"Well, that was an abject failure!"

Lidye was not pleased.

"I'm sorry, Liddi"

"Don't call me that!"

He flinched; she swirled away, paced the diameter of the room, then spun back and snarled.

"That, dear Nikki, was a test."

He flinched again. A test he'd failed.

"Where I come from, we call it a setup," Kiyrstin snarled back at her.

He biinked and asked, past the pain in his head: "Setup?"

Kiyrstin pressed a note into his hand. A note in silent Mirym's handwriting: Shatum dropped us. It felt like when Persitum went.

Planned?

And the note was snatched from his hand.

"Damned right, planned," Lidye hissed above him, and the torn parts of the note fluttered into his lap. "And that was nothing compared with the shock of the entire North- ern Crescent forcing us out."

"And why weren't you holding that Southern quarter?"

Kiyrstin responded fiercely. "Was it because you were spending so much energy mauling Nikki? Or because you just couldn't be bothered?"

Nikki realized then his shirt was hanging free, and that more than Lidye's voice had been active. He felt his face grow hot, and the bile rose in his throat.

"I've . . . got to . . ." He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled for the lift. But Lidye was before him.

"We'll try again. Now."

"Liddi"

"Now!"

"No!"

Nikki pushed past her, she grabbed his arm, swung him around The impact of her hand was worse than any blow he'd ever taken from one of his brothers. He caught her wrist before she could deal him a second.

- Kiyrstin exclaimed aloud, but he shot her a stay-back look and then faced Lidye directly. She scowled and fought for possession of her wrist.

He tightened his holdno more than thatand she re- laxed, for all her breathing grew faster, deeper.

"Will you call the lift, lady wife?" He kept his voice low and even. "Or must I break my way out?"

He was immeasurably relieved when the clunk of gears indicated the lift's engagement.

"The next time," he said quietly as he stepped onto the platform, "Shatum will not fall."

9 9 aSi (It was much more successful the next time.} Nikki's in- ternal voice seemed oddly subdued. Quiet. Free of the com- plex overtones of emotion Deymorin was accustomed to receiving from Nikki.

{Are you all right, Nik?} That was Mikhyel. So, he'd no- ticed the same thing.

{Tired, Khyel. Just . . . very tired. It was a wearing ses- sion. A long session. Lidye and Kiyrstin . . .} He was worried, Deymorin could tell, of saying some- thing that would insult him, perhaps send him away.

{It's all right, Nikki.} Deymorin reassured him. {What about Kiyrstin? What did she do?} (Nothing we can't handle. But Lidye can't get a fix on Persitum. She hoped Kiyrstin could reach through, could connect her somehow to Mauritum, I . . . don't really know what she means. But Kiyrstin ...} {Kiyrstin's suspicious of her.} Acknowledgment. And a feeling of failure.

{Not your fault, fry. Trust me. Can you possibly have Kiyrstin there with you next time?} {She is here, Deymio. Mirym, too. I . . . thought you might want verification.} {Not for that, Nikki,} Mikhyel sent, and Deymorin con- curred: {Your word is enough. I just wanted to talk to} And Kiyrstin was there, then, in all her sensual wonder, and for a moment, the intimacy of her mind in his came close to overwhelming him.

{Excuse me . . .} That was Mikhyel. Effective as a dip in a cold mountain lake.

{Sorry brothers.) Deymorin said, then nearly lost control again as Kiyrstin's husky voice, coming through Nikki, said: {Hello, there. Rags.} {Rings . . } Nikki, Mikhyel, or himself, he wasn't sure.

{Khyel!} The cool lake again swirled around them.

(Thanks. Kiyrsti, can you hear me?} Acknowledgment.

{Problem with you and Lidye?} {Easy. I don't trust her. No matter how much I want to help, I can't seem to overcome that. I'll try.} {We can't ask for more.} That was Mikhyel. {Might be our saving grace if she is Garetti's pawn.) It spoke volumes that Nikki didn't object to that suggestion.

{You can be proud of Nikki, Deymorin.} That was Kiyr- stin again. {Very proud.} Nothing more than that, and neither he nor Mikhyel formed a specific thought in response. None seemed needed. But the dark tension hovering beneath the surface of Nikki's thoughts dissipated, along with the weary aches.

(Have we date and time yet, Miknyel?) {Nothing certain.} (I'm not moving from the line. Nikki, you stay put

as well.} {I'll be here.} A hint of roses and raspberries floated down Nikki's thoughts, and a shy: {Hello, Ravenhair.} The next moment, Mikhyel disappeared, and the link faded into mist.

Chapter Twelve.

"Khyel? Mikhyel diinMheric, where are you?"

The bedroom door slammed shut.

"I'm in"

Temorii's eager face appeared in the doorway.

"the bath. Temorii, for the love of Darius"

"Why should I care about Darius? She's done it, Khy!

The date's set! We get to test the rings tomorrow!"

"Temorii, sit down. Get"

"Each contestant will get as much time as they want on the rings, with, or without music. And the contest will not be controlled, it will be like the real dancing, with live music and we get to control the rings."

"Temorii, will you sit"

"* think it's because the controlling mechanism was ru- ined in the collapse, but Rhyys won't ever admit that. And guess who gets to go first?"

"Thyerri, sM"

Temorii flopped down onto the grooming chair beside his bath, and pulled her knees up to her chin. She radiated excitement, and seemed oblivious to the fact that he was in the middle of his bath.

"Tern, do you mind?" he asked at last.

"Not at all." She waved a hand in the air, disturbingly reminiscent of Mother's grand gestures. "Go right ahead."

He began to protest, thought better of it, and gestured toward his back. "Raul?"

As if bathing with a young woman in the room were an everyday occurrence, Raulind spread the oil and began to scrub his back. But then, it wasn't Temorii in the room. It was Thyerri dunMatrii. Cocky, eager . . . and utterly oblivi- ous to Mikhyel dunMheric's admittedly negligible charms.

"She, who?" Mikhyel asked. "And what's she done?"

"Mother."

Naturally.

"They've been having trouble with the dance rings ever since the Collapse, you knowand Mother said yesterday..."

The rest of the sentence was lost to Mikhyel. Yesterday.

Yesterday, Temorii, beautiful, strong, elegant child of the ley, had held him and thought the closest to a declaration of love that had ever crossed his senses.

Granted, she'd said nothing. Granted, she probably even regretted thinking it, but Mikhyel had heard, and he at least couldn't set that moment aside easily.

This was the first time he'd seen her since then. Mother had been behind her and Mother had transferred him back to this room. Temorii had stayed with Mother.

And now, she burst in with news of the rings and Mother, as if that . . . moment . . . wasn't.

"Temorii," he interrupted her, and she gave him an in- dignant look, which he ignored. "Would you mind turning away for a moment?"

She rolled her eyes and flopped around in the chair.

"Hurry up."

"Raul?"

A warm towel enfolded him as he stepped free of the small sitting bath. As Raulind proceeded in his normal, efficient manner, Temorii tapped her bare foot impatiently.

"Mikhyel dunMheric, I think you must really be as large as all other rijhili. You just spend so much time in the water, you've shrunk!"

"Don't call me that."

"Rijhili?" A wicked eye twinkled over her shoulder at him. "Rijhili, rijhili, rijhili."

He frowned, and stalked into the bedroom, Raulind at his heels.

"Khyel?" Her voice quivered. She was standing in the doorway, leaning against the elaborately carved frame.

"Khy, I'm"

"Dammit, turn around!" Give him some privacy, at least.

Raulind's hand on his towel-covered shoulder advised against temper, and he swallowed hard.

Temper was the least of his problems this morning.

He pulled his own clothing on, getting in Raulind's way more than expediting the act, but needingneedingthat sense of personal control. Of personally armoring himself against her. When he had his coat safely fastened, he said, "Please leave us, Raulind. I'll call when I'm ready for you."

"Very good, sir," Raulind said, but the squeeze he gave Mikhyel's shoulder as he left counseled: be careful.

Mikhyel nodded. When Raulind was gone, Mikhyel pulled the tie off his braid, yanked the strands free, and began pulling a comb ruthlessly through it, welcoming the minor discomfort.

"Can I help?" Temorii's hand touched his where it held the comb.

He jerked away. Pulled a knot free of the comb and flung it in the general direction of the dressing table.

"Khyel, please'. What's going on? What did I do?"

He wished he knew. He stared down at the comb, tried to still the shaking hand that held it, and decided the hand didn't belong to him, since it kept shaking. But when Tem- orii's fingers touched the hand and extracted the comb, he felt it like fire running from his hand to his entire body, so perhaps it was his hand after all.

"It doesn't matter, Khyel," her gentle, Temorii voice murmured. "Just sit down."

He shook his head.

"Please?"

It was undoubtedly a weakness in his character that he couldn't resist her request, that if her hand guiding a comb through his hair was all he could have, he'd take it.

But it didn't mean he had to watch her face in the mirror while she did it.

"I love the feel of your hair," she murmured, as she had every night out on the mountainside camp, and indeed her fingers did more of the work than the comb.