"No, Riordan," he said gently. "They're merely dead as they were meant to be."

"Not the dead." She stared up at him in wonder. "The voices in my mind."

Images pressed upon each other, tumbling back into her mind, overlapping until they became a whirlwind of thoughts. Rau's voice carried above the rest. She fought against the relentless press of his will. The blinding flash as the Sword hit the Amber, the horrible sensation of the world being torn asunder. Falling, forever it seemed. And then the eerie half-memory of wandering through the long-vanished city of Bayorek.

Riordan drew in a deep breath, reveling in the blessed silence. Exhaustion tugged at every muscle, every cell. And though she had not even a vague memory of her last meal, her stomach contracted violently and threatened to spill its contents.

Nausea or no, there was work to be done. She sat up slowly, heedless of the points of light that seared her vision. Nhaille reached out to steady her. For a moment they clung together, holding each other up.

"Riordan, you must rest. The battle is over. The prophecy is fulfilled. There are others to do your bidding now."

"And now I have a kingdom to rebuild." The knowledge settled like a hard lump in her stomach.

"You needn't start today. It can wait until tomorrow."

Riordan seized the wooden poster and pulled herself to her feet. But the floor spun precariously beneath her. Buzzing points of light threatened to send her down the dark spiral to unconsciousness.

She glanced at Nhaille, taking in the blood that soaked through his shirt, the gray tinge to his skin, the bone-deep weariness that threatened to topple him from his feet at any moment. Riordan sagged back onto the bed. "Tomorrow then," she said quickly.

"That is if we can spare the soldiers from the occupation of Hael."

"Penden has agreed to stay behind and oversee it."

One task she didn't have to see to personally. Nodding her thanks to Penden, she drew in a deep breath of relief.

Seeing that his Queen was safe for the moment, Nhaille rose to leave. Riordan caught his sleeve. "You should be in bed, yourself."

And when he opened his mouth to protest there were duties he had to see to, she shot him a stern look. "That is an order, Captain."

Penden smothered a smile.

"Find the Royal Physician," she told Nhaille's cousin."I don't need--" Nhaille started to protest, but she cut him off.

"I have a vested interest in keeping you in one piece, Captain." She glanced at Penden. "See to it, Coren. And while you're pillaging Hael's resources, see if there is any food in Marik-Rau's kitchen."

"I can't imagine our Haelian hosts fancying starvation," Penden said with an appreciative glance at the gilt-edged furniture. He sent one of the soldiers on reconnaissance.

Oblivious to the multitude of eyes around them, Riordan pulled Nhaille gently down on the bed beside her. "Post guards on the door. The rest of you...out."

Penden saluted, more in deference to his cousin. "Yes, Your Majesty." The door closed on his laughter.

# The soup didn't rest any easier on her stomach, in spite of the considerable talent of the palace chef. She couldn't seem to get comfortable enough to sleep, even in the king's luxurious bed. The eggs and sausage she ate the following morning came back up immediately.

The balm the Royal Physician prepared for her wound made it itch unbearably. Stiffness set into her sword arm and her back ached. When she wasn't being sick into the gold bucket by Marik-Rau's bed, she slept like the dead.

A few day's rest improved Nhaille's color but did little to heal the terrible wound in his shoulder. Marik-Rau's physician had stitched the wound, and glancing at the Kanarekii swords around him, had nervously proclaimed that he doubted Nhaille would get much use from the arm. Nhaille accepted the prognosis in stony silence.

A week passed before he was strong enough to ride.

Battle had reduced the Haelian population to a size manageable by the meager Kanarekii army. And they had those left in Kholer as allies. Dead bodies lay like puppets without strings, scattered where they'd fallen when the Amber was destroyed. It lay to those who remained behind to collect and burn them.

Marik-Rau and his advisors were locked safely in the palace dungeon. Penden, as Nhaille pointed out, after years of organizing the Kanarekii rebellion, was quite capable of handling the occupation of Hael. Nothing more to do but leave for home and try to rebuild a kingdom from out of the ashes of Kanarek.

But Strayhorn's swaying gait sent her stomach into instant rebellion. It's the strain of the past few weeks catching up to me, Riordan thought. But the rationalization rang falsely. A twinge of uneasiness hovered in the back of her mind. During the battle she'd lost track of her cycle. The waist of her breeches cut into her stomach in spite of the weight she'd dropped. She glanced at Nhaille sitting stiffly on Stormback and banished the troublesome thoughts. Time enough to worry about it when they got home.

# Kanarek.

Where once towers had challenged the heavens themselves, now lay only ruin and ashes. The main gate hung by a single hinge.

Inside, the blackened streets led to nowhere, the market and the huts having succumbed to the flames.

No need to worry about the dead in Kanarek, Rau had drafted them all into his army down to the last smith, shopkeeper, and handmaiden. Even the corpses of sheep and oxen, anything large enough to support a body be it adult or child, had been put to his service.

There would be no parade, no ceremony, no medals of honor to welcome home the veterans of war, Riordan reflected grimly.

Only devastation and the impossible task of rebuilding a kingdom stretched before her. Silence greeted her return to Kanarek. Cinder crunched beneath Strayhorn's hooves, ominously loud.

The door to the palace gaped open like an empty mouth. Inside it was gutted by fire and singed with soot. The throne room, the banquet halls and audience chamber all lay in ruin, but though the upper floors that housed the bedrooms bore the lingering acrid odor of smoke, the fire had died on the lower floors. Rau, in his haste to conquer Kholer, had not waited to see it relit.

Dreams lay among those ashes. Hers, her father's, and generations of Kanarekii before him. From the cinder beneath her feet she was supposed to piece an entire kingdom back together. There seemed no end to the obligations expected of her.

Fine to prophesy such a thing... Riordan stepped through the main doors of her ancestral home into the quiet blackened cavern beyond. The seer who dreamt the prophesy didn't dream the instructions on how to accomplish it.

The stone staircase was still standing, leading in darkness to the floors above. She watched the flicker of torches disappear into the shadows as Nhaille's troop advanced to scout out and secure the upper levels.

"The structure is sound," he said coming up behind her. "It can be rebuilt."

"We have few resources for the rebuilding of anything," she said hollowly. Where in the wasteland surrounding the city would they find the timber? Where would they find the craftsmen? She stared at the destruction around her, unable to see the splendor beneath the soot. "Was it beautiful?" she asked Nhaille finally.

"The palace?"

Riordan nodded. Wandering to one of the far walls, she scraped off the soot and motioned for Nhaille to bring the torch closer.

"The mural of the Seven Heavens," Nhaille supplied. "Your mother had it commissioned shortly after she became Queen. She had impeccable taste."

"Did you have a suite here?"

He hesitated a moment as if trying to guess her meaning, then said, "I doubt any of it would be recognizable. I'm sure it was given to someone else long ago."

Standing in the empty hall, she realized he'd once had a life here. One she knew nothing about. "Did you miss court life, Nhaille?"

Nhaille grasped her gently by the shoulders and turned her to face him. He still moved stiffly as if each step caused him pain, but there was strength once again in his hands. "I had a duty of far greater importance than murals and parties. Do not misunderstand, Riordan. I would not have traded those years with you, nor the difficult task we faced, for anything."

Riordan looked up at the ceiling where the shadow of the mural disappeared into smudges of soot. "I would have. I would have traded it all for one day of life here in Kanarek without obligation or prophecy. But no one offered me that trade."

"It cannot be undone, Riordan. We can only go on. Build what we can over the ruin of what was. You are still young, and you have a long reign ahead of you."

"I haven't a clue where to begin."

He pulled her against him. "I am here, Riordan. And there are enough experienced Kanarekii left to act as your advisors."

Words, meant to reassure her, but they only served to fan the flames of the nagging doubt inside. What will you say when you've heard what I have to tell you, Nhaille? That I fear we may have made more than just love in those nights. She turned toward him, to tell him of her worrisome suspicion, but just then there were footsteps on the stairs above, and the moment was broken.

"The upper floors are secure, Your Majesty."Leaning on each other, they made their way across the uneven floor. Damage lessened with each floor they climbed. Haelians in their haste had done most of their vandalism to the lower, most visible and heavily decorated floors.

The second floor was almost as bad as the first. On the third floor there was still evidence of the damage made by Haelian axes and most of the furniture had been carried off to feed the flames. But, by the time they reached the upper floor, the soot had thinned to the odd smudge here and there, but the smell of smoke permeated everything.

Nhaille led the way, knowing where he was going even amongst the carnage. He led her down a hall that still showed signs of having been decorated with gold leaf and stopped before an imposing looking door. "The King's bed chamber," he said.

She noted he said the King instead of 'your father' as if that made it any easier.

Riordan stepped into the darkness. In the shadows of the room she made out the dim shape of a huge four-poster bed. Too big to carry off and not time enough to set it aflame. Broken pottery crunched underfoot, vases, serving dishes, everything that had decorated the room was lost when Hael stormed through the gates. The rest of the room appeared to be empty.

Leather flaps hung crookedly on the windows, letting in the evening chill. Tapestries hung in shreds on the walls, carpets were streaked beyond recognition with dirt and soot.

"Perhaps you would be more comfortable in the camp," Nhaille suggested. She looked up into eyes darkly shadowed by the torchlight, but he said nothing of his feelings.

His homecoming, too, she realized.

Riordan dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. "I've waited long enough. This is my kingdom, my palace..." she glanced forlornly at what remained of the bedroom, "my bed chamber," she finished quietly.

"I'll call someone to clear out the room." He strode off to see to it.

"We'll need to secure the main door," she called after him.

Least of my worries. Riordan tore the hanging leather from its precarious hook and stared out the window. Outside, the sun was just setting. Crimson clouds scudded across the sky forming a curious red and black landscape out of the charred remnants of the fields.

Among the scorched remains of wheat and corn, something moved. She stared, straining her eyes to see in the half-light of dusk.

Ghostly figures drifted through the fields outside, making their way toward the palace.

"Nhaille!" Her summons echoed hollowly through the empty corridors.

Thinking her in danger, he appeared, panting, in the doorway.

"Look!" She pointed to the window. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the figures, nearly invisible in the dim light, creeping purposely toward them.

"Stay here," he said sharply.

"No." She grasped his sleeve, worrying about his injuries, wishing Penden was there to see to it instead. "I'm coming with you."

Out of the darkness, shadowy shapes became filthy faces, tattered clothing. Haunted eyes stared up at the silver-haired woman on the palace stairs and the soldiers in Kanarekii armor who surrounded her.

They stopped, a distance from the broken stairs, looking silently up at her. A murmur spread through the ragged crowd. Then as one, they fell to their knees."Gods!" Riordan let her breath go in a rush. "They're Kanarekii!"

# A fire burned in the hearth, taking the chill out of a room too long left open to the elements. Torches burned in wall sconces casting wavering shadows throughout the room. Most of the debris had been swept away. The filthy carpet still covered the floor.

Rough soldier's blankets served as bedding.

Well past midnight and still voices drifted up from the lower floors. At least the hammering had stopped and a makeshift door secured the entrance. That didn't solve the problem of what to do with the multitude of Kanarekii she was forced to house amid the ruin of the palace. Every livable room was taken and still they overflowed back down into the lower floors.

Her father's bed looked desperately inviting, in spite of the ghosts that hovered like cobwebs in every corner of the room and the rough blankets. But a dozen worries crowded her mind.

"Where are we going to put them all? The palace can't possibly hold them."

Nhaille's hand settled on her shoulder. "Come to bed, Riordan. There's time enough to worry about it tomorrow. We'll organize work detail, start on rebuilding the huts."

"How will we feed so many people? All the crops have been destroyed.

"They've survived this long," he said, circling her with his arms and pulling her away from the window. "And so have we."

We. That other worry that unlocked to the door a score of others. As if there weren't already enough. After all I've been through and still there is more. More problems to solve, more things to worry about. It was like peeling an onion, she thought. Each layer revealed another underneath. She should leave the topic alone until the others had been dealt with. But the longer she waited, the more complicated the situation became. The longer she waited, the more furious Nhaille would be for her deception.

"We haven't spoken yet of us." Riordan lunged into the conversation, not trusting herself to wait and lose her nerve.

"What of us?"

What indeed? She couldn't just blurt it out. Deftly, she sidestepped the issue, easing him into the conversation. "Have you thought of what you'll do once everything is settled?"

She watched him debate with himself, as if choosing his words carefully. Finally, he said, "I had hoped, when this was all over, to enjoy a quiet retirement in the forest."

He looked out the window, over the darkened fields, paying only half his attention to her. He had that wistful look that sometimes overcame him when he spoke of the old days in Kanarek. Entertaining his ghosts, she realized. This was her father's room. Likely he'd stood there conferring with her father many times before she was born. Perhaps this was the very room in which the King had asked him that one great favor.

It was unfair, she thought with a guilty conscience, to keep him from his life after he'd spent the last nineteen years in seclusion at her father's orders. Unfair to keep her secret from him. But still she felt betrayed that after those nineteen years, he would wish to be separated from her.

"I can certainly understand," the words ran into each other, betraying the hurt she tried to conceal, "that after nineteen years you might be looking forward to your freedom. I can imagine you counting down the last few years, thinking soon you would be relieved of the burden my father thrust upon you and free to finally do as you please..."

He sensed her agitation and stilled. She had his full attention now. She could tell, even though he still had his back to her. Did he suspect? Risking all, she blurted out,"But it's not that simple, Nhaille. I believe I am carrying our child."

His back stiffened. She heard him draw in a quick breath. He turned toward her, very slowly, so slowly, his shadow preceded him.

"You told me it wasn't your time."

"It wasn't," she said. "The first time."

He looked quickly away.

"During the battle I lost count of the days. I had more than us on my mind, Kayr. Truly, I didn't think it of any consequence. I was certain we'd both be dead."

"But we're not."

"No, we're both very much alive."

"Gods, Arais," he said to the darkness, "what have I done?"

Not the reaction she'd expected. She had hoped to hear her name spoken, not her father's.

"You needn't be so shocked, Nhaille. I am not a child. Kanarek does need an heir. And I am entitled to choose whomever I please as its sire."