"Oh, you've dreamed, Osraed Fhada, but last night you let yourself remember."

Fhada graced his young companion with a sharp glance. "It wiggles my insides when you say things like that, Leal."

Leal blushed, realizing he had spoken without thinking. "I'm sorry, sir."

"No. Don't apologize. It's good for me."

The had puffed their way up to the outer gatehouse by this time and presented themselves to the Gatekeep. Leal spoke, being less winded than his companion. "The Osraed Lealbhallain and Fhada to see the Osraed Bevol."

"Osraed Bevol?" repeated the Gatekeep.

"He arrived this morning from Nairne with Cyne Colfre and Taminy-the-the girl ... ?"

The man nodded. "Oh, aye. Well, Osraed, all due respects, but I've had no orders about visitors for the Osraed."

"Well then, be so good as to ask, would you?" Fhada smiled affably. "This is very important."

The Gatekeep nodded again and called to one of his men to run courier for him. Meanwhile, he escorted Leal and Fhada into the outer ward and bid them sit in a small garden area along the wall.

"Is it my imagination," asked Fhada, "or are we drawing more attention than we usually would?"

Leal swept the broad outer area of the castle, eyes sharp. Fhada was right; around and about Mertuile's little warren of shops, eyes fixed on the two Osraed and mouths fluttered.

"What's happened?" Fhada asked. "Can the rumors about the Wicke be true? Or ..."

Leal glanced at the elder Osraed. "Or is it a smoke screen?"

"He would like us to take less notice of his doings in the Cirke, I'm sure. You know this girl, Leal. Do you think she's Wicke?"

Leal shook his head. "I know her hardly at all. But if Osraed Bevol is her champion, then she's no Wicke."

"Good enough," said Fhada, and leaned back against the slats of the bench they shared.

"The courier," Leal murmured as that gentleman hastened toward them cross-court.

"Begging pardon, Osraed," -the man bowed deeply from the waist, his eyes darting nervously back over his shoulder- "but the Cyne's Durweard bids me tell you Osraed Bevol may receive no visitors. At least, that is, until after the General Assembly meets."

"The General Assembly?" Fhada repeated. "To try an alleged Wicke?"

"To try them that tried her in Nairne's my guess, Osraed." The man reddened. "But that's only a guess of mine. Based on hearsay. I'm sure the Cyne will make an announcement. But until then, his guests are receiving no visitors."

Guests, not prisoners. Leal rose.

Fhada echoed the movement. "When's the Hall scheduled to convene? ...A guess will suffice, sir," he added, when the guard hesitated.

"A week from today, Osraed Fhada. Giving the members time to arrive."

"What about the time it takes to give the Call?"

"Call's been given, Osraed. Two days ago."

"Two days," Fhada repeated as he and Leal wandered back to Care House. "Colfre was in Nairne two days ago."

Leal nodded. "Pigeons," he said. "Magic pigeons."

"Do we go to Ladhar?"

"Would it do any good?"

Fhada sighed. "How impotent I feel. Is there nothing we can do?"

"We are Osraed," Leal said, and felt it in his gut for perhaps the first time. "There is always something we can do. If they will not let us see Bevol face to face, then we will see him aislinn to aislinn."

As if by silent consensus, the two walked faster.

Taminy felt the approach long before the door opened, sensed the war between curiosity and courtesy and a peculiar bristling resentment. Several times resolve wavered, but at last it won out and there was a tentative knock at her chamber door. The door opened before she could respond, though, and she turned her head to see a boy standing there, regarding her with an expression that was at once eager and sullen. He was about eleven, she guessed, and had thick, dark hair and tawny eyes that appraised her boldly. Resentment smoldered in those eyes. She rose to meet it, coming to stand demurely in the center of the chamber.

"You must be Airleas," she said.

"Riagan Airleas ...And you must be Colfre's Wicke."

"I'm no one's Wicke."

"You're pretty," he said, and did not mean it as a compliment.

"You're angry. Can you tell me why? I haven't done anything."

He smiled-or rather smirked-his mouth curling wryly. "You don't have to do anything. Colfre will do it all."

"You don't call him 'father.'"

"Why should I? He's less a father to me than Daimhin is."

"I see."

"I doubt it." He stepped into the room. "Are you a Wicke?"

"I already told you-no."

"You said you weren't anyone's Wicke. There's a difference. So, you aren't a Wicke. You can't do inyx?"

His disappointment was so obvious, Taminy couldn't repress a smile. "I didn't say that. I can Weave."

"But that makes you-"

"No. There's a difference."

"Show me." He folded his arms across his chest, eyes narrowed.

Taminy laughed, delighted by his audacity.

The boy lifted one foot, then lowered it, unwilling to give in to a display of temper. "Why is that funny?"

Taminy sobered with an effort. "Sorry, Riagan Airleas. What would you like me to do?"

His arms unfolded into an uncertain gesture. "I don't know. What can you do?" Then: "Make a-a catamount appear ... there." He pointed at the carpet between them.

"A catamount? Oh, I think that would be dangerous."

"Oh, well ... a buck deer, then."

"On this lovely carpet?"

"You can send it away again, right after."

"I've never Woven a buck deer. I don't usually use the Art that way."

"Then how do you use it?"

"For healing, for seeing the unseeable, for warding against ill."

He considered that. "Can you show me what my father's doing?"

"That could be almost as dangerous as the catamount."

He glared at her, mouth open to retort, but she stilled him with a gesture. "Look," she said and stepped onto the carpet, her toes just touching the outer edge of a great, round medallion pattern woven into its center. She held her hand out, palm down, and closed her eyes.

Colfre. She sought him. Found him one floor below. Her eyes opened and she began to sing, using words from a tongue more ancient than most Caraidin knew. "Chi mi ...Chi mi ...Chi mi na Colfre. Chi mi, clares, nam Malcuim Cyne."

Beneath her palm, motes of light rose and fell as if the dust were illumined, moving in sourceless sunlight. The boy's golden eyes seemed to reflect those motes, following their slow coils in fascination. The motes took on color, solidity, form. In three breaths, no more, they could both see the white-clad figure gamboling in a haze of light, surrounded by a riot of color-face, sweat polished, eyes gleaming.

"The murals." Airleas stepped back from the aislinn, his fascination collapsing into feigned boredom. "You can make it go away now."

"Airleas, what are you doing in here? Make what go away?"

The woman in the doorway was beautiful. Petite, she had hair the color of honey and eyes of liquid blue. Those eyes were now focused on the image suspended between Taminy's palm and the carpet. "So, you are Gifted. I hadn't believed it."

Taminy withdrew her hand, dissolving the aislinn, and bowed her head respectfully, but the Cwen Toireasa took no notice.

"You shouldn't be here, Airleas," she told the boy. "Please go down to dinner now."

"It won't be ready, yet."

"Please, Airleas."

"Yes, mother." The Riagan gave Taminy one last glance, then obeyed, slipping out past the Cwen, who continued to regard her with a cool, blue gaze. "My husband tells me you were falsely accused of being Wicke."

"Yes, mistress."

"Yet, you perform this ... display before my son." She gestured at the empty air above the carpet.

"I am, as you said, Gifted. That does not make me Wicke."

The Cwen smiled tightly. "That would disappoint my husband. He's half Hillwild, you know. He quite fancies Wicke. More than that, I believe he sometimes fancies he is one. "She turned to go, but paused just outside the door. "It doesn't do to disappoint Colfre Malcuim. But perhaps you already know that."

"I don't understand you, mistress."

The Cwen laughed. The sound was humorless and flat. "Please, girl, don't pretend with me. You insult both of us."

She disappeared down the corridor, leaving Taminy to puzzle over her antipathy.

The mid-day meal was a tense experience and Colfre was glad to at last be able to lead Taminy away from the table and show her his domain. She was interested, he thought, but not as impressed as a young village girl should have been.

He showed her the Goscelin mural; she behaved as if she'd seen it before. He supposed he should have expected that. He took her to the Blue Pavilion; she said only, "It's very beautiful." He told her the design was his; she complimented him on his cleverness and artistry. That pleased him, but throughout their tour, he felt as if a barrier existed around her-a shroud of cool light that held her aloof. At last, he took her for a walk along the top of the inner curtain and began to speak to her of the future.

"In a week's time," he said, "the General Assembly will meet. Do you understand why?"

"You want them to find me innocent of heresy."

"I want? Is that what this is about, do you think?"

"Isn't it?" She stopped walking and leaned against the parapet, gazing down into the outer ward.

He wasn't certain whether he should find her insolent or disturbing. "What I want is to see justice done. The Assembly will decide whether the Osraed over-stepped their bounds. If it were up to me, alone, I would proclaim your innocence from the Throne and that would be that. But I think you understand that this is something that must be decided by the Hall and the Throne together."

"Oh, I do understand. But what of the Osraed?" She was looking at him now, green eyes opaque.

"They're represented in the Hall ...Does that worry you? They make up only a fourth of its membership."

"That doesn't worry me, no."

He didn't miss the inflection. "But something does." Which means you are not all-powerful. She declined to answer, so he continued, "Your claim is ...startling, to say the least. I guarantee it will shock the Assembly."

"It doesn't seem to shock you."

He opened his mouth to admit it bemused him considerably, then thought better of it. "No. It doesn't shock me. But then, we are in a Cusp. In these times, one must expect the unexpected. The Osraed were caught unprepared. They refused to see you for what you are-to their detriment. Perhaps they now realize their mistake. But recognizing their own error in judgment doesn't mean they will accept you. Chances are, they'll now martial their forces against you, attempt to try you again in the Hall. That is why strategy is important."

She looked at him aslant, then began strolling the parapet again, moving toward the suspended walkway that linked the inner and out walls of the castle. "Strategy," she repeated.

"Indeed." He fell into step beside her. "And I believe your strategy should be silence. Say nothing. Let the Osraed accuse if they will. Let my testimony and Daimhin Feich's pass without comment, and say nothing."

"And how will that exonerate me?"

"The Hall is a representative body, Taminy. It is expressive of popular sentiment. Especially where the Eiric and Ministers are concerned. By the time the Hall convenes, the people of Creiddylad and its environs will know you on sight and by deed. Beyond Creiddylad, you will be known by reputation. And you will need to utter no words of defense, because the members of the Hall will read your defense in the faces of their people. And their Cyne."