Ylo smiled his most perfect smile, oozing self-satisfaction. "She reports the place is a madhouse. The news is out. It's even worse than I thoughta"goblins grinding up legions like coffee beans."

"You seem strangely pleased."

"I don't like to be disbelieved when I'm telling the truth. I do it so rarely that I want to have it appreciated! Now you can believe my story. Now you can surrender to l.u.s.t without worrying about Shandie ever turning up to complain."

Contemptible clod! Dragging her daughter by the hand, she swept past him into the house. Somehow she could not be angry with Ylo, merely sad that he was not the debonair rapscallion she had believed him to be. She had never approved of him, could never have trusted him as an ally, but he had been amusing once. Now he was merely disgusting.

The image of ice on a pond came to her again. She had barely seen Maya happily arranged at the tasty end of a spoon when her footing cracked and tilted some more.

In the gloomy, ill-proportioned room the proconsul used as a study, she faced him like an errant pupil called out by the teacher. Ionfeu was old; his crippled back tormented him. He was badly shaken by the dread responsibility now thrown upon him, and looked as if he had not slept since Ylo's arrival. He was nonetheless still a count, still an Imperial politician and officer, and still very certainly the ruler of Yewdark. He was gracious and implacable.

He was behind a desk. She was expected to sit before it. She could not believe that her sister, as d.u.c.h.ess or impress, would ever tolerate that from a mere proconsul.

Eigaze was there, too, still wearing the finery she had a.s.sumed for her trip to Faintown, also wearing a very strange expression. Her fat lips were pursed white; her thick fingers moved restlessly on her lap. Eshiala needed hear no words to guess that Lady Eigaze disapproved of whatever message was coming.

The centurion stood in a corner with his arms folded. Two nights ago old Ukka had called him dangerous, and Eshiala had disbelieved, seeing in him only a trustworthy guardian, as she had for months. Now he was her jailer. He spied on her movements. He was the proconsul's instrument and weapon, and as open to argument as a razor. He was more than dangerous.

She perched on a chair, clasped her hands to still them, and regarded Ionfeu with her best Imperial stare, poor thing though it was.

He began delivering sentence, deliberate and lucid and cold. "The signifer seems to be telling the truth, ma'am. News of the goblins has reached Faintown. The imperor addressed the Senate yesterday. As we know that . . . know that he could not have been the real imperor, I must accept that Ylo is also telling the truth about the subst.i.tution that has been made. In other words, I have decided to accept all aspects of his story. Do you disagree with my conclusions?"

She could say that Ylo was a notorious liar, but the count would not see that sort of lying as being the same as this sort of lying. Lying to men was a crime; lying to women only a sin. And she did believe Ylo's tale. She nodded her head to agree.

Before the count spoke again, Hardgraa's iron growl intervened. "I'd still like to know why he's here at all." For the first time in two days, a faint smile appeared on the old aristocrat's face. "Perhaps he's telling the truth there, too, Centurion. I think he met with a little divine justice at Woggle. He certainly wouldn't be the first young man to wake up naked and penniless in a strange bed. Normally he would have appealed to the army for rescue and retribution, and would have suffered no more than ridicule. But this time he daren't. Yewdark was the only refuge within reach, that's all."

"I expect you're right, my lord."

"And we might give him credit for wanting to break the news to us. He has a sense of duty, too, you know. His record shows that."

"I suppose so." But Hardgraa seemed unconvinced. "His record reveals other abilities also." He sneered at Eshiala, and her temper exploded, taking her completely by surprise.

"How dare you!" she shouted. "How dare you suggest that there is anything between that lout and me? You actually dare suggest that Ylo came here for my sake? That . . . that . . . lout?"

Ionfeu's smile had faded like the winter snows. "I certainly hope that he was not implying any such thing, ma'am! Centurion?"

Hardgraa muttered, "No offense intended, your Majesty!" He seemed suddenly puzzled. Perhaps he had just realized that no sane suitor would behave as Ylo had been behaving.

The count coughed diplomatically. "We are all a little overwrought. Now, ma'am, with your husband dead, your daughter is t.i.tular ruler of the realm."

"The rest of the world would not agree with you, my lord."

"But I must be guided by my conscience." The old man cleared his throat, glanced hesitantly at his wife, and then continued sternly. "You may not be aware of this. It is common gossip, though. Prince Emthoro is thirty-two years old, and unmarried. His various mistresses have not complained of their treatment, but they have borne him no b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. A prince who has not fathered children by the time he is thirty-two is probably not going to produce any children at all. Rumor blames an attack of mumps in early manhood. His brother died at Karthin. Now Shandie. Ma'am, that child of yours is unusually precious!"

"She is infinitely precious to me."

"To all of us, ma'am. Don't you see? The Affaladi branch is morganatically disqualified. I do believe that without the princess, Agraine's house may be effectively extinct. That means change of dynasty, and changes of dynasty almost invariably bring civil war."

The old man was forgetting that the effective impress at the moment was Ashia, and Ashia might see her duty to the Impire in ways that would shock the count out of his stoop. In the circ.u.mstances she almost certainly would. Eshiala was not going to mention that complication, though.

"Prince Emthoro is not a very likable person," Ionfeu said, "but he is not a monster. He will not harm an innocent child."

"Unless he produces children of his own, perhaps." Or my sister produces them for him.

"A son would take precedence. I admit the temptation will exist if he sires daughters and no son, but I repeat that he is not an evil man! I see it as my duty, your Majesty, to return your child to court so that she may come into her inheritance."

The countess made a small sound that conveyed both scorn and anger, but she did not speak. She would have spoken earlier and been overruled. Eshiala must fight this alone.

"You surrender to the Covin, Proconsul? You yield your rightful impress into the hands of a mad dwarf ?"

A rosy tint bloomed in the pearly-gray skin over his cheekbones. "The chances that Shandie could overthrow the Covin were never very good, ma'am; although I swore to aid him, we all knew that. With Shandie himself dead, the odds are impossible. We have no leader. We must a.s.sume that the Protocol has ended. From now on, for all our days, there will be a single supreme sorcerer behind the throne. We must hope that the rule of the One will be no more onerous than that of the Four. He will certainly outlive all of us, and I expect he will establish a successor for future centuriesa"I don't know. My concerns are mundane, not occult. I know that your daughter's place is in Hub and my duty is to return her there."

She raised her voice. "Shandie would not agree!" The words came out too bl.u.s.tery, and the old man remained unmoved.

"With respect, ma'am . . . He left no instructions for this event. I must therefore use my discretion and best judgment. I have known him all his life. He always placed his duty to the Impire before anything else, and I believe he would expect the same dedication from his family."

Meaning, A grocer's daughter cannot understand how aristocrats think. She felt her face burn like the noonday sun.

"And I? Do I relieve my sister of her temporary promotion?" She held his gaze, and it was the proconsul who looked away. The roses were ugly blotches on his face now.

"That must be your own choice, ma'am." His voice was growing harsher. "We do not know what sort of magic has been used. The prince and your sister may be their usual selves, except for their appearance. They may be collaborating willingly with the Covin out of a sense of duty, to maintain the rule of law and order. Or they may have been coerced. At the extreme, they may actually be convinced in their own minds that they are who they seem to be."

Her anger flashed out then, but it could find no more useful weapon than an unfamiliar vulgarity. "Either way, I shall likely end up under Emthoro!"

"Your decision, ma'am. If you do not wish to accompany the child, I shall not force you. I can see what might await you."

Eigaze spoke up for the first time, her voice dry and bitter. "Of course, when the usurper is done with her, she may not realize it is Emthoro at all. He may look just like Shandie down to the mole on his toe, and she may have forgotten that the original died. What a wonderful chance to undo tragedy and regain a lost marriage!"

Eshiala had never heard the countess use sarcasm before.

"Be silent!" the count snapped furiously. "Ma'am, I have made my decision about your daughter. Whether you choose to accompany her is up to you. My wife and I can testify to her ident.i.ty. You are free to depart if you wish. I am preparing a letter to send to the palace. Please advise me of your decision as soon as you can."

"How long have I got?" she asked. Her throat was so tight that every word hurt.

"A day or so at most. There may be panic in the streets if the goblins head south. Who knows how close on Ylo's heels they may be? We must act swiftly."

Countess Eigaze surged to her feet. "Ion, you know what I think! Write your stupid letter! Then read it over and try to find the honor in it. Eshiala, my dear, let's you and me go and have a cup of tea and talk this over."

Eshiala rose, also, feeling grateful. She wondered what Ashia would say in her place. The mind boggled.

As they reached the door, Eigaze seemed to have second thoughts. She turned. "What are you going to do about Ylo?"

Her husband frowned. "We need him to certify the imperor's death."

"I know you do. And I expect he does."

"He isn't going anywhere. He can barely walk."

"He can ride, can't he?"

Metal jangled from the direction of Centurion Hardgraa. He held a large bunch of iron keys. "The stables are secure, ma'am!"

"Ah!" Eigaze nodded. "You think that will stop Ylo, do you?"

Hardgraa scowled. "What do you suggest?"

"Me? I'm only a fat old woman, Centurion. As I recall, there are some rusty fetters down in the wine cellar, but it really is not my business. Come, then, my dear." She ushered the impress before her.

As they went out, she heard the count say, "He is a material witness, I suppose."

The two ladies walked together across the Great Hall. Eshiala could barely see it. Her head was spinning and she felt close to panic.

Eigaze stopped suddenly. "I have been married to that man for forty-two years, and we have never had a cross word! Now, all of a sudden, he is behaving like a drunken mule!" Her chins wobbled with outrage.

"Ylo?" Eshiala said suddenly. "If they are going to turn him in, as well, shouldn't we warn him?"

"Bah! Ylo can look after himself."

"But . . ." It was a terribly slim hope. "If I appealed to Yloa""

"Never appeal to Ylo!" the countess said firmly. "He would only despise you, although he might not realize that himself. Regardless of what they think, my dear, the Ylos of this world are far more interested in the race than the prize. The worst thing you can do is to throw yourself on their mercy, because that ruins the sport. They don't have any anywaya"mercy sours the fruits of victory. With men like Ylo you must always play hard to get."

"I don't have time toa""

"As dear Aunt Kade always used to say, you will be gotten soon enough! Of course that's the idea, and the only way to play the game, and you mustn't think he's not enjoying it just as much as you are." Why was she standing here, in the middle of the Great Hall, babbling such nonsense? There was a curiously distracted look in her eyes. "They value what they get by what they pay to get it, even if they don't undera" . . . Ah!"

A faint Boom! rolled through the mansion.

"What was that?" Eshiala demanded, sensing a sudden gleam of satisfaction in her companion.

"The cellar door, I expect. Mistress Ukka was standing behind it. Ionfeu will be busy with his letter . . . Come!"

Eigaze set off as fast as she could move, heading for the main door like a runaway haywain. Bewildered, Eshiala followed, into sudden dazzling sunshine.

At the foot of the steps stood the gig, with a sorrel mare between the shafts. Ylo was sitting on the bench bouncing Maya on his knee. He was tickling and she was shrieking with glee.

Eshiala said, "I thought the stablesa""

"Mistress Ukka had duplicate keys, dear," Eigaze said soothingly. "Up you get! Ylo, have you got the bags?"

"Two under my eyes and two under the seat, Aunt. Impress, is this brat housebroken?"

The countess took Eshiala by the shoulders. "G.o.ds be with you, my dear!" There were tears in her eyes. "I divided the gold in two. Don't let Ylo cheat!" She smiled bravely and dropped her voice to a whisper, "And remember to play hard to get!"

"She knows that!" Ylo said. "It won't work. Up you get, wench. I don't think the cellar door will hold Hardgraa for long."

Even here, out on the driveway, the cellar door could be heard protesting.

"Mistress Ukka will keep the servants away," the countess said, forcing a brave smile, "but Ion isn't quite deaf enough. Hurry, then!"

A kiss and a hug . . . a scramble up to the bench . . . take Maya from Ylo . . . a crack of the reins and a final wave to the old lady as the gig went bouncing down the driveway . . . bewilderment . . .

"Where are we going?" Eshiala exclaimed.

"I'm going back to Qoble," Ylo said. "Wonderful climate and a long way from goblins. I've got some heiresses in mind there. You're welcome to come along, or I'll drop you off somewhere. Please yourself. And I don't cheat with gold. Virtue, certainly. Always! That's what it's for. Gold, never."

Escape? Hope glimmered before her like a mirage. Hope sang like a skylark, high out of reach. She saw the long wooded driveway ahead through rainbows of hope.

"But they'll chase us!" she said.

The count would release Hardgraa. The centurion would rally the footmen and the grooms. He would be after the gig with a posse in minutes. Even if Ylo could reach the road, that would only offer a choice of Faintown or Moggly. Moggly was a dead end, and long before . . . "Where are you going?"

The gig had turned off the driveway onto a side track. "Down to the lake!" Now Ylo's grin was pure delight. "Auntie didn't go to Faintown. She went to Moggly. She ordered a boat."

"Boat?"

Maya squealed in gleeful terror as the gig bounced on the ruts. Cenmere came in sight through a gap in the trees, and a small sailboat was gliding toward the jetty.

"She lied to them!" Ylo added joyfully. "The news isn't out yet! She made it all up! We've got a day's start on the panic, at least. Quite a lady, isn't she?"

The ice had broken, and the pond was only ankle deep. "But . . ." Eshiala's head swam with the intensity of relief. "That's why you were such a boor to me? To deceive Hardgraa?"

Or could it have been to stop her throwing herself on his mercy? Was that what the countess had been hinting? Ylo took a corner on one wheel. "Me? Boor? That was merely a tactical feinta"you don't mean you believed me?"

She ducked as branches swept low overhead.

"You should have remembered I always lie," Ylo said happily. "I worked it out when the daffodils blew away. Nothing like a country walk to clear a man's thinking! The pool had warned me off Rivermead, but it also trapped me into coming back here. Then I saw how Ionfeu and Hardgraa would react to the news." He was too occupied with driving to look at her just then, but he smiled at the track ahead. "I realized that this was a perfect opportunity to use my damsel-in-distress gambit."

Eshiala's hair blew in the wind, she hugged her daughter, who was yelling with mingled joy and terror at the wild ride.

They had escaped from the trap! "Oh, Ylo! I'm so grateful!"

He flashed his most sinister grin at her. "Grat.i.tude I can handle," he said.

Remedies refusing: Love is a sickness full of woes,

All remedies refusing;

A plant that most with cutting grows,

Most barren with best using.