she purred.

Dardan was distinctly aware of the dichotomy between what his upper and lower halves wanted to do. After a short struggle, his mind won out and he pushed her away gently. "I'm only here to please my friend," he said. "It would probably be best if we simply waited it out." He went over to a plush chair and sank into it, crossing his legs and looking out the window.

The girl frowned at him oddly, then excused herself. Dardan thought he was out of the woods, but in a moment she returned with _another_ girl in tow. This one looked too much like Amira, being lighter of skin and hair. They both came over to Dardan and tried to drape themselves over him, purring sweet nothings in his ears.

Alarmed, Dardan leapt out of the chair and backed away from the girls. "Really, please, I must insist, I am fine!" They seemed to think he was merely playing a game, however, and ended up chasing him around the room for several moments before he finally darted through a narrow door and locked himself in the privy.

They seemed to take the hint at this—he wondered if they thought he was a boy-lover—and left him alone. After what must have been the better part of an hour, he unlatched the door and peeked outside. The dark-skinned girl lay on the bed, looking bored and doing something with her toenails.

Dardan cleared his throat. "Thank you," he stuttered, left a few pieces of silver on the table, and bolted for the hallway.

He waited out in the lobby for only a few minutes before Jeovan Helgar emerged, followed shortly by his brother and then Lord Mikan. Dardan did his best to look relaxed, but he was as tense as he'd ever been. Gennevan either didn't notice or didn't care; he clapped Dardan on the shoulder and made lewd comments about the various women they'd just engaged. Dardan worked very hard to hide his revulsion for the man as they stepped out into the chill night air.

———

He had just enough time in the morning to find a tailor who could provide him with clothes more suited to calling on a duke's daughter. There was no time for alterations, but the tailor was able to rent him a vest and jacket and trousers in matching greens that fit well enough. Dardan arrived at the Helgar manse at the stroke of noon and was conducted at once to the sitting room to meet Lady Nyera Helgar, Gennevan's mother.

To Dardan, she seemed a cruel parody of his own mother: fat instead of plump, eyes beady instead of wide, in the sea blue of Eltasi blood. And where Besiana was playful, Nyera seemed dour and grumpy. Dardan bowed deeply and waited until she asked him to sit. The calculus of who deserved more respect was not obvious by any means. Dardan was, by rights, a count in full; Nyera was merely a lady, but the daughter of a duke, and much older.

"My son informed me of your... request," she said, pausing for what Dardan assumed was deliberate effect, since she narrowed her eyes upon that last word. "I cannot fathom how in the world you ever thought we might be amenable to such nonsense."

Dardan made to speak, then stopped himself. _There is no one to rescue me._ He remembered a time when he would have thought Lady Nyera's words to be an outright rejection. Asmus had taught him that even the fiercest refusal could mask a willingness to negotiate. _She hasn't thrown you out, son. And look how she waits expectantly for your reaction._ He cleared his throat. "Excuse me. I was informed that you would at least hear me out." He turned his gaze upon Gennevan, who shrugged a little and looked to his mother. "Otherwise it would seem I came all this way for naught but what I'm sure will be an excellent luncheon." He made no move to rise.

Lady Nyera sighed. "I suppose it would be rude to turn you out so soon. Please, do try to convince me." Her tone betrayed just how unlikely she thought he was to succeed.

"In the first, my lady, I would simply appeal to your compassion. Leaving aside whether King Edon had any lawful right to do what he did, he certainly lacked moral standing. I would not like to think that such a distinguished lady as yourself would approve of his majesty's behavior."

"I do not think his majesty, or anyone in a position to influence his majesty, cares whether I approve."

"I would be hard-pressed to disagree. Yet what we feel in our hearts does not yield to practicality. I would not dream of trying to tell you what you should feel, but I would be astonished to find any sort of love in your heart for Edon or his recent actions."

Nyera pursed her lips and glanced at Gennevan in a way that made her son throw his hands up as if to deflect something. "Is that the sum total of your argument, Lord Tarian?"

"Not the least part, my lady. In the second I would simply call upon your obligation to help your lessers. Of course Duke Eltasi is not my liege lord, but just as the Caretaker does not so finely discriminate among those of his flock, so neither should we. My father has always—had always been willing to assist those who came seeking his aid, no matter their station, or which dukedom or county they came from."

"So you do consider yourself our lesser," Nyera said, with the first smile Dardan had seen from her. "With all your claims, I thought you might consider yourself equal to the king."

"I consider myself his superior in moral matters, I am proud to say. Shall I go on?"

"I do not think I could stop you."

Dardan cleared his throat and took a sip of water. There was wine as well, but he was not about to begin dulling his wits, not yet. "In the third—" And here, Dardan knew he was making a gamble. He had not really discussed this topic with Amira, though he'd overheard many of her conversations with Garen. "How many Eltasi are there around the age of eighteen?"

Nyera drew back, as if startled. "What an odd question."

"Indeed, I did not think I would witness such precise interrogations," Gennevan said in a warning tone.

"It's not as if such things are secret," Nyera said, "but it is a very odd question."

"The precise number is not what concerns me, though I would suspect with as many children as his grace had, and how many children you and your siblings have had, there would be quite a number. Not to mention other branches of Eltasi, his grace's siblings and cousins and such. The reason I ask is because of the nature of this power that Edon wields."

"What do you know of it?" Lady Nyera's voice had sharpened all of a sudden, and she leaned forward a little. Just then the house major came in to announce that luncheon was ready, but Nyera waved him off. "We heard no more than rumors, but my son told me that you witnessed it."

"Indeed, and more like it. King Edon has acquired this power, and he is not the only one. I personally know of at least three others. Two men and a woman."

"You said nothing of this to me," Gennevan griped.

Dardan held his left hand out, fingers together, palm down. It was a rare sign, and he wondered if Gennevan or his mother knew what it meant. Hand-language had never been more than a fad among the nobility, but Besiana had taught him a few signs. This gesture meant _I have secrets._

Gennevan frowned, confused, but Nyera raised her eyebrows and then laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. "Ah, the little count thinks to reveal his cards at just the right moment."

"I doubt any man would choose to reveal them at what he thought was the wrong moment. You see, I spoke of a woman who shares Edon's power. That woman is my wife."

Both Helgars stared, perplexed. Even their _valai_ who, like all good _valai_ , had been listening intently, dropped their jaws. Dardan had resigned himself to the fact that everything he said here would soon reach ears he'd rather it didn't. There was nothing he could do but continue on. "Ever since the summer ball, Edon has been in pursuit of Amira. His sojourn at Gravensford set the stage for his coup. She shares his power, and he will not rest until she is his.

"Amira, and Edon, and the other two we know of who share this power—all of them are between eighteen and twenty years of age." He hadn't thought to inquire after Dexter Carmichael in Tyndam Town, but the lad had looked of an age with Amira. "Now. How many Eltasi did you say there are who are in that age range? What do you suppose Edon would do if he found out that one of your nephews or nieces had developed this strange new power as well?"

Dardan leaned back into his chair and waited. Everyone else was silent so long that he began to worry. Gennevan looked at him with mingled horror, anger, and fascination. Finally Lady Nyera spoke. "What is it you are proposing? And be reminded that I have as yet promised nothing."

"I want Eltasi's assistance. The exact form that takes is entirely up for discussion. Deposing a mad king might lead to a succession struggle, or a civil war—I would not claim that that would be a better outcome than simply dealing with his reign. But Edon has evinced a particular hostility toward my family, and I will not simply roll over for him. Eltasi must decide whether it is in its interest to sit idly by while Edon commits outrage after outrage."

Nyera shook her head slowly, but it didn't seem like a rejection. Before she could speak again, Gennevan interjected. "Mother, I know it sounds insane, but... one must consider that the Tarians are not known for spouting nonsense. Unless Dardan has gone stark raving mad—and you must admit that he comports himself quite well for a lunatic—he speaks what he believes to be the truth. I do not think he deceives us in this. There _were_ those rumors we heard..."

She narrowed her eyes at her son. "I do believe you were the one who called those rumors 'preposterous nonsense.' And now you would turn over the castle treasury to him?"

"Mother, please. Other methods might do to help convince," Gennevan said, turning to Dardan. "Perhaps... Could your wife demonstrate this power of hers? Although if she shares Edon's power, and he used it to destroy a castle..."

"Amira's power takes a somewhat different form. It can be demonstrated harmlessly." Dardan stared at Nyera until she met his eyes. "Would that be a sufficient condition? If I brought Amira here to demonstrate her power, would I have your assurance that Eltasi will assist us in some substantial way?"

"You have quite a lot of nerve, claiming your wife has magic powers, and demanding that we assist you," Nyera harrumphed. She glanced at Gennevan, who gazed at her pleadingly. "Very well. I cannot speak for my father, but I can likely arrange for you to see him. If your claims are true," she added, clearly skeptical. "I will send you an answer to your proposal on the morrow."

Dardan clenched his jaw shut. The rest was a formality; he knew he'd won, and had to work hard, _very_ hard, to keep a mighty grin from spreading across his face.

Nyera went on. "For now, I believe the house staff may burst if we do not consume the luncheon they've prepared. Shall we repair to the dining room?"

———

Dardan rode out of Seawatch the following afternoon. Gennevan had met him at the inn to confirm that Duke Eltasi would indeed see him and Amira, if she were brought to the city. He was cagey about how Eltasi's assistance might ultimately manifest, but Dardan expected no less. Amira was a powerful lever; they could extract something from the Eltasi for their troubles, that was certain.

He was halfway back to Stony Vale, bedding down at the same inn he'd stopped at before, when it occurred to him to wonder whether Amira would appreciate being used as a bargaining chip.

### CHAPTER 28

### AMIRA

Three days after Dardan left, Amira sought out Helen Walker, the blacksmith's wife. They spent the day baking and gossiping, having become quite good friends. Amira had learned that the Walkers had no children, despite Orville's best efforts; they'd accepted that it was simply not meant to be. Instead Helen kept a number of cats, who gathered at the kitchen door each morning hoping for saucers of milk. Today, Amira fed them and scratched at their ears for a while.

Helen was surprised that Amira had not gotten with child yet—Dardan, having no other outlet to channel his energies, had certainly been making his best effort in the evenings. "When the Caretaker wills it," Amira said, not certain whether she really wanted it to happen yet or not.

She let slip that Dardan had gone off to Seawatch. Helen looked at her, perplexed. "Just like that? Leaving you here all by yourself? How dreadful! What was he thinking?"

"To tell the truth, he was upset with me." Amira stood by as Helen kneaded dough. "My power... He'd made me promise to keep it a secret."

Helen raised an eyebrow. "Well you hardly tried. Here I was terrified that Garen or Orville might let it slip, but you went right off and did it yourself. But, really! Leaving his wife here all alone! It's not right."

Amira felt ashamed. She hadn't let herself realize it until now, but she missed Dardan terribly. Had she driven him away? What if he didn't return? Valmir had been easy; the man had had next to no pride, and had merely smiled tolerantly whenever Amira had done something foolish. Her marriage to Dardan seemed to require a great deal more work.

She found herself thinking about her manse in Callaston again. It had felt like a real home to her, and she did miss it. But hadn't she made something of a new home here in Stony Vale, and gained Dardan and Garen in the bargain? She wondered how she could bring them both back to Callaston, to return triumphantly to her manse. _That will only happen if Edon is gotten rid of._ Her hope of an easy resolution remained stubbornly out of reach.

She went to the village temple that evening, as she had many times since arriving in Stony Vale. The steward, _Sendraj_ Dannial, was a half-blind old man who left her alone as she knelt before the altars and prayed. She went to them all in turn, wanting to assuage every part of her soul and not being in any particular hurry. She spent extra time before the altar of Sacrifice, with its empty box carved of seastone, and the altar of Terror, upon whose plinth sat absolutely nothing.

If the steward thought Amira was some sort of heretic or monster for her power, he kept it to himself. The Niderium was only interested in one's spiritual welfare, and only if one sought their help. They kept to themselves otherwise. Amira was glad that there was someone in Garova who asked nothing of her.

By the next morning, Dardan still had not returned. Amira was walking toward the square just after sunrise when she began to perceive hoofbeats. She looked to the north and saw a cloud of dust lit by the morning sun. She shivered, wondering if today Edon had come to find her at last, but when the men crested the ridge just north of the town, none of them wore golden armor. Instead, there were two knights all in silvered plate, plus a score or so of royal soldiers in their dull mail. One of them carried a banner of the royal army, depicting the eagle of Relindos perched upon a mailed fist. All of the men were ahorse. A wagon brought up the rear, full of what must be supplies and provisions for the soldiers. At least the men didn't whistle at her, but not one failed to look. Her beauty would be evident even at that range.

She realized with a start that the two men leading the pack each had a crest on their shoulder: a sword lain across balance scales. Not just knights, but Wardens of Aendavar. _What are they doing here?_ She looked again as they went by, and realized that she'd seen one of them before. The one she'd taken to be older, with white hair, was on closer inspection clearly the younger of the two. She couldn't remember his name, but she knew where they'd met: in the grand ballroom of Elibarran, at the royal summer ball. He'd paid little attention to her at the time, just about the only man at the ball who had done so. _That_ she remembered.

The party rode past her to the town square. She knew it couldn't be safe to gain their attention, but her feet carried her after them anyway. By the time she got there, they'd all dismounted, the rank and file seeing to their horses while the two Wardens strode over to the magistrate's office. The older Warden, who had bristly black hair and a sour expression, pounded on the door until Constable Adams opened it, greeting the men with a startled expression on his face.

Amira leaned on the wall of Tim Thorn's grocery and watched. The two Wardens disappeared inside with Adams, while the soldiers milled around, eyeing the town and its folk. The sun went up further as the day's traffic thickened in the square.

Tim Thorn came outside to gawk at the soldiers. "Now what are the likes of them doing way down here?"

"There was a pair of Wardens with them, too," she told him.

Tim clicked his teeth together, an annoying habit that Amira had learned meant he was thinking. "Now that's even odder. Anything to do with you, d'you think?"

Amira smiled. It wasn't a hostile question, just the obvious one. Everyone in town knew about her power. "I hope not," she said. "Wardens do tend to travel to odd places."

"Well, they'll be craving better food than their rations, or I'm in the wrong business." He fetched a basket of apples and carried it over toward the loitering soldiers.

Amira's discomfort grew as she watched the soldiers and wondered when the Wardens would come out of the magistrate's office. She hadn't seen Baxter yet; perhaps he'd already been inside.

Well, standing out here staring was doing her no good. Besides, she had come to the square intending to breakfast at the inn. With Dardan gone, Amira didn't feel like making a whole meal just for herself. And she still had plenty of the coin that Count Barnard had gifted them.

She had just tucked into a plate of eggs and ham when the inn's door swung open and the two Wardens came in. Four soldiers were with them, all armored. The entryway of the Giant's Foot had become quite crowded. The younger Warden, the one with the white hair, led the way into the common room.

Amira was the only patron this morning. She put down her fork and folded her hands in her lap, waiting. _I should have left with Dardan,_ her conscience said. She ignored it. Instead she thought about trying to charm the Wardens. It might make them easier to deal with. She let her face relax into a smile.

"Ma'am," the young Warden said, bowing slightly. "I am Warden Mason Iris, of the Virtuous Order of the Wardens of Aendavar." He tilted his head at the older Warden, the one with dark hair who looked inexplicably angry. "This is Warden Jack Penrose."

"How do you do," Amira said. She wondered if Warden Iris recognized her from the summer ball, but he gave no indication one way or the other.

"We are here on the orders of his majesty. King Edon has ordered us to seek out those who have developed a certain special ability." The words came out by rote; clearly the young Warden had practiced this speech many times. Had he been delivering it in common rooms the realm over? Or were these Wardens seeking Amira specifically? Warden Iris's simple words provoked so many questions, but Amira made herself stay silent.

The young Warden went on. "According to the town's constable, you have evinced such an ability over the past several weeks. His majesty the king invites you to come to the capital of Callaston, so that you and others with your ability may learn from one another."

All her other questions vanished in a flash of anger. "The king _invites_ me?" she snapped. _So much for charm._ "And what if I refuse?" She wondered if these men knew who she really was. If Edon had sent them, he might have warned them about Amira Estaile, and perhaps Dardan as well. She belatedly recognized that beneath her anger lay fear.

Warden Iris smiled. He had a kind smile. Amira felt herself wanting to believe him, and she tried to fight down the impulse. "I'm afraid his majesty does insist that all who have this power attend him in the capital. As I'm sure you're aware, this power can be quite dangerous, and his majesty would like to avoid letting things get out of hand."

"Out of hand?" Amira stood up, enraged. "Did his majesty tell you what he did at Foxhill Keep?"

"Watch your tone," Warden Penrose blurted, stepping forward and resting a hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Watch yours," she bit back at him. "You speak to a noble lady, Warden."

"A commoner or a countess," the Warden said, "I speak the same."

"A—what?" Amira's rage ground to a halt. _Countess?_

"You are Countess Amira Tarian," Warden Penrose said. "Count Asmus Tarian is dead—I believe you said something about what his majesty did at Foxhill Keep."

Amira reeled, putting a hand on the back of her chair to steady herself. So it was true. She could feel tears coming, and blinked them back.

Warden Penrose barely paused. "Later, as we learned, you and Count Dardan were married in Tyndam Town. That makes you the countess of Hedenham." He dismissed all that with a wave of his hand. "In any case, you are still his majesty's subject, and he would have you come to Callaston."

"I... I will need to think on it." Her throat was strangely dry. She wanted this to end.

She made to move for the door, but Penrose stood in the way and did not budge. "There is no thinking to be done. His majesty commands that you accompany us."

Amira stared at the brusque Warden. "Did his majesty tell you what my 'ability' is capable of? I suggest that you move aside."

After a moment, he said, "I want your answer within the hour. You will not leave the town without us."

"Fine," she said, just to appease him. The Warden leaned aside enough to let her squeeze past.

The rest of the soldiers still loitered out in the square. Amira forced herself not to run as she made her way to the cottage.

Once inside, she slammed the door and burst into sobs. Why hadn't she left Stony Vale? Why had she told everyone about her power? She'd felt safe here, or wanted to. Now Edon was knocking on her door. She slid to the floor and let the tears pour out.

Each tear carried away a little of the grief, and in a few minutes she could think again. Edon was gathering mages. It made perfect sense: any king, even one with Edon's power, would want mages under his control. There must be even more mages out there than Amira had dreamed. But Amira would never go to him, not after what he'd done.

She considered packing her things and trying to sneak out of the town, but then Dardan might ride into the middle of this. And what about Garen? If Constable Adams had told the Wardens about Amira, had he told them about Garen as well?

Amira had barely registered the sound of footsteps outside when someone knocked on the door. She scrambled away from it in near-panic.

"Countess Tarian? It's Warden Iris."

Amira crept to the window and peeked out past the curtain. There he stood, splendid in his silvered armor. Two soldiers were with him, but they had stayed back at the little gate by the side of the lane. Only Warden Iris had come to the door.

If he was alone then he was no threat to her. Even if those soldiers came running, she could cut them down before they had a chance to harm her. The memory of the dead bandits roiled up again for a moment, making her feel ill.

She opened the door. Warden Iris sketched a quick bow. "M'lady. Allow me to apologize. Warden Penrose can be quite a... blunt fellow."

"So you are the silk glove to his iron fist."

Iris blushed a little. "Um... Might I come in, m'lady?"

"No," Amira said, feeling a great deal of spite just at the moment. "I am content with you where you are."

"Very well. Warden Penrose—"

"So Edon is collecting mages now, is he?"

Warden Iris seemed a little surprised by the question. "Um, yes. He dispatched us from Thorncross—but there will be time for all your questions later, I assure you. Warden Penrose has sent me to bring you to the village square."

"Why? I must think, I... I must speak with my husband," she said, grasping for any further excuse.

Warden Iris pursed his lips. "He will be gone for some days, I've come to understand. We spoke with the constable. I fear there is not that much time." Now he seemed to be growing impatient. Good. Amira hoped he would trip up and reveal something, or at the very least get flustered and go away.

And yet his tone had become a little pleading. His voice quieted, as if to avoid being overheard by the men at the gate. "Please. Come with me. I fear worse may happen if you do not."

"Fear? You fear... Warden Penrose?"

"Please," he repeated.

She found herself feeling sorry for the man, and a little regretful for snapping at him. But it was curiosity that pushed her over the edge. "Fine. Lead on."

———

Unease settled on Amira during the short walk back to the village square. She watched Warden Iris sidelong as they went. He seemed tense, and focused on the road ahead. He never once looked at her while they walked. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, as if he were concerned about some attack. The two soldiers followed behind her, but there was nothing to do about that.

When they reached the square, Amira became aware of several groups of people. Most of them were clusters of townsfolk, men and women she recognized, sparse along the edges of the square. They milled uncertainly, whispering and muttering and pointing at the soldiers who had come with the Wardens. The soldiers were split into two groups, one on either side of Warden Penrose, who stood in the middle of the square.

Amira's heart skipped a beat when she recognized Garen kneeling on the ground before Penrose, his hands bound behind him and another soldier at his side, sword drawn.

"What is this?" she said. Warden Iris had peeled away from her and now stood apart, looking uncomfortable. He did not look at Penrose, or at any of the of townsfolk, who muttered angrily. A number of them held tools that could easily become weapons: shovels, hammers, kitchen knives, rolling pins.

"You will come with us to Callaston," Penrose shouted at her. "As will your friend here. King Edon has commanded it, and I am in no mood to wait."

Garen breathed heavily, looking terrified. He might have figured out, as Amira had, that he could not use his power to escape: setting off an explosion that would harm the soldier at his side would likely hurt Garen just as badly.

Amira could kill the man without hurting Garen—but Penrose was there, and a dozen other armed men within easy reach. She wasn't confident enough in her power to use it to save Garen without triggering a bloodbath. The townsfolk did not look as frightened of the soldiers as Amira thought they should be.

"What do you want from us?" she cried, at a loss. She couldn't go with him, go to Edon, be near that monster again.

Penrose smiled without mirth. "We will travel in two parties. You will be with half my men in the front group. The boy will travel with the rest of us in the rear. Far enough apart that if one of you tries to use your power, the other will certainly die."

Grief and terror slipped their cold fingers over her. Why hadn't she stayed quiet? First Dardan was furious with her, and now this, this utter disaster... She looked at Garen, helpless there on the ground, with no conception of what the hard men around him were capable of. It was her fault he was bound by hand and bound for the capital, for whatever ignominy Edon planned for them.

At least Penrose was not rushing her. He wore his satisfaction openly, knowing he had her trapped. Amira looked over at Mason Iris, but he would not meet her eyes, nor would he likely raise a hand to help her, not against his brother Warden and soldiers of the king's army.

She had no choice. She prayed that someone would tell Dardan what had happened, that he would follow her—but then he might try something heroic and get himself killed. What use could he be, alone against twenty men?

She could not think of it. She slumped a little and began to speak. "I will—"

A _whoosh_ and a gurgle. The soldier next to Garen sprouted a red carnation from his throat. His sword slipped into the dust and he fell sideways onto Garen, knocking the lad half over.

Two more arrows sailed into the nearest group of soldiers, whose training asserted itself in response: they scattered, swiveling about to find their attackers. Amira glimpsed something out of the corner of her eye—there, atop the inn! Three men, wielding longbows, already drawing again. Amira gasped when she recognized Hugh Hamm among them.

Garen shouted and struggled to rise, and his bead raced out—there was an explosion near a group of the soldiers, tossing dust and clods of dirt into the air—he'd used his power in a panic, but missed. The men instinctively shied away from the blast. Unfortunately, this sent a few of them directly into a cluster of townsfolk, and somehow they got involved in the scuffle. This drew belligerent shouts from _other_ townsfolk, some of whom began to advance on those soldiers. And then more soldiers moved to intercept the townsfolk. Amira cried out; the bloodbath was going to happen anyway.

"Garen, stop!" She started to run to him. But Warden Penrose kept his head. He drew his sword and grabbed Garen's bound hands, yanking the young man the rest of the way to his feet and dragging him off toward the wagon the king's men had brought with them. The man sitting on the driver's seat was another soldier, and looked eager to leave.

Amira found herself assaulted by a trio of soldiers who stumbled out of the crowd. She reflexively flung her bead at them, one-two-three, disabling them with clumsy strikes at their legs. Their screams followed her as she ran after Garen and Penrose.

The Warden had almost made it to the wagon. Amira took a chance and flung her bead, but she missed by inches. Instead of the Warden's head popping like an overripe melon, a chunk of wood on the edge of the wagon exploded into shards. Penrose flinched away, pulling Garen into a tight grasp and raising his sword to the boy's throat.

"Try that again and we'll see who survives, witch," Penrose growled. Amira was only a few yards away, but her vision blurred and her pulse raced. She might hit Garen if she tried to attack Penrose again; the Warden might still manage to slit Garen's throat even if she did hit him.

"Let him go!" she shouted. The sounds of fighting and screaming punctuated the silence behind her, notes of anguish in a dire symphony.

"Turn away and he'll live," Penrose said, pulling his sword tighter. Garen's eyes swiveled madly as he tried to shy away from the blade.

A blade that came within a hair's breadth of ending his life, for Amira gasped when she saw who crept up behind them, sword drawn. Her eyes went to him, too soon—Penrose noticed, and began to turn—

Dardan's sword clanged against Penrose's from behind, knocking it straight away from Garen's throat. The Count of Hedenham kicked Garen in the back, sending him face-first into the dust, out of Penrose's grasp. On the backstroke he dove in toward Penrose, pushing him away with a flurry of slashing steel.

Amira would have killed Penrose on the spot, but now he moved erratically, and Dardan was in the way. So she went to Garen instead. "Hold still!" she shouted at him, and grabbed his hands. With supreme force of will she made herself wait a moment to calm, and then used her ember to burn through the ropes that bound him. Still she went too fast, and the heat made the skin on both their hands turn red and begin to sting.

But Garen was free now, so she stood up again to see where Dardan had gone, praying Penrose hadn't gotten the better of him. She saw Dardan climbing to his feet, holding his sword arm with his other hand, blood welling between his fingers. Penrose had somehow gotten mounted, and was already fifty yards off. She threw her ember at him, but missed. In seconds he was too far away for another attempt.

She ran to Dardan and shouted his name. He turned, and his face came alight, and he embraced her, sweeping her off the ground with his good arm and making the whole world fall away for a precious few seconds.

### CHAPTER 29

### DARDAN

Dardan had grown so used to the rural tranquillity of Stony Vale that he was shocked to find a battle in progress there. There were royal soldiers everywhere, that much was evident, but they seemed to be outnumbered by swarms of townsfolk. It looked as if the whole of Stony Vale had converged on the square. And there was a Warden—no, two of them, but one seemed to be keeping out of the fighting. The other one—was that Garen he was holding? And there was Amira, facing them down! What in the black spirits was going on?

When the dark-haired Warden put his sword to Garen's throat, Dardan dismounted and drew his own blade. He'd been lurking just beyond the square, unnoticed, and left his horse there. He watched as the Warden backed toward a wagon at the edge of the square, which had another soldier sitting in the driver's seat—but that man's attention was on the battle as well.

Dardan crept forward, praying his footfalls would remain unheard. And then Amira saw him and gasped. Dardan lunged forward, because the Warden had noticed that Amira had seen something, and he began to turn. Only because he was slowed by having to drag Garen with him was Dardan able to strike in time— _Caretaker, don't let my sword hit the boy—_ and knock the Warden's blade away.

He regretted having to shove Garen to the ground, but he needed him clear of the Warden's grip. With a shout and a lurch Dardan barrelled toward the surprised Warden, flashing his steel every which way, surprising the Warden—and himself—with his ferocity. But the Warden was clearly much older, and much more experienced. Within seconds, Dardan realized that his moves were being easily anticipated.

The Warden might have overpowered him given enough time, but instead he reversed a slash, nicked Dardan's sword arm, and then turned and ran for his horse. Dardan had tried to jerk away from the strike, and stumbled to one knee. The pain came on slowly, and he clamped his hand over the wound. Only when the Warden had ridden away did he turn to survey the scene.

Amira ran to him, arms outflung. Dardan scooped her up with his uninjured arm, into a short, passionate embrace. Too soon he lowered her down, and together they faced the square.

Garen stood now, massaging his wrists with hands that looked like they'd been scalded. Dardan would ask about that later. Angry townsfolk thronged the square, and there were many motionless bodies on the ground. Some of them were royal soldiers, but a sickeningly large number wore common dress.

The soldiers who remained standing had thrown down their swords in the face of a swelling mob of townsfolk wielding brooms, shovels, wood axes, and kitchen knives. Among the small cluster of soldiers, who stood pressed against the wall of the inn, was the other Warden, a man with white hair. Dardan recognized him as they drew closer; they'd met at the summer ball. He fished deep down into his memory for the man's name. Iris, or something.

Dardan saw Constable Adams frantically trying to calm the angry townsfolk while Magistrate Baxter stood beside him, arguing with the Warden. Hugh Hamm was there too, holding a longbow. Those in the crowd who looked at him did so with awe on their faces. What was _that_ about?

The crowd parted for Dardan and Amira as they approached, letting them get in close to the trapped soldiers. Garen stayed close by Amira's side, Dardan noticed. He ignored that and focused on the magistrate. "What happened?"

Baxter cut off his tirade and looked at Dardan. His face was red from exertion and anger and fear. "You picked a fine time to show up!"

"He saved Garen's life," Amira spat at the magistrate. She turned to Dardan. "These Wardens came looking for us. Edon sent them to recruit mages."

"I'll deal with you next," Baxter snapped, clearly near the end of his rope. But Dardan had no care for the man's state; he wanted answers and he wanted them now.

Amira gripped his hand tight. "The Wardens knew who we are." She glanced at Constable Adams. "And I'd wager he does now, too."

Baxter looked at Adams. "What? What is she talking about?"

Adams's eyes darted from Amira to Baxter. "I—they—"

Dardan was glad to see the man flustered. He drew himself up, ignoring the throb in his arm. "We concealed our true identities, but now that must end. I am Lord Dardan Tarian, Count of Hedenham."

Several of the townsfolk gasped, and a few bowed or curtseyed all of a sudden. A few looked skeptical. Baxter's eyes bulged, and Adams somehow looked even more craven. Even Garen gaped at them. Among them all, only Warden Iris stayed impassive. If he was frightened by being unarmed and surrounded by hostile townsfolk, or intimidated by being in the presence of a count, he didn't show it.

"Now all of you be quiet," Dardan ordered in his best imitation of his father's voice of command. He heard how his own voice sounded like his father's, and his heart was suddenly battered by a mixture of anguish and pride.

As if reading his thoughts, Amira murmured, "You knew?"

"I heard of it in Seawatch. We will speak later. Tell me what happened here."

In a rush, Amira recounted the day's events: the arrival of the Wardens and soldiers, the confrontation at the inn, Warden Iris's visit to the cottage, and what she'd found in the square. Hugh Hamm blushed when she described how he had heroically—foolishly, Dardan thought—attacked the soldiers, to try to save Garen.

"You are lucky to live in a town willing to stand up to armed men," Dardan said to Hugh. "But what you did is a crime at the very least, and the king's men will not likely let it be." The big woodsman's face fell at this, and several of the men and women standing near him seemed affronted by Dardan's suggestion that Hugh had done something wrong.

He had no intention of helping justice find Hugh Hamm, of course; by any moral standard, Hugh had done right, protecting Garen from the unjust threat of death imposed by Warden Penrose, in the name of the king. But Edon would not likely see it that way.

Baxter's whole aspect had changed by now. He nodded his head subserviently. "M'lord, what's to be done with them?" He jerked a thumb at Warden Iris and the five soldiers with him. A couple of the men had taken minor injuries. Warden Iris was unscathed.

"What was his role in all this?"

"He stayed out of the fight, and when he saw it was going badly for them he shouted at the soldiers to throw down their weapons, which they did."

Dardan looked at Iris. "You surrendered?"

"I saw no reason to countenance further loss of life. Excuse the apparent cowardice, but this plan to coerce m'lady by threatening the blacksmith boy was of Penrose's devising, not mine. I objected, but he was my commander."

"So you were simply doing as he ordered, when you knew it to be wrong. You were correct; that is cowardice."

Iris stared back uncowed. "The dead cannot make things right."

Amira gazed oddly at the Warden. Dardan sighed. Another thing to ask her about privately. "Enough. Strip them of their armor and take them to the cell in the magistrate's office. I will decide what to do with them later."

Baxter, Adams, and several eager townsmen surrounded the soldiers and helped remove all their armor. Despite his designation as the enemy, they handled the Warden's silvered plate with extra care, and their eyes passed reverently over the sword-and-scales sigil on the pauldrons.

Dardan's arm had begun to throb, but he had more to deal with first. There were two or three wounded soldiers still alive, too weak or injured to have been gathered to Warden Iris. One of them was clearly doomed, his gut a bloody mess; he might last a day or two. Dardan told the flock of townsfolk following him that the young soldier should be made comfortable somewhere. Henry Salton, the innkeeper, magnanimously volunteered his rooms for the injured. The other soldiers could be nursed back to health, although one of them, a black-haired lad even younger than Dardan, would probably have a lame leg for the rest of his life.

Several townsfolk had been injured, too, but they'd already been whisked away to their homes to be treated by family. The town had no surgeon, only a few goodwives who had experience dealing with the injuries common to small towns everywhere. Dardan could do nothing for those injured folk.

That left the worst. There were half a dozen dead townsfolk in the square—no women or children, the Caretaker be thanked, but that hardly made it better. These dead would be dealt with according to old rituals. Their bodies would be carried up the slopes of Caddair Tuol, to be consecrated and buried beneath cairns, to rejoin the earth and pass into memory.

The bodies of the dead soldiers, by contrast, were heaped in a pile on the road leading out of town. They might end up retrieved by the nearest garrison, to be given a proper burial. Dardan felt a twinge of responsibility toward them, poor lads under a brutal commander, but he had other priorities just now.

He repaired to the inn's common room, and none other than Helen Walker helped clean and bandage his arm. Amira's hands still looked a little red; she explained that she'd used her power in a hurry to cut Garen's bonds, and the heat of it must have scalded her. Someone brought her a basin of cold water to soak her hands in.

Dardan was relieved to be with her again, but they still needed to have a private chat. "Please excuse us for a few minutes," he said. Everyone except Amira headed for the door. If a count wanted an inn's common room to himself, he could have it, as Count Barnard had demonstrated in Tyndam.

His wife met his eyes only for a moment, then looked away. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"I'll heal. And you? Uninjured?"

Amira nodded. Still she would not look at him.

"I suspect you already know what I will say."

Now she met his eyes, and already he could see a little of her fierceness rising to the surface. He waited patiently.

After a long minute she sighed. "It was not my fault that—"

He slammed a fist on the table, startling her into silence. "You did not make them come here and threaten Garen, is that what you meant to say? Indeed, it is true; those men are responsible for their own actions. But you must be a great fool to think that you bear no blame for those dead out there. Imagine if you had kept your silence, kept your power concealed from all except Garen and the Walkers, as we had originally agreed. Those dead out there might still live."

"They already knew who we were!" she said. "We didn't alter our given names. If Warden Penrose showed up asking after an 'Amira' and a 'Dardan,' do you think Constable Adams would have magically forgotten us, even if he had no idea about my power?"

"Then it was folly to stay in this village at all," Dardan countered. "I know how important it is to you that you found someone else like you—by the Caretaker, I've been just as isolated all this time, surrounded by strangers. And so you insisted we stay here, that you and Garen might learn about your power from one another. Was it worth the deaths of half a dozen of Garen's friends and neighbors? Is your happiness so much more important than their lives?"

Tears brimmed in her eyes, and Dardan felt guilt at saddening her. She did not look away now, not even when the tears overflowed and ran down her cheeks. "I would think my happiness would be important to you, my lord."

That last had a sting to it. Dardan took her hand. "Amira, my dear. My love. I say what I say because it needs being said. I do not take pleasure in causing you misery. Far from it." He heard his own voice waver, and choked down the lump in his throat. "But you _do_ have this power now, and you must consider what can come of it. You helped this town, and for that they will be ever grateful, but you also brought death and ruin upon them. It would be monstrous to take credit for the one and reject responsibility for the other."

For this, she had no response. Her hand slowly slipped from his.

There was nothing else to say on this topic. Amira had stopped her argument, and had not fled in a fury, which Dardan was coming to learn meant that she knew he was right. And over the course of a minute, a transformation occurred: she scrubbed away her tears, the color faded from her cheeks, and even her posture straightened. "We must leave at once, then, before Penrose returns with reinforcements."

Dardan nodded. "I learned other things in Seawatch, besides the news of my—my father." The lump in his throat returned for a moment, but he fought it away again. "I contacted, through a roundabout method, Duke Eltasi. He will see us if we come, and hear our plea."

Amira's eyes sparkled, with an inner fire Dardan had missed. "He will help us?"

"I think it likely. But first we have to get there. You may need to demonstrate your power for a few people. I seem to recall you have few concerns about that." He knew it had been a little cruel to say that last, but he could not help it.

Amira in response pursed her lips at him. "Thank you for reminding me," she said flatly. "What if Duke Eltasi doesn't help us?"

Dardan shrugged. "Then we move on. South, perhaps. There are other dukes. We will likely be on the run for quite a while, but with your power, it will be very difficult for Edon to stop us."

"Unless he tries to hurt someone like Garen again. Like Garen..." She trailed off, looking at the window. "He should come with us."

Dardan blinked at her. "For his own safety, I suppose that makes sense. I hadn't considered that anyone else might join us. But will he want to leave?"

"You haven't spent much time with him. He longs to see the world. Certainly he loves it here, his friends and family and all, but he knows it is a small village in a big realm."

"You're right," Dardan said, letting a little heat seep into his voice. "You've spent quite a lot more time with him than I have."

Amira caught his meaning, and blushed a little. "Nothing untoward has happened. I promise. We are simply... two apprentices with no master."

"I believe you," Dardan said, "but I will have to ensure that _he_ does not have the wrong idea."

———

They found Garen out in the square, surrounded by townsfolk, answering the same questions over and over: Hadn't he been frightened? What did the soldiers want? Why didn't he just blow them up?

The crowd parted when Dardan walked up with Amira at his side. "Garen," he said.

"Uh—m'lord," he said, going uncertainly to one knee. "M'lady."

"No!" Amira said. "Never that. Not you. Do you understand?"

He rose again. "Yes. Amira." He eyed Dardan. "M'lord," he repeated tentatively.

Damn the girl, what was she thinking? She was a noble, and Garen was a commoner. Whatever power they shared was no reason to suddenly dispense with their stations. Could she not go five minutes without some impulsive act?

"I think you know that you cannot stay here," Dardan said to Garen. "Warden Penrose knows who you are, and will likely return with an entire regiment. Even you would have trouble fighting them all off."

"I—I understand. I think. My family..."

"There is little to be done. I know that your work for Master Orville helps provide for them, and they will lose that income. I can donate some of our gold to help make up for it." Dardan put a hand on the boy's shoulder. It was silly; Garen was not even a year younger than him. But like all Garovans, he'd been born and bred to respect—and obey—the nobility. He could not let Amira forget that, either. "You ought to come with us. Best pack your things and be ready to go at once."

Garen took several long breaths, then straightened himself up and nodded. "I will. M'lord." He turned and ran off toward the Walkers' house.

"What about the soldiers?" Amira asked.

Dardan had already given it some thought. The enlisted men could simply be set free, to make their way to the nearest garrison, and let the king's army deal with them. He didn't think they'd be likely to make trouble, or turn to banditry; they'd done nothing wrong and their superiors would gladly welcome back trained men who had been briefly detained.

But the Warden was an entirely different story. "Excuse us," Dardan said to the crowd of townsfolk that surrounded them, and led Amira over toward the magistrate's office. When they had privacy again, he stopped and faced her. "I saw you staring at Warden Iris earlier."

She glared at him. "Must you suspect me of being faithless with every man I come across?"

"Actually, I'd thought no such thing," he said evenly. "But now that you mention it..."

Now she looked mortified and furious, and he had to laugh. "I apologize, it was only a jest. What I meant was, is there something you had in mind for the Warden? From what was described of the battle, he seems to have avoided killing anyone, and tried to put a stop to it."

Amira looked away for a moment, still annoyed at him, but her response was calm. "He expressed regret for Penrose's behavior," she said. "What he said earlier, about making things right..."

Dardan didn't quite understand. The Warden would no doubt have useful information; they should at try least interrogate him. He shrugged and led his wife to the magistrate's office.

The office was one long chamber, with a pair of desks up in the front, pushed up against opposing wooden walls. In the back was an iron-barred cage, firmly bolted to the walls, containing Warden Iris and the other soldiers. Some of them sat on a hard wooden bench, but Iris stood straight, watching Dardan and Amira.

Magistrate Baxter was there, and a few townsmen who were serving as temporary deputies. Constable Adams was missing, and Dardan did not mind one bit.

"Count Tarian," Baxter said, rising from his desk and bowing hurriedly when he saw them.

"Magistrate. As I am not the count of Elsingham, by rights I have no authority over those soldiers. However, a wise and just man would have them escorted to the Seawatch road, and then let them make their own way. The nearest garrison is just outside the walls of Seawatch, and they will no doubt find a warm welcome there."

"That is... reasonable, m'lord." In short order, the soldiers had been released from the cage and sent off with a party of townsfolk—twenty men, eager to volunteer, and including Baxter, to make sure that the soldiers met with no accident along the way. Some of the townsmen had lost friends or family today, and it would not do for them to seek revenge.

Dardan asked Warden Iris to stay, and he obliged, waiting patiently until Baxter and the other men were gone. Dardan invited Iris to sit in the front of the office. Amira stood behind Dardan, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. She had not moved out of arm's reach since their first embrace, he'd noticed, not even during their argument at the inn. It felt good having her near.

"Warden Iris," Dardan began. The other man had not donned his armor yet, and wore only a simple gray linen shirt and trousers. His silvered plate and his sword with its pommel capped in mother of pearl lay in a pile back by the cell. "If you will, I would like you to tell me everything you can about the mission King Edon sent you on."

Iris was no man to be cowed by nobles, as the magistrate had been. Wardens were taught to respect the nobility, but the unthinking obedience was hammered out of them in their training. Dardan figured that politeness would gain the man's cooperation more easily than threats or demands.

Iris pursed his lips for a moment before he began. If he held any reluctance to provide information to them, he did not show it. "It was after our return from Vasland. His majesty dispatched us on a mission to find and gather mages to him, such as m'lady here." His eyes darted to Amira for an instant, but then they locked onto Dardan once more. Dardan was surprised that Iris did not stare at his wife. _Every_ man stared at Amira at one time or another. It had made him jealous at first, but Dardan was learning what a valuable tool it was to have a distractingly beautiful woman at his side.

The Warden went on. "His majesty gave us special instructions to seek the pair of you, by name and title. We departed east from Thorncross, and by investigation tracked you through Tyndam Town and east along the Seawatch road. We did not know you were here in this village until we arrived this morning. Constable Adams recounted the events since your arrival, including the various demonstrations of m'lady's power."

"You passed through Tyndam Town?" Amira asked. Her voice was tight, Dardan could hear, and he wanted badly to turn and look at her, but he kept his eyes on the Warden.

"Yes, m'lady. And..." Here he paused for a long while. He was clearly struggling with something. "I fear that I may seem a man who tries to avoid responsibility for events I am involved in, what with all my denials about the perfidies committed by Warden Penrose. So in that vein, please forgive me for what I am about to tell you. We went to Tyndam Town, and by our investigation learned that you two had been there and met with Count Barnard Kirth. Count Kirth said that he had treated you as guests befitting your station, and claimed to have no knowledge of your power. But then Penrose questioned Count Kirth's _valo_ separately, and broke the man. He revealed all. Count Kirth knew of your power, knew that Edon hunted you, and not only let you leave, but threw you a wedding feast." He hesitated another moment; Dardan saw him gulp. "Warden Penrose charged Count Kirth with treason and executed him."

Amira emitted a strangled cry, and her hand clamped hard on Dardan's shoulder. His own spirit roiled with shock and outrage. "And I suppose you had nothing to do with it!"

Warden Iris shrugged. "I advised him against it, but he was my commander. It is not so easy to break my oaths merely because my conscience comes calling."

"What happened next?" Amira said. Now Dardan looked up at her. Fury was written on her face, and he squeezed her hand until she met his gaze. He needed to make sure she didn't do something drastic like kill the Warden in a rage. She seemed to sense this from him, and nodded slightly.

"The town was in an uproar. Penrose threatened them all with treason if they tried to do anything. He told them to manage the succession and get on with their lives. Still, we departed the town with haste, before any kind of revenge could be organized. I suspect that I will not ever again be welcome in Tyndam County."

"At the very least," Dardan said. "What then?"

"We went south to the Seawatch road, and east in this direction. We found a few inns along the way where you had stopped, and the innkeepers remembered you. You specifically, m'lady," he said, glancing up at Amira again. "Your beauty was oft mentioned." And here Dardan noticed that Mason's eyes finally lingered on Amira, if just for a moment. He looked at Dardan again and continued. "As to our other purpose, we found no other mages, which suited Penrose just as well, for he wanted to find you above all, sensing that it was the most important part of our task. I must apologize, for it was my suggestion to turn down the road leading here, while Penrose wanted to go straight on to Seawatch. I was surprised when he agreed, for he did not much care for my counsel." This last came out with some bitterness. Dardan wondered what was behind it.

"And thus today's events. Well. What are we to do with you?"

Iris looked pointedly at him. "My oaths require me to insist that you surrender yourselves to me at once, and accompany me back to Callaston."

"An option that we will clearly not allow."

"Clearly."

"I have a better idea," Amira said. "Come with us."

Iris leaned back, as if struck. "What?"

"What?" Dardan echoed. He rose to his feet and glared at her. "Amira, what in the black spirits are you talking about?"

She stepped over to Warden Iris. Now he stared at her as she came to a halt just before him. "We are departing Stony Vale. Forever. The other mage, Garen, is coming with us, as he clearly cannot stay here either. But I think you no longer want to serve the king. I think you are caught in a struggle between your oath and honor, and what you know in your heart to be right." She paused, and tilted her head a little. "What did you see in Vasland?"

Iris licked his lips before speaking. "Essentially, his majesty invaded Vasland, killed thousands of them, and lost only a handful of men. The fortresses in the high passes were nothing before his power. The Vaslanders in the lowlands beyond were scattered like leaves on the wind. We were there perhaps a week before he decided that his message had been gotten across."

"And what did you personally do there?"

Iris was silent for a long time. He looked away from Amira several times, but always came back to meet her gaze. "I mourned the dead."

An even longer silence stretched, as Dardan's wife and this strange, affectless Warden stared at one another. She was the one to break it. "So Edon wants to gather mages? Then so shall we. To fight him, perhaps. Maybe only to discourage him from trying to find us. Maybe just to defend ourselves. A Warden at our side would be a great asset in such a search."

"I will not forswear my oaths, m'lady."

"And yet you cannot fulfill them. I would kill you, or myself, before letting you bring me to that monster. I daresay Edon wants me alive, does he not?"

Iris's silence gave the answer to that. His mask of equanimity was beginning to slip, Dardan thought.

"Then consider it an extension of your mission. You cannot bring me to Callaston. You cannot simply abandon me and go back a failure. So accompany us, and maybe some opportunity will present itself to you."

"While you gather mages to oppose the lawful king."

Amira shrugged. "Your choice lies before you."

Dardan's mouth hung open. Amira wanted to create a mage army of her own? And bring this hostile Warden along? But there was a spell here, between her and the Warden, and something prevented Dardan from saying anything that might break it.

The Warden's eyes glinted. After a long, tense moment, he nodded. "Then I will accompany you. But make no mistake: I am not your creature. I serve the king, and my Order."

"I would have it no other way." She held out a hand. Iris hesitated, but took it, and rose. "There is one other thing I must insist upon. While you accompany me, you must swear that you will do nothing to harm myself, my husband, or any other companion of mine."

Iris jerked to a halt. "What?"

"I cannot have you with us if there is any risk of you bringing us harm. Swear that you will do as I asked. I will trust that you will hold true to your oaths."

Dardan stared in amazement. Did she really think this Warden could be trusted so easily?

While Warden Iris mulled over this latest demand, Amira continued on. "I'm afraid that if you refuse, I will insist that Magistrate Baxter keep you locked up here for, oh, a few weeks. Long enough for you to lose our trail."

Perhaps Iris simply couldn't believe her hubris, but after staring for nearly a minute, he nodded again. "I swear I will not do anything to harm you or your companions. So long as I accompany you on this journey of yours," he added. "Do not think I will refrain forever."

"I believe that you mean every part of that oath," Amira said. She let go of Iris's hand and turned to her husband. Dardan stared down at her with disbelief written plain across his face. If anything, she seemed to be grinning at him. "We had better get going. Garen is out in the square, waiting. I can see his spark."

He took her hand and stepped close. "You are mad," he murmured to her.

"Yes." She gave him a quick kiss and went out into the square.

### CHAPTER 30

### KATIN

Katin clipped a sheet to the clothesline, then peered around it. Master Coalridge was yelling at someone at the far end of the caravan—she was quite familiar with that tone by now—but she couldn't make out the target of his wrath.

Maggie glanced at her. "Susan! Quit dallying, or the master'll have your hide."

Katin realized she'd been staring. She grabbed a pair of trousers from the washtub and wrung them out. Coalridge was quick to make his displeasure known, especially when someone was slow or lazy. He was not cruel, not exactly, but the brute little man gave no quarter if he thought someone was shirking.

Laundry mistress. That's what she'd been set as. She didn't mind the work, but it left her sore each evening, on top of the fetching and carrying she had to do during the day. When the caravan stopped, the clotheslines came out, and Katin had to get the linens and dresses and trousers cleaned and strung up to dry overnight. Tonight her assistant was Maggie, a pinch-faced girl who gossiped endlessly and whose careless tongue had drawn the sting of Coalridge's hand more than once.

Supposedly everyone in the caravan took a turn at each chore—to break up the monotony—but of course none of the wagon owners ever got assigned to assist with the laundry. Only the apprentices, and sometimes a guard who'd done something to earn Coalridge's ire.

Worse, tonight the caravan hadn't stopped until just before sunset, and by the time Katin had gotten the washtub ready and the clothes soaked, twilight was upon them. A campfire and a few torches gave more light now than the fading sky.

The caravan was camped outside Averhel, a walled town on the edge of Barrowmere County. Katin had been dismayed when they'd turned south into Barrowmere, which sat in the Dukedom of Tidemere, instead of heading east into Seawatch, but she would not risk their cover by complaining. "Susan Smith" did her work and stayed out of trouble. Liam had suggested they steal horses and make for the coast, east past the Stormrest Hills, but Katin thought it better to wait until the caravan drew closer to the coast on its own.

The town magistrate and half a dozen hastily deputized constables had emerged from Averhel to tell the caravan they'd have to camp outside the walls, even though the gate was still open when they arrived. Everyone heard Coalridge shouting at the magistrate, who replied firmly that no strangers would enter the town until morning.

Katin looked up at the sound of footsteps. She smiled to see Liam walking toward her. "Dear wife," he said to Katin. "Good evening, Maggie."

Katin heard irritation in his voice. "Husband," Katin said.

Husband. He had the perfect excuse, but still he hadn't tried to bed her. She was grateful; she'd lain with men before—strangers—but ever since Parvis, the idea of bedding anyone chilled her.

He kept his distance now, watching her as she hung up sheets and shirts and wash-up cloths. "No work to do, Mister Smith?" Maggie said as she scrubbed at a dress.

"No trade today, so nothing to put in the ledgers. Tomorrow'll make up for it, though." Liam—"Oliver Smith"—had been assigned to help with the account books Master Coalridge kept in his wagon. Katin would gladly trade with him, if she could work with numbers the way Liam had been taught. Sitting in a cozy wagon all day sounded a sight better than scrubbing stains from underclothes.

"What was all the shouting?" Katin asked.

Liam rubbed at his chin. "I, ah, made a suggestion about the ledgers. Master Coalridge thought I'd best shut my hole until I learned a thing or two."

Katin shook her head at him. "You ought to know by now he doesn't want your ideas."

"Is it my fault if he wants to waste a dozen crowns a year because he doesn't separate sundries from dry goods? Honestly, I've no idea how the man got this far."

"Let sleeping dogs lie," Katin said.

"Don't let him hear you call him a dog. I think he might have fleas." He scratched comically at his hair, making Maggie laugh. Katin found herself glaring at the girl.

———

Master Coalridge pounded on the town gate the instant the morning sun peeked over the trees. The magistrate came back and threatened to bar them from the town, until Coalridge threw him a small, jingling pouch. The gates opened soon after, but the magistrate still had every member of the caravan questioned. Katin had no idea what he wanted; he only asked her where she was from and how long she'd been with the caravan. She answered as truthfully as her false identity allowed, saying she was from Hedenham, where she'd joined the caravan. The magistrate eyed her dubiously but told the guards to let her pass.

She'd had to pack up the laundry, which hadn't completely dried in the cold night. It was damper here than Hedenham or even Cleavesport had ever been. So once the caravan rumbled to a halt in Averhel's town square, Katin had to bring the laundry out again, to dry in the rising sun. Maggie helped, grumbling about wasted work.

Katin nearly screamed when the magistrate, a petulant old man with beady eyes, told her she had to take the laundry down again. They wouldn't tolerate such an unsightly display in the middle of the town square, he huffed at her, as if it were obvious. She went to Coalridge to ask if there was anything he could do, but he waved her away. "You're bothering me with this rubbish?" he barked, counting through coins and scratching numbers on a sheet of parchment. He didn't even bother to look up at her. She glanced at Liam, sitting beside him and double-checking the caravan master's arithmetic. Liam only glanced up for a moment, smiling helplessly, but he could not say anything. "Go deal with your problem, girl," Coalridge growled.

She came to a compromise with the magistrate. Three of the wagons—the ones with the caravan's supplies, and bunks for the apprentices, that weren't used for shop fronts—could be pulled around into an open square, and she could put the laundry between them. That way the laundry wouldn't be an eyesore to the town's residents. For the fourth side she could use the wall of the magistrate's office, which sat at one edge of the square.

It still took half the morning to get the laundry stowed again, get the horses hitched up to each wagon and pulled around to the right position, and then get the laundry out and strung up. Katin's arms ached by the end of it, and it was not even noon.

Maggie, who'd been helping, left as soon as they were done. "I'll tell the old dog you're finishing up, if he asks," the girl said, eyes crinkling. Katin was glad for her help, even if she did natter endlessly. Luncheon would come soon, and Katin wanted to rest a spell first.

Katin perched on the back step of one of the wagons, hidden from prying eyes. She rubbed at her sore arms. She'd never had to work this hard, not even at the brothel in Cleavesport. At least then she'd had a real bed, even if she shared it with two other girls, in a cozy room in the back. Living out of a wagon was a mad existence.

Well, the wagon owners were all mad enough to do it. She couldn't understand why someone would choose to live on the move like that, never settling down in one place. When she'd come off the streets, a safe place to call home had been a prize beyond measure to her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock. She jerked to her feet, fearing it was Coalridge coming to growl at her, but instead she saw the handsome face of Cameron Longwood, one of the wagon owners, peeking around the edge of the laundry wagon. "Lunchtime, love," he called out in his soft baritone.

"Oh, it's you," she sighed, relieved.

"You thought it was old Coalridge come calling," Cameron said, stepping out and leaning against the wagon. Katin realized he was blocking the only way out of the little laundry pen she'd made. She stood and waited.

Most of the caravan folk wore linen or wool in dull shades. Cameron always went about in fine, bright silks. Today he had an embroidered doublet the color of flaxseed to complement his sandy hair, with scarlet stripes down the sleeves and matching scarlet trousers. Cameron insisted on washing all his own clothes, for fear that "a clumsy lowborn girl like you might damage them." He'd said it so apologetically, she'd taken a while to realize he'd been insulting her. And lowborn? He was just as common as her! The memory incensed her all over again, but she tried not to glare at him.

He watched her for a few seconds, a permanent smirk twisting his lips. They were nice lips, on a nice face, but Katin mistrusted him. He fancied himself a ladies' man, always flirting with the girls, or at least the apprentice girls. The two female wagon owners were wise to him. And so was Katin. Besides, she had Liam.

"Well, if it's lunchtime, let's go eat," she suggested neutrally.

Cameron smiled at her, and stepped forward. "You're too pretty a girl to stay laundry mistress forever," he purred. "I bet you could learn to be a proper trader."

She felt like backing away, but held fast. "I'm not much for numbers. My husband's better at that."

He came closer. "Oh, it's not just numbers, girl. There's a certain knack to it, a willingness to..." He glanced down at her feet. "Stand your ground," he finished.

She lifted her head a little, trying to look defiant, and crossed her arms. "Thank you, no."

He stopped close. Too close. "A word from me and you could be sitting pretty next to your man, working the ledgers rather than breaking your back at laundry all night." He reached up and caressed her chin.

Goosebumps broke out all over her at his touch. Reflexively she slapped away his hand and drew her dagger.

Cameron lurched back, startled. Katin circled wide around him and backed out of the wagon pen. She slipped away the dagger and forced herself to walk steadily toward where everyone else had gathered for luncheon. The altercation had started her heart racing, and the sight of other folk made her feel safer.

A cauldron steamed over a fire next to a wagon the color of spring leaves, with garlands of golden flowers painted all over it. _JANICE BRIGGS—VOLCANIC VICTUALS_ was written on the side in white letters. Janice herself stood over the cauldron, stirring absently. Few enough townsfolk had come to visit the caravan, and only a few men had been brave enough to try the spicy dishes she served up. Most of the apprentices had lined up already, bowls in hand, ready for soup and bread.

Katin ended up in line behind Stump, the enormous, muscular chief guard, who said a pleasant hello. When Katin saw Cameron pass by, looking irritated, she moved halfway behind Stump. She felt much better when Liam came up to the line a few moments later and took her hand.

Katin's stomach grumbled as Janice declared the soup ready and started ladling portions into waiting bowls. Katin had gossiped plenty with the other girls, and they all despised Janice's cooking. Everything was much too spicy, and the bread she made was bland and doughy. The men all complimented her, though, which probably had less to do with the food and more to do with her glossy raven hair and her enormous breasts that bulged out of her bodice. Some days Katin suspected that was the only reason she was still in the caravan at all. Janice's bosom would have to be made of solid gold to get David Coalridge's attention, though.

Katin's turn came and she took the soup and bread graciously. She and Liam retreated to the laundry wagon and sat on its back step. It was as close to private as they could get.

Or it would have been, except Maggie and Amanda came rushing over. "Susan! Goodness, you won't _believe_ what we just heard," Maggie cooed. Amanda, a skinny redhead who bobbed like a bird, nodded energetically. "Tell her!" she encouraged Maggie.

Liam put down his bowl and took Katin's hand. "Let me guess: someone in the caravan has done something scandalous, terrifying, or hilarious," he deadpanned.

The sarcasm went unnoticed. Maggie nodded vigorously. "Master Coalridge," she whispered, and then stopped to look around warily. "Master Coalridge is _sleeping_ with someone."

"What, right now?"

"No, silly," Maggie said, touching Liam's arm for a moment. Katin glared at her, her grip on Liam's hand tightening. Apparently "Oliver" holding hands with his "wife" wasn't enough to dissuade the girl from flirting. Maggie went on, heedless. "I overheard Mister Venn talking to Miss Li, and he said something about 'David's little blossom,' and winked at her!"

"So who is it?" Liam asked.

Maggie shrugged. "I don't know." She gasped. "Maybe it's Miss Li herself!"

Katin snorted. Tall, graceful Li Saong bedded by stumpy, glowering Master Coalridge? Certainly stranger things had happened, but Katin didn't think it was a likely match.

Liam leaned forward, his face set in a sober mask. "That would be serious indeed. Keep us informed if you find out anything else."

Maggie's eyes widened. "S—serious? Why?"

Liam glanced around furtively and leaned in even closer. Maggie and Amanda bent down, straining to hear as he whispered. "A caravan master who plays favorites with his wagon owners risks breaking up the whole enterprise. Why, if suddenly Miss Li's wagon is moved to the front, the other owners will wonder. Then will come the accusations, the fighting, and one day—" He clapped his hands sharply, making them all jump, even Katin.

The silence hung for a moment as the two apprentice girls stared at each other, mouths agape. Maggie turned back to Liam and nodded. "I'll keep my eyes open."

Liam nodded solemnly and watched them leave.

Katin glared at him. "Don't encourage the girl. She's going to get into trouble."

Liam's false gravity dissolved in an instant. "It'll keep her from putting her hand on my arm any time soon."

Katin's breath caught. He'd felt her squeeze when she'd seen that. She blushed and looked away, embarrassed. She clearly remembered when she wouldn't have felt one speck of jealousy over Liam, and now, after all this time, something was breaking through. She would not dare call it love, and she had no other name for it, so she tried not to think about it.

Lunchtime ended, the selling began again, and Coalridge told Katin to assist Miss Li. _LI SAONG—SILKS OF THE WORLD_ her cyan wagon shouted. Katin had never seen her like before: waist-length black hair knotted with blue handkerchiefs, curving brown eyes so pale they looked like gold, and wearing a silk dress of intense azure marked with a pattern of bronze circles that was most certainly not a Garovan style. Supposedly she was Liahni, from across the sea. Secretive, majestic, and serene was how Garovans thought of Liahn.

Li Saong was anything but serene. She nearly yelled to be heard over a small gaggle of buyers, waving a bolt of amber silk like a scepter, sneering at offers she thought too low. Her words were soft and round, all the sharp edges filed off until she sounded like an angry wind chime.

Katin scurried to fetch bolts or store them away as needed. The woman treated her as imperiously as any noble ever had, stating commands to the air rather than actually addressing her. Katin kept her complaints to herself.

When the sun reached a hand above the horizon, Averhel's magistrate showed up again and ordered the caravan out of town by sunset. Katin saw Master Coalridge try to hand another pouch over, but the magistrate shook his head vigorously and pointed toward the gate. Coalridge shouted obscenities at the man, but all the same signaled the caravan to start packing up.

Katin's helper this evening was Johann, a stocky fellow that Maggie had claimed was half-Vaslander. He was pleasant and quiet, though, not at all brutish and loud like Vaslanders were supposed to be, and he had a great love of music. He carried a small horn pipe wherever he went, and in idle moments its tender, forlorn whistle could be heard echoing through the caravan. Even Master Coalridge had no complaint about it.

The caravan returned to its spot outside the walls, and spent the night there before departing at dawn. Coalridge cursed Averhel for having made them lose a day, and Katin saw the magistrate again, standing atop the town's wall, watching with hard eyes as they left.

———

The whole next day was taken up by travel over bumpy dirt roads. At sundown they came to another town, of a size with Averhel but lacking a wall. When Katin asked, Janice said that it was called Turnbull. "We'll likely set up in the morning. It's too dark now," she said, tossing her black hair over her shoulder and grinning at Cameron as he passed by.

The silk-clothed trader came to a stop, bowing slightly toward them both. "A perfect evening for entertainment, I should think. I recall there's a malthouse that's open to all." He leered at Janice's cleavage for a moment, and went on.

At least they'd been allowed to park overnight in the town square. The magistrate who came out to greet them seemed pleased to have a caravan visiting, and retained his smile despite being faced with Master Coalridge's sour puss.

Liam found Katin as she was hanging up sheets to dry. "It looks like most everyone's going to this malthouse in town tonight," he said casually. "It's a public house, they call it, women allowed."

Katin sighed. "I don't know. I've barely had any rest these past few days. I was going to sleep early if I could."

Liam's smile faltered. "Ah. Well, if you... if you want me to stay with you, ah... I suppose..."

He could not be more transparent if he tried. Katin smiled and shook her head. "No, you go on. Have fun. Try not to say anything to upset Coalridge, if he's there."

"A man's tongue is supposed to be free in a malthouse," he complained.

She lowered her voice and stepped closer. "When a man is who he says he is, and isn't hunted by royalty, a man's tongue can be as free as he wants."

Liam sighed. "I know, I know." He petulantly kicked a stone as he strode away. Katin released a sigh of her own. How on earth could he forget? Katin didn't go half a day without thinking of Dardan, and Amira, and Edon, and the horrors of Foxhill Keep.

Finishing the laundry took until dark, and after a lonely dinner of cold chicken and potatoes, Katin went to lie down on her bunk. But she missed Liam; his presence had become a comfort to her, whether she liked it or not. After arguing with herself for several minutes, she put on her shawl and boots and went back outside. Half a dozen of Coalridge's enormous guards prowled around the caravan. She saw no one else she knew. _I guess most everyone did go. Everyone except me, who'd rather hide in a cold wagon than have a bit of fun._

Turnbull seemed tidy and prosperous, with none of the suspicious glances she'd seen in Averhel. The malthouse was a few lanes away, so she asked directions, receiving polite smiles from the townsfolk.

Raucous cheering and laughter assaulted her ears as she came in the door. Armin Venn—the caravan's fur trader—stood atop a table, capering in time to Johann's pipe as the crowd clapped. Johann managed to make his pipe sound lively rather than somber. Occasionally someone threw a bits of fried onion at Armin, and he caught them in his mouth, crunching away happily.

Several of the caravan guards clustered around one table, drinking and laughing, slapping one another on the back. Stump stood near them, showing off his tree-trunk arms to two local girls, one of whom dangled from his biceps, giggling.

Li Saong had a booth in the corner. She ignored the ruckus, talking quietly to a man Katin didn't recognize. She didn't see Cameron anywhere, thank the Caretaker. Liam, it turned out, was the one throwing most of the onions at Armin, shouting "Hey! Ho!" with each piece. Maggie had contrived to sit right next to him, nursing her own cup of ale and laughing at all of Liam's jests.

Katin watched for a minute, and almost turned to leave, but was stopped in her tracks by the sight of David Coalridge laughing so hard that tears ran down his cheeks. He sat at a table next to Embuerto Botelli, a mysterious olive-skinned Parilian who rarely came out of his wagon, even when all the other traders were swarmed with buyers. _MYSTIC ARTS_ read the letters on the side of his wagon, drawn in bestial slashes of blood-red paint. In fact blood red was the only color on his wagon at all, sprayed haphazardly around the doorway and windows. Katin wasn't sure what he sold; his arms were covered in thin black lines that didn't wash off. Botelli tapped his fingers together as he spoke, grinning below a thin, pointed moustache that curled around his mouth.

Katin considered trying to eavesdrop on Botelli's story, curious about what could make a man like Coalridge laugh so, but Botelli's dark, painted eyes frightened her. Instead she threaded through the crowd over to Liam. He lit up when she tapped at his elbow, and tipsily planted a kiss on her lips. Maggie frowned at her approach, tossing her hair. _Harlot. It takes one to know one._ Katin almost giggled. How was she in such a good mood already? She hadn't had a drop to drink. Perhaps the mirth in the air was infectious.

She did want a drink, though, and was glad when a serving girl brought mugs of ale all around. That and the onions heartened her far better than the cold, gristly chicken had. But she kept reminding herself to not drink too much. Liam shouted and danced and acted the life of the party, and she began to worry that he'd say something wrong. She stood up and shouted into his ear over the din, "Husband. _Oliver._ " His eyes met hers, and his glee faded for a moment. "Can we find a table? It's crowded here." He nodded toward the side of the room, then smiled and gave her another drunken kiss. She found that she did not mind it.

They squeezed in at a table where a few of the other apprentices drank and chatted. Marcus, a bulky dark-haired man who usually worked with Cameron Longwood, waved as they sat. "The lovely couple," he said, grinning. "I heard tell someone's got sharp claws." He winked at Katin.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she lied, taking a sip of her drink.

"Ooh, this should be good," piped up Kelly, a plump middle-aged woman who seemed content with permanent apprenticeship. She'd been with the caravan longer than any of the other apprentices, and even most of the wagon owners.

"Wha' happened? Did somethin' happen?" Liam asked, catching on. He was quite drunk, Katin determined, and she would have to keep him quiet. Her head was already feeling a little light from the ale. _Maybe this wasn't such a good idea._ But she was penned in between Liam and Kelly, and bolting for the door would be even more suspicious.

"Nothing happened," Katin said, just as Marcus began, "Heard tell your wifey here pulled her knife on a certain well-dressed gentleman." He chortled.

Liam looked hard at her, his face clouding and turning even redder. "What? Who? Cameron?"

"He was... bothering me at the laundry, in Averhel. I told him to go away." She took another gulp, hoping someone would change the subject.

"That man's destined for bad things," Kelly said, leaning in. "I heard tell he finagles his books, to cut Master Coalridge out of his fair share." The wagon owners paid a percentage to Coalridge, for the benefit of being part of the caravan and its protection. If Cameron _was_ cheating Coalridge, and the caravan master found out... Katin shuddered to think of the pain that would be inflicted, even if it was on someone as vile as Cameron Longwood.

Katin encouraged Kelly to talk more, and was relieved when the conversation shifted away from Cameron entirely. She whispered to Liam, reminding him to keep quiet, and he nodded, looking put out. Well, he could be as put out as he wanted. If he slipped up and called her "Katin" in front of everyone, he'd suffer worse than a little lost fun.

Her bladder grew uncomfortably full, and she squeezed out past Liam, promising to be right back from the privy. On her return, she saw that Coalridge and Botelli had switched tables, joining Li Saong and her mysterious companion. They all talked quietly, Coalridge's characteristic snarl rising above the other voices. It scared her as usual, but at least it was less stupefying than hearing him laugh.

As she passed the table, though, his hand darted out to grab her wrist. "Girl, I need an errand." Coalridge's grip was iron, and his breath stank of ale. "Go to the wagons, tell Larkin I need the envelope with the red seal. _Red,_ " he emphasized, tightening his grip until it almost hurt. She wanted to wrench away but made herself freeze, until the caravan master let go a moment later.

"Red seal," she repeated, "yes sir." Coalridge seemed to meet with a lot of odd folk in the towns they visited, from what she'd seen and heard. Other apprentices had gossiped about Coalridge's mysterious envelopes. Kelly had once claimed Coalridge was a spy for the crown, and the envelopes held secret instructions to other spies. It sounded fanciful to Katin.

She went to Liam, saying Coalridge had sent her on an errand. He barely seemed to notice, laughing at something Maggie said. The accursed girl had slid in next to him in Katin's absence. Katin felt jealousy grasping at her, but she made herself turn away and go out into the cold night.

The town seemed not half so friendly on this trip. Shadows lurked, watching her. She encountered no one except a pair of drunken men who whistled at her as she went. She bulled onward, ignoring them.

She must have taken a wrong turn, because the street she found herself on didn't look quite familiar. But then there was the square ahead, a torch glowing at each end of the caravan as usual. She must have come at it from another angle. Woozy, she stopped in the doorway of an apothecary, powders and potions on display in the window.

Her head spun with drink and anger. They were never going to find Amira and Dardan... if the two nobles were even still alive. Katin and Liam had been with the caravan for weeks, waiting. For what? They should have split from the caravan and gone east as soon as they were clear of Hedenham, safely away from Warden Penrose. Instead they'd clung to the safety and growing familiarity of this band of merchants. Time slipped away; autumn deepened and the days grew short. A chill breeze seeped around her shawl, driving the point home.

Larkin. Larkin, the guard. She'd tell him Coalridge's command and then go to bed. Sleep. Yes, she needed sleep.

She took a few steps further, and then jerked to a halt. A shadow ahead moved, or rather a person, slipping from one shadow to the next. A thief? No, something seemed familiar about him. And then he stepped into a pool of moonlight, and she knew that silhouette: Cameron Longwood. Why was he skulking about? He glanced around, then went in a door.

When Katin reached it, she saw that it was an inn she'd passed on her way to the malthouse, but this was the rear side. Why was Cameron going into an inn? Perhaps he was tired of sleeping in his wagon. Even the largest wagon's most comfortable bunk couldn't compare to a real bed. But he had looked so furtive.

_He's stealing from Coalridge,_ a voice whispered. What if he was meeting some... some compatriot, who helped him with his duplicity? If she could catch him in the act, Coalridge might throw him out of the caravan for good. It was no less than he deserved, the scoundrel. She recalled his touch on her chin, and shivered.

Men like him. _Men like him, and Edon, and Parvis, that's what there is to fear._ She'd catch him, and get rid of him. _Yes._ A tiny fragment of her mind screamed in protest, but she growled at it until it fell silent.

Katin slipped through the inn's side door. It led to a narrow hall that turned a corner and let into the common room. From there she could see the entryway and front desk. It was late; only one old man sat in the common room, smoking a pipe and staring into the fireplace. He did not look up at her as she stepped quietly past.

There were no guest rooms on the ground floor. She found the stairs and went up, wincing at every squeaky step. The upper floor's hall went both directions. Where had Cameron gone? Maybe he hadn't come up here at all. Maybe he'd just gone out the other door. No; he must have come up. She went left, then changed her mind and went right.

Katin stopped to listen at each door. At most of them she heard nothing. In one, a voice sang, a woman's voice, soft. She didn't recognize it. She moved on and reached the end of the hall. A window there looked out onto the square, and she could see the caravan guards moving silently through the night on their rounds.

She started back down the other side of the hall. The second door hung slightly open. She peeked in. Empty.

A click down the hall made her turn. A door opened and Cameron came out. Katin threw herself through the open door beside her and shut it. Her heart pounded. _I'll get caught, and then... then what? Can't I be in an inn too?_ She forced herself to take deep breaths, one after the other until her pulse slowed. She opened the door and looked out again, just as Cameron went back into the other bedroom and pulled the door shut. He had been carrying a bucket or something; she hadn't seen it clearly.

She waited heartbeats. Ten, twenty, thirty. She tiptoed down the hall, praying to the Aspect of Terror that the floorboards wouldn't creak. At Cameron's door, she stood to the side, listening.

"...tonight he'll...hours..." She could tell Cameron's voice, but the words were muffled. A woman giggled, then shrieked, laughing. "...mine...ever know..." he went on, sinister.

"Move over," came the woman's voice, clearly. Katin's jaw dropped. _Janice!_ "Yes, there... ahhh, there," she moaned, and then came a sound like someone clapping their hands together softly. _Oh. No, not hands._ More moaning.

Katin bit her lip to keep from laughing, and ran to the stairs, down and out the front door past the innkeeper who only had time to say, "What—" as she raced by.

She stumbled out into the cool night, gulping down air. _Cameron and Janice. What a surprise._ Well, Janice knew what she was getting into. The woman had made a point of warning her off of Cameron when she and Liam had first joined the caravan. Maybe she'd just wanted the louse for herself. _Well she can have him._

Katin let herself calm again, then went around the corner into the square. She found Larkin sitting on the step of Coalridge's wagon. "Good evening, sir," she said.

"Evening, miss. Trouble?" He hefted his cudgel.

"No, no. Master Coalridge said he needs, ah... the envelope with the red seal? He's still at the malthouse with everyone else."

Larkin nodded. "Off with you, I'll have one of the boys take it." He whistled to one of the other guards as Katin walked away.

She felt dizzy. The excitement had worn off and her vision popped with pale ghosts. She went to her wagon and struggled to take off her dress. In her shift, stretched out on the bunk, she wanted Liam warm beside her, but she wouldn't go through the cold night again, not tonight, not for anything. Certainly not for him.

### CHAPTER 31

### LIAM

Liam woke with crust in his eyes and had to rub and blink for a good long while to get it all out. Katin snored beside him still. She had been dead to the world when he'd come back from the malthouse. _Poor girl, being made to leave the fun and run an errand like that._ What had made David Coalridge so cruel?

That day saw them trade well with the folk of Turnbull. Liam was busy until sundown counting, recording, double-checking. Coalridge seemed in a slightly better mood than usual, so Liam risked his suggestion again about separating sundries and dry goods. Coalridge glared, but barked that if Liam wanted to keep an extra ledger for sundries and see if it reconciled better later on, he was welcome to it. Assuming it didn't interfere with his normal duties.

Liam smiled weakly and agreed. He hadn't expected extra work from this. It was supposed to save them work in the long run! _That's what I get for trying to help._

The caravan moved on, turning north. "We aren't going to Stokeston?" he asked when Coalridge gave the order to strike camp the next morning.

Coalridge glared. "No good trading in Stokeston."

"But it's a huge city, the ducal seat," Liam argued. "Not so big as Callaston, surely, but—"

"You want to go to Stokeston, be my guest," Coalridge bit at him, and stomped away.

Liam sought out Stump—the enormous guard was always good for a chat, and seemed to like him—and asked what Coalridge had against Stokeston. "Banned from it, see," Stump informed him. "Some bad business wit' th' duke. He don't fancy t' talk about it."

Liam was halfway back to the laundry wagon before it occurred to him to wonder why he cared so much about the caravan's financial fortunes. _Curse me, my father was right. I have a head for this._ The thought made him grumble all that night. He and Katin had been with the caravan for weeks now, and it was starting to feel familiar. Something like a home. He was getting too attached.

The next afternoon the caravan nearly reached another little town called Carson's Watch, but they saw smoke on the horizon as they approached it. Something was burning. Coalridge sent one of the guards riding on ahead to investigate. He returned to tell of frightened villagers and some building that had been torched.

"Not like them," Coalridge muttered. "Always a good town. Pah. Can't risk it." He shouted out to the other wagon drivers. "We'll go around east, toward Brookings."

The caravan camped by the side of the road that night, a mile or two away from the town, and the next morning had gone barely another mile before the wagons came to a halt. Liam rode on the seat of the laundry wagon; Marcus drove it. "What's this about? We going back to Carson's?" he said. "Maybe ol' Coalridge's sense of profit won out over his caution."

"That'd be a change," Liam joked. He hopped down to go see what was the matter, and noticed Katin peering around the side of the wagon. She'd been riding within, wanting to be alone whenever she could, ever since Turnbull. _She can't be regretting one night of drinking_ that _much, can she?_

Liam went up toward the van. Indistinct shouting floated back to him. A crowd had already gathered, guards and apprentices watching something. Their bodies were tense, he noticed, their arms held close.

He pushed past them just in time to hear a sharp crack as David Coalridge slapped Janice Briggs across the face so hard she fell into the mud. One breast popped free of her low-cut bodice, and she scrambled to cover it. "I didn't!" she wailed at him.

"Yes you did!" Coalridge screamed back at her. "You are mine alone, do you hear me? _Do you?_ " He reached down and grabbed her by the hair. "Tell me who it is!"

"What's going on?" Liam demanded.

Coalridge jerked upright, letting Janice fall back into the mud. "This whore lay with another man!" he shouted, jabbing a stubby finger accusingly at the woman. "And I will know who!" He aimed a kick at her, but missed by inches when she lurched aside.

This was too much for Liam. "Leave her be!" he roared, and shoved Coalridge back. He had half a foot on the man, and twenty years of youth, but Coalridge glared angrily and reached for his dagger anyway.

Liam had left his sword in the wagon, and whipped his own dagger out instead. "Whatever she did, this is no way to treat a woman," he challenged.

Coalridge hesitated. "Why do you care, apprentice?" He was about to speak again when Janice shouted, "It was him!"

Liam glanced at her, keeping Coalridge in his field of view. When he saw where her finger pointed, he almost dropped the dagger.

She was pointing at him.

_What in the name of Chaos?_ "I never! What in the world are you talking about?"

"Yes! It was him, I swear it!" she sobbed, scrambling to her feet and scuttling over to cower behind Coalridge. "He made me, he said he'd hurt me! Please, don't let him—"

Red clouded Liam's vision. "This is absurd! I—I'm married, I'd never touch her!"

"It's not him!" came Katin's shout, and he saw her burst through the crowd and into the little clearing which surrounded them. Liam saw now that everyone in the caravan watched them all in horror. Even imperious Li Saong's jaw had dropped open, as she stared down from her wagon seat.

"You... you!" Coalridge said, ignoring Katin.

"No! It wasn't him!" Katin said, rushing in by Liam's side. "It was..." She glanced around. _Who is she looking for? How does she know about this?_ "Where is he?" Her voice came out soft and strangled.

"Who?" Liam demanded.

Katin's gaze caught someone. "Him. _Cameron!_ " she shouted.

All eyes turned to the wagon owner, unruffled in an emerald silk vest. He looked perplexed. "Me? That's ridiculous," he said calmly.

Master Coalridge looked less certain now, his eyes darting between Liam and Cameron, who stepped forward through the crowd. "Cameron, lad. This isn't true, is it?" Coalridge growled.

"Of course not. Forgive me, but everyone knows Janice is yours. I would never dream of interfering." He sketched a bow.

"I told you, it was him!" Janice shrieked, pointing at Liam again.

"I saw them together!" Katin shouted back. "Her and Mister Longwood! At the inn, in Turnbull. Coming back from the malthouse. I saw you go in there!"

"You did, did you?" Cameron said. "I must admit, I did visit the inn in Turnbull. Tell us, what else did you see when you were sneaking about?"

Katin hesitated. "Go on," Liam urged her. "What happened?" Why hadn't she told him about this?

"I... I saw you go into a room... I heard her voice," she glanced at Janice. "And you were... they were together," she ended weakly.

"Well?" Coalridge demanded.

"I'm afraid she's caught me. But alas, that was not Janice in that room. It was one Missus Torvand, a woman I've known quite a long time. I'm afraid her husband would be quite put out if he knew where she'd gotten to that evening." He chuckled, and some of the crowd did as well. "I admit, she does have a similar voice to our dear Janice. I suppose you'd been drinking at the malthouse that night, hmm?"

Katin shook her head angrily. "No, it was her, I _heard_ her."

Coalridge rounded on Janice, seeming to realize for the first time that the woman he'd been assaulting earlier now hung on his arm. "Well? Don't lie to me, woman, or I'll make you regret it."

"I swear, it wasn't me. I went to bed early that evening! Ask the guards, they saw me." She looked around frantically. "Him! He saw me." She pointed at Larkin, the guard.

Larkin nodded, picking at his fingernails absently. "That I did, sir. She went right to her wagon soon's dinner were done."

Liam was bewildered. He knew he hadn't done any such thing as sleep with Janice. Katin seemed so sure of what she'd seen. _Why didn't you tell me?_

"I do believe the conclusion is obvious," Cameron said.

Liam felt surrounded. Hostile glares came from many of the onlookers. Even Maggie was scowling at him now, the girl who couldn't keep her hands off him. He looked at Coalridge. "Master Coalridge, please believe me, I would never do this! I'm married!" He held up his hands, praying that the false rings on his fingers would somehow convince them all.

Coalridge stepped forward, shrugging off Janice's grasp. He stared at Liam, then Katin. "I knew you were trouble. No wonder that baron wanted rid of you." His eyes flicked to the side a little, and he nodded.

Liam spun, but too late. A cudgel cracked him over the head, and his vision flashed with lights. He felt his hands hit the ground, and then another thump landed across his back, and he fell belly-first into the muck. "Sorry," he heard Stump mutter. Katin shrieked, and time stretched out mercilessly as the caravan guard beat Liam senseless.

———

The sky looked so blue. Pain covered Liam head to toe like a blanket. A warm sensation on his cheek stood out against the agony. He eventually realized that Katin cradled his head in her lap. At least Stump hadn't killed him. Death couldn't possibly hurt this much.

After a while some semblance of clarity returned to him, and Katin helped him sit up against the bole of a tree. The caravan was nowhere to be seen. Their beat-up leather trunk sat on the ground beside them, a dagger perched atop it. It wasn't his; no, it was hers. He recognized the serpent coiling around the pommel. A gift from Baron Parvis.

Katin held a round metal canteen to his lips and helped him drink. The water was warm, but better than nothing.

"They left us," she said. "You've been unconscious for a while. Coalridge took your sword and dagger. All we have is mine." Her eyes were red, her face more determined than ever. He wanted to kiss her, but the pain was too much to bear.

_At least nothing feels broken,_ he thought, moving all his muscles one by one. _Thanks, Stump._ Every part of him protested, but he soon found that he could stand. Katin put an arm under his. "I don't know what to do. Maybe we just have to go back to that last town."

"The one that was on fire?" he coughed. "Might be an improvement." At least she smiled a little. It lifted his own spirits; he felt a useless fool for having gotten into this situation.

It took until afternoon to reach the edge of Carson's Watch, with Katin dragging their trunk along and Liam stumbling and stopping every few paces to rest. The land here was dank and swampy, and there were few farms. They saw one on the way into town that looked abandoned. The field beside it had been burned.

Like Turnbull, this town had no wall. "We have a little coin," Katin said to him as they stopped to rest at the side of the road near a cottage. Several more like it marched up the lane into the town. "We can probably get a room in the inn, for at least one night."

"Only a little? What happened to all the silver?" Liam said, breathing heavily as he tried to recover from the last stretch of walking.

Katin bit her lip. "Coalridge took it," she said. "He said we owed him for all the trouble we caused. All that's left is what was in my dress." She patted at a pocket, which clinked a little.

"We should... should save it," Liam said, remembering his adventure into Callaston to rescue her, and how the silver had slipped through his fingers like water.

"No! You need food, and water, and a bed."

He was too tired to argue, and let it be. They rested a while, and the occasional passerby gave them odd looks but hurried on. After a while, Liam felt strong enough to walk again, but as they stood, four men on horseback rode up, armed with swords and mail. "You there," the largest one called out. He looked to be Liam's own age, maybe younger. His eyes were sunk deep into his face, in the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat. "What business have you here?"

Liam tried to speak, but started coughing and doubled over in pain. Katin spoke instead. "We're with... we _were_ with a caravan, but they stole our coin and threw us out. And beat my... my husband near to death."

"He don't look well," said one of the men.

"Nonsense, I could take the lot of you one-handed," Liam wheezed, and doubled over coughing again. Someone laughed; whether with him or at him, he had no idea. When he looked up again, the men all seemed less tense, but their leader still glared.

"Make no trouble or we'll have you on the gallows. And be gone by nightfall, or else." He jerked his head and the party rode off, back into the town.

"Four men against a half-dead merchant's son and his bride," Liam muttered. "We must seem more threatening than I feel."

"I'm more of a threat than you are right now," Katin said, holding tight to his arm. "Come on." She helped him take a few steps, when another voice called out behind them.

"You there. Excuse me," said a woman. Liam turned around. He saw a woman wearing black wool and a white bonnet. A goodwife of the town, no doubt.

"Yes?" Katin said tensely.

"Strangers," she murmured. She looked ambivalent, Liam thought.

A young boy came running up to her and tugged on her apron. "Mama. Mama!"

"Hush. You," she said, addressing Liam. "Are you what you said you are, to those men?"

"Yes, though I wish we weren't. It might have saved me a beating."

"We're going to take a room at the inn," Katin said. "Do you know the way?"

The woman shook her head. "The inn's burned. You picked a bad day. Come on." She gestured toward the house they'd passed. "Come rest. I can't let the likes of you roam about. It'll just mean more trouble."

Liam looked down at Katin as she held him. She met his eyes, and he nodded. "Can't be worse," he muttered.

The little wooden house had a garden around back. The goodwife brought them through a gap in a hedge beside it, and in through the back door. Liam could feel his strength slipping away, and it was a blessed relief to sit on the chair she offered when they came into the kitchen.

"Thank you, ma'am," Katin said. Liam couldn't summon the energy to speak.

The goodwife fetched them cups of water and a bit of bread. She watched them eat and drink, then patted her son on the back. "Edward, go out in the garden and play. Don't you dare go out in the road, you hear?"

The little boy looked no older than five or six, and had been staring intently at Liam and Katin with pale blue eyes under a blond mop. He nodded at his mother and scampered outside.

"My name's Lisa," she said. "Lisa Cordway. My husband's a tanner. He'll be home soon. There's not much business right now."

"Thank you so much for helping us," Katin said, standing.

"You're probably wondering why I'm doing this," Lisa said after a moment.

"Yes," Liam blurted, "we're just too polite to ask." Katin shushed him.

Lisa leaned against the counter, clasping her hands before her apron. "Strangers like you'll get in trouble in this town. There's... Now this'll sound mad, I know, but by the Aspect of Terror I swear it's true."

"It's all right," Katin said. "What is it?"

"Well, these weeks past... one of the women in town, she... she's a witch."

Liam forgot all his pain for a moment. "Come again?"

"She... she can do things. She makes fire out of thin air. We all thought it was trickery at first, but when she..." Lisa's voice wavered. "Our blacksmith, Arliss, he challenged her, and she... he just burst into flames."

Liam and Katin exchanged a look. "Amira?" he whispered.

Katin shrugged uncertainly. The goodwife wrung her hands and went on. "Anyhow, I couldn't let strangers walk into that without at least knowing about it. We pride ourselves on providing for travellers, in this town. Or we did. She'll likely let you be if you don't cross her or take her fancy, but them that do..."

"What does she look like?" Liam asked. "Young, old, tall, short, fair, dark?"

"Young, maybe twenty years. I'm not sure exactly. Shorter than I am. Dark hair. She's married to old Farmer Broxton. Now did _that_ pairing ever raise some eyebrows."

"Not Amira," Katin whispered back to Liam. He nodded. _It sounds like we've found another like her._ If this woman had gotten the townsfolk whipped into a state like this, she wasn't likely to be as friendly and kind as Amira.

"If you please, ma'am," Liam said, grunting a little as he straightened in the chair. He'd be covered in bruises for days, but at least he could move. "Could you tell us from the start, what happened with this... person?"

Lisa Cordway eyed them. "Maybe you'd better tell me something. I already did you fair with the warning."

"True enough." Liam coughed a little and looked to Katin. "Maybe you'd better tell the story... wife." _Let's keep the ruse up,_ he meant, hoping she'd take the hint.

Katin nodded and told the story of Oliver and Susan Smith, and how they'd been unfairly exiled from a trade caravan. Missus Cordway looked a little dubious at the assertion that Liam would never, ever stray, and even Liam thought Katin's insistence a bit much. _She really wants to believe it._

When Katin finished, Lisa told them about a young woman named Adeline Broxton. An unremarkable girl from an unremarkable family of farmers, she'd been married off young— _very_ young, barely of age—to old Jerome Broxton, who had a sheep farm out west a ways. Some said she had a cruel streak, and it was good she was out in the countryside. But then a month or so ago, she'd come into town on market day, and Sally Parkins, who'd always hated and teased Adeline, suddenly dropped dead right in front of a stall full of turnips. Everyone was startled and horrified, but Adeline laughed, saying the girl only got what she deserved.

Rumors began to fly, and two weeks later Adeline returned, only this time she had half a dozen thugs with her, brutish men who obeyed her every command. Some said they were from out near Averhel, to the west. Liam wondered if Adeline had made trouble out there; maybe that was why Averhel's magistrate had been so paranoid.

Adeline had the thugs start beating people she didn't like, men and women both, and taking whatever she fancied. The magistrate of Carson's Watch mysteriously vanished. Arliss Felton, the blacksmith, got some men together to try and stop them, but when he confronted Adeline in the town square, she pointed her finger at him and his clothes all caught fire. No one dared help him, and he died screaming.

Adeline had named herself the new magistrate, and made the townsfolk swear fealty to her or suffer the same fate as Arliss Felton. The thugs continued roaming the town, vandalizing and stealing. Some townsfolk fled; others, who Adeline didn't like, just disappeared.

Baron Corvis Tollerand, who held sway over this part of Barrowmere County, heard the news of havoc wrought, and brought twenty men and a Warden from the nearby garrison. When they arrived, demanding Adeline present herself, she did. Tollerand and the Warden were killed; perhaps five of the soldiers had escaped with their lives. Adeline had subsequently declared herself the new baroness of Carson's Watch.

That had been two days ago.

———

Katin and Liam listened raptly as Lisa's story spilled out. This Adeline obviously had the same power as Amira, but she sounded even crueler than Edon.

When her story ended, Lisa Cordway stared down at her hands, trembling. "I've got chores to see to. You're welcome to stay awhile," she offered to Katin and Liam. "Although, my husband... he'll be home soon..."

Anger coursed through Liam, but it met up against a stubbornness that said _Don't get involved._ Liam might stand a chance against any normal foe, but if this girl could do what Amira could, she could kill him with a thought at fifty feet. They had to get out of here. _How? We have no money, no horse, and I'm half-broken. For now._ He'd heal. He'd gotten better after Foxhill Keep. He'd been beaten before. When his father had found him at that army garrison... The memory of it made Liam's blood rise, and then he thought about the caravan, and how Stump had taken him by surprise and beaten him senseless. It was good he was too sore to move; he wanted to take the Cordways' skillet off its hook and start smashing things.

Katin spoke while Liam was still brooding. "Will he take kindly to strangers in his house?"

Lisa shrugged. "He's a good man. He trusts me. If I say you're travellers, if I explain—"

Liam heard the front door creak as it swung open. Lisa bolted upright and nearly ran toward the front of the house. "James, dear husband..." Her voice trailed off, and Liam could only hear low murmurs. His fury had begun to drain away. He focused on his sore muscles and tried to sit up straighter.

"We should go," Katin said, nervously peeking toward the front room.

"Where? Into the dragon's maw, daggers swinging? Dagger, that is. We've only got the one." He shifted his weight again. "At least give him a chance. Maybe he'll let us stay. Once I'm better, I can work. And you already can. Never met a goodwife who didn't appreciate some help around the house."

Katin raised an eyebrow at him. "Hanging around other men's women hasn't been good for you lately."

Liam chuckled as much as his aching sides would let him. "Coalridge and Janice weren't married any more than we are."

Katin glanced away. "You never—you wouldn't have—"

"By Ardor, no," Liam insisted. "I mean, don't get me wrong, there's hardly a man alive who wouldn't stare at Janice's—hey, don't look at me like that," he said, when Katin looked at him exactly like that. "Anyway, you said you saw her with that bastard Longwood."

"Yes, you're right, I did." She blushed, holding his hand but still not meeting his eyes. Liam blew out a sigh and shook his head a little. Did Katin know how well and truly she'd scrambled his wits?

Footsteps approached, and Liam did his best to look unthreatening. Being covered in bruises might not endear him to this James Cordway. Well, maybe if the man thought Liam was easy to beat up...

James Cordway was tall, with a strong jaw and wide shoulders, as blond and blue-eyed as little Edward, who could not more obviously be his son. Lisa stood behind him, nervously chewing on a thumbnail.

Katin stood and curtseyed. "Mister Cordway, thank you so kindly for you and your wife's hospitality. I'm Susan Smith, and this is my husband Oliver."

Liam nodded as deeply as he could. "I would stand, but I seem to have recently fallen onto a pile of cudgels."

James Cordway grinned. "Lot of folks had accidents around these parts lately. My condolences."

"Your missus told us about the... incidents... of late." Liam didn't want to raise the man's hackles, and tried to stay conversational. "I suppose we picked the wrong town to stumble into."

James eyed them both. "Well, aside from your own misfortune, you seem like decent folk to me. You can stay for dinner, if you'd like. Assuming you can help out."

"I can do whatever needs doing," Katin offered.

"I can crack wise from a sitting position," Liam added.

And so they did, Katin helping Lisa with the meal and Liam keeping them all entertained with jokes and stories. The Cordways' daughter, Samantha, came back around dusk, and introductions were made. Samantha was thirteen, apprenticed to the dressmaker in town, and a font of useless gossip about the mysterious Adeline Broxton, until her mother shushed her.

Liam saw tension in the elder Cordways after this. He waited until bellies were full and children had been put to bed before he broached the topic again. "If I may ask... what was burning yesterday?"

James hesitated for a moment, staring down at his empty plate. "The trade office. Some goods come up from Stokeston and Turnbull through here, off east toward Brookings and Elland, on the coast. After... what happened with Baron Tollerand... Missus Broxton..." His brow furrowed with the effort of phrasing things carefully. _They're all subject to wrath of this Adeline now._ " _Baroness_ Broxton decided it was no longer needed."

Perhaps the cloak of night made Lisa braver. She leaned in over the table. "We'd heard rumors from up north, about some kind of... witchcraft," she whispered. "I didn't believe them at first, of course, no one did, but now..."

"Witchcraft," Liam repeated. "Was this to do with Prince Edon?"

Lisa nodded. "That was terrible, what happened to King Viktor." She repeated the story about Edon killing his father with some kind of magic power, and it mostly matched what Liam and Katin had heard in Callaston. The news was spreading; Amira and her ilk were no longer a secret. And now there were at least two others like Amira, so there could easily be more. _If Amira's alive, and half as bright as I think, she'll be trying to find more like her._ Maybe she could build an army to fight Edon. The thought made him shudder: dozens of witches throwing fire at one another, a contest of gods, where regular folk either stayed out of the way or died.

———

The Cordways' hospitality extended as far as letting Liam and Katin sleep on the kitchen floor, on a pile of spare blankets. After a night's sleep, Liam was still sore all over, but no longer felt as if merely walking would sap all his strength.

Katin helped Lisa in the kitchen with breakfast. Liam found himself at the dining table with James, drinking tea from little polished pewter mugs. He'd been thinking all morning. _We have no resources, no way to get out of here. Even once I'm healed, walking all the way to the coast seems impractical. We need horses._ With a witch like Adeline running around, not to mention the ruffians under her thumb, strangers like Liam and Katin couldn't move freely in Carson's Watch.

He glanced up at James, who seemed lost in thought. "So. I imagine folks here might take it kindly if the Adeline problem were to end up solved."

James started and looked at him. "I suppose that's true."

"If I could deal with that problem, do you think the townsfolk might see their way clear to lending me and my wife a pair of horses?"

James narrowed his eyes. "I'd ask where you need to get to so bad, but... What d'you have in mind?"

Liam quickly outlined his plan. The women didn't need to hear about this. Katin would raise a fuss, and who knew whether Lisa would go along quietly with her husband? Maybe when riled, she was as combative as Katin. "All I need is a way to signal you. How many men could you gather?"

"If you do what you say you will... I can get the whole town behind me." He glanced at the kitchen and leaned in close. "But how can you just 'deal with' a witch?"

"Don't worry about that. Just give me a day or two to rest up."

James chewed on his lip. "We're in danger if anyone finds out you were staying here."

"You're in danger as long as that mad girl is playing with fire. I can get rid of her. I just need to know I can count on you."

James looked down at the tea. He drained his cup in one long draft, and clanked it onto the table. "So be it."

### CHAPTER 32

### AMIRA

Garen rode on the pack horse Count Kirth had given them; its load had been lightened considerably in the weeks since they'd acquired it, and the rest of its cargo was distributed among the other mounts. He ambled along beside Amira, and at a moment where Dardan rode ahead and Mason lagged behind a little, he spoke. "M'lady—I'm sorry. Amira." He blushed as she smiled at his stumble. "I'm really sorry about what happened. I should have been able to fight."

"You were surrounded by a score of men. Trained men. Armed soldiers. What did you expect to do?"

"Something... I don't know. Something better. I've got this power and I couldn't even use it."

"I am told that even trained soldiers rarely do well in their first battle. Many are overcome by fear."

She'd meant this to comfort Garen, but he seemed to pout even more. "I should've been able to do something," he muttered, and urged his horse on ahead. Amira sighed. Why must men be so proud and unreasonable about these things?

At least Dardan had understood how she'd felt, after the battle in Stony Vale. But how could he think she was responsible for what Warden Penrose had done? She had been given this power without being asked. It was not her fault if men like Edon and Penrose acted badly because of it. They were the real monsters, not her. Weren't they?

———

The odd little party came into Seawatch early the next day, after spending the night in a roadside inn a few miles from Seawatch's gate. They'd made it out of Stony Vale in the late afternoon, after a round of farewells and some discussion over what Hugh Hamm—and the others who had started the attack on the royal soldiers—might do if Warden Penrose returned. They'd seemed confident in their ability to defend themselves, and some had argued that Penrose would chase after Amira instead, so they had nothing to worry about. She'd prayed they were right, and she would miss them, but they could not be her problem any longer.

It might be a moot point if they encountered Penrose on their way to Seawatch—if he'd fled to the garrison near the city—but they saw no sign of him or of any armed force on the road. _Perhaps he went west to find Edon._

She eyed the walls of Seawatch as she rode through the gate. Dardan had told her of the city's innate defensibility, but she knew mages would not be so easily stopped. Garen on his own could knock a hole in the city wall in a few moments. It would be a very rude way to announce oneself to the duke.

Duke Fortarin Eltasi. Could he really help? Amira wanted to start searching for mages at once, but Dardan had insisted that they go to Eltasi first—he expected them, and might be able to provide men and funds. If Edon was gathering a mage army, then so would she, and she had to admit that Eltasi's resources could help her in that task.

She glanced at Mason Iris now and then as they made their way through the city. He was always polite, even if he did utterly disapprove of her. She'd had second thoughts about him, wondering whether it would not just be safer to leave him behind—or kill him. No, she couldn't bring herself to do that. He'd sworn his oath, and she would trust that.

Dardan took them straight to an inn, the largest, most opulent inn Amira had seen in a long time. He made no secret of their presence, openly giving his true name and title to the innkeeper and asking for their largest suite of rooms. Mason gazed around with mild interest. Garen all but gaped. He'd been to Seawatch a time or two before, he'd told her, but he had never seen anything like this: gilded fixtures, plush velvet seats in the common room, nobles and wealthy merchants lounging about enjoying elaborate breakfasts.

Dardan wrote a note on parchment, sealed it with red wax, and gave it to the innkeeper to deliver to the Eltasi. He assured Amira it wouldn't take more than a day or two for the invitation to arrive.

They left their belongings in their suite and went about the business of acquiring new garments. They stopped at a nearby tailor first, to get Dardan and Garen measured for suits to be retrieved the next day. "I do not see what it gains us to wait another day," Amira said as they wound through the crowds toward a dressmaker's shop that the tailor had recommended. "You said Duke Eltasi expects us."

Dardan clucked his tongue. "You have set our course, my love. Now let me steer the ship."

"Nautical metaphors? Are you a sailor now?"

"We're in Seawatch. It seemed appropriate. Now look: I have more experience dealing with high nobles than you do. It is not bluster, just a simple fact. We will do better to await a proper invitation. And Duke Eltasi, like all men of rank, will be better swayed if we are dressed like those with power."

"I have power," she retorted.

Dardan glanced around and replied in a whisper. "Setting the duke on fire will not impress him favorably, I assure you."

The dressmaker insisted that she could not provide a new dress for Amira in less than three days. They instead settled on an existing bronze gown that would suffice after a few alterations, but it would still take until the next day at the earliest.

When that was done, Dardan declared that he and Garen would visit the nearest malthouse, and strongly suggested that Mason and Amira take dinner at the inn. Amira wasn't sure what her husband was up to, but she acceded without complaint. Even with Mason as her dinner companion, a nice quiet meal in an upscale inn would be a dream come true after all those long weeks on the road, and in the pleasant but admittedly rural environs of Stony Vale. She'd had enough of wild game to last several lifetimes.

Amira changed into one of the dresses she'd bought in Stony Vale. She came out into the suite's antechamber to find that Mason had removed his armor. He instead wore a serviceable suit of black wool that he said he'd had rolled away in his pack.

Even without his armor he drew many eyes in the dining room. He was reasonably handsome, though his white hair was distracting. _If only he'd smile._ She could not bring herself to dislike him; even if he had travelled with the despicable Warden Penrose, even if he did insist on upholding his oath to obey Edon, he had displayed a justness and humility that impressed her. Mason might not be her friend, but she saw no reason to be hostile to him. And perhaps their growing familiarity would soften his attitude toward her.

The meal passed pleasantly, and as they were surrounded by many ears, they restricted their conversation to idle chatter about what little background they shared—their time in Callaston, mostly. Mason told her of the Bastion of Spirit—the headquarters of the Wardens—and how he had spent long hours in its grassy courtyard, practicing with his sword, studying his books, or just meditating.

She in turn told him about her life on Willbury Street, about which she had not thought much in quite a while. It unsettled her to think about what might have happened to her manse and servants in her absence. Of course this led her to think of Katin, and she paused for a moment to offer a prayer to the Aspect of Despair. She had not thought of her friend and _vala_ often enough.

They finished their meal and retired to their suite, which had two large bedchambers adjoined by a sitting room. Dardan and Amira would share one room for the night; Garen would have the other to himself, for Mason had volunteered to keep watch in the sitting room. Perhaps he thought she might try to sneak away in the middle of the night.

As the other men had not returned yet, Amira took wine there. The inn provided a serving girl to attend them, but Amira gave her a silver, told her to take the evening off, and poured the wine herself.

Mason refused to drink. "It would be inappropriate while I am in your company, m'lady."

She shrugged and went through the carafe herself. Mason seemed to grow sullen as the night wore on, and Amira eventually gave up trying to make further conversation.

Footsteps heralded the return of her husband and Garen, who both staggered drunkenly. She bade Mason a good night and guided Dardan to their bedchamber.

He seemed to sober up a bit once the door was shut. Amira asked how his evening went. "Quite well. I think there's no more concern as far as you and he are, er, concerned."

Something about the way he phrased it, and how he did not meet her eyes, piqued her interest. "Tell me all about it," she said sweetly.

"It's... nothing you'll find interesting."

"Oh, I think I should be the one to judge that."

Now Dardan looked at her, his face slowly contorting with dismay. "It... um... it's no fit conversation for a lady."

"Ah, I see. You took him to a brothel."

The look of horror on Dardan's face made Amira burst into laughter. "I'm sorry, dear. Surely you don't think I was so sheltered a girl as to be unaware of the existence of brothels?" In truth she knew a great deal more about brothels than merely that they existed, but she would have to be a great deal more inebriated for that discussion. Magic powers were one thing...

"I did not—I did—only he did!" Dardan protested. "I stayed in the lounge!"

She put a finger over his mouth. "I believe you, dear. Now enough about the boy." She put her lips on his and guided his hands in removing her dress. There were no more words after that.

———

As promised, the new garments were ready the following afternoon. Amira's gown was bronze silk striped with gold, long hanging sleeves, and a colossal lace ruffle at her neck. Dardan's suit was simple, fine black linen; he'd also acquired shiny new boots that would probably hurt his feet terribly until they were broken in.

With Mason in his silvered Warden's plate and Garen looking like he might not have too recently fallen off the turnip wagon, they perhaps might stand a chance of persuading the great, aged Duke Fortarin Eltasi to help them. Amira's only obligation, Dardan told her, was to demonstrate her power for the duke and a few other nobles—his daughter and grandson, in particular. He seemed greatly relieved when Amira told him that she didn't mind at all. As far as she was concerned, the more people who knew about her power, the better.

That afternoon they also received a response from House Eltasi: they were to come to the castle the following morning. This they did, taking a coach up the central street of Seawatch, the Salt Road, which ran straight as an arrow toward the duke's castle at the highest point of the bluff. Amira, Dardan, and Garen rode in the coach, leaving their horses at the inn, but Mason chose to ride Hawthorn.

The fortress of House Eltasi was named Wind's Fury. It was built into the rock of the promontory itself, an angular slab of limestone slotted into sea rocks of a darker gray. Narrow window slits rose in a helix up a central, tapering tower. It was imposing and stolid, forbidding beneath the flat gray clouds. In four hundred years it had never been taken by any attacker.

The gate guards expected them. Amira wasn't sure if they stared at her or Mason more. Everyone in a big city like Seawatch would have seen Wardens at least a few times in their lives, but it was still an excitement to meet one up close.

A page was summoned to lead them into the castle keep. Amira tried to remember their route through the keep, but it was hopeless. All the stone corridors looked the same to her. The fortress had been built for defense, which meant lots of choke points, exposed corners, and heavy barred doors. She prayed that Dardan had kept track of it all.

They were first brought to an audience chamber, but Duke Fortarin Eltasi was not there. Instead Amira was introduced to half a dozen nobles, all of whom seemed to be Eltasi's descendants: his eldest son Thervan, who was already old and gray; Thervan's brother Marin, who frowned and drummed his fingers impatiently; Lady Nyera Helgar, Fortarin's eldest daughter, with whom Dardan had spoken on his first visit; her son Gennevan, who Dardan knew from past encounters; and a few others who seemed to be of lesser import. Their _valai_ were all present as well, clustered at the edge of the room.

"So this is your little countess," Lady Nyera said once the introductions were complete. Younger than her brothers, and in no position to inherit much of anything, she nonetheless took the fore while Thervan, the heir apparent to the dukedom, sat idly in a velvet chair. Nyera gave Amira a thorough examination, even going so far as to circle around her and inspect every angle as if she were a horse for sale. "A very pretty girl. I imagine you expect that to impress us, Count Tarian."

"My lady," he replied noncommittally. "Once the demonstration is complete, we will be brought to the duke, as you agreed, correct?"

Nyera's smirk betrayed how likely she thought that was. Amira wanted to knock her down a few pegs, but she kept her hands folded before her and bit her tongue. "By all means, my dear count." Nyera glanced at Amira. "Please show us... whatever it is."

Amira had spoken to Dardan about what she should demonstrate. He'd wanted her to start small, so as not to frighten anyone, but upon meeting Lady Nyera, Amira knew that that would be a mistake. She had to impress them, and Nyera most of all.

She pushed her bead out and stretched it into a net, then lay it around Nyera's head and gently pushed energy into it. Nyera's smirk dissolved into a frown, and she looked about in confusion as she began to warm. In a few moments, beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. Amira stretched the net larger, so that it enveloped Nyera's whole body. The woman unconsciously wiped her hands on her skirt as her palms began to sweat. She glanced around, still looking for the source of the heat, and then suddenly swung her startled gaze upon Amira. Amira just smiled at her.

"When is this to begin?" Lord Marin asked, sounding peevish. "Some of us have matters to attend—"

"Quiet," Nyera snapped.

It so happened that behind the Eltasi nobles sat a large hearth. Fresh logs had been laid in it but not yet lit, which gave Amira an idea. She released the net around Nyera and formed a new bead, then held out her hand and placed it above her palm. She pushed just enough energy into it to make it begin to glow with light that all could see.

The other nobles gasped and exclaimed one by one as they noticed the glowing speck. Amira curved her palm around the bead, then flung it at the fireplace while pretending to throw it with her hand. As soon as the bead touched the wood, she pushed every ounce of energy into it that she could, dragging it back and forth along the logs.

Flames sprung up with a series of dry pops as bubbles of sap in the wood burst. In seconds the fire raged along the whole hearth. Those nearest to it backed away hurriedly, as if the fire might decide to come after them next.

No damage had been done so far, but Amira could not resist a final flourish. She raised her hand and brought her bead up to the wood panelling above the hearth. Drawing it down to a fine point, she began to char a jagged black line along the wood. It hissed and smoked for several seconds, and when she was done, a stylized symbol of a flame had been burned into the wall.

Amira turned to Lady Nyera, who alone among the Eltasi had not moved. Amira bowed very slightly, meaning to insult the rude old woman. "I do hope you are impressed, my lady," she said, then went to stand by Dardan's side. He looked alarmed, but she gave him her best smile and squeezed his hand.

The Eltasi had all gathered together, whispering fiercely. After a remarkably short time, Lady Nyera turned to face Amira. "I think... I think I shall conduct you to the duke now."

———

Lady Nyera took them to a chilly arched hall. Gray light slipped in through narrow windows, and Amira could hear the distant surf through a balcony door in the far wall. At one end of a long table sat an old, withered man, dressed in rich furs and apparently in the last stages of a meal. Amira recalled that she had met Duke Fortarin Eltasi at the summer ball, but she had also met a hundred other nobles that day and one face blurred into the next.

Nyera led the way into the hall, motioned for Amira and her companions to stay at the door, and went to speak with her father. Her _vala_ followed, casting dark glances at Amira and Dardan.

Amira looked around. Two guards stood behind the duke, along with a younger man who must be the duke's _valo_ , and a pair of footmen, hovering and ready to attend to the duke at a moment's notice. After several minutes of whispered conversation, Lady Nyera turned and beckoned to them. Dardan and Amira led the way, with Garen and Mason right behind them.

The duke looked up at his daughter. "Nyera, dear, that will be all." The woman seemed disappointed, Amira thought, but she graciously withdrew with her _vala_ , giving one last astonished glance at Amira.

Dardan bowed deeply to the duke. Amira curtseyed as low as her dress would let her. "Your grace. It is an honor to meet you again," Dardan said.

In contrast to the rudeness of the other Eltasi, Duke Fortarin smiled and spoke in a friendly manner. "Likewise, my boy. I was saddened to hear of your father's death. I cannot claim to have known him well, but I never heard a bad word said against him, except by those with spite and jealousy in their hearts. Please, have a seat." He waved grandly at the long, empty table before him as he examined his guests. His sunken, pale blue eyes lingered on them each in turn.

"Thank you, your grace." Dardan and Amira sat at his left hand. Mason stayed standing behind them. Garen wavered, seeming unsure whether to sit or stand.

"Your _valo_ and Warden Iris may sit as well," the duke said, smiling. Several of the duke's teeth were missing, replaced with a wooden denture, painted off-white to match his remaining teeth. Something about it made Amira a little queasy, but she kept a soft smile plastered on her face.

Garen seemed to realize that the duke thought that _he_ was Dardan's _valo_ , so he shrugged and sat down. Mason declined. "Thank you, your grace, but sitting in plate armor is never comfortable," he said. Amira wondered if Mason would say anything else, or try to explain how he had come to accompany them. She hoped not.

"Well." Duke Eltasi considered the Warden for a few moments. "I suppose that is true. It's been ages since I had to wear plate. The mind forgets." He turned and clapped liver-spotted hands. "Refreshments for my guests!"

A platter of wine, soft bread, cheese, and fruit was brought out for them. Dardan, Amira noticed, did not touch it, though he nodded graciously and thanked the duke. Garen waited until no one was looking and began sneaking morsels. Amira nibbled on a little cheese, just to be polite. Her stomach flipped every so often. Throwing up on the duke would be no more polite than incinerating him.

"So tell me what it is that brings you here today," the duke said, folding his wrinkled hands together. His own plate had been cleared away and he watched them all intently.

Dardan laid out much the same story as he'd told to Elmer Brahim all those weeks ago, and later to Count Barnard. Except now he hid nothing. Amira's power had been openly revealed to the rest of the Eltasi, and there was nothing they had reason to hide from the duke... except for Sir Gaelan Thoriss's death, which Dardan did not mention.

Duke Eltasi interrupted frequently to ask questions about this detail or that. Dardan did all the talking, and so Amira was at leisure to observe the old man. His eyes flicked around constantly, usually between his four guests, but occasionally to the heavy oak doors they'd come in through. They were closed now.

The fifth time he glanced at the doors, Amira began to feel uneasy. Was he expecting someone? It had been only a few days since Dardan had been to Seawatch the first time; surely not long enough to get a message to Edon, wherever he was now.

Amira looked around. They'd been here nearly an hour. The footmen had all withdrawn. Even the duke's _valo_ had gone out at some point, leaving only the two house guards.

The duke's _valo_ returned just as Dardan began to describe how he had come to Seawatch and met with Gennevan and Nyera. The _valo_ stepped near to his master and cleared his throat gently. "Excuse me," the duke said, and the _valo_ bent down to whisper to him. "Oh dear," the duke said, not sounding put out at all. "You must pardon me," he said, rising to his feet. Amira, Dardan, and Garen all stood as well, bowing or curtseying as was required. "I must attend to a delicate matter. I will be back directly." He shuffled away toward the heavy oak doors. His _valo_ trailed him, as well as the two guards. When the doors clicked shut behind them, Amira and her companions were left alone in the dining hall.

"That was odd," she said.

"I'm surprised he wasn't interrupted sooner," Dardan said. "Dukes rarely have a moment's peace, even at home—"

Suddenly Mason had drawn his sword, and was facing the door. Then he looked up at the high walls to either side of it. Amira followed his gaze. The walls were the same dark wood as the doors, carved with elaborate seascapes, scenes of battle, wildlife. "What is it?" she whispered.

"Under the table!" he shouted, and shoved her away. She did not hesitate, and scrambled to the floor, putting the heavy table over her head. Dardan had drawn his sword as well. "All of you!"

The order was punctuated by a _twang_ , just as Mason leapt to the side. A crossbow quarrel clanged off his armor and spun away, a glancing blow that would have punched straight through him had he not moved. Amira couldn't see where it had come from, but there must have been murder-holes hidden up in those carvings. She couldn't see them from under the table, or try to strike at whoever had shot at them.

Garen had taken the hint and darted under the table as well, followed at once by Dardan. Only Mason among them wore armor. "Garen!" Amira hissed. "I can't hit them. You have to!"

He twisted around to look at her. There was fear in his eyes, but also determination. "What? Where?"

"On the wall, high up. Tear the whole thing down if you have to!"

Garen was breathing hard, and she saw him shaking. But he nodded. By now, Mason had gotten behind the end of the table farthest from the carved wall. His armor was too bulky for him to get on the floor and crawl under the table easily, but the edge of the table and the duke's chair might provide some cover.

Garen stuck his head out the other side of the table and then immediately jerked back. His momentary appearance was rewarded with another quarrel thwacking off the floor an inch from his head. He leaned out again at once. Whoever had shot at him would be reloading. And Amira knew that Garen's response would take only a moment.

There was a sound like a tree snapping in half—she was reminded of the huge pine outside Hugh Hamm's house falling into the brush—and she saw shards of wood rain to the floor. Amira risked a glance of her own from farther back, and saw a pumpkin-sized hole in the wall, about ten feet off the ground. Behind it was an open space, some hidden gallery that allowed for secret observation—or exactly the kind of ambush that had just occurred. After a moment, a man's face peered out through the hole, looking astonished.

Amira's blood raged. She was far beyond any kind of caution or mercy. She made her bead into a focused point and flung it at the man. There was a sizzle and the man screamed, falling back out of sight.

"The door!" Mason shouted.

"Garen, blast open the door!" Amira repeated. "All your strength!" She could see it from here, between the far legs of the table. Garen crawled that way. Amira heard an irregular beat, and began to make out the sounds of boots thumping somewhere, and orders being shouted. There must be armed men out in the hall, preparing to rush in and kill them all.

Dardan risked a glance out the other side of the table and almost had his head pierced by a crossbow bolt. He jerked away from it as it thunked into the arm of a chair. "There's another one up there," he grunted. "Go after Garen. They'll have a harder time hitting the foot of the table."

Amira heard a _clank_ behind her and looked back. Mason had sheathed his sword and flopped onto his back, then used the table legs to slide himself head-first toward her. It was an odd way to move, but perhaps his only choice, given the confined space under the table and his heavy armor.

She began to crawl after Garen, who had made it to the far end of the long table. He gripped the table legs and focused on the door beyond. Amira had to look away when the bead reached its brightest, just before the detonation. The doors and a good chunk of the walls surrounding them exploded into a storm of wooden shards, mostly directed into the corridor beyond.

"Go!" Amira shouted. Garen crawled out quickly, got to his feet, and plastered himself against the wall next to the gaping ruins of the doorway. Whoever was shooting at them from up above would not be able to hit him there. Amira followed Garen out, with Dardan close on her heels. She put herself opposite Garen, and then Dardan put himself in front of her. "Behind me, you dolt," she said, yanking him away by the arm so that she could see.

He protested, but he was little more than an obstruction to her just now. She could see a sliver of the corridor and heard voices and movement. She caught Garen's eye and pointed over her shoulder, into the corridor. He nodded, leaned out, and a moment later there was another crack from that direction, and several agonized shouts.

She darted around the ruins of the doorframe and looked the other way down the corridor. Up above must be the hidden gallery, but there was no obvious way to reach it from here. In the corridor were several men in disarray, holding swords or crossbows. Some stood, some leaned against the wall in shock, and others lay on the floor, injured or dying or dead.

A faint glimmer of sympathy surfaced in the corner of Amira's mind. But she reminded herself that these men were trying to kill her, and she could give no quarter without risking her life—and that of her husband, and Garen, and Mason, who had finally extricated himself from under the table and taken up position next to Garen. Mason, for all his oaths, was no fool; Eltasi was trying to kill him, and his haunted expression showed that he knew it.

One by one, Amira pushed her ember into the calf muscle of each Eltasi soldier who remained standing, meaning only to disable them for now. _Your mercy will be the death of you,_ a voice came unbidden, as each man screeched and fell to the floor.

She would not show such mercy to Duke Eltasi if she found him. She had a fancy for a moment of hunting down the old bastard and killing him for his treachery, but he could be anywhere by now, and they had to get out of here. "Mason. Lead the way out. Garen and I will be at your sides. Dardan, watch our back."

The men all goggled at her for a moment, but one by one they nodded. She felt a tightness in her chest, and knew that if she stopped to think about it she'd fall to pieces right here in the corridor. So she steeled herself, lifted the hem of her skirt a little to avoid tripping on it, and marched down the corridor beside an oathbound Warden, a blacksmith's apprentice, and an exiled count.

———

Relief flooded her as they emerged into the stableyard. They'd fought through another group of armed Eltasi men who had confronted them in the halls. The guards had yelled at them to surrender, and Amira yelled back, and then Mason and Garen were yelling too, and when one of the Eltasi men lunged forward, Garen had set off a thunderclap that had knocked the man back down the corridor. He had come to a rest sprawled on the floor; unconscious, maybe dead. Amira couldn't make herself look at him as they passed. The other guards had panicked and fled, and she had trembled even though she had the upper hand—or perhaps because she had it.

"Horses! Now!" Mason shouted at a pair of wide-eyed stablehands who stood in the yard. Only when he shouted again did the boys hop to.

Amira could sense the tension radiating from her companions. Dardan especially seemed to be agitated. Garen was calmer; Mason spoke only in short, terse eruptions. She wondered why she was noticing all this now. Shouldn't she be panicking? Focusing on the danger at hand? What was wrong with her? She felt light-headed and held onto Dardan's arm for a moment.

Horses were brought forth almost at once: Mason's white stallion Hawthorn for him to ride, as well as three of Eltasi's stock for the others. "Now we're horse thieves as well," Dardan muttered.

"I believe the circumstances justify it," Mason said. He kept his eyes focused on the castle doors behind them.

Amira's dress was not split for riding, but propriety was the last thing on her mind. She mounted and let her dress ride up, exposing the petticoats and her ankles beneath, and led the way out through the gate, which by some miracle had not been closed. Not that it would have stopped them, but she felt they'd already made quite enough of an impact today.

They cantered down the main road, knifing through the crowds and slowing to a walk only once they neared their inn. "Duke Eltasi may still send riders after us," Dardan said. "He will still think in the old way, despite what you've just done."

Garen and Mason waited outside while Amira and Dardan went to their suite to gather the belongings they'd left behind. Dardan stopped on the way out to deposit a bag of silver with the innkeeper and settle their account. "No sense burning any more bridges," he said to his wife, and she could not bring herself to argue. They left the Eltasi mounts behind and retrieved their own from the stable.

No one tried to stop them when they left Seawatch through its gate. Either the news of what had transpired at the castle had not reached them, or someone had the sense to not waste more guards' lives trying to stop the mages. Still, Dardan insisted that they should ride many miles before stopping.

Amira twisted to look back at the limestone walls of Seawatch as they dwindled away. The story would spread, no doubt. How would the powers of Garova react to this new threat? Would they unite behind their king? A few mages could easily upset the balance of power; a duke or a count— _or a countess_ —who gathered a few loyal mages could suddenly become a major threat. What would the commoners think? The people of Stony Vale had stood by Amira, and for that she would be forever grateful, but something told her that the future would not be so easy.

They finally stopped after an hour so that Amira could change out of her gown and into something more practical. One of the dresses she'd gotten in Stony Vale was split for riding, but instead she hid behind her horse and put on her old, travel-stained wool and leathers. The old order had been shattered; who was there left to impress?

They mounted up again and rode on. Amira saw that Garen still looked exhausted and stunned. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Garen grinned. "I think I did better that time."

"It may not always go so well," she cautioned him. "It's... it's not too late for you to return to Stony Vale, if you wish."

Garen shook his head. "No. You were right. If I stay there, well, that Penrose bastard might come back for me. I'm better off with you."

Mason had ridden close. "Warden Penrose may lack compassion, but he is still a Warden and obedient to our king and our Order, and deserving of proper respect," he interjected. If the recent altercation had unsettled him, he didn't show it. Amira felt cold fear wash over her at the memory of it, even though it had been hours.

But she was also greatly annoyed by his tone. How dare he defend Penrose at a time like this? "I'm afraid I'm not as forgiving as you, Warden. When people try to kill me, I do not praise them for their valor. In case you've already forgotten, the very first quarrel was aimed at you in particular. Surely your obedience to Edon does not extend to permitting his minions to murder you for no reason."

Mason beetled his brow and looked away. "I'm certain it was an oversight on Duke Eltasi's part. He assumed that any companion of yours was equally guilty of treason. If he had known my correct role, he would not have attempted to harm me." But he kicked Hawthorn's side and rode ahead a few dozen yards, nullifying the possibility of any further argument.

Dardan had listened quietly to the exchange. "Must you try to provoke him?"

Amira shrugged. "He's the one seeking provocation. I think it is a diversion. A man who truly believed in the strength of his oaths would not have to work so hard to honor them."

### CHAPTER 33

### LIAM

For three days Liam recuperated in Lisa and James Cordway's house. He and Katin had to stay hidden; if anyone in the town became aware of their presence, it could ruin his whole plan. Liam thanked the Caretaker every hour that the thugs who'd confronted them that first day didn't show up at the Cordways' door.

Their daughter, Samantha, had to be warned firmly not to tell anyone about Katin and Liam's presence. Liam watched from a doorway as James cautioned his daughter. The girl nodded firmly at his instructions, sparing a quick glance for Liam, apprehension and curiosity in her eyes.

Liam carefully cleaned his travel-worn clothes and washed himself in the Cordways' garden, hidden from prying eyes by the tall hedge. Lisa Cordway lent him her comb to brush the tangles and knots out of his hair, which had begun to grow long in the weeks since Hedenham. As the sun set, he met James in the Cordways' sitting room, which made up the front half of their house. Lisa had taken the children into the bedroom, but Katin appeared in the doorway, watching the men.

Liam turned away from her for a moment. _There's still time to back out. She'll be insufferable if I fail. Of course, I'll be dead if I fail._ "It's time I was going," he said to James.

The taller man nodded back at him, uncertainty written plainly on his face. He glanced at Katin for a moment, then spoke in a near-whisper to Liam. "We'll get her out somewhere safe if... if we need to."

Liam felt a pervading anxiety, and he hadn't even gone out the door yet. He clasped James's hand. "Be ready."

He went over to Katin. She leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed. "You know I have to do this," he said.

His plan had only stayed a secret for half a day. Katin had known something was afoot when James offered to let them stay as long as they want and Liam hadn't objected. "You'd never stay in one place like this without a reason," she'd sniffed at him.

How could he hide it from her? If he did fail, she couldn't be left to wonder where he'd gone and what he was doing. So he'd told her what he aimed to do. She'd listened quietly, and when he finished, she did not berate him, she did not tell him he was mad. Instead she'd offered some suggestions.

But her smile was gone. In those weeks in the caravan he'd seen it plenty, once they'd settled into a routine. Now, a permanent grimness had welled up from somewhere.

She relaxed not a hair as he stood before her. "Just be careful. You won't get more than one chance."

There was nothing more to say. He kissed her once and went out the door.

———

The wide dirt paths that made for streets in Carson's Watch were deserted by sundown. Nobody wanted to be caught out in the dark by Adeline's thugs, no matter what business they might have. Samantha Cordway had brought home tales each night of townsfolk harassed and assaulted.

But Liam was counting on it. He made straight for the town square, letting his legs stretch out. It felt good to walk, even if he was still sore from the beating. He reminded himself to seek out the town's temple and pray at the altar of Sacrifice. And then find a malthouse... if he survived the night.

Liam found no one in the town square, not frightened townsfolk or swaggering thugs. The inn stood quiet and desolate, the walls scorched. At least it did still stand, unlike the trade office across the square. That building was gutted, the roof collapsed. It happened to sit apart from the other buildings, which was probably why the whole town hadn't gone up in flames when Adeline burned it. _Don't play with fire, children._

He waited around as the last daylight faded, but no one came. When the square was lit only by starlight and the faint glow of distant hearths, he turned west and walked. According to James, Adeline Broxton had taken over some merchant's house on the edge of town. The house was easy to find, even in the dark. It was the tallest in Carson's Watch, the only two-story building besides the inn, and brightly lit. Liam heard the noise before he saw it. Coarse laughter and a periodic thumping sound floated down the lane toward him. He touched the dagger at the small of his back to reassure himself, then walked up the gravel path to the house. He wondered who the merchant was who owned it, and what had happened to him.

The door stood wide open. So this Adeline thought the whole town was hers; she could waste her hearthfire, letting the warm air waft out into the darkness. Stealing more firewood from the locals would be easy for her.

Liam's boot creaked the front steps, and a man in a grimy black woolen coat leaned out the door. "What do you want?"

Liam came to a halt where the lamps inside lit him clearly. The man would have a good look at his face. _And here we go._ He summoned up every ounce of haughtiness he could, every raised eyebrow and arch tone of voice he'd ever seen or heard from Dardan, or Asmus, or any of the other nobles he'd ever come across in the parlors of Callaston and Hedenham. He planted his fists on his hips and lifted his chin. "And who, precisely, are you supposed to be?"

The man frowned a little. "Name's Black Tom," he said, trying to sound menacing, but uncertainty crept in, even in those three little words.

"And I presume this is where one might find Miss Adeline Broxton, hmm?"

Heartbeats passed, and then something clicked in Black Tom. His head ducked only a fraction, but Liam saw it. The man had marked Liam as a noble, despite his common clothes. "Uh, yes, uh... m'lord? She's right inside. Um, wait there. If y'please." He backed away, then rushed down the hall and through a door.

Liam ignored the instruction and stepped inside, doffing his hat. He'd borrowed it from James Cordway, and it was almost comically overlarge, but with luck he wouldn't need to put it on again.

The tenor of the voices from within changed, and the thumping sound stopped. Liam forced himself to be patient. _Nobles wait for introductions._ Suddenly a shrill voice cut through the noise. "Well bring him here!" Black Tom came back out, looking frightened. He gestured through the door. "This way, m'lord."

Liam nodded stiffly and strode past, ignoring Black Tom completely. He passed into what must be a sitting room. It was almost as large as the Cordways' entire house. _Quite a well-off merchant. This Adeline went straight to the richest man in town._ Liam wasn't going to hold out hope that the merchant was still alive.

The sitting room was strewn with people, men and women both. The thugs who had rained terror upon the townsfolk were the bulk of those present: hard-eyed, rough-edged, clothed in wool and leather and even some mail that had seen better days, all with daggers or swords or clubs at their sides. Some stood; others slouched on chairs or settees or the floor, cups of wine or ale at hand. One man sitting by the hearth had a drum clasped between his knees. Apparently that was the best musical talent Adeline had been able to scrounge up. The women all seemed to be half-clothed, wrapped in the thugs' grimy arms, eyes nervously casting about.

All except one woman, who sat in a high-backed chair beside the roaring hearth. She wore a scarlet gown, a garment one would only properly wear to a ball or masque, or perhaps even a town dance, but never for lounging about. She looked like a girl playing dress-up in her mother's clothes: the gown was cut wrong for her, too low in the bodice, for breasts that just weren't there. Her dark hair was undone all around her shoulders, but it looked messy, not alluring. Her skin was too sun-browned to be that of a wealthy woman who stayed indoors or took a parasol out on strolls.

Liam took all this in as he walked up to her and inclined his head slightly. "You must be Adeline Broxton." Every eye in the room centered upon him, but he kept his attention on Adeline. The heat had made him start to sweat.

She stood up at once, glaring at him. "You have the honor of addressing the Baroness Adeline Broxton." She held out her hand, as if he should kneel and kiss it.

He stayed on his feet but took her hand and bent over it, letting his lips brush it slightly. He kept his eyes locked on hers. "Forgive me, baroness. I was not made aware of your station."

Her hostility had faded to confusion. "Who are you?"

"A weary traveller seeking to meet the one whom I was told is the true power in these parts. Might I trouble you for a cup of wine?"

She waved a hand at someone, and Liam found a pewter mug pressed into his hand. He drank deep, still without taking his eyes from hers, then held the cup out until someone took it. He didn't know who; it didn't matter. If he had her, he had them all.

"What is your name?" Adeline asked.

"I have heard much about your power. I believe I can be of some assistance to you."

Adeline started slightly. "What do you know of my... of this?" she said. The caution had returned, but she was still fascinated by him.

"I know that you are not the only one who has it. I know that you have certainly heard the rumors from the north and west, of King Edon."

All conversation had stopped when he came in, but now a few voices muttered at the king's name. Adeline finally tore her eyes away, to give a warning glare at someone. Liam still did not look away. "Rumors and nonsense," Adeline said. "None have my power."

"Ah, but they do. Edon himself tore down a castle, striking as if he commanded lightning itself, blasting stone walls apart like a child smashing wooden blocks."

"Lies..." she trailed off. "Where did you hear this?"

"Hear this?" Liam laughed, dismissive. "My lady, I saw this with my own eyes. I was _there_."

Adeline's voice grew faint. "Who _are_ you?"

"Forgive me, my lady." He stepped back, and swept a formal bow. "You have the honor of addressing Count Dardan Tarian of Hedenham County."

Someone laughed behind him. "You, a count? In clothes like that? Where's your _valo_?"

Liam turned around, as slowly as he could make himself. A bearded man with an angry red scar on one cheek stood up and stared defiantly at him.

"I'll assume you've simply had too much to drink and forgotten your manners," Liam said. He took a step toward the man, holding his hands wide. "My _valo_ , you see, was killed when King Edon attacked us, at Foxhill Keep in the north of Hedenham." Step. "As was my father, and his _valo_ , and my family's master-at-arms, blacksmith, and captain of guards. Men I have known my whole life." Step. "King Edon is out for Tarian blood. So let me ask you this, good sir: Would you travel openly as a noble, when the king had learned magic and wanted your head?"

He stood at arm's reach from the scar-cheeked man, whose expression had not softened but who now crossed his arms petulantly. Liam held his gaze for a moment longer, then scoffed and turned around. His heart raced, but he kept an arrogant grin on his lips. "My lady, I fear you need better courtiers. These are no fit companions for a noblewoman."

Adeline looked unconvinced. "If you are who you say you are, what are you doing here? Why not go to your duke for help?"

He hadn't expected that question. "Alas, it is not so simple." _Turn it around. Buy time._ "How much experience have you with noble politics, my lady?"

"Uh... some." An obvious lie. Adeline had been a farmwife a month ago; if she really knew anything of how nobles dealt with one another, he'd eat James's hat.

"Well, then you must certainly be aware that House Arkhail has many close ties to House Relindos—they would be just as likely to turn me in themselves if I went there for aid. Thus I seek assistance from others who are more removed from the royal court." He reached out to her, and she put her hand in his without seeming to realize quite what she'd done. "Thank the Aspect of Chaos that I've found you. Edon shares the power you have, but I think you could be even greater."

Adeline's lips parted slightly, and her eyes unfocused. Liam had slowly drawn closer to her. But then that grating voice came again from behind. "He's a liar. Kill him!" shouted Scar-cheek.

Liam sighed in exasperation, and turned to berate the man again— _pray he hasn't got his sword out already—_ but before he could, there was a loud _pop_ and several people in the room shouted or screamed. Scar-cheek thumped onto his knees, his blade clattering to the floor as he clutched at his arm. Liam had started to reach for his own dagger—that old reflex—but he stopped himself mid-turn. Adeline's finger, outstretched, pointed at Scar-cheek.

"No one touches the count," Adeline said as commandingly as a young farmer girl could.

Aside from Edon's attack at Foxhill Keep, Liam had never seen the power used. He'd expected to be terrified, but instead found himself simply astonished, and then excited. _Such a weapon!_

The faint aroma of charred meat filled the air as Scar-cheek struggled to his feet. "My... apologies... m'lady." He bowed toward her, but his eyes held only hatred for Liam.

Liam let his eyebrows crawl back down to their normal station, and looked at Adeline again. "That was quite remarkable, my lady. It is good to see that you do not hesitate to deal with those who need... to be dealt with." He grimaced inwardly. _That sounded idiotic._ Liam gave his best smile to cover it. "Might I suggest a meal? I'm quite famished."

"But... the servants have already washed up..."

"So? You are their _lady_ ," Liam whispered.

She blinked at him, then comprehension dawned. "Yes. Of course! Fetch the cook. I shall require a meal for the count."

———

Whatever had happened to the house's previous owners—Liam was now all but certain that they had been killed—a few of the servants had stayed behind when Adeline took it over. They were brought forth, looking exhausted, clearly having gone past initial terror into the enduring misery of serving this mad new mistress.

The meal managed a semblance of class: pan-fried pork medallions and baked carrots and turnips, and more wine brought up from some cellar. The one maid who remained did all the serving, scurrying about in terror. When she was too slow at clearing away the plates, Adeline flicked a peevish finger and the maid's apron caught fire. Adeline laughed as the girl flung it to the floor and stomped on it.

Liam made casual chatter through dinner, but when the plates were all cleared, he came around and sat next to Adeline, taking her hands. "My lady, we must make better use of your power. Subjugating flyspeck towns such as this is beneath you."

"What do you mean?"

"I think this realm has been ruled by fools long enough, don't you?" He didn't, of course—well, Viktor had been no fool, even if Edon was. "I think it's time we had a ruler who had real power, and would not hesitate to use it. With this," he reached up and gently touched her forehead, "you could be a queen like none the world has ever seen before."

Adeline let out a little gasp, but then cleared her throat. "Yes, well, I shall think on it."

"Of course. It's a bit late for an after-dinner stroll, but perhaps you could show me around this fine home of yours?"

Adeline stood up and laughed. "Oh, it's not really mine," she said. "It belonged to Master Rastbury. He traded in grain. And always cheated my husband and me when buying our stock. I simply took back what should be rightfully mine."

Liam paused, pretending wariness. "Ah. You have a husband?"

Adeline's eyes widened, and she waved dismissively. "Oh, well, yes, but he's out at our farm. His farm. Far away. You don't need to worry about him." She slipped her arm through his and led him from the dining room.

The house was really no different from any of a dozen other country houses Liam had visited, usually with Dardan on some official errand. Nonetheless, he feigned interest as Adeline took him on a little tour. The thugs and other hangers-on were scattered around, lurking about in hallways and parlors. Liam did his best to pretend they weren't there.

As casually as she was able, Adeline asked, "Does m'lord have a wife?"

"Yes, but she is also far from here." He held up his hands; he had taken off the false rings. "I had to remove my rings as part of my disguise."

"Oh," Adeline said, and then giggled nervously. "Might I show m'lord the upstairs?"

Liam grinned widely. "That would be an excellent idea."

She took him to the upper floor, which had a long hall branching off into various chambers. "I've taken the largest bedchamber for myself, of course."

"As you no doubt deserve," Liam murmured. "Show it to me."

Liam could hear her breath quicken. She nodded, and drew him down the corridor.

His own pulse quickened as well, but it jumped a beat when he saw Scar-cheek standing by the double doors at the end of the hall. The man's arm had been bandaged, and he stared daggers at Liam, even though Adeline had been the one to burn him. He kept one hand firmly on the pommel of the sword at his belt.

Adeline sniffed at him. "We are not to be disturbed." Scar-cheek watched silently, hatred written across his face, as Adeline pulled Liam past him.

The door had a narrow bar that might stop someone from bursting in for a minute or two. Liam set the bar, then put on his most lascivious grin and turned around just as Adeline threw herself onto him. He reflexively drew back, but made himself stop. _No. I have to do this. It is no betrayal of Katin._ Still, the girl's lips were warm and wet on his, and made him tingle. He could feel his cock bulging against his trousers already. _Maybe just a little, before—_

He cut that thought off cruelly, and turned that aggression toward Adeline, pushing her toward the bed. She kissed and licked and bit at him, frantic with lust. "M'lord, take me," she purred, yanking his vest off over his arms, then pulling at the buttons on his shirt.

_Aspect of Wrath, guide me._ He let her unbutton it as he sought out the fury that lay there, always there, in the back of his mind. Adeline pulled his sleeves down as he held her sitting on the edge of the bed. Liam threw his arms back, tossing the shirt off completely, and then drew the dagger from its sheath at the small of his back, leaned away from her slightly, and slammed the blade up through the base of her jaw.

The dagger pierced her neck off-center and jammed against the bottom of her skull. She jerked back, pulling herself off the blade, and blood sprayed onto Liam's hand. A loud _crack_ sounded from above him, but he ignored it and grabbed her arm, his fingernails digging viciously into her flesh. He spun her around, yanked her head back by her hair, and slit her throat, cutting through the great artery on each side.

She spasmed, knocking the dagger from his grasp, red and slick. Liam stumbled backward. Blood roared in his ears. Adeline flopped off the bed and crashed to the floor, her arms jerking. Liam scrambled to pick up the dagger and plunged it into her back half a dozen times before he realized that someone was pounding on the door. "Open up!" came Scar-cheek's muffled voice. He banged on the door some more, and then Liam heard quick footsteps recede down the hall. The dagger slipped from his hand again, clattering in the growing pool of blood.

———

Liam had only ever been in two real fights. The first was during his time with the royal army. His company had been sent to root out a nest of bandits in the Barnston Wood, in the south of Stotsbury. Their lair had been found in a narrow gulch between two ridges. Liam's squad had been kept in reserve, in case the bandits tried to escape past the swords of the lead squads.

But they'd had some secret tunnel, because the bandits erupted out of the ground practically under Liam's feet, as surprised to find royal soldiers waiting there as the soldiers were to see them. Armed with pikes, Liam and his brothers had kept the bandits at bay long enough for reinforcements to arrive, though no less than four men Liam had trained alongside took fatal wounds that day. Once the other squads showed up, surrounding them all, the bandits were quick enough to throw down their weapons. They'd all hanged for it, of course, and the ringleader had been drawn and quartered. Liam had watched, and no matter how hard he tried, he'd never been able to forget the memory, or the screaming. That had been at a safe remove, in the nearby village square, as he watched from a hundred yards away, standing with his squad.

The second fight was at Foxhill Keep, scant weeks ago. There he'd matched swords in anger for the first time, against men much closer, within arm's reach. On horseback, in the dark, he barely hit anything he swung at. He didn't even know if he'd killed anyone that night. The few solid hits he'd scored could have been mere inconveniences to men in plate. Well, he'd only been buying time for Amira to escape.

He had never done anything like this. He'd been in Adeline's embrace, pressed tight against her bosom. He realized he was gasping as if he'd just sprinted a mile. Every fiber of his body shook. He knew he should fight it, but he did not. He crawled over to Adeline's body again and lifted her head up. Her eyes were glazed over; blood still dribbled from the great slash on her neck. He should have found it horrible, but it thrilled him.

He dropped her to the floor again and looked up. A smoking crater a foot wide marked the ceiling above where his head had been. That had been the sound he'd heard; she'd tried to use her power on him. If her aim had been true, she'd have blown his head clean off.

Liam began to feel calm reason pushing aside his rage. Scar-cheek and friends would be back any moment. He had no sword; in close quarters, his dagger might be sufficient to take down one man, even against a sword, especially if he had the element of surprise. But Scar-cheek wouldn't be alone.

He stood up, aching, and looked in the dressing mirror beside the bed. He was spattered with blood, a sight to to make folk tremble. He saw Adeline's body in the reflection, now nothing but an empty shell. No one would consecrate her body and send her to rejoin the earth, would they? He picked up the dagger and went to the door.

It had been no more than a minute since Adeline had slumped to the floor. Pounding footsteps vibrated to him through the floorboards. _Aspect of Courage, make this work._ He unbarred the door and opened it.

The three men outside skidded to a halt, Scar-cheek in the lead. Adeline's body was clearly visible from the corridor. Liam stood by, dagger in hand, dripping blood. "Her power could not save her," he growled. He lifted the dagger and pointed it at the men. Their eyes widened in horror and confusion. "And it will not save you." He took a step forward, his voice rising. "Tell them that she is dead. _TELL THEM!_ "

The two young men behind Scar-cheek spun and fled on the instant. Scar-cheek himself seemed made of tougher stuff, but whatever loyalty he had to Adeline must have died with her, for he backed away down the hall, wary eyes on Liam, and then rushed down the staircase.

Liam heard panic and shouting down below as he pulled on his shirt and vest. There was no time to lose. He stalked down the stairs. Men and women fled past him out into the night, shying away from him when they caught side of the blood and gore. He paid them no heed and went out onto the front steps. There, clearly lit by the house's lamps, he turned and stabbed his dagger into the doorframe.

Across the road, something moved in the darkness: a reflected eye, footsteps scuffing in the dirt as a shadow ran off. The signal was sent.

———

A few minutes after Liam had left the Cordways' the night before, James Cordway had slipped out into the darkness, and went from house to house, rounding up men he trusted. They'd gathered in clusters at the roads leading out of town, waiting.

One man had been sent to skulk in the shadows, to watch for Liam's signal. The dagger in the doorway set the man off to spread the word that Adeline was dead and the town should be retaken.

The thugs put up hardly any fight at all, confronted by armed mobs of angry townsmen, staves and wood axes and torches in hand. Without their patroness, they were no more than common ruffians, and vastly outnumbered.

James Cordway was made interim magistrate by acclamation, although he swore up and down he never wanted it and would step down as soon as the new baron appointed a replacement. But he didn't hesitate to condemn the men who had served Adeline.

A makeshift gallows was erected in the town square, built from the fallen timbers of the trade office. Six men swung from it in turn at the next noon, the sour thugs who'd flocked to Adeline's call. Scar-cheek and Black Tom were among them. Some of the others had escaped into the night, making for parts unknown.

Men of the town patrolled all that day, keeping an eye out for troublemakers. Liam didn't ask what had happened to Adeline's body, or the house she'd occupied. He cleaned himself up and changed into garments borrowed from men James knew. They were happy to gift them to this Oliver Smith, the man who'd faced down Adeline.

He went back to the Cordways' and found Katin waiting for him. She'd stayed inside the whole night with Lisa and her children, huddled and praying. The relief on Katin's face was obvious, but she stayed back until Liam went over to her and wrapped her in an embrace.

"It's over," he murmured to her. "They'll give us horses and supplies. We can make for the coast, and then north into Seawatch."

James was still out in the town somewhere. Lisa Cordway came in, shepherding her children. "Come along. We'll go visit your cousins." With a last, awed glance at Liam, she took the children out.

Katin pushed Liam back a little, looking up into his eyes, and took his hand. She pulled him along into the cozy little bedroom at the back of the house. It held only a single large bed shared by the family, not a patch on Adeline's stolen bedchamber. No lights were lit; only the afternoon sun crept in through the cracks of a shuttered window.

Katin stepped back from him. "I've made you wait too long," she said. She sounded afraid. She undid her blouse, her dress, bodice, shift, all falling away into a pile on the floor. _Afraid? Why? She's done this before._

She came over to him and helped him undress. Soon they both stood naked, skin to skin in the quiet dimness. He recalled the few sensations he'd felt with Adeline: the formless lust, the cold certainty, shuddering wrath. This was unlike that in every way.

There were no words. He kissed her and lifted her onto the bed. He caressed her arms, thighs, breasts, as she rubbed her leg against his groin and stroked his back. Soon, too soon, he slipped between her legs and pressed into her.

It wasn't the act. It was only faith that mattered. He prayed to the Aspects, all of them, to the Caretaker himself, but not with words. Just emotions, his rage, lust, envy, disgust. He plunged into Katin, and she was silent, biting her lip, eyes squeezed shut. Was it pain? Ecstasy? Did it even matter?

He'd always been careful to pull out before he came, always, even with prostitutes who could make their bitter tea. But now he didn't. He thrust, and came, grunting, feeling Katin's fingernails digging into his ribs. She wrapped her legs up around him, pulling him down, never to let him go.

He awoke when the dawn came, as Katin breathed slowly beside him. _There will be others like Adeline. This was only one skirmish._

A war is coming.

### CHAPTER 34

### DARDAN

By unspoken agreement, Amira and Dardan did not discuss the disaster in Seawatch. He was mortified at having fallen for Eltasi's trap, even if they had escaped. Amira was focused on searching for mages, and simply did not bring it up.

Dardan was grateful to let those memories recede each day. He had felt so accomplished after negotiating to meet with the duke, and especially after returning to Stony Vale and helping set matters right there. It shamed him to think of it.

They spent the next weeks canvassing the Dukedom of Seawatch, scouting every town and village they could find. Amira and Garen watched for the spark, that line of silver light they said they could see. As far as they knew, no mage could hide from them; if they could see a person, they could tell.

Despite Warden Iris's protestations that he would not assist them in searching for mages—he was merely escorting them until such time as he could determine how to (honorably) force Amira to return to Callaston—he slowly slipped into the role of bodyguard and man-at-arms, advising them on where the most protected spot was to make camp, or how to avoid dead-ends and chokepoints in towns and villages. It did not help his cause that Amira frequently asked his opinion on such matters. Sometimes she resorted to suggesting something obviously dangerous, and Iris simply did not have the cruelty in him to let the woman make such a blunder. It fascinated Dardan to see the full force of his wife's charm turned against another target.

Dardan didn't feel like he had much role at all now, aside from helping navigate from one town to another. In his youth he'd studied maps not only of Hedenham County, but the rest of the Dukedom of Thorncross, as well as neighboring dukedoms. Count Asmus had said it was important to know nearby lands, but Dardan had just thought it was fun poring over the maps, with their odd marks and intricate details.

From the city of Seawatch they went north to Braenar County, whose mazelike crags bordered Vasland. Iris advised against going deep into the crags in order to search the villages there for mages; they'd likely run across Vaslander raiding parties, which would be nothing but trouble. After Braenar they went southwest into Vannar County, and then south through Youngs County toward the Stormrest Hills. Crossing those storm-wracked hills in the deepening cold would have been much too dangerous, leaving them to go around to the east or west. West would take them into Everfleet County, which was in Thorncross and closer to Edon. Neither Amira nor Dardan had any interest in that.

At least Eltasi hadn't sent men after them, or prevailed upon the royal army to hunt them down. Still, Dardan couldn't help but look over his shoulder several times each day.

Thus they found themselves, in the last days of autumn, travelling down the coast road, into Barrowmere County in the Dukedom of Tidemere. And by now their party had doubled in size.

First they had come across Francine West, a wisp of a girl from a farm in Vannar County. Garen had spotted her spark as they passed her farmhouse; she lived there with her father, who beat her and yelled constantly. She had been all too glad to abandon the brute and join them when she found that there were others who shared her power. Francine had been terrified to reveal it to anyone, but when Amira confronted her, the girl wailed with joy and at once told her father to go stuff himself. For a girl with such a meek physical presence, she turned out to be rather blunt and chatty. Garen took a shine to her at once, which suited Dardan just fine. Even after their night out in Seawatch, Garen had still paid what Dardan considered to be undue attention to Amira.

Next had been the twins—not sisters, not really, but so alike in aspect with their black hair and pale skin that Dardan suspected they might have been separated at birth. They'd found Sophie Williams and Emma Powell in villages fifty miles apart, the former accused of witchcraft and sentenced to hang by terrified townsfolk, and the latter hiding in a barn for fear of a similar fate. Emma had taken some coaxing, thinking it was a trick by the other townsfolk, but with smiles and encouragement Amira brought her around.

Lastly had come Vincent Barnes, a hulking young man with an honest face, whom they found in a fishing village where the Stormrest Hills met the sea. Vincent had been tromping about angrily when they found him, shunned by the other townsfolk. They'd been too intimidated to attempt to hang him as Sophie's fellow villagers had tried, but still he found no love amongst them—his own parents had thrown him out—and was as glad as any of the others to join Amira and her growing band.

Disowned by their families, spurned by their friends, adrift in an increasingly hostile land. Relieved as they were to have found someone who would accept them, the new mages did not all instantly become best friends. There was mistrust and bickering, but between Amira's charm and Dardan's stern admonishments, the newcomers eventually became something like companionable.

———

Dardan shook the snow off his cloak. "I thought the coast was supposed to be warmer than this."

"The western coast is, dear," Amira replied, taking his hand as he helped her down from her mare. "It barely snows at all in winter there."

Dardan grumbled. "It's not even winter yet, not until after Remembrance and Wintergift." But almost; Remembrance began in two days.

Here, on the outskirts of Elland, gales came in from the sea with bitter regularity, smashing against the Stormrest Hills. Fresh snowdrifts taller than Dardan marched up the ridges, unblemished as yet by footsteps of man or beast. The days had almost reached their shortest; at night the temperature dropped precipitously. Soon Wintergift would come and winter would truly begin.

He and Amira had gone into the nearby village of Breaker Stand to search for news and try to buy supplies. They'd heard nothing of interest; in the snow, travellers were increasingly rare. Food was hard to find—at any reasonable price, anyway. Travellers seeking provisions at this time of year always found prices cruelly inflated.

Dardan was not pleased by how little of their coin remained. Feeding all these mages was getting expensive—not to mention the horses. Certainly they could hunt and forage for some of their food, but with the early snows, such resources grew scarce.

Darkness had fallen upon them by the time they returned to the stand of bare poplars where they'd left Warden Iris and the other mages. Several figures were gathered around the campfire. The ground in a wide circle around it had been cleared of snow; a simple task, since Amira and the other women could use their power to warm the ground, melting the slush and ice in seconds. They'd even figured out how to dry snow-soaked branches, turning damp wood into timber suitable for a fire.

Dardan heard a sharp _crack_ in the distance, and then another. That must be Vincent, off practicing with his power. He'd said he was afraid of hurting someone and practiced alone much of the time, no matter how Amira insisted that they all train together.

Amira faced Garen. "Have you all been practicing?"

"Yes," Francine said, rushing over. "Look! Look what I figured out!"

"You'll like this," Garen said, smiling wide. Francine had taken his hand, Dardan noticed.

Dardan watched as Francine concentrated, staring into space. Then she looked over at Amira, as if for approval.

Amira gasped. "Remarkable! How did you do that?"

"Dare I ask?"

Amira turned to Dardan. "She can create a new bead while the first one is still dissipating. It's amazingly quick!"

The implications failed to settle upon Dardan. "I shall assume that is a good thing." He stalked away, leaving them to discuss their mysterious magic. The cold and dark discouraged him, and he lay alone by the fire while Amira conferred with the other mages, wondering not for the first time where this road would end.

After a while, she came and knelt on the muddy ground beside him. "Are you all right?"

"No, I am bloody well not all right," he snapped, and sat up. "We're sleeping on frozen mud. We're a month out of Seawatch and have barely four new mages to show for it. An army to make men tremble, surely. And in case you forgot how to count, we're down to the last coppers in our pockets. How exactly did you expect to feed all these people?"

Amira drew back, startled. "What is this anger? You know we have no choice! What would you have us do? Go back to Callaston and politely ask Edon if he'll leave us be?"

Dardan grunted and lurched to his feet. "Never mind." He stomped off into the night, until the campfire was a faint twinkle among the leafless trees. Couldn't she see that this whole arrangement was doomed? Couldn't she see that he needed her more than these strangers did?

———

Their camp was only a half day's ride from the count's seat at Elland. The city had an encircling wall that sloped down toward the seaside. As in all sensible port cities, the docks sat outside the wall. Amira seemed optimistic that they'd find at least one more mage in a city this large, the largest they'd visited since Seawatch.

Dardan had spent the whole morning avoiding her. He regretted how he'd acted the night before—the clarity of daylight always threw nighttime actions into sharp relief—but today pride was his armor, and he would not apologize.

They came to Elland's north gate. The men there asked for the name of each person entering the city, and what business they had. The guardsman looked up sharply at Dardan's name, and asked him to wait a moment while he fetched his captain. He returned a moment later with not one but four men, clad in the deep blue and sea green of House Bahodir. "Count Dardan Tarian?" their captain asked.

Dardan nodded, tensing a little. "I am he."

"Count Razh Bahodir expects you, m'lord. If you will follow us to the keep." The guard captain bowed and gestured through the gate.

Dardan's horse must have sensed his unease, for it shied back a little. He turned to look at Amira, who wore a deep apprehension on her face. "Excuse us a moment," he said to the guard, and sidled over to his wife.

"They're expecting us?" Amira said. She almost managed not to glower at Dardan. Almost.

"We haven't been making much effort to hide. A messenger from Seawatch could have gotten here weeks ago. The whole eastern half of Garova could know of us by now."

Warden Iris came over on Hawthorn. His hand rested on the pearl-pommelled grip of his sword, but somehow he looked as if he had no intention of drawing it. Dardan knew that was a lie. They'd been threatened a time or two on their journey—bandits, wolves—and Iris was always ready to face threats. "I should like to point out that this could obviously be a trap."

"We outnumber them," Amira said.

"Yes, and quite clearly. So much so as to lull us into complacence."

"We can't very well turn around and leave," Amira said. "We still need to buy what supplies we can. Food here should be a little cheaper than out in the smaller towns."

"We'll go in," Dardan decided.

Iris nodded curtly. "Keep your eyes open. No blind alleys." Was he also reminded of Duke Eltasi's ambush in Seawatch? The Warden still insisted that Eltasi's attempt to kill him had been incidental. Perhaps only if he were _actually_ killed would he then believe that their enemies did not care one whit for his oaths.

They followed the guards into the city. Dardan's nerves buzzed as he watched the streets for hidden dangers. But they stayed on the wide, well-trafficked streets of Elland; the guards did not try to lead them into any narrow alleys.

The other mages surrounded Amira like an honor guard, riding their motley assortment of mounts. Aside from Garen, who'd been to Seawatch, none of them had ever been to a town even half so large as Elland, and they gawked at the crowds and the tall, tightly-packed wooden buildings.

Teams of men with shovels scraped snow from the roads. It hadn't snowed since yesterday morning, so they'd made good headway, but there was still a thick layer of muddy slush. A glob kicked up by the guard captain's horse splattered against Dardan's boot. They hadn't been planning to meet any nobles; Dardan hoped they wouldn't seem too messy and travel-worn when they were presented to Count Razh Bahodir.

Dardan knew of the count, but had never met him. He could not be a soft man; he ruled a county thrice the size of Hedenham. Would he be kind, cruel, fair?

The count's keep in Elland was round and squat, not even as tall as Foxhill Keep, but surrounded by a double ringwall and moat. The keep and its defenses sat in the center of the city, and were built of the same shiny gray seastone as the city walls. Mundane attackers would have a great deal of trouble getting to the keep, though a male mage—like Vincent or Garen—could tear the whole thing down in minutes. Which might happen, if they had to flee in a hurry.

The guards at the keep's gate stood aside to let the party through. The keep's stables were in the outer ring, so they dismounted and walked the rest of the way, keeping close together. Dardan could not tell for sure, but Amira and the other mages seemed to have that air of grim concentration they got when practicing. He prayed they would keep their power in check unless an actual threat presented itself.

The guard captain asked them to wait in the keep's drafty entry hall. When Dardan felt a sudden warmth settle on him, he realized that one of the mages must be warming the air. He glared at Amira and mouthed _Stop it!_ Was she so foolish as to use her mage power just as they were to meet Count Bahodir?

But she shook her head and looked back. Francine was staring blankly into space, and after a moment both she and Amira grimaced, clenching their teeth. Garen snorted, grinning. Dardan stewed, mystified by their private shared language.

His silent ire was interrupted by loud, booted steps from the grand staircase ahead of them. Down the stairs came a young man wearing fine white furs over a gray mantle. He had long, pale blond hair that fell around his shoulders, and eyes an even darker gray than Amira's.

He stopped for a moment, looking over his visitors, them came down the last steps quickly. "You must be Count Tarian," he said.

"Count Bahodir, I presume," Dardan replied, bowing as befit an equal. _Equal? Ha! He has an actual realm to govern._

"This must be your lady wife," Razh Bahodir said, taking her hand and bowing slightly. Up close, his face seemed bony and misshapen, but there was a keenness behind his eyes. Mostly, Dardan was astonished at how young Razh looked. The count was roughly of an age with Dardan; the previous Count Bahodir had died a few years earlier.

Amira smiled obligingly, but her eyes were as icy as the air outside. "My lord," she said. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Not at all," Razh said. His voice betrayed no nervousness. "You all look quite weary. Perhaps some refreshment is in order."

Razh watched them intently as his house major ushered them all into a sitting room, decorated with such detail that Dardan almost forgot they were in a fortress, not a manse or country house. Iris eyed the walls carefully, presumably searching for murder-holes to mirror the ones they'd been ambushed with in Seawatch.

The young mages stood around awkwardly for a moment, until Count Bahodir came in behind them and insisted that everyone sit, as they were all his guests. He watched the mages carefully, though, never turning his eyes away, and after a moment his mouth quirked into a smile. But he said nothing else until food and drink were brought in, a blessedly short time later. The tension in the air utterly suppressed Dardan's appetite.

"Well. I have been looking forward to your arrival for quite some time," Count Bahodir said.

"And why is that?" Dardan said. He almost wished Razh _would_ ambush them or something; the anticipation was driving him mad.

Razh gave a toothy grin and turned his head to the side.

All the mages gasped, and in a moment Dardan realized what it must be: Count Razh Bahodir was also a mage. _The silver light! No wonder he faced us the whole time._

Razh laughed. "I would have preferred to demonstrate more directly, but alas, I do not want to destroy the room my beloved house major has spent so much effort decorating."

"How long—?" Amira stuttered, still recovering from her amazement.

"Since early autumn. I had the most dreadful headaches, and then I could see this, this sort of _fire_ in my mind. It took me some time to figure out how to use it, and I nearly burned down the stables when I did."

"The headaches seem to be common to all of us," Amira said. "They last a few weeks, and then the power manifests—oh, we have so much to discuss!"

Dardan's jaw set. _Another distraction._ Amira was elated, of course. Would they ever be able to spend time as husband and wife again? Were they doomed to endlessly roam Garova, building up an army until battle became inevitable? Dark clouds came over him, and he drummed his fingers absently on the table as Amira and Razh and the other mages all talked shop. Dardan stole a glance at Iris, who had fixed Bahodir with an annoyed stare. Perhaps Iris was upset by finding another noble who was a mage, as if nobles should not be sullied by such misfortune. For once, he sympathized with the man.

After some time, Count Razh addressed Dardan. "My lord, you and I have much to discuss as well. Perhaps we should retire separately for a time." He stood up, and everyone else did as well, although Dardan's petulance got the better of him, and he waited until last to stand. If Razh noticed, he didn't show it. He addressed all the others. "Please feel free to rest here. My house major will arrange rooms for you all." He turned to Dardan. "If you are ready?"

Dardan nodded curtly, and followed Razh from the room, Razh's aged _valo_ trailing behind. Dardan still missed the presence of his own _valo_ , but said nothing. Liam was a hardy man; Dardan still held hope that they would meet again.

He wondered what Razh wanted. Mage or not, any ruler worth his salt knew how to play the game. Count Bahodir might seek to control them, or threaten them... Dardan steeled himself as they came into Razh's office and settled into supple leather chairs. Razh left his _valo_ outside.

"You're a brave man, Tarian. Fighting a king cannot be easy, magic powers or no."

"I was hoping we wouldn't have to fight him," Dardan said.

"No? Isn't that your goal? To put together enough of us—'mages,' I like that word. I assumed your plan was to put together enough mages to try to overthrow Edon."

"My plan? This was all my lady wife's idea. You'd have to ask her." Dardan could feel the anger in his own voice, but he could not fight it down.

Razh paused for a moment before continuing. "Ah. Well at least you have the excuse that no one has ever assembled an army of mages before." He grinned. "I shan't press you any more on that topic, then. If you would, tell me how you came to be here."

Dardan made a quick sketch of their journey since Hedenham, and glanced down at his marriage rings as he spoke. One true, one borrowed. Dardan clasped his hands together to keep from tapping them on the armrests, and changed the subject. "May I ask, how long have you been the count?"

"Nearly five years," Razh said. "Old Patric there was my da's _valo_ , and my father passed just as I turned sixteen. I kept Patric on rather than try to find someone closer to my age, although I suppose Patric will retire eventually, and then I'll have to find a new _valo_ anyway. A good _valo_ 's worth his weight in gold, father always said."

Dardan snorted. "Don't let my Liam hear you say that, if you ever meet him. He'd get even more insolent than he already is." His cheer drained away almost instantly. "Forgive me, but I'm weary after our travels."

"Of course, of course. Rest is of paramount importance." He nodded sagely, which looked absurd on a man so young, but he'd been ruling a county on his own since Dardan was still mooning over that farrier's daughter. "Well, we can concern ourselves with logistics later. For now, you are my guests, and I would be most pleased to host you and your party here through Wintergift, at the very least."

Dardan blinked. "That's all?"

"What's all?"

"I... forgive me, but I had expected you to... demand something of us."

Razh drew back, astonished. "Dear me. Is that how things are played in Thorncross? Counts in competition with one another?"

"Well, it depends on the counts. My father was never very fond of—never mind. Surely you must realize the importance of your—of mages," Dardan said. "The world will change a great deal."

"No doubt, but I already have my hands full with the usual duties of ruling a county. I haven't the time or inclination to engage in some sort of... machinations! I'm simply pleased to find myself in the presence of a group of people my own age."

"Come again?"

"My sisters are five and ten years older than me, and they still treat me like their little brother, even though I am their lord. I have distant cousins my own age but they are far away. You saw Patric; he's as old as my father was. You and your wife and the other mages are my own cohort. Age-wise." He stood and came around the desk to face Dardan directly. "You've nothing to fear here, I promise. It seems that I am in as much danger from our king as you and your friends are. I cannot say I've heard terribly much about House Tarian, but what I have heard is all good. I cannot say the same for Edon. Nothing would please me more than to host you here, and I swear there is no ulterior motive to it."

"I don't want to impose," Dardan said automatically.

Razh laughed. "No, no, think nothing of it. This place is half-empty most of the time, with our ancestors all gone to join the Caretaker." He hesitated for a moment as a sadness flickered across his features. "I mentioned my sisters; they live here as well. Both unmarried, but don't get any ideas." His grin had returned. "I'm sure they'll be as glad of the company as I am."

They went back downstairs. Afternoon turned to evening, and Razh treated the entire party, even the commoners, to a fine dinner in the castle's great hall. He seemed to consider them all his new brothers and sisters, and did not stand on his station.

A chilly bedchamber was secured for Dardan and Amira. His desire to get a good night's rest in a real bed butted up against his expectation of Amira's cold shoulder. She hadn't smiled at him once the whole day, and made no attempt at conversation as they dressed for bed. That put Dardan in an even worse mood, so he merely said a brusque good night and climbed under the blankets.

———

"Remembrance is always quite festive in Elland," Count Razh said over breakfast the next morning. "We work hard in Barrowmere County, and the people deserve their rewards."

Dardan and Amira spent the days of Remembrance relaxing in the relative luxury of Count Razh's castle. The count was fond of creature comforts and made sure that the Tarians and all their party could enjoy them as well. Even Iris seemed to relax a little, which meant that when he stood stoically against the wall, his hand was _not_ on his sword.

The days remained chilly, but the denizens of Elland wasted no time in decorating for Wintergift. Pine trees were raised at every large intersection, decorated with the traditional strings of beads and dried beans and fruits. Smoked sausages hung from the branches, and every night, torch-bearing crowds gathered around the trees to dance and drink and eat and sing songs recounting events of the year just past. The mood was contagious, and even Dardan needed little encouragement from his wife to venture out and join the festivities. The other mages trailed along like a family of ducklings.

The crowds grew as the five days of Remembrance wore on. On Wintergift Eve, Count Razh hosted a banquet in his great hall, and dozens of merchants and guildmasters and barons of Barrowmere County were invited. Dardan and Amira were the honored guests, and Francine and Garen and the other mages were given places at the high table. Count Razh even cajoled Warden Iris into sitting and enjoying himself. Dardan found it easy to ignore the stares and whispers of the guests, some of whom he suspected had come only to see whether mages really did have horns and leathery wings—so went one of the more absurd rumors.

At midnight, a series of deep _clang_ s reverberated in the air, bells sounding at temples across the city. Dardan had gone through several cups of wine, and so only hesitated a moment before he swept Amira into his arms and buried her laughter in a kiss.

Embraces were exchanged all around, even between strangers. Dardan kissed Francine and Sophie and a baroness and a merchant's wife. He felt only a little jealous when Amira kissed Vincent and Count Razh and even Razh's grumpy old _valo_.

Wintergift saw their whole party trooping through the streets in the sharp morning sunlight. Count Razh led the way, hurling handfuls of coppers and candies at the children who swarmed around them. A last gasp of autumn warmth had all but cleared the streets of snow. Dardan's nostrils tingled at the sea breezes. The new year had dawned, and winter had finally come, if only in name.

Amira tugged at his arm as they walked. "Dearest, I have something for you." She reached into a pocket of the fur-lined cloak Count Razh had gifted to her and withdrew a tiny box wrapped in silver thread.

Dardan gaped, feeling embarrassment and surprise. He hadn't even thought to get his wife a gift. They'd been on the road so long, on the run from Edon, that the idea of properly celebrating Wintergift had never crossed his mind. "Amira, my love, I—I didn't—when did you—"

She laughed. "Stop floundering about and open it!"

He took the box and undid the thread. Inside he found a small figurine, half shining silver and half polished jade. It was in the shape of a northern mastiff.

Amira clasped his free hand in hers. "The mastiff for our house. Silver for the mines, green jade for the fields and farms. The wealth of Hedenham, our county. It will be returned to us. I swear it."

Pangs of memory struck him. Dardan let himself breathe until he felt steadier. He wanted nothing more than to return to Hedenham, and take his rightful place as count, but... Was this meant as a peace offering, to mend the rift between them? How was a trinket supposed to salve that wound? "Thank you," he said at last. Amira smiled broadly and leaned up to give him a kiss, then turned to attend to Count Razh as he pointed out some guild hall up ahead. Dardan felt like throwing the little mastiff into a gutter, but slipped it into his own cloak's pocket instead.

———

He received a significantly more welcome gift when they returned to the keep. A man and a woman waited patiently in the entry hall, and it took Dardan a moment to recognize them.

"Liam," he breathed. Amira shrieked and ran forward, clutching her _vala_ in a tearful hug that Katin just as eagerly returned.

Dardan could not help but embrace his own _valo_ , a man he hadn't seen in more than a season. Liam seemed rougher, gaunter, less full of the confidence and vigor that had always marked him. "Where on earth have you been, man?"

Liam stepped back, and Dardan recognized that old grin. "Here and there. You seem not to have done too badly yourself." He glanced about Count Razh's entry hall.

Dardan introduced the returned _valai_ to Count Razh, who loudly thanked the Caretaker for reuniting them with their masters, and ordered his house major to find them rooms at once.

"Thank you, of course," Dardan said to Razh, "but I fear we've trod upon your hospitality too long already."

"Nonsense," Razh said. He promised to feast them all again that evening, and left the Tarians to catch up with their _valai_.

### CHAPTER 35

### KATIN

They all stayed awake talking long into the night. Dardan and Amira were amazed at Liam's rescue of Katin from Elibarran; Amira said that she had always thought of Princess Taya as a sweet girl, but loudly recanted that opinion once Katin told of how vile the princess truly was. Dardan was glad to hear that Ilya and Calys knew he was alive, and expressed his astonishment that the usually selfish Baron Parvis Stanton had been so willing to help them. Katin had to work very hard to keep her features smooth when the baron's name came up.

The tale of Carson's Watch shocked and saddened Amira, as Katin had known it would. Her lady grew increasingly alarmed as Liam told the story of how he had tricked and betrayed the mage girl who had bent the town to her cruel will. Liam told the nobles no more than he had told Katin, but she knew more about it than he thought she did.

"Miss Broxton will not be the only one," Liam said at the end of it. "I understand that the 'mages' you've found are altogether less bloodthirsty, but..." He stared off into space for a moment. "You found five mages in a single dukedom. It stands to reason there's an equal number you missed. Maybe more. So ten to twenty mages per dukedom, and twenty dukedoms in the realm. That puts somewhere between two and four hundred mages across the whole realm, at a guess. And more developing all the time, if this power reveals itself at a certain age. No doubt some of them will turn out to be like Adeline Broxton."

"Four hundred mages..." Dardan murmured.

"There may be rogue mages for a while, but that will not last. They will all have to choose one side or another," Amira said. She stood up. "It is late. Not that we did not miss you both, but you have been travelling for days while we rested here in Elland. At least for tonight, you both deserve comfortable beds." She rang for a maid, who led the _valai_ to the servants' quarters and showed them to separate rooms.

Liam and Katin stood before her door. He had been a constant presence for months, and they had lain together more than once since Carson's Watch. Did that make her his woman? His whore? Why had he risked so much to come for her, rescue her, stay with her all this way? She'd feared he would leave at any moment, so she'd given him the only thing she could trade.

She remembered when he'd have had a grin on his face, but now his lips were pursed in a thin line. She could not tell what he was thinking. "Well," she said, tentative.

"I suspect we will be sleeping apart for a while," he said quietly. It was quite late; no one else was about. He reached for her hand, and she let him take it. "We could... arrange things so that we could stay together. Always."

Giving him her body had been surprisingly easy, but to make an honest woman of her? She could not begin to grasp what that would mean. Katin quelled the rising panic in her throat and jerked her hand away. "No. Not... not... I'm sorry." She could not suppress the tears, and she turned and fled into the little cell, shutting the door and feeling a great fool.

———

It was not until the next day that she found herself alone with Amira. After luncheon they retreated to the Tarians' bedchamber, ostensibly so that Amira could rest, but the instant the door was closed Amira kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bed. "Tell me everything," she said.

When they were girls, Katin and Amira had spent many hours sitting on Katin's bed and gossiping late into the night. Clearly Amira expected that now. But Katin felt oddly reluctant. She'd waited months to confide in someone, for there were many things she could never say to Liam. Yet somehow she was not champing at the bit to spill it all to Amira. Nonetheless she climbed onto the bed and spent the next hour telling Amira everything she'd omitted when Liam and Dardan were present the night before.

When she came to Baron Parvis, tears welled in her eyes and her story ground to a halt. The shame of what Parvis had made her do—but was trading her body to him really any different than trading it to Liam? Parvis had granted them a safe escape from Jack Penrose; Liam had rescued her and saved her life more than once. _No. Parvis is a monster. Liam is a hero._ The thoughts rang false.

Amira sensed that something loomed in the darkness here. She took Katin's hand and said nothing. Eventually the dam broke. "Parvis... Parvis blackmailed me. His help came at a price. A bed price."

Amira gasped. "What a scoundrel! Oh, you poor girl. It had struck me as odd that he'd been so willing to help. I should have known." She paused. "Liam doesn't know, does he?"

Katin shook her head, eyes squeezed shut. "I wish no one did," she whispered. But it had brought her some small catharsis. Amira embraced her and Katin wept for several minutes.

The rest was easier. They'd told Amira and Dardan about being thrown out of the caravan on account of Janice Briggs's lies about Liam, but now Katin told her mistress how much it had pained her to hear such things about him. She told how Liam had begun to evince a deeply held rage that she had never seen before. "After he... killed Adeline Broxton, I spoke with some other women of the town. They'd heard rumors from those who had seen her body. They said she'd been hacked near to pieces. Mutilated."

"Liam did that?" Amira asked, astonished.

Katin shrugged. "I don't know who else would have. I heard from him only that he'd killed her, and even that much he had trouble saying to me." She felt hollow within. "I could not deny him any longer. I gave him my body. I'd begun to fear him."

"Did he hurt you? If he did, by the Aspect of Wrath, I'll—"

"No!" Katin said, grabbing Amira's wrist. "He's never laid a hand on me. Months on the road, and he never tried to force himself on me, not even when we were pretend-married and he'd have had a perfect excuse."

"Katin." Amira put her hand under Katin's chin and made her look up. "Whatever else you feel, it is plain as day that you are in love with him. And I would wager everything that he loves you just as strongly."

Katin opened and closed her mouth several times. "I cannot... How can you be sure?"

"Love is never certain, I don't think," Amira said. She took a moment herself, looking toward the window. But she smiled when she looked back. "I love Dardan. It has taken me a while. At Foxhill Keep, I certainly did not. Even when we were married in Tyndam Town, I did not, though I cannot deny that I felt a certain comfort at his presence, especially after weeks on the road together. In Stony Vale..." She grimaced as she talked about what had happened there; breaking her promise to Dardan, their other difficulties. "But by the time we arrived in Elland, I knew I had come to love him. Whatever his faults." There was something more to that last, Katin was sure, but Amira did not elaborate. She took Katin's hand again. "You love Liam. Whatever else may have passed between you—whatever else may be troubling him, or you, it would benefit you both to marry. I do not think I would love Dardan as I do now if we had not first married."

Katin stared. "I... I can't..."

"Why? You love him. You've lain with him, though the Aspect of Ardor knows how little that can mean. I lay with Dardan the night before we wed. I couldn't help myself," she giggled. "Too much to drink. We were betrothed already, so what did it matter? This, all this," she waved her hand around, somehow encompassing everything since the summer ball, "has brought with it a great deal of insecurity and impermanence. We must hold on to whatever little islands of stability we can."

Something about this brought tears up again, and once more Amira held Katin as she wept and sobbed for a while. Katin eventually dried her eyes and agreed that it might be for the best if she and Liam did marry, and told Amira that Liam had in fact suggested that the previous night. Amira considered it a done deal; it was merely up to Katin to tell Liam. Her stomach was in knots at the prospect, though the Caretaker alone knew when she'd have the right opportunity.

———

That opportunity proved harder to find than Katin expected. At dinner that evening, Count Razh insisted that the Tarians winter at Tal Vieran, as his castle was named. He also proposed, after the main courses were done and a dessert of fig pudding had been brought, that they open a school for mages on the grounds of the castle.

Katin's jaw dropped. A school? To train mages? To bring more of them together? Razh knew what had happened in Carson's Watch. James and Lisa Cordway and all the other goodfolk who had lived through Adeline's wrath would be aghast at the idea of bringing mages together. And what if Edon found out about it? But it was not her place to object, here in front of so many nobles. Count Razh's elder sisters Arta and Klea were there, and all the _valai_ , and footmen and maids besides. Everyone at the high table seemed to approve of the idea of a school, Amira most of all.

Katin was flabbergasted when Count Razh explained that it was the events in Carson's Watch that had given him the idea. Letting mages run around wreaking havoc was clearly contrary to the interests of the realm; an organized school would put mages to proper use and assuage the fears of folk like the Cordways. Katin was not so sure. Razh had not seen how frightened they'd been.

The count proposed that the leading men of Elland—the heads of the local chapters of the trade guilds; the city's First Steward and his staff, who oversaw the temples of Elland; the rich barons and merchants who wielded economic power—be brought to the castle and told about the plans for the school. If done right, those men could serve as heralds, carrying word to the common people that mages were nothing to fear, and that Count Razh and the other mages would use their power as benevolently as possible.

In Razh's office that evening, Dardan and Razh and Amira decided that the various men should be invited three at a time. Larger groups would be harder to manage. They spent hours deciding who should be invited first; not all of the guild leaders and merchants and barons got along, and it would not do for the mages' message to be lost among petty disagreements between, say, Jarvis Poul, who led the goldsmiths' guild, and Baron Akamar, who owned gold mines in the Stormrest Hills. The two men did not get along, not one bit, and so Razh made certain they would be invited on different days.

Breakfast, luncheon, and dinner each day were set aside for these introductions, to begin as soon as possible. Each evening after the barons and guildsmen and merchants left, the three nobles retreated to Razh's office again to go over the next day's plans. Katin was put to work helping the house major arrange the details. None of them got very much sleep.

For the most part, the men who came were intrigued, and did not try to raise a ruckus. Amira was glad to demonstrate her power for each of them; she lit candles and made pots of water boil. Razh stressed that all the mages—he was vague on exactly how many of them were in residence at Tal Vieran—were ordinary youths who had been gifted with this power, and that the power should be harnessed to benefit Garova. Between his reassurances and Amira's easy charm, very few of the men expressed any hostility at the idea of their count gathering mages together in a school.

A few did, and there was nothing to be done about that; in his office, Razh assured Amira and Dardan that all the men who had reacted negatively would not find many who agreed with them. Katin was not so certain that they were as safe as Razh seemed to think, but she could not gainsay the count.

Razh was no fool, though. He did not leave things to chance. He dispatched a number of men into the city to take its pulse; and he was pleased when they reported back that the common folk seemed wary but accepting of the idea of the mage school. Whatever the guildsmen and merchants and barons were saying was mostly good. So far, his plan seemed to be working.

Now Amira began shaping the school in earnest. Part of the castle's inner yard was sectioned off as a training area. Amira and Garen led the other mages in some sort of training exercises each morning—exercises that Katin couldn't see or understand—and spent the evenings working out a rudimentary curriculum. It was put into practice at once, for on the very first day, three new mages showed up at the gates of Tal Vieran, two men and a woman, commoners who lived in Elland itself. They'd heard about the impending school and showed up to see if it was real. All three were astonished to find several others like them already gathered together.

Razh also saw to it that messengers carried word of the school to every town, village, and sheepfold within five leagues of the city. More extensive recruitment would have to wait until the snows thinned, but even with the roads nearly impassable, inside of a week the school had gained five more pupils, young men and women with heavy furs and haunted looks. Some of them thought it was a trick or a trap, until they were met by Amira. She showed them her silver light and demonstrated that she too had this strange power that had, in many cases, earned the newcomers fear and revulsion from those who had formerly loved them.

The Warden that had been accompanying Amira since Stony Vale, this Mason Iris, was a constant reminder of that fear and revulsion. At Amira's insistence he had been given a room in the castle, and each morning he too came to the yard to watch the mages train. It became a daily ritual for him to demand that Amira return with him to Callaston, and for Amira to refuse. Iris would repeat to her that he disapproved of her gathering and training more mages. She in turn would remind him that she had both the right and the responsibility to impose some order on the development of mages in Garova, lest things get out of hand as they had in Carson's Watch. She would also remind him of the promise he'd made not to harm her or her friends, which made him clench his jaw and stomp away.

"I mean to convince that man," Amira told Katin one evening as they warmed themselves at the great hearth in Count Razh's sitting room. It was a rare night of relaxation; every day for weeks had been spent with the growing class of new mages. Dardan and Razh and his sisters played at five-jacks, slapping cards down onto the table and calling out bets. Liam lurked by the wall, uninterested in the game or even in engaging conversation with the other _valai_.

"He seems a true believer, m'lady," Katin said, warming her hands before the fire. "One cannot corrupt an honest man."

"Hmph," Amira said, and made the air before her glow. Katin watched as the little ball of pale light flitted back and forth. Amira's displays of power were still fascinating and strange to her. "If Warden Iris were truly honest, he'd admit to his king's foul deeds. Besides, if Edon does find out Mason's been accompanying us all this time, his majesty will likely not be pleased." A small smile flitted across her lips.

"That'll likely end up with the Warden's head on a pike," Katin said.

"Perhaps. He is a mostly pleasant man; I would be saddened to see him die. But I owe him nothing. I could have left him locked up in Stony Vale."

"You certainly should have left him locked up in Stony Vale."

"Risk not, win not," Amira said.

"Oh, does m'lady now believe she understands risk?"

The smile that crossed Amira's lips this time was less certain. Katin saw that Amira's wine cup was empty and took it to the sideboard to fetch more. _Why do I feel like a bear cub chiding its mother?_

———

Each week brought one or two new students to the school. Amira listened to all their stories. A few, a very few, came from towns like Stony Vale—Amira had told Katin all about her time there, and about how accepting and practical the residents had been about her power—but the majority had been ostracized or even attacked. However easily the people of Elland accepted mage-power, the smaller towns and villages beyond the city walls were not so sanguine. Perhaps they'd heard about Carson's Watch before Razh's message had gotten out.

Katin was obligated to attend her lady at the school, even though she would rather have stayed away. Being around so many mages deeply frightened Katin, so much so that she reluctantly went to a temple a few times to pray at the altar of Terror. Amira insisted that the mages were all learning rapidly, and would be able to defend the city even if Edon did show up. Francine told Katin one afternoon that Amira was certainly the most skilled among the mages—which made sense, as she'd been the first to develop the power, and had the longest to practice with it. But Amira disagreed, saying that Francine had a speed and precision that Amira couldn't match. It made the farmgirl blush.

Garen, this blacksmith's apprentice that Amira had found in Stony Vale, apparently had the greatest skill among the male mages, and so took the lead in training them. Katin was envious of the infatuated glances Garen and Francine shared. They made her think of Liam. In all the weeks since their arrival in Elland, she and Liam had barely had any time together. She wanted to speak to him, to accept him, to tell him that, yes, she would marry him.

There had just never been the right time. Amira stayed up until all hours, practicing her power with the other girls, even when Dardan bade her goodnight and went away, taking Liam with him.

And then an opportunity finally came, one evening in late winter. Amira and Dardan dined with Count Razh and a few guests of his—some baron and baroness, and a sea captain who'd long been friends with House Bahodir—and went up to bed at a reasonable hour. They were already halfway to the Tarians' bedchamber when Katin realized that she would finally be able to speak with Liam, once their masters sent them away. The man seemed to be brooding less than usual, which she took as encouragement.

Katin was lost inside her head, planning what she'd say to him, when it dawned on her that Amira and Dardan were arguing. The two nobles walked ahead in the corridor a little ways, and Liam was at her side. Dardan's voice rose sharply, and he stopped long enough to glance about, looking a little chagrined at having made a scene. Liam scooted ahead to open the door to their chamber.

"Calys is capable, I cannot argue that, but she is not the lord of Hedenham. Neither is Ilya." Dardan stood stiffly as Liam helped him out of his coat. "We must think of our return there. It is home to both of us now."

"I miss Hedenham too, but I cannot let you cannibalize the school. What if Edon comes?"

Katin had definitely missed something. "Is m'lord going somewhere?"

"Not until spring at the earliest," Dardan said, in an impatient tone that told Katin this was not the first round of this discussion. He and Amira had probably argued about it in bed after the _valai_ had gone off to the servants' quarters. "I mean to take some mages to Hedenham to reclaim my seat and ensure that we will not be at Edon's mercy."

Amira sighed. She motioned to Katin and went behind the dressing screen. Many noble homes had guest chambers suitable for a married couple, with attached dressing rooms and cells for their _valai_ , but Tal Vieran did not. It was a very old castle, maybe predating the institution of _valai_. At least there was a bell-pull so that Katin could be summoned if Amira needed anything, but a _vala_ really should be by her mistress's side.

Katin helped Amira into a nightgown and robe. Even with Amira's power to warm them, it could get quite cold and drafty here on this upper floor of the keep. When Katin reached for the hairbrush, Amira snapped some remark at Dardan and then snatched the brush from Katin's hand. "Go off, I'll send for you in the morning," Amira said.

Katin had rarely seen Amira in such a state. She and Dardan argued all the time, but it was always to do with the school—logistics, planning, that sort of thing. More like reasoned, if impassioned, debate. There was never any venom to it. Tonight had been different. How could they have become so angry with one another? Would Liam be like that? Would he show his rage to her?

She withdrew quickly and waited out in the hallway for what felt like an eternity. Her insides felt all twisted, and she simply wished it could be done with. Finally the door opened again and Liam came out, shutting the door on raised voices. "Like an old married couple already," he murmured as they went toward the servants' stairs.

She grimaced and let him take her arm. "I do hope m'lady talks him out of it. I don't think it'd be wise for them to separate, even if he does long for his home again. She's already in a mood just from the suggestion of it."

"Edon's still a threat, but Dardan is no man to be cowed, especially if he thinks he can counter the threat." Liam held the door for her as they reached the servants' stair. It was less drafty in here. Instead of going straight down, Katin stopped and took Liam's hand. He looked into her eyes, then glanced back at the door. "Perhaps the school could move to Hedenham with them, or they could establish a second campus there. They've already gathered two dozen mages here, and there's likely to be more in Tidemere alone."

Katin buried her face in his chest. "Stop," she grunted. "I don't want to think about all those mages. Something terrible is going to happen."

"As long as it happens to someone else," Liam said. "Not us." Katin leaned back and looked up into his eyes. They were clear and sober now, with barely a trace of the sardonic humor they'd once evinced. The man had even started to drink less since Carson's Watch, which baffled Katin more than anything else. Elland had a number of excellent malthouses, so she'd been informed, including a few public houses, but Liam had not shown much interest in them.

"What is it?" he said, gazing down at her. Katin opened her mouth to speak, to agree to marry him, but her lips felt dry. She licked them. It should be easy to say it; she'd convinced herself, hadn't she? And then a voice said, _You don't deserve this. What use are you?_

Instead she grabbed Liam's head and pulled him down into a kiss. "I want you," she breathed into his ear. He hesitated only a moment, a moment in which Katin felt a strange heat radiate from him, as of something lurking. Then he pushed her up against the wall.

———

The cold began to lift as winter neared its end. When Evenday came, spring was rung in with bells, and floral wreaths were hung on every door, and the last, weak winter storms blew themselves out on the shores of Barrowmere County.

The school had grown preposterously large. Dardan kept hinting to Razh that it would need to move to a larger facility, as the mages were starting to overrun the castle grounds. They debated whether it would be wise to remove the school from the familiarity and safety of Tal Vieran.

They had heard little from points west, owing to the wet and snow that had befouled the roads. The nobles speculated on whether Edon had learned of the school yet; it had existed for a whole season, but word might not have gotten as far as Callaston. "Or maybe it has," Razh said. "It would not do to take chances."

When the first blush of spring spread across the landscape, and the snow began its farewell, Razh dispatched a few riders toward Callaston to try to find out what Edon was up to. None had reported back yet. It was a solid week's journey at a moderate pace for a single man ahorse, and depending on what was happening in the west, it might be a while longer before they heard anything.

By now the whole county, and probably every county in the realm, knew of mages. Traders, travellers, and couriers began to flow again. Soon Amira and Dardan, and thus Katin and Liam, would have a much better idea about what was going on.

Mornings meant breakfast with Count Razh and his sisters before Amira and Dardan went down to the school grounds. One particular day, half a month into spring, Mason Iris attended as well, as he had on occasion. He did not wear his armor today, only the customary gray linen tunic and trousers of his order.

Katin sat off to the side with the other _valai_. Liam mopped at his eggs with some toast while Count Razh's old _valo_ , Patric, shuffled through parchments. Lady Arta's _vala_ had already finished eating and worked at needlepoint. Katin listened with half an ear to the nobles' conversation, and was surprised when she realized that the Warden was speaking to Count Bahodir.

"I am compelled to remind you once again that what you are doing is dangerous in the extreme. King Edon will bring his wrath down upon you when he learns what you have done here, if he hasn't already."

Razh put down his fork with a clatter. "Warden Iris, I have great respect for the Virtuous Order of the Wardens of Aendavar. I must, however, have less respect for a man who would still so loyally follow his majesty after the things he has done. My own interactions with the king, which are surely to come, are my concern, not yours."

Katin had turned to watch them. It would be impolite for a _vala_ to stare or involve herself in the conversation, but she could not help it. She could not sit by and let tense situations get out of hand.

No one had stood up in anger or raised their voices yet. "I serve my king loyally," Mason said. "You must submit yourselves to—"

"We must do nothing!" Razh said, slapping his palm on the table. Now all the _valai_ turned to stare, and even the footmen lurking in the corners watched with mild alarm. "Lady Amira, I apologize for my rudeness, but I must insist that this Warden be sent away at once. He need not be exiled from the city, but I will not have him in my home any longer."

Amira seemed about to speak, but noticed that all eyes were on her now and held her tongue. She took a moment to smooth her dress and then slowly stood up. "Lord Razh, permit me to speak with the Warden privately for a moment." At Razh's nod she turned and swept toward the door. Katin rose to follow, eyeing Warden Iris sidelong as he trailed after her lady. Katin put herself between the two of them, not for fear of Amira's safety—Iris wore neither his armor nor his sword—but for Iris's.

Amira came to a halt squarely in the middle of the corridor outside, and waited until the door had closed and Warden Iris stood before her. Katin took up station at Amira's elbow and let her own glare loose toward the Warden.

"M'lady, I—"

"Be silent," Amira said, her voice as cold as Katin had ever heard. "I applaud your loyalty. Few men could be so constant. But you are acting the fool. Even if you feel you must keep up this charade, you would do well to acknowledge the reality around you rather than blindly assert your righteousness. You are surrounded by enemies and kept safe only by my word. I have protected you more than you know."

Iris, in Katin's experience, rarely betrayed any emotion either in face or voice. What lay beneath was a mystery. But now his eyes showed alarm, or perhaps fear. "My... m'lady, I must—"

"You know that Edon is evil. Don't deny it," she interrupted when he opened his mouth again. "I see through you. You told me what he did in Vasland. Your heart has been against him ever since, hasn't it?"

Now the Warden's face grew red, and he trembled. Katin felt her own instinctive panic begin to rise—but he would not try to hurt Amira, Katin was sure of it. "My heart is not your concern!"

"So I am correct, then," Amira said quietly. She stepped forward and put a hand up to Warden Iris's cheek. His jaw went a little slack at her touch. "You must join me. Edon is a monster. You know it is true."

After a moment, Iris breathed in sharply. He stepped back, almost stumbling, then bowed hurriedly and strode from the hall. Amira watched him go. She bore a faint smile.

"You cannot make everyone dance to your tune, m'lady," Katin said.

Amira shrugged. "Warden Iris was born to dance to someone's tune. Better mine than Edon's. He will come around."

Back in the great hall, Razh and Dardan watched Amira as she settled back down. Katin could tell they were deathly curious, but Amira instead began to speak of the weather.

The footmen had just brought in the second course when the house major came in and signaled to Patric. The _valo_ lumbered to his feet and went outside with the major for a moment, then returned, moving with haste. "My lord, forgive the interruption," he said. "The city guards bring news. A force of armed men is approaching the city along the west road."

Katin's pulse quickened. She rose to her feet, unbidden, and saw Liam do the same.

"Do they bear banners?" Razh asked.

Patric nodded. "The eagle of Relindos."

### CHAPTER 36

### AMIRA

The passing wind chilled Amira's face. Pale morning sunlight glowed through thin clouds above, softening shadows and giving the city of Elland a flat aspect. Amira was on her mare, racing for the west gate. Dardan followed close behind; their _valai_ had fallen back a ways. Amira was no great rider, but her urgency pushed her ahead.

The city's west gate came into view. Whoever manned the gate had had enough sense to close it against the approaching army. An army of a thousand men or more, Amira guessed, after she climbed the stairs to the top of the wall and looked out over the rain-dampened grasses. The unmistakable standard of Relindos stood tall among the mass of soldiers a few hundred yards from the gate. Some other travellers had become trapped between them and the city, a small array of carts and wagons belonging to farmers and merchants. Some of them had begun to skitter along the wall, perhaps searching for a gate still open, or even just to escape before the approaching army encircled them.

The exertion of riding and climbing the wall had made Amira's chest tight. She gulped cold air and tried to will her pulse to settle. The presence of Relindos banners did not mean Edon was there for certain—Wardens Iris and Penrose had carried such banners in Stony Vale—but Amira had no doubt in her mind. She glimpsed silver sparks among the mass of soldiers: mages, turned for a moment so that their silver light was visible even at this distance.

"Is it him?" Dardan asked. He bulled aside a city guardsman and leaned against the wall. The guardsman opened his mouth to object, then thought better of confronting two agitated nobles.

"It must be," she said. "There are mages out there, at least. A lot of them." It was hard to count the flashes of silver light, but she'd seen at least a dozen so far.

Liam and Katin came up just then, and a few moments later Razh and Patric followed. Count Razh gazed out at the soldiers. "By the Caretaker! How many do you think there are?" he asked Amira, his breath frosting a little in the morning chill.

"A score. Two. Maybe more. I don't know."

"We knew it might come to this. Which of our students do you think could handle battle?"

Amira clenched her jaw. The thought of her students, facing Edon and whatever mages he'd brought, sickened her. "Garen, Francine, Sophie, Emma, Cora, Vincent for certain. Jeffrey. The two of us. Benton. Edith. Maybe a dozen altogether. The others..." The newer mages would never survive a battle. Even those who had good control over their power had been farmers, apprentices, laborers. All of them young—mage power seemed to only come upon those who were nineteen or twenty years of age. None of the male mages had ever been in worse than a malthouse brawl, and the girls not even that.

None save Garen and Amira. Razh had been trained in martial matters the same as any count's son, but there was a black chasm between learning about warfare and practicing it.

She had no choice. "We need everyone up here, except the newest. Anyone who can block at all."

Razh nodded at Patric, and the old _valo_ rushed down the steps.

He hadn't yet returned by the time two riders detached from the army and cantered toward the city. When the man leading the pair angled around a dip in the land, Amira saw the telltale silver flash. Was this Edon, come to demand surrender again? But this man had darker hair and was slight, built not at all like Edon. He wore a rich scarlet cloak and polished black boots. He reined to a halt a scant handful of yards from the wall. Any half-blind archer could pick him off from here, but he displayed no fear, only a haughty confidence.

"Good morning," he called out. "I bear the words of His Majesty Edon Relindos, King of Garova. He bids the audience of Count Razh Bahodir and Countess Amira Tarian."

"A bit more polite than last time," Liam muttered.

"It seems he knows I'm here," Amira said. "No point in hiding." She leaned over the crenel. "You there. Who are you?"

The dark-haired man sketched a bow. "I am Lord Chyros Agari, son of Baron Roben Agari of Brookshire. Are you Countess Tarian?"

"I am. If you are indeed Edon's envoy, then he has likely told you of the last time he demanded I produce myself from behind a wall."

Lord Chyros's mouth quirked into a smile. "His majesty has favored me with that tale, yes."

"Why does he not come himself, as in Hedenham?"

"Why does the king not draw his own bath, or cook his own food? Besides, it is my pleasure to serve his majesty."

"Such does not speak well of you," Amira retorted.

Lord Chyros laughed, without scorn or derision. "He told me you had a wit. Perhaps I myself might be admitted to the city? I am only one man, and it would be more pleasant, I'm sure, to treat face to face than shouting out here in the cold."

"You are only one _mage_ ," Amira corrected him. "And you have your _valo_ with you."

Chyros shrugged. "You can see that he's no mage. I daresay you have enough men in there to keep him contained while we speak."

Amira looked at Dardan. He watched the whole scene with brow furrowed, concern written plainly across his face. She felt a great deal of love for him, and only the faintest trace of bitterness, from their arguments this winter past. Would that have to persist forever? "He is indeed only one man," Dardan said, "even if he is a mage. I do not think Edon would send such a man to assassinate you."

"I know what Edon wants. Why treat with him at all?" Amira said.

"To buy time. The students should be here soon. If Edon attacks the city, we'll need every defender we can muster." He addressed Razh. "How many guards does the city watch have?"

"Two hundred or so. We have arms for maybe twice that, and can conscript men if need be. I don't know that they'd be of much use unless Edon's soldiers get into the city. With our mages, we can prevent Edon's from smashing through the wall, perhaps indefinitely. But he can still besiege us, and I cannot expect anyone would come to our rescue."

"He hasn't spread his forces out yet," Liam pointed out.

Amira shook her head. "He's arrogant. He still thinks there's a chance I'll surrender willingly." She realized her hands ached from clenching tightly on her skirt. She let go and flexed her fingers for a moment. "I suppose it would not hurt to listen to this Lord Chyros."

Dardan nodded. "Yes, but we must be cautious, even if he is only one man. How many mages would you have with you to feel safe against him launching some sort of surprise attack?"

"We've experimented," Amira said. "Any two mages can easily keep a third suppressed."

"Then let us have four, in addition to you and Razh, who will be distracted by talking to the fellow."

Amira felt her pride tingle a little, and she almost argued that they'd be fine—but he was right. Her pride need not come before safety. And they did not need more bitterness between them.

Dardan took Liam down the stairs to arrange somewhere for the meeting to happen. Amira leaned out again. "Forgive the delay, Lord Chyros. The gate will be opened for you in a moment."

Chyros sketched a deeper bow this time, then turned aside to converse quietly with his _valo_. Amira pulled away from the battlement, her chest heaving. She hadn't realized until it was quiet how loudly her heart thumped. She focused on her ember. It was a warm comfort against the chill morning air.

They went down the steps and waited in the square before the gate. Dardan had ordered the city guards to clear the square. A variety of curious onlookers were gathered at the roads leading deeper into the city, but they stayed well back.

After a moment, Dardan came out of a counting-house on one edge of the square, and waved when he saw Amira and Razh. "In here will do," he said. "Master Coleman has been kind enough to provide us with the needed quarters."

Only a minute later, Patric came riding back at speed with what looked like the entire school's student body. "Pardons, m'lady, but once they heard what was going on, they all insisted on coming." He looked faintly embarrassed behind his white mustache at failing to manage a bunch of children, but Razh clapped him on the shoulder and commended him for his quick riding.

Amira faced her students. "Emma, Francine, Sophie, Cora. I need you four with me." She explained their plan to meet with Edon's emissary. "The rest of you... I will not order you to fight, but I can promise you that Edon will give you no quarter if he does attack. We may be facing our deaths today. Those of you who would see to our defense, please array yourselves along the top of the wall."

"To do what, m'lady?" asked Jeffrey. He was tall, blond, with a sweet face that belied a deranged enthusiasm that emerged whenever he got to use his power. He was loyal and friendly, but seemed to like nothing more than blowing things up, which sometimes worried Amira.

"To watch Edon and his army, and if they attack..." She gulped. "Do what you can."

Jeffrey nodded and exchanged uneasy glances with the other students as they trotted off toward the wall.

Amira took Dardan aside a little ways. "I do not want Lord Chyros feeling overwhelmed. There will already be six of us in there, against only him."

"He did not strike me as particularly susceptible to intimidation," Dardan said. "We should leave our _valai_ outside, but I will not miss this meeting."

Amira sighed. "Fine. But please, let me and Razh do the talking. Lord Chyros will most likely want to converse directly with us, since we are all mages."

Dardan's face closed up. "More mage-work. I suppose I would have nothing to offer." That last came out bitter. Amira pursed her lips and made a silent prayer to the Aspect of Despair that Dardan would let go of that feeling.

Once the guards atop the wall verified that Edon's army had kept its distance, the gate was unbarred and opened just enough to admit Lord Chyros Agari and his _valo_. The _valo_ glared suspiciously at everyone and kept his hand on his sword, but Chyros ordered him to dismount and surrender his weapon to the city guards. Chyros readily handed over his own sword as well.

Only once he was thus disarmed would the city guards let Razh or Amira come near the man. Not that the guards were much of a threat to him, but that was their training. Emma, Francine, and the others had kept their beads ready the whole time, in case Chyros did attempt some attack. But he hadn't even summoned a bead of his own. He merely glanced at the other beads with a contemptuous smile.

"My lord," Amira said, bowing slightly.

Chyros, to his credit, bowed as deeply as baron's son should before a count and countess. "My lady. Count Bahodir. Count Tarian. I know we are not friends, but perhaps you could provide some wine while we converse? I'm unaccustomed to riding so long through open country as his majesty has had us doing."

Amira caught Katin's eye—her _vala_ had taken up station a few yards off, as Amira had instructed—and nodded. Katin rushed off. "Have you been on the road long?" Amira asked conversationally. She gestured toward the counting-house, and Chyros led the way. City guards followed them close, clearly hostile to their visitor. Amira hoped Razh had told the men to behave themselves; it would not do to send Edon his envoy back full of holes.

"A few weeks," Chyros said. "An army as large as ours does not travel at speed." He settled into a dark-stained oak chair behind a desk festooned with scales, ledgers, inkwells, and papers. There were several other such desks arranged around the edge of the room. The building had been emptied of people, save for a pair of city guards stationed at the door.

Half a dozen chairs had been arranged in front of the desk. On impulse, Amira whispered to her fellow mages to ask that they stand. Only she and Razh and Dardan would sit. Dardan was probably right that Chyros might not be easily intimidated, but it couldn't hurt to have her mages looking down upon him with hard eyes. They all knew what Edon had done; any agent of Edon's was no friend of theirs.

Amira and Razh sat, but Dardan stayed standing behind Amira, his hands resting on the back of the chair. It felt good to have him there, but she wanted to be able to see his eyes. Clearly he wanted to feel, and perhaps look, protective of her.

"Not to leave the pleasantries behind too quickly, my lord," Razh said once the nobles were settled, "but I believe we should focus on the matter at hand."

"Too true, my lord," Chyros said, stretching out his legs. "Well. His majesty, as I said before, wishes to meet with the two of you."

"To what end?" Amira asked.

Chyros leaned forward and put his palms on the desk. "To discuss how we will all put the unfortunate events of the past behind us, and move forward to forge a greater destiny for all the mages of Garova. Ah." His eyes lit up as Katin came in with a tray bearing wine cups and a ceramic jar. She poured the wine, eyeing Chyros all the while.

When she stepped back against the wall and waited, Amira said, "Thank you, that will be all." Katin gave her a withering glare as she went out the door, but Amira ignored her.

Chyros drank deep from his cup without even stopping to sniff at it. Razh caught Amira's eye, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thing: _Lord Chyros fears no poison from us. Do we really seem that harmless to him?_ Perhaps it was only a brave show on his part. Even if so, he was acting a great deal braver than Amira felt at the moment.

"You were saying something about destiny?"

"Yes. We hear that you have founded something of a school here, which is most commendable, but I'm afraid his majesty cannot have such a thing out of his control."

"A reasonable demand, if Edon were a reasonable man," Amira said. "But he has poisoned the well, so to speak. What he has done is unforgivable."

"And yet must be forgiven, for he is the king, and there will be no other for many years to come. I do not think either of us want a war for the throne."

Amira hesitated. No sane person wanted war, but how could she live with Edon on the throne? No matter what he did or said, she would never trust him, and she could never surrender herself to his control. The feeling reinforced itself with every beat of her heart. "I have no reason to trust Edon, but he has no reason to distrust me. All I have done was in self-defense against his actions, which even you must admit were unjust in the extreme. So therefore I propose that we be left alone to manage our affairs as mages as we see fit. Edon can do what he likes with mages who have decided to support him."

"But you are still Edon's subjects. The realm cannot run if counts may ignore lawful orders issued by their king. There is too much at stake. And do you know for certain that Garovans are the only people to have developed this power? What if there are Vaslander mages, or Parilian, or Liahni? It does not take much imagination to guess that foreign nations might be emboldened by this new weapon, and attempt attacks or invasions that they might not otherwise." Chyros's smile had vanished by now, and he leaned forward urgently. "Garova would never let its army of regular soldiers split into factions and defend the realm as they see fit. Neither will it let its new army do so."

"We are no army," Razh scoffed. "We are merely trying to find our place in the world."

"Then you are a naïve fool," Chyros snapped. Was this new anger just a ploy, or had he really expected Amira to fold so easily, and become agitated by her refusal? "His majesty's forces, both mundane and magical, outnumber yours, and he has the whole realm at his disposal. He would rather not destroy valuable resources such as yourselves, but he will if he has to." He locked eyes with Razh. "You were a loyal subject of the king's, as was your father, and his father before him. What do you think will happen to the people of this county if you countenance a war here?"

Razh stiffened. "Do not threaten my people. If there is war here, it will be your doing, not ours."

"The commoners will not see it that way." Chyros stood up abruptly. He had begun to turn red. "I will tell King Edon of your refusal. The black spirits take you all."

The other mages all gasped, and even the normally amiable Razh glowered at the malediction. Amira shot to her feet and summoned her bead. "Your discourtesy marks you as Edon's creature through and through," she spat. "Get out."

Chyros inclined his head only an insulting fraction and strode for the door. Amira and the other mages followed him out and watched him carefully until he had reclaimed his sword, mounted his horse, and led his _valo_ back out through the gate.

Amira looked around at all those who had gathered to her. Her husband, their _valai_ , Count Razh, who had given them so much. The other mages, all so young. Cold fear slithered through her. "We must prepare for battle," she said, looking at the city gate. She could see silver sparks glint through it from time to time. Never before had that sight made her feel dread.

———

They spent the rest of the day preparing for a siege. Razh had the ships at the docks warned that a mage battle might be coming, and that they'd be safer if they put a few hundred yards of water between them and the city. As soon as Edon's army began to spread out, to encircle the city, the other gates were shut. Not that the attackers had to come in through the gates; Edon and his mages could just as easily blast through the walls.

Razh had a map of the city brought to them. They would all have been more comfortable at the castle, but Razh and Amira were two of the strongest mages in the city; their power could not be hidden far from where it might be needed. So they commandeered the counting-house again as their base of operations. A desk was cleared and Razh laid out the map before them. Amira peered at the little markings indicating the walls, gates, and important buildings within the city.

The school's mages, all except one, agreed to help defend the city. The only one who refused was a wisp of a girl named Siobhan, who said she was too terrified. In any case she was among the newest and weakest mages, so Razh instead drafted her as a messenger, to ride about the city and carry news from one defensive position to another.

The other mages were arrayed along the city walls. By watching for the silver light, they were able to determine that Edon had spread the bulk of his mages along the north and west of the city. The soldiers to the south had only one or two mages with them, presumably to prevent that direction from being an easy escape. Edon's men did not go around to the docks at all; perhaps they'd assumed that with the ships all out to sea, there was no way Amira would try to escape in that direction.

Not that she had any intention of fleeing. Battle was coming, and it was because of her, wasn't it? Just like at Foxhill Keep. The memory of that dark night chilled her. She shook it off and peered at the map, wishing there were some way to stop Edon, some way that would not mean the deaths of hundreds or thousands of men, the deaths of her mages, her friends... maybe her _vala_ or her husband. Dardan had been gruff all day, and she could not blame him. Perhaps he was having the same worries. She longed to embrace him and rest her head against his shoulder.

"Is there any chance we could attack him first?" Garen asked when she went up to the wall to gaze out at Edon's forces in the afternoon sun. She'd come to walk a circuit of the city and check on her mages, while Dardan and Razh led the efforts down below to arrange the mundane guards and plan for if—when—Edon's forces breached the walls.

Amira shrugged. "I asked the same thing of Count Razh. He and Dardan both said we'd be slaughtered. At least here we have some measure of defense."

Garen leaned against the merlon, as if eager to run out himself and wreak havoc. Amira had been amazed by his growth in the time since they'd left Stony Vale. He'd always had a good head on his shoulders, even back in that little town, and he had adjusted easily to the wider world. When they'd begun the school, he'd volunteered to teach everything he knew. The other students looked to him for guidance when Amira wasn't around. "Then I intend to make him pay for every bloody inch he takes," Garen declared.

There was a time when she'd have smiled at that, but now she felt that cold shiver again. She could not share his confidence. But she didn't want to undermine it, either. She nodded and moved on to check on the other mages.

At the northwest corner of the city wall Amira stopped again to look out at Edon's army. Cora was stationed there with another of the young mages, Irion. Cora was tall and plump, with a hawk nose and steel eyes. She had an ungainly way of moving and some of the other students had made fun of her at first, but she worked hard and had come to almost rival Francine in her deftness and agility with the power. Amira had once watched Cora hold off three other mages throwing beads at her; none of them could get past her defense to hit a target behind her.

She only nodded to the girl, though. Cora did not do well with small talk, and preferred silence. Just as well; Amira wanted a little solitude for the moment.

Not that she got it. Katin had cleaved quietly to her side all day, and no sooner had Amira stopped to look out over the wall again than her _vala_ spoke. "We're doomed," she said quietly.

Amira eyed her. "I'd been planning to wait until later to surrender unconditionally."

Katin met her gaze. Amira expected Katin's usual brusqueness, but now she saw only sadness. "I'm pregnant."

Amira's jaw dropped open. "Katin! Why—how—how long have you known?"

"My moon blood hasn't come twice now. It's no coincidence."

Amira felt a sudden glee for her friend and embraced her, but Katin did not share it. "I shouldn't have told you," the _vala_ muttered. "You have too much to worry about. And we're likely all going to die here. You know that."

"I know nothing," Amira said. "I know nothing except that we will win because while Edon fights for glory and pride, we fight for our lives. We will be the fiercer today, for we have more to protect. But you must go and hide. Down near the docks. The fighting may not reach there even if Edon comes into the city."

"No—m'lady, my place is with you—"

"I will not hear of it! I mean nothing by it, but you will be useless in a battle. You have someone else to protect now." She touched Katin's belly and, for a brief moment, thought she sensed the life within. "Go. You must."

Katin stared at her for too long, then nodded slightly and turned away. Amira was happy for her, but couldn't help feeling vexed. _Another life that we might lose._

That night she dreamt of flying over Garova, swift as a bird. She _was_ a bird. She flew past Seawatch, over the Black Mountains, and landed before the Skysilver Spire. Then she was herself again. She touched the Spire, and it opened, and took her to another world, one where everything made sense and no one was trying to kill her.

———

The attack came at dawn. It was traditional, Razh had warned her the previous night. This way, the whole day was free for battle. Edon had been impatient at Foxhill Keep, attacking in the night. Battle was chaotic enough without doing it in darkness.

With mages, the attacking army had no need for traditional siege machinery. Elland had a goodly number of bowmen and a modest supply of arrows. Even small bows had a greater range than mages did. With luck, they'd thin out Edon's soldiers and maybe even pick off a few mages.

But when the first flocks of arrows rose into the morning sky, both sides discovered just how useless the bowmen were. Edon had enough mages that their beads rose like lightning into the sky to meet the falling arrows, and dozens of shafts were blasted to bits or burned to ash as they fell. Only a few arrows even reached the ground, and Amira saw only one that actually hit a man.

When Edon's mages got closer, they began flinging their beads toward the walls. Amira didn't see Edon in his golden armor, and wondered if perhaps he had disguised himself so as to be less of a target, or if perhaps Lord Chyros had lied and Edon was not even with the army at all. _No. He's out there._ Edon would oversee this battle himself, she was certain.

She and the other mages ran back and forth along the wall, to where Edon's mages had gathered in clusters, trying to break through. She watched for their deadly silver beads, and sent her own beads rushing to intercept and dissipate them. The buzzing in her head was near-constant.

Edon's mages certainly had the numerical advantage; there were two or three of them for every one on the walls of Elland. But defending was easier than attacking, and so for a while there was a stalemate. Amira suffered more from the fatigue of her body than of her mind; she could barely stop for a drink of water, though city guardsmen kept her and her mages well-supplied.

After more than an hour without any progress, Edon's men pulled back at a series of shouts from someone further back. She thought perhaps it was Lord Chyros, orchestrating their efforts. Amira went and found Garen and Francine, their heads together as they discussed what they'd seen so far.

"They're slow, m'lady," Francine said to her. The girl wore the same cotton dress she'd worn the day they'd found her at her farm, a dress she washed and ironed and neatly folded each night.

"You're freakishly fast," Garen said to her, and Francine blushed, smiling. Amira had seen the two of them walking together in the castle's yard from time to time, holding hands. Good for them, if they'd found companionship.

Francine pulled nervously on her braid. "I mean they're slow even for normal mages. I don't know if they've been drilling and training like us. If they timed it right, they could slip a bead past... well, past me, even. But they just throw the beads like sh—um, like throwing mud at a wall, and hoping something sticks."

Garen nodded. "Even still, we're spending all our time blocking their beads. I doubt we'll ever get a bead through to use against them." He glanced around, and added quietly, "I don't see how we're going to stop them forever."

"We'll think of something," Amira assured him, glad that she sounded more confident than she felt.

After an hour's respite, Edon's mages came again. This time they were organized into two large groups, a few hundred yards apart, facing south toward the city. Amira sent word for her own mages to match them in similar, if smaller, clusters.

The beads came again, and again her mages held them off, but it seemed as if the beads of Edon's mages were getting closer to the wall before being dispelled. She could clearly see the faces of the men and women down outside the walls. More men than women, it seemed, by a margin of perhaps three to one, but all of them grim with concentration. The women could do little to breach the walls, but if they could hit any of Amira's mages, and reduce their numbers, then the men's beads would burrow into the walls and bring them down that much sooner.

And when Amira heard the first scream, her heart fell. She was with the group nearer the northwest corner of the city, and the scream had come from the east, from where Razh led the other of the students in their defense. But she could not run to see what had happened, or this group too might lose someone. She hoped Razh was keeping the rest of them calm—

A thunderclap struck ten yards from the wall, shaking the air and making Amira stagger. One of Edon's mages, a man, had gotten his bead terrifyingly close. She had been just about to dispel it, but he'd triggered it early. She was still perceiving this when another thunderclap struck, off to her left, then another to her right.

And then the wall lurched beneath her feet, and stone rained from the sky.

### CHAPTER 37

### DARDAN

Four thunderclaps. Dardan's head whipped up at the sound.

"M'lord?" Liam looked up from the map.

Dardan realized he had his sword half out of his scabbard, and slid it back in. "Come on."

Out in the square, a hundred men stood assembled. Half of them were city constables or men who'd once served in the army, and the rest were conscripts: merchants, traders, carpenters, grocers. Men of Elland. What good they'd be against a thousand royal soldiers, Dardan didn't know, but Elland could not be left defenseless.

The men buzzed with anticipation. Their commander, Captain Yorn of the city constables, saw Dardan emerge and called attention at once. Just then a rider came pounding up, a young man; gasping, he said, "The north wall... has fallen!"

"Then to the north wall, at once," Dardan called out, and swallowed down the bile that had clawed up his throat. _Amira. Aspect of Despair, let her be unharmed._ Every available horse was being used to ferry messages around the city, so Dardan was reduced to running on foot with the men they'd gathered. At least he had armor; Count Razh had been happy to provide him with a set of light chain. It wouldn't stand up against plate, but it would give him greater mobility.

They'd arranged two other companies, one positioned near the north gate and one nearer the south. If Edon's men got into the city, it would be house-to-house fighting. Dardan had studied that, if one could call reading old accounts of coastal pirate raids "studying." He'd also read about sailing ships, but only a fool would conclude that he was therefore qualified to captain one.

But he was a count, and so a count led the men through the empty streets of Elland. Everyone not engaged in the city's defense had retreated into their homes, shops, malthouses, inns. The desolation collided with Dardan's memory of Wintergift, the streets full of celebration and life. He plainly admitted to himself that he was terrified. He winced when he heard more thunderclaps, this time clearly coming from ahead of them, toward the city wall.

The men at his back would not see his fear, and if Liam saw it he said nothing. His _valo_ had changed in their time apart, Dardan could tell. Some of his humor had vanished, though he remained as dutiful as ever. He wondered what Liam wasn't telling him.

They soon came around a curve in the road and could see in the distance a sight that doubled his terror. A gash as wide as five men scarred the wall of Elland, as if a colossal sword had swung down from the heavens and cleaved through the wall to its foundation. Men in the mail of the royal army poured through the gap.

But they were disorganized, flush with the thrill of the breach. "Charge!" Dardan shouted, and his company raced forward, weapons high.

The first few royal soldiers saw them coming, and formed into something like a line, but there were not enough of them, and they broke before the charge. Dardan himself cut down two men with precise slashes and had just knocked over a third when a huge thunderclap sounded overhead, and for a moment everyone stumbled, disoriented, Ellander and royal soldier alike.

Dardan peered around. A man in common clothes perched on the rubble beneath the wall. He wore no soldier's mail, only a leather vest. Dardan did not recognize him.

The man died with a smile of victory on his lips as a dagger sprouted in his neck. Dardan twisted to see Liam with his arm outstretched. "Mage," Liam said, "and not one I knew."

The soldiers and city defenders all around him had begun to recover from the mage's attack. Dardan's company had completely lost its formation; men of Elland were now mixed in among royal soldiers, and men on both sides fell before the blades of their opponents. Dardan swung wildly at a trio of enemy soldiers who had spread out to encircle him, looking for an opening. They never got it; one by one, they suddenly jerked and fell to the ground, dead.

Dardan looked up at a vision of blood and golden hair perched on the edge of the battlements. Amira, his wife, glared down with the wrath of a god.

The whole crowd gazed up when she howled wordlessly at them, a howl that did not end until every royal soldier on this side of the wall had dropped dead. In seconds, only Elland's defenders still stood inside the walls.

For the moment, no one else came through the gap. Dardan crawled over the rubble of the wall to beneath Amira. "Jump!"

She clambered over the edge and dropped down into his arms. Blood covered half her face. In a panic, he tried to wipe it away, hoping that she had not taken a fatal wound.

On closer inspection, it was no more than a small but bloody gash in her cheek. It would keep for now. "What happened?"

"Broke through," she said, half sobbing and half shouting.

Dardan looked up at the wall. No one else moved up there that he could see. "Who..."

"I don't know. Everyone... I don't know..." She scrubbed at the blood and tears on her face. "We can't stop them now."

Liam stepped over. "Captain Yorn is dead," he informed Dardan tonelessly.

"You take over," Dardan decided at once. "Men!" he shouted. "My _valo_ is to lead you now. He has served in the army. Follow him as you would have your captain!"

Some of the men nodded dully. Others stared with horrified fascination at Amira. Liam started shouting to get their attention and get them formed up again.

Amira pulled away from Dardan's grasp and started digging through the rubble. "What are you doing? We need to retreat!" Dardan said.

"I'm not leaving them here."

Dardan gritted his teeth and climbed after his wife. "The enemy could come through at any moment—"

A movement in the gap made him reach for his sword, but he stopped when he saw who it was: Francine, her dress torn and half fallen off, some of her hair missing, and one arm dangling uselessly at her side. She bore a fierceness in her eyes that made Amira's earlier fury look like mild annoyance.

The girl clambered over the stones toward them. "I fell over the wall when the blast hit, m'lady," she said, her voice apologetic despite her dire appearance. "I had to fight my way back through. I think they're pulling back now. I had to kill four or five before they took the hint."

Dardan stared. "You killed five soldiers after falling twenty feet off a wall?"

"No, m'lord. Five mages."

Amira's jaw looked as if it had come unhinged. "You killed five mages _by yourself?_ "

Francine blushed. "Well... to be fair, they were a little distracted..."

Amira's laugh was incongruous amidst the carnage and wreckage. "You continue to amaze me. But we need to..." She grunted and began to dig again.

Dardan peered out through the gap. He glimpsed royal soldiers in a pack some distance off; perhaps Francine's rampage really had made them rethink their strategy. At the very least, she had bought the Ellanders a few minutes.

Between the three of them and a handful of city defenders Amira dragooned, they found the corpses of five other mages. When they found Garen's body lying broken amidst the stones, his legs a bloody ruin, Amira fell to her knees and wept. Francine burst into tears and flung her good arm around Amira.

Despair touched Dardan. Garen had been a wholly good person, and did not deserve what life had brought him. Dardan said prayers to the Aspects of Despair and Sacrifice, hoping to ward off the feeling. "We must go," he said to Amira. "They will come soon."

"We will come back for him," she proclaimed. "For all of them." She touched Garen's hand one last time.

Liam had gotten the men formed up into a semblance of order. "M'lord, we haven't much time."

Dardan nodded. He felt a pit in his stomach and tried to ignore it. Where had they planned to fall back to if the wall were breached? His breath came fast and shallow and he doubled over for a moment, breathing hard.

Amira was suddenly at his side, grasping his arm and helping him up. Something about her grip pushed away the dread that had enveloped him. "There's no stopping Edon and his mages from entering the city now," he said after a moment. "As much as they outnumber us, I think our only chance is to isolate the mages and pick them off one by one. We should draw back, then strike once they come through the breach." His fear had transmuted into resolve. He had escaped death twice already today, and he would not dwell on when his luck might run out.

Amira nodded. She had begun to lean against him at some point. The bleeding from her cheek had slowed, and she absently wiped at it. They would have to deal with that before it putrefied. If they survived that long.

Dardan and Liam corralled all the surviving defenders and marched them a hundred yards away from the wall, around a corner and into a square where they could hide out of sight. A few men were positioned to watch the wall and report when Edon's men started coming through again.

Perhaps sixty of the Ellanders were still in fighting condition. Of the mages who had been on that section of the wall before it exploded, only Amira and Francine had survived.

———

They waited a little while, but the scouts reported that Edon's men were making no move to enter the city. Dardan wanted to know what had become of Count Razh and his mages, so he left Liam in charge of things and led half a dozen men off to the northeast. They found Elland's count atop the wall, near the north gate. Razh saw him coming and waved at Dardan to come up the stairs.

The sun had climbed high. A clear azure sky kissed the crowns of the Stormrest Hills, clearly visible in the northwestern distance. Dardan could see that Edon's army had concentrated itself at a spot a few hundred yards straight out from the breach in the wall. They were certainly planning to enter the city there, although they had not yet formed up into ranks. "Perhaps they're breaking for luncheon," Razh commented. "I suppose even our vile enemy needs to eat."

Dardan could barely bring himself to grin. "Amira agrees that there's no chance we'll keep them out of the city now. I've set up something resembling an ambush near the breach they made. I would suggest pulling your group back as well, perhaps for a second ambush, but it's hard to hide you mages from one another, what with that light." Dardan gestured at Razh's head.

Razh shrugged. "It's possible to keep one's head turned to avoid exposing the light, but... that's tricky at best. We've so far found nothing that blocks the light. Not wood, not stone, not steel. Anyway, I think we'll do more good up here, especially if we keep our distance from the breach. It might convince them to funnel through it instead of trying to make another hole, and then perhaps your ambush will do some good."

"If the Caretaker wills it," Dardan muttered.

Razh smiled. "I don't think the Caretaker is especially fond of his flock killing one another. Take two more mages with you. Lady Amira will appreciate the support, I think. We'll try to come find you once the enemy enters the city."

Dardan sighed and made a prayer to the Aspect of Courage. He clapped Razh on the shoulder and went back down the wall, grabbing the first two mages he saw, which happened to be Jeffrey and Emma.

They returned to his ragged company. He had just told Amira about his conversation with Razh when a scout signaled back to them. Edon's men were coming.

"The four of you should place yourselves on the other side of the street," Dardan said. "If there's mages with whoever comes in, they'll probably see you hiding over there, and think the main body of men is with you too."

"You want us all alone? As bait?" Jeffrey said, looking alarmed.

"Bait that's fiercer than a hundred ordinary men. Take some archers, too. The bulk of our men will fall upon them from the rear. Move!"

Amira started to go, then turned back and stretched up to kiss Dardan quickly. "Do not die," she ordered him.

"I will do my best." And just then, for the first time in his life, he knew what abyss he would face if he lost Amira. Even the Aspect of Despair could not know the depth of that feeling.

He squeezed her close, letting go only when she squawked. "I am not unmarked today," she protested, pushing back.

"Sorry. I only just now figured out what I'm fighting for."

Despite the blood and ash and pain and anguish, her smile lit his soul. She squeezed his hand one more time and was gone, striding across the square with mages and archers at her heels.

———

Their warning came when several loud cracks sounded in succession, followed by the clatter of collapsing stone. Dardan peered around the edge of a malthouse to see the breach in the wall now thrice as wide. Edon's push came fierce: royal soldiers flowed in a torrent through the gap, led and protected by mages. The enemy soldiers pooled before the wall and formed into ranks. After only moments they began to march toward the square.

The ambush descended into chaos almost from the start. Someone on Edon's side had the sense to send small groups to scout ahead, and it was one of these that spotted Amira and her mages first. Dardan wasn't certain, but he thought that one of the men with the group was a mage. The man wore no mail, only a leather vest over wool and a plain gray wool cloak. He wielded no sword, either.

Liam had gotten the defenders arranged in the nooks and crannies among the buildings around the square. The small enemy scout group was intent on Amira, and so was another such group coming around from the other side of the smithy they'd hidden behind. The archers with Amira let loose, taking out several royal soldiers, and Dardan guessed that Amira and her mages were dueling somehow with Edon's mages, though of course he couldn't see it.

Then some fool on Dardan's side, one of the men hidden in a storefront, fired an arrow into the mage's back. The mage screamed and slumped down over the body of one of his soldiers, but this alerted the rest, who immediately retreated down the street, shouting about an ambush.

"Forward!" Dardan shouted. He leapt out from his hiding place and sprinted across to Amira. The second group of enemy scouts, on the far side of his wife, had fared better, for they looked to have two mages, a man and a woman.

As he closed, Dardan saw that Emma lay dead on the ground. Not from mage-power, but rather a white-fletched arrow through her throat. At this close range, it seemed, Amira and her mages could not react quite fast enough to stop arrows.

But the same was true of the enemy, and another five archers came up behind Dardan and started firing at the enemy scouts. One of the mages, the man, took a shaft through the shoulder and fell, and then the air cracked as Jeffrey—Dardan guessed—got off an explosion with his own mage-power. The remaining half-dozen enemy soldiers were flung into the air, and the second mage, the woman, was torn to pieces. Her upper torso landed not five feet before Dardan, splashing blood across the stones and dying with a silent shriek on her lips. The horror of it barely registered on him.

By now Dardan's men had all come out, forming ragged ranks as Liam exhorted them to get in order. He was trying to make them look a larger force than they were; Edon's men, further down the road toward the wall, were preparing for a charge.

"We'll never survive that," Dardan said, racking his brain for a way out. There were five times as many men on the other side, and probably a comparable ratio of mages.

The first ranks of the main body of royal soldiers were no farther than two hundred yards away and closing quickly. Jeffrey peered around the corner of the smithy at them. "Black spirits! We'll be overrun if they've even got just one or two mages to block our beads."

"They've likely got more than that," Amira said.

"And they're in good order. Those are royal soldiers, not irregulars we drummed up..." Dardan shouted all of a sudden. "Jeffrey! Blow up the street to slow them down!"

A mad grin spread across the blond mage's face. He leaned around the corner, and a moment later the paving stones fifty yards away cracked and exploded into the air. This repeated every few moments all along the width of the street, until it had been churned into knee-deep rubble. Dust swirled above it as Edon's forces closed, and arrows started to fly in both directions, with little accuracy. Jeffrey hooted with satisfaction.

"Tell the men to fall back," Dardan said to Liam. "With luck, we'll keep one step ahead."

"Count Razh is going to be annoyed you're tearing up all his nice streets," Liam remarked.

"He may present me with a bill for the damage if we survive. Move!"

Their ragged company, with Dardan and the mages at its tail, scrambled up the road. Voices hoarse from shouting urged Edon's men after them, through the dust and rubble.

Again Dardan ordered Jeffrey to tear up the road, creating another haze of dust. Two hundred yards further on, they were about to do it again, when Amira grabbed Dardan's arm.

"This is gaining us time, but little else. They still have their mages. Put archers on the roofs ahead! With the dust Jeffrey makes, they can wait until the best moment, and kill some of Edon's mages."

"That might lose them a few mages, at little cost to us, m'lord," Liam put in.

"Our men will certainly die," Dardan said. Liam only raised his eyebrows at his master. "But... we cannot win unless we take some pieces off the board. So be it." He had Liam give the order, which the _valo_ seemed more than happy to do. _To send men to their deaths. Is that what it means to lead?_

He sent up eight archers, four on either side of the road, and told them to spread out across the roofs so that even if one were hit by an explosion, the others would still be free to fire. Jeffrey tore up the street again, to make a screen of dust and hide the archers.

"How will we know if it worked?" Francine asked. They'd taken up station another two hundred yards on, watching the road where Edon's men were now scrambling through the debris.

"We'll watch for the silver, or for less of it, I suppose," Amira said.

When the bulk of Edon's men were past the rubble, Dardan had his few remaining archers fire at them, to focus their attention. A moment later, eight arrows descended almost as one from the rooftops to either side. Dardan thought he saw a few men fall. A moment later, the roof of one of the buildings exploded, and then another a moment later. More arrows came down from above, but not as many; and in a few more moments they stopped altogether.

"There must be some female mages in that group," Amira said. "But I think our archers took out a few of the men."

"Maybe, m'lady," Liam said, "but they're still coming."

That surprise would not work again, and in any event they had only a half-dozen archers left. Dardan kept the remains of the company moving. Jeffrey complained of fatigue by the sixth time he tore up the road, though he was energized when at one point he blew up the wall of a brick-fronted building and showered Edon's men with rubble, knocking several of them down. Still, Edon's men were gaining on them. Stragglers from Dardan's force were overrun and cut down. Their numbers dwindled, and yet Edon's army seemed as strong as ever.

Once, Dardan's force was almost blindsided by a column of royal infantry who came barrelling out of a side street—but inexplicably, they had only one mage with them. Amira, screaming like a banshee, ran toward him with Francine on her heels. Between them they killed the mage and cut down half a dozen soldiers before the rest turned and fled. But that stroke of luck did not repeat.

Dardan's legs felt like jelly. They'd crossed half the city evading their pursuers, but where would it end? The mages said they still saw many silver flashes from the men following them. Dardan might not have Liam's head for numbers, but he could count. They just didn't have the resources to survive this.

He gritted his teeth and made himself take another step. Then a man of his shouted and pointed down an adjoining street. Dardan looked; a small group was coming toward them. A few armed men... but more who wore no armor, and finally Dardan recognized that mop of blond hair.

Count Razh Bahodir trotted to a stop and waved, breathing heavily. "We would have found you sooner... but a company of Edon's men decided to chase us around. We lost them down near the docks."

"The docks?" Amira said suddenly. "Did you—never mind. Where are we?"

"Not far from the castle. Look," Razh said, pointing behind her at the battlements atop the keep, just visible poking over a trading-house.

Dardan took a moment to examine Razh's party: half a dozen mages, some battered, some bloody; four or five archers; and Patric, Razh's old _valo_. Not much in the way of reinforcements. "Is this everyone?"

"Everyone we could find. It's likely there's still a few of our mages out there somewhere."

"We should go to the castle," Amira said softly.

"What? Why?" Dardan glanced over his shoulder. Edon's men were tiring as well, but still they were only a few hundred yards away. He gave Amira a push and signaled his men to move on.

"Edon wants me. He could bring the castle down around our heads, but he won't. He'll come for me." Her voice was as tranquil as Dardan had ever heard it.

Razh shrugged. "It's as good a plan as any. At least we'll feel safer."

"We'd do well to unlearn those old feelings, m'lord," Liam muttered.

They cut down the next street and aimed for Tal Vieran. The gate, stupidly, stood open. No one had thought to seal it.

As his company streamed in through the gate, another shout of alarm went up, and Dardan looked. Who was it this time? A group, a large group, was coming up another street toward Tal Vieran's gate. But this time, its allegiance was unmistakable: the purple and blue banner of Relindos marched in time with armored and mounted men, and there, in the van, rode Edon Relindos, resplendent in his golden armor.

Amira saw him too. Her jaw clicked shut and she shuddered.

Dardan wanted to put his arms around her, but there was no time. "Inside!"

Arrows flew from Edon's group, and then the explosions came, on the fringes of Dardan's company. Men went down on both sides, but more defenders fell than invaders.

They were down to ten mages and maybe twice that in mundane defenders, including Dardan and Liam. When they came to the front steps, Amira stopped and turned to face Edon.

"There's at least a dozen mages out there, plus the king," Razh said, surveying the royal forces arrayed beyond the outer gate.

"Better odds than we had before, m'lord," Liam said.

The count grinned faintly. "Somehow I am not comforted."

The other mundane defenders of Elland looked as ragged and worn as Dardan felt. He could hardly stand the idea of sacrificing any more of them to preserve his own life. The mages had a fire in their eyes that the regular men did not, but even they were nearing their limits.

Edon strode through the wide-open gate. He stopped, fists planted on hips, just inside the foreyard. A full dozen other mages spread themselves out behind him. Dardan recognized Lord Chyros among them, smug and smirking and looking just as presentable as when he'd come to treat the previous day, as if none of the fighting had touched him.

"You have cost me a great deal, Lady Amira," Edon called out. "I am beginning to wonder if you are worth the effort."

"Would that you'd stayed in Callaston and saved yourself the trouble," she shouted back at him. The gash on her cheek had stopped bleeding, Dardan saw; she'd have her own scar there, to match Edon's.

"Come to me now and put an end to this. You simply lack the strength to win. The realm will not be stronger with us divided."

"The realm will be stronger if you are not in it." She drew herself up imperiously, and all the blood and dirt no longer mattered. "Come and claim your prize, if you dare." She spun on her heel and strode into the castle.

Dardan followed her, but kept an eye on Edon, who looked infuriated. In the vestibule, Dardan stopped his wife. "That was foolish."

She shrugged his hand off her arm. "You keep saying we're doomed. What does it matter?"

He frowned, unable to find a reply. Finally he said, "Then let us plan for our doom." He peered back out the door. Edon stood there conferring with his mages. Some men in plate had joined them, including at least half a dozen Wardens. He wondered for a moment if Mason Iris might be one of them—no one had seen him since his argument with Amira yesterday—but then he realized that he did recognize one: black hair, hard eyes. Jack Penrose stood beside Edon, glowering at everything.

"Send the servants to the cellars, if they haven't gone there already," Razh said to Patric, who despite his age had kept pace with them the whole day. "And hide there yourself."

"I shouldn't leave you, m'lord," the old _valo_ protested.

"I should not like to explain to your wife why you died uselessly." Razh gave a weak smile. "Go." Patric huffed a sigh, nodded, and left.

"Have we some sort of plan, m'lords?" Liam asked.

Dardan glanced outside again. Some of the mages and Wardens stared back at him, but Edon still spoke urgently to the others. "They mean to come in after us. Our mages and theirs cannot easily hide from one another, but the Wardens can make use of the element of surprise. And so can we who are not mages." The Ellanders who had been archers outside also had swords; Dardan had them discard the bows in favor of their blades. "Group up. One mage, two swords. Scatter through the castle. Set our swords to ambush their mages. Kill the mages _first,_ " he emphasized to everyone. "Without them, the Wardens are nothing."

"What about his maj—Edon?" Jeffrey asked. "Killing the king can't be a good idea, no matter what."

Dardan met his gaze. "Let the Aspects guide you." Jeffrey nodded, confused, but Dardan had no other advice. He was certain that he himself would kill Edon, given the chance.

He took Amira's hand. "I would not have this end with anyone else."

Her eyes sparkled at him. "I am sorry. For all of it."

He shook his head, and kissed her once quickly.

Amira addressed Jeffrey and Razh. They and Benton were the only male mages in the party; the rest were all women. "Turn the front steps to rubble. Perhaps Edon will twist his ankle climbing over it."

Razh laughed, and clapped a hand on Jeffrey's shoulder. "This is going to empty my coffers, I swear. On the count of three..."

Dardan could not see the beads, but someone in the foreyard shouted, "Look out!" If Edon's mages tried to stop Amira's, they must have failed, because the steps outside the door exploded into stony fragments, and then again once more a moment later.

"Group up and go!" Dardan shouted. He took Amira's hand; Liam followed them into the main hall and up the grand stairs. Razh and two other swordsmen went the same way, then split off toward the bedchambers.

Dardan ended up leading Amira and Liam to Razh's private office. He shut the door behind them.

"The male mages are going to have a tough time of it," Amira said. "They risk bringing the castle down around them, even if they use as little power as they can."

Liam scratched at his chin. "It looked as if Edon's mages were mostly men. And ours are mostly women. Perhaps we have the advantage."

"Do not count on it." Dardan strode over to the wall beside the door. "If they come in here, Liam and I will wait by the door to strike whoever comes in."

"They might guess it's an ambush, if a mage sees me through the walls here," Amira pointed out. "And then if they have a male mage, they might just blast the door open, which would kill the both of you."

Dardan ground his teeth. This new strategizing drove him mad. "All right... perhaps we stay farther back? Or perhaps you stay near the door? If Edon really wants you alive, his mages can't just try to attack any room they see that has a mage in it. They'll have to identify you first."

"Pray to Sacrifice that they've thought it through that far," Liam said.

Amira tensed. "Someone's coming." Just then they heard the first of several thunderclaps, followed by indistinct shouting.

"Can you see where that's happening?"

Amira's head swiveled from side to side, up and down. "There! Down... blasted black spirits! What's in that direction?" She pointed down through the floor. "I see beads flying like mad."

Liam closed his eyes a moment. "Kitchens. Servants' hall. Could be anyone."

"They're getting closer," Amira said, her voice rising a little. She'd backed against Razh's desk, her hands clamped white on the edge. Dardan could hear booted footsteps approaching. "Up the stairs... the hall..." Amira's eyes tracked along until she looked straight out through the door. The footsteps came to a halt.

A moment's silence passed. Then the door shook, but not from a mage's blow; someone had kicked it. Another strike, and another. Every muscle in Dardan's body felt tensed.

"They're blocking me!" Amira hissed, and Dardan realized she was on the attack as well.

With a bang, the hinges splintered and the door fell inward as Jack Penrose leapt into the room, sword flashing.

### CHAPTER 38

### AMIRA

Whoever the mage was behind Penrose, he was intercepting Amira's beads as fast as she could throw them. Warden Penrose ignored her completely and swung his sword at Dardan instead. Her husband barely parried the first strike. The second one caught on his sword edge-on and sent him sprawling.

Liam darted in behind Penrose, but the Warden seemed to sense him coming and spun to block the _valo_ 's attack. When he did, Amira could finally see the mage out in the hall: Lord Chyros, smirking as ever, his arms folded before him. "Well, well."

His nonchalance drove Amira into a fury. She formed new beads as quickly as he intercepted them, but she could not break through to him, or to Penrose. All it would take was a moment's inattention, and she could hit him _somewhere_ , and then her next bead would kill him. But he did not falter.

Amira scrabbled her hands on the desk behind her. She found the smooth heavy starstone that Count Razh used as a paperweight, and ran across the room toward Chyros. She heaved it into the air just as Penrose noticed her approach and withdrew back a step from Liam. The _valo_ had taken at least one mailed fist to the face, judging by his bloody nose.

The stone sailed through the air. Penrose swatted at it and grazed it with his fist, changing its angle enough to make it crack uselessly against the doorframe. Chyros didn't even have to duck aside, and his beads did not slow. He could not detonate one, not in here, not without risking Amira's death, which might mean his own at Edon's hand. But he seemed able to hold her off indefinitely.

If Penrose cared for Amira's health, he did not show it, for he swung his fist back at her. She dodged away and it scraped her cheek where she'd been cut by a flying chip of stone up on the city wall. Pain blazed across the wound and she stumbled back, falling onto her rear.

Dardan was on his feet again and shouted incoherently as he swung his sword at Penrose. The Warden circled around him, putting Dardan between him and Liam, and then with three quick strokes forced Amira's husband back. On the third stroke he twisted low and hit the grip of Dardan's sword. Dardan shrieked as blood flew, and he dropped the sword, lurching away. Liam leapt into the gap, half-crashing into Penrose and carrying him back toward the wall. Penrose was bigger and heavier, but he could not match Liam's rage.

All the while, Chyros grinned down at Amira, holding his bead ready whenever she paused in her attack. "Surrender, my dear," he chortled.

A perverse notion gripped her, and Amira shoved to her feet. She picked up Dardan's sword—he rolled on the ground, clutching at his hand—Liam had slammed Penrose up against the wall, and was trying to pummel his face—and she ran screaming toward Chyros.

He blanched, and started to reach for his own sword, but it tangled in his cloak. He backed down the hall, away from Amira's charge.

She hadn't a tenth of the strength or practice needed to wield it properly, but she didn't need to hit him with it. She just needed a distraction. She got it when Chyros tripped over his feet while still trying to untangle his sword. He cursed and put out an arm to stop his fall.

His concentration broke. Amira slipped her bead under his and plunged it into his heart.

At the same instant a thunderclap sounded above her, and she was knocked to the floor by an avalanche of debris. When she regained her senses, she looked around. Chyros lay motionless, eyes staring sightlessly upward, and the hall behind her was half-choked with rubble.

She scrambled to her feet and looked past the broken stones. A figure, armored in dented silver, dashed into the hall, glanced in her direction, and ran off. Penrose. She clambered over the debris—the corridor above had partly fallen in, presumably from Chyros's mis-aimed strike—and went back into Razh's office.

Dardan sat on the floor, his back against the desk. Liam knelt beside him, huffing madly and wrapping a torn length of curtain fabric around Dardan's right hand.

"What happened?" Amira said, gulping down air and coughing at the dust. Little phantoms flickered in her vision. "I got Chyros, but I saw Penrose running off."

"M'lord cracked him on the head with that paperweight. That Warden must be made of stone. He knocked us both down and ran off once he saw you and Chyros were gone."

She knelt beside Dardan. "Are you all right?" Somewhere in her mind she knew she should be watching for another attack, but right now her husband needed her.

He held up his hand. The pale cream curtains were already soaked red, and wrapped around his fingers oddly. "I may need to learn to write with my left hand."

Amira sobbed. She felt guilty at her dismay over such a small wound, when so many men had died today. She wanted to unwrap his hand, to see what Penrose had done to him, but he began to lever himself to his feet. "What can you see out there?" he said hoarsely.

She wiped away tears she hadn't known were present and looked at the walls. She saw sparks of silver here and there. Not as many as she expected. "It's hard to say. Perhaps we should find allies and help them."

"Better than staying here," Liam said, helping Dardan up. "Penrose might come back with reinforcements."

They went into the corridor, probing along. Amira saw no silver light near, though it wouldn't be hard to miss someone in all this chaos. She heard more shouts and another thunderclap in the distance. They came to the end of the corridor, where there was a locked door. She could open it, but someone might be hiding in there—maybe Penrose would ambush her when she went through. She turned back toward the main hall.

From the stairs they could see down into the entry hall and the vestibule beyond. Two large holes had been smashed in the front wall of the castle, admitting shafts of sun that illuminated the dust. Sprays of stone littered the floor below. Someone covered in a black cloak sprinted across the hall and disappeared through a servants' door, but Amira could not tell who it was, or even whether it was a man or woman.

Quick, booted steps sounded below. Amira ducked down behind the balustrade. Dardan and Liam followed suit, farther back and out of sight of whoever was below. She peered between the uprights and saw three figures emerge into the hall at a trot, from the same door the cloaked figure had exited. But one of them glanced up and then came to a halt.

It was Edon.

His golden armor was dented, his hair mussed, but he had no visible wounds, nor did the two women with him. All three were mages, and two of them could kill without bringing the room down around them.

"Come out," Edon called. He could not know who she was; the silver light looked the same for all mages, as far as she or her students had been able to divine. But her blood froze when Edon said, "I see you, Lady Amira. You cannot hide." He stopped at the foot of the stairs and clasped his hands together.

Amira glanced back at Dardan. "They don't know you're there," she whispered. "Stay back. Surprise them. Somehow." If they'd had bows, they might be able to shoot the two women, but Amira didn't know where they'd find such weapons up here.

She waited a pair of heartbeats and then slowly stood. Edon was staring straight at her. "I've made peace with the Caretaker," she said, trying to sound convincing. She must look an awful mess. "I did not expect to survive the day. Your mages have nearly killed me three or four times already."

"I should punish them for that, were it not the ordinary course of battle."

"There is nothing ordinary about this."

"I suppose not." He took a slow step onto the lowest stair. Amira had a firm grip on her ember but had not pushed it out into a bead yet. The two women below both had beads at the ready, floating inches before their foreheads. They must know who she is; they would only defend their king, not kill her. But if they saw Dardan or Liam, Amira could not save them. She could not fight three mages, not by herself.

Edon climbed another step. "I have moved heaven and earth for you, my dear. You should never have run. The realm cannot survive if its king allows rebellion to flourish."

"Self-defense is not rebellion." Amira had to will her feet to hold still. She would not back away from him. The two women stayed at the bottom of the stair, watching her intently.

"Come with me and all will be forgiven. I will even pardon that traitorous husband of yours as a gesture of good will."

"I don't think you understand what 'good will' means, your majesty," she spat at him, unable to keep the venom from her voice. She had always been able to charm any man, but she would not waste an ounce of that on him.

Another step, and another. He was almost halfway up to her landing. "You have no other mages up there. It is only you. Surrender, and this can all end. You hold the fate of all your friends in the palm of your hand. Why will you not save them? Is your pride so much more important than their lives?"

She saw clearly now. He was not a man; he was only a monster, pure and simple. Everything she had done, she had done protecting herself from him. "On the contrary, it is your pride that—"

The shape that unfurled from the shadows below was no ghost in her vision. It moved with purpose, silent, and then the black cloak slipped away, revealing a man wearing only simple gray linen, clutching a pearl-pommelled sword in one hand, and bearing a shock of white hair atop his head.

Mason Iris closed the distance so swiftly, and swung so viciously, that the first mage's head parted from her body before she had even begun to turn at his whispered footsteps. The second woman cursed aloud as she realized what had happened.

Mason would never reach her in time. Amira took one step down and leapt into the air, aiming to land squarely on Edon. _Aspect of Sacrifice, Aspect of Courage, Aspect of Wrath, guide me true._ Her body would hit the king, but her bead shot forth and intercepted the other woman's just before it reached Mason's chest. The woman squawked when the beads winked out, and then grunted as Mason's sword plunged into her stomach.

If she formed another bead before she died, Amira didn't see it, because she collided with Edon's vambraces as he held them up to fend her off. She grabbed onto him with all her strength. She was only half his weight, if that, but gravity had done the work for her: they tumbled down the stairs, alternating which one of them impacted against the stone steps.

Pain struck at random across her body, but she would not let go. They rolled to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. He struggled to push her off, and almost succeeded, then froze when the bloody tip of Mason's sword came to rest against his neck. "Your majesty," Mason said flatly.

Edon huffed for breath, as did Amira, but none of them moved. Edon could not use his power against either of them without risking his own death. "Dardan!" Amira shouted, once she had enough air in her lungs. She slapped a hand over Edon's eyes. He jerked at that, but then fell still again.

She heard her husband's footfalls as he and Liam came down the stair. "Black spirits," Liam muttered.

"Are you not going to kill him, as you swore you would?" Mason asked.

Amira realized that she could. Edon could never stop her in time. But to murder a man, a king, even Edon, at this close range, was suddenly a much greater burden than she'd thought it would be.

Her contemplation was interrupted by Edon speaking, so quietly that she hadn't realized it was him. "If I die, the city burns."

"What?"

"I ordered my men to put the city to the torch if I die. There are still hundreds of them out there."

Liam glanced out the entry, half-hidden by dust and rubble. "Even if we killed all his mages, we'd still never be able to stop the soldiers in time."

Perhaps they should kill Edon, and work up some ruse to trick his men. Perhaps they could get him to order his men to leave the city, and _then_ kill him. There were too many possibilities. "We need time to think. Dardan, Liam, find a blindfold or a sack to cover his eyes, and something to bind his hands with. And a gag." They stumbled off to search.

While they were gone, two more people arrived in the hall, emerging from the formal dining room: a mage and a Warden Amira didn't recognize. Mason shouted that they held King Edon and that any attempt to rescue him would result in his certain death. The mage and Warden stopped and stared. "Go outside, or he dies, and then you die," Mason said. The two men glanced at each other, and slowly sidled out into the daylight before the castle.

Amira's arm hurt from twisting to cover Edon's eyes, on top of all the other pains up and down her body. Nothing felt broken from the tumble down the stairs, but she'd look one giant bruise tomorrow. _If I survive to tomorrow._ The prospect seemed a little less bleak than it had a few minutes earlier.

Dardan and Liam returned with an empty potato sack, a roll of twine, and a rag. They stuffed the rag in Edon's mouth none too gently and tied twine around his head to hold it in. Liam slid the sack over Edon's head—it went halfway down his torso—and rolled him over, tying the twine firmly around his wrists, although they had to unbuckle and remove his vambraces first. Liam suggested taking his armor entirely off, which was accomplished with a great deal of clanking and cursing. Amira reminded the king frequently that she was still right next to him, lest he get the idea to lash out with his power in the hopes of distracting or harming the other men.

When that was done, they got Edon on his feet and marched him to the castle's front door. The mage and Warden who had come through earlier waited near the gate with a dozen other knights and soldiers. Amira saw no one who looked like a mage, aside from the one man. She nodded to Liam, who lifted the sack off Edon's head.

"Your king is our prisoner," she shouted. "We will not harm him so long as you all leave Elland and return to Callaston." She gestured to Liam, and he replaced the sack.

"You expect us to simply surrender?" the mage below called out. "We outnumber you a dozen to one!"

"I've spent months wanting this monster dead," Amira nearly screamed. "You will leave, or I will get my wish!"

"How are we to know you would not kill him anyway?" the mage said.

She ground her teeth. They'd won! Why should this part be so difficult?

Before she could speak, Dardan stepped forward and shouted. "I swear on the name of House Tarian of Hedenham County, King Edon will remain unharmed so long as all his forces leave the city and march for Callaston at once. After you are gone, his majesty will be released safely."

"Why should we trust you, traitor?"

This seemed to affront Dardan. He drew himself up. "House Tarian has ruled Hedenham County justly and fairly for centuries. Until his majesty decided to attack us unprovoked, we had never once entertained any thought of rebellion. Our honor is unsullied." He raised his sword to Edon's neck. "And besides, you have no choice."

The idea of letting Edon go turned Amira's stomach. But she could not see another way to save the city. She hoped Razh was alive to appreciate the sacrifice.

The mage down below conferred quietly with the Warden, and then they both turned and strode over to the other knights waiting beyond. Some intense discussion followed. After a minute or two they returned, having somehow become the emissaries of Edon's army. "We will leave if the king so orders it."

Amira had been holding Edon's arm, and she felt him tense suddenly. The air was still; she could hear him breathing under the sack. She went up on tiptoes and whispered to him. "The city might burn, but you would certainly die."

She felt him turn a little, and saw his silver light flash by as he did. He grunted, unable to speak behind the gag. Amira reached up under the sack and loosened the cloth. "Go," he shouted. "Return to Callaston."

———

It took two days for the army to completely withdraw. They had to collect all their living and their dead, and deal with roving parties of townsfolk who, on a few occasions, started fights with the royal soldiers.

The townsfolk had started to emerge from their homes and shops when all had been quiet for a few hours, as the news spread that the battle was over and that Edon's army had been repulsed. Teams of men were drafted into clearing rubble from the streets and at the wall where Edon's mages had breached it.

Razh, Francine, and Jeffrey had survived the fighting in the castle, along with a few of the mundane defenders. Once Edon had been taken and the terms negotiated, Amira and Mason marched him through the castle, calling out that they'd captured Edon and for the other mages and Wardens remaining to surrender. It turned out only six of them were still alive; Francine had killed three of the search parties by herself, and Razh another. Jeffrey, while dueling another mage, had demolished a twenty-foot section of exterior wall; they were lucky the whole castle hadn't come down.

Edon was kept bound and gagged and blindfolded, seated between two female mages at all times. At first, that meant Amira and Francine, and Amira felt a growing sense of revulsion at spending so much time in close proximity to the man.

If he'd ever tried to summon a bead, either of them could have snuffed it out at once, but he never did. The castle had old, rarely-used dungeons, and it was here they kept him. Edon was not stupid, but still Amira reminded him that using his power would likely result in him being buried under tons of rock. He said nothing.

By the end of that day, Cora and Sophie turned up, mostly unharmed. They took a turn watching the king, giving Amira a chance to rest, if only for a short while. She had her wounds cleaned, compresses applied, bandages wrapped. Someone handed her a mirror, and after a calming breath she looked into it. The gash on her cheek would certainly scar, and could not be easily hidden with powder or color. She gave the mirror away hurriedly.

The roster of the dead came as well. More than half the students at her school had been killed. Vincent. Emma. Benton. Edith. Garen. A dozen others. A few of the castle servants had gotten caught out; but mostly they'd hidden in the cellars, as instructed. Patric had kept them safe, a shepherd watching his flock.

The cellars also held the answer to another mystery, Amira learned, when Mason came into the formal dining room where she sat sipping cold broth. Evening had fallen; this brutal day was finally nearing its end. The Warden came to attention a few feet away. He'd put his armor on again, she saw.

"Please, sit."

"I prefer to stand, m'lady."

"Sit. Down."

Mason met her eyes for a moment, then looked away. He circled the table and sat opposite her.

"What happened to you?"

"After we... spoke... I thought to leave the city, but instead I wanted solitude, to pray. I left my belongings here and went to a temple a few streets away. I prayed for hours, then spent the night in a borrowed cell there."

"And what did you learn from your prayers?" Amira interrupted.

Mason chewed on his lip for a moment, but ignored the question and went on. "The steward awoke me this morning with the news that the city was besieged. He'd only just heard, as he hadn't gone out the previous day at all, and no one had come by to tell him. I came back to the castle to get my armor and sword. I went to the top of the keep and could see forces approaching the castle. I could have gone out to meet them, but there was no one to protect the servants here."

"Gone out to meet which group?" Amira asked.

Mason winced a little. "I... I don't know what I would have done if I'd gone outside, m'lady. But I didn't. I stayed here. I started gathering the servants down to the cellars, and a little while later Count Razh's _valo_ came to help. He told me you'd returned. I came back up and watched from the servants' stair; I saw Edon and his mages and my brother Wardens enter. I could not make myself go to them. I hid, and realized my armor would slow me down and protect me not at all against mages. So I took it off. Then a pair of Edon's men found me, and I led them on a chase. I suppose it is a miracle I was not killed."

"The Caretaker had a purpose for you," Amira said quietly.

Mason glanced away again, his fingers tapping on the table. "I lost my initial pursuers, but then came across Edon and the two... women," he said, quietly, "in the great hall. I fled from them, through the entry, but then I heard Edon call to you. I circled around, and... you saw the rest."

"You saved me."

Mason did not dissemble or explain. "What Edon... I... what he did..." He shook his head, agitated. "I betrayed him."

"He betrayed the realm first. Thank you for doing what was right."

His head came up, and Amira saw a fire blazing in his eyes. "Right? _Right?_ " Mason shot to his feet. "M'lady, forgive me, but you are as monstrous as Edon." He shoved the chair aside and stormed from the room. Amira saw only then that his pauldrons no longer bore the device of the Wardens of Aendavar. The balance scales had been hacked off, leaving only a tangle of scarred black iron.

She did not see Mason again. Razh's house major informed her within the hour that the Warden had collected his things and ridden away.

———

Katin reappeared the day after the battle. She'd found shelter in a temple, of all places, down near the docks. She'd seen neither mages nor soldiers, and listened in rapt horror as Amira described the battle. Amira could feel only a little relief that Katin, and the growing life within her belly, had come out entirely unscathed.

Edon's army was soon gone over the horizon. Razh had sent riders to shadow them and confirm that the army showed no signs of turning back. After a few days they returned, but Amira still waited three days longer before releasing the king. A small honor guard, half a dozen men—with no mages among them—had been left behind to escort Edon home. Their captain came to Tal Vieran each morning to complain to Amira that Edon was still held captive despite the army's departure.

"I said I would release him after the army was gone, Captain," she reminded him. "I did not say how long after." The man sighed and bowed, and went away grumbling.

When they finally did release Edon, Amira had him brought out of the dungeon and put in the back of a cart, the potato sack still over his head, and driven to the west gate. Dardan, Liam, Katin, Razh, and all of Amira's remaining mages attended. Finally they removed the sack and untied him. His golden armor was returned to him, but he would not take it, giving no explanation.

Amira felt an urge to simply kill him now, but Dardan had given his word, and she would not betray that. She held his left hand. His right was maimed; his little finger had been shortened by one knuckle, and his ring finger by two, by Penrose's strike. Still he wore his plain gold wedding ring on the stump of the finger.

Penrose had not been seen since that fight. He had probably fled the city and was already on his way back to Callaston. Somehow, that distant threat loomed over her more than Edon, who stood not five yards before her.

Surrounded by hostile mages, he was harmless. He glared at Amira again. A week of confinement under that hood had not dimmed his haughtiness. A light beard had begun to grow in, everywhere except on the shiny patch on his cheek. _Paired scars._ She'd looked at hers again when a few days had passed. It did not look like his; hers was a cut, not a burn, but it was an obvious vee-shaped mark that she would bear the rest of her life.

His eyes lingered on it. She expected him to say something, to threaten her again and promise retribution, but after a few seconds he swung up onto his horse and rode away.

Hundreds of eyes watched him go. City folk had crowded onto the wall over the gate. When Edon and his men disappeared behind a stand of trees, Amira felt all those eyes fall to her. For once she did not appreciate the attention. She tugged on Dardan's hand and led him into the city.

They had horses to bear them back to the castle. The city would be in repairs for weeks at least; the wall needed to be rebuilt, many of the roads repaved. Jeffrey beamed with pride every time they passed a section of road he'd torn up.

"Our time in Elland is coming to an end," she said to Dardan as they rode.

"You knew we'd never be able to stay here forever."

She nodded. "It is a hard thing to admit." She looked at the faces of the townsfolk she passed. They watched her with some combination of fear and awe. It should have inspired her, but it only made her feel grief for all the lives lost. "I do not want to seem bloodthirsty, but I wish there had been a way to honorably kill Edon."

"Killing Edon would likely have spilled a great deal less blood than what is to come, even if he had burned the city. But I swore an oath."

_What is to come._ They would need to gather support. Dukes, counts, barons. They would probably be able to turn some of the royal garrisons to their cause. The news that King Edon had attacked and invaded a city of his own realm would earn him the enmity of many of his subjects. Would it be enough? Could they defeat him? Would civil war sweep the realm, just to serve the ambitions and pride of a few mages?

Amira realized that she had long been looking forward to a return to Callaston. She had thought that all their adventures were merely a series of detours before she could go back to her manse and resume the life she'd been living. No, of course not; she was married now, she was a mage now, a leader, a warrior. Men had died and would continue to die at her word. When had she gained such power, such responsibility?

She felt the enormity of it all crashing down upon her. The spire of Tal Vieran came into view around a bend in the road as Countess Amira Tarian began to weep.

### EPILOGUE

The scent of flowers in deep bloom wafted through the open doors. King Edon Relindos glared out at the morning sky from the desk in his private office. He could see the tops of the trees in the royal preserve from here, white oaks and poplars reaching high for the sun.

It was not enough to mask the stench of failure that had followed him since Elland. He had hoped his men would stop just out of Elland's reach, so he could catch them and turn back to attack the city once more, and capture that blasted woman. She was the key; she would be his. He would break her.

But she'd kept him in the dungeon too long. His army had gone straight on to Callaston, them and their honor. He hadn't caught up to them until he'd passed Hedenham Town, and by then the prospect of marching all the way back to Elland did not please even him. He arrived in Callaston at the head of a spent army. Only one out of every three mages he'd taken with him had returned.

He could have stopped in Hedenham, burned it down, taken revenge on that traitor Tarian. Killed his family, his people. Taught him a lesson. But it seemed a petty thing, him surrounded by half a dozen tired soldiers who just wanted to get home to their families. No. He would bide his time, return with a proper army, and make Tarian pay.

For now, he was stuck managing affairs in Callaston. By the time he returned to the city, a month had gone by, and of course in his absence the dukes on the Grand Council had let their myopia and selfishness run wild. Why couldn't they obey? Why couldn't they act as proper stewards to the realm and the people? Why did he have to do everything himself?

He went out on the balcony and took several deep breaths. Each morning he took some time to relax, to bring himself calm. Ruling Garova meant a constant series of meetings, discussions, appointments, letters, papers, dealing with the treasury, the army, the guilds, everyone who wanted something from him. If they waited, they'd get their due. Why couldn't they wait?

A knock came from within. "Enter," he called out, stepping back through the balcony doors.

The visitor was his sister Taya. Today the princess wore a low-necked gown of spring green with an emerald choker to match her eyes. "Your majesty," she said, dipping her head only slightly. She came without her _vala_ , that poisonous girl. He knew Taya shared her bed with the _vala_. It was wretched, but beneath his notice.

And he was less than pleased by her insolent excuse for a bow. _Does she forget am I her king as well as her brother? She should show proper deference._ He held that thought in check. For now. "What do you want?"

Taya smiled faintly. "Are you well?"

"Do I not look well?"

"You have been brooding a great deal since your return. Men speak of it. They also speak of Elland."

"They will hold their tongues if they know what's good for them." He glanced down at his marriage rings: an amethyst in gold on the left, a sapphire in silver on the right. Purple and blue. His wife, Queen Cheraline, was likely still in their chambers. She did not rise early, as he did. "I had her. _I had her._ And yet somehow she defeated me. Treason. Treachery. How does she inspire it?" Mason Iris, that cursed traitor. Would that he'd seen the man's weakness in Vasland and left him there.

Taya shrugged. "You've seen her. She can inspire men to many things on her beauty alone. And with this power you share... The world has only begun to change, brother. Do not let one failure guide you."

"Who are you to mock my failure, you who let that stupid _vala_ sneak out from under your nose?"

"I told you, that was a ruse. That girl was canny; and besides, she had help from Count Tarian's _valo_." She waved a hand absently. "They are irrelevant. Countess Amira is the prize, is she not?"

"Yes," Edon admitted. "And I will deal with her." He shifted in his chair, considering his sister. So far she had not been of much help to him, despite her insistence that she cared as much for the security of House Relindos as he did. Perhaps she needed a specific task. "What I need from you is to manage affairs here. Politics. The dukes are all cravens. I cannot again go into the field for a month and return to a Greater Council that has wasted that whole time with greedy bickering."

Taya had frozen for a moment, then settled back casually into her chair, her usual smile resuming its place on her lips. _What was that about?_ Edon wondered.

His sister shrugged faintly. "Well. I suppose. I cannot openly join the Greater Council, of course, so my methods will have to be somewhat more subtle. But I shall let it be known—quietly, of course—that I bear your will in these matters."

The offhanded way she spoke unsettled him. "Do not think to turn this to your own advantage. I will not have _you_ after my throne as well!"

Taya laughed. "Fear not, brother. I could never rule the kingdom. They are not prepared for a true queen."

_You are wrong,_ something inside him screamed. _They are being prepared for a queen of mages._

———

He could have won. He could have taken all his mages to Elland.

But he'd left too many of them here in Callaston, thinking that half his mages would be more than sufficient for his purposes. His recruiting parties had done well, scouring the countryside for those with the power. The process went even faster once he had a few mages of his own, who could tell another mage just by looking.

Their ranks had swelled. He had housed them in the palace at first, and then had a barracks erected for them at the edge of the royal preserve. It would not do to put them in the city itself; the people might panic, and of course the mages themselves were dangerous.

He'd wanted to guard against some sort of coup while he was gone. He'd left Lady Helena in charge of the academy, to see to their training and keep them out of trouble while he went to Elland.

There was no denying that he'd made a tactical error in bringing mostly male mages. He had thought that breaching the wall of Elland would be the hard part, but that had turned out to be surprisingly easy. Until his men had rushed through the breach in the wall, he'd lost only three or four soldiers, mostly to arrows. His mages had been more than equal to the task of suppressing Amira's mages.

But once they'd gotten inside the city, the men had become less useful. Suddenly the city itself had become a weapon used against them, the streets turned to obstacles, ambushes set upon the roofs, stone façades toppled upon them as they passed. And then the castle. Using mindfire in close quarters was something only suited for women. They had all the luck, didn't they? Women could use it to kill, as men could, but they could also use it to mend, create, warm. All he could do was destroy. _Is that not enough for a warrior king?_

The memory of Warden Iris's betrayal—of the deaths of the women who had fought beside Edon—drove him to a near-fury, ruining whatever further comfort he might take in his solitude. After Taya left, he went out into the anteroom. Alice sat there, flaxen-haired and bored. She was his bodyguard today. Since returning to the city, he'd tasked the female mages with taking turns as his guard, for the same reason that women would have been more useful in Elland: they could kill cleanly and silently, without destroying everything around them.

The girl smiled as he emerged. "Your majesty," she bowed, her neckline drooping to show excellent cleavage.

Edon had resisted for an entire week before going to her bedchamber in the middle of the night and taking his pleasure with her. He'd tried to promise himself that he'd keep faith with his wife until he'd gotten her with child. It was important that he sire no bastards while king, or at least none older than his legitimate firstborn. Which he was certain would be a son.

Cheraline was a good wife. Obedient, quiet. She did her duty, lying still until he finished, only rejecting him when her moon blood was upon her. Soon, she would catch. And if not, well, it was hardly an onerous duty for him.

He led Alice out of his chambers and into the halls of Elibarran. He silently reminded himself, again and again, not to stare at her. Palace guards saluted him as he descended out of the residential halls toward the parts of the palace where work was done.

He was on a staircase when footsteps echoed up toward him. His secretary, whose name he had never bothered to learn, jerked to a halt. "Your majesty, good morning," the man said, bowing so low that he almost hit his head on the step before him.

Edon barely slowed to nod at the man, who scurried after him, clutching at a leather folder. "The Greater Council has sent a report about the, er, readiness of your army. It seems..."

The man droned on while Edon made his way to the royal dining room, a private chamber meant for meals with his family. No one else was present, and Edon did not feel like sending for them. He ate luncheon alone, save for the secretary, who continued babbling about Edon's schedule, and Alice, who sat in a chair by the door, smiling unchastely at Edon.

The Greater Council met that afternoon. Edon sat in attendance. In some strange way, watching the dukes from the vantage of the throne appealed to him in a way that the council meetings never had as a prince. The dukes chattered nervously, as they had every day since his return. They had all clamored to agree with his plan to take Amira, as soon as he had revealed it. Not one of them had spoken a word of caution or worry. Did Edon inspire so much fear? When had he ever punished men for speaking truth?

His thoughts drifted as the dukes debated how much another deployment of the army would cost the royal treasury. He had made mistakes, it could not be denied, but they were not his fault. No, he had been misled. Misled... by the Caretaker himself.

Edon had heard the spirit of the Caretaker speaking to him through the spark in his mind. In his bedchamber in Gravensford, he'd dreamed of the Caretaker, a blazing figure with a face of pure light, his hand outstretched to guide Edon to his destiny. And he knew that Amira was tied to that destiny; he dreamt of her as well, her beautiful face, her golden hair floating in a halo around her as she knelt before Edon and surrendered her will to him.

He had been at a loss when the dreams began. What had they meant? After his return to Callaston, he'd sought counsel from Aerandin himself, the most exalted priest of the Niderium. The wizened old fool had spoken of prophetic dreams had by old kings.

The priests of the Niderium knew nothing. Their Aspects gave them comfort, but what good were comforting lies to a king? The Caretaker had tried to teach him to shepherd his people, to protect them. But that was not his place. Edon had to lead, not shepherd. A shepherd followed from the rear, driving the flock before him. A true leader went in the van, with his people at his back.

A bolt struck him, as sharp as any thunderclap he'd ever made with his power. He instantly understood with perfect clarity that the temples of the Niderium were spreading heresies. Something had to be done.

He rose and said, "I must go." The dukes stopped their blathering and watched him with jaws open as he left. But they were the furthest thing from his mind. "Where is my brother?" he asked his secretary, who had been hovering at the margins.

"Um, in the library, I suppose, sire," he said. "I can send for him..."

"No. Send for my mages. All of them, even the greenest recruits," he said, flush with excitement. "Bring them to the throne room."

Edon did indeed find little Luka in the library, sitting on a thick tome to boost his height. He looked up from a dusty pile of parchment, and grinned at Edon. _At least he seems to know I still protect this family._ Luka had never known their father as anything more than an old man who wore a crown, and he did not seem to miss Viktor.

"Good morning, your majesty!" the boy said brightly. His tutor, the old scholar Warwick, bowed to his king from his perch atop a nearby stool. Luka needed little instruction, but it was good having someone to keep an eye on him.

"Good morning, Luka," Edon said, feeling truly cheered for the first time that day. "I have a task for you."

Luka wrinkled his nose. "I don't have to go riding, do I?"

"No, nothing like that. I need a word."

Luka's eyebrows went up. "Huh?"

"You've studied old Elibander, yes? What is the word for 'fire'?"

The little boy thought for a moment, his face scrunching up. His dark brown hair was getting long again. Didn't their mother ever tend to the boy? She had to come out of her chambers sometimes. Luka was only nine. "I think..." He hopped down from his seat, but halfway to a shelf he stopped and whirled about. "No, I've got it. I think. Wait, I should look it up."

"Just tell me," Edon said, "and look it up later."

"Oh. Okay. The word is... _zhar_ , that's it."

"And how would you say 'heart of fire'?"

"Um... _zharran_! Just like how 'Elibarran' means 'heart of Eliband.'" Luka grinned, excited, but then his smile became a little uncertain. "Is this about your..." Luka's hand came up to his temple.

"Perhaps. How would you say 'little fire'?"

"That's easy. _Senzhar_."

Edon smiled. "Thank you for your help, Luka. Now back to your studies." _Zharranai._ It was perfect.

Alice followed him to the throne room. Several of his mages had assembled already, and he sat on the throne to wait, tapping his fingers impatiently. More of his mages filtered in, and then a group of them arrived all at once, led by Lady Helena, she of the black hair and knowing smile. She'd been only a commoner—a merchant's daughter or something—when Edon found her, but as haughty and arrogant as any duchess. She had agreed to follow Edon on the condition he ennoble her. _Any woman audacious enough to demand peerage can bloody well have it._

Finally they were all gathered. Edon dismissed all the mundane guards and attendants, even Helena's _vala_. This was the first time he'd gathered them all since his return. They watched him, curious, eager.

"My friends," Edon began. "We have been deceived."

Their curiosity turned to confusion, but the mages kept silent. Not one of them turned their eyes away from him. "We all know the Caretaker, and the Aspects. All of you have been praying to them since you were children. But with the power we share, this has become a new world, and the Caretaker is an old, old god. He cannot help us. He cannot guide us. His faith was meant for those who did not have the true light to guide them."

They had all pledged their loyalty to him, and he would reward them for their service. There had been one mage, unwise enough to refuse his offer, whom Lady Helena had found in a village to the west. No mage would live who did not swear fealty. Helena had killed the foolish man, burning him slowly from the inside out.

"Yesterday we were mere mages. Today we are the _Zharranai_. The Fire's Heart. We are the new power in this world, and we will no longer tolerate the pettiness of our lessers. We will rule. We will rule as the shining light that chases away the darkness. We alone will protect Garova from its enemies." Every eye was intent on him. Lady Helena's lips were parted slightly, curved into that cruel grin of hers.

They could all see what he saw, he was sure of it. They would act as one, a mighty flame to scour the land clean of its heresies and lies. None would stand before their radiance. _Amira will kneel before me. I will break her._

Edon summoned his spark, and floated the silver bead out over their heads. He could detonate it and kill them all, and they knew it. They looked up as one at the deadly argent light glinting above them. " _This_ is our destiny. This is the light that will shine on the whole world," he said, almost breathless, standing before the throne that was finally, rightfully, his.

"This," he said, putting all his power into the spark, "is the light of your new god."

To be continued

in Book 2

of _Mindfire_

### The Silver War

### AFTERWORD: A PLEA

Writing is a lonely pursuit, made bearable only by the promise of eventually creating a completed work. We then cast our child out into the darkness, leaving it to the tender mercies of the world.

If you enjoyed reading _The Queen of Mages_ , I ask only two things of you: return to wherever you purchased it, and write a positive review; and encourage your friends and family to buy copies, if you think it's the sort of book they'll enjoy. This is a one-man operation; I don't have the support of a colossal (or even a tiny) publishing company at my back.

The more that readers support me, the more I can afford to undertake writing as my sole profession. If you're willing to go the extra mile, then like the book's Facebook page! Read my blog! Follow me on Twitter! All these things can be accomplished by visiting http://benjaminclayborne.com, which will only take a moment of your time. (Certainly, I would hope, less time than it took to read the book!)

Either way, the journey will continue as soon as humanly possible, in book 2 of Mindfire: _The Silver War_.

### ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Benjamin Clayborne lives in Los Angeles with his family. _The Queen of Mages_ is his first released novel. He hopes you found that blurb interesting, but totally understands if you don't, because really, it's short enough to fit on Twitter.

