His retinue gathered beside him, keeping well back from the hooded griffin. It had not liked entering the camp; the scent of horses stirred its blood, and Sibold had taken a gash to his shoulder and several men had been clawed, but in the end they had secured it without loss of life. Blinded by the cloak, it had submitted. Now it stirred again, knowing its mate was close. But that hood still constrained it. It hated and feared blindness.

It was his, now, and he did not intend to lose it. Not even to his wife.

She walked into camp, armed and glorious, and approached him, halting a body's length from the couch on which he lay. He found himself distracted by that long snake of a braid falling over her shoulder and across one breast, all the way down past her waist. He remembered the way the tip of that golden-brown braid swayed along her backside when she walked.

'Prince Sanglant," she said in the formal manner, jolting him back to the cold, cruel present.

Two could play that game.

'I am Prince Sanglant." In case you have forgotten.

Her expression did not change, but her chin lifted, so he knew she had taken the blow. Yet she went on in the same vein.

'I am come to make an alliance with you. You marched east seek ing griffins and sorcerers. I see that you have captured your griffin. What of the second part of your quest?"

'I believe I can train a griffin to eat from my hands and come at my call. Are sorcerers as obedient?"

Anger sparked in her eyes-really sparked; it was uncanny how the blue fire of her irises flashed as though it burned. "May we speak privately?" she asked finally. He had enough strength to lift a hand. Fulk chased off the onlookers and finally only Fulk, Hathui, Breschius, and Heribert were left in attendance, hovering close, anxious and pale. "I listen," Sanglant said, in the formal manner. "Where is our daughter?"

'With me, under my care and that of her loyal attendants who have served her faithfully for four long years, never leaving her side and even risking their own lives to keep her safe." He read how the blow landed by the tightening of her lips and the twitch of her shoulder, but she did not reel or stagger.

'She suffers from a malady that cannot be healed by any ordinary physician. She will die if she is not protected by sorcery until we understand how we might heal her."

'She has not died yet. I believe it was your return that injured her."

'Sanglant!" Yet she hesitated. She thought, hard and deeply, although her expression gave away nothing. His attendants stared at her, amazed at her presence; amazed, perhaps, by this negotiation that was more like the maneuvering of rival families than the reunion of intimate partners.

Heribert seemed ready to speak, but Sanglant caught his gaze and, with a sharp sigh, Heribert shifted from one foot to the other and kept his mouth shut.

'Sanglant." Again she hesitated, but only to gather her voice, to speak softly enough that even those standing nearby might not hear her words. "Why do you speak to me as though we are enemies?"

He did not care what others heard. He wanted witnesses. "Enemies? Worse than enemies! You abandoned me! Just left me behind in Verna. Your daughter is enchanted, spelled in a way no one here can comprehend, but you were not here to combat it. Now maybe she will die. I was left behind with all else. For four years! I thought you vowed to be faithful to me, but you proved no different than my mother. Husband and child, abandoned without thought."

It was so good to fight back. He wanted his words to hurt her, and they did. He saw her face go gray; he saw her hands curl and her entire body quiver.

She was not without weapons of her own.

'Your mother was never married to King Henry."

'That's right! She'd made no pledge to him! She had no obligation to uphold! But you did! Why did you leave us? Why did you wait so long to return?"

Now she was really angry; she shone with it. "I did not abandon you! I was taken from Verna by my kinfolk. I never asked to go with them. When I could not follow them higher up into the heavens, I found myself in your mother's land, where I learned all that Anne says is true, and worse besides, that her understanding of the truth is twisted by her own fanaticism. But now I have walked the spheres. I have seen through the gateway of the burning stone into the ancient past. I know what destruction awaits us if Anne weaves the spell a second time."

She had really worked herself up. Her voice rang as if above the din of battle, carrying over the camp so that the griffin quieted and every soul stopped and turned.

'I did not leave you for four years. In the lands of the Ashioi, time does not run by the same measure it does here. There is an old sorcerer still alive there who lived in the days of the great cataclysm when his people and their land were torn from Earth. He is your grandfather, Sanglant. Still alive, although by our measure he would have lived-ai, God-twenty centuries or more. Yet he seems no older than an elder who boasts seventy years. When I walked in that far country, when I ascended the mage's ladder and walked the spheres, it seemed to me that no more than seven days had passed. It seemed that I left Verna only a handful of days ago. I could not have returned sooner! I did everything I could. I suffered, and I learned, and I placed myself in danger, and I have grasped the heart of the power that is within me. Maybe I am the only one here who can stop Anne. Maybe that duty, that obligation, has been forced upon me. Maybe that obligation has to come first. Maybe the lives of untold countless thousands and tens of thousands have to count for more than one life, even the life and happiness of my beloved husband. I am sorry that four years passed for you! I would not wish for it to have happened in this way, but there was nothing I could have done differently. I could have stayed there, with my kinfolk, in a place much better and brighter than this one! But I chose to return to you. To Blessing. To Earth. To my father's home. And I surely expected to come back to a better welcome than this!"

In the absolute stunned silence that followed this declamation a rolling rumbling whoosh of flame erupted along the ridge, causing the big griffin to take wing and circle away to a safer resting place. Grass sizzled and soldiers cried aloud. Smoke poured heavenward as Liath looked up, startled, and saw the spreading fury of the fires. With an intent gaze, attention shifting entirely and horribly away from him, she frowned. The fires snuffed out, just like that. Smoke puffed; ash sprinkled down over the camp and drifted away on the wind.

Sanglant had become suffused with an entirely unexpected-or foredoomed-flush of arousal just looking at her, being close enough really to smell the perfume of her. His anger made his senses that much more on edge and her presence that much more intimate, although they did not touch. She was so beautiful, not in the common way but in the remembered way, when he had dreamed of her those nights in Gent, when he had woken up beside her those nights in Verna and been astonished and delighted and utterly famished, starving for the touch of her skin, her hands, her lips.

Maybe he couldn't walk yet, but he had strength enough to move his arms. He caught her around the back of the neck, where skin and hair met at the nape. Just that touch made him drunk with ecstasy. He pulled her head toward him and kissed her. And kissed her.

And kissed her.

Her warmth melted him like the sun's fire, as though desire itself could knit him back together again.

'My lord prince! The griffin!"

He released Liath as she pulled away from him, jumping to her feet. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright, as passionate as he was. But behind her, the griffin stalked through the line of tents. Men cowered, but the beast did not strike. Fulk stepped forward, spear raised, but Liath intercepted him.

'Don't move!" she said sharply.

Heribert had gone gray-white, like curdled milk, and Hathui tensed, her mouth a grimace, as she prepared herself for death. Only Breschius stared in outright awe, gaze lit with wonder, as the griffin swung its head to examine him. The frater looked ready to die at that moment, as long as he was slain by something so terribly beautiful.

Then the creature moved past him and loomed over Sanglant.

'Don't move," said Liath, but of course he could not move even had he meant to kill it. An iron reek rolled off it like the heat of the forge, soaking him to the bones. He had to close his eyes; his face was sweating.

'Now what?" he asked, cracking open his eyes. He almost laughed. He was entirely helpless; it could take his head off, and even his mother's curse could not save him then. Yet he could not keep his gaze away from his wife's form, glimpsed beyond that massive eagle's head. He knew what lay beneath Liath's tunic; he saw the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, and frankly after all this time the griffin seemed rather more a distraction than a danger. At this moment. At this instant. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to die if you expired in the arms of the one you loved best.

The griffin huffed, a wheezing cough, and the silver griffin uttered a yelping call in answer.

'Do you wish to free her mate?" Liath asked.

'No," he said defiantly. "I need griffin feathers. A live beast serves me as well or better than a dead one. I claim him."

'So does she." She, too, was laughing-although not aloud. Her expression sang with it. She didn't fear the griffins, and more importantly she still desired him.

The griffin lowered its head until that deadly beak hovered an arm's length from his face, seeking his scent or an understanding of his essence.

'Do you still love me?" he asked, thinking that he might die before he could take another breath. He had to know.

Now she did laugh. "I swore an oath to never love any man but you, Sanglant, so it scarcely matters, does it? I bound myself. I will never be free of you."

'Thank God."

The griffin huffed again, a noise that shuddered through its body, and lifted its head, then sat down on its haunches like a watchdog. The audible gasps of the soldiers and his attendants flowed around him like the murmur of a rising wind. An iron feather shook free and drifted down to slice through the grass beside his couch. He reached and found that if he grasped the quill and kept his fingers away from the feathered vane and edges, he did not cut himself.

'I couldn't even kill Bulkezu," he said in a low voice, staring at the feather. The anger wasn't gone, only swallowed. "I need this griffin, or you may as well lead the army yourself."

She grimaced as a shadow covered her face. "I am no leader. I am no regnant."

'You are Taillefer's heir!"

'I am not!" she cried triumphantly. "Anne is not my mother. I am not the child of any human woman. Do not burden me with Taillefer's legacy. I am rid of it."

He let go of the feather and shut his eyes as a spasm of pain twisted through his chest. After a while, he could speak again.

'If you are not Anne's child-if you are not Taillefer's great grandchild. What of Blessing, then? What of her claims?"

'You are the child of a regnant, Sanglant. Blessing is Henry's granddaughter. Isn't that claim enough?"

No.

For all this time he had paraded Blessing in front of his allies as the rightful heir of Taillefer. To discover the claim wasn't true silenced him.

The griffin settled down to rest her eagle's head on her forelegs. She closed her eyes and huffed once more, the strength of that sound rippling through her shoulders and tawny haunches. Her tail slapped the ground, and stilled.

'I am not even Anne's daughter," she repeated so softly that he heard her only because of his unnaturally keen hearing. "I am the bastard child of my father, Bernard, and a captive fire daimone. It's true Da was born into a noble house, but it is the most minor of lineages."

'You said once that Sturm was your kinsman."

'So Wolfhere told me. I believe it to be true. But Wolfhere lied to me about Anne, so maybe he lied to me about that as well."

'Ai, God," whispered Sanglant as the tide of adrenaline and arousal ebbed, leaving him drained and exhausted and in so very much pain. "How can we know what is true and what is the lie? How can we choose the right path?"

'Griffins and sorcerers." Her gaze flicked toward the dozing griffin, and he saw in her expression that she wasn't quite as fearless as he thought-the creature made her nervous even though she believed it would not hurt her. "You have been walking on the right path all along. You have what you marched so far to get. Together we can turn back to the west and fight Anne."

'We will need a powerful army to defeat our enemies."

'I cannot bring you an army."

'Nor do I ask you to," he said irritably. "I boast a talisman better than griffin wings. I know how to raise an army. First, we must call a council..." Yet he was so weak he could not sit up. "I need two days to heal."

'The heavens revolve regardless of our hurts. We must move swiftly."

'I must have two days! I cannot-" He coughed, grimaced, and only her hands pressing on his shoulders stopped him from thrashing and thereby breaking open the wound. He grasped her fingers and with eyes shut just breathed, lips pinched together and his entire face knotted up as he waited for the agony to subside.

'My lord prince. Liath, what is wrong?"

'Bring him something to drink, I pray you, Heribert. Wine, if you have it."

'We have nothing but this nasty fermented mare's milk."

'That will do. It will ease the pain."

She eased her weight off his shoulder and brushed fingers caressingly along one cheek. He got hold of her braid and twisted it around his hand, letting its feel distract him, breathing out the pain with each breath until, piece by piece, he could relax.

'Blessing," he said at last, when he could speak. "What of Blessing?"

'It is no form of sorcery I understand. Perhaps Da wrote of it in his book, but I don't have his book anymore."

'Hugh has your father's book."

'Hugh is another danger," she agreed. "I will go back to Li'at'-dano. I will convey to her your wish for a council. I will ask her to do what she can to protect Blessing."

'Can we trust them? They destroyed the old empire. They feared and hated them. They fear humankind now."

'I trust Li'at'dano."

'Do you trust her with your daughter's life?"

'Do you trust me with it, Sanglant?"

'Ah!" It was an unexpected stab, a knife in the dark. The words came hard, after all that had passed, but he said them. "Do what you must."

The stink of Willibrod's sorcery filled the tent and made Alain's eyes run, yet he wept with sadness and disgust as well. Reaching behind his own back, he found the coarse cloth of the tent, the flap that covered the entrance, and gripped it. "I will not join you. And you will not kill me. You have no power over me."

'I have power," whispered Willibrod.

'The power to turn men's hearts so they eat at themselves and succumb to the worst that is in them. The power to make others suffer. The power to prey on the weak. I am not weak."

'You are alone." Willibrod took a step toward him, but Alain held his ground and jerked the flap aside to let light stream in.

Willibrod shrieked, staggering backward. He groped for the hat and veil while, outside, Rage and Sorrow began such a clamor of barking that the folk who had crept close to listen scattered in fear.

'Can you bear the touch of the sun? Or the touch of the earth? You are vulnerable, Willibrod. By abusing your power you have forged the weapon that will kill you."

Willibrod was still whimpering in pain as he struggled to settle the veil over his face. Alain stepped sideways out of the tent and stood on the lowered tailgate of the wagon. Rage lunged toward Bartholomew and a gang of five other men who had sidled forward, and they bolted back to a safe distance. Red hefted his staff to protect himself, but the hound danced out of his range.

'Father Benignus is not master over life and death!" Alain pitched his voice to carry, knowing that the fear the bandits felt in the presence of Willibrod worked to his advantage. Anger made him reckless. "He can hurt you only as long as you wear the amulets he gave you."

'They protect us against death!" shouted Bartholomew. "No man wearing the amulet has died in battle."

'Against what implacable enemy have you fought? Poor peasants? Frightened children? Folk who have no better weapons than their shovels and hoes? Would you fare as well against armed men?

Because armed men will come soon. The levy of Lord Arno will ride alerted by my companions. How will you survive against trained men-at-arms?"

The wagon rocked under his feet, and he jumped off the tailgate and landed on the earth.

'Will Father Benignus protect you? He cannot even protect himself! Has light touched his skin since the day he first gathered you together? Have his feet touched this earth? He fears light and earth, because he is not a strong man but a weak one. He needs you for one purpose only, to bring him souls to drink to keep his husk alive for one day longer. In the end, he will eat your souls, too, because his hunger rules him."

He had them now. A score whispered, backing away, as Willibrod pushed past the entrance flap. The maleficus was once again veiled and gloved with not a speck of skin showing. Women cowered against the stone ridge.

'Kill him," said Willibrod. "The man who kills him can have his choice among the women tonight."

Alain took a step toward the gathered men. Theirs were a bleak line of faces, some worn and weary, some merely fashioned, like untrained dogs, to jerk where each least instinct pulled them.

'Is this the reward he gives you? That you can force women who get no pleasure from the act and will hate you afterward?"

'What care we if they hate us," cried Dog-Ears, "if we get the pleasure in doing them? I was a slave in a lord's steading and there were no women for me there and never would be. Now at least I've something I hadn't before."

'I have a good wool cloak, and a silver necklace," said Red. "I never had such things before!"

'Enough to eat, and meat to share!"