"My project." He sipped from his gla.s.s and extended it to Becca, who leaned forward to drink, though she did not wish to do so.

He took the gla.s.s away, placed it on the table and looked at it for a moment before raising his eyes again to his friend.

"My project seems to be delightfully simple, with a low probability of discovery. I would be interested in hearing in what way you find it to be . . . may we agree on 'unsuitable'?"

Sa.n.a.lda appeared to be giving her entire attention to the cheese plate. She made a leisurely selection before she answered.

"Simple," she said eventually, "I allow. However, I am inclined to view the risk with nothing short of alarm, and wonder how you can commit yourself to such a scheme. When last we spoke, you had been a man of reason."

"And my reason tells me that this plan, now underway, possesses the twin virtues of simplicity and surprise. It will succeed because it is not possible to harvest kest one bright pebble at a time, adding each to the same pile."

"Oh, nonsense, of course it is possible to annex kest! It's done all the time. The bedraggled Wood Wise you keep caged in your stables demonstrates my case. Where is he, by the way? The Gossamers were most unsettling to my poor horse. Did the trees come for him at last?"

"In a manner of speaking. But you have imperfectly understood what I am about, Sa.n.a.lda! What I propose-what I have done!-is no brutish act of dominion." He raised an elegant white hand, as if he placated her. "The stronger dominates the weaker-that is natural law. And as so many natural laws, it lacks finesse." He leaned forward, speaking intently.

"What I will do, with the willing a.s.sistance of my pretty child, here, is to detach the merest morsel of kest-a single, golden nugget caught in the net of her aura, then transferred-"

"Forgive my interruption of these poetical flights," the lady said dryly. "Her willing a.s.sistance?"

Altimere raised elegant eyebrows. "Indeed. Would you like a demonstration of her willingness?"

Sa.n.a.lda settled back upon her cushions, wine gla.s.s in hand. "I would like such a demonstration," she said. "Yes."

She raised her gla.s.s, and Becca rose, also, uncoiling from her cushion. Facing the reclining lady, she placed her right hand over her heart and bowed deeply from the waist, then turned and glided in a manner entirely unlike her usual form of locomotion to the center of the floor. There, she bowed again to the lady and straightened into an att.i.tude of attention, her right hand clasping her left.

The harp, which had been providing its usual pleasant background music, went silent.

In the absence of sound, and staring directly into Sa.n.a.lda's ice-colored eyes, Becca began to dance.

She moved gently at first, merely swaying, shaking her head so that her hair rippled and shimmered in the light from the fog bowls. As she swayed, her right hand rose, pinched each of her nipples in turn, and glided in a long, sensuous stroke down her crippled arm to her shoulder, then back, her palm skimming the silky-smooth diamonds of the collar, and descending to her right breast, which she fondled for a time, her hips lazily thrusting, while her left arm . . . her left arm began to rise away from her side. Pain flashed along the ruined muscles, while she pinched her nipple hard, harder, her hips moved more urgently now, and her left arm was at right angles to the floor, fully extended, pain and pleasure woven together, indistinguishable each from the other, and suddenly her ruined arm thrust straight up, fingers pointing at the ceiling. She screamed, falling to the warm wood and rubbing herself against the floorboards until she released, screamed again . . .

. . . and lay there, her face against the wood, strands of hair stuck to her sweaty cheek, and wished to die, then and there.

Even as the thought formed, she began to move again, worming her way across the floor on her belly, until she reached the cushion where Altimere's friend reclined, coolly sipping her wine.

Becca nuzzled the inside of the lady's knee, feeling the liquid gold stir.

"Enough," Sa.n.a.lda stated, and Becca was withdrawn to rise and sit back on her heels, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s thrust wantonly forward against the transparent fabric.

Sa.n.a.lda turned her head to address Altimere.

"You had said, I believe, her willing a.s.sistance."

"I did."

The lady shook her head. "You have fashioned yourself a slave. I confess to . . . disappointment. One has come to expect a certain . . . elegance and flair from you, even at your most . . . unsuitable. This-" She flicked a negligent hand in Becca's direction. "-is only sordid."

"You fascinate me," Altimere said lazily. "Tell me what you see."

"I see a changeling, unschooled in the use of kest, and with an aura bright enough to burn, wearing an artifact with what would appear to be her signature upon it-which I allow to be clever. For the rest of it-" She shrugged. "The artifact compels the girl, and she dances as you will it." A sigh and a flicker of white fingers. "So tedious, Altimere."

"You miss two points of interest," he murmured. "Shall I elucidate?"

The lady inclined her head. "Please do."

"The first point is that this girl-this so rare and beautiful girl-has given her kest and her life into my keeping, willingly and without coercion."

Sa.n.a.lda's eyebrows twitched, and she turned her head to study Becca from cold eyes for a long moment before she turned again to Altimere.

"And the second point of interest?"

"She has by her own choice retained her name."

The lady was so still upon her cushions that she scarcely seemed to breathe, and Becca feared-but then she leaned forward and placed her gla.s.s on the table.

"She retains all memory of what transpires?"

"That is correct."

"Do you mean to leave her here when the Constant is recalled to Xandurana?"

"What would be the purpose of that? I intend to introduce Rebecca Beauvelley to everyone, and she will know no lack of company."

"And what will you do, should one of her future legions of lovers compel her to answer questions?"

"She cannot be compelled by another; the collar guarantees it."

"And if the collar is removed?"

"It can be removed only by she who accepted it."

Sa.n.a.lda nodded. "And if she who accepted it wishes to remove it?"

"Wishes," Altimere murmured, "are not horses."

"I see." She turned again, and Becca lifted her chin to meet those cool eyes.

"I believe you delude yourself, Altimere," she said at last. "This plan is neither simple nor is it likely to succeed. I advise you to give over."

Altimere stirred, and Becca wondered if he were angry, or hurt, but his voice was mild when he spoke. "Do you not wish to see Diathen the Bookkeeper Queen deposed? You had used to want it beyond anything."

The lady shook her head without looking at him. "Indeed, I wish the upstart deposed, the Elder Houses restored to their previous position, the keleigh dissolved, and the war that has brought us to this pa.s.s unfought." She did look at him then, long and serious.

"However, as we have just agreed: Wishes are not horses."

Altimere said nothing.

Sa.n.a.lda sighed. "I believe there is a flaw in your work, my friend. May I demonstrate it to you?"

"Of course."

She nodded and looked into Becca's face. "Remove your compulsion, old friend. If you please."

Shame suddenly burned Becca; she dropped her eyes, unable to meet that chilly gaze, and flinched at the sight of her naked thigh, seen through fabric no thicker than a spider's web.

"Look at me," Sa.n.a.lda said.

This was not a lady who tolerated disobedience, Becca thought, and forced herself to raise her head once more.

Sa.n.a.lda nodded. "What is your name and condition?"

"Rebecca Beauvelley, eldest daughter of the Earl of Barimuir, of the Midlands, beyond the keleigh."

"Attend me carefully, Rebecca-did you give your kest and your life into Altimere's keeping?"

Becca nodded. "Yes," she whispered.

"Ah. Why did you do such a mad, desperate thing?"

"He-he showed me two futures, and I-I asked him to save me from the, the one where my husband abused me and I was dying of the cold. He asked if I put my power in his hands and I said I gave him my life and my future, because, after all," Becca finished plaintively, "all I had was my life and my future; it was ridiculous to speak of my possessing the least bit of power!"

"There is power and power," Sa.n.a.lda commented, and leaned forward slightly. "Nor can a future be given away." She tipped her head, consideringly. "Why did you keep your name? You had offered Altimere everything else. If he held your name, you would at least be free of these things you do as an agent of his will."

"I-" Becca swallowed, trying to remember. "My name is my own possession. Who will fight for it more strongly-I, who have born it my entire life; or Altimere, who has a name of his own which must be protected before mine."

"So," the lady murmured. "Pride."

"Of a sort," Becca agreed, looking down and plucking at the thin cloth. "It seemed necessary at the time."

"I am certain that it did, though it cannot add to your comfort at present. Look at me."

Becca raised her head.

"Now, Rebecca Beauvelley. Do you wish to remove this artifact which makes you only an extension of Altimere's madness?"

The garden, her decision to remove the collar, the sharpness of the stones-had it only been today?

"Yes," she said, not allowing her gaze to wander to Altimere's face. "I want to remove it."

"Then do so," Sa.n.a.lda said. "I give you the opportunity."

Becca smiled, her right hand rose, s.n.a.t.c.hed the knife from the cheese plate- And plunged it into Sa.n.a.lda's throat.

They reached the summit of the spystone by late afternoon, and stood for a moment, shivering in the cool breeze. The zig-zag path up the side of the stone had not improved over time. In fact, it was worrisomely overgrown, as if the Sea Wise had given over minding the stone, and the signal fire he had expected to find stacked and ready to light at need was merely a few sticks pushed into a pile, and a firestarter tucked inside a waterproof bag. There was no sign that the place had been visited by a fire guard in some time.

"Well," he murmured, more to himself than to his companion, who was not listening to him anyway, but looking out over the domain of the trees.

This might not have been, he said to himself, as he slipped his pack off and had a drink from his water bottle, one of your better ideas, Meripen.

Still, there was no harm in trying.

"Which direction?" he asked Sam Moore.

The man came to his side, aura blaring and blowing in the breeze. Meri forced himself to stand firm, and not retreat.

The Newman pointed-north and east, where the trees were tall and old.

Meri sighed, nodded, and braced his legs. He moved his patch from his right eye to his left and looked out to the northeast.

An elverhawk toyed with the wind, caught an updraft and was lost as Meri adjusted his sight past the trees, down-down to the ground, where he saw a fallfox trotting along a path, and two Brethren tucked companionably together beneath an overhanging weepertree, beyond-and there was a house.

Or what had been a house. A branch had fallen from the enormous elder under whose friendly canopy the Newmen had constructed their home. There were people about this late in the day, and Meri counted them out, for Sam Moore's sake.

"I see a down branch which has damaged a house," he said. "Two tow-headed boys are playing a game with a stick and a ball. A red-haired woman has a basketful of eggs on her arm. There are sawhorses set up near the damaged house, but I see no workmen."

He winced at the sudden stab of pain through his head, and recalled that using the longeye for extended periods was likely of producing a headache.

He reached up and moved the patch, cutting off the woman, the boys, the house under repair, and finding a carpet of treetops at his feet, and Sam Moore staring at him.

"That," said Altimere sadly, "was unfortunate."

Becca stared at him, screams locked in her throat, her fingers tight 'round the sticky hilt.

"Doubly unfortunate," Altimere corrected himself, and leaned across the table, fingertips brushing Becca's forehead.

"Poor child, you know I would never use you so, unless the need was dire."

Warmth coursed through her, dissolving the screams, relaxing her throat and her muscles. Her fingers fell from the knife to her thigh, leaving wet red smears across the transparent fabric.

"Why?" she whispered, looking into his eyes, that were so wise and so kind . . .

"Why?" he repeated, one eyebrow up.

"Why-did I kill her? Was it like Elyd?"

Altimere shook his head. "Elyd died because he was too weak. Sa.n.a.lda had to die because-she was too strong. She would have exposed us, and we cannot allow that." He rose, and stood looking down at what was left of the other Fey, sprawled gracelessly against cushions bloated with her blood.

"My best and oldest friend," he murmured. "Who taught me everything. She would have done the same, were our roles reversed. Well." He sighed and Becca saw a tear slide down his alabaster cheek.

Of a sudden she stood, turned sharply, lifted a foot- She fought it, hysteria bubbling in her stomach. "No!" she cried. "Altimere, for the love of life!"

"Rebecca, do not try me." His voice was stern, but still she fought-and fighting, watched her foot sink slowly toward the floor.

"Take it!" she shouted, her chest so tight she thought her heart might burst. "I give it to you!"

Her foot completed its descent, but she did not take another step.

"Take what, child?" Altimere came to stand before her, his face sad and stern.