"I did, Majesty."

"And?"

Berimund reddened slightly. "He apologizes that he didn't find it convenient to come tonight."

"But tomorrow?"

"Not tomorrow."

"Is the war keeping him so busy?"

"No, Majesty. He, ah-he's going hunting."

Muriele felt her blood-and the mead mixing in it-rise hot up her neck to her ears. "I see," she said.

"We will find some entertainment for you, I promise."

"I'm sure. What news is there of the war?"

Berimund stopped with a knife full of food halfway to his mouth. "What?"

"The war. You said it's started. What news have you?"

"I really don't think I can make Your Majesty privy-"

"Who would I tell?" Muriele asked. "Is someone here going to carry a letter to my daughter for me? I shouldn't think so. Come, Prince. Tell me of the Hanzish victories."

"Ah, well." He looked around at his retainers. "You're right, I suppose. Well, there's not much really. A fleet from Liery tried to blockade Copenwis, but we met them in open sea with better numbers."

"And?" Muriele asked, trying to stay stone-faced.

"They didn't engage," he replied. "It would have been stupid of them to. Of course, that was five days ago. There's no telling what happened since."

"That was lucky," Alis said, "to find the Lierish fleet in the open sea."

Berimund smiled and said something in Hanzish. Muriele followed enough of it to know that he was repeating Alis' remark.

The reaction was a sort of group smirk.

"Lukka?" One of the n.o.bles said. One of the n.o.bles said. "Nei, sa haliurunna." "Nei, sa haliurunna."

"No, no, enough of that," Berimund said. "Enough about the war."

That was interesting. What was a haliurunna? Berimund seemed to have thought it had been a mistake to bring it up.

She would bring it up again when they were all a bit drunker, she thought.

Fish was next: a huge pike stuffed with trout sausage, salmon with grapes and leeks in pastry shaped like a halibut, cold roasted eel in a green sauce, bream in violet sauce.

And the toasts went on, and the mead flowed. Muriele sipped her drink.

By the time the fowl course arrived, the singing had started. A largish fellow who had been introduced as a landrauhtin began it. Berimund tried to wave him down, but the prince was pretty drunk by then, and with a sheepish, apologetic grin at Muriele, he joined in. She didn't know the song, but Sir Neil stiffened.

"What is it?" she asked. "Do you know this song?"

He nodded. "It's a naval song about a great victory at sea. They're celebrating."

She shrugged. "That's hardly a surprise."

"But in front of you? And even without that, this isn't proper behavior in the presence of a queen."

She covered his hand with her own. "Most of William's dinners ended up like this, especially when he had his best men around. I think it's no different in Liery."

"I never dined with a queen in Liery," Neil admitted. "Still, I don't like it."

"Keep calm." Everyone in the room but Neil, Alis, and Muriele was singing loudly now, including the women.

She leaned close. "What's a haliurunna, Sir Neil?"

"It's a sort of shinecrafter, one who can see the future. They say Hansa breeds them."

"Do you believe it?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "That's how they met our ships at sea. They've done it before."

That's it, Muriele thought. Muriele thought. That must be it. That must be it.

"We need Berimund's goodwill, Sir Neil. I'll tell you why later."

The song broke off, and somebody tried to start another one, but the prince shouted him down.

"We're being rude to our guests," he said.

Muriele came to her feet, mug in hand. "Forgive my p.r.o.nunciation," she said. She took a deep breath and sang:

"Wha gaf sa ansu gadrauhta fruma?"

They stared at her for an instant, then exploded out with, "Sein mahteig arm ya sein hauh-thutsitha!" "Sein mahteig arm ya sein hauh-thutsitha!"

Mead sloshed from tankards.

She knew only the first three questions in Hanzish, but after that they got going again, and it didn't matter.

Berimund made no effort to restrain them, and they drank until they either pa.s.sed out or went stumbling away to wherever they were quartered.

Berimund himself, impressively, managed to stand up.

"I bid shou guh night, Majesty," he said, his words slow. "You are good, ah, good-I hope you weren't insulted."

"Not at all. In fact, it made me a bit nostalgic."

"Goth. Min shervants will show you home."

"I wonder, Prince, if I could ask a favor."

"Name it, Mashesty."

"I wonder if you would take me hunting tomorrow."

His eyes widened. "With my father?" Then he laughed. "Jah. That will be fun."

Then he bowed and staggered out of the hall. A serving girl led them back to their rooms.

"Well, that was jolly," Alis observed once they were alone. "How did you know a Hansan drinking song?"

"William used to sing it-sort of. It's question and answer. The first question is 'What did the saint give the first Hansan Warrior?' I think the real answer was 'The strength of his arm and courage,' or something like that. William sang, 'His sister to fondle and kiss.' And so on."

"Resourceful," Alis said. "Shall I help Her Majesty with her gown?"

"Please."

Alis stepped very close and began working at the fastenings in the back.

"I heard Sir Neil," she said. "I think I see why we're here."

"Why didn't Anne just tell us?" Muriele wondered.

"Maybe she didn't know. Or maybe the sorcerer would have seen that."

"Find out what you can while I'm away tomorrow."

"Do you really think that sober, Berimund will remember his pledge, much less carry it out?"

"He won't be sober until midday," she answered. "And yes, I think he will." She turned and gripped Alis' hand. "Be very careful. One misstep here-"

"It might not even take that," Alis said. "Marcomir is said to have vicious moods. So you be careful, too."

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THE W WOOTHSHAER.

ASPAR WOKE with sunlight on his face. He stretched, rolled, and b.u.mped up against something warm. with sunlight on his face. He stretched, rolled, and b.u.mped up against something warm.

Winna.

She was still asleep, her face glowing like a saint's in the golden light. He remembered her as a little girl back in Colbaely, full of fire and mischief. He remembered the shock of understanding that he loved her when he thought he couldn't love anyone.

His eyes traced down to her rounded belly. Gently, he stroked his fingers along it.

What's in there? he wondered. he wondered.

He hadn't given much thought to being a father. Qerla hadn't been able to bear his children; men and Sefry were too different for that. After she'd died, he'd never mont to marry again. And since this thing with Winna had begun, he'd been mostly thinking about keeping them alive.

But a child, a boy or girl, part him, part Winna...

He tightened his heart. There was no use thinking like that. Whatever Winna was carrying, it wasn't going to be Mannish.

Should he tell her what he feared? Could he?

It seemed the geos was powerful and canny enough to protect its purpose. Could he jump off a cliff or slit his own throat? Provoke a fight with Emfrith and then lose it?

Probably not. But the thing about a geos, at least he had always heard, was that when its conditions were fulfilled, it was unmade. So when they reached the Briar King's valley, he would be free of it, free to act as he wanted. The witch obviously thought that would be too late, but the witch couldn't know everything.

He just had to keep his head and do what he could do. Test the geos until he found its weakness.

He rose carefully, afraid to wake her.

The sun was higher than he liked. He itched to be gone, keeping Fend as far behind him as he could, but this might be the last good sleep she got for a long time.

He found Emfrith in the inner yard, talking with some of his men. He looked up as Aspar descended the stair.

"Morning, holter," Emfrith said. His tone sounded a bit strained, and Aspar reckoned he knew why.

"Morning," Aspar replied.

"The Woothshaer chasing you wasn't hard to find," he said. "My man Arn spotted it upriver, near Slif Owys but moving this way. They'll be here by tomorrow."

"We'd better get moving, then," Aspar said.

"I think we'll fight them here," Emfrith said.

"Werlic?" Aspar said. "Fine, then; you do that. The three of us will be on our way."

"No, that I can't can't let you do," Emfrith said apologetically. let you do," Emfrith said apologetically.

Aspar's hand went to the feyknife, but he let it drop and balled his fists instead. "First your b.l.o.o.d.y father, now you," he snapped. "What's wrong with you people?"

"We're just people who do what needs to be done," Emfrith said. "My family guards this march, and I'm not going to let motley monsters and Sefry come strutting in unchallenged."