"And of making yourself agreeable?"

"Yes. I'll be very agreeable. I'll be so agreeable that he'll fancy himself the most fascinating, witty, irresistible monarch ever to grace a throne. I'll be so agreeable that he'll think he's tumbled into a vat of treacle. So agreeable that his teeth start to rot from the sheer sweetness of it all. Is that agreeable enough?"

"Perhaps too much so. You deal with a jaded royal palate, remember. Insipid amiability is unlikely to engage His Majesty's interest. Nor is it in keeping with your own character. You might do better to be more yourself."

And if I were, then I wouldn't offer Miltzin IX of the Low Hetz anything beyond a polite curtsy. She said nothing. She said nothing.

Vo Rouvignac eyed her at length and finally asked, "You are willing to proceed with this project, Miss Devaire?"

"Project. An interesting term. I've given my word, haven't I? Of course I'll perform as promised. I will take advantage of tonight's private audience to secure King Miltzin's promise to sell the secret of the Sentient Fire to Vonahr, at a very handsome price. I am authorized to offer as much as twenty-five million New-rekkoes-"

"That has changed, as of today. You may now go as high as forty."

"Forty. How did that happen?"

"Circ.u.mstances press."

"I see." She resumed the recitation, "I will use any and every persuasive means at my command to sway His Majesty in Vonahr's favor."

"Should you fail, however-"

"Then I will do my best, at the very least, to discover the location of the clever Master Nevenskoi's secret workroom. There now, Deputy Underminister. Satisfied?"

"That you have learned your lessons by rote? Quite." Vo Rouvignac studied her perfectly painted face. "But memorization is not the key to success. Nor is pure determination, although it helps. Allow me to observe that the reluctance, tension, and resentment that you presently project in nearly tangible waves are hardly apt to win His Majesty's favor."

"Nearly tangible?"

"I a.s.sure you."

"Well, don't worry. By the time I come face-to-face with the king, everything will be fine."

"I wonder. His Majesty's susceptibility to beauty is proverbial, and yet he is not altogether devoid of perception. It is possible, however, that you might reconcile yourself the better to your task if you would pause to recall exactly why you have undertaken it."

Freedom, Luzelle thought. Fortune, fame, success, independence. Fortune, fame, success, independence.

"Personal reasons, selfish reasons," she answered slowly. After a moment she added, "All along I've thought of nothing but winning the race. I never considered what must follow, never stopped to remember what you explained so clearly the first day we met-that you and the ministry regard my success as purely a means to an end. I knew it, but always managed to ignore it. And now the debt has fallen due."

"Indeed. But if you recall that day in Sherreen, you will remember that I told you of the Grewzian threat to Vonahr. You speak of a debt falling due? Vonahr's long debt of willful ignorance, political misjudgment, and procrastination is falling due with a vengeance. You are aware that we stand upon the verge of ceding Eulence Province to Haereste?"

"I've read that the president and Congress are considering the matter."

"There is little to consider. The Grewzian troops stand ready at the border. We are unfit to resist them, we've neither the manpower nor the weaponry. Submission to the Haerestian demand purchases a little time. It will not be long, however-no more than weeks at best, probably less-before another concession, bribe, or tribute is demanded, one so exorbitant that we shall find ourselves genuinely unable to pay it. Citing our defiance, the Grewzians will seize the pretext to launch their invasion, and there is an end. You've pa.s.sed through many nations currently in thrall to the Imperium. What impressions have you formed?"

"I've seen more than I wanted. I've seen terrible things," she admitted unwillingly. "I wish I could forget some of them, but I never will."

"Soon those scenes you would prefer to forget will repeat themselves in Sherreen, and in the provincial capitals, and throughout Vonahr. The brutality that you have glimpsed briefly in pa.s.sing will become our daily reality. The Imperium will expand until there is no place left in the world to hide from it."

"I know."

"You know, but you do not let yourself think of it, just as Vonahr has not allowed herself to think of it these past fifteen years-or perhaps twenty-or more, if you want to take the larger view. But I ask you to think of it now. I also ask you to think of what you might do to alter the prospect."

"You've made your point, Deputy Underminister."

"Should you succeed with the Hetzian king tonight, you are in a position to make a difference, perhaps crucial. Do you believe that?"

"I know it's not impossible. But not probable, either."

"Forget probability, it means nothing. You overcame all obstacles to win the Grand Ellipse. That was improbable. You will similarly overcome the king's resistance to win the Sentient Fire for Vonahr tonight, should you choose. I do not doubt that you are capable of doing this. The real question is, are you willing?"

"Yes." She met his eyes. "You've reminded me how much is at stake, and I won't forget again. I promise to put forth my best efforts. I'll do everything I can."

"That is all I can hope for. Maintain that resolve and you will triumph."

Vo Rouvignac's own powers of persuasion were considerable. At that moment she believed him.

There was a knock at the door, and the maid answered. A moment later she stepped into the sitting room to report the arrival of the royal carriage sent to carry the Grand Ellipse victor to the reception.

"May I escort you to your conveyance, Miss Devaire?"

"Should I be seen in the company of a ministry official?"

"After tonight it no longer matters."

He offered his arm. She took it, they exited the suite, and proceeded along the corridor to the red-carpeted stairway, for she did not dare risk her gown in the hugely popular lift.

Halfway down the stairs he remarked, "I nearly forgot. You asked some days ago for news of Mesq'r Zavune, and I've received some. He has recovered his health but remains in UlFoudh, evidently uninterested in completing the Grand Ellipse course."

"I'm surprised he doesn't just go home, then."

"He would find life uncomfortable there. Debtors' prison awaits him in Aennorve. His financial obligations are relatively minor, but he cannot meet them, and the Aennorvi law is unforgiving."

She digested this in silence, then observed carelessly, "I'd quite like to help the poor fellow. Any chance that the ministry would advance me a small loan against the profits from the sale of that Hetzian manor house I've won?"

"Perhaps that is possible." He favored her with a keen glance. "a.s.suming a happy outcome, the service you render this evening places a grateful ministry in your debt."

"Bribery, Deputy Underminister?"

"Motivation, Miss Devaire."

Neither spoke again as he walked her through the lobby and out the front door to the street, where her carriage waited-a royal carriage, big and ornate, blazoned with the arms of Hetzia's monarch.

People on the street were staring. She did not know whether to wave and smile, or to ignore them. She compromised with a dignified nod or two. A grandly liveried attendant a.s.sisted her into the carriage and closed the door behind her. She looked out the window to see the Deputy Minister vo Rouvignac's nondescript figure standing motionless before the hotel entrance, and then the carriage moved and he was gone.

The drive to the Waterwitch was not brief, for the palace stood well beyond the city limits of Toltz. Luzelle watched as the cobbled streets lined with tall buildings of brick and stone gave way to unpaved avenues and wooden houses, which in turn yielded to dark stretches of uninhabited marshland. The road-winding through shadowy groves studded with standing pools separated by stretches of increasingly boggy ground-presently became a causeway traversing otherwise impa.s.sable terrain.

The carriage reached the first of the three great drawbridges guarding the way to secluded Waterwitch Island. This construction, flanked with fanciful sandstone towers, seemed frivolous enough, yet the winch and chains designed to raise and lower the bridge were obviously functional. Farther along the road the second bridge, spanning an expanse of inky water, was similarly ornate but utilitarian. And the third, connecting the roadway with Waterwitch Island itself, could be lifted to shield the gateway in the high wall of white stone girdling the palace.

This location and design, evidently appealing to His Majesty's sense of whimsy, in fact provide excellent defense. Luzelle remembered vo Rouvignac's description. Luzelle remembered vo Rouvignac's description.

His Majesty's sense of whimsy. The Waterwitch almost stank of whimsy with its quaint turrets, cupolas, and spires, its crenellations and flying b.u.t.tresses, its stained gla.s.s and rampant gargoyles. No doubt the place was equipped with camouflaged sliding panels and secret pa.s.sageways as well. Not to mention a hidden workroom.

The driver pulled up before the gigantic arched front entrance. An attendant handed her from the carriage and escorted her a few paces to the door, where she was relinquished to the care of a footman who spirited her off along a perilously slick marble corridor to the lair of a very tall and very correct chamberlain. This lofty individual led her through a maze of hallways to a small private audience chamber on the second story of the building. He spoke a good deal in fluent, precise Vonahrish and at first, nervous and disoriented, she hardly followed him. Then she forced herself to listen, and the words began to register.

This small audience chamber, she discovered, was part of His Majesty Miltzin's personal suite, which accounted for the relative comfort of the upholstered furnishings. Here the winner of the Grand Ellipse would enjoy the honor of a short private audience with the king of the Low Hetz, and here she would receive into her hand the royal writ conferring the Hetzian peerage that was the victor's prize. The writ required official certification and recording in the Chronicles of the Realm, but this was a minor formality. From this evening on, the Grand Ellipse victress might legitimately regard herself as a baroness of Lower Hetzia.

Is that t.i.tle salable? she wondered shamelessly, but there was no time to think about it, because the chamberlain was still instructing her. she wondered shamelessly, but there was no time to think about it, because the chamberlain was still instructing her.

At the conclusion of the audience, she learned, she would accompany His Majesty down the small private stairway connecting the audience chamber with the Long Gallery, where the guests were already a.s.sembled. There she would be presented to Her Royal Highness the Queen Ingarde- Queen. Strange how easy it was to forget that King Miltzin had a queen.

She would then take a place of honor on the right-hand side directly below Their Majesties' dais throughout ensuing presentations, most notably those of the Grand Ellipse contestants successfully completing the course in her wake.

Girays. Karsler. Hay-Frinl, the Kyrendtish blueblood with the stammer. The Strellian physician, Dr. Phineska. She had not even realized that the last two were still in the race, but they had come straggling into city hall two days apart at the beginning of the week. n.o.body after that, however. Everyone else was thwarted, incapacitated, missing, or dead.

The chamberlain was still talking. He was saying something or other about the reception, and she couldn't have cared less about the reception. Her mind focused feverishly on the audience that was to precede it.

His Majesty Miltzin would appear shortly, the chamberlain declared. The Waterwitch and all within extended warmest congratulations to the winner of the Grand Ellipse.

He bowed his way out. She was alone.

She sat down on a damask couch and waited. The minutes expired one by one. His Majesty did not appear. Her fingers began to twist. Rising, she paced restlessly about the room, her short train sweeping the carpet behind her. When she paused beside a window open to the summer breezes, she caught a s.n.a.t.c.h of music, perhaps wafting from the Long Gallery, where the reception was already in progress. Girays. Girays. He would be there by now, and she wished him a hundred miles away. She had been dodging him all week long, and although she had encountered him at various social gatherings, she had successfully avoided facing him alone. Except for that first time. He would be there by now, and she wished him a hundred miles away. She had been dodging him all week long, and although she had encountered him at various social gatherings, she had successfully avoided facing him alone. Except for that first time.

Within hours of his arrival in Toltz he had come knocking on her door at the Kingshead Hotel, and the sight of him standing there whole and healthy had filled her with such joyous relief that she had barely contained the impulse to fling her arms around him. He had asked her to dine with him, and she had a.s.sented gladly. They had descended to the hotel restaurant, placed their orders, and then, facing one another across a small table, they had begun to talk in earnest. He had described his recovery from the effects of the doctored eels in Wolktretz, his subsequent progress south, the meeting with Karsler Stornzof at the Three Beggars Inn, their simultaneous arrival at the Toltz city hall, and the coin toss determining Karsler's right to claim second place in the Grand Ellipse, with Girays coming in a very close third. For a while the exchange had been glad and spontaneous, but Luzelle had soon recognized her own growing sense of constraint, whose source had been plain enough. His narrative had inevitably conjured memories of their last parting at Wolktretz Station. "I love you," she had blurted, a moment before sprinting for the southbound train. She had not forgotten it and neither had he-his look of suppressed expectancy had told her as much-but she had found herself tongue-tied, unable to acknowledge, much less address, his unspoken questions.

So she had tossed airy trivialities across the table at him, while watching his eyes and his mood darken. She had gone on chattering for centuries at least, before he had finally met her eyes and observed quietly, "You're uneasy, and there's no need."

She had not attempted denial. He would have known she was lying.

"It would seem that I misunderstood you in Wolktretz," he had continued. "The error was mine, but I won't compound it now. You needn't fear I'll trouble you with attentions that I see would be unwelcome. There, does that rea.s.sure you?"

"No." She had replied without thought or hesitation. "You did not misunderstand me, and your attentions are anything but unwelcome. But I'm sorry, I can't talk of it now can't talk of it now." Rising from her chair, she had hurried straight out of the restaurant without a backward glance.

And since that day, she had not spent a single moment alone with him. He had been puzzled and frustrated by her elusiveness, she had seen it in his eyes more than once, but that could not be helped. If she had spoken with him, if anything significant had pa.s.sed between the two of them, then she would never have been able to undertake this evening's task; she could not have come to the Waterwitch at all. If he ever so much as suspected her intentions- But of course he suspected, she let herself realize for the first time. He knew that the ministry had recruited her for the race and, no matter how little vo Rouvignac had told him, he must have inferred the rest. He could not know how far she would go in order to fulfill her mission, but certainly he must suspect.

Frowning, she turned away from the window and the music. Still no sign of Miltzin and she wished he would hurry. She wanted to get started before her nerve and determination crumbled.

The king did not oblige. Luzelle returned to the couch, where she sat down and waited some more.

THE LONG GALLERY WAS CROWDED and the heat was oppressive. Too many candles for a summer's night, too many bodies trussed into formal evening wear and packed too closely together. Too much noise, too much inane conversation drowning out some fairly decent music. Girays v'Alisante eyed the nearest window, which stood wide open. If only he could reach it, he might draw a breath of fresh air and catch a glimpse of the gardens below. But the way was blocked by a brace of large, bejeweled Hetzian matrons bent on milking the visiting Vonahrishman of Grand Ellipse anecdotes. and the heat was oppressive. Too many candles for a summer's night, too many bodies trussed into formal evening wear and packed too closely together. Too much noise, too much inane conversation drowning out some fairly decent music. Girays v'Alisante eyed the nearest window, which stood wide open. If only he could reach it, he might draw a breath of fresh air and catch a glimpse of the gardens below. But the way was blocked by a brace of large, bejeweled Hetzian matrons bent on milking the visiting Vonahrishman of Grand Ellipse anecdotes.

"Poisonous snakes and crocodiles in Aveshq?" demanded one of the women. "It's really true? Were you frightened frightened, or just nauseated nauseated?"

"And just what exactly is is a 'Quiet-fellow,' anyway?" her companion wanted to know. a 'Quiet-fellow,' anyway?" her companion wanted to know.

No escape from the inquisition. Girays replied at polite length. He had told the stories often enough throughout the week that he could almost recite them in his sleep. While he spoke, his eyes traveled discreetly. He saw a sprinkling of familiar faces, a host of strangers, a rainbow dazzle of jewels and silks.

But nowhere did he see Luzelle Devaire.

She was the guest of honor. Perhaps she intended a dramatically delayed arrival, a grand entrance; not like her, but not impossible under such circ.u.mstances. Or else her audience with the king of Lower Hetzia could have been scheduled to take place prior to her appearance at the reception. In which case she was probably with Mad Miltzin even now, arguing and pleading, offering Vonahrish millions for the secret of that Sentient Fire vo Rouvignac had described.

And just what else was she prepared to offer?

It was not his place to judge or condemn. Her motives were patriotic. Whatever the outcome, she deserved credit. His intellect conceded as much, but intellect wasn't everything.

Luzelle and Miltzin IX. Right now. The pictures started to roll through his mind, and he would lose his composure if he let himself look at them. He concluded his Aveshquian tale, and his listeners clamored flatteringly for more. A few well-chosen words transported them to the Forests of Oorex and the village of the Blessed Tribesmen. He spoke on, and the objectionable images faded a bit. He permitted himself the occasional quick searching glance around the great chamber, and at length hit on something that momentarily drove all thoughts of Luzelle's royal audience from his head.

On the far side of the room stood a burly, crop-haired figure attired in the black-and-grey livery that he recognized as belonging to House Stornzof. Karsler Stornzof's ramrod grandlandsman uncle had arrived some half-hour earlier, attended by just such a liveried figure. Not this particular liveried figure, however. The servant trailing a respectful pace behind Torvid Stornzof had been medium sized, lean, and narrow faced. Girays scanned the gallery and promptly picked out another loitering Stornzof retainer, this one st.u.r.dy and reddish haired. Curious. Most, if not all, of the guests had brought their servants; coachmen, footmen, and the like. But those servants were waiting out in the stables or down in the kitchen, where they belonged. They weren't hanging around the gallery among their masters. And the Grandlandsman Torvid hardly seemed the character to permit his menials unusual liberties.

The anecdote concluded. Girays made his escape and went to stand beside the open window, there to resume his scrutiny of the Long Gallery. He spied three black-and-greys in the crowd, and more than identical liveries seemed to unite them; all three shared a certain compressed-spring stillness and all three faces, while dissimilar in type, were alike in their alert hardness. They looked less like servants than soldiers. A small warning flare went off in his mind.

Accepting a flute of champagne from a pa.s.sing waiter, he took a thoughtful sip and let his eyes wander. Soon he located Karsler Stornzof; very easy to spot with his height, his fair hair, and his uniform. Stornzof, as usual, stood surrounded by pretty women unabashedly vying for his attention. So it had been all week long, at every party and reception. They cl.u.s.tered around him like aggressive b.u.t.terflies, they trailed him everywhere, he walked amid polychrome clouds of women. Tonight was more of the same, and the scene was unexceptional.

Or perhaps not.

As Girays looked on, the Grandlandsman Torvid Stornzof forced a pa.s.sage through the huntress ranks to his nephew's side. The younger man glanced around quickly, and Girays caught a very fleeting, revealing expression of strong distaste, perhaps accompanied by some anger, before Stornzof's face resumed its wonted tranquillity.

KARSLER STORNZOF FELT A LIGHT PRESSURE on his arm and glanced around quickly to confront the Grandlandsman Torvid. Suppressing a powerful surge of dislike, he faced his uncle impa.s.sively. on his arm and glanced around quickly to confront the Grandlandsman Torvid. Suppressing a powerful surge of dislike, he faced his uncle impa.s.sively.

"A word with you, if I may," Torvid requested.

Karsler shook his head. "I do not care to resume our quarrels, Grandlandsman."

"Bah, it is time to finish with foolish squabbling. We are of one House, that is unalterable, and it will not do for either of us to forget it. Have you lost all sense of duty, or will you spare the head of your House a brief word?"

Karsler inclined his head slightly.

"In private, then."

The two of them departed the Long Gallery together. Neither noticed Girays v'Alisante following quietly in their wake.

Torvid led the way down the corridor to a deserted antechamber. They went in, and he closed the door, locked it, then reached into his pocket to withdraw his cigarette case. Extracting a black cigarette, he lit up and drew a deeply appreciative breath, remarking with satisfaction, "There, that is better." There was no reply, and he observed, "Well, Nephew. I am glad you are willing to mend our differences tonight, as it is the last occasion we shall have to do so for some time to come. Tomorrow I return to the homeland."

"I wish you a safe journey."

"And you? I gather your days of leisure are drawing to a close."

"Correct. I have received my orders and I embark tomorrow morning for the Rhazaullean front."

"Scarcely an enviable post."

Karsler shrugged.

"It would seem that you are out of favor with your superiors. That is hardly surprising, in view of your recent highly public defeat at the hands of a woman. No doubt the absurdity of the affair only sharpens the sting of failure."

"Not really."

"I wonder if your fellow officers and the men under your new command will agree. Many will have wagered heavily on your victory, and perhaps hold you accountable for their losses. You are apt to encounter resentment."

"I am prepared for it."