"They are gone," he said, and Becca felt suddenly lightheaded; her thoughts melted, running like honey, and the day took fire around her, abruptly and painfully beautiful. She looked down, becoming instantly lost in rapt contemplation of the texture of Rosamunde's mane as it fell across her neck . . .

"Now then," Altimere said.

Becca looked up, smiling at him. "You, sir, are unhandsome! Is there no single thing in Selkethe which is admirable? Almost, I begin to believe you find all of us here on the far side of the Boundary despicable."

"No, no," said Altimere soothingly, setting his mount into motion. "You wrong me, Miss Beauvelley. I do not find all of you here on the far side of the Boundary despicable. Not at all. And as for Selkethe-there is a very pleasant little bridge over a quick-flowing stream at the edge of the village. You and I will walk there, if you like, and you will give me your opinion."

"Done!" she said happily. "Now, sir . . ."

"What, is there more?" He glanced back at her, eyebrows elevated. "How much do you wish to know of me?"

"Everything," she told him, surprised by the fierceness of her voice.

"You do me too much honor," he murmured. "But I think, instead of another game, we should let the horses run." He leaned forward slightly, and the big stallion took his leave immediately.

"Catch them, beautiful lady!" Becca cried, and gave Rosamunde her head.

Of course they did catch Altimere and his mount eventually-at Bordertown Inn. He had already dismounted by the time Rosamunde and Becca galloped into the yard. A boy ran out to grab Rosamunde's bridle, and Altimere stepped in front of the stable boy, holding his arms up with a smile. Becca slid out of the saddle, trusting him to catch her, as if they had done the same numerous times. It warmed her, this trust that had risen so quickly between them.

Altimere treasures me, she thought as they strolled arm-in-arm into the inn. d.i.c.kon would be so pleased.

And wasn't it odd, d.i.c.kon pa.s.sing them on the road like that? She should have called out sooner, to let him know she was well and with someone who treasured her, just as he had wanted her to- "A private parlor." Altimere's voice broke her thoughts into an hundred bright pieces. "A cold nuncheon, wine and tea."

Selkethe was larger than she had expected, its high street lined on both sides with shops, and thin off-shoot alleys fragrant with the aromas of baking breads and savory cooking. From the sheer number of bistros and restaurants, it would appear that none of the population of Selkethe ever cooked for themselves, or needed to.

At the end of the high street was the market square, empty this late in the day, except for a few townsfolk cl.u.s.tered 'round a booth beneath a flowing orange canopy.

"Ah," Altimere said, and patted Becca's hand where it rested on his arm. "Shall you like to meet another Fey, Miss Beauvelley? To see, perhaps, if you have made a bad bargain?"

"I'd certainly like to meet another Fey," Rebecca responded. "Is he a friend of yours?"

"A friend?" Altimere appeared to taste the word. "No, I do not think a . . . friend. Say rather, an old acquaintance."

"Surely, then, a friend?" Becca said, as they walked toward the tent.

"What makes you insist upon that, I wonder?"

"Well, one would hardly continue an a.s.sociation that was repugnant to one long enough to have achieved an old acquaintance?"

They strolled on, close enough now for Becca to see that the goods offered in sale were fabrics.

"How charmingly nave," Altimere said. "Be a good child, now, and mind your manners."

They paused at the edge of the booth, waiting politely while a portly lady with the red scarf over her hair finished d.i.c.kering for a shimmering length of fabric so green it looked as if it had been loomed from new gra.s.s.

Content to stand there with her hand on Altimere's arm, feeling warm and pleasantly languorous, Becca watched the Fey trader. He was every bit as tall as Altimere, and slightly slimmer, with the same strong nose and thin features. His hair was a riot of pale copper ringlets, and his gestures, as he displayed the bolt to the lady in the red kerchief were made with a familiar casual elegance. He might, Becca thought, be Altimere's younger brother, dressed in gypsy colors and flowing sleeves for market-day.

"Done!" The trader sang out strongly. The lady reached into her pocket and pulled out three coins, which she placed on the plank before reaching for her bolt. The trader, for his part, extended his hand to the coins-and s.n.a.t.c.hed it back.

"Madam," he said reproachfully to the lady. She colored, hurriedly s.n.a.t.c.hed up the center coin and produced another to take its place.

"Excellent!" the Fey trader said, giving her a broad and not quite completely sincere smile.

"This cloth will keep its virtue even if made up into clothing," she said, sounding anxious now.

"Indeed," the Fey a.s.sured her, and she gathered the bolt close to her bosom and moved off.

"If she cuts it, the virtue will be lost," Altimere said, so softly that Becca scarcely heard him.

The trader Fey's ears were sharp, however. He turned and gave Altimere a brilliant smile only slightly less false than that which he had bestowed upon his late customer.

"She said nothing of cutting it," he pointed out, and inclined his head. "Altimere."

"Jandain," he replied, and brought Becca forward.

Jandain's eyebrows lifted. "But what delight is shown me here?"

"This is Rebecca Beauvelley," Altimere murmured. "My ally."

"Ah, is it so?" Jandain stepped forward and extended his hand. Becca felt pressure, like the sudden onset of a headache. Her hand twitched where it lay on Altimere's sleeve, and relaxed.

Gravely, keeping her eyes modestly lowered, she curtsied.

"Jandain, I am pleased to meet you," she murmured.

"And I am very pleased to meet you, Rebecca Beauvelley," he a.s.serted, smiling into her face as she rose. His eyes still on her face, he said, "Altimere, she is exquisite. Allow me to make her a gift."

"Thank you, no," Altimere said, and Becca felt the pressure behind her eyes fade away into the familiar, pleasant warmth. "We cross the keleigh tomorrow, and then ride for Artifex."

"You are taking her with into the Vaitura? Is that wise?"

Becca felt a flicker of irritation, immediately extinguished by Altimere's mellow reply. "Why should I not bring my ally to the Vaitura? She is a woman of power and altogether admirable."

"Indeed," said Jandain. "Altogether admirable. And likely to quickly obtain admirers. Of which you may count me, Miss Beauvelley," he said, bringing his attention back to her so suddenly that she felt the tiniest bit of headache return-"your first, and most ardent."

Becca shook her head, giving him a smile. "Your admiration is a gift, sir, but Altimere is first in my regard."

"And are you first in his?" He held up a slim hand before she could answer. "Nay, heed me not! I will happily be your second admirer, cruel beauty! I trow you will find me ardent, indeed."

What, Rebecca thought suddenly, was she doing, flirting in the marketplace like a-a-Her cheeks heated, and she dropped her gaze, staring at rough table with its burden of fragile clothes.

"Wholly delightful," breathed Jandain. "Altimere, where discovered you this pearl?"

"A pearl beyond price," Altimere murmured, "and rare, as well. Jandain, you must come to call on . . . us . . . when your business here is done."

There was a short, charged pause, during which Becca dared to raise her eyes, accidentally crossing Jandain's golden gaze.

"Yes," he murmured, then more strongly, "yes, Altimere, be a.s.sured that I will visit you both ere long." He leaned forward slightly, and Becca felt that unwelcome pressure again above her eyes. "Remember me, cruel beauty."

"Of course I will, sir," she responded, most properly, and with relief allowed Altimere to guide her away from the booth and back toward the high street.

"Will he come to visit . . . you?" Becca asked some while later, as they paused in the center of the bridge to observe the rush of the stream beneath their feet. "Jandain."

"Surely, he will come to visit you," Altimere said in a light, teasing tone. "You have made a conquest, Miss Beauvelley."

"But, he must be disappointed," she said rubbing her arm absently. "For it is you-"

"It is I to whom you have entrusted your power," he finished for her. "But, you see, Jandain is of . . . a new house. He is fond of sensation and he has never aligned his power with another's."

Becca thought, watching the stream swirl white among the rounded stones. "Then he must be very powerful, mustn't he?"

"How quickly the child learns," Altimere said fondly. "Yes, my sweet, he is very powerful, indeed."

"And do you wish to . . . join power-to align yourself-with him."

Altimere laughed. "Droll child! I do not."

"Why not, sir?"

He glanced at her, his amus.e.m.e.nt filling her with a giddy sense of wellbeing.

"Well you should ask," he said, after a moment, and more soberly. "I am of an old house. One of ours was present when the keleigh was made-indeed, was instrumental in its construction. Jandain's house was a mere cadet branch, which would never have risen to the first rank-had the war not cost us so much."

"Keleigh," Rebecca repeated. Altimere took her by the arm and turned her about.

"Look."

To the north, just behind the gables of the town's outlying houses, was a shimmering curtain of lights-purples, greens, and oranges dancing against the dusky sky. Becca shivered, as if in a cold wind.

"That is-the Boundary, is it not?"

"The keleigh," Altimere corrected.

"But, the Boundary-your pardon! the keleigh-has been in place for an hundred years or more!"

"More," he said. "Considerably more."

His voice woke another shiver.

"Come, what am I thinking!" he said abruptly, and drew her hand through his arm. "You are chilled and wanting your supper. Let us walk back. There is a restaurant on Savory Lane which I think you may find acceptable . . ."

Chapter Sixteen.

They had traveled the last two days under leaf, and Meri was the better for it. Though they were not Vanglewood, the trees had been generous to him: the pack he bore grew lighter with every step, the steps themselves firmer and less likely to wander, his woodsense sharpened-it even seemed to him that he felt a bare flutter of kest, far down at the base of his spine, like sap, waiting to rise.

It worried him not a little that he was to meet an Engenium in this powerless state. He had no illusions regarding his ability to resist such a one-Root and branch! A babe in arms could overcome his will! Sian-even the giddy, haphazard Sian he recalled from . . . before-would have no problem binding him.

Why she should want to do so-that remained a puzzle. The ocean had taught the Sea Wise to be cautious with their powers and n.i.g.g.ardly in their use, a lesson the High Fey might profit from, as well. And though she had been fostered among the Sea Wise, as he had, himself, Sian was tied by blood to the Queen herself, in Xandurana.

She had demanded that he be waked and sent to her, ensuring that her order would be followed by sending the charm that, depleted as he was, he could feel vibrating from the depths of Ganat's pocket.

That these acts boded well for him, he very much doubted. The girl he had known would have been . . . incapable of forcing him to her will, even had she the means to do so.

The woman who had sent that . . . thing . . . to ensure his obedience . . .

"Let us stop here for a meal and a rest," Ganat said from behind him. "We'll raise Sea Hold by sunset."

Sunset?

Meri turned on a heel and considered his escort. "Shall we fly, then?"

"Near enough," Ganat said, shrugging off his pack and dropping it at the foot of a gnarled elitch.

They had traveled together long enough for Meri to know that Ganat treasured a mystery almost as much as he did a joke. Indeed, the two seemed interchangeable in his happy mind. He also knew that silence would elicit the same response as the direct question that Ganat craved.

On the other hand, he thought, shrugging off his pack, what else did they have to talk about?

He sat down on the moss and leaned his back against another elitch, feeling the tree take quiet note of him.

Is it you, Ranger? The voice in his head was slow and warm.

Now, that was a question, wasn't it? Meri thought privately. And trust an elitch to ask it.

I was once a ranger, Elder, he told the tree, striving for exactness. How may I serve you?

There was no immediate response, nor had he expected one; trees were unhurried beings. Meri reached into his pack for trailbread. A faint creak of leather warned him and he raised his off-hand casually to catch the culdoon Ganat had thrown.

"You are much improved," his companion observed, unwrapping his own rations with a sigh. "It will be a pleasure to stop at Sea Hold and taste something other than waybread."

Meripen sent him a sharp glance, but it appeared that this was a rare moment of seriousness. "I never thought to hear one of the Wood Wise speak ill of trailbread."

"You forget that I have been tainted by my time in training," Ganat said, in a return to lightness.

"True, I had forgot that," Meri said, biting into the fruit.

I think the proper question might be, the tree's voice rustled inside his head, how I may serve you?

Meri choked slightly and swallowed, tart juices starting tears to his eyes.

I can think of no service necessary, he answered, which was true; those things that ailed him were far beyond a tree's power to heal. I thank you for your care, he told the elitch politely. Vanglewood was home to many elitch, and they had drilled him well in courtesy.