"I insist." Riordan settled herself against the window ledge. For a moment they stared at each other awkwardly. Without Nhaille's constant tutelage, she found she didn't even know how to begin the conversation. Small talk was not a commander's territory.

There were no orders to be given, none to be carried out.

"Did my mother believe...in the prophecy?" she blurted out, then winced inwardly at how abrupt it sounded.

But Zelia seemed unperturbed, even eager to talk about her mother. "Oh yes. The Queen believed wholeheartedly, even when the King did not."

"Did she know...I mean was it prophesied that she would die bearing me?"

Zelia nodded solemnly. "Her Majesty knew the dangers. She was willing to sacrifice her life for her kingdom."

Silence hung between them.

"Your mother worried a great deal about your fate," Zelia said after a time. "But she would be very proud of you now."

At that moment there was another knock upon the door. Zelia jumped up to answer it.

One of the restoration crew working on the lower room stood in the doorway. Dust and soot coated his hair. He looked beyond Zelia to Riordan standing in the center of the room.

"Your Majesty." He bowed awkwardly and extended a dust-covered box toward her. "They found this in a crevice in the wall in one of the second floor rooms."

Riordan took the box from his dust covered hands. It weighed more than she suspected. Handcrafted from silver and copper, it was a handsome thing to look upon even covered in soot. Someone had obviously put a great deal of love into its creation.

The delicate lock was crushed, but she managed to pry it open. Inside it was lined with red velvet and contained only two items, a golden ring and a tiny miniature of a woman.

Huge dark eyes stared out of a delicate face. A cloud of hair cascaded over her pale shoulders. Even in the tiny painting, an expression of mirth showed in the upward turn of her mouth and the gleam in her eyes. This was obviously a woman who enjoyed life."Do you know who this might have belonged to?"

Zelia glanced at the painting in Riordan's hands. "Yes, Your Majesty, that was Mira." She paused, glancing nervously from Riordan back to the painting. "Captain Nhaille's wife."

"He never told me he was married!" Surprise sprung the words from her lips. She looked up to find both Zelia and the mason staring at her in the uncomfortable silence that followed and vowed to censure the next revelation that threatened to tumble from her lips.

"She died in childbirth," Zelia said. "Perhaps it pained him to remember. He lost his daughter as well."

Suddenly it all made sense: the way Nhaille flinched at the sound of his given name and shied away from her first furtive touches.

He was remembering the touch of another, Riordan realized. And a daughter who died. In her naivete, she'd blundered through his feelings, made demands it was nearly impossible for him to honor.

"And did you know Captain Nhaille?" Riordan asked. "Before I was born?"

Zelia nodded. Riordan looked back to the mason waiting nervously in the doorway. "Show me the room in which you found this."

Riordan peered into the shadows of the high-vaulted ceiling. "You're certain this is the room?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." The stone mason held his torch high. Striding across the now cleanly-swept floor, he pointed to a crevice in the brick. "That's where we found it."

Riordan slid her hand into the shallow hole in the wall, finding just enough space to hold the jewelry box. Hastily, she replaced the brick. It seemed like she was prying into a part of Nhaille's life he'd never meant for her to see.

Until now she had never envisioned that there might be people left in Kanarek who knew Nhaille, people who had been part of the life he kept secret from her.

She looked around the spacious room. It was larger than she expected. Though all its furnishings had been destroyed, the size of the room alone spoke of prestige and accomplishment. Being granted a spacious chamber in the king's own palace was a fine achievement for the young man he'd been then. She tried to imagine what that part of his life must have been like.

For a time it must have seemed as if he had it all. Success, a place in the King's esteem, a beautiful young wife expecting their first child. And then it had all gone suddenly very wrong.

Having no power to fix the damage in his own life, he'd opted to accept the great deed his King asked of him. He raised the king's child as his own.

And found instead one day, that child was now a woman who had as many plans for him as his king.

Gods, Nhaille! Why didn't you tell me?

# Running a kingdom was not so different from commanding an army, Riordan decided. Days passed. The unfamiliar role became increasingly more comfortable. She became accustomed to having people around her, no longer jumping at every voice, or staring at each footfall. Leadership and organization were concepts she was used to. The challenge she expected to her leadership never came. No one questioned her claim to the throne. Getting over their initial fear of her, Kanarekii seemed genuinely awed.

Riordan caught many sideways glances as she passed. People stared covertly at her silver-blonde hair when they were certain she wasn't looking. She suspected that only her title kept from from openly touching this being who looked so much like a Shraal temple painting come to life.Whispers died as she turned corners, only to start up again once she passed. The myth walked among them. They listened with great deference to her orders and her opinions, hanging upon each word as if spoken by the Gods themselves. That she had actually accomplished the deeds laid out in the prophecy, wielded the legendary and dangerous Sword of Zal-Azaar intrigued them, even as it made her lonely in ways she couldn't explain.

After all she'd done for Kanarek, she was still an outcast. At last she'd come home, only to find herself still in exile.

And though she appreciated the respect granted to her, she ached for Nhaille's company, for the companionship of someone who accepted her for the person she was and not the stuff of myth or legend.

Visions haunted her. She closed her eyes each night to dreams of towering Shraal cities teeming with tall pale inhabitants. Each night she wandered their winding streets, a traveler out of place and time. Vivid dreams hovered in her mind upon awakening.

Even in memory she could smell the many-layered scent of the market place, the incense burning in the High Temple. It was as if in her dreams the fabric of time warped to encompass this strange Shraal descendant whose ravaged city now lay in ruins like the once vibrant city of Bayorek.

I have more in common with the Shraal than my own subjects.

She banished the black thought from her mind, admonishing herself as Nhaille would have done had he been there.

Penden's messenger arrived the next morning. Marik-Rau, it seemed, despaired the loss of his kingdom and his son. The morning guard had arrived to find him hanging by the sash of his robe.

The news saddened her. Another life lost, she thought darkly. Haven't enough been lost already? Was there no good that could be gleaned from the Shraal's great accomplishments? She wandered her dreams in search of Shraal virtue.

# The shining city stretched before her. In some lucid section of her mind Riordan realized she was dreaming, as she had every night since she'd returned from Hael. She placed a tentative foot on the crystal staircase that led to the palace. Gilded doors opened before her. In her dreams she was always welcome among the Shraal, though they said nothing to her, only watched her with luminous gray eyes as she moved among them.

Labyrinthine corridors swallowed her into the bowels of the palace. She glided forward, feet barely touching the ground. Pulled by an invisible string she floated onward, not knowing where she went, and strangely unafraid.

Ahead in the blinding white corridor, there was movement. A shadow moved in the threshold of a doorway. She came to an abrupt halt before the dark form, surprised to find a woman standing suddenly in front of her.

Green eyes locked with hers. An expression she recognized. Oddly familiar, yet different.

Nhaille's eyes, she realized with a jolt. Some relative of his, perhaps. She certainly inherited his height. They stared at each other, assessing.

Riordan looked closer, noticing suddenly the high cheekbones and stubborn set of the mouth was her own. Our child, she thought, understanding at last.

Riaan someone whispered in her mind. The dream shattered like glass.

# Nhaille looked down at Riordan's slight form curled up in her father's huge bed. A fist closed around his heart. So like him she looked with her mouth set in a stern line even in sleep. And yet, he could see her mother's image in the slenderness she retained even in pregnancy. If he looked closer still, he could see Mira in the way her hand rested protectively over her stomach. The three barbs twisted within him. So many memories here in Kanarek. Ghosts mocked him from all corners.

Time to put the ghosts to rest. Time to put aside the ruin of his life and start new.

But then Riordan had reached right out of fate itself and sent him spinning down a path he'd never envisioned.

He had hoped that some time apart might cure them of their forbidden attraction to each other. Or at least dull it long enough so they might do what was proper. Instead, it had sharpened his longing for her. And made Riordan feel even more that he had abandoned her. Less than halfway in his journey to the forest house he'd turned back, realizing that everything he wanted, everyone he loved, was in Kanarek.

Looking down at her, he ached to reach out and smooth a strand of silken hair from her cheek. He longed to protect her from the cruel reality of her life. For Riordan it would never be over. In Kanarek, she was Queen. The entire kingdom looked to her for guidance.

And who will protect her from me?

How could he have broken that sacred oath? How could he have let himself believe it was she who desired him.

However misguided, she wanted him still.

Dare he take what she offered? Dare he make one last grasp for the life that eluded him so long ago? Riordan had already made that choice for him. He had only to agree. Riordan, once she'd set her mind upon something would not be dissuaded.

Forgive me, Arais. I should never have let her love me.

# Riordan came awake with the suspicion she was no longer alone. Her hand closed around the hilt of sword that rested against the bed. A heavy hand settled upon her shoulder.

"You have no need for the sword, Riordan."

Firelight gilded the edges of his hair. It burned higher than it had when she fell asleep. The dampness made his wounded arm ache, she remembered. But that he'd been there long enough to stoke the fire disturbed her. Being around so many people dulled her senses to the routine commotion of the palace.

"You came back." She sat up slowly. "Why so soon?"

Nhaille smiled wryly. "Solitude wasn't the luxury I remembered."

"I knew you'd be bored."

"Did you now, Your Majesty?" The bed shifted beneath his weight as he sat down beside her. "What made you so sure?"

Riordan smiled. "All the excitement is here in Kanarek."

She was right, he realized. The rebuilding of Kanarek brought a sense of anticipation he hadn't experienced before. He took her chin in his hand and looked down into her face. "Are you well, Riordan?"

"Well enough. The sickness has passed."

Covers slipped from her shoulders exposing the thin shirt that covered her. The shirt was his, he noted. Perhaps it had comforted her when he was no longer there.Riordan relaxed against him, resting her head on his shoulder like she had when she was a child. The weight of his arms around her was reassuring. He smelled of horse and the cool night air.

For several moments she was content merely to listen to the steady beat of his heart. But one nagging worry refused to stay banished. If Nhaille had returned, then she wanted to settled what lay between them before another minute passed.

She rose out of the solace of his embrace and moved to retrieve the jewelry box she'd stowed with the rest of her gear. "I believe this belongs to you."

His eyes fastened on the box in her hand. She watched as he caught his breath and stilled completely.

But he took the box from her. Gingerly he opened the lid and peered inside. Wistfully, he regarded the miniature. He reached for the golden ring. It slipped over his index finger.

"Still fits," he murmured. That seemed to surprise him.

His ring of office. Given to him by her father on his promotion. Suddenly she understood its significance. And why he'd hidden it in the wall hoping to come back for it some day. He'd expected Kanarek still to be there. As had they all.

Green eyes dyed golden by the firelight watched her warily. "Riordan, I--"

"Why have you never told me you were married?"

He let his breath go. "I would not have burdened you with my sorrows."

"My sympathies," she said gently. "To hear of the loss of your wife and child."

"Thank you, Your--" He reached out, pulled her close. "Riordan."

"You blamed yourself," she guessed.

Drawing away, he nodded, as if he didn't trust himself to speak.

"You blame yourself for too much, Kayr. Even for things that I do."

Nhaille forced the shadow of a smile.

"Is that why you left? Were you afraid of history repeating itself?"

"I couldn't bear the thought of you suffering because of me."

"Don't worry. She'll be fine. So will I."

"She?"

He looked so shocked, she covered his hand with hers to reassure him. "She. I fancy the name Riaan, after my mother."

"What makes you so certain the child is female?"

"I--" She faltered, afraid to tell him about the images that haunted her dreams. "I have these...dreams. Vestiges of the Sword's power, ancestral memories, I don't know what they mean. But in one of them I saw this vision of a woman. Tall like you, dark like you. And I just knew she was our child."

"You've seen this?" he asked, eyes narrowing. "Truly?""I don't know how to explain it, Nhaille. I just know."

He gave her a long look, then his expression softened, as if after wielding the Sword of Zal-Azaar and winning back Kanarek a vision of their unborn child was not so unusual. He was content to grant her this one indulgence.

It seemed so innocent, so normal, the two of them discussing the name of their child. As if none of the rest of it had happened, not Rau, the Amber nor the Sword of Zal-Azaar.

"We must choose a male name," Nhaille said after a moment. "Riaan is no name for a prince should your vision prove to be wrong."

"I'm not wrong. You must trust my judgment in this one."

Warm breath stirred her hair as he pulled her closer. "I am content to trust your judgment in everything from now on."

"Nhaille--" Did she have the strength to say what was on her mind, the courage to offer him his freedom? "If you truly do not want to be my consort, I would not ask it of you. I will always be grateful for the sacrifices you've made for me and for Kanarek. You deserve your freedom and your privacy. It is wrong for me to ask more of you."

"You ask nothing of me that I'd not willingly grant." His lips moved against her forehead.

"Does this mean you've come back to stay?" She schooled her voice to a neutral tone, carefully hiding the desperate hope inside.

Nhaille smiled. "I underestimated what a gaping hole there would be in my life without you."