Malusha picked up a walking stick from beside the fire and went to open the door. In the gloom of a starless night, she saw a glimmer of bright eyes, daemon-blue.

"You keep your distance, Gavril Nagarian."

"I've brought Kiukiu," he gasped. "But she sorely needs your help."

"Kiukiu?" Malusha hastily muttered the words to break the protection spell around the cottage and Gavril staggered inside, carrying her granddaughter.

"Put her down on the settle," Malusha commanded, "and stand back."

He collapsed to his hands and knees, heaving in great breaths of air, and she realized he was little threat to her right now.

"And what have they done to you, my poor girl?" she crooned, kneeling beside Kiukiu and running her fingertips down her cheek. "Look at these grey hairs. You're aging; your life force is slipping away. Where are you? And why can't you get back?"

"She was in the Magus's rooms," said Gavril Nagarian, still wheezing. He looked as if he'd been in a fight. "Her gusly was there, but it was too heavy to bring."

He'd risked much to bring Kiukiu home, she allowed grudgingly. He deserved a cup of her medicinal herbal tea, if nothing more. The water was boiling; Malusha put a generous pinch of her special tea in a bowl and some healing herbs in another. "I'm going to look for her." She poured on hot water, inhaling the fragrant narcotic fumes as the dream-herbs began to infuse. "You drink this when it's cooled a little," she said to Gavril. "It'll ease your wounds and your weariness."

He took the bowl from her, nodding his thanks.

"No good ever comes of troubling the dead for their secrets; what's buried should stay buried. If we hadn't agreed to disturb Serzhei-" She stopped, hearing again Kiukiu's voice calling to her from far, far away. She saw the dust storms blowing across the bleak plain. "That's it! Eugene wasn't satisfied with what he learned and he wanted more. They always want more. And if she's trapped in the Realm of Shadows . . ."

This would call for the most perilous of the shaman's arts.

"Lady Iceflower," she said in commanding tones. "I'll need your help. If we don't move fast, she'll be trapped there forever."

Kiukiu crouched, whimpering in the shade of a grey dune of sand and ash, her hands over her head. She no longer had any idea where she was. And then she thought she saw a speck of white in the gloom. She looked up, wondering if she were hallucinating.

A snow-white owl was flitting through the winds and clouds of dust.

Iceflower? And then she cried the name aloud, "Iceflower!" And then she cried the name aloud, "Iceflower!"

At first she feared the owl had not heard her above the roar of the winds. She frantically waved her arms, jumping up and down in the blowing dust.

And then a familiar voice said, "Didn't I warn you not to come to this place?"

Lady Iceflower alighted on her outstretched arm and stared at her with golden eyes. But the voice that spoke to her was Malusha's.

"Grandma?" said Kiukiu tearfully. "How did you know to find me here?"

"I heard you crying out for help. Lucky my lady here was able to assist me. Hurry now; we have to get you back to the way you came in. You've been out of your body too long. You're beginning to fade."

The owl flapped off into the gloom, Kiukiu trailing wearily after.

"Keep up!" cried Malusha, her voice sharp as Lady Iceflower's cry.

"But it's so far, and I'm so tired, Grandma . . ."

Iceflower fluttered down and nipped Kiukiu sharply.

"That's to keep you awake, child! And don't give in to despair. Once you give in to despair here, you're lost to me forever. Think of something. Keep your mind active. What was the last thing you remember seeing?"

Kiukiu tried to think as she trudged onward.

Daemon-glimmer of blue-and-gold eyes in the darkness . . .

"Gavril," she said softly. "I called out to him, but he couldn't hear me."

"I told you that boy was nothing but trouble."

"But he was here, I saw him," protested Kiukiu.

"That's it, child, keep remembering," urged Malusha in Iceflower's shrill owl-voice. "The more you remember, the closer we come . . ."

As she spoke, the clouds of dust and sand began to die down, like veils of mist slowly melting in the morning sun. The winds abated a little. A shadowed archway could be seen beyond the blowing dust.

"Go on, Kiukiu, you're nearly there," cried Malusha, flapping on like a pale ghost toward the Gate.

"I'm nearly there," Kiukiu repeated. Her strength was failing. Each shuffling step took so much energy . . . "Must I go alone?"

"We cannot come with you, child; we must go back the way we came."

"Take care, Grandma. Make it back home safely. And thank you. Thank you for rescuing me-"

"Go, Kiukirilya!" cried Malusha. Iceflower gave her a nudge toward the Gate. Kiukirilya!" cried Malusha. Iceflower gave her a nudge toward the Gate.

Kiukiu stumbled forward and plunged into the shadows beneath the Gate.

Eugene had been thinking like a Drakhaon, and now, as he approached his palace, he began to think like a man again. If he swooped down on Swanholm in full magnificent Drakhaon form, he would terrify and alienate his whole court. His own men would fire on him, thinking the palace was under attack.

No; he must reappear as a man. He had told Gustave he was going hunting; well, now he had returned. And when Gustave asked, "Was the hunting good?" he would reply, "Magnificent! The best day I've had in years."

There was a grove of birch trees within the deer park, which would afford shade and cover. Eugene circled lower and lower, sending a herd of startled roe deer galloping for cover.

He landed in a cloud of dust and stones. For a moment he lay motionless, at full length in the rough grass, arms widespread, as though still flying. Then, his head singing with the rush of the wind, he pushed himself to his knees and then to his feet.

His clothes were in tatters. He had lost his shoes. He wasn't sure how he would explain this to any courtiers he encountered on the way back to the palace.

He set off, barefooted, across the park. He kept looking down at his hand, at the healed skin-and then touching his face and scalp, feeling the smoothness again and again, just to make sure it was not a dream. There was a strange tint of green coloring his fingernails, so that in the sunlight they glinted like emeralds.

As he walked on, he began to become aware of how weary he felt. And thirsty. Suddenly he felt as if his throat and mouth were filled with burning cinders. The need to find refreshment drove him stumbling onward.

"Water." He whispered the word aloud.

Then he spotted the Dievona Fountain on the edge of the park. Deer often drank there, but right now he didn't care if he shared a water trough with his horses in the stables. He had to have water to quench this burning thirst.

He plunged his head and shoulders into the wide basin of the fountain, gulping down great mouthfuls, not caring that it was dirtied by birds and animals. Above him, Dievona the Huntress gazed proudly down on his palace below.

Dripping wet, he rose from the fountain and set out down the path that led from the trees toward the formal gardens, but still the thirst burned on. He stopped, leaning against a fluted ornamental pillar, gripped suddenly by violent pains in his stomach.

I shouldn't have drunk from the fountain. . . .

Yet if the water was bad, surely it was too soon for it to take effect?

He straightened up and kept walking. It must be hunger. He could not remember the last time he had eaten. At the ball supper, probably.

Everywhere in the gardens, the last traces of the ball were being cleaned up. The marquees were gone. The ruts and holes in his lawns had not, but somehow it all seemed very unimportant now.

"Imperial highness?" A servant gasped out his name, bowing low as he passed by. Gardeners dropped their rakes and brooms to stare; maidservants gave little shocked cries.

Was he in such a state? He lurched on, aware that the gravel was grazing his bare feet and the griping pain in his stomach was growing worse. Could he make the shelter of the palace before he disgraced himself?

He staggered up the wide steps toward the terrace where he had stood with Karila and Astasia to watch the fireworks. Maids were busy in the dining hall; when they saw him, they scattered.

What is wrong? Do I really look so terrifying?

And then he came face-to-face with his reflection in one of the full-length gilt-framed mirrors.

A daemon with long locks of green and gold-streaked hair stared back at him through strangely striated, slanted malachite eyes.

"What's this?" he demanded, horrified. "What have you done to me, Belberith?"

"You have used much of my power," whispered Beleberith, whispered Beleberith, "and the more you use, the more you will resemble me." "and the more you use, the more you will resemble me."

"You must restore my human face." How could he explain away his daemonic appearance to his terrified household? "And swiftly!"

He sensed a flicker of dry laughter deep within him.

"Your human face will be swiftly restored if you satisfy the thirst." Was Belberith mocking him? Was Belberith mocking him? "Your thirst for innocent blood." "Your thirst for innocent blood."

"Papa," said a clear, high voice. He saw in the reflection that Karila had entered the hall and was hurrying joyfully to welcome him, arms open wide. "You're home!"

"Kari," said Eugene, backing away. "Kari, don't come too close."

A sweet and delicious odor, fresh and enticing, wafted toward him. The gripping pains in his stomach intensified. He winced, doubling up.

"Papa?" Karila came closer. She was wearing a plain white gown, with her hair unbound about her shoulders. That delicious scent that overwhelmed his senses was coming from her. It was her blood he could smell, sweeter than the strongest wine.

Why not just take what I want where I find it? Who will dare stop me? I am Drakhaon, after all!

"No!" he cried. "Keep back, Kari! Keep away from me!"

"Unnatural lusts and desires . . ." whispered Gavril Nagarian's voice in his memory. whispered Gavril Nagarian's voice in his memory.

She stared up at him, transfixed. "You-you've become Drakhaoul."

Fresh scent of a child's translucent flesh, the blood pulsing just below the pale skin, deliciously clean and untainted . . .

"My own child," he muttered. "Not my own child. Don't make me-"

He turned suddenly and ran, making for the gardens, not caring whom he crashed into as he ran, driven by the need to get as far away from Karila as he could before Belberith's terrible hunger made him attack her.

Kiukiu stirred. Her eyelids fluttered.

"Kiukiu?" said Gavril. "Kiukiu, can you hear me?"

"Take care, Grandma . . ." mumbled Kiukiu. She blinked. Her eyes had lost that deathlike glassy stare. She gazed up into his face.

"Gavril?" she said wonderingly.

He tried to reply, but found his voice was choked in his throat. He nodded.

"I'm back?"

"You're back."

"And you're here. With me." She was smiling now, a shaky, uncertain smile. She raised her hand and touched his face. "Look at you. You're a mess. All cuts and bruises." She tried to sit up, but fell back against him. "But where's the Magus? And the princess?" She made no effort to move again this time, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Don't say that cursed man's name in here ever again," said a disgruntled voice. Malusha had come back to herself and was sitting up in her chair, stretching and groaning as she did so, as though stiff and tired after a long and arduous journey. "And you," she said to Gavril. "I should turn you out, if it weren't for the fact that you brought my girl back to me." But the hatred had gone from her voice and he thought he almost caught a glimmer of a smile.

"I'll make tea," Malusha said, pushing herself out of her chair. As she came toward the fire, she stooped down and gazed into Kiukiu's face. And she let out a little cry.

"What is it, Grandma?"

Malusha reached out to touch Kiukiu's face, threading a lock or two of her hair through her fingers. "How long were you in the Realm of Shadows?"

Gavril heard the concern in Malusha's voice.

"I-I don't know. A few hours, maybe more. Maybe days . . ."

"Your lovely hair. Look at your lovely hair."

"What's wrong with my hair?"

Malusha brought over a little looking glass and held it for Kiukiu to see.

"Oh!" cried Kiukiu, and then hid her face in her hands. "Don't look at me, Gavril. Please don't look."

In the few hours since he had brought her from Swanholm, the last of the gold had faded from her hair. Now it was all grey.

She began to weep silently, her shoulders trembling, her face still hidden in her hands, the tears trickling down between her fingers. He watched, stricken that she should be so upset.