She wanted to hug him right then and there, but at the moment they were queen and subject, and she did not want to spoil that moment.

"Now, tell me why you're here, Majesty," Fail said. "You look as if the dead are calling your name."

He listened as she explained.

When she was done, he nodded grimly.

"You'll have to come with us," he said at last. "Even if the Craftsmen are loyal, they won't let a party of armed men into the royal suites."

"I'm aware of that."

Fail nodded. "When you are ready, Majesty."

"I'm ready." She turned to Ackenzal. "You are excused," she said. "And I thank you for your company."

He bowed, less clumsily this time. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I am always pleased to be of service."

"When will my commission be ready?"

"It is more than half done already," he replied. "By the end of the month, I should think."

"I look forward to it."

"Thank you, Majesty. Saints be with you."

She watched him limp off, as Sir Fail roused his men.

They left Sir Fail's chambers with eight men-at-arms, and though the party encountered a number of puzzled looks, they met with no resistance.

They found two Craftsmen standing guard at the entrance hall of the royal residence. As they approached, one stepped forward, eying the men from Liery with evident suspicion.

"Stand aside, Sir Moris," Muriele commanded. "These men are accompanying me to my chambers."

Moris, a round-faced man with a blond mustache, reddened. "Majesty, I cannot allow that," he said. "No one but the royal family and the Craftsmen are allowed to bear arms beyond this point."

Muriele drew herself a bit higher. "Sir Moris, someone has invaded my chambers, apparently underneath your nose. You will let us pass, do you understand?"

"Invaded your quarters?" Sir Moris said. "That simply isn't possible."

"Yes, one would think," Muriele said dryly, "and yet I assure you it is so."

Moris chewed that for a moment. "If Your Majesty will permit us to look into the matter-"

She shook her head and brushed past him. "Strike any of these men with me, and I'll have your head," she said.

"Majesty, this-at least let me come with you."

"As you wish."

They found a Craftsman crumpled outside the door to her suites. His eyes were open, and blue, and very dead.

With a bellow, Sir Fail burst through the door, his men behind him.

On the other side of the door lay Unna's body, her little nightshirt a mess of blood. She would not see her twelfth year.

Muriele sat staring at Unna's body as Fail's men searched her apartments, but they found no one, and no sign of anyone other than the rather obvious corpses.

When it was certain, Sir Fail placed his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said.

She shook her head and looked up into her uncle's eyes.

"No more of this," she said. "Sir Fail, I wish to induct you and your men as my personal guard."

"Done, Majesty."

She turned to Sir Moris. "Discover how this happened," she said, "or the head of every single Craftsman will roll. Do you understand?"

"I understand, Majesty," Moris said stiffly. "But if I may speak, every man among us is loyal to you."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to prove that, Sir Moris. Start with this: Bring me Alis Berrye, and bring her to me now. Alive and in secret."

She turned back to Sir Fail. Through her eyes he must have seen what was burning in her.

"Are you all right, Majesty?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I am sick. Sick to death of being a target."

She went to the window and threw it open, looking out over the few lights still twinkling in the dark city below.

"I believe," she said, "that I will start finding targets of my own."

CHAPTER TWO.

A GAME OF F FIEDCHESE.

AS N NEIL SANK THROUGH the emerald waters, he heard the draugs begin to sing. It was a far-off song with no words, but he could still hear the bitter loneliness of it, the avarice. They sang from Breu-nt-Toine, the land beneath waves, where the only things of light and love were those that sank there to be devoured. the emerald waters, he heard the draugs begin to sing. It was a far-off song with no words, but he could still hear the bitter loneliness of it, the avarice. They sang from Breu-nt-Toine, the land beneath waves, where the only things of light and love were those that sank there to be devoured.

Now they sang of Neil MeqVren and his coming.

Neil beat against his slow fall, kicking with his legs and rowing up with his arms, but his armor took him down like an anchor, and he had little experience with swimming anyway, having grown up around seas far too frigid for such exercise. He couldn't even tell which direction was up anymore, so mirk was the water. He reached for the catches of his armor, knowing he would never get it off in time, wondering why he hadn't thought of it earlier.

He held on to his last breath, but it was gone, turning black inside him. The sea wanted in, and the sea could never be long denied.

You have me, foam-father, he thought. he thought. I have always been yours. But there is more I need to do here. I have always been yours. But there is more I need to do here.

Yet Lier did not answer, and the dirge of the draugs grew nearer, until they were all around him. Still, he could see nothing of their cold eyes and shark's teeth through the lightless depths.

His lungs opened and the sea rushed in. At first it hurt, like nothing he had ever felt, but the pain was brief, and he felt a peace settle. He had failed the queen for the last time.

He was done.

His fingers had gone numb, and he could no longer feel the fastenings of his armor, but strangely, it felt as if it were falling away, as if someone else were taking it off for him, and a pale light rose around him. He felt himself settle upon a surface as soft as a down mattress, but as cold as winter breakers. Fingers traced across his bare back and down his arm, and though they had no more warmth than the sea, he knew the touch.

"Fastia," he groaned, and found it strange that he could speak when he was full of water.

"You have forgotten me," she whispered. It was her voice, but brittle and somehow distant, though she spoke in his ear.

"I have not," he said. "My love, I have not."

"Have. Will. It is the same."

The light was stronger. He grasped her hand and pulled, determined that now, at least, he should see her.

"Do not," she said. But it was too late. When he saw her, he screamed, and could not stop screaming.

He was still screaming when yellow light struck, and a face before him appeared as if in a sunrise. It was a woman's face, but it was not Fastia.

At first he saw only her paradoxical eyes. They were so dark a blue that her pupils were lost. She seemed both blind and capable of seeing to the heart of anything. There was a nearly unbearable sadness there, and at the same time an uncontainable excitement. They were the eyes of a newborn and of a tired old woman.

"Be calm," she said. Her voice had a faint husk to it. She was holding his arm, but suddenly she let go and stepped away from him, as if he had done something to make her fearful. Her eyes became shadows beneath her brows, and now he saw her face was strong, with high, broad cheekbones carved of ivory and hair like spider silk, cut very short, just beneath her ears. She glowed like a brand in the light of the lantern she held in one pale hand, but her gown was of black or some other dark color, and seemed not to be there at all.

Confusion gripped him. He was in a bed, and dry. It was air in his lungs, not brine, but he was still in the belly of the sea, for he could feel it all around him and hear the creak of timbers. He darted his gaze about the bulkheads of dark lacquered wood and understood that he was in a ship's cabin.

"Be calm," the woman repeated. "You are alive, if not entirely well. You only dream of death." Her free hand went to her throat and fingered a small amulet there.

He knew he was alive. His heart was thundering, his head ached, and his side felt as if it had been split open.

Which, if he remembered correctly, it had.

"Who are you?" he managed.

The question seemed to perplex her for a moment.

"Call me Swanmay," she said at last.

"Where-?" He tried to sit up, but something in his head whirled, and the pain in his side became overwhelming agony. He swallowed a howl so that it came out only as a grunt.

"Be still, still," Swanmay said, starting forward, then stopping again. "You've had many injuries. Don't you remember?"

"Yes," Neil murmured, closing his eyes, trying to keep his stomach from heaving. "Yes, I remember." He remembered her now, as well. This was the face he'd seen on the docks, the woman peering from the strange ship.

Which ship he was now likely on.

"We're at sea," he said. His thoughts were unschooled boys refusing to be brought to task. Fastia's dead touch still lingered on his shoulder.

"Yes," she said. "We put to sea two days ago."

"Two days ago?"

"Yes. You've been unconscious that whole time. I was starting to fear you would not wake."

Neil tried to think. Two days. What had happened to Anne?

Swanmay moved nearer again. "Do not think to harm me," she said. "If I call, my men will come in and kill you."

"I have no reason to harm you, lady," he said. "Or none that I know of. And I would not even if I knew a reason."

"That's very sensible," she said. "But in your sleep you made most violent sounds and motions. You fought whole battles, I think. Do you remember those dreams?"

"Nothing of battle," Neil said.

"A pity. I'm sure your dreams would be interesting." She paused. "I'm going to trust you. I'm going to sit here a moment, for I'm sure you have questions. I know if I awoke in a strange place, to a strange person, I would. I would be terrified."

She sat down on a small stool.

"I'll tell you this first," she said, "in case you're afraid to ask. The people you were fighting for-the people you were protecting-they escaped."

Neil sighed, and felt something in him relax a bit.

"You were right," he said. "I was afraid to ask that."

She smiled tentatively. "They cast off safely. One was calling after you and tried to leave the ship, but the others would not let her."

"They escaped," Neil repeated, relief coming like an eastern breeze.

"Yes," she said, and her tone became inquiring. "I wondered if I was aiding in some crime."

"I am no criminal, lady, I promise you that."

She shrugged. "Vitellio is not my home and I hardly care if you violated some law of their country. But I admire the way you fought. I admire the way you went to your doom singing. I've read stories about men like you, but never thought to meet one. I could not leave you to the depths."

"So you-how did you-?"

"Some of my men can swim. They dived with a stout rope and pulled you up, but by then you were senseless."

"I owe you and your men my life."