Lazar frowned. "You think there is a link between us all?"

"Who's to say?" Zafira answered, irritating him slightly by the sudden sidestep. She had deliberately led him through this conversation and now she seemed to be pulling away. He wanted answers.

"Why won't you be frank with me?"

She put her bowl down, taking a few moments to fold the linen napkin. "You think I am evasive?"

"There's something you're either frightened of or not prepared to share."

Now it was the priestess's turn to shrug. "Forgive me. I don't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

"You don't," he replied.

A silence stretched between them, each measuring the other, knowing that whatever was said next would likely change what had begun as a casual acquaintance.

It was Zafira who began. "I have had the feeling for a long time now that there is a force at work. I cannot explain it; it is just something my instinct tells me. Recently it has become more insistent. It speaks of danger and yet it also speaks of deliverance. I don't understand it myself."

"And this feeling relates to you?"

"Yes, but to others too."

"Who?" She didn't answer. "Am I now making you feel uncomfortable?" he asked.

She laughed quietly. "Yes, as a matter of fact. I feel as though I'm talking nonsense, and to a very new friend."

"You've called me friend twice now."

"Aren't we?"

"We hardly know each other."

"We've shared quishtar. It's enough." And her words felt true to him. "But what binds us, Lazar?" she suddenly asked. "What compels you to come here? What makes me know that it is you who approaches even when I can't see you? What do we have in common?"

He hesitated, then offered, "I can tell you what attracts me, Zafira, if that would help."

"Please," she replied, "go on."

"I think I came to see the statue again. The one in the temple."

"Lyana."

He nodded. "I have never seen anything so beautiful, and Percheron is filled with beautiful art."

"And you like beautiful things, Lazar. It is why you like this odalisque so much, perhaps?"

"How odd that you mention her in the same breath as Lyana. At times I do feel about Ana the same way I do about the statue. Yes, I want to gaze at them for their arresting beauty, but I also want to protect them from those who would do them harm. I want to communicate with them. I think I came here tonight looking for an answer."

"And have you found it?"

"I don't know. But I also wanted my mind to be eased and that has certainly been done in talking to you."

The edges of Zafira's eyes crinkled as a smile lit her face. "That is a high compliment, Spur."

"Isn't that what friends do for each other? They comfort."

"Indeed they do."

"And does Pez come for comfort?"

"No. He comes and stirs me up." They shared a moment's amusement. "It's a strange thing, Lazar, but there are times when I feel that Pez knows much more than he lets on. There is wisdom in that curiously deformed face of his. Does he stir you up too?"

"No!" He laughed. "But he certainly knows how to frustrate people when he wants toa"people like the Valide and our Vizier, draped in all his trinkets and gold. Oh," he said, reaching into his pocket, "that reminds me. The most curious thing happened around sunset. Ana spotted an old woman in the bazaara"you know, in Gold Alley?"

Zafira nodded absently. She began clearing away the bowls. "Go on, I'm listening."

"Well, the woman was bargaining, selling some gold. I could have sworn it was a chaina" He frowned to himself as he recalled the scene. "Anyway, she was negotiating with an alley cat."

Zafira, her back to him, made a sound of disgust. "At her age she should know better."

"Yes, that's what I thought too. But before the alley cat could close the deal, Ana leaped in and begged the old woman to let her buy the piece instead."

"Why?" the priestess asked, retrieving the jug and emptying its contents into a pot plant outside one of the small windows.

"You know, I'm not sure. She said it was because she felt the bargain would not be fair. But there was more to it than that."

He heard Zafira chuckle quietly by the sink of water where she cleaned the bowls. "I suppose you bought it, Lazar?"

"I did," he admitted, sheepish.

She turned with a look of soft admonishment, as though he should not have spoiled the child so. That expression froze when she looked at what he held out in his hand.

"Where did you get that?" she asked in a harsh whisper, dropping the bowl she held. It shattered on the floor at her feet.

Lazar was taken aback by her reaction. The small gold owl sat small but heavy on his palm, warming against his skin. It was only now as he scrutinized it that he could swear the jewels in its eyes glinted with a light of their own. "This is what Ana bought."

"Hide it!" Zafira's tone was filled with fear.

"What?"

"Put it awaya"now!"

Alarmed, he slipped the owl back into his pocket. "What's wrong?" Zafira was breathing heavily and she suddenly groaned, leaning against the sideboard. "Do you need a healer?" Lazar asked uncertainly.

"No," she assured him. She took several deep breaths. "That's Iridor you hold in your handaor at least his image."

"Yes, I know. So?"

Zafira sighed and turned to extinguish two of the three lamps, the shattered bowl forgotten. She took a taper and lit it from the remaining lamp, then sat down at the table and lit a half-burned candle. The flame instantly threw a glow onto their faces. "How much do you know about the owl?"

Lazar shrugged. "As much as the next person, although I should admit I'm rather fond of him. He was the first of the graven images I saw upon entering the cityaI regard him asawell, as an old friend."

"I see." Zafira nodded gently. "Another coincidence or is it part of the web that binds us?"

He looked at her quizzically.

"Let me tell you what I know. Iridor," the priestess began, "is as old as time itself. He is a demigod who takes the shape of an owl. The owl works for the Goddess. He is her messenger."

"And why are you scared by him?"

"Not by him, Lazar. By those who would see him dead."

Lazar leaned back and regarded her. Battling with his curiosity was skepticism; she could see that.

"Come with me," she said.

Downstairs, she led him again to the statue. "Do you see now, Lazar?"

"Iridor," he murmured, looking at the sculpted owl on the statue's shoulder, with its enigmatic expression.

"What does he say to you?"

"I don't understand."

"He is a messenger. What does this sculpture of him say to you?"

Lazar took a long look, then said as honestly as he could, "He has a secret."

"Ah," the priestess replied. "Does he wish to share it with you?"

He looked again at the owl. "Yes, I believe he does. He seems faintly amused. Isn't that how he strikes you?"

She shook her head slightly. "He looks extremely somber to me."

"No smirk?"

"Not at all. He has only grave tidings to give to me."

"Surely not?" the Spur said, disbelieving. "We are both looking at the same image."

"That's the way of Iridor. He brings different tidings to each; he is one thing to one person and something else to another."

"And he belongs to her." Lazar reached again to lift the golden statue from his pocket. The eyes no longer glowed, although curiously the gold felt warm. He felt Zafira flinch as it emerged. "I haven't told you the whole story yet."

"I would hear ita"but first put that owl away, Lazar, and promise me this: that you will never tell anyone of this possession."

He regarded her intently, baffled by the fright he read in her eyes. "Ana knows of it. It is hers. She asked me to keep it for her."

"Then she is supposed to know of him and she was right to ask this of you. The statue would have been confiscated at the palace anyway."

"Yes, that's what she believed. Shea" Lazar hesitated. "When I said I would look after it for her, she insisted that I not just keep it but that I keep it close. I have no idea why."

Just for an instant, in the priestess's eyes, Lazar thought he saw a brief flare of knowledge. A moment later it was gone, and Lazar convinced himself that he had imagined it. "Zafira," he said, "there is another confusing aspect to our meeting with the hooded old woman."

The priestess looked again at the statue of Iridor and Lazar obediently secreted it away. "Tell me," she said.

"She was a stranger to me, and as Ana had only entered the city an hour or so eartlier, it was impossible that the woman could know her. The girl has never been beyond her dwelling in the foothills."

"So?"

"So how come this woman called Ana by name?"

They stared at each other, said nothing for a moment. The wick sputtered in the oil lamp and the harbor water sloshed gently outside. The silence thickened around them.

"Are you sure Ana did not introduce herself at any time?"

"Quite sure."

"Would you recognize this woman again?"

He shook his head, not releasing her gaze. He was certain she knew something, or at least suspected something, but he could not read her. "She was hooded."

Her lips thinned and her hands trembled slightly. They had been sure and steady when pouring the quishtara"Zafira was now nervousaor was she scared?

"Describe what you remember," she asked in a choked whisper.

"Tiny figure, hooded, dressed in dark clothesa"black, I think. Gentle of voicea"a beautiful voice, in fact, and if not for that recognizable quality, she could have been any frail old woman of Percheron."

"Not any. Not carrying a statue of Iridor," Zafira assured.

Lazar lost his patience. "What are you not telling me, Priestess? What is scaring you? What does your life have to do with mine or Ana's or Pez's? You are hiding something."

She shook her head sadly. "I hide nothing. I am as confused as you, Spur. But I have knowledge and that can be frightening."

"What do you know, then?"

She raised her eyes once again and regarded him fiercely. Her voice was hard when she finally replied. "I know only this. With the coming of Iridor, the cycle will turn. The demon is remaking himself."

Lazar felt his blood chill at her words even though he didn't understand what she meant. "So what now?" he asked.

"We wait."

"For what?"

"The rising of Iridor."