Alexandra was silent for a long time. "That's really pretty. Simple, but powerful." She looked as if she might say something else, then shook her head as though disagreeing with herself. "Right, I've got to do one more pass and we'll finish up with the injection." She turned the machine sideways. "Want to see what your plumbing looks like?"

Jayr observed the odd black-and-white images appearing as Alexandra continued the exam. "It looks as if I've swallowed a handful of truffles whole."

"Good analogy. Your uterus and stomach are about the same size as walnuts." Alex paused, regarding the screen thoughtfully.

"I think I've found out why you never menstruated while you were human, too. The good news is, you don't have any male sexual organs, so you're not a hermaphrodite. The bad news is that your ovaries"-she tapped the screen in two places-"are raisins."

Jayr looked at the tiny spots the doctor pointed to. "Is that not how they should be?"

"In Kyn females they should be about five times larger, the size of prunes. My guess is your ovaries were diseased or deformed from birth." She shifted the device. "Can I ask you something that's probably going to offend you?" When Jayr nodded, she said, "You're not a virgin, so why aren't you sexually active now?"

Jayr felt appalled and stared at the monitor. "You can see that as well?"

"Not on here. I noticed that your hymen had been ruptured when I performed the pelvic," Alex told her. "Was the first time painful? Is that why you're still living like a nun?"

"Yes and no."

Alex sighed. "Kid, stop. You're drowning me with all this unnecessary information."

Jayr shifted her gaze to the lights above the table and tried to think of how to explain. "My first time was not terribly painful. It was the only time. I am celibate because I do not feel strong needs." That, at least, was partly true. She did not have to mention the endless, gnawing need she still had for Byrne.

"Well, missing out on puberty left you with an underdeveloped body and a dormant libido." Alex set aside the device, shut down the monitor, and wiped off the gel from Jayr's stomach. "Once we start this therapy, that may change. You could start having all kinds of inconvenient feelings. Are you okay with that?"

"Of course." Jayr looked at the liquid-filled needle Alexandra prepared. "I do want to be like you and other females, Doctor.

However long it takes."

"We're about to find out. Hold still now; this will pinch." She plunged the tip of the syringe into the side of Jayr's neck. "I talked to Jema, and she said the injections always made her feel better. I' in hoping reversing the formula won't cause an opposite reaction.""I can feel nothing but the sting of the wound," Jayr said honestly.

"Good." Alexandra removed the needle. "The synthetic gonadotropin probably won't start working immediately; your pituitary has been dormant for a long time, and I'm sure that the pathogen will run interference until it decides to accept the new hormones. I may have to add more plasma into the mix to tempt it to cooperate, too. But that's it; you can get dressed."

While Jayr changed into her clothes, the doctor printed out several of the images the ultrasound machine had stored and clipped them into a chart. She checked her watch and swore.

"I promised Michael I'd go with him to this big dance tonight," Alexandra explained. "That means closing up shop and going and making myself look pretty. Cyprien bought me this gown with a million little hooks up the back. It's gorgeous, but he'd better be in our room to help me get it on or I'm going in jeans. What are you wearing tonight?"

"Our wardrobe keeper made a new tunic and trousers for me." Jayr grimaced. "I wanted leathers, but he favors velvet."

"You're off duty, aren't you?" Alex asked. "Why don't you wear a dress?"

"Because I do not own any."

She made a tsking sound. "If you're going to have a woman's body, kiddo, you should clean out the closet and go shopping.

Wearing women's clothes will make any changes that pop out less startling to guys around here. You might look into getting some bras, too."

"Bras."

Alex nodded. "They're the modern version of corsets. Just avoid the ones with underwires, that are made entirely of lace, or that are labeled 'push-up.' They're actually instruments of torture disguised as underwear."

Jayr dreaded the prospect-she had not coped with the restrictions of skirts and bodices since her human life-but added them to the cost of what she would gain. "Thank you, Doctor. I must go and dress my lord for the ball. I will see you tonight."

As Jayr left, she heard Alex mutter something that sounded like, "What, he can't even dress himself?"

"You've had time to conduct your meetings and turn them over in your head a thousand times," Byrne said as he handed Cyprien a glass of bloodwine and joined him by the fire. "Have you made your final selections?"

"I have." Michael cradled the glass in his long fingers. "You will not reconsider your decision?"

"Replaced or not, I am leaving," Byrne told him, "the first of the year."

The seigneur inclined his head. "I have finalized the candidate list to five names. I will choose among them after the joust."

"Who are they?"

"I did not expect you would care." Cyprien's mouth curled. "Adolfo, Daven, Halkirk, Locksley, and Nottingham."

Byrne couldn't imagine the cold Italian as master of the Realm. "Why would you think Nottingham a suitable candidate?"

"He interests me in the same way Lucan once did," Cyprien said. "One should make allies of those who would otherwise be enemies."Byrne put a hand to his ear. "Is that Richard's voice I hear coming out of your lips?"

The seigneur's mouth hitched. "Tell me what you really think."

"You've an interesting quintuplet." Byrne sat forward as he began picking apart the list with relish. "Adolfo has little love for humans; he couldnae tolerate our tourist trade."

"He need not keep the Realm open to human visitors," Cyprien said.

"He had better play the stock market as Rob does, then."

Byrne suggested, "as the profits from the tourist trade are what finance the jardin."

"Strike Adolfo. What about the others?"

"Daven is an incessant womanizer, He would turn the place into a brothel or end up losing his head to a Kyn he carelessly cuckolds." Byrne stretched his arms until the joints popped before settling back. "Halkirk seems a decent sort, but he cannae deny his sygkenis anything, and you know how expensive her tastes are. The two of them would empty my coffers in a fortnight."

"True," Cyprien said, "but they will not be your coffers after you go. Do not glower at me like that. I am of the same opinion.

What do you think of this Nottingham? He may have offended Locksley, but he readily agreed to surrender his colors, and seems willing to adapt to our customs."

"He employs heathens, and his seneschal is a caltrop with a mouth, arms, and legs." Byrne brooded for a moment. "He seems cool and polished enough, but he is hiding something. I cannae say what or why, Michael, but I dinnae trust him."

"Very well." Cyprien folded his arms. "That leaves only your friend Locksley."

Friend? He hardly knew anymore. "Aye, Rob."

"His petition surprised me, but he expressed a wish to join his holdings with yours and make them a single suzerainty. I can see some advantage to that. He knows the Realm as well as you, and your men favor him, although something tells me that your friendship is strained." Glass snapped, and he looked down at the pieces of crystal in Byrne's hand. "The wine spilling down the front of your doublet, perhaps."

"You always had a gift for stating the obvious, lad." Byrne rose and discarded the shattered glass, pulling off his soaked tunic on his way to the corner basin, where he washed the sticky dregs of the wine from his skin. He retrieved fresh garments from his armoire and began dressing as he tried to think of how to word his opinion. "I cannae deny that Rob is the best candidate any more than I can hide my discomfort with his bid."

Cyprien's brows rose. "What unsettles you about it?"

"I told him the day after I spoke with you. I dinnae know why; maybe I craved him to say my decision was wise." Byrne loosened the laces at the front of his shirt. "That he instead leaped at the chance to rule the Realm himself troubled me. Made me wonder if he ever was my friend."

"Did you make the right choice?" Cyprien asked.

"For the good of the men and the Realm, aye, I did." Byrne threaded his belt through his scabbard and buckled it over his hips.

"You must choose as you will, Michael. My opinion matters not. Whoever replaces me will be your man, not mine."

A quick knock sounded at the chamber door before it opened and Jayr entered."Good evening, seigneur." She bowed to him. "Your lady would appreciate your presence in your chambers. She asked me to say that she needs your assistance with the hooks on her ball gown."

"She has not yet discarded it for faded denims and a Disney T-shirt? Incredible. Byrne, I will see you at the reception. My thanks, Jayr." Cyprien smiled at her and left.

Jayr glanced at the wine-soaked tunic on the floor before turning to him. "I see you are already dressed." She sounded slightly disappointed. "All is well, my lord?"

Byrne nodded and ran a hand through his thick hair. She had washed it for him last night, but he had neglected to brush it out.

"Will you do something with this owl's nest, lass?" He picked up a stool and brought it over to the old mirror. His image scowled at him. "I should shave my head. I vow my hair grew another foot last night."

"It always grows thus during the waning moon." Jayr retrieved a comb, brush, and shears, and took a position behind his stool.

"It is too beautiful to shave off, my lord. You would break the heart of every woman in the Realm."

"Our family priest disliked women, and made the first Bible story I memorized that of Samson and Delilah. I promised myself that I wouldnae cut my hair lest I lose my strength. I was so adamant that my mother took to trimming it while I slept." He stared at the reflection of his broad, tattooed face. "I dinnae know what you see, Jayr. No one could call me a beauty."

"No, for you are too fierce and manly," Jayr said as she draped a hand towel over his wide shoulders. "That is why God gifted you with this glorious mane."

Byrne sat still as she combed out the tangles that a restless sleep had tied in his hair. She then plied the shears, cautiously snipping away to restore his hair to its former length. She stepped back to view the cut and then brushed the trimmings from his shoulders before taking up the comb and the small ties she used to secure the ends of his braids.

Jayr remained silent, but Byrne could almost feel her pleasure as she wove his braids. She took prodigious interest and time in grooming him, a rather feminine penchant for a seneschal, but he enjoyed the attention and always sat in front of the glass so that he could watch her work. Had she not cut her hair so close to the scalp, he would have done the same for her.

She had not always worn her hair shorn short, Byrne remembered. The day she had saved him, her hair had twined around him as soft and binding as snares of midnight silk. His memories of that encounter were blurred, but he had the distinct impression that he had played with her hair...

"My lord?" Her gaze met his in the mirror. "Are you not pleased with the braiding?"

"No, 'tis cleverly done." He had never cared what she did, only that she did it. "Come around me, here." He guided her in front of him.

Jayr mistook his intent and knelt down. "Do you wish me to change your boots, my lord?"

"No." He worked his fingers through her short, dark locks, lifting them away from her head, searching for the memory of what he had done with it all those centuries before. It seemed shorter now than it had earlier in the day. "Why do you cut your hair so?"

"I do not... I mean, I have always kept it so."

"No, when you came to me you had hair down to your hips." As he sifted the dark strands through his fingertips they shimmered with tangerine light. "The first part of you that touched me was your hair, wasn't it? I mistook it for satin ribbons from your gown."

"I owned nothing made of satin, I assure you." Jayr's face lowered, hiding her expression. "The nuns intended to shear me and make me take my vows. My vanity gave me another reason to run away.""I cannae criticize them, for they drove you to save me." Byrne slid his hand over the back of her neck to feel the fine, tiny hairs that grew there. "It still feels like satin, only a fringe instead of a ribbon." He tilted her chin up. "What happened to this defiant vanity, then?"

"It became besotted with another head of hair. One far more beautiful than its own." Her hand lifted and adjusted one of the narrow braids near his temple. "You look magnificent, my lord."

"Your hands work magic." Byrne smiled and bent to breathe in her scent. When she stiffened and tried to stand, he put his hands on her shoulders. "Let your hair grow long again, Jayr, and I will braid it for you."

Confusion chased the dismay in her eyes. "My lord, I cannot."

"Why?" He cupped her cheek with his hand. "Do you still fear your vanity?"

"The inconvenience. It would get in my way." Her throat moved as she swallowed. "I should go and change now if we are not to be late." She slipped out from under his hands and stood. "I will return shortly."

Byrne watched her flee from him, and almost gave chase. He didn't understand this new, primal hunger he felt, or why it clawed ferociously at his insides, but he wanted to run her down and drag her back to his chamber. He would bar the door, bind her wrists, whatever it took to keep her with him. Then... then... he would give her what she denied herself and him.

What saved him from abandoning himself to the madness and the pleasures it promised was how much it resembled his affliction. Who was to say it was any different?

"I am a thinking man," he bit out, almost doubling over as he fought for control. "Not... a raging... beast."

Her scent followed him as he escaped his chamber.

Jayr bolted the door and leaned back against it, her heart leaping beneath her breast. Her face burned hot and cold; invisible sand filled her mouth. Her chest wanted to collapse in on itself.

"Nothing is amiss," she said, unaware that she was speaking out loud as she pushed herself away from the door and went to retrieve her outfit for the ball. "It is the injection. The doctor said it might make me feel such things."

Only not so soon, or so she had assumed.

Jayr tore out of her damp tunic and trousers and went to her basin, filling it with warm water and sluicing off the sweat and the smell of heather from her skin. The water felt acutely wet and slick against her flesh; the towel she dried herself with created an almost pleasant abrasion. Between her legs a sluggish, glowing warmth intensified, but when she pressed the washcloth against it, an unseen lance of emptiness impaled her from her crotch to her throat.

Go back to him, the void whispered, snaking back and forth inside her. Let him put his hands on you. His mouth. His tongue.

"Sweet Christ." She nearly jumped out of her skin and flung the cloth away. "What has she done to me?"

Jayr yanked on the new garments, ignoring the sensual way the velvet slid over her limbs and taking pains to avoid touching the place between her legs. As soon as the ball was over she would see Alexandra Keller and have her stop the treatment. The formula given to Jema Shaw would serve as a counter-agent.

It had to. She could not be like this. Not around him.By the time Jayr felt composed enough to return to Byrne's chamber, the sensations had for the most part subsided. She would be herself again, and he would be none the wiser. She felt the ache in her chest return when she saw his door left open and his rooms empty. From the scent of heather still lingering on the air, she knew he had left only a few minutes ago.

She had disgusted him. That was why he had not waited for her return.

A hand fell on her shoulder. "You look like a sprite of autumn."

Jayr spun around, her hand on her rondele, to stare into the astonished amethyst eyes of Robin of Locksley. "My lord."

"Jayr." His gaze fell to her hand. "Should I rethink my compliment?"

"Yes, No. I thank you." She jerked her hand from the hilt of her blade. "I beg your pardon, but you startled me." She looked down both sides of the hall, but didn't see her master. "Will you accompany me to the ball?"

"It would be my honor." Locksley took her arm and linked it with his. "I know you will not dance, so I am depending on you to applaud my efforts with the ladies."

"My clapping shall be the loudest." A trace of bergamot cleared her head. "Have you seen my lord?"

"I have not." He peered down at her. "Is this paint I see on your face?"

"No."