Shkai'ra laughed. "No, heart's delight, only if I'd wanted to be in their bedchamber anyway." Another laugh. "Say I was fascinated with the thought of nicking with somebody whose head only came up to my breasts." A final stroke along the length from the nape of the neck to thighs. "It's all worked in; let's dress and go eat."

"Mmmmmph," she replied.

"You sleepy?"

"No, just feeling good. And very, very hungry, all of a sudden. My appetite hasn't been of the best... what luck! I feel hungry too late for the last serving. Oh, well, they might have some stew on the hob."

"That they might." A pause, and the rustle of coarse paper wrappings. "You remember Milampo?"

"The merchant in Fehinna? The fat one with the terrible taste in everything? Of course. We made as much out of stripping his sanctum as the Sleeping Dragon did in any two years, before Habiku drugged me." She sighed. "It's three types of miracle that we managed to get the jewels back over the Lannic. I do regret we lost most of the bulkier things."

"Like those silk tunics?""Fishguts, yes. Not that I care much about clothes, I leave that to peacocks like Shyll, but it was a good day.

Feeling safe after the fighting, and calling in the clothiers; Ten-Knife, playing with the silver and jewelled message-ball..."

Shkai'ra sighed, looked at the package in her hands, missing the old tomcat. Megan looked up from the bench. The Kommanza shook her head, raised her hands. She was standing in front of Megan, smiling a little sadly, and holding up a tunic. Knee length for the Zak, with a squared neck and short sleeves; everyday wear on the western shore of the Lannic ocean, in the south coast cities of Almerkun. Of heavy, dense-woven silk dyed creamy, bleached wheat yellow, bordered with figures of dolphins and seaweed picked out in lapis. The Zak sat, parted the damp mass of her hair, flung it back to trail behind her to the floor behind the bench. She studied the cloth more closely; it was not identical. Could not be, those chests had been lost when storm threw their ship on a reef in the Fire Isles. Yes, the color was a little darker, and the designs had been done by a hand that had never been born under the eye of Fehinna's God-King.

"Oh," she breathed softly, looking up. "Thank you."

"Wear it," Shkai'ra replied. Megan stood and tied on a fresh loincloth, then raised her arms for her companion. The fabric slid down over skin still sensitive from the bath, the touch of the silk like the caress of thousandfold fingers.

"Ah," she said, then, startled: "Shkai'ra! Why now, to show the firewatch while we beg a bowl of leftover stew?"

Shkai'ra grinned, and dropped another tunic over her own head: dark blue, with bullion medallions along the hem. "This one I missed; ruined it getting down to the docks to catch the ship you were leaving on, that day in Illizbuah. As for the firewatch," she winked,"maybe we can do something about that. Here, comb your hair straight; don't bother to braid it back up-"

"Shkai'ra, what-" The Kommanza laid a finger across her lips.

"Shusss." Megan looked at her, puzzled, shrugged and carefully tugged the comb through her hair. "Done?

Good. After you, Teik ClawPrince." Shkai'ra held the door open with a sweep of her hand. Megan gave her a strange look but went through.

The hall beyond was dark, but the door into the hall was open a crack, light streaming through it. She pushed it open, to a roar and a blast of warmth, cedar-resin smells from the braziers that glowed along the wall, spiced food.

Cries of, "Welcome home! To revenge! To the Cage!

To Life!" crashed around her ears. Rows of trestle tables covered with steaming dishes of spiced rice and bowls of borscht with sour cream and platters of fingerling gar, stuffed and roasted, dishes of sturgeon caviar stretched down the hall. Almost everyone brandished a glass or a stein, wineskins or bottles of wadiki. Inu was barking like a peal of distant thunder, Shyll standing beside him, one hand on his ruff, a slightly shaky smile on his face. Why is Rilla on the other side of the room from him? Megan had time to wonder before she was swept into the crowd, a glass thrust into her hand and splashingly filled.

"Hey! Hey! Careful of the tunic!" she cried, holding the glass out at arm's length, sudden tears blurring her vision. Of all the dumb things to do, she thought. Cry.

Someone thrust a linen kerchief into her other hand.

"Don't worry, somebody stay sober and guard the place," Shkai'ra whispered and steered her to the head table.

Shouts of, "Dry Cup! Dry Cup!" greeted them. Megan turned, raised the tumbler of... what? she wondered, asshe stepped up on a chair and raised it. A chai cup, but her eyes watered as she brought it to her lips.

It turned out to be wadiki, flavored with aniseed; a F'talezonian brand, distilled from amaranth. Fiery, cool, a little tart, the effect waiting as she leaned back with her Adam's apple working, until the last drop trickled past her teeth. Then it struck, on an empty stomach; she reeled in the seat, until Shkai'ra threw an arm around her to steady her. There was another roar; she looked down the long room, laughing faces, eyes full of... Myths, she thought. I took a ship from a fat pervert and kept it, though I was a child. I built a middling successful trading House, quickly because I knew the river and wasn't afraid to try something new.

I was a good master, because I remembered what it was like to be on the bottom, with no rights and nothing to bargain with. Fought when I had to, won by wits and good luck and because I had good people with me. A stubborn honesty interrupted. Oh, well, breaking the Siege of Aenir'sford was a little spectacular, maybe.

But the Thanes were badly commanded. And then I went away, and Rilla and Shyll kept the myth alive by fighting a man everyone loved to hate, and winning.

Then I came back, did a few flashy touches... Yet the naked admiration did not bother her this time, as it had when she saw it previously. Dark Lord take it, tonight's a night to be easy with myself.

She leaned into Shkai'ra's steadying arm.

Good-natured laughter pealed out, and a cry arose: "Give her a kiss! Give her a lass!" Others took it up, until the room was chanting it; someone else thrust a stone flask forward to refill her cup, and even then her merchant's mind noted the broken wax seal: Dragon'sNest Cavern, Year of the Lead Phoenix. She coughed, spluttered.

"Give her a kiss!" vied with, "Dry cup! Dry cup!" She emptied the cup, and the hall swam again. She lookeddown at Shkai'ra and took her head between her hands-then leaped down from the chair and wrapped her legs about the Kommanza's hips, her arms around her neck in a long, flamboyantly passionate kiss.

Shkai'ra set her down, and she staggered a little before steadying. Everything was magnificently clear; all the faces about her were suddenly transparent. She knew them, knew herself, knew the secrets of the earth.

I am not afraid. Now, nothing can make me afraid.

As Shyll steadied her she turned into his arm, snaked a hand behind his head and kissed him. He went rigid with shock and she froze. No. I can't. His hand came up to touch her cheek and she pushed the cup into it instead, pulling away. But part of me liked that very much. She started the chant, "Dry cup!"

The cry was taken up and Megan sank into her chair, looking away from him; they were not sitting on cushions tonight, in deference to the naZak majority and the cold flagstones, she supposed. Shkai'ra settled at her left and Rilla at the right; after a moment's hesitation Shyll took the stool beyond Rilla's. Megan grabbed at a roll, dipped it into a bowl of salt caviar and began eating with a hand cupped under her chin to catch the drips.

"Got to sop up some of this wadiki," she muttered.

The salted eggs tasted rich and spicy; her parents had served them on feast days, before her father lost his arm: they were the classic middleclass delicacy. "Dark Lord, you'd suppose I was leading them to conquer F'talezon an' put Ranion's head on a pole. With Avritha's beside him. Which might not be such a bad idea..." The realization that she had spoken aloud made her clap a hand over her mouth; Rilla laughed.

"It is a good idea, even if it's impractical, coz." Rilla shook her head. "Not even a DragonLord as bad as Ranion is going to go against the inheritance kin-laws, not without some shadow of right; Avritha can onlyhelp Habiku hold on to the Sleeping Dragon as long as you're presumed dead. She can make the law look the other way while he tries to see that you are dead, before you can make claim before a magistrate, but these blades-" she nodded to the crowd of their followers "-will see to that."

"Urghf," Megan said: Shkai'ra had just picked up a mussel in its shell, dropped a dollop of spiced vinegar on it, and poured it into her mouth.

"No business tonight," Shkai'ra said. "Tonight, we drink!" The hot food was coming around, the fancy dishes Piatr had labored to create in close conspiracy with a dozen others. Pit-roasted pigs stuffed with nuts and bread and onions, half a dozen kinds of fish, hot breads, what winter vegetables were available. Not as refined as a noble's table, but this was their own effort.

Megan had forbidden servants inside the encampment until Habiku was dead; they took turns serving each other, with only the officer's table exempt as a mark of respect freely given.

Megan picked up a piece of grilled pork, dipped it in chive-rich yoghurt and pushed it into Shkai'ra's mouth, repeated the process with Rilla and Shyll. "And eat,"

she said.

THE WAREHOUSE.

LATE THAT NIGHT.

Lanterns and braziers had guttered low. The feast was thinning; it was quiet enough for the amateur bards to make themselves heard. Some had been surprisingly good; Inu had an unfailing ear for the off key, of which he thoroughly approved. Megan felt herself giggle at at how hurt he looked when the artists he decided to accompany were shouted down in a hail of breadcrusts. Thank you, Inu, she thought. A basket of beef bones for stopping that accursed 'Long she brooded on her wrong/In those black eyes Death's ownsong.'

The chair had been upended, and Shkai'ra was using the back as a sloping rest; Megan reclined against her, head curled in the hollow of her neck. She refused the pipe with a smile.

"More, and I'd go to sleep. Not ready for that quite yet." To our dead, farewell, in whatever world waits.

The revenge is for you, but that's tomorrow's thought.

Mateus. Vodolac. Mara. Nikola. Renar. Francosz.

Goodbye. Koru, tomorrow I'll pray for Yvar who is in doubt. Ten-Knife. Peace. The overstrain was fading like the herb smoke out the windows. She had reached that rarest and most pleasant stage of intoxication; floating without being detached from sensation, languid without the over-the-edge plunge into unconsciousness. Movement was still possible, as long as it did not involve balance... Shkai'ra drew on the pipe; Megan looked up to see the quick glow of the ember outline the eagle profile.

"Thank you, my love," she said. "The winter river and F'talezon will be easier, with this to remember." She let her head roll back. "It's time to leave... Didn't I see Sova being carried out around an hour ago? Rilla and Shyll are gone, and Annike and..."

"If you think it's time to sleep, kh'eeredo," Shkai'ra said gently, with only a trace of slurring to her voice.

She had near twice the body mass to absorb it, after all, Megan thought. "No, lifemate mine. In a few hours.

Right now I have a very strong desire to make you very happy-" she wiggled her shoulders against her companion "-and, luckily, I know a way."

Shkai'ra chuckled and touched her on the tip of the nose. "This was supposed to be your treat, kh'eeredo.

And you usually get too sensitive to be touched after the first few.""Tonight isn't usual. Tonight I'm going to do what I want, everything I want and nobody's going to stop me, even myself." She smiled openly, a slow grin like a wicked child's. "You can carry me upstairs, for starters."

Rilla wiped Shyll's mouth after the last racking heave and wiped his face with a wet cloth before she closed the pot.

"You know better-" she started to say. He turned away from her.

"Don't nag, Captain, it doesn't become you," he said bitterly, slumping back down on his bunk. She clenched the cloth in her hand, hiccuped and threw it at him.

"See if I try to help you and your beautiful behind.

I'm ju'... jus'... almos-t's drunk as you. Fuck you." She turned her back on him and lay down. They'd thought nothing of bunking together before all of this had started happening. I'll move out of here tomorrow, Rilla thought. He hasn't said anything about what I said but if he does, I'll kick his teeth in. A few envious tears gathered in her throat but she swallowed them.

Shyll took the wet cloth off his face and stared at her.

What's wrong with her... oh. Yah. This afternoon. The whole dunged world is falling on my head. He blew out the candle, refusing to lie down, because that made the slow, portside spin of the room worse. He leaned his head back against the pillow and the wall, dozing, on the verge of fading out when he heard a giggle on the stairs outside. A muffled bump, two people laughing.

Megan and her.

They made it up the stairs, laughing helplessly. I never heard her laugh. I could never make her laugh like that.

Above their door clicked closed. A single set of footsteps wavered across the floor and a sharp creak assomething was topped on the bed. Someone yelped, giggled loudly; violent hushing followed, both of them whispering loudly to the other to be QUIET! He ground his teeth. Damn old buildings, he thought. You can hear every sound.

Above, the bed creaked again; rustle of blankets and clothing hitting the floor, whispers muffled by the feathertick and pillow. A gasp fading into a soft, passionate moan. His hand clenched tight on his mattress, pounded once. Drunken tears flowed down his face. I love her. I love her.

Damn them. He stared up at the ceiling. There was a rustle in the same room with him and Rilla sat down again on the edge of the bed, putting her hand out in the dark. "Poor Shyll," she whispered.

"No! Damn it! No! I don't need pity!" His whispered shout hurt. Shit. Did they hear that?

In the dark, Rilla touched his face. "Shyll." Her voice ounded surprisingly sober, intense as only drunken truth can be. "It isn't only pity for you. I'm tired of being second best. I like you, and I said so; so there. I won't be ashamed of that. I'm a friend. You've said that.

I'm not going to say, come to my bed because Megan can't, you'll never see me say, take me if you can't get what you want; I'll do. I'm tired of being Shadows'Shade! I've wanted you and never had the guts to say it and I'm here as a friend." Her voice slurred a bit more. " 'B'sides. You're too drunk, so why don't you take a friend's comfort?"

"You're not second best, Rilla. Rillan, I never thought..." His tongue stumbled over itself. "I've always thought you were beautiful, but I'd never treat you like that..." They gathered each other into a hug that ended with his head on her shoulder. "Rilla, I'm mixed up, confused. I don't want to hurt you or her, or me, or anyone but it just dog-sucking hurts so much!" He cried on her and they fell asleep comforting each other.Shkai'ra lay on her face and shivered slightly in the dark at the feel of the steel nails trickling down her back. It was warm under the tick, even if the room had gone unheated-chill; there was a childlike feeling of trust and helplessness in the sensation of razor-edged steel on her skin. "Ah, love, enough or I'll melt and trickle through the floorboard-"

"Oh, shit," she said in the middle of a yawn, turning and putting her face close to the other's ear.

"What, akribhan," Megan said.

"Shhh. I was too drunk to remember, we're right over Rilla n' Shyll's room."

Shkai'ra could feel the Zak woman stretch and yawn.

"Hmmm?"

Shkai'ra sighed. "Was meaning to tell you, but I wanted to wait until later. Guess now is best; drunken counsel at night, sober counsel in the morning. We have a problem with your friend Shyll. "

Megan exhaled wordlessly and curled close. "I... I think I know what you mean."

"Mm-hmm. Sparred with him this morning, and it nearly turned into a grudge fight. He's good, that one; very good indeed. We went twenty minutes-"

"How many breaks?"

"Not a one; haven't been so winded ever, outside real combat. Toward the end something happened in him; he went off like a furnace stoked with turpentine and pumped with a bellows. Kh'eeredo, if it'd been real, he might have killed me. Might; but then I'd have been in combat mode too.

"Kh'eeredo-mi. He loves you and has for a long time.""Shyll? N-" She interrupted herself, thinking of the look on his face in the dance ring when he had his arms around her, the look on his face when she kissed him.

All the bits and pieces she'd ignored in the years before she'd been drugged suddenly came back. "Koru," she breathed. "Fish-gutted fool that I am..." She looked down at Shkai'ra. "Akribhan, he'll be eating his heart out. Piss. What am I going to do? I've gotten as close as I can... tonight, and it scared the scales off me."

Shkai'ra was silent for a long moment. "Kh'eeredo, I've never known you to be ruled by a fear. First, tell me... what do you feel for him, really?"

"I... I've never thought about it. I don't know. I was scared enough of sex when you and I started... you know. You know, and you're a woman. With a man, any man-" She paused a long moment and Shkai'ra kept her silence. "In me somewhere there's a child terrified of being touched, the smell, the thought of him using me that way." Her voice thinned even more, took on a very rare note of panic. "I'm nobody's whore. I'm nobody's slut. I won't have him touch me. I won't..." Her eyes were wide as if she could see into the past, then they flicked closed and she shook herself. "He owned me for a long time, Shkai'ra. Five years. Five years.

"Shyll... I, I know he wouldn't hurt me but I'm so terrified... If he left... I trust him. But Habiku was the other one I trusted. I don't want him to leave-but I can't trust him. I don't know!"

"Shhh, shhh, it's all right, kh'eeredo, you're not that child any more. Nobody can make you do anything you don't want to do; if you don't want him, he can take it in his hand and walk to Fehinna..." Megan gave a snuffling laugh and relaxed again.

Shkai'ra's voice turned meditative. "You know, heart's delight, I've been raped too; starting as early as you, although it was less of a shock to me, of course, my people don't think of it as much more than a wound incombat. It's bad, but... well, there's no sense in letting the kinless bastard who did it rule your life from the grave." She paused. "Remember how you hated to have anything inside you, when we were together at first?

Just a second, don't be startled." Shkai'ra eased a fingertip between her legs, into her. "Now it usually doesn't bother you, unless you're startled; like being pinned. Unlearning a habit; it took work, there were times when you nearly clawed me, but it happened.

"This man Shyll; well, from what I've seen, he's wanted you since he met you. And never a word, never a touch out of line. That's a patient man, and a gentle one, too, I think. You could unlearn other habits with him, if you want that." She slid her arms about the Zak and cradled her, rocking. "T'Zoweitzum, looking back on how you talked about him, these two years, and the way your body speaks below your hearing when he's near... I think you do, at least in part; and I think you should have what you want and need. Also, he's a proud man...

and you know this people's customs; we may be talking into the blizzard, perhaps he'd never accept a place with us."

She stroked Megan's hair. "What's between us is as enduring as the steppe grass and strong as the rivers; I've no fear anything could damage it." A grin in the darkness. "And it wouldn't be any hardship at all to throw my own legs around him from time to time, either.

"Kh'eeredo, he's spent two years an outlaw for you, never knowing if he would live to see sunset... and now we've shattered his hopes. Well-a-day, the world goes as it will, not as we'd have it, but we owe him either hope or a clean end to his pain, don't you think?" A more practical note. "Seventh and last, I'm not happy at the thought of going into battle with a man suffering what he is. I don't doubt his skill or courage or loyalty; he'll fight by my side for your sake, even if he comes to hate me. But a tormented man makes mistakes;mistakes could get you killed, or me, or him. Best we think on a way to settle this, one way or another, before too many weeks are past." A squeeze. "Together, nia?"

Megan nodded against her neck. "Ia. Dah. I was going to say I'd talk to him. I will. You're right, my heart. I don't want to hurt him."

The night was a snowy glow over the city, like a healing hand.

AENIR'SFORD ISLAND.

NORTH SHORE.

ELEVENTH IRON CYCLE, TWENTY-SIXTH DAY.

Megan stood on the stub of a tower at the northern end of the main island, looking at acres of old, tumbled stone buried under mounds of snow, and the blackened timbers of what the Aenir had built on the foundations.