"We could go faster," Satterly shouted over the rush of wind, "but if there's ice on the road we'd be in big trouble."

Mauritane nodded, thankful that this was as fast as it got.

Satterly had thoughtfully provided a number of thick blankets to drape over the steel parts of the car, but even so Silverdun had managed to burn himself on a mirror housing. He'd forgotten the thing was steel and not silver, the former being virtually unknown to him, and had rested his hand on it by mistake. Mauritane had seen steel before, in a demonstration of human swordsmithing at the academy, and had never forgotten the fiery slickness of those polished blades.

"How did you find fuel for this thing?" Mauritane asked. Part of him wished that the moveable covering for the automobile were not broken-the wind at this speed was fierce and relentless-but another part was glad for the distraction and embraced the briskness of it.

"I was looking at one of those kerosene lamps in the temple," Satterly said. "And I remembered reading that the first automobiles in my world were run on kerosene. But it didn't work very well. There was another by-product of the kerosene-making process that they'd been mostly throwing away, until they realized it was perfect for an automotive fuel. I asked one of Eloquet's men where they got their kerosene, and he pointed me to the Lamplighters Guild in Sylvan."

Satterly pumped his feet, moving the lever at his right in rhythm. The car lurched and roared even louder as they started up an incline.

"It turns out that the Lamplighters Guild keeps a lot of this stuff aroundthere isn't even a word for it in Common-and they use it as a solvent. It's good at getting grease off of your hands. I paid them four silver khoums for about forty gallons of it. That'll be more than enough to get us to the City Emerald."

The roaring of the engine dropped suddenly in pitch, and a low staccato rumble seemed to envelop them. Mauritane jumped in his seat.

"Sorry!" said Satterly. "The fuel I bought is very different from what this car is used to running on. I had to make a couple of adjustments to the ... power-thing-that-makes-it-go ... and I didn't have the tools or the time or the experience to do a very good job."

The car made another series of rumbles and then dropped into a smooth rhythm again.

They met the Seelie Army reinforcements coming the other way on the road. At first the soldiers were wary of the loud machine, but the news of the Seelie victory had already gotten back to them on the wings of multiple message sprites, and when Mauritane was recognized in the passenger seat, the soldiers mobbed the car and cheered. He waved and nodded at them, but he could not bring himself to smile.

After leaving Sylvan in the dark of night, they'd driven through most of the day, stopping only for latrine breaks and refueling. It was nearly impossible to speak while driving, and so for the most part all four of them-Satterly, Mauritane, Raieve, and Silverdun-were left to their own thoughts. Raieve mostly sat watching the scenery fly by, while Silverdun stared blankly ahead, clutching his stomach as though he felt ill.

When they stopped for the night, Mauritane asked him, "Silverdun, are you unwell?"

"Riding in that thing makes me damned queasy," he said.

Satterly laughed. "You're carsick," he said. "It's very common where I come from. Nothing to be ashamed of."

"Who said I was ashamed?" Silverdun grumbled.

They'd stopped near a grove of trees, still preferring to remain away from towns and cities, though they were harder to avoid the farther south they drove. They sat around a campfire and continued not to speak. The silence of the drive seemed to have overwhelmed them.

As he sat looking at his friends, Mauritane snapped out of his own concerns long enough to realize that none of them had any idea what the future held. The City Emerald was near; at this speed there would be time to catch up with Purane-Es and still make it by First Lamb. All of Mauritane's concentration was focused on his upcoming confrontation with Purane-Es, and he hadn't stopped to consider what might lie beyond, after the successful completion of their mission.

Prison had a way of dulling one's sense of the future. The days slouched by, one by one, each more or less the same. During his two years at Crete Sulace, Mauritane had almost learned to stop thinking about the road ahead entirely. A man with a life sentence had no business thinking about what lay beyond today.

This mission had been in most ways the direct opposite of imprisonment, and yet he'd still managed to avoid thinking beyond its single tangible goal. Go to Sylvan, get the girl, be in the City Emerald by First Lamb. While it had been going on, First Lamb had seemed very distant indeed. But now, First Lamb was not so far off. It was the day after tomorrow. And it was only upon thinking it, as he peered into the yellow twists of campfire in front of him, that Mauritane himself began to wonder what might happen after that.

The next morning, the car would not start. It had snowed a bit during the night, and though they'd covered it with a heavy tarpaulin, there was still a gleaming of ice on the machine's front window. Satterly sat in the driver's seat, performing a complex and noisy starting ritual that produced slow, choking sounds, but not the growl of its active state.

"What's the matter?" Silverdun said, standing by the car's door and clapping his hands together against the morning chill.

"Thing-that-makes-it-go is too cold," he said. "It doesn't want to start."

"Would it help if it were warmer?" Silverdun asked.

"Well, yes," said Satterly. "But ..."

"All you had to do was ask," said Silverdun. He walked around and placed his hands above the sloping metal front of the car, careful not to touch it. He drew the rune for spellwarmth in the air over the hood and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Within seconds, the ice crystals spread across the front glass were replaced with rivulets and vapor.

"Is this enough?" asked Silverdun.

Satterly performed the starting ritual again. The car made a few sneezing sounds, then a quicker sound like call of a heron, and then the machine sprang into life.

"That'll do it!" said Satterly. "Let's go!"

The hills of the far western reaches were replaced by the wide plains of the Low Country that lay northwest of the City Emerald. Farm after farm blurred past them, all smothered under a layer of snow, the fields barren. The going became easier once they passed into these arable lands; there were fewer towns, and the army detachments were all behind them now.

Each time they approached a trader or a coach headed in their direction, Mauritane steadied himself in case it was Purane-Es. And with each traveler that proved not to be his prey, Mauritane felt more and more uneasy.

When they passed the Paracala Bridge, Mauritane began to listen to his deepest fears. From the bridge to the City Emerald was no more than eight hours' ride. If Purane-Es had been riding at top speed, he might have reached the city by now. And then what? Would he take the girl to the palace and claim that Mauritane had turned traitor once again, spinning some wild tale for the Chamberlain? Or had he already ditched the girl and was just hurrying home to watch the public spectacle of Mauritane's failure? However Mauritane looked at it, Purane-Es reaching the city before him was bad news.

An hour later, they found him.

There was a group of riders blocking the road, several dozen of them, sporting the caparisons of the Royal Guard. They were resting their horses in the lee of a stone wall that ran alongside the road. A young woman in a thick fur cloak stood at the center of the group, her hands tied before her. As the car approached, a few of the guardsmen turned their heads at the sound and, seeing what was coming toward them, ran at it with their swords out.

"Stop the car," said Mauritane.

Satterly slowed the vehicle to a stop, and they climbed out onto the road.

"What is all this?" said one of the approaching guardsmen.

"Who's the commander you're riding with?" said Mauritane, his hand on his sword.

"Purane-Es," the man said.

"I have business with him."

"Who are you?"

"Mauritane."

The guardsman choked back a gasp. "Mauritane?" he said, his eyes wide. "You ... the hero of Sylvan!" The rest of the guardsmen dropped their reins and ran toward the car, awed whispers spreading throughout their ranks.

"That man is no hero." Purane-Es strode between his men, pushing the guardsman aside. "He is a criminal, a traitor, and an escaped convict."

Mauritane ran toward him, his sword out before anyone could move. Purane-Es, his weapon already drawn, barely managed to parry Mauritane's lunge, the blade coming within an inch of his face. Mauritane grabbed at his shirt collar and dragged him down face forward onto the cobblestones.

"Get him off me!" shouted Purane-Es. None of the guardsmen moved.

Purane-Es clawed at Mauritane's eyes, anything to get away from him. Mauritane pulled back, swearing. Purane-Es used the advantage to rise to his knees and elbow Mauritane in the groin. With a grunt, Mauritane fell back, rolling to the side and back onto his feet.

Purane-Es stood and attacked, a low thrust that skittered off of Mauritane's blade. Mauritane's riposte was quick; the tip of his sword lashed across Purane-Es's forehead, drawing blood.

They closed. Purane-Es drew a dagger and came in low with sword out and knife high. He lunged and missed. Mauritane followed the motion of the attack and thrust, his blade slicing deep into Purane-Es's belly.

Purane-Es staggered forward a few more steps and fell.

"Someone get him away from me!" shouted Purane-Es.

Mauritane raised his sword.

"Wait," said Purane-Es. "There's something you should know."

The blade wavered in the air. "Speak quickly."

Purane-Es looked up at him, one hand across his bloodstained tunic. "The Lady Anne is my wife now. She divorced you." His eyes were narrow, and he winced from the deep wound.

"That is a lie," said Mauritane.

"No," said Purane-Es. "I brought the wedding certificate to show you in Sylvan. I'll show it to you."

"No," said Mauritane. He raised the blade again.

Purane-Es reached into the side pocket of his tunic and withdrew a scrolled piece of parchment, tied with a red ribbon. "Check the seal," hissed Purane-Es, his eyes rolling back in his head. "It's authentic." He turned to his side, clutching his belly.

Mauritane took the scroll from him and unfurled it. He scanned the print several times.

"She never loved you," said Purane-Es. "She loves me. Only me."

Mauritane sank to his knees and looked Purane-Es in the eye. "Is this true?"

Purane-Es nodded. "I win."

Leaning forward, Mauritane took Purane-Es by the lapels of his cloak and jerked him off the ground, then slammed his head onto the cobblestones. Purane-Es cried out in pain.

Mauritane screamed. He pistoned his arms roughly back and forth, smashing Purane-Es's life out onto the Mechesyl Road. He kept screaming.

transformations.

Mauritane stood on a high platform at the edge of the Great Outer Court, overlooking what appeared to be the entire population of the City Emerald. All but one, anyway. The Lady Anne was not among them, not anywhere that he'd looked. He continued to search the crowd, scanning over the thousands of faces and seeing none of them.

The Lord Chamberlain Marcuse was at the podium, giving a carefully worded speech about Mauritane's heroism. Despite his ancient appearance he had no difficulty orating to the enormous court, his voice low and rumbling. He sketched the details of Mauritane's life, skipping gracefully over Mauritane's conviction for treason and alleged prison break, implying subtly that the former Guard Captain had spent the past two years on some kind of elaborate undercover operation.

Mauritane sighed and waved a pageboy over, asking for the third time if anyone had seen his wife.

"No answer at her home, sir," whispered the page.

Surely she had not already moved their things out of the house on Boulevard Laurwelana. That would take weeks, and the marriage certificate was dated only ten days ago. Could she be hiding? If all that Purane-Es had said was true, then she would not be eager to see him. It occurred to Mauritane that perhaps she had, in fact, been receiving his letters over the past two years and had simply been ignoring them. How had she become such a stranger to him?

Lord Purane was trotted out, bearing the Guard Captain's cloak. "We of Her Majesty's Royal Guard welcome you back, Captain Mauritane," he said. Always the politician, Purane had agreed without protest to the Chamberlain's suggestion that Purane-Es had died in combat at Sylvan. Returning the captaincy to Mauritane appeared to be his grand gesture to the public as the mourning father and elder statesman. In reality, however, it was the price he paid to keep PuraneEs's name clean. Mauritane had had nothing to do with any of it; the machinations had all taken place during their brief drive to the city following PuraneEs's death, moving at the speed of politics and message sprites.

Mauritane rose as Purane walked on stage, tacitly accepting his part in the melodrama.

"We welcome you, Mauritane," Purane announced, placing the cloak around Mauritane's shoulders. "I trust you will find the Guard as able as you left it."

"I am honored," Mauritane responded. He locked eyes with the man, wondering what kind of father he had been to his sons that they would turn out as they had. Purane-Es's blood was still sticky between Mauritane's fingers. That Lord Purane knew it and was still able to pretend courtesy was a kind of hypocrisy that Mauritane could only pity and never understand.

"Get ready to greet your public," the Chamberlain said. He turned to the crowd and shouted, "I give you Mauritane, the hero of Sylvan and Captain of Her Majesty's Royal Guard!"

Mauritane stepped forward and cheers burst forth in the square. Shopkeepers and message boys threw their caps in the air. The ladies-in-waiting on the grandstands blew bubbles and whistled down at him.

The Chamberlain had Silverdun brought forward next. Silverdun managed to smile and wave. He even made eyes at a few of the ladies in the stands, despite his new face. None of the ladies seemed to mind.

Satterly and Raieve came next. They both received cheers as well, but nothing compared to what Mauritane got when the Chamberlain said his name one last time.

"Maur-i-tane!" the crowd cried in unison. "Maur-i-tane!"

For a moment, Mauritane looked over the crowd and was suddenly aware of who they were and what they represented. They were the blood of the Seelie Heart, and they mattered more than what Purane-Es had done, or what the Lady Anne had done, or even what Mauritane himself had done. This was a moment of pure joy for the Seelie people and he would share it with them.

He raised his eyes to the sky and the blue of it stung his heart. Over the Seelie Grove, a single puffy cloud made its slow way across the sky, golden and shining. The smell of salt from the Emerald Bay was in the afternoon air; it was a different smell entirely from the dank Channel Sea waters that pervaded the air at Crete Sulace. The Emerald Bay smelled like childhood and friendship, simplicity and love.

The Pontiac was still parked in front of the stage; some event-planning functionary had thought it good theater to have them drive out of the square in it, not realizing that the crowd would mob the car, touching its sides and injuring themselves in the process. A line of Guardsmen was dispatched, and they were able to leave without further incident.

Outside the square, the Chamberlain approached with a trio of huge guards. "Come," he said briskly, his effusive public demeanor gone. "Your Queen wishes to greet you."

Mauritane froze. "Me?" he said.

"All of you."

"But my wife ..." Mauritane began.

The Chamberlain looked at him. "There will be time for that."

They were led through the Inner Court, where the nightingales on their perches trilled and the troubadours and skalds sang and danced. Already, someone had composed a ballad of Sylvan, and it was performed throughout the palace grounds The ancient palace rose before them in the Inner Court, its stones worn to their essential shapes, its towers dark and shrouded in the past. The blue and gold flag of Titania flew outside the gates, fluttering in a gentle breeze.

They were admitted to the palace via a seldom-used side entrance, although it was one Mauritane knew well, since it was convenient to his old office. Walking through the corridors there, he experienced a feast of emotions, not all of them painful.

The throne room was plain, compared to the rest of the palace. The walls were mostly bare, and the thrones themselves were simple, high-backed stone chairs that were built of the same material as the palace. To Mauritane, who had never been allowed here before, the sight was an awesome one regardless. The trio of guards led them into the room and left, closing the door behind them.

Only one of the thrones was currently occupied. King Auberon sat slumped in his chair, his eyes open but vacant, his fingers drumming a slow rhythm against the arm of his throne. He neither moved nor looked at them as they entered.

Momentarily, a small door behind the Queen's throne opened and Regina Titania swept into the room, leading Elice, daughter of Geracy, by the hand. The Queen's appearance belied her many thousands of years; if Mauritane had to guess he would say she was too young even to be a grandmother, and yet the children to whom she had given birth had lived so long ago that they had spoken a different language. She was tall, very tall, her movements precise and sinuous. Her face was open but fierce, all proud angles and lines of concern. Her violet eyes, about which many poems had been written, were at once gay and serious. She wore a simple white gown that flowed to her bare feet, and the Seelie Crown rested lightly over her close-cropped hair.

Mauritane had not seen Elice since that morning. After Purane-Es's death, Raieve had dragged her, kicking and screaming, into the automobile. She'd calmed down a bit once in the Pontiac but had not spoken a word. She remained silent and agitated even when they arrived in the city amidst a hail of trumpet calls and confetti, and she was whisked away by the Chamberlain and his men. Now she was calm, and her hair had been cropped short to match the Queen's.

The Queen let go of Elice's hand and ascended her throne, sparing a quick glance at her husband. Elice sat at the Queen's side, looking down at them, an odd smile on her face.