He snatched the coins, then paused, looking up at her with dark eyes. "Are you sure, mama?"

She whisked her hand at him. "Go. Go! Can't let a nice festival pass by without we join in." She smiled, but the smile slipped from her lips as she watched his painful, stooped and rolling hobble away from her toward the brazier-man.

She could close her eyes and see a morning three years ago-a morning not unlike this one, with its burnished sky and fresh sea breeze. She had had a flower cart then, a brightly painted little trolley decorated with hearts and dancing couples and pictures of young men giving gay posies to their favorite cailin. She had felt almost in control of her life then, for the first time since Losgann's father-another woman's husband, she learned too late-had abandoned them finally.

That morning, with her beautiful cart full of even more beautiful blooms, with Losgann playing at her skirts with a little flying bird-toy she had bought him, she had felt whole and happy. Gentlemen bought her flowers for their ladies and ladies bought them to pretend they were from gentlemen.

Haesel hadn't heard the commotion in the street, hadn't sensed the odd confluence of wind and wildness that sent Losgann's toy bird into the street and a jagger's dray into a frenzy-she was helping a young lady choose a bouquet to match her fine new dress-but she heard the shrill scream of a child and the raw cursing of a man. That was when she had turned and seen Losgann lying in the street with the great, wild horse prancing too near his head, fighting the man who struggled to hold it.

The jagger brought the boy to her, crumpled and torn, like the little bird she had held in her hands during the endless drive to the doctor. The jagger was kind, but there was little he could do once he had delivered them there. As it happened, there was equally little the doctor could do.

Haesel turned her head, glancing through a blur of tears up the Cyne's Way where the royal retinue had disappeared behind street-hugging buildings. The flower cart was gone; she couldn't work and care for Losgann. Yet, money was needed to pay for the doctor-the doctor whose skills could not mend the shattered bones in the boy's leg and pelvis.

"Mama?"

She turned at the tug on her skirts. Losgann smiled up at her, panting a little and holding out a wooden skewer with a fist-sized chunk of meat on it. He clutched a second one in his other hand.

"Look! He gave me two! One for me and one for you."

It was an unexpected and welcome kindness. Haesel was famished. She glanced over at the vendor, who touched the brim of his hat and smiled. "Did you-?"

"I said thank you, mama." Losgann rolled his eyes and bit into his chunk of seared meat.

The corner was becoming more and more populous. Before the crowd grew too thick, Haesel tucked her bucket, broom and brushes under the steps of the shop she'd been cleaning and called Losgann to her. She wiped his hands and face with her apron, telling him, when he complained, that the Cyne mustn't see her son with charcoal smeared across his face. Her heart beat faster now. She could sense the crowd's anticipation turning uphill. When she could hear the sound of horse hooves on the cobbles, she wended her way to the edge of the crowd.

"Oh, lift me, mama!" begged Losgann. "Lift me so I can see!"

She did lift him, high up in her arms so his head was above hers. "Do you see her, Losgann? Do you see the Wicke Lady?"

"Yes! Oh, mama, she's pretty ... and very young."

Haesel's eyes followed his and she bit at her lip. The girl in the carriage was young. Too young, one would have thought, to be a powerful Wicke. Her resolve trembled. But no, she must take this chance.

The carriage drew close; the Cyne on his high seat waved and smiled while, beside him, the young Wicke sat and gazed at the crowd. They were in the intersection now, and the driver turned the horses northward.

Haesel moved swiftly. She was in the road squarely before the horses before Losgann could utter a surprised squeak.

"Stop, please! Stop, please! I beg you! Lady Taminy-my son. Look at my son!"

The Cyne stood up in the carriage and gestured for her to move aside.

"Mama!" Losgann wailed.

"No, sire. Please! Let the Lady see my son."

Men on horses attempted to surround her and drive her back. Desperate, she squeezed herself between the lead horses of the Cyne's team. Losgann shrilled again as Haesel twisted, trying to see the Wicke. The girl was looking at her and she had her hand on the Cyne's arm and her lips were moving, though Haesel couldn't hear what she said because of the crowd noise and the hammering of her own heart. She felt someone grasp her arm and found herself staring up into the face of a Cyne's-man.

"Please!" she begged, but was wrenched from between the horses. Losgann began to sob.

"Here!" a man's voice shouted. "Bring her here."

Wonder. She was brought round the carriage to stand with the Cyne and his Wicke gazing down at her. She dared not look into the Cyne's face, but the Lady Taminy's welcomed her to look. Her heart stumbled madly over itself.

"What is it, woman?" the Cyne asked. "What do you want?"

"It's my son, lord. Losgann." She shifted the crying child higher on her shoulder. "Three years back, he was run down by a dray and his leg crushed. Twist it is, mam." She turned her plea to Taminy. "So twist, he can scarcely walk and he's never free of the pain. If you could but try-if you could but snatch the pain away ..."

The girl turned her great green eyes on the Cyne. "I'd like to help him, sire."

Cyne Colfre hesitated, eying up the crowd-hushed now, and intent. Then a smile broke across his face; it seemed to Haesel the most beautiful smile she had ever seen and it made her heart pound all the harder. He nodded, and the Lady Taminy reached out her arms for Losgann. Haesel released him, her mouth open to comfort his fear at being given up into the care of a stranger, but it seemed he had no fear. His tears had evaporated and his eyes smiled at the beautiful lady who took him up into her lap.

Haesel held her breath and prayed and watched as the Wicke girl felt along her son's twisted leg from hip to ankle. Her pretty brow furrowed and Haesel all but swallowed the hope that clogged her throat. But the girl's expression cleared and she laid her hands firmly on Losgann's leg and began to sing in a clear, loud voice, words that Haesel didn't understand, but trembled at. They were icy words, hot words, words that chilled and comforted. They made Haesel's heart trip over itself and stagger and freeze in her breast.

Then, a billow of blue light, like nothing Haesel had ever seen, rolled down out of nowhere and crowned the Wicke girl's head and tumbled down her arms and washed all over and around Losgann, whose mouth and eyes were wide open, carp-like. So were the Cyne's, Haesel noticed, and if it had occurred to her, she might have laughed. But she could only stare at the Wicke and her son bathed in azure light and pray harder and remember to breathe.

Haesel wasn't certain how much time had passed before the light faded. She still stared, along with the silent crowd until she heard her son's voice. "Oh!" he said. "Oh! Oh, mama! Mama, my leg!"

He kissed the Lady Taminy and gave her a tremendous hug before scrambling down from the carriage and into his mother's arms. Then, he walked all around her, his body upright, limping only the tiniest bit. His left leg was straight. Straight!

"He'll need to exercise it," the Lady Taminy said, her voice like balm. "Some of the muscles have grown weak."

Haesel turned to her with every ounce of her joy and gratitude pouring from her eyes. "Oh, mam. Oh, mistress! How may I thank you? How may I repay you?"

The girl reached out her hand and Haesel took it, squeezing it between her palms. "You are thanking me now. And your joy repays me a hundred-fold." She released Haesel's hand and straightened, and the crowd roared with approval.

And it was done. While Losgann capered for the crowd, Haesel watched the Cyne's carriage pull off down toward the Saltbridge Crossing, feeling as if a part of herself trailed after it. She didn't try to stop the tears that covered her cheeks, but merely thanked God silently and wondered at the Wicke's touch, still tingling in her palm. They called Wicke "Dark Sisters" in most places, but Haesel knew that the Cyne's Wicke was full of light.

Lealbhallain sat uneasily on the padded bench and tried to concentrate on his devotions. It was difficult and, in the end, he had to beg the Meri's forgiveness for his inattention. He glanced sideways at Osraed Fhada, wondering if he was similarly troubled. Leal's mind slipped, unbidden, back to yesterday's session in Fhada's aislinn chamber when they had seen, not Bevol, but something Bevol surely wanted them to see. That something had been the Cyne's walk with Taminy atop the battlements of Mertuile.

Leal could see her now, flaxen hair in breeze-blown banners, waving at the people far below the great walls. Smiling. He had been struck by a sense of familiarity. A familiarity which had nothing to do with their brief meeting at Tell Fest. Both he and Fhada had been overwhelmed by a frenzied need to meet Taminy-a-Cuinn face to face. They were here now, at Ochanshrine, shifting restlessly on their benches, because they knew she would be here and knew, also, that Osraed Bevol must have some reason for giving them that knowledge.

Leal tensed and felt an answering awareness in Fhada; Osraed Ladhar had entered the Shrine in the company of a pair of Cleirachs and now lumbered down one sloping aisle. They were speaking in murmurs and Leal knew a guilty desire to eavesdrop. Ears sharp, he groped in his mind for an inyx he might Weave, but before he could recall one, the Shrine's solitude was shattered. The pounding of feet in the outer corridor was accompanied by a hubbub of voices, the loudest of which cried hoarsely for Abbod Ladhar.

Before the Abbod could do more than turn and glower up the aisle, a middle-aged Osraed appeared in the doorway at the receiving end of that dark gaze. His face was bright red, save for the pinched brackets of white around his nostrils, and shone with a heavy dew of sweat.

"Abbod! Dear God-! Abbod!" He rushed down the aisle toward the elder Osraed, oblivious to the commotion he caused in this sacred Place. "I've seen-oh, dear God, what I've seen! The Cyne-the girl-!"

Abbod Ladhar was a bulwark of stone. "Calm, Tarsuinn," he said. "Calm! Tell us what you've seen."

"The Cyne is coming," stammered Osraed Tarsuinn, "and the girl is with him."

"Yes, Tarsuinn, I know this. I am to meet with them. The girl, as I'm sure you've heard, is suspected of Wicke Craft by some members of the Osraed Council."

Osraed Tarsuinn let out a wild moan. "Oh, she's more than suspect, Abbod! I've seen it!"

Ladhar's face flamed. "You've seen what?"

"A healing! Oh, dear Meri-such a healing! In the middle of the street a sweep-woman stopped the Cyne's carriage and thrust her crippled child at him, begging healing of-of that girl! And she took the boy into her arms, at the Cyne's say-so-"

"The girl did-this Taminy?"

Tarsuinn nodded vigorously. "And she put her hands on him and pulled Blue Healing out of the Beyond like it was in full flood. Oh, blinding, she was, blinding!"

"And the boy?" asked Ladhar. "The cripple?"

"Whole and fit and straight."

"A trick?"

"Oh, I think not, Abbod. I fear not. I've seen the child before, in the streets, at Care House. He was run down by a jagger's dray, his left hip and leg mangled."

Ladhar scowled. "And no Osraed could help him?"

The flustered Tarsuinn shrugged and dithered. "His mother took him to a physician first, I'm told. By the time he went to Care House, he was beyond even Osraed effort."

Ladhar's pale eyes seemed to turn inward, then. "And this girl from Nairne heals him at a touch ... ." The icy marbles snapped back to Tarsuinn's face. "Using what Runeweave?"

"Using none I've ever heard. She spoke the old tongue-words I know only from long hours in the library."

Abbod Ladhar's broad face was set in inscrutable lines Leal couldn't begin to penetrate. "We must be sure," he said. "We must know she is a Wicke. If she is a Wicke she may be destroyed, or at least rendered harmless."

"How, Osraed?" asked the Cleirach nearest him. "Now may she be neutralized?"

"The greatest evil is neutralized by the greatest good."

Ladhar glanced back over his shoulder at the Osmaer Crystal.

Following his gaze, the Cleirach's eyes lit with the radiance of pure zeal. A hard radiance, it glittered like the points of false glory reflected from the Osmaer's dark facets. Fever-hot, it shivered like Sun on baked cobbles. Leal was amazed to feel all that in one glance at a man he'd only just noticed.

The Cleirach was nodding now, his eyes narrowed to slits. "Please, Holy One, may we observe your audience with this Wicke?"

Ladhar merely inclined his head and indicated the Cleirach and his companion should seat themselves. This they did, while all others within earshot, politely, or fearfully, removed themselves from the chamber. Leal, for his part, scrambled to remember an invisibility Weave and began to run the duan through his mind. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Fhada's lips were also moving silently. And none too soon. With the air of someone announcing the dawn of doom, an Aelder Prentice entered the Shrine and proclaimed the arrival of the Cyne.

He appeared with all the dignity befitting a Malcuim and, if he was smaller in stature than his father or his father's father, his silhouette, starkly filling the doorway, didn't show it. Then, a female figure appeared next to the Cyne. Both stepped down into the artificial light of the Shrine and Leal held his breath.

Abbod Ladhar waited at the bottom of the aisle, his back to the Osmaer Crystal. His fatherly smile, the expansive sweep of his arms, displayed nothing but welcome. "Cyne Colfre," he said, "you honor this Threshold. This is the young woman you spoke to me about?"

Cyne Colfre returned the smile. "Indeed, Abbod. This lovely child is Taminy-a-Cuinn."

"This lovely child," repeated Ladhar, his smile not altering, "is accused of heresy and practicing the Wicke Craft, if I am not mistaken."

The Cyne and Taminy continued to descend. "Wrongfully accused, I am convinced."

Leal stirred. That sound ...Like ... like singing. He heard Fhada gasp, saw his arm out-thrust, toward the Shrine's Heart. He tore his eyes from Taminy's face and followed Fhada's gesture.

A cry was lifted from his throat before he could stop it. "The Crystal!"

The Crystal pulsed at its core with a light that increased in steady, rhythmic increments-brighter, brighter. Fire traced its facets, jumped from point to point, while the sound of singing-or was it wind-chimes?-shimmered in the semi-darkness of the Holy Place.

Ladhar turned as swiftly as his bulk allowed and stared at the brilliant thing. His face, his eyes, glowed with astonishment-an astonishment which gave quick way to triumph.

He swung back to face the Cyne. "Let the Crystal decide if she is wrongly accused."

He doesn't understand, Leal thought. He doesn't see ...

He didn't see that Taminy-a-Cuinn's face glowed the same brilliant gold as the Stone she now gazed upon. He didn't see that that face wore an expression, not of fear or distress, but of pure joy. It was the face of a lover reunited with her Beloved.

The Cyne stopped halfway down the aisle, uncertain, but Taminy continued on, her eyes on the Crystal, feeding back its glory. She raised her hands to it and Ladhar sidled out of the way. The singing increased volume, a sound like a chorus of flutes and pipes and voices wrapped in and around a fine spring breeze and the Solstice peal of Cirke chimes. Eibhilin fire leapt from Stone to cailin and embraced her, twining her in its golden arms, spangling the still room with glory. It rose to the curved rafters, it painted the walls, it must surely have poured from the windows.

Leal forgot his invisibility Weave altogether and came to his feet, quaking. "Oh, it's true!" he said. "It's true!" He looked up at Fhada, who had also risen; the older Osraed's eyes streamed tears that turned to honey in the Osmaer gleam. He looked at the Cyne and saw a man frozen in disbelief. He looked at Osraed Ladhar and his companion Cleirachs and saw men whose entire world had come undone.

Abbod Ladhar's mouth was open and above the singing of the Stone, Leal heard his voice raised in a shrill litany: "Away, demon! Take her away! Take the demon away!"

The Cleirach who had begged to stay rose from his seat and advanced on Taminy who, oblivious within her now blinding cloak of Eibhilin gold, continued to caress the Stone. Leal tried to cry out, to warn her, but his throat made only a wild croak. The Cleirach lunged. There was a flash of light, a sizzle of sound, and the man toppled backwards as if he'd collided with a solid wall.

A new sound invaded the room. It took Leal a moment to realize, incredulously, that it was laughter-the Cyne's laughter. Colfre Malcuim came down the aisle to the circular Shrine, circled to where Taminy could see him, and held out his hand to her. She shivered like someone shaking off a dream, glanced about, then took the proffered hand. The encompassing globe of Eibhilin light shattered like so much ephemeral glass and showered, in a myriad tiny, gleaming, silent shards to the floor. The golden aura faded, melted away into the flagged stones, under the benches, out of the air.

But Ochan's great Crystal still throbbed with a rhythmic aurora, dimmer than before, but still strong. It was like an echoed heartbeat, Leal thought, when he could think. He didn't need to ask whose.

Cyne Colfre led her away then; before the Cleirach could rise from the floor; before his companion could find the courage to move to his aid; before Ladhar, his face convulsing in fits of disbelief and rage, could utter further condemnation. Light left the Stone in a receding tide. When Taminy left, she took the Light with her.

"My God," whispered Fhada. "What is she?"

Leal barely heard him. He stared at the Osmaer Crystal and wondered only how he might go and throw himself at her feet.

"I am only saying, sire, that it might not have been wise to ..."

"To push Ladhar's chubby face into his own ineptitude?" Colfre smiled, enjoying the memory of those fat jowls flapping like an empty bellows. God, had anyone ever before rendered the man speechless?

He postured, puffing out his stomach and cheeks. "'Let the Crystal decide if she is wrongly accused!' Well, it damn well decided something!" He dropped the pose and came back to sit on the couch across from his Durweard, his heart galloping at the mere thought of what she had done. "I tell you, Daimhin, she held that Stone in the palm of her hand. She controlled it! She made it sing! Sing! I swear by the Malcuim line, I have never heard it sing, and neither had our porcine Abbod."

Carried to his feet by that Voice singing, again, in his own blood, Colfre paced back to the garden window where Day could be seen to pull in her skirts; where Night spread hers out, layer upon layer.

"Sire," Daimhin said in the most diplomatic of voices. "Sire, I thought the point of the interview with Ladhar was to gain Taminy an ally. Do you think you succeeded in that?"

"Don't patronize me, Daimhin. Of course, I didn't succeed in that. So, he fears her. That may be better."

"Better?" Feich repeated. "My lord, had you no ... control over the situation?"

Colfre laughed, exhilarated. "Not as far as that damned Crystal was concerned."

"I thought you said she controlled the Crystal."

Colfre shrugged. "That was the impression I had."