That someone should remember her, someone should care.

Deymorin and Mheric had left the City the day after the immersion ceremony. Mikhyel had stayed in Rhomatum with baby Nikki and the wet nurse.

And Anheliaa.

Not a day had passed that he hadn't wished that bier had held Mheric instead. Or Anheliaa. Preferably both.

But this wasn't the upper lake. The ley was different here. Thicker, more viscous. And it was Anheliaa's body floating, not his mother's. He doubted he'd return to this immersion site other than to assure himself that Anheliaa was, indisputably, gone from his life.

Dark thoughts, filled with bitter memories of Anheliaa and her Tower, memories that were his alone, memories that, had he any say in the matter, would remain his own forever, and he was grateful for the haze that kept his mind apart from his brothers.

From their silence, at this time when tradition dictated family and friends remember aloud the accomplishments of the deceased, his brothers shared his dilemma. Let those who had known her less well extol her life and achievements.

Slowly at first, then with increased purpose, Anheliaa's bier began to rotate, first one way, then the other. The leythium, like some living creature, oozed tendrils up and over the bier, tendrils that began to form the lacy, web- like structure typical of solid leythiuma process that in the growth chambers took months to form a palm- sized crystal.

The iridescence flared. The bier soared upward on a pillar of liquid leythium, lifting Anheliaa's web-covered body well above their heads, stretching toward the cavernous ceiling. Mikhyel staggered slightly as his knees turned liquid. It was Mirym's mind-picture and more. Drapes of leythium lace bridged every stony contour and dripped downward in graceful chandeliers, rippling with iridescent light.

The chamber resounded with oppressive silence; or else, he thought, distantly horrified, he was deaf. But then, came a faint ringing, a chiming hum, inside him where he heard his brothers.

The crystal was singing.

A prudent man would run in terror. Instead, Mikhyel stretched his arms toward that brilliance, that sound, willing it to shine and reverberate through him.

And the scentit was a million roses in bloom, the tart freshness of raspberries, and the bittersweet of fire-blossom tea. Scents that permeated his body, entering through his very pores.

He was smelling with his fingertips.

How long it lasted, he'd never know. It was an instant and a lifetime of glorious exaltation of the sheer essence of being. And as the leylight coalesced and sank in on itself, there came a welcoming, an invitation to dive into that vibrant sensory stream, to follow the bier to the very heart of the node.

{This is life . . .} that stream whispered, and he took a step toward the pool. Another. Blindly. Aching for the fulfillment offered.

"Khyel, stop'."

He couldn't move, though his feet strained against the ceilingthe floor, mind insistedof the cavern. Deymorin, his inner sense assured him: it was Deymorin's hands that stopped him, and Deymorin's hand on his cheek, hard and sharp, a blow that brought him to his senses a step short of the pool's lethal edge.

The greater awareness faded, and before his eyes (Or was it his fingertips that registered the sight?) the pillar collapsed, sucking Anheliaa's bier into a hole of swirling iridescence. The surface of the pool closed over her without splash or reverberating ripple.

Deymorin's eyes were wide with fear. For him, the inner sense confirmed, as the insulating haze vanished. He pressed his hand over Deymorin's, sending reassurance of his sanity, surprised, when he thought on it, at the instinct that guided his communication preferentially into that ex- otic form.

He dropped to his knees beside the pool, to what his mind said was solid stone. But even that hard surface seemed to accept him, shifting beneath his weight, con- forming to his shape, cupping his bony knees in total comfort.

He reached a hand to the pool. Deymorin's protest filled his mind, or his ears, or both. It was irrelevant, both protest and registering agent.

He palmed the semi-liquid.

Or it rose to fill his hand.

He wasn't certain of the actual sequence.

He didn't care.

The sensory cognizance returned. Gentler. Less consum- ing. And the ley floated there, a liquid rainbow in the palm of his hand, at once briskly chill and soothingly warm. He grew conscious of the sting in his cheek where Deymorin had struck him, and following some instinctor perhaps some outside suggestionhe raised his leythium-filled palm to that spot.

Deymorin yelled, but the leythium had already oozed up and over his cheek as purposefully as it had entered his hand. Its essence traced his chin; he thought of the beard that once had been so much a part of him, a personal trade- marklost.

A sensenot his feeling, not Deymorin's or Nikki'sof regret. Regret for the pain, for the embarrassment, and a sense that it had been unnecessary. A sense of self- interested healing.

And more, a sense of awakening curiosityabout him.

He lurched to his feet and staggered back from the pool, clutching at the arm Deymorin stretched to support him, thinking belatedly of the leythium that should, even now, be eating his flesh away, and instead had evaporated with- out a trace.

"Deymorin, do you feel it?" It was his voice, barely audi- ble even to himself, asking that question. He was shaking, a palsy that threatened every joint.

"What?" Deymorin answered, his voice strong, forceful.

"I don't feel anything."

Except frustration at him for being a fool. And relief for him that his foolishness had not killed him. Yet. And anger and fear that hethat Deymorinhad been held mo- tionless, unable to stop his brother's suicidal actions.

"Get me out of here!" Mikhyel hissed.

"Gladly."

Far across the leythium pool, Nikki was staring at them both, head cocked to one side, his eyes wide, brows drawn.

And as they watched, Nikki knelt beside the pool, as he had done; reached, as he had done "Nikki, stop"' he shouted, and the words echoed back at him, chiming in the chandeliers. And Nikki heard him.

Nikki stared right at him, then deliberately thrust his hand into the pool.

"Nikki!" Deymorin shouted, and he dropped Mikhyel's arm to sprint around the pool, whatever force that had kept him from reaching Mikhyel acting now in his favor, creating shortcuts across the tendrils.

But even from his vantage, Mikhyel could tell Nikki was in no danger. The leythium parted, avoiding Nikki's hand, forming a crater in the smooth surface that tracked the rapid sweep of Nikki's fingers as he sought to scoop the leythium into his palm.

Mikhyel's head exploded with Nikki's internal scream of outrage and denial, and Nikki jumped to his feet and ran, away from the pool, away from the hypogeum and his brothers, away from hisas he perceived itultimate rejection.

8 ~ 8.

Nikki began running the moment he could squeeze past the lift door. He didn't know where he was, and he didn't care. He just wanted away.

As he stumbled out into the rose-and-orange light of sun- set, his brothers' pleas rang in his head, telling him to come back, trying to force him back to where they could gloat, where he'd have to look at Mikhyel over and over again.

Mikhyel, whom the sweet Mother of the Ley had saved from certain death at Boreton; Mikhyel, whose mind now glowed with the power to hold a man helpless. Mikhyel, coldly practical, eminently logical. Mikhyel, whom the ley had welcomed as surely as it had rejected him.

Roads, garden paths, and open courtyards, they were all the same. Nikki just ran until he could run no longer, then staggered to a halt beside a fountain, eyes blinded with sweat, heart pounding, his hands scratched from the roses he'd blundered past. He thrust his hands into the cool, hon- est water, liquid that ran from his cupped palm the way nature intended. He splashed water into his face, then bur- ied his head in the water.

Instinct alone prevented his drowning.

Instinct, and his brothers whose thoughts followed him and chastised him now for a fool.

He pushed himself up and away from the fountain's stone edge, swept his dripping hair back, only to realize he'd become the center of extremely unwanted attention, as visitors to this small public garden gathered about to see what crazed person had just plowed through the hedgeroses.

"It's Nikaenor dunMheric," someone whispered, and someone else giggled.

Nikki glared from one vulgar face to the next, encoun- tering grins, downcast eyes and open laughter, and wished them all to the eighteen hells above Rhomatum.

(For the love of Darius, boy, get home!} And he knew, then, where he was and how to get to the one place he could both escape his brothers and find a truly sympathetic ear.

Mirym was coming down the staircase as he took the steps two at a time. He crossed to the outside curve, ignor- ing her, this girl he'd once thought his special friend, who was now pregnant by his brother's seed.

But her hand caught his sleeve as he passed, and as if through that touch he sensed her concern. For him. And suddenly he saw himself as she must and was ashamed.

He stopped, not because he wanted to, but because he'd been raised a gentleman, and gentlemen did stupid things like that.

Mirym frowned, the way his brothers would when they heard his thoughts and disapproved. Her hand dropped from his sleeve, her fingers curved into interlocking circles, her sign for Anheliaa, and she tilted her head in question.

"Immersed," he answered shortly.

Her puzzled frown deepened. A forefinger traced a circle around her mouth, inappropriate though the sign now was.

"Mikhyel's fine."

Her shoulders lifted, her hands fanned outward.

"I don't know where he is. I don't know where Deymorin is. I don't care"

He started up the stairs, she grabbed his sleeve, firmly this time, and he spun, sweeping his arm through the air to free it. The back of his hand caught her face and she staggered, falling a handful of steps before she caught the railing and steadied herself.

{Nikkif Damn you} That was Khyel. And Mirym's head jerked as if she, too, had heard. Maybe she did. Maybe there were more secrets between his brother and Anheliaa's servant than just chil- dren. Maybe Mirym had taught Mikhyel to hold him cap- tive as he had at dinner the night Anheliaa died. Maybe Mirym had only pretended to be his special friend. Maybe she'd always had her sights set on his older brother.

Maybe the two of them planned to take over the Tower.

Maybe the whole web, considering what had happened in the hypogeum.

{Nikki!} {Get out!) he shouted inside.

Mirym swayed and collapsed onto the stair in a not-quite swoon. Nikki took a step down, then actually heard his brothers shouting. Cursing them all, he raced up the stairs, headed for the lift that would take him to the one place they dared not follow.

ega ~ "Mirym saidT' Deymorin repeated.

(Like this, Deymorin. Didn't you hear her on the stairs?) Mikhyel looked at Mirym, then, and said, "Oh." And to Deymorin again: "She says she tried, but you gave her a headache."

"A headache?My sincere apologies. I think."

Mirym laughed, silently as always; and Mikhyel ex- plained, "She says it's not all your fault. That damned childish mental outburst of Nikki's almost knocked her cold." And to Mirym, he said, "It certainly was childish.

And cruel. Especially after he'd already struck youand no, it wasn't an accident. It was a temper tantrum."

Mirym shrugged. Mikhyel frowned. Deymorin's head buzzed, and he cursed at Mikhyel. "Talk, will you?"

"Sorry. Sometimes I forget which I'm doing."

"Forget." He had to make a conscious effort not to speak aloud. "How long has this been going on?"

"You mean with Mirym?"

"Unless you've started talking with lizards. Of course, Mirym."

"Just since we got back. But it's not quite like with you and Nikki. We have to be touching."

He shook his head. "Brother, we're going to put you under a microscope yet. Spreading leythium all over your face, talking inside your head . . . what next?"

"Nothing, I sincerely hope. No, Mirym." Mikhyel turned to the young woman, who was jerking his sleeve emphatically. "I'm fine. It didn't hurt me at all." And: {Thanks, brother.) "Rings, Khyel, you think that's going to remain a secret in this house? Nikki is jealous as hell of you. He's not going to keep quiet."

"Jealous? Of whatT'

"This is Nikki we're talking about, Khyel." And he fol- lowed with the image of Mikhyel as he'd seen him, kneeling beside the pool, eyes glowing like the ley itself as the liquid caressed his cheeks. Fey. Magical. Not quite human.

The embodiment of Nikki's most cherished, poetic dreams.

"Good . . . gods . . ." Mikhyel whispered, and Mirym patted his hand. "You saw that?" he asked her, and for a brief time, they sat there, side by side, hand in hand, before she patted his again, and reached for the glass at her side.

"Mirym saidT' Deymorin repeated.

{Like this, Deymorin. Didn't you hear her on the stairs?) Mikhyel looked at Mirym, then, and said, "Oh." And to Deymorin again: "She says she tried, but you gave her a headache."

"A headache?My sincere apologies. I think."

Mirym laughed, silently as always; and Mikhyel ex- plained, "She says it's not all your fault. That damned childish mental outburst of Nikki's almost knocked her cold." And to Mirym, he said, "It certainly was childish.

And cruel. Especially after he'd already struck youand no, it wasn't an accident. It was a temper tantrum."

Mirym shrugged. Mikhyel frowned. Deymorin's head buzzed, and he cursed at Mikhyel. "Talk, will you?"

"Sorry. Sometimes I forget which I'm doing."

"Forget." He had to make a conscious effort not to speak aloud. "How long has this been going on?"

"You mean with Mirym?"

"Unless you've started talking with lizards. Of course, Mirym."

"Just since we got back. But it's not quite like with you and Nikki. We have to be touching."

He shook his head. "Brother, we're going to put you under a microscope yet. Spreading leythium all over your face, talking inside your head . . . what next?"

"Nothing, I sincerely hope. No, Mirym." Mikhyel turned to the young woman, who was jerking his sleeve emphatically. "I'm fine. It didn't hurt me at all." And: (Thanks, brother.) "Rings, Khyel, you think that's going to remain a secret in this house? Nikki is jealous as hell of you. He's not going to keep quiet."

"Jealous? Of whatT'