Dawn filtered through the clouds that hung low over the hills north of Estacana. Away from the tents, Mauritane led Raieve and Satterly through a set of fencing drills. Raieve simply wanted the practice, and Satterly struggled to achieve some kind of fighting ability. What he lacked in experience, Mauritane noted, he made up for in ambition; he refused to rest until he displayed enough prowess to survive an actual battle. Mauritane was impressed with his progress but still not ready to hurl him toward an enemy.

Silverdun approached from Nafaeel's tent, his face red, his head held low.

"Mauritane," he said quietly. "We need to talk."

"All right," said Mauritane. He motioned for Satterly to repeat a difficult lunging drill focused on estimating attack distance. As he spoke, Mauritane walked forward a few paces and stood en garde. "What is it?"

"I'm afraid I've gotten myself involved in an impropriety."

Mauritane lowered the sword, his brows furrowing. "What have you done?"

"Nafaeel caught me in bed with his daughter."

"I see," said Mauritane. He nudged Satterly's blade. "Keep coming, Satterly."

Satterly renewed his attack, but with less force, straining to overhear the conversation.

"I'm sorry, Mauritane. Need I remind you that I haven't been with a woman in close to three years? When I came in last night, there she was, willing and able. What was I to do?"

"So you were outmaneuvered by your own cock?" said Mauritane, brushing away Satterly's thrust. Satterly chuckled.

Mauritane brought the tip of his blade down across Satterly's bare chest, leaving a scratch. "There," he said. "I just killed you."

"Why did you do that?" said Satterly. He touched his chest and winced.

"Never laugh with a sword in your hand," Mauritane answered. He dropped his blade, turning to Silverdun and looking him in the eye. "Now what? Am I to be your second in a duel?"

"Ah, not exactly," said Silverdun. He held up a poster, rendered hurriedly in ink.

Mauritane read aloud, "The Enigmatic Nafaeel presents an evening with the Bittersweet Wayward Mestina, featuring the talents of the lovely Faella and a special appearance by His Lordship Perrin Alt of Silverdun. Silverdun!" Mauritane snatched the poster from Silverdun's hand. "How do they know who you are?"

Silverdun scowled. "Faella found my picture in one of those Seelie Court papers. But listen, Mauritane. This may work out for the best."

"And how might that be?" Mauritane said.

"Nafaeel has promised us half of the proceeds of the mestina in return for my participation. He's received a message sprite from his agent in Estacana saying that the City Guard is looking for five escaped prisoners and that they're stopping everyone who tries to cross the western border into the Contested Lands."

"Meaning we'll have to bribe our way out of Estacana."

"Exactly."

Mauritane sighed. "Is there no other way to satisfy Nafaeel?"

"None that would generate such a large profit for him. Apparently the locals are infatuated with anyone related to the Seelie Court."

Mauritane handed Satterly his sword. "I wish I could say the same right now. Let's go speak with Nafaeel." He pointed at Raieve. "You and Satterly keep practicing. Try not to kill him."

When they'd gone, Raieve and Satterly took turns at Mauritane's favorite parrying drill.

"I have to admit," said Satterly between thrusts, "even after two years in this world I really don't understand Fae propriety at all."

"Most humans don't," said Raieve, easily blocking his attacks.

"What I don't get," Satterly continued, ignoring her, "is why Silverdun and Mauritane take this situation so seriously. Why don't we just ride off and leave the mestina behind? If Silverdun agrees to appear in some show, won't that jeopardize our mission?"

"It could get us killed," said Raieve. "But that doesn't matter."

"So you're saying that Silverdun has no choice?"

"That's correct. Let's switch." Raieve waited for Satterly to set himself, then leapt at him, thrusting low.

"Ow!" said Satterly. "You're not trying to kill me!"

Raieve smirked.

"Can you just explain to me why Silverdun has no choice?"

Raieve finished her thrust. "Let me make an analogy," she said. "Imagine that you were at a wedding and you had to urinate. Would you raise your tunic and piss on the bridal party?"

"Well, no," said Satterly smiling.

"Neither can Silverdun ignore his obligation to Nafaeel. As much as he'd like to do otherwise, if he is to retain any honor he must answer his impropriety."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

She lunged again, hard. "Of course it bothers me. I find Silverdun odious. But now my honor is tied with his, as is Mauritane's, as is yours."

"But I'm not Fae. I don't have any honor to wound," said Satterly.

"Truer words were never spoken," Raieve said, preparing for her next leap. "Now shut up and defend yourself!"

Estacana boasted the distinction of being the only city in all of Faerie never to have been built by Fae hands. Rather it materialized, fully formed, from the halated mists of a Midwinter a thousand years gone, its mammoth spires and wide archways perfectly constructed from granite and marble, untouched by wear or weather. Shepherds out watering their flocks along the banks of the upper Ebe stumbled across the glittering walls and named the city Estacana ("by the water's source"), because it overlooked the headwaters of the river.

Frightened to enter, the shepherds led a garrison of the Royal Guard to the site; the garrison entered the city, found its buildings uninhabited, its streets and rooms empty. The city was built for giants; the doorways soared twenty feet high in places, with stair steps that reached a man's knee. In the center of the abandoned metropolis stood a massive, terraced spire that towered over the rest of the city. Like the other buildings-vacant storefronts, apartment blocks, and town homes-the spire was deserted, but there was a message scrawled in the stone floor in Elvish. The message said simply, "We concede," and nothing else.

No giants ever came to claim the city. The City Emerald was silent on the matter, returning all correspondence from the nearby lords with variations on "It is no concern of ours." Eventually, despite their fears of bad omens and witchcraft, the shepherds of the surrounding valleys moved in to Estacana and fashioned it into a Fae city. Over the years, many of the buildings were torn down to make way for progress, and the walls lost their sheen, but the spire remained unoccupied (for no one would live or work there) and the scrawled message remained to be puzzled over for eternity.

The Bittersweet Wayward Mestina performed before a capacity crowd in the Amphitheater Estacanal. As promised, Lord Silverdun made an appearance, however bashful. He stumbled over his lines, glamoured some purple trout that swam up the aisles and out the great open gates, then took a deep bow and was met with a standing ovation. Waiting in the wings by the stage, Raieve muttered noises of disgust while Mauritane and Satterly looked idly on. Gray Mave, unaccustomed to city life, chose to remain with the horses in the public stable.

After the show, all of the mestina's players and their entourage were invited to a fete at the home of a city Alderman. Backstage, Silverdun removed his costume, trading it for his silk and fur attire, and caught Faella as she passed carrying a pair of dresses used in the show.

"How was l?" he said.

"You were adequate, I suppose," she giggled. "You were wonderful. I told you that you would be."

"And your father? Is he satisfied?"

"He's thrilled. He's back in the wagon counting the receipts. If I were you I'd send Mauritane over to get his money now, before father makes off with it."

Silverdun took her in his arms. "If he's in the wagon, then he can't see us." He kissed her, pulling her close.

"Not so fast, your lordship," said Faella, waving a finger. "We have a date."

"Yes," said Silverdun. "I wonder if the Alderman's ever hosted a Seelie lord? What do you think?"

She whispered in his ear. "If he hasn't, he's going to get an eyeful tonight, and I'm not going to let go of your arm even for a moment."

"I trust you'll let me off to visit the latrine, at least."

"Pig. Watch your mouth or I'll take this room at the Sable Inn all for myself." She held out a silver key with a numbered tag dangling by a chain.

Silverdun took the key. "I'll be the perfect gentleman," he said.

The Alderman's party was a gay affair. A pair of doormen waited in the home's spacious foyer, taking the guests' snow-dusted cloaks and sprinkling them with flower petals. Music drifted out from somewhere deeper in the house, lutes and violins and other instruments Mauritane couldn't recognize. He stood outside in the courtyard, leaning against a tree, smoking his pipe. He watched the guests arrive in twos and threes. Estacana was not the City Emerald, and its nobility were not that of the capital, but their finery was impressive enough, he decided. Such things had never interested Mauritane in the slightest, despite the Lady Anne's protestations. It was to Mauritane's great relief that custom allowed for soldiers to attend such affairs in their dress uniforms-had it been otherwise, Mauritane would have refused outright.

Mauritane had arrived in a coach with Silverdun and Faella, the two of them as cozy as lovers in a court ballad. If Silverdun wasn't careful, he could jeopardize everything. He'd assured Mauritane that nobody at this party could possibly recognize him; that they were much too far from the City Emerald for anyone to make the connection, but Mauritane was unconvinced. The only reason he allowed it at all was that Nafaeel refused to pay them their share of the mestina proceeds unless Silverdun put in an appearance. So he waited, his saber comfortably heavy under his cloak, and hoped for the best.

Another carriage arrived, and out of it stepped Satterly, dressed in one of Nafaeel's suits, followed by a woman in a sable cloak. It took Mauritane a moment to realize that the woman was Raieve. Her hair was pulled up, glamoured a reddish gold, and she was wearing makeup as well; her face was powdered white, her lips painted red. She was beautiful.

Satterly looked right past him, but Raieve caught Mauritane's eye and crossed the courtyard toward him, holding up the hem of the cloak to keep it from dragging on the ground.

"How do I look, Captain?" she said, smiling wickedly. She opened the cloak and Mauritane caught his breath. Beneath it was a dress the color of sapphires, its bodice low and bordered with lace. It conformed closely to her figure, gathered at the waist and then cascaded down to the ground. Mauritane realized that until now he had only seen her in her thick wool prison uniform and the traveling cloak she'd been wearing since they left Crete Sulace.

"This all belongs to Faella," she said. "She insisted I wear it. There may have been a bit of wine involved."

"I am ... impressed," said Mauritane, suddenly finding it difficult to speak to her. "I would not have thought you comfortable in such clothing."

Raieve scowled, but her mood was unspoiled. "We have dresses in Avalon, too, Mauritane. We are not animals."

"I would not have thought otherwise," said Mauritane.

"Even during the worst of the Unseelie occupation, we danced," said Raieve. She moved closer to him. "Do you dance, Mauritane?"

He took a step toward her. "In happier times," he said.

She stepped even closer and he could feel her breath warm on his neck. His blood rose. "They say an Avalona woman is every man's dream: a lion on the battlefield, a swan on the dance floor, and a vixen in the bedroom."

Mauritane finally stepped back. "I can't see you as anything other than a soldier!" he said, a bit too loudly. "You must understand that. This ..." he gestured toward the party, "this is a bit of playacting so that we can collect the money we need. Nothing more. Keep that in mind, will you?"

"Of course," said Raieve, her eyes blazing and her jaw set. Her voice lowered. "I must have forgotten myself."

"I'm sorry," said Mauritane, as she turned and started back toward Satterly.

"You should be," she hissed over her shoulder.

Inside the home's large banquet hall, the party was well under way when Silverdun arrived with Faella. He winced a bit when his name was announced with fanfare, but a quick scan of the room revealed no one who looked remotely familiar. Surely in a city like Estacana there would be no trouble.

"Keep your head up, love," scolded Faella, rapping his shoulder. "You act as though you've been caught cheating at cards."

"You have no idea the things at which I've been caught cheating," he said, swallowing heavily.

Faella was radiant. All eyes were on her, and Silverdun could see that this was everything she'd ever wanted. A poor girl, the daughter of a commoner, draped across the arm of a nobleman. Silverdun sighed. Despite his worries, he had to admit that he was in a way more comfortable than he'd been in years. He'd always been better with verbal sparring than with a blade. The life of the pretty folk, however shallow it might actually be, was a beautiful thing to behold.

"They're all looking at us," Faella whispered. "Is that what it's like?"

"What what is like?"

"To be of the nobility?"

"I suppose," said Silverdun.

"I see a great future for us," she said. "Oh, so much." Silverdun hoped she was talking about their night together at the inn, but he feared that she meant something rather more involved. Still, he reasoned, he'd eluded girls far more skilled in coquetry than Faella. It was only a matter of the right words at the right moments and she'd never even realize that she'd been dumped. If nothing else, he would be gone in the morning; that was the one saving grace of being on a secret mission, wasn't it?

And yet, he'd enjoyed himself as a mestinal. More than he cared to admit. As he and Faella stepped onto the dance floor and began moving with the music, he began thinking about what it might be like traveling with Faella and her mestina, savoring the applause in all the cities of the kingdom.

And the girl moved like a dream. She danced the way she made love, slowly and with great deliberation, with an elegance that belied her youth. Looking across the room, he saw Satterly stumbling along with Raieve in his arms and smiled. The look on Raieve's face was priceless.

For many years, Silverdun had made a career of living in the moment. Before he'd gotten wrapped up in his mother's religion, he'd been one of the most celebrated rakes in the City Emerald. Why had he ever stopped? It seemed that at some point his life at court had become impossibly shallow, but now he could hardly remember why. The music, the dance, the wine, the girl. They were all intoxicating, each in their own way. For the moment, he decided, he would forget Mauritane, forget their bloody mission, forget everything but the girl in his arms and the daydreams of things that could never happen, but might. Oh, they might!

Then he saw a familiar face and his heart leapt into his throat; the daydream vanished like a bad glamour.

"Perrin Alt!" came a booming voice from across the room. "You scoundrel!"

A woman approached, a very fat woman in a bright purple dress draped with pale pink flowers. She held a large goblet of pink rosewine. Silverdun struggled to remember her name.

"Lady Amecu!" he blurted out, having plucked the name from some dim recess of memory. As they always had, the name came to him just as he needed it. "What a pleasant surprise!"

"For a moment I couldn't believe it was your handsome face that I was seeing," Lady Amecu declared, her hand against her breast. "And who is this charming young creature I see on your arm? The daughter of an eastern prince, no doubt?"

"I am Faella," said Faella, curtseying deeply.

"Ah," said Lady Amecu, her eyes darting quickly away from the girl as if she'd just seem something that horrified her.

"I would not have expected to see you so far afield of the City Emerald," said Silverdun, trying to keep his voice even. This woman could ruin everything! The wrong word in the wrong ear and they would all be arrested before dawn.

"I'm only here for my sister's betrothal," said Lady Amecu. She took Sil verdun's arm, drawing him away from Faella, careful not to look directly at the girl. It was a great breach of propriety for her to even acknowledge that a girl of Faella's class even existed, and she was in no hurry to repeat her mistake. On the positive side, the same sense of propriety made it impossible for her to ask what Silverdun was doing with her in the first place. "Ila is such a dumpy thing," Lady Amecu confided to Silverdun. "A fat, ugly little troll. Father had to search far and wide to find a husband for her." She took a deep swig from her wineglass, a most unladylike gesture, and Silverdun realized that she was drunk.

"The man is a baron out here," she said, "and with a good reputation. "But still ..." she began, unable to finish the thought.

"We do what we must," said Silverdun. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Faella glaring at him, standing alone on the dance floor. He smiled his most winning grin and turned back to Lady Amecu. "Why, I once had a cousin who was so ugly, my uncle considered marrying her to a wild boar!"

Lady Amecu laughed heartily, spilling wine down the front of her dress. She gasped, but an attendant hurriedly came and wiped it with a spelled cloth that removed the stain in an instant.