"The only thing I expect is that you will try and upset my plans."

"You can count on it, Arafanz. I and only I will decide the fate of my son...if that is my son. He could be yours!"

Arafanz left, smirking. "No such luck, Spur. The boy has Galinsean blood running through his veins. But forget escape, Lazar, none of us are going anywhere right now. You can't hear it but the Samazen began howling this last hour. No one can survive it."

Ana was restless, unable to sit or to lie. She found it easier to pace through the waves of pain.

"I cannot eat, Ashar," she warned as the young man sidled up to her.

"I brought you some juice of the fresh relicca."

"How?" she wondered aloud, despite the sharp ache.

"Some of our members are in the city regularly. Fruit is a rare delicacy in our life but I stole this for you. He won't mind. Everything's for you anyway."

"They say relicca can stimulate," she said, hesitating to take the cup of pale green juice.

"It will aid your stamina for the day ahead. Please, take it."

"Thank you," she replied, sipping. It tasted wonderful as it slipped down her suddenly parched throat. "Ashar, I don't know how to do this."

"Don't be frightened, Miss Ana. Your baby will find his way out."

She smiled sadly. "Where do you come from, Ashar?"

"He has told me I was taken from my tribe at a young age, though I have no recollection. This is my home."

"Wouldn't you like to know your real home? Know if you have family?"

"I don't permit myself to think on such things."

"I was taken from my home-a father I loved, brothers and sisters who were my playmates. I think of them often. I refuse to forget them."

He shook his head. "I have no memory of family."

"I can see that you lie. You do remember. Oh, Ashar, stop this-this is not your crusade, it is his! His vision, his dream, his madness! Run away while you can."

"He will hunt me down."

"No. Once, maybe. But not now. This is the end of it. This is what Arafanz has worked toward. Whatever happens over the next few days will be all that consumes him. He will not care about a runaway."

"Loyalty is my life."

"Not to him and his madness. Be loyal to your family. He stole you. He admits that. They did not sell you as my family did me. You were taken without their consent. They must love and miss and no doubt mourn you to this day."

He looked uncertain. Ana had worked hard on Ashar since that first day they spoke and found that fragile connection that often springs up between two lonely people of like age. In a strange way they had become friends. Perhaps now she could use that friendship-not for her own safety, for her future was here, certainly for the next day while her son arrived. But for Lazar. Lazar could be dead within that same time frame and she had to find some way to help him flee...she was sure he would rather die consumed by the desert, trying to escape, than helpless on the end of Arafanz's blade.

She pushed Ashar further. "Find the woman. She was of the desert tribes, wasn't she? I only glimpsed her but perhaps she can tell you which direction to head in-she may even know something of your family. Try, Ashar, try. This is no life for a young man. This is for clerics, mystics, and-"

"Madmen?"

She sighed softly. "Yes."

"I thought you liked him."

"I do. When he's not being cruel, he's such a sad, vulnerable, beautiful man. He could have been so much more than this."

"He told me he was chosen. As I was chosen."

"Yes, and I believe him. But whilst he was chosen by someone he considers his god, you were chosen by him-a mortal. If anything, he has been a destructive influence. Surely you want more than to die in the service of a god who has yet to ask anything of you? If Lyana calls to you, that's different. But I suspect she calls only to him. The rest of you have been coerced, your minds stripped of everything you once knew and loved and trusted. He has replaced that with himself and his crusade. It is wrong, Ashar. I promise you, it is wrong."

He looked at her and for the first time she saw the usual zeal blur and a new, fresher clarity shine in his eyes. "Go and see the tribe woman if you can...and, Ashar, if you can think of anything to help the tall, golden-haired man, I beg you to share it with me or do what you can. He is a good man. He is of Lyana, he is not your enemy. He is in tune with the desert, respects your people. He is the man I truly love, the father of the child I carry. He is the Crown Prince of Galinsea. You have a future king preparing to die in your prison. Help me find a way to save him, I beg you."

Ashar backed away, fearful. She had said too much, frightened him.

Another wave of pain grabbed her, took her on a long ride of agony, leaving her gasping. When she had recovered her wits, Ashar was gone and she was alone with her fears and the laboring child who would be soon pulled from her womb and taken from her.

Ana wept.

28.

Herezah could feel the tension in the city escalating. It unfurled from the crowded lanes of the bazaar and moved like a blanketing but invisible mist throughout the streets of Percheron, reaching up the hillside to the palace and the balcony where she now stood. Panic!

It was nearing fifth bell, not even noon, but the day was already unbearably hot. She had insisted that the messengers spread word that the general population was not under any threat from the Galinseans, that although there was no need to flee, those who wished to leave the city should do so immediately. Even to her ears it sounded hollow. If she were an everyday Percherese, living beneath the Stone Palace, she would grab her family and head for the foothills as fast as she could.

And whilst the city looked to be a roiling cauldron of activity, the palace seemed unnaturally calm. An hour ago all dignatories and senior members of the staff had gathered in the throne room as she had delivered them the news she had hoped to avoid. Herezah had deliberately gone nowhere near the throne itself, but had kept herself a step down on the lower plinth to make her announcement. She was sure her humility had not gone unnoticed-not that it mattered right now. No one was thinking about her dignity or her succinct speech. They were thinking about their loved ones, deciding whether to stay put and take their chances or leave everything behind and flee.

It wasn't an easy decision. Most of the people in that chamber were certainly under threat. Bin had stood stoically below her, glanced once or twice with approval at her calm, precise delivery, and then had escorted her briskly from the room full of stunned people to the balcony, where she now awaited the captain of the guard.

As she stared out across the harbor toward Star Island she was reminded of Lazar. She badly needed his counsel right now. She had since realized that it was only because of the letter he had left that the Galinseans had agreed to the private parley on the Daramo. What trust they had given her, and what fatal treachery the Percherese had shown in return. The nausea rose again, as it had so many times since the previous day, and threatened to overwhelm her. The temptation to simply curl into a ball, locking herself into her old room at the harem and awaiting whatever fate came, was seductive. But as irresistibly as cowardice beckoned, this was not Herezah's way.

Fighting wasn't her way either, and though deviousness and cunning were her weapons, she didn't know how to wield those for this situation, which had long spun out of her control. So fight she'd have to, and she would pray to Zarab that she could achieve a stalemate for long enough to allow Boaz and Lazar to return. Hopefully the Spur would have the ability to persuade his estranged father against the savage reprisals. In her heart the hopes felt hollow, but for the sake of the pride in the Crown she represented, she knew she must not lose hope.

Bin interrupted her thoughts. "Captain Ghassal is here, Crown Valide."

"Bring him in," she said, not turning yet. "Does he look frightened?"

"No, Majesty. Resolute."

"Good. I need his courage and reassurance."

Bin bowed and disappeared. Herezah took one last look at the uncharacteristically quiet harbor and imagined it filling with war galleys. She turned away to greet Ghassal of the Protectorate and wondered if she'd be dead by this time tomorrow.

Ashar brought a clay flask of water and a goblet into the prison area of the fortress. "I've been told to give the female prisoner fresh water," he answered the guard at the top of the stairs, a man Ashar knew well. The prisoners needed no more than this single person, for Arafanz felt safe in the knowledge that his prison was impregnable.

As the man checked the contents of the flask, Ashar asked, "Is everything all right?" He jutted his chin in the direction of the cells downstairs.

"Quiet," the man replied. "Why do I get this boring task? You get to look after the beautiful woman."

Ashar grinned. "I'm no more than nursemaid right now. She is in labor."

His companion's mouth widened. "It's happening?"

Ashar nodded. "It's almost time," he confirmed, his voice quiet.

"Hard to believe we're here at last. It's been years. We'll be riding for Percheron imminently."

"Seems so. We have to pray that Lyana keeps that baby safe and he arrives without problem."

"Have faith. He is Lyana's future. She will protect him."

Ashar nodded. "I'd better get this delivered. What about the others?"

"They took the young one away-he began to scream to be removed from the tall one's presence."

"Were they fighting?"

"No. I think the tall one frightened the younger one. Here are the keys. She's in the one at the end, with the window. As you're here, I need to relieve myself. I won't be long."

"Don't be. I have to get back to my post."

His friend grinned as Ashar disappeared down the stairs and into the dimly lit corridor. He hurried along to the last cell and put the key in the lock. What he was doing was wrong but he was too far down this path to turn back now. He had to satisfy his increasing hunger for the world outside the sheltered existence at the fortress. All the other young men seemed to be happy and dedicated to their cause, but their leader's influence had never fully claimed Ashar as it had his peers. He'd worked hard to be like all the other Razaqin but something inside refused to allow him to give up all of himself; he had kept back a tiny portion, locked it away. Ana's arrival and his closeness to her had opened the vault where he'd stored his few memories. He was a chief 's son. He had older brothers and sisters. He had worshipped his father, a wise, gentle man, and he could still remember his sweet-natured mother, who had died in childbirth trying to push out a baby brother, who had also perished. Ana's painful labor was calling up these old memories. He desperately wanted her to survive and for the boy to survive. Ashar covered his face as he entered, in accordance with Arafanz's rules.

"Who is it?" said a woman's voice from the darkest recesses of her cell. Morning light would normally be flooding sharply through this cell's windows but the Samazen's wrath had turned the day dark. Sand whipped around the chamber and Ashar could feel its grittiness beneath his sandals. He could just make out the woman in the corner, her robes pulled over her head to shield her.

"I have brought you water," he said, unsure of what to say, "but perhaps you need shelter more than anything."

"The wind can't hurt me and I like to feel the sand in here," she admitted. He could hear the puzzlement in her tone. "I didn't expect any kindnesses."

"I brought it of my own accord, not at his behest," he said, feeling awkward but preferring to be truthful.

"Why?"

"Miss Ana said I should meet you."

"How is she?"

"In labor and very sad, although I could be killed for telling you this."

"Then why do you share anything with me?"

"I don't know, I...I really shouldn't be here. Let me give you this water and then I shall leave." He bent to place the flask on the ground.

"No, wait!" she cried, pulling back the linens that hid her face. In the eerie half-light he froze, his face blanching.

"Ganya?" he whispered, barely able to form the word.

She stared at him. "How do you know me?"

Ashar hesitantly raised his hand to pull free the black fabric that covered his face. "I am your brother, Ashar," he prompted, realizing she probably couldn't recognize him; he had been secreted away from their tribe as a child and now he was a man.

"Ashar?" she croaked, her expression telling him that she barely dared to believe what he said. He understood that in growing up, he had obviously changed enough not to be immediately recognizable to her.

"What are you doing here?" he breathed. Before he could say anything else, though, recognition swept across her face as she did make out the beloved features of a brother and he was swept into her arms, was hugging and kissing through tears and smiles.

"Our father came to find you," she explained finally. "He never stopped searching, never gave up hope."

"I think he's the reason that I took this risk. This place has become my home and the other Razaqin have become my family but I have not forgotten my real home, my real family. I want to see my father again."

Ganya began to weep once more. "Oh, Ashar. My poor little brother. Our father is dead. His body still likely warm, his murder is so fresh."

"Murder?"

"Your precious Arafanz. I had to stand by and watch the madman slit our father's throat as he tried to explain why he was in this part of the desert, that he was searching for his son."

Ashar felt as though his lips had gone numb. He had trouble forming a response. The shock that his beloved father had come so close, only to be denied so much as a sighting of him, broke his already bleeding heart. "You saw this? You know Arafanz wielded the knife?"

"It was his own blade, I tell you. I witnessed our father gasping about finding you as his blood spilled into the sands and the man who sees himself as Zar maker talked over him as though he were a mere dog being put out of its misery. His body was left for the vultures circling overhead."

Ashar violently pulled away from her, hammering the walls with his fists until the skin of the knuckles broke and bled. He groaned his despair, his head swiveling in denial. Ganya let his pain pour out before she put her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

"We must get you away from here," she whispered.

"He killed my father," Ashar said. "He must pay for that."

"No! Ashar, listen to me. You know he has a small army behind him. They are fanatical; they will cut you down if you so much as threaten a hair on his head. Let them do whatever it is they need to do. You escape. You get yourself far away from here so that our father's death will have achieved something."

"And you?"

"They will miss me-not that I'm important-but they won't miss you. What's one less black-robed killer amongst so many?"

"He has given me a specific task. He expects me to be at my post."

"Then feign illness. Think of something, Ashar-anything that allows you to get away."

"There is nowhere to go. It is Samazen season and this is an angry one. Look at your chamber-this is just the beginning. We have days to go yet; its strength and ferocity are only going to increase."

"Promise me you will do nothing rash," she begged.

"Nothing rash, I promise you," he replied. He knew Ganya heard the message behind his words.

"Talk to Lazar. He's incarcerated here somewhere. He will know what to do. I beg you, Ashar. Take him into your confidence-he is...was...your father's friend. He has sworn to avenge his death."