He glanced at Gramme nervously, and his tension increased when he saw the small wrinkle that appeared between her eyes.

"You were at Broogh, weren't you?" someone shouted.

"I was there," Leoff said. "I was, but I wasn't alone. That is, no credit goes to me. Duke Artwair and Gilmer Oercsun, they deserve the credit. But lady, I have to disagree with you. I haven't been here long, but this country has many heroes. A townful of them. They died for you at Broogh."

"Hear, hear," a few shouted.

"There is no doubt of that," Gramme said. "And we thank you for helping us to honor them." She shook her finger at him as if scolding a child. "But I was present when Duke Artwair gave his report, and if there is one man in this kingdom who does have the courage and sense of his ancestors, it is the duke. Indeed, I wished to have the duke here tonight, but it seems he has been ordered to the eastern marches, far from the court and Eslen. Still, in his absence, I will not dispute his word, Cavaor Ackenzal, and should hope you would not either."

"I would never do that," Leoff said.

"I did not think so. Well, enough of my talking. Be at home here, Leoff Ackenzal-you are among friends. And should the mood strike you, I hope you will try my new hammarharp, and tell me if it is as well-tuned as I am assured it is."

"Thank you, milady," Leoff said. "I'm really quite overwhelmed. I'll examine it right away."

"I don't imagine you will," she said, "but you are welcome to try."

She was right. He's gone only a few steps before a young woman of perhaps sixteen had taken his arm.

"Won't you dance with me, cavaor?"

"Ah . . ." He blinked stupidly at her. She was pretty, with a friendly, oval face, dark brown eyes, and red-gold hair hanging in ringlets.

The music had started again, a whervel in triple meter.

He glanced around. "I don't know this dance," he said. "It seems a bit lively."

"You'll pick it up," she assured him, taking his hands. "My name is Areana."

"It's my pleasure to meet you," Leoff said, fumbling at the steps. As she said, it wasn't difficult-very much like the country rounds of his youth-soon he had it.

"I'm fortunate to be the first to dance with you," Areana said. "It's good luck."

"Really," Leoff said, feeling his neck burn. "Too much has been made of this. Tell me of yourself, rather. What family are you?"

"I'm a Wistbirm," she replied.

"Wistbirm?" He shook his head. "I'm new to this country."

"There's no reason you should have heard of us," she said.

"Well, it must be a good family to have produced such a charming daughter," he said, feeling suddenly bold.

She smiled at that. It felt good, dancing with her. His leg was still stiff, and occasionally moved awkwardly, so their bodies bumped. It had been a long time since he'd been this close to a woman, and he found himself enjoying it.

"What's the court like?" she asked.

"Haven't you been there?"

She stared at him and then giggled. "You think I'm nobility?"

Leoff blinked. "I suppose I did."

"No, we're just lowly landwaerds, my family-though my father is the Aethil of Wistbirm. Do you find me less charming now?"

"No less," he replied, though now he realized that she had the accent he'd heard in the countryside-not as thick as Gilmer's but still marked-and very different from the lilt of the court speech he'd come to know. "It's not as if I have noble blood myself."

"And yet there is such nobility in you."

"Nonsense. I was terrified. I barely remember what happened, and it's a miracle I wasn't killed."

"I think it was a miracle that brought you to us," Areana said.

The song ended with a sort of bumping bang, and Areana stepped back from him.

"I shan't hog you," she said. "The other ladies will never forgive me."

"Thank you very much for the dance," he replied.

"Next time you will have to ask me," she said. "A girl in my position can only be so bold."

There was no shortage of bold girls, however, all of whom, as it turned out, were from the landwaerd families. After the fourth dance, he begged a break, and made toward where the servers were dispensing wine.

"Eh, cavaor," a rough voice said. "How about a dance for me?"

Leoff spun on the voice, delighted. "Gilmer!" He shouted, and caught the little man up in a hug.

"Hey, now," the man grumbled. "I was just joking. I'm not hopping about with you."

"But where were you earlier, when Her Ladyship was giving the honors? This ball should be for you, not me."

Gilmer laughed and clapped his shoulder, then whispered, "I snuck in with a crowd. But never fear-this party aens't for neither of us."

"What do you mean?"

"Weren't you listening to the lady's pretty speech? Haven't you noticed the quality of the guests?"

"Well, they seem to be mostly landwaerden."

"Auy. Oh, there's nobility about-there's Her Ladyship, of course, and the Greft of Nithergaerd over there in the blue, the Duke of Shale, Lord Fallow, Lord Fram Dagen, and their ladies, but most here are landwaerden or fraleten. Country- and townfolk."

"It seems an odd sort of party for a lady of the court to throw," Leoff admitted.

Gilmer reached for a passing tray and snagged them two cups of wine.

"Let's walk a bit," he said. "Have a look at your hammarharp."

They moved toward the instrument, which was still across the room.

"These families here are the backbone of Newland," Gilmer said. "They may not have noble blood, but they have money, and they have militias, and they have the loyalty of those who work the land. They haven't been happy with the noble families for a generation, but things are worse now, especially since what happened at Broogh. There's a deep canal between the royals and the people out here, and it's getting deeper and wider every day."

"But Duke Artwair-"

"He's a different sort, and as the lady Gramme said, he's been sent away, hasn't he? And the emperor don't turn his eye here. He don't hear us or see us, and he don't help us."

"The emperor-," Leoff began.

"I know about the emperor," he said. "But his mother, the queen-where is she? We've heard nothing from her."

"But she-" He stopped, unsure if he was allowed to mention his commission.

He sipped his wine. "What is this, then?" he asked. "Why am I here?"

"I don't know," Gilmer replied. "But it's something dangerous. I only slipped in to warn you. I'll be leaving as soon as I see my chance."

"Wait. What do you mean, something dangerous?"

"When the nobles court the landwaerds like this, it's not usually just to be friendly. Especially when no one seems to know who is really in control of this country. The lady Gramme has a son, you know-he was standing just next to you. I suppose you know who his father was."

"Oh," Leoff said.

"Auy. Take my advice-play something on that hammarharp and then get out of here."

Leoff nodded, wondering if Alvreic would take him back if he asked.

They had reached the instrument. It was beautiful, maple lacquered a deep red with black-and-yellow keys.

"What are you doing, now that your malend is burned?"

"Duke Artwair arranged a new position," Gilmer said. "One of the malends on Saint Thon's Graf, near Meolwis. Not too far from here."

"I'm glad to hear that."

He settled on the stool and glanced back up. Gilmer was gone. With a sigh he touched the keyboard and started playing.

It was an old composition of his, one that had pleased the Duke of Glastir very well. He'd once been pleased with it, too, but now it felt clumsy and childish. He pushed on to the end, adding variations in hopes of making it more interesting, but when he was done, it felt hollow.

To his surprise, the final notes were greeted by applause, and he realized a small crowd had gathered, Lady Gramme among them.

"Enchanting," she said. "Please play something else."

"Whatever you would like, milady."

"I wonder if I could commission a piece from you."

"I would be pleased to do so, though I've already agreed to one commission I must complete first."

"I was rather thinking you could invent something for this occasion," she said. "I'm told you can do such things, and I've made a wager with the Duke of Shale that you can make an impromptu that pleases."

"I could try," he agreed reluctantly.

"But see here," said the duke, a puffy man in a jacket that looked too tight, "how shall we know if he is inventing and not playing some obscure older piece?"

"I think we can trust to his honor," Gramme replied.

"Not where my purse is concerned," the duke huffed.

Leoff cleared his throat. "If it please you, Duke, hum a snatch of some favorite tune of yours."

"Well . . ." He considered for a moment, then whistled a few notes. The crowd murmured laughter, and Leoff wondered exactly what sort of tune it was.

Leoff spied Areana in the crowd. "And you, my dear," he said. "Give me another melody."

Areana blushed. She looked around nervously, then sang: Waey cunnad min loof, min goth moder?Waey cunnad min werlic loof?Thus cunnad in at, is paed thin loofThat ne nethal Niwhuan Coonth She had a sweet soprano voice.

"Very well," Leoff said, "that's a start."

He began with Areana's tune, because it began with a question: "How will I know my lover, good mother? How will I know my true love?" He put it in a plaintive key, with a very light bass line, and now the mother answered, in fuller, more colorful chords, "You'll know him by his coat, which has never known a needle."

He separated the two halves of the melody now, and began weaving them through each other, and as counterpoint added in the duke's whistle near the top of the hammarharp's range. When they heard that, almost everyone laughed, and Leoff himself smiled. He'd guessed the juxtaposition of the lover's riddle song against the other, probably vulgar tune, would amuse, and now he made it a dialogue: the girl asking how she would know her lover, the leering lecher who overheard her, and the stern mother warning the fellow away, bringing it all to a head with a sort of bang as the mother threw a crock at the man and he ran off, his melody quickly fading, until only the girl remained.

Waey cunnad min loof? . . .

Raucous applause followed, and Leoff suddenly felt as if he'd been playing in a tavern, but unlike the polite and often insincere acknowledgment he'd had in the various courts he had entertained, this felt sincere to the bone.

"That's really quite remarkable," Lady Gramme said. "You have a rare talent."

"My talent," Leoff said, "such as it is, belongs to the saints. But I'm glad I pleased you."

The lady smiled and began to say something else, but then a sudden commotion at the door made everyone turn. Leoff heard a clash of steel and a howl of pain, and grim-faced men in armor bearing swords burst into the hall, followed by archers. The room seemed to explode into chaos; Leoff tried to get up, but someone bumped into him from behind and he tumbled to the floor.

"By order of the emperor," a heavy voice thundered above the general din, "you are all arrested for collaboration against the throne."

Leoff tried to rise, but a boot struck him in the head.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

SWANMAY.

NEIL TENSED HIMSELF AND saw all his roads go black. If he killed Swanmay, he would protect Anne's destination and serve the queen in the only way he now could. But to kill a woman he had promised not to harm would be the end of any honor he could claim. saw all his roads go black. If he killed Swanmay, he would protect Anne's destination and serve the queen in the only way he now could. But to kill a woman he had promised not to harm would be the end of any honor he could claim.

Either way, he was certainly dead.