Her eyes were golden. It was the only thing about her face that suggested light; the pale white of her skin seemed a thing of death; the length of her hair had escaped from the workaday braid that bound it, and it spread, unfurling like great wings, terrible wings, across the night sky.

Stars were lost to it. Vision.

He had seen this woman before, but never like this. Not even in the Arena of the Kings had he encountered this darkness, although he had been told, much later, that it had existed.

He would have taken another step, but he was now braced for the difficulty. He stood his ground.

Ser Andaro was at his side, blade drawn.

"Kiriel," Valedan said again. "Why are you here?"

She looked at him, and then past him.

"Telakar," she said, her voice as cold as Northern Winter. As clean.

Lord Telakar looked up. His fingers grew thin and long; Elena felt them as claws against the mesh of Voyani cotton, around the curve of collarbone and the thin skin that covered it.

The girl stepped forward.

The Tyr'agar said a single word. "Kiriel."

Her name, Elena thought. She heard each of three syllables as if they were spoken beneath the domed ceilings of the Merchant Court in the Tor Leonne; they pa.s.sed through her as if she were insignificant, out of place.

In comparison, the voice of the man who had spoken seemed thin, youthful, foolish.

But the girl hesitated, lowering her blade.

"Kiriel," the Tyr'agar said again: Her skin was as pale as the skin of women harem-born and confined; her hair was darker than Lady's Night, her eyes wide and large, her cheekbones high. She might have been lovely.

She was not.

"Telakar," Elena whispered, "who is she?"

"If you are very unlucky," Lord Telakar replied, "you will have an answer to that question." He shook her, as if by doing so, he could shake free any further stupidity.

"She knows," Elena told him.

He chuckled. It was not the sound Elena expected. She could not have summoned mirth in this cold night, in the face of this unknown woman.

Kiriel stepped forward.

The Tyr'agar lifted a hand.

Interesting, to watch her hesitation, the muddle of her changing expression.

"Kiriel. Do you recognize this man?"

"Yes."

"Is his presence the reason you have destroyed some part of the garden in your haste to arrive?"

He was speaking in Torra now. Elena wondered why.

"Yes."

"Is he Kialli?"

The hesitation was profound.

Answer enough. But the question was repeated.

"Yes."

"Is he bound? Is he contained? Does the woman he travels with hold his name?"

"No."

Elena closed her eyes.

Cacophony.

Not a single sword remained in its sheath. Voices were raised in alarm, some in Torra, and some in the Imperial tongue. Men moved, forming walls that were far too spa.r.s.e to keep Telakar from his goal.

Whatever that was.

He did not move.

He did not lift hands from her shoulders, and she knew that if she attempted to evade them, he would draw blood. Knew it.

"My apologies," Lord Telakar said, in a voice that was preternaturally loud.

Everyone froze in that instant; everyone except the pale, dark girl. She stepped forward, unhindered a moment by the command of a petty Tyr. No light glinted off her blade; Elena could see it as moving shadow. Slowly moving.

"Why are you here?" she asked. Desert night, in the words.

Elena could not see Telakar's face. She wanted to. In just that moment, she wanted to-because she knew that he would be judged by his expression; knew that she faced the same death, the same judgment. She could not turn.

"Do you mean to ask if Lord Isladar sent me?"

The girl froze. Her eyes narrowed. Golden light fled, and it was the only light in her.

"Did he?"

"No. No, Kiriel, daughter of-"

"I am called di'Ashaf now." Her blade rose.

Elena's breath stopped. Without intent, without plan, she retreated in the only direction available: Telakar's chest.

He laughed. "You see well, for an ignorant mortal. But you are safe. For now. Very well," he continued. "Kiriel di'Ashaf. I was sent to the South."

"Ordered?"

"Only the Lord may command me, and not without cost. As you should well know, now."

Again, the sword drifted up. "And?"

"He is concerned with greater issues than a single Kialli lord."

"He is unaware of your presence here."

"Indeed."

"And Isladar?"

"He is unaware, as well. And if I am not mistaken, he will continue to be unaware. Some rumor has come from the Shining City."

"What rumor?"

"It appears that he has . . . fled the towers. And in haste. He took injury, but the source of that injury was unclear. The Lord's Fist sensed the weakness. They used it."

"You lie."

Telakar was very, very still. The sudden absence of all motion was remarkable. Frightening. But after a moment, he spoke. "We all do." His voice was as close to neutrality as Elena had yet heard; stripped of amus.e.m.e.nt, of almost all shadow. Not mortal, but close. "I have not returned to the North to ascertain the truth of those rumors. Nor," he added softly, "is that my intent."

"You cannot evade the Lord," Kiriel replied.

"I can, and for some time yet. But not in the Northern Wastes."

"And you choose to abandon them?"

"You have forgotten," he replied quietly. "My tenure was seldom in the North. I came for the ceremonies that required my presence. I came," he added coolly, "as we all did, to witness the invest.i.ture. That last time, I chose to stay, but the North is not my home.

"You, of all the inhabitants of the Shining City, should well understand that; did you not make a similar choice? Are you not here, among these?"

A man who had until now been a tall, broad statue, stepped forward in that instant, edging past the woman to whom Telakar spoke with such care.

His blade was bright as he swung it.

It clattered off hers. "Auralis."

"Kiriel, he talks too much." The words were almost a hiss. As if, Elena thought, this man sought to protect Kiriel. Which was odd; he didn't have the look of a fool about him. More the look of a killer. His sword, deflected with ease-with impossible ease, given the difference in their size-fell slowly, slowly groundward in the lee of shadows cast by lamps they had not managed to dislodge.

Kiriel nodded. "He does." She did not consider this stranger, this pale-haired Northerner, a threat; her eyes had not left Telakar's face. "I have never heard him speak so much."

The man she had called Auralis glanced at her profile; it was all she offered him.

Her gaze shifted. Elena met it squarely, without flinching. Realized that she was actually, of the two, the taller.

"I am Kiriel di'Ashaf," she said. "You?"

"Elena Tamaraan."

"Tamaraan-you are Voyani?"

"Arkosan."

For the first time since the strangers had come crashing through the Serra's garden, the Tyr'agnate of Callesta spoke. "She is the second most powerful woman in the clan Arkosa." His voice was the coldest thing Elena had heard this eve. "If indeed she is what she claims to be."

"She is mortal," Kiriel told him quietly. "If that is what you meant. I was told that the Voyani served the Lady, and not the Lord. Certainly not the Lord of Night."

"You were told the truth," Elena said, struggling not to sound as defensive, as pathetic, as she felt.

"You keep odd company."

Elena smiled almost bitterly. "We are not always fortunate enough to choose the company we keep."

Kiriel nodded. "Telakar," she said, without preamble, "release her."

His grip tightened. It drew blood. She saw the crimson spill down the rise of her breast; it was dark enough that it looked like the spread of shadow. Warm shadow.

The pain followed.

Kiriel's sword rose.

"She is my guest. Tyr'agnate," Telakar turned to the man who ruled the Terrean. "Forgive this subterfuge. I was concerned about your ability to sense the kin; had I known who you keep as . . . guard? . . . here, I would have been less so."

"Telakar," Kiriel said again, her voice fuller now, louder. "Release the woman."

Blood again, from her right shoulder this time. Spreading, absorbed by cloth. Elena was glad that she had lost her voice; she did not want to belittle Arkosa by screaming or crying. Or whimpering. The moon was sharp now, the light of it clear.

"I will release her in one way, and one way alone. You may take some joy from her corpse, but if you continue to press this, Kiriel di'Ashaf, it is the only thing you will have of her."

"You cannot fight and hold her."

"Indeed. If you force me to draw blade, I will kill her first. You have your mortals to play with, Kiriel. This one is mine."

Kiriel did not blink. At all. She continued to meet Elena's gaze, although it was to Telakar that she spoke. "You will kill her, and you will perish. Is that why you chose to come?"

"Oh, no, little Kiriel. Make no mistake. I did not intend to be so revealed in this diminished place, but I intended to deliver warning, in a fashion."

"And that?"

"I fear that it is less relevant. Release me, and I will take my leave."

"I do not hold you."

Telakar was silent.