"Suit yourself." Gyhard stood and turned toward the door. "I'm going out to get some air." As he pa.s.sed her, he rested his hand, for a heartbeat, on her shoulder.

"He touched you! I don't like it when he touches you! I don't want him to touch you!"

"It's your body..."

"And just you remember that, sister-mine."

"A skin of watered wine, a dozen cooked sausages, a hunk of cheese, a loaf of bread, and six peaches," Gyhard murmured, pulling a peach from his pocket and rubbing at the fuzz with the ball of his thumb. "Why would Kars have taken peaches?"

Ninety years before, they'd bought a basket from a trader who'd been crossing the mountains on his way to Cemandia. The fruit had made Kars violently ill; closing up his throat, choking off his breath, causing his skin to erupt in painful blisters.

Juice dribbling down his chin, Gyhard leaned back against the well housing. He supposed the pa.s.sage of time could have changed Kars' reaction; after all, the pa.s.sage of time should have killed him and hadn't.

Or perhaps it wasn't Kars they followed at all.

Cemandian law produced a steady progression of crippled bards. Perhaps another had torn free and joined Kars in his nest on the Empire's side of the mountains long enough to learn of the fifth kigh, and it was this bard they followed now.

"No." Gyhard chewed and swallowed and tasted dust. Although his head could create reason after reason why the old man who'd raised the dead around the Capital was not the young man he'd abandoned to insanity so long ago, his heart knew otherwise.

Then why the peaches?

His teeth sc.r.a.ped against the pit and he started, pitched into memory.

"That is so incredibly sensual, the way you do that. "

"The way I do what?" Gyhard grinned and sucked the juice off the pit, holding it by his fingertips and rolling it between his lips. "This?"

"That." Kars lifted himself up on his elbows, eyes gleaming. "I love to watch you eat those. It almost makes up for not being able to eat them myself."

Perhaps Kars had taken the peaches in order to watch someone else eat them. But he journeyed with the dead. Or did he?

All at once, it seemed there was a very good chance that his Imperial Highness, Prince Otavas, was alive.

Gyhard tossed the pit into the darkness and stared up at the stars. If Vree thought that the prince was alive, then the simplicity of find the prince became lost in the resumption of strike and counterstrike. They'd have to start thinking about killing each other again.

He didn't want to think about killing her.

"And may I inquire what your business is in the Capital, Commander?"

"No." Neegan sealed his message to Marshal Chela and pinched the wick of the sealing wax between thumb and forefinger. "Your marshal can if he wants to, but all you need to know is that I am loosed at a target." He paused then added, "Commander."

The woman on the other side of the desk gave no indication that she heard any insult in her visitor's husky enunciation of her rank. She'd been raised to play the political game that guarding the Emperor required and would not be thrown out of countenance by a grimy provincial who stank of his days on the road. "You're here very early and you've obviously been riding hard; the facilities of the First Army are, of course, yours to enjoy." Her tone suggested Neegan wouldn't recognize a bath if he fell into one.

Neegan stood and pushed the folded parchment across the desk. "I want a courier sent immediately."

"No trouble at all, Commander. Will you be waiting at the garrison for a return message?"

He leaned forward slightly. "No, I won't. I told you, I am loosed at a target."

The words brushed an edge across her throat. She swallowed and forgot to breathe as she watched him leave the duty room, cross the portico, and disappear behind the bulk of a painted pillar. All at once she understood why the First Army trained no one to wear a black sunburst. The a.s.sa.s.sins were weapons to be used when a single blade could decide the course of a battle. They had no defensive use and the First Army existed for the sole purpose of defending the Imperial Family. Commander Neegan was a weapon unsheathed. She wondered what battle he was deciding and a not entirely unpleasant frisson lifted the hair on the back of her neck.

It's like having Death herself walking around the city...

He'd been to the Capital once, many years ago, but he'd forgotten how big it was, how many people crammed within the circle of its wall. A pair of a.s.sa.s.sins- two people trained to disappear-would a.s.sume they could lose themselves easily in a city this size. Neegan stood outside the palace wall and swept his gaze over the wedge of the Capital that he could see, wondering why anyone would be willing to live in such conditions. Stacked up on top of each other six deep...

Under a clean uniform tunic, the flesh between his shoulder blades twitched as the guards on duty at the First Army's gate stared curiously at his back. In a very short time, the rumor of who and what he was would reach them-rumor raced through the ranks faster by far than legitimate information. He was used to being the center of speculation, all a.s.sa.s.sins were; it worked to their advantage far more often than the opposite case. In this instance it would have no effect at all. His targets, in the short time they had remaining, would stay as far from the army as possible.

Foolishly believing themselves safe from pursuit, they had stayed at the best inns all along the South Road and would very likely continue to do so. He expected to find them by nightfall at the absolute latest. By morning, it would be over.

Although a morning's hard riding had still not brought them within a day's walk of the old man and his dead, when the heat began to rise in shimmering waves off the pale stone, even Karlene reluctantly admitted the need for both water and shade. They guided their lathered horses off the road by a marker indicating a well under Imperial protection and in a short time came upon a copse of trees gathered around a small, contained spring.

The marks of cloven hooves in the dirt indicated that cattle, not travelers, were the usual visitors, but for the moment they had the area to themselves.

"What is it?"

Vree continued untangling the lengths of coa.r.s.e thread and polished ovals of wood that she'd lifted down out of a slender beech. "A shrine to the wind." "What's it for?" Karlene knelt beside her, reaching out to lightly caress the feather carved into one of the pieces of wood.

"Luck." Vree told her shortly.

The bard looked intrigued. "You believe that acknowledging the wind will bring

you luck?"

"I don't know what other people believe, but I believe in taking luck where I find it."

"You're in a mood."

"Sod off, Bannon."

"No." She could hear the scowl in his voice and fought to keep his expression off

her face. "Why are you being such a slaughtering b.i.t.c.h? You were nice enough to her last night."

"What are you talking about?"

"The ma.s.sage in the bath. The helping hand to the pallet."

"Helping. Nothing more. I left when the healer arrived."

"You're right. Nothing more." His mental voice grew shrill. "It's never anything more, Vree, and I'm tired of it. I can't live like this!"

"Look, it's my body..."

"So you keep reminding me!"

Karlene's eyes widened as Vree's hands began to twitch and writhe in her lap like huge brown spiders. Muscles rolled and strained under the thin silk of the a.s.sa.s.sin's shirt. It didn't take bardic ability to sense the internal struggle and she wondered what, if anything she should do.

"Bannon! Stop it!"

"I don't want to live like this."

"You think I do?"

"Then get him out of my body!"

"How?" With a desperate grip on her sense of self, Vree forced Bannon back. Chest heaving, she spat out a mouthful of blood from where her teeth had been driven through the soft flesh on the inside of her lip and carefully stretched her hands out on her thighs, gripping her own muscles for stability. "What?" she demanded, suddenly aware of the bard's concerned gaze.

Karlene sat back on her heels and frowned. After a moment she said, "Is it Bannon?"

Startled, Vree looked past her at Gyhard lying under a tree barely a body length away, one arm thrown up over his eyes.

"No." The bard shook her head. "He didn't tell me, you did. In the Healers' Hall. You asked if the kigh were like Bannon, and you carry two kigh, so..." Karlene let her voice trail off. Yesterday, she'd only had enough energy for guilt and survival, but sleep and food and the village healer had rekindled curiosity. It had seemed that all through the morning a new question had risen with every fall of hoof on stone. As the oppressive heat pushed her thoughts down dark and self-condemning paths, the answers would be a welcome distraction.

Vree dropped her gaze to her lap, her fingers beginning to unravel the knots again. After a moment, she nodded.

Karlene released a breath she couldn't remember holding. "Who is he?"

"My brother."

"Were you-you and Bannon-born like this?"

Vree snorted. "No."

"Did you choose it?"

"No."

Karlene glanced over her shoulder at Gyhard. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vree stiffen. "How did it happen?"

"We fell into a trap." The generous curves of Vree's mouth flattened into a pale line. Did she want this bard to know how easily they'd fallen into Gyhard's trap? Or how Bannon's body had defeated her? Or how Bannon's body had...

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?"

Vree stared at Karlene in astonishment. For her entire adult life, no one had ever continued a conversation when she'd said it was over.

"Unless you have some sort of a death wish, I'd drop it," Gyhard contributed, sounding amused.

Karlene twisted around to face him. "A death wish?" she repeated scornfully.

"She's an a.s.sa.s.sin. As I mentioned before, they're trained to have somewhat limited responses."

Karlene blinked, suddenly remembering the feel of the blade on her throat. a.s.sa.s.sin. She kept forgetting. But neither could she believe that Vree would kill her merely for pressing a point and said so.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that." Gyhard sat up and brushed an ant off his arm. "She'll kill anyone who gets in her way."

As much as she would have preferred not to, Karlene could hear the truth in his voice and had to believe him. One hand holding a pale strand of hair off her face, she turned back to Vree. "Am I in your way?"

Vree carefully untangled another bit of the shrine. This foreign singer, this bard, already knew she was an a.s.sa.s.sin. Had to have noticed that she was no longer a part of any of the seven armies. Although she seemed to have no indication of what that meant, if Gyhard was right and bards couldn't be trusted to keep quiet, Vree would have to decide whether or not to kill her as soon as the prince was safe. She couldn't risk her even accidentally betraying them-betraying her and Bannon, or her, Gyhard, and Bannon, it didn't matter. "That," Gyhard said, rising lithely to his feet, "remains to be seen."

"I'm asking Vree."

Gyhard bowed mockingly. "Pardon me, Lady Bard."

"Am I in your way, Vree? I'd like us to be friends." Vree pulled another thread loose. "Why?" Calm bardic tones cracked slightly. "Because I could use a friend right now, and I think you could, too." Whatever Gyhard was, Karlene would bet the entire contents of the circle that he wasn't a friend.

Iron self-control kept Vree from trembling. There'd always been Bannon...

Standing over them, Gyhard braced himself against an unexpected wave of jealousy and tried not to feel the knives twisting. He was suddenly glad he hadn't mentioned that the prince could be alive, that he hadn't offered the bard reason to hope. "Very touching. It's time to go."

Vree shook her head, curls of sweat-damp hair falling over her forehead. "In a minute. I want to finish this."

"You'll never get it untangled. Give up."

"No. Once I find the one thread that releases the rest..." Vree hooked a finger through a loop, twisted, and knots seemed to slide apart of their own volition. "... everything works out." She rose to her feet and hung the small shrine back in the tree. "Just a matter of finding that one thread."

Gyhard flicked one of the wooden ovals with his fingernail and set the whole shrine spinning. "Very symbolic," he said dryly. "But do you really need the complication of a friend you may have to kill?" He flicked it again, harder this time. The oval began to spin, wrapping about the others, catching up the longer threads, and reentangling the whole.

Vree took a deep breath and came to a visible decision. Her right hand folded into a fist. Muscles moved with purpose under the silk of her shirt.

Gasping for breath, arms wrapped around his stomach, Gyhard dropped to his knees and stared up at her in pained astonishment.

"Vree! What have you done?"

"Something I should have done days ago. The sanctimonious little s.h.i.tbrain; thinks he can do and say what he wants because he's in your body. Well, he's wrong!" She stomped over to the horses, posture leaving no room for compromise.

Karlene smiled for the first time in two days and followed.

Dusk in the Capital muted both the glorious display of colors-statues, mosaics, friezes-and the grime of thousands of people living one on top of the other. Habit placed Commander Neegan in the narrow s.p.a.ce between two buildings where he scowled at the deepening shadows. He'd been to every expensive inn in the city, his black sunburst ensuring answers to any question he cared to ask; nothing. For some reason his targets had changed the pattern they'd followed for the last thirteen days.

There were a hundred, a thousand places they could be. Finding them would take a little more time than he'd antic.i.p.ated.

A rustling behind him dropped a dagger down into his hand. He whirled and threw. The pigeon managed half a wingbeat before it realized it was dead- dagger point driven into the packed earth behind it, narrow hilt pressed tightly against the soft gray feathers of its breast. There was, however, no doubt that they'd be found.

"Vree told me about the cart."