"You do not want a part of this, Michael," Locksley said through clenched teeth. He didn't look at the seigneur at all, his gaze fixed on Nottingham. "Be a good fellow and clear the women from the room."

The Kyn males who were still unarmed quickly drew blades. Muttered orders were issued by lords and passed among the warriors. Several of the women also held small bejeweled blades drawn from ankle and thigh straps. Jayr used the distraction to position herself between Byrne and Locksley.

A hundred different scents, released by the Kyn's physical reaction to the threat, blended in a hot, cloying cloud that filled the room. Impending violence, wordless and burgeoning, hung over every head.

"Hey."

Jayr glanced at Alexandra Keller, to whom no one paid attention. The seigneur's sygkenis used an empty chair to climb up onto a tabletop, where she put two fingers in her mouth and produced a loud, piercing whistle.

That and her position silenced the room.

"I haven't met everyone yet," Alexandra said, her voice loud and friendly, "but I'm Alex Keller, the boss's girlfriend and the new vampire in town. I just thought I'd mention that this is my first vacation with Michael since I grew fangs. I don't know about you, but I've witnessed enough Kyn bloodbaths to pretty much last me forever. What do you say we just relax, have fun, and not dismember anybody?"

The Kyn didn't quite know what to make of Alexandra's plea. Jayr felt like applauding."One more thing: If anyone gets something important chopped off, I'm going to be too busy relaxing on my vacation to stitch it back together for you. So thank you in advance for not hacking one another to pieces. I'm looking forward to meeting you all."

Alexandra accepted Michael's hand and climbed back down.

Jayr noted that Cyprien looked pleased, not embarrassed, by his sygkenis's unusual announcement, and her heart melted a little. The talk about Cyprien always pegged him as cold and calculating, and many had thought he went to Ireland to become high lord, not rescue his sygkenis. Jayr saw better now, and wondered if Alexandra Keller knew how fortunate she was to have such a lover.

"Never fear, my lady," Locksley said, glaring at the Italian. "It will not be possible to sew back together what I leave on the floor."

"I take it," Nottingham said in his gorgeous voice, "that you are the insolent bastard who tore down my colors."

All around the room came the sound of brittle things snapping and cracking. Jayr saw that the windows were intact, and then her gaze dropped to a nearby goblet. White frost covered the outside of the cup, and the wine inside was covered with a bloom of ice that solidified the surface, as if it had frozen solid.

"You." Locksley's knuckles bulged as he tightened his grip on his sword's hilt. "You do not speak to me." He tried to go past the seigneur, but Michael seized his arm. He looked down in amazement. "You hold me back, and give him leave to bring that filth into the house?"

"He brings ignorance and unhappy memories." Cyprien said something else, too low for Jayr to hear.

Locksley didn't seem impressed. "Exile him, then. Send him back to whatever shithole he occupies."

"Rob." Byrne came to stand beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. Everyone around them except Locksley seemed to relax. Cyprien left his suzerains and strode over to where Nottingham stood.

Jayr knew Byrne was deliberately shedding his scent to invoke calm and order. Although most of the tension in the room had vanished, it seemed to have no affect on Robin.

"Seigneur." Skald rushed over to Michael, almost skipping in order to take his place beside his master. "May I introduce my lord, Ganelon of Florence, Lord Nottingham?"

Nottingham went down on one knee, moving with the fluid grace of old experience. "Seigneur, it is an honor."

"Nottingham by way of Florence, is it?" Cyprien sounded bored, but anger flashed amber in his turquoise eyes. "You may rise.

Who is this woman with you?"

For the first time Jayr saw that the dark lord had brought a human with him. The female huddled between two of the Saracens, almost obscured by the voluminous drape of their robes. She looked pale and dazed. Despite the warmth of the room she trembled, her lips pinched with cold. From her appearance and garments Jayr guessed her to be a young wife, perhaps a mother.

"That?" Nottingham waved a hand in her general direction. "That is food and amusement."

Disgust and dismay made Jayr stiffen. Kyn never removed humans from their ordinary lives as Nottingham had done with this female; it terrorized the humans' families and often resulted in the authorities taking notice.

"There are no humans permitted at the tournament," Michael said. "In this country we do not abduct humans under our influence and force them to serve us. You will return her to her home at once."

"As you will, seigneur." Nottingham spoke to one of his guards in soft, rapid Italian. The guard led the human away from the assembly.

Michael did not appear mollified. "Tell me exactly who you are, and why you have come here."

"We are but refugees, my lord. I would offer titles and ranks, but mine have never been named jardin by the high lord; nor have I been given the honor of recognized rule," the dark lord said. Each word from his lips, liquid gold to the ears, rang with dignity and respect. "I am here in hopes of remedying that."

"I have traveled the length of Italy many times," the seigneur pointed out, "but I have never heard your name, nor one mention of your household."

"Brethren threats forced me to become a recluse," Nottingham said smoothly. "My men and I dwelled in the hills of Florence, far from our Kyn, to avoid stirring interest in Rome. We prospered there for hundreds of years before we were betrayed, and the Order sent its assassins. They discovered my holdings, set fire to my house, and slaughtered my human servants. My seneschal and my guards are the only reason I survived."

The sincerity in his voice could not be mistaken, and Jayr felt sure that every word Nottingham spoke was truth. It still did not convince her that he was who he claimed to be. Like a garment, truth could be tailored to fit any expectation. Nottingham might be Italian, but Skald wasn't, and neither were the guards.

"If you were so successful in hiding yourself all these years," Cyprien asked, "how did the Brethren find you?"

"This new Lightkeeper is not content simply to be the leader of the order, as have the others in his position before him. He is using every means he can find to eradicate the Darkyn in Europe, especially Italy and France. He is also a man who knows technology. He tracked us through the moneychangers and suppliers we had used." Nottingham's upper lip curled. "They were also the traitors who led the Brethren to us. Humans of this era will sell their mothers for a few lira."

Cyprien offered no sympathy. "Is that why you employ Saracens, and bear the colors of traitors?"

"I employ Kyn, seigneur." His black-gloved hands turned to display empty palms. "My men once answered the call of their god, Allah, and were cursed just as we were for it." He glanced at the banner. "As for my colors, they belong to my family. They were noblemen, not traitors. I was within my rights to display them within these walls."

Jayr heard Locksley make a low, animal sound in his throat.

Skald appeared by her side. "That one does not seem to like my master's colors."

"No," Jayr said thoughtfully. "He does not." She glanced down at him. "This might have been avoided if you had come to me before hanging your master's colors about the Realm."

He looked surprised. "I was not aware that I should consult with you."

Jayr was beginning to suspect that Skald had little or no proper training as a seneschal. "It is a courtesy when you are in another lord's territory."

"Ah." He bobbed his head. "I will remember that."

"Your unfortunate colors can be debated later, Lord Nottingham." Cyprien studied the impassive faces behind the dark lord.

"These men, however, killed many of our Templar brothers during our human lives. Every warrior here has fought them, and watched as they slaughtered our comrades on the field of battle."

"My men have no more religion or country than we do, seigneur. They have made and kept their oaths to me," Nottingham assured him. "They are the reason I do not now rot in a Brethren prison. I will happily vouch for them.""Very well. You will be responsible for their behavior while you are here." Michael stood and looked at the other assembled Kyn, many of whom looked stunned. To them he said, "The old wars have long been over. Here in America, all who swear their loyalty to me are to be made welcome." He looked at Nottingham. "Just as all who betray that oath will not live long enough to regret it."

"Michael." The tip of Locksley's sword struck the floor as the blade went limp in his hand. "You cannot mean it. You cannot mean to give him leave to stay."

Cyprien didn't blink. "I rule this country, Lord Locksley. You would do well to remember that."

Jayr caught her breath as she saw Locksley's stance change and his sword rise. She knew Robin had good cause to despise any reminder of Sherwood, but his reaction went far beyond displeasure. Killing hatred filled his gentle eyes.

"Robbie," Byrne said gently. "'Tis not worth it."

Locksley stared at Nottingham for a long moment, his body so still that Jayr did not see him draw breath. Someone coughed, and that seemed to break the spell. The furious suzerain sheathed his sword and silently left the same way he had entered.

No one spoke, and many flinched as Byrne clapped his hands together twice to signal the servers back to their places. Skald grinned up at Jayr. "Let the games begin."

"That was interesting," Alex said as she and Michael left the guards' hall. Things had been decidedly calmer after Locksley had stalked out, but making the rounds afterward had been awkward. She hadn't made any friends with her little announcement, either. "I thought you told me that the sword fights didn't start until tomorrow."

"They don't." He entwined his fingers with hers. "I'm sorry, cherie. I wanted you to see us at our best, and then something like this happens." He guided her away from the hall leading to their chambers.

"Where are we going now?" she asked. "Some Kyn contest where they try to throw one another off the battlements? I meant what I said about being on vacation."

"I believed every word," he said, bringing her hand up to kiss her knuckles. "The moon is full, and Byrne's gardens are beautiful.

I thought you might like some fresh air and perhaps some time alone together."

"Alone time is good." Alex herself was in no hurry to go to bed. The only way she could avoid the repeating dream she'd been having was to inject herself with a tranquilizer. Michael hated her experimenting on herself, so if he found out she was using the stuff as a personal sleep aid, he'd go ballistic. "Bring on the moonlight."

Alex found that the suzerain's gardens were pristine, beautifully laid out, and held her interest for just over a minute. Someday she would discover just what Cyprien found so fascinating about a bunch of plants and dirt, but for now she had other things on her mind.

Tell him about the dream, one side of her head argued. He'll know who the blond was.

Sure, the other half answered. And when you tell him what you've been doing with the blond, he'll go hunt him down and tear his throat out.

Alex knew that dreams were not just subconscious self-therapy sessions for the Kyn. Thierry Durand, one of Michael's closest friends, had used his dreams to communicate with Alex while she was awake. Although Thierry's ability was tied up with his talent for being able to enter and influence the dreams of humans, Alex suspected that all Kyn could use them in a similar sense.

When Michael had attacked her after she rebuilt his face, his talent had kept her in a dream state.

"Other than when you whistled and climbed on the table," Michael was saying, "you have been very quiet. What is on your mind, cherie?"

"Besides dodging a lot of bloodshed and reattachment surgeries, nothing, really." She drew her hand from his and walked toward a bower heavily covered with thick green vines. The white, trumpet-shaped petals of the vine's flowers were unfurling and opening. "I am curious about two things, though."

"What are they?"

"Well, first, why haven't Byrne's facial tattoos ever worn off?" When he gave her a blank look, she added, "The Kyn pathogen heals every kind of wound without scarring. Tattoos are basically ink-injected scars. His body should have absorbed and erased them a long time ago."

"Ah." He nodded. "I asked him this once. Byrne cannot say for certain, but he remembers the woad and other things used to make the ink being prepared in copper kettles."

"That might do it." Alex had already seen Gabriel Seran's permanent green scars, created by burns made by copper-beaded rosaries soaked in water being applied for weeks to his skin by Brethren interrogators. "Okay, second, why did Locksley get so ticked off over that purple and gray flag thing?"

"It is complicated. I will try to think of a modern equivalent." He tucked her arm through his. "How do you feel when you see extremists in the Middle East on television rioting and burning the American flag?"

"Like dropping a nuke on their heads," she admitted.

"Kyn feel just as passionately about our colors. Tearing down the Italian's banners was very disrespectful. In a sense, they are the flags of our fathers and our families." Michael led her to one of the stone benches beneath the bower and sat down with her.

"During our human lives they symbolized who we were, our bloodlines, and our heritage. Often our place in society as well.

Coats of arms among humans became very complicated, so the Kyn used only two colors, and very plain designs, so that we might recognize one another on the battlefield."

Alex chuckled. "Cute trick."

"Our colors also protected the humans who served us as well," he said. "The blue and white-the talon and clouds that were my family's symbols-were known throughout Europe, and held in very high esteem."

Now all the blue-and-white things around Cyprien's mansion made more sense. In reality, the archaic practice didn't seem all that different from what most people did now by hanging sports banners or putting pictures of their kids and relatives on the front of the fridge.

What he was telling her didn't fit with the scene that had played out in the hall, however.

"If these colors are so respected," Alex asked, "then why did Locksley rip down the Italian's purple and gray?"

"Colors also remind us of those whose families fell, often due to their treachery and betrayal." Michael picked one of the white flowers and stroked it across her cheek. "The purple and gray were once Locksley's colors."

"Oh." She frowned. "Nottingham stole them?"

"Robin lost the right to bear them when he was still human. The king branded Rob an outlaw and took everything he and his family owned. Ultimately he bestowed the title of Lord Sherwood on Guy of Guisbourne, a very distant kinsman of the Locksleys. Guy already served the Crown as sheriff, and imposed harsh taxes on behalf of the king. Some said that Sherwood was given to Guy as a reward for his ruthlessness."

Alex let out a stuttering laugh. "Hold on. I thought the names were just coincidence. You're telling me that the hothead waving around the sword tonight is Robin Hood? The Robin Hood? The guy Kevin Costner played in the movies?"

"During his human life, Robin was the outlawed noble upon whom the mythology of the Hood was later based." Cyprien seemed amused. "I cannot comment on Mr. Costner or his movie."

"Son of a gun." She recalled the handsome suzerain's face.

He didn't look anything like Kevin Costner, although he had the same casual, lethal charm. "So your pal Robin became a hood, and the king gave his stuff to his cousin, and that's what makes him go nuts when he sees purple and gray." She was going to need footnotes soon. "Is the Italian his cousin?"

"No, he is not, and that is only where it began," Cyprien said. "After he was stripped of his title and lands, Robin left England to join the Templars. Guy, of course, stayed behind to rule Sherwood and serve the Crown. Both were cursed by God and rose to walk the night as Kyn, Robin for fighting in the Holy Land, and Guy for his treatment of the poor."

"They were both infected with the pathogen," she corrected him. "God had nothing to do with it. So what happened? Did they get back together as Kyn and try to duke it out?"

"In a sense, yes. Our high lord at the time was Harold, and he believed in diplomacy over battle." Cyprien put his arm around her shoulders. "The Brethren, of course, had already formed their secret order, and were using the Inquisition to interrogate our human families and servants. They pretended it was to expose them as heretics, but they were interested only in compelling them to betray us."

"You guys are responsible for the Inquisition, too?" Alex snorted. "Jesus, you have a completely fucked-up history. Next you'll be telling me you touched off World War Two."

"Hitler discovered our existence before he came to power," Cyprien said, grinning as he watched her face, "but that is a story for another time. During Harold's reign, the horrors wrought by the Inquisition convinced many Kyn that it was time to form an army and declare war on the Brethren. Fight them the same way we had the heretics in Jerusalem. There was even some talk of marching on the Vatican, to be sure that the order was completely wiped out."

"Shame you didn't. That might have saved my getting slapped in the face by the bishop," Alex said absently. She saw him frown and added, "Something evil the Church does to teenagers when they get confirmed. Doesn't matter. What happened next?"

"Harold did not agree with the proposal. He felt that the Kyn should not challenge the order, but strike a truce with them. He did not recognize the wrath so many Kyn felt over those of our kind who had been tortured and died terrible deaths at the hands of the Brethren. His decision set off a power struggle for control of the Kyn. First came the assassination attempts on Harold and the suzerain loyal to him. That led to the insurrection-what you hear us sometimes refer to as the jardin wars."

Michael told her that after the assassinations failed, several jardins banded together, gathering and training as a secret army intent on staging a coup against Harold and his loyalists. The traitors had been led by Guy of Guisbourne, now the suzerain of Sherwood.

Cyprien stopped there, and was silent for a long time after that.

"Listen," Alex said. "You don't have to go into any more detail. I can imagine how awful it was."

"I have fought in many wars," Michael admitted. "None was as terrible as going into battle against soldiers whom I had called friends and allies for centuries." He shook his head. "The greatest treachery came the night before the final battle in France. A wounded herald came riding into camp. He had barely escaped England with his life. He told us that months before, Sherwood had secretly sent some of his warriors across the Channel with orders to invade and destroy the households of those loyal to Harold. While we were off fighting they butchered the women, tresori, and human servants who had been left behind. So confident was Guisbourne of victory that he instructed the assassins to take possession of the properties once they had killed the families."Alex felt nauseated. "Please tell me Guisbourne and his thugs lost."

"They lost."

"There is a God." Bracing her back against the curving lattice, Alex watched the moon make a shimmery circle on the surface of the pool. "So who is this Italian? A leftover from Sherwood?"

"I doubt it. When Richard succeeded Harold, he had every member of the Sherwood jardin brought to him in London, and had his men verify their identities. Their names were checked against the bloodscroll-a kind of membership list that is created when the jardin is formed and maintained. He assembled the loyalists whose families had been murdered, turned the men of Sherwood over to them, and had them perform the executions. Guy of Guisbourne he saved for last."

"Wait." Alex closed her eyes. "I don't want to know how he died."