"Leos."

He smiled. "So you recognize me."

"It took me some time. You expected Valara Baussay, of course."

"Yes. Where is Andrej? He sent you to find Rana, of course."

"Not directly," she said, "but yes."

"He was always persuasive," Dzavek murmured. "Is that why you betrayed me in the end?"

She shook her head. "I never did, Leos."

"Then why did you leave me?"

It was their old argument of loyalty and honor. She wanted to tell Leos that she had intended to serve both him and their kingdom, without betraying her own honor. She checked herself. In his eyes, the king was the kingdom. Her reasons were unimportant. Her personal honor meaningless. She had acted against him, therefore against Karovi.

More than once, she reminded herself.

And so she simply said, "I left because I could not do otherwise."

"We must each act according to our purpose," he murmured.

He waved his hand, and ghostlike rings, silver and white, flashed their brilliant gems.

Though she heard no spoken invocation, the air thickened at once. She retreated from the pedestal, uncertain what he meant to do. It was then she heard the footsteps, slow and deliberate. Dzavek pointed toward the wall and a small door that Ilse had not noticed before.

The door swung open to reveal Dzavek's body framed between the ivory posts. Dzavek's spirit glided toward his body. For one moment, there was a doubled image. A heartbeat later, the two merged into one, sending a shock through the magic current. Dzavek blinked and drew a long breath. He pa.s.sed a hand over his face. He appeared dazed and his skin gleamed with sweat.

Watching him, Ilse was reminded of Raul's first secretary, Berthold Hax, in the days before his death. The face leached of warmth and color, the lines etched with the knife edge of pain, the strange distant gaze, half focused on this world, half on the void and journey to the next life.

He's dying. He knows it. He knows he cannot escape death forever.

Dzavek walked unsteadily past Ilse to the marble pedestal. He gathered up Rana into his hands and closed his eyes. Though he did not move his lips, the current stirred. His face smoothed. The unhealthy gray vanished in the wake of a ruddy flush, and he stood straighter. It was like watching an invisible hand brush away the centuries.

"Leos..."

"No," he said. "Do not argue with me, Milada. We have never agreed on these points. I do not wish to harm you, but I shall not let you betray me again." His eyes opened to show them brilliant as before, but too bright, too intent. "I see you have Daya. Show me where you left your body. I ask you now. I will not ask so gently again."

He advanced. Ilse took a step back, thinking swiftly what to do. She heard Daya's faint song, a tremolo of minor notes. Underneath, almost inaudible, Rana's deeper chords. What had been their song before the emperor's mage divided their souls into three?

You know nothing about him, Dzavek had said.

It was then she understood. He had been the priest who entrapped a magical being inside a jewel. He had been the emperor's mage, who divided its soul into three, to prevent any thief from taking the whole.

And he will do more, she thought. He is that desperate.

All the while, Leos Dzavek had continued to press forward, driving her into a corner. His flesh could not hold her spirit, but his magic could. She had to escape into Anderswar, lure him far away from the Mantharah, and hope Valara Baussay discovered Lir's third jewel in time. It might mean her soul trapped in the magical plane, but she could not risk his capturing ruby and emerald both.

She was about to murmur the invocation to magic, to make that leap, when a ripple of shadow and light caught her eye. Valara Baussay stepped over the threshold into the study.

"Leos," she said softly. "You forget yourself."

Her spirit shape was little more than a brush of darkness against the ivory walls. Her eyes were bright and fierce. Two dark patches-her tattoos-stood out clearer than in the flesh.

Leos swiveled around to face the intruder. "Andrej."

His voice was like the hiss of metal over stone. His lips thinned to a sharp line. He and Valara stared at each other, their expressions a mirror of like emotion. A wolf and a fox, Ilse thought. Two beautiful, savage animals.

"Give me the ruby, Leos. Give me Rana."

"No. I have need of it-to protect my kingdom."

"So that you might send more ships against mine? I cannot risk that."

Leos smiled faintly. "Ah, yes. You said much the same, that other time, when you tried to persuade me to yield to the emperor. A month later, you led his army against me."

The old challenge and response had grown more bitter over the pa.s.sing centuries. Ilse circled around to the far end of the room, thinking she might take advantage of the situation while their attention was locked on each other. Dzavek glanced toward her sharply, but when Valara Baussay glided closer, his attention flicked back. His hand tightened around the ruby, which gleamed dark and ruddy, so that its light spilled through his fingers like blood.

Valara paused. Her chin jerked high. She lifted her right hand in a fist and muttered a phrase. A dark blue fire poured through her translucent skin.

Dzavek's mouth softened into a smile. "You have Asha."

"And you, Rana. We are well matched."

Wolf and fox stared at each other. The bitterness was gone, the only emotion left a cold calculation of the other. Then, so swiftly Ilse did not see the gesture until complete, Valara swept both hands up. Her lips were already moving in the invocation to magic, but Dzavek acted only moments behind.

"Ei ruf ane gotter. Komen mir de strom unde kreft. De leben unde tot."

Magic burst against magic. For one instant, the air burned bright and still, so still, it was as though the world's hourgla.s.s had paused in turning. Then, a gout of cold fire rushed outward. It tore through Ilse's spirit essence. Blinded, she fell back against the wall. This was like the moment when flesh translated to spirit, dissolving, caught by the winds of magic. More and she would vanish altogether.

... ei ruf ane gotter. Ei ruf ane Lir unde Toc, ane bruodern unde swestern ...

All three jewels were shouting, great ringing tones that echoed from the walls. The winds of magic did not lessen. They streamed around and through Ilse, but no longer tearing at her essence. She could see nothing-the fire burned brighter than before, if that were possible-but she heard and tasted and smelled the magic, felt the signature of all three jewels pressed against her ghost form. Daya, the strongest, like a brand upon her finger. Rana, dark and angry. Asha, a river of silver. They spoke a language beyond her comprehension. Older than Erythandra. As old as the world itself, born from the Mantharah when Lir and Toc made love.

... komen mir de strom. Komen mir alle kraft ...

The words vanished into a crescendo of bright tones. Ilse heard them, saw them, silver shaded with dark and edged with the sharpest of light. Faint, oh so faint, she caught a glimpse of Valara's signature, the fox slipping between, and once of Leos Dzavek's. Then the magic of the jewels overwhelmed her again. As from a distance, she heard a single bell tone, and the word, Now.

Now.

The air cracked, the world divided. Her vision turned black ...

... silence ... emptiness ... the faint tattoo of her own heartbeat ... the green of magic rolling over her skin ...

Her vision cleared. It took her more moments before she could make sense of what she saw. She crouched on a hard surface. Splinters and other debris covered the floor around her. Smoke filled the air, dense and black. A few crimson sparks floated slowly to the ground. Except for a hissing noise, the study was eerily silent, invisible behind that black veil. Her first instinct was to touch her ring finger. Yes, there was Daya, or at least its essence.

The smoke stirred. A voice-harsh and low-spoke a word, and the darkness lifted.

Valara knelt by the doorway. Her eyes were wide, rimmed with pale circles, her ghostly essence thin and insubstantial. "Ilse?"

The room lay in shambles. Smoke blackened its walls and ceiling; dozens of cracks marred the tiled floor. One bookcase had collapsed, scattering papers and books everywhere, and the floor was littered with the shattered remains of Dzavek's desk.

The sight recalled Ilse to her senses. She scrambled toward the last place she had seen Leos Dzavek. She found him stretched out on the floor, pinned beneath the marble pedestal. She dropped to her knees beside him. "Leos."

"My brother."

He coughed noisily. Ilse tried to lay her hands upon him, but her spirit sank through his body. Cold, cold, cold. He was dying in truth this time.

Dzavek jerked upright, in spite of the pedestal's weight. His eyes were blank, unseeing. But then he sniffed the air, like a dog scenting a fox, and he swiveled around to Valara Baussay. "Andrej. You..." He coughed. "You will not-"

He crumpled over. Ilse wrapped her fingers around his wrist. Her touch meant nothing, and yet he stopped and gazed into her face with his blind eyes. They were almost white now, like a winter snowfall.

"You never loved me," he said.

Truth at last.

"No," she said softly. "Because you loved Karovi too dearly. You were a king, Leos, even before they set the crown upon your head. And yet, I would have been proud to be your wife and your queen." Memories of those early days came back to her, of the time before Leos Dzavek and his brother traveled to Duenne and the imperial court, when she and he had been companions, if not lovers. He had returned entirely changed. The jewels. The break with his brother.

"But you doubted me," she said softly. "You believed I wished to betray you. I never did. I left because I loved Karovi, too, and I did not wish to watch our people die in war."

"You loved that man."

"I did," she admitted. "Then and now, Leos. But I also love both our kingdoms, as much as you love Karovi. I would see them live in peace. Can you understand?"

His lips moved soundlessly. Ilse bent close and kissed her once betrothed, spirit to flesh. Leos must have felt that insubstantial gesture, because he shuddered and laid a hand over his heart. There was blood behind the clouded eyes, and his lips were chilled. "It is time to die?" he said.

"Time and long past, my love."

He closed his eyes. Breathed out a long slow breath, so easily that she did not realize at first what was happening, until his body went limp and fell through her arms to the floor. She reached toward him, as if she could recall him from death. Stopped herself and touched his brow. She felt the difference at once, a stillness that went beyond sleep. "He's gone," she whispered.

The magic current stirred. The air in the study turned thick. It was a tide of magic, greater than any she had ever dared to summon. For one moment, Ilse felt its burning brilliance course through her veins. It was like the first time she crossed into Anderswar, when colors sang and the air tasted of light. She heard the echo of a familiar voice. It spoke in a fluid Erythandran, with an accent of years ago-Leos. A triplet of voices overlaid it-Daya's and Rana's and Asha's. She had the sense of a conversation among elders, one not hers to share. Then the current shuddered, ebbed away.

Before her lay a thin film of ashes. Leos Dzavek's body had vanished.

And so we give the flesh to the earth. The spirit itself lives on.

Abruptly, voices sounded outside the room. The door banged open, and a stocky man appeared in the opening. Ilse froze, then realized he did not see her. She felt a hand on her wrist. Valara. Together they drew back against one wall, taking care not to disturb anything.

More guards appeared behind the first. They looked stunned. Finally, one stepped over the threshold and stared around the room. He called back an order, giving someone's name-Duke Markov.

Ilse held her breath, grateful for the shadows. She waited until the guards withdrew, then glanced toward Valara. The other woman seemed to guess her question. She held up her right hand with Asha still clenched in her fist. So the emerald and sapphire were still theirs. Rana, however ... Valara shook her head, echoing Ilse's thoughts. There was no time to search. When the crowd dispersed, except for two sentries, they slipped out the door and fled toward the stairs.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

TWILIGHT WAS FALLING by the time Miro Karasek came within view of Rastov. Unconsciously he reined his horse to a stop. The horse blew a rattling breath, as if to argue against further delay, but it offered no other protest. The plains themselves were a blank, black expanse below the sliver of a new moon, but Rastov was a collection of stars, its walls and towers illuminated by thousands of lamps.

He had ridden almost without pause since falling from the magical plane onto the open fields outside Laszny's garrison. A week spent with only a few hours' sleep s.n.a.t.c.hed while the next posting station saddled his new mount. Even before that, he had lost half a month for those few moments in the magical plane. He could only pray to Lir and Toc that he was not too late.

Though for what, he could not yet tell. He had no reason to believe the Morenniouen queen had crossed into Karovi. If she had returned to Morenniou, Dzavek would find the second invasion much harder. More men and women would die. It would be another b.l.o.o.d.y conflict like the first one. But if she chose to come here ...

If. Maybe. Second doubts could choke a man into inaction.

He gave his horse the signal to walk, then called up a magical beacon to light their path. He wanted to gallop the final distance, but he knew the dangers of headlong riding over the plains at night. And so it took him almost two more hours before he reached the city gates.

There, the sentries called out the expected challenge.

"Duke Miro Karasek," he called back. "On the king's business."

A torch flared, and the gates swung open to admit him. Miro returned the sentries' salute, but his thoughts were on Valara Baussay and his king. The sense of unease had increased, and he spurred his horse to a fast trot, for once using his status as general and n.o.ble to force his way through the streets.

He took the most direct route across town, the wide boulevards that the architects for Karovi's first kings had laid out a thousand years before. Soon he came to the slopes leading toward the Solvatni River and negotiated his horse down the winding streets toward the bridge to the castle. A breeze grazed his face, carrying a trace of green. He drew rein and concentrated on its signature, but the breeze died away before he could identify it.

Apprehensive, he rode faster, telling himself that he worried for nothing, but the sight in the courtyard only confirmed his fears. Soldiers swarmed in all directions. Officers shouted orders. A runner darted in front of Miro, nearly letting the horse trample him.

"Duke Karasek. You've returned."

A captain appeared breathlessly beside Miro's horse.

"What happened?" Miro said.

"An attack on the king. The last hour. Magic, I heard."

Miro vaulted from the saddle and tossed the reins to the man. "See to my horse." Without waiting for an acknowledgment, he pushed through the ma.s.s of soldiers and into the castle.

Turmoil had taken possession of Zalinenka's halls. Pages and guards ran in all directions. ernosek's personal secretary hurried past muttering to himself. The strong scent of magic permeated the entire hall.

Hers.

He recognized Valara Baussay's signature at once. Others, too. A chaos of magical fingerprints. Miro caught hold of a pa.s.sing runner and learned the attack had taken place in the king's private chambers. He let the boy go and elbowed his way to the main stairs, mounted them two at a time to the next floor. The scent of magic increased with every step, and he raced down the corridor to Dzavek's suite of rooms.

A knot of guards and councillors stood outside. In their midst were the Scholar and Brigand-ernosek and Markov-along with the castle guard's senior commander. "Magic," imon ernosek was saying. "It woke me, even before your messenger arrived."

He broke off at Miro's entrance, and his lips thinned. Feliks Markov jerked around. For one moment, his eyes widened, then his face smoothed into an unreadable mask. "Duke Karasek. You show exquisite timing. Coincidence? Or perhaps your well-known forethought."

"Neither. I came with ... with news concerning my mission."

"Have you found the Morenniouen queen?" ernosek said. "Your Captain Donlov returned with the ship a few days ago, but his report was ... incomplete."

Miro glanced at the crowd of guards. The senior commander took his hint and withdrew; the others followed.

"Yes and no," Miro said quietly. "We intercepted her where we expected, but she escaped by crossing into Vnejek in the flesh."