"Get the light before you go to bed, will you?" he said, and turned to face the wall, striving for sleep he by no means wanted. He tried, and failed, to ignore the sigh and the rustle of blankets.

And when the muffled sobs began, he was quite irrevoca- bly awake.

The quiet sobs continued long after consciousness had left them, became the lonely sounds of a lost and lonely child. A child too tired to stay awake, too frightened to truly sleep. Sounds that cut deeply into the memory of Mheric Rhomandi's child.

And Mheric Rhomandi's child knew he could not leave that loneliness unanswered.

Mikhyel laid back the covers and crossed to the shadowy corner where the young woman had curled under a single blanket, scorning the cot. Evidently she was not of a mind to lie to her bones and muscle any more than to her abused stomach.

". . . home, Mother . . ." A shaking, sleep-muffled whim- per rose from the shadow. "Let me come"

He knelt beside her, and the mutter ended in a swal- lowed exclamation. A moment later, the shadowed profile turned, burying itself in the pillowing arm, the other hand tucked up under, and the shoulders shook with soul-deep, fully conscious sobs.

"Mistress," Mikhyel whispered, and touched her shoul- der ever-so-lightly. "Please, let me help you."

Her shoulder stiffened. Her hidden hand appeared to brush his touch away.

There were teeth marks, oozing blood, on her wrist, at- tempts at control Mheric Rhomandi's child also recognized.

"Oh, child." Disregarding her protests, he pulled her up and into his arms, was unspeakably relieved when, despite her verbal protests, her arms wrapped around his waist, holding onto him as a drowning swimmer would clutch a floating log.

Every muscle was tight as a drumhead, and she felt as if she were frozen through. Reaction, he was certain: it wasn't that cold in the room.

He tried to lift her, found his strength, never outstanding, utterly inadequate for the task and had to admit, humili- ated: "You'll have to walk, child. I'm sorry."

She nodded wearily against his neck. Once on her feet, she startled him by turning toward the door, startled him more when she didn't object at having that course angled toward the bed.

And the ultimate surprise: once in bed, she pulled him to her and kissed him, a fluttering, uncertain brush of lips, then tucked her face, damp with tears, against his neck while her hands moved blindly to his shirt buttons.

"No, child, that's not"

"No?" And her hand traveled lower, touched him where his body gave lie to his protest.

"Never mind that," he said firmly, and gently removed her hand, hating his body for its betrayal, disgusted that it could find anything exciting in the current situation. "My head's firmly in control, and I've no wish to have a relation- ship of that nature with a woman whose name I don't know. Especially one I'm trying very hard to protect from such a fate."

"Hardly matters now, anyway."

Which made little sense to him, but he didn't ask. She sighed and curled into him, pent-up sobs still very much alive within her tense body, however silent. Tense, hard . . .

strong. Her slender body had no sharp corners, but a sleek covering of solid muscle.

Such a body was no accident. Hard work had created it, and hard work kept it. He recalled a night in the Crypt with Deymorin's arm about him, a sense of Deymorin in his head, and Deymorin's dismay at his brother's bony shoulders, and was embarrassed to have her touch him . . . anywhere.

She was blinking up at him again, her brow tight, and her long-fingered, work-roughened hand touched his jaw.

"S-so, payment pending, Barrister?"

He forced a smile. "Not at all, child. Icheated you.

I promised an undisturbed night. So far, I've failed quite miserably. You've every right to stay until I get it right."

Her head tucked back down, and a ripple passed through her body.

"And if you don't?"

He barely caught the tiny whisper.

"I suppose I'd be stuck with you for life."

One of those sobs escaped, and he rocked her gently, patting her back, the way Raulind had once done for him, and he wished, just for the moment, that it were possible.

They were, he would judge, much of an age, although she could be anywhere between seventeen and twice that, but she was like all of Khoratum: an innocent's ability to trust lurking behind a facade of maturity. She deserved, at least once, not to have that trust betrayed.

He'd adopt her in an instant, if she'd have it.

But she had family somewhere. A mother, at least. One she wanted very much to be with. Perhaps, somehow, he might be able to reunite them. Which led him to wonder what so young a woman could possibly have done to war- rant such a hideous exile, wondered if she had sold herself, and whether her determination to avoid him might not have to do with her ability to return home.

A soft mutter against his chest.

He drew back, and she looked up at him, her eyes seem- ing to glow with an inner fire, though logic said it was only the light filtering in from the streetlamp.

"Did you say something?" he whispered.

"T-Temorii, Khy," she said, and suddenly it was he who shook with suppressed emotion. "My name is Temorii."

Interlude

Mother laughed. And the sound shivered among the infinity of leythium stars. One star, among all the others, shim- mered with renewed joy.

She was awake, now, as she hadn't been for far too long.

Awake and able to enjoy her children.

All her children.

The newest pattern neared completion, and Mother, though she could read its destiny if such was her desire, enjoyed the suspense of wondering, savored the sense of danger.

For within its intricate webbing her own fate lay waiting.

Chapter Five '.

Kiyrstin rolled in his arms and pressed her backside against his lazy, early morning erection, and arched backward as his hands sought her familiar curves.

She'd lost weight, was his first, marginally coherent thought, and without opening his eyes, and at the same lazy pace, he explored more fully.

Slender, hard-muscled, ribs his fingers could count And flat-chested.

His second thought was: Kiyrstin was in Rhomatum. He was not.

His third thought was: Kiyrstin is going to kill me.

~ ~ 8.

fKhyet? Khyell If you love me, wake up and tell me you're with a woman!) {I'm with a woman,} Mikhyel answered, out of love, then realized, when the pillow he bugged to his chest squeaked and protested, that he told Deymorin nothing but the truth.

Relief, and a sense of brotherly surprise echoed from the distance, and Deymorin sent back a hazy, (Have fun . . .} and drifted away.

Meanwhile, the young womanTemorii, he recalled the name with mixed emotionsflopped about, precarious ac- tivity on the narrow bed, but settled as soon as she again faced him, having somehow, in the miracles of sleeper's survival, managed to turn away during the night.

Have fun, Deymorin had so blithely advised.

He supposed that his actions last night, what he did now, as he eased her into comfort and safety against him, did constitute fun, though not, perhaps, the fun Deymorin pro- posed. Together, he and Temorii had also, however inad- vertently, paid his brother back for all those disturbed nights back in Shatum.

He balanced Temorii against him, pressed his back to the wall to give her as much room as possible, and let his mind wander aimlessly, taking unabashed pleasure in the feel of her body against his.

That she was asleep, he had no doubt in his mind. That it was a restless sleep became increasingly clear. Her hands slithered around him, and her body began to ripple against his in a rhythmic sway he could in no fashion blame on a search for warmth. Any doubts he retained vanished when her leg slid over him to draw them still closer together. Her face buried in his neck as her body strained against him.

Dreams, he told himself, there in the faint glow of dawn, and as his own blood began to race. Dreams of the sort that Deymorin had and that occasionally plagued his own sleep.

Morning dreams, he reminded himself fiercely, as her movements sparked answering ripples through his own ner- vous system, and he held himself quiet, certain that, should he awaken her, she'd be mortally embarrassed.

Hell, he would be, he thought in personal disgust. But he fought his own response to morning and her wanton, but painfully innocent actions, shifted to keep her from encountering the manifestation of his losing battle until, as he hoped it would, her nature-drivenand blindneed eased, and she relaxed in his arms.

His legs and shirt were damp, but it had gone no further than that, for all he could wish nature had spared them both. With luck, she'd sleep soundly yet a time, and awake none the wiser.

For himself . . . he wished she'd not been asleep, and in that admission, he abandoned all thoughts of adoption.

A groan, and a shift of the narrow mattress pulled Mi- khyel up out of a comfortable doze.

Temorii sat on the side of the bed, holding her head with all the unequivocal signs of an eye-crossing headache. Not a hangovershe'd had nothing to drink last night, but con- sidering the pent-up emotion, the tension in her body as she'd fallen asleep, not to mention the awkward-for-two bed, he wasn't surprised.

"I suppose 'Good morning' is not in particularly good taste," Mikhyel murmured. "Stay still. I've just the thing, being prone to them myself."

He eased himself along the wall to escape the bed with- out disturbing her, got the pill box from his bag, and poured her a glass of water from the pitcher. When he - turned to face her, she was staring at him.

In horror.

But not at his face.

He didn't have to ask what was wrong. Didn't have to look down at his clothing to know what she saw.

"Nothing happened, Temorii. I promise you, nothing happened."

Her luminous eyes lifted to stare blankly, as if she didn't even remember coming here or ever having seen him be- fore. Then, she stood, slowly, looked down at the bed, and with a wordless cry, ran from the room.

8 8 ~.

"Temorii?"

It was a hushed call, imperative, yet discreet, and dun- Mheric ran halfway down the alley, then stopped, panting heavily.

Thyerri edged farther into the shadow, pulling the cloak's folds in, trying to ignore his empty gut that twisted painfully this morning.

Precision elegance would not describe Mikhyel dun- Mheric this morning, but striking, with his raven's wing hair hanging loose, his bare throat rising from a hastily buttoned shirt . . . Yes, striking covered his appearance quite well.

"Dammit, girl" The Rhomatumin's voice broke on the soft curse.

Thyerri supposed he should make himself known, should tell dunMheric where the girl he sought had gone, but Thy- erri was embarrassed not to have recognized dunMheric right from the start. Of course the posters, with the beard and the grim expression, had not done the Rhomatumin justice, and over the weeks, that image had overpowered hazy memory.

Except for the eyes. And now, in the early morning light, those Tamshi eyes that had haunted Thyerri's dreams for weeks searched for the young woman who had run down this alley moments before.

The Rhomatumin's shoulders slumped, he searched the shadows a final, hopeless time, and turned slowly. His pain, his fear permeated the very air, even to Thyerri's dead- ened senses.

Thyerri sighed, knowing himself a fool, and stepped free of the shadows.

"Khy?" He called softly, using the mountain diminutive of the Rhomatumin's mountain name, helping, should any be watching, to keep dunMheric's secret.

"Tern?" DunMheric whirled, .saw him, and paused.

Thyerri pulled the hood more closely around his face.

"I'm" Thyerri's protest was smothered as dunMheric's arms closed about him, and dunMheric's lips closed on his, and for a startled moment, the cursed dream returned, full force, and Thyerri returned the kisses with a passion that at once thrilled and terrified him.

"Is this what you want, Khy?" he whispered on the heels of that terror, kissing the Rhomatumin mouth, eyes, the Rhomatumin throat, trying to remember who this man was, what he had done, why he must be here, and what he would do to Temorii, striving for indignation to force his reeling emotions back into control. "Is this? And this?"

"Oh, dear gods . . . " DunMheric's groan rippled down Thy- erri's throat, past his cramping gut, all the way to his toes. And dunMheric pulled his mouth away to press Thyerri tightly to him. "Tern, I'm sorry, whatever I did . . . I'm. . ."

Mikhyel dunMheric's pain and guilt broke the spell be- tween them, succeeding where Thyerri's own methods had failed. He shook himself free of dunMheric's arms, though he could not free himself entirely of dunMheric's insidi- ous attraction.

"Sorry, Khy?" He flipped the hood back up over his head to conceal his own uncertain expression, and from within its concealing shadows said, with forced indifference: "Oh, you are cruel."

"Cruel?" DunMheric, for all his hands lifted, seemingly inclined to reach of their own will, didn't pursue Thyerri's retreat. Instead, breathing harder than ever, in an admira- ble fight of his own, he clenched his fists and forced his hands to his sides.

At least, it would be admirable if Thyerri were inclined to be generous.

Which he was not. In point of fact, Thyerri, at that mo- ment, could wish Mikhyel duuMheric dead and buried, farvery farfrom Khoratum. Thyerri had found the source of his dreams, and traced his own internal subver- sion directly to that damnable poster's first appearance out- side Bharlori's Tavern.

And if Temorii weren't careful, this Rhomatumin, with his Tamshi eyes and hot rijhili blood, would do the same to her.