"All I ever do is break things," Travis said, anguished.

The preacher shrugged. "Some things ought to be broken." "Not an entire world. I can't do it. I won't. I won't break Eldh."

"What if it's your fate?"

He met the preacher's hard eyes. "I don't have a fate." "Everyone has a fate, son."

"Not me." Travis held up his hand. "See? It's smooth. No lines, so no fate."

The preacher sighed. "All that means is you don't know what your fate is. And don't you see what a gift that is? It means your fate can be anything you choose it to be."

That first time they spoke, that night in the revival tent, Brother Cy had talked about choices. And at the Rune Gate, Travis had learned that it was better to choose the wrong thing than to choose nothing at all. Still, dread filled him.

"I didn't want this. I don't want to break the world."

"That's good, son. Because if you did, you wouldn't be any different than he."

Somehow Travis knew whom Brother Cy meant. "You said a rift has been opened. That's how you got here, to Earth. And that means Mohg is here as well, isn't he? And from Earth, all he has to do is find an open gate to get back to Eldh. That's his plan. Or it will be."

Brother Cy nodded. "My brother must be what he must be. It is his nature. And what will you be, son?"

Suddenly it was so clear. Determination replaced dread. Brother Cy was right; there was no use hoping, so he might as well do something, anything, while he still had a breath to breathe. He pulled the poster from his shirt pocket and unfolded it. His own face stared back at him from behind wire-rimmed spectacles.

"I'm going to be an outlaw," Travis said.

And Brother Cy's booming laughter rose to the sky.

Aryn was far more relaxed at supper than the previous night. Her plans with Aldeth had narrowly avoided discovery by the king-thanks to the unlikely help of Teravian. She tried smiling at the prince on a few occasions, but he was back to scowling now. He gazed at the shadows in the corners of the hall, almost as if he was searching for something there.

She spent most of the meal chatting with the visiting earls who sat around her; they were a universally dour lot. Not that she could fault them for it. All spoke of the rumors of war in the Dominions, and one-whose lands were not far from the borders of Brelegond-claimed to have seen a troop of men in black armor riding black horses.

Melia's seat at the high table was empty, and no one seemed to know where the lady was. Aryn supposed she was working toward purposes unknown. Or maybe she just felt like staying in her chamber and working on her embroidery. Even Melia enjoyed simple things. After all, if one had to do something mysterious and important every day for two thousand years, it could get a trifle exhausting.

Unlike the previous night, Boreas hardly spoke to Ivalaine at all. Instead, he glared at no one in particular, eyes stormy, while the queen often bent her head to murmur something to Mirda. Aryn wondered what it was the queen said; she even fancied trying a spell to find out, but even as she thought this she felt Mirda's calm gaze upon her. She hastily raised her wine goblet and discarded the idea.

After supper, she ventured to Melia's room to check on the lady. Aryn didn't bother to knock on the door, but instead waited for the clear voice to call out, "Come in."

"How do you always know when I'm at the door?" Aryn said, sitting in one of the two chairs near the fire.

Melia smiled. "I'm not a witch like you, dear, but I do have my talents."

That was an understatement. Just as Aryn had supposed, Melia's embroidery lay on her lap. However, it didn't appear she'd made much progress on it. Dark circles clung beneath the lady's amber eyes, and her face seemed uncharacteristically pinched.

Aryn spoke before she thought better of it. "Are you ill, Melia?"

The question was absurd, of course. Melia was a former goddess. It wasn't as if she could fall prey to a head cold. Then again, she could fall ill. They had seen that in Spardis, after Melia touched the marble bust of the Necromancer Dakarreth, which had contained a grain of the Stone of Fire. Aryn knew that certain kinds of magic-like runes, and the Great Stones- caused the lady distress.

Melia sat up straight. "Thank you for your concern, dear. I'm quite well, really. It's just..."

"What is it?" A tiny black fluffball pounced into Aryn's lap, demanding attention with a mew. Absently, Aryn stroked its soft fur. "Please, I wish you would tell me."

Melia gazed at Aryn, as if studying her, then she nodded. "It's hard for me to describe in words. In a way, it's a feeling like being watched. Only when you turn around and peer into the shadows, you can't see anything there."

"Do you think it might be the Little People?"

"And why do you say that?"

Aryn considered it a moment, then told Melia everything- about hearing the sound of bells, and finding Aldeth, and even how she had asked the Spider to keep watch on Ivalaine. If she had expected the lady to be shocked, then she was disappointed. However, curiosity shone in Melia's eyes.

"I wonder if I shouldn't have a conversation with Ivalaine," she mused, hand beneath her chin. "The queen and I haven't always been the best of friends, but there is a certain...understanding between us. Perhaps Ivalaine senses the same disturbance I do, and that is part of the cause for her distress."

It was a good theory. Certainly Ivalaine's behavior seemed unusual, no matter how torn she was between her duties as witch and queen. But if Melia were to tell Ivalaine...

The panic in her eyes must have been evident, for Melia gave her a reassuring look. "Don't worry, dear. I won't reveal the presence of our little friend the Spider to her. If there's a spy in the castle, it's far preferable to have him working for us, so you certainly did well in that regard."

Aryn's cheeks flushed, and she bowed her head, although not before she could conceal a smile. However, after a moment, the smile faded. Something about Melia's words troubled her. Why was it they seemed so familiar?

Then she had it. Tharkis, the mad fool-and former king of Toloria-had whispered something similar to her just before they found him hanged by the neck, something about how the eyes in the shadows had watched him. And there had been something else. The fractured, singsong words echoed again in her mind.

Fear the one alive and dead, for you cannot escape her web... But what did it mean? She told Melia everything she could remember about her conversation with Tharkis.

"That is rather strange," Melia said. "Then again, Tharkis was mad. There's no reason to believe what he thought he saw has anything to do with what I'm sensing now. After all, Ar-tolor is nearly fifty leagues from here."

Aryn gazed at the fire. No doubt Melia was right. Tharkis's ramblings couldn't mean anything. Unless- She looked up. "When did you start feeling as if you were being watched, Melia?"

The lady frowned. "Let me think. It was yesterday, I believe. In the morning. Yes, I remember it-I was taking my breakfast, and it came upon me so suddenly that I spilled my cup of maddok. Why do you ask?"

Aryn's mouth had gone dry. "Because yesterday morning is when Ivalaine arrived at Calavere. From Ar-tolor."

"Ah," Melia said, eyes gleaming.

They spoke more as the fire burned low, but they came up with no more ideas about what it might be Melia was sensing. All the same, it felt good to be talking like this. Not like equals; they certainly weren't that. But rather like friends.

"Perhaps your little spy could help us," Melia said.

The same thought had occurred to Aryn. "I'll tell him about it. But Aldeth's only working here inside the castle, and Tharkis saw the shadow when he was out riding. So I think we need someone to keep watch outside the castle as well."

"And who did you have in mind, dear?"

"A friend," Aryn said with a smile.

She found him the next morning in the upper bailey, in front of the stables, checking the saddle of his charger. Tarus looked up and grinned as she approached. He was dressed in riding gear of leather and wool. The day was gray and blustery, and shards of ice blew on the wind. However, she had spied him from a window, and she had dashed out with only a shawl thrown over her gown. Already her teeth were chattering.

"Is it your particular intention to freeze yourself this morning, my lady?" he said cheerfully.

She clutched her arm about herself, shivering. "No, that's just a happy accident of coming out here to see you. But at least it will keep me from having to suffer the agony and humiliation of donning an orange wedding gown."

He scratched his red beard. "Is that supposed to make any sort of sense?"

"Not really. Can I talk to you? Alone, I mean."

She glanced at the other men who saddled their horses nearby. They were members of Boreas's guard. Tarus hesitated, then nodded and drew her aside, into the shelter of the stables. The scent of horses hung thickly on the air.

The knight's expression was curious. "Is something wrong, my lady? Or have you decided to try another spell on me?"

"Yes," she said. "I mean no. To the second one, that is. But yes to the first."

"I think the cold's addled your wits."

"More than likely," she conceded. "Where on Eldh are you going in this weather?"

"Out."

"That's conveniently vague."

"My lady-"

"Never mind, Sir Tarus. I honestly don't care what errand the king is sending you on. But there's something you have to know, something about me. About us, the Witches." She paced back and forth on the straw, speaking fast, but it was the only way to get it all out. "You see, we aren't enemies. We're not on different sides at all. I can't tell you exactly why just now. The fact is, I don't understand everything myself. But it's true."

His expression was alternately stunned, then wary, then relieved. "I'm glad to hear it, my lady. I never wished for the Witches to be our foes."

"But they are," Aryn said. "I mean most of them are. They'll do anything they can to hinder you and the Warriors of Vathris. You see, they think-"

He waved a hand. "Yes, yes, we know what they say about us. They think we're going to help destroy Eldh in the Final Battle."

"Then you know about Runebreaker?" she said, shocked.

He frowned. "I've never heard of a Runebreaker. Our stories tell of the Hammer and the Anvil."

Aryn gave a wry smile. "You'd think all of these prophecies could actually specify someone by name once in a while."

Tarus snorted. "That would be a help, wouldn't it?" He took a step closer to her. "But I'm puzzled, my lady. First you tell me we're not enemies, but then you say your sisters will work against my brothers."

"Not all of us." Aryn forced her chin up.

He held her gaze, then nodded. "So you're betraying the Witches."

She winced, and she recalled the words spoken by the dragon Sfithrisir. And here are two Daughters of Sia, both doomed to betray their sisters and their mistress. . . .

"No, I'm not betraying the Witches," she said, forcing her voice to hold steady. "It is others who have done that for many years now by ignoring the truth."

His gaze was sad and knowing. "I think I understand you, my lady. There are those in the Cult of Vathris who seem to spend so much time praying and chanting around the fire that I think all the smoke has gotten to them. They've forgotten what it means to be a warrior-not to make war for the sake of war alone, but to protect, to preserve."

She found herself smiling. Yes, he did understand.

He stamped his boots. "I have to be going now. Off on my errand, as you call it. So what is it you came out here to ask me? And don't pretend you don't want something. We swore a pact to be as honest as we can with one another, remember?"

"I need you to keep your eyes open for me."

"That's easy enough, my lady. I find I fall down far less often that way."

She did not try to disguise her pained expression. "That's not what I meant." She explained how she wanted him to keep a lookout for anything unusual around the castle. Anything in the shadows, watching.

"And who is this person who you fear is watching us?"

"I'm not certain. In fact, I'm not certain it's a person at all. Or even if it's alive."

The knight groaned. "Well that's all good and fine. I'm supposed to be looking for a not-human, not-living thing that's spying in the shadows. Next you'll be telling me the Little People exist."

She snapped her fingers. "That's right-I almost forgot. Could you keep your eyes open for them as well? Especially near Gloaming Wood. I think they're stirring again, and that can only mean there's danger close at hand, just like last Midwinter's Eve."

Tarus looked nauseous. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Perfectly."

He sighed, then bowed low. "Very well, my lady. For you, I'll chase after fairies and shadows. And after my brethren cast me onto the fire for being a heretic, I'm sure I'll feel a sense of great peace and comfort knowing that everything I did was not foolishness, but utterly worthwhile."

"I'm sure you will," Aryn said, and with a smile she left the young knight to his mission.

The remainder of the day passed quickly, as did the day after that. Farvel asked her an endless array of questions about her wedding (How many attending maids did she wish? What were her favorite flowers? Did she prefer mead or wine to be served at table?) and Aryn did her best to answer them. One happy stroke of luck was that the king's dyers were having trouble making large quantities of orange cloth, as the best dyes of that hue came from Eredane, with which there had been no trade in a year. Feigning disappointment as best she could, Aryn informed Farvel that they would just have to make do using orange as an accent color, and that she would somehow manage if the primary color for the wedding was blue.

After one of her conversations with the seneschal, the shadows behind a statue uncoiled, and Aldeth stepped out, causing Aryn to clutch her chest.

"You like startling people, don't you?"

"Is that so wrong?" the Spider said.

She glared at him, and his smile quickly vanished. Unfortunately, the spy had discovered very little since their last meeting. Ivalaine spent most of her time in her chamber, where it was difficult to get close to her.

"Your sisters have a way of seeing things others can't, if they choose to look," he said with disgust. "All of those years spent practicing my hiding skills are useless when all you have to do is wriggle your fingers and I start glowing."

"It's hardly that easy," Aryn said, but she knew the Spider was right. If he lurked too long around Mirda and Ivalaine's chamber, one of them was bound to feel his presence.

Despite those limitations, Aldeth had discovered a few interesting items. First of all, King Boreas and the queen had spoken once again in the council chamber, and the meeting had ended in some sort of argument.

"I couldn't get close enough to hear properly," Aldeth said, annoyance flashing in his gray eyes. "There were guards at the entrance, which I expected, of course, but there were also men posted at the secret door that leads to the council chamber. And I ask you, my lady, what good is a secret door if you're going to place guards at it? It's an insult to spies everywhere. Why I ought to give King Boreas a-"

"Aldeth," Aryn said, prompting the Spider. "The meeting." The spy regained enough composure to tell her what he had heard from his perch outside one of the chamber's high windows. The king and queen had talked of war, but that was hardly a surprise, with Brelegond under the control of the Onyx Knights.

"That's all you heard?" Aryn said.

"Doves nest on the ledges of those windows. The blasted birds kept cooing in my ear. But there was one more thing. The king mentioned his son, Teravian. Isn't that your husband-to-be? Well, I don't know what he said about the prince, but that was when the show began. Ivalaine slapped Boreas."

Aryn gaped. "She slapped him?"

"Right across the face. His cheek turned crimson, and not just from the blow, mind you. He was shaking, and he looked ready to throttle her right there and then. She spoke several things I couldn't catch. But then she said one thing that echoed clearly in the chamber. After that, she turned and left."

"And what did she say?"