He is a mage, she thought, giddy with relief. A Venyan mage. So they do exist.

"A sheeral ring, perhaps?" he offered. "One for you and one for your..." He used a Venyan word that could mean either husband or lover. "It will burn with Leander's fire should he ever be unfaithful, recalling him his vows."

"No," she said, "Not that. I-"

"Then perhaps this knife. Have him wear it for a moon-span. When he journeys forth, it will be a comfort to you. So long as it stays bright, you can rest easily, knowing he is well. Should it rust..." He ran a finger across the shining edge. "Is it not better to know than sit and wonder?"

She shook her head. "No-though they are very fine. I am searching for your prince."

The mage carefully replaced the knife in its sheath. "My prince? Lady, I am but a simple wanderer without home or country."

"But you are Venyan."

"Ah, you seek Prince Rico? Then I fear you have gone far astray. You would do better to look in Valinor, perhaps at Larken Castle."

She shook her head. "Not him. Your true prince."

"I am sorry, but I do not know of whom you speak."

"Of course you do! Everyone knows of him! And he is here somewhere, I'm certain of it. Please, can you not take me to him?"

"I am sorry," he repeated, reaching upward. "I cannot help you."

A wooden shutter rolled down across the opening. She caught it before it latched and lifted it an inch. "He who will return upon the flood tide with all who have been lost," she said rapidly in Venyan. "His cause is just, his followers true, and you shall know them when they speak his name."

She shoved the shutter up another few inches. "Well? I spoke his name, didn't I?"

"You did."

"And I know the words. By right of custom, you must answer me!"

The shutter began to fall.

"I am Rose of Valinor."

It halted.

"And I demand-no, I entreat you to take me to your prince."

The sorcerer bent to peer through the opening, regarding her with hooded eyes. "Venya has no prince."

"Until the true prince is restored," she answered promptly. "When Leander's heir returns, the stones will sing and the land rejoice."

When he did not answer, she tried again, raising her voice a trifle. "I said, when Leander's heir-"

"I heard you. My silence was an indication of surprise, not failing hearing."

"I know a half a dozen more but I really haven't time. So if you don't mind, I'd like to see him now."

"Wait. I will see what I can find."

NOT another round of questions, Rose thought, I cannot bear it. Her last inquisitor, an elderly man with a tired face and piercing eyes, had taken far too long to accept that she would give him nothing but her name. Now she followed him into an alehouse and down a tiny passageway, halfway between fury and despair. She wanted to rage at him, to insist that she be taken to the prince, yet she knew she was utterly dependent on his good will.

"Please," she said, "I have told you all I can and time presses."

"You shall have your audience," he said. He opened a door, stepped back, and with a stiff little bow gestured for her to enter.

The squalid little chamber was stifling and the stench of it made her empty stomach twist uncomfortably. It took her a moment to realize she was not alone. A clerk sat at a tiny writing table in the corner, quill scratching frantically. He looked up briefly when she entered, then lowered his head over his work.

She sat down on a stool, folded her hands, stiffened her spine, and lifted her chin. After several minutes her neck began to ache and her stomach grumbled noisily. She cast a quick, embarrassed glance at the clerk, but he was oblivious to everything but his work.

You'd think a prince's clerk would have offered me at least a cup of water, she thought with an inward sniff, let alone a crust of bread.

Standing, she paced the chamber. It only took a moment to go from end to end. A single glance was enough to show her four bare walls of rough planks, a bare floor, and a straw mattress on a wooden frame. Her silent companion still wrote on. He was youngish, perhaps a year or two older than her own twenty-four, dressed in sober black, light hair combed neatly back.

She sidled closer, peering sideways at the page he was writing. A black sleeve moved to block her view.

"Good day," he said, though he did not look up again and the quill did not so much as pause.

"And to you," she answered with a sigh, retreating to her seat again and fixing her eyes expectantly on the door.

Any moment now it would open and the Prince of Venya would stand before her in the flesh. Her heart gave a nervous lurch. He was the hero of a hundred songs and stories, the sorcerer pirate whose name struck terror into every captain on the nine seas. Bold and dashing, wily and clever, the Prince of Venya was as deadly to his foes as he was loyal to his followers. It was widely sung that a single smile had the power to melt a woman's bones within her flesh.

Not that Rose wanted her bones melted, if such a thing were even possible. All she wanted was one small favor. Surely that was not too much to ask of the Prince of Venya, the living embodiment of every chivalric ideal!

"Your Highness," she would say firmly, "you must help me."

No, that wouldn't do. She had a feeling that a pirate-let alone a prince-did not take orders well.

"Venya and Valinor were once allies. Now I offer you a new alliance, one that will work to your advantage."

She nibbled at her thumbnail. That sounded well. The only trouble was, it was a lie. The moment he asked how it would work to his advantage, all would be lost. Perhaps something a bit more spirited would catch his interest.

"What ho, Your Highness, Rose of Valinor here. Damned if I'm not in a bit of a spot. Long story-uncle hates me-think he wants me dead. What say you play the hero and get me to Sorlain?"

She groaned, starting on another nail. Spirited, yes. But she doubted idiotic would appeal to him.

"I am Rose of Valinor and I am fleeing for my life. Venya and Valinor were allies for many years and the breaking of that alliance is something I regret with all my heart. Venyans have ever acted with honor toward my people; for that I dare appeal to you to help me to Sorlain."

Yes. That was it. Calm, dignified, yet spirited-if only she could remember it. She drew a breath and closed her eyes.

"Your Highness," she murmured. "I am Rose of Valinor and-and-oh, bloody hell, I've forgotten it already. Where in blazes is he?"

"I'm sorry?"

Her head whipped toward the clerk. "Listen, can you possibly hurry things up a bit? I haven't got all day."

"Nor have I. Your pardon, lady, but the letter could not wait."

For a clerk, his voice was oddly cultured, the words tinged with an accent she could not quite define.

He stood and stepped from behind the writing table. He was clad entirely in black, but now that she saw him fully, she could not call it sober. His flowing shirt was unlaced halfway down his chest and tucked into a pair of sable breeches that clung to the hard muscles of his thighs. Bare feet were silent on the wooden floor as he approached.

This is no mere clerk, she thought uneasily. He must be one of the prince's men. She swallowed hard and sat a little straighten The Prince of Venya might commit acts of piracy, but he had been driven to such desperate measures by cruel necessity. At heart, he was no pirate, but a nobleman. What she had not considered was that his crew-even his clerk-would be the real thing.

A thin white scar, very prominent against his sun-bronzed skin, ran down one cheek; another through an eyebrow. A gold ring glittered in his ear. Looking into that hard young face, Rose sensed instinctively that this man knew more about survival than she could ever hope to learn.

Or wanted to.

She swallowed hard and stood, taking a step back as he continued to advance. The stool overturned with a small clatter that she barely noticed. Another step and her back was to the wall.

"I suppose an introduction is in order," he said, sweeping her a bow that no courtier could have bettered for its grace. There was nothing of the humble clerk about him now. How could she have ever been so blind as to mistake this man for a servant?

Stupid, credulous fool, she raged at herself, they never meant for me to see the prince at all. I have been tricked, trapped... and sold? Oh, Jehan, not that, not sold. Not me! But why not her? It happened every day, women carried off by pirates and never seen again. At least now I'll know what becomes of them, she thought. She almost laughed, but the sound tangled in her throat and came out as a gasping sob.

She shot a desperate glance toward the door, praying that even now the prince would walk in and rescue her. But that hope died when the pirate spoke again.

"Rorian of Venya at your service."

BERKLEY SENSATION.

COMING IN NOVEMBER.

Miss Fortune by Julia London.

The third book in the Lear sisters trilogy, in which the last of the sisters must get her head out of the clouds and her feet on the ground to find love in order to fulfill her father's last dying wish.

The Demon's Daughter.

by Emma Holly.

Inspector Adrian Philips' job is to keep the peace between humans and demons, and he's hated by both sides. But when he meets Roxanne, a fellow outcast, he will risk everything for a dangerous love.

Arouse Suspicion by Maureen McKade.

Ex-cop Danni Hawkins must come to terms with her father's murder and, along with the help of an ex-Army Ranger, she must track the path to a brutal murderer.

The Prince by Elizabeth Minogue.

Prince Florian wants only to reclaim his throne. But when he is forced to help Rose of Valinor, he finds the last thing he ever expected-love.

Available wherever books are sold or at www.penguin.com.