I cracked him right in the head, and then I had to be sorry and get a cold cloth to put on it.

"Next time," he grinned, "you'll find the target. Although...in a street fight you'd be fine."

"No one," I said, "stands like a block of ice in the middle of the street after dark."

"You'll be surprised, when you get to the city, just what people will do."

"Tell me about the city, then." The master shrugged. "It's crowded. It smells. There are lots of things to buy."

I snorted. "I've been there," I said. "I know all that." But I didn't know the city, not really. I'd only passed through in a carriage, and spent my days in the duke's house on the Hill. "Did you like it?" I asked.

"It was interesting." He always said that about things another person would have strong feelings about. I knew there was a long story in him about the city and that he was hiding it from me.

"I expect I will have a house there someday," I said breezily. "Perhaps you will come visit."

"No. I would not like to go there now." But his calm, sure voice was quiet; he sounded as though perhaps he would.

I repented of my relentlessness. "Does your head hurt very much?"

"Not very much. Help me roll out the bedding."

The master staggered as he bent over to pull the pallet out. I had to make him sit down. "Oof!" he said, as I spread his bed on the floor. "It wasn't such a bad knock. It's funny; I was always sure I'd never live to be twenty-five. This all comes as a surprise, this business of after."

I had lit a candle, being unable to find things in the dark as he could. In the rich light he looked pale, fine-drawn, neither young nor old. I wanted to give him a strong dose of poppy and make him tell me things before he fell asleep.

I heated some wine on the hearth instead. Twenty-five seemed terrifically old to me. I couldn't imagine the time it would take to get there, let alone get past it. When I was twenty-five, my whole life would be decided. I'd probably be married, with children; at least, I hoped so. Unless I was killed by a sword, the way he had planned to be.

I put the wine into his hands. He drank it all, but did not ask for more. He wasn't going to tell me anything. I should have known.

chapterIV.

IT WAS ONLY A LIGHT FEVER.ARTEMISIAFITZ-LEVIhad managed to hide it from her family and was now on her way to the Halliday ball, dressed and decorated and dazzling. In the chill of the winter carriage, it was a positive benefit that she felt so hot. The Hallidays were important, their ball wasalways one of the best of the season, and she was not going to miss it.

When she emerged into the ballroom, her eyes glittering, her face flushed, heads turned to admire her.

Young men asked her to dance, asked if they could fetch her a cooling drink. She laughed and flirted with her fan, feeling her head floating high above them all, knowing that she could keep going forever, since if she stopped or sat down for a moment she would collapse. She accepted the dances, accepted the drinks, accepted the compliments and the jealous or inquiring looks of the other nobles' daughters who were also there to attract a husband of worth.

Seeing that she needed no coaching, Artemisia's mother had already gone off to find the card tables, her father to find a convivial crew to drink with and observe the gathered beauties. Her particular friend, Lydia Godwin, was traversing the floor with the scion of the house of Lindley, and seemed to be enchanted by the boy. Artemisia looked around for the next arm to take, the next eye to catch. She was relieved not to see the Mad Duke's nephew, Greg Talbert, anywhere; he had turned out to be a bore after all, despite his ardent admiration and exotic connections. She knew better, now; weeks of experience had taught her that flowery phrases and passionate glances were a minnow a handful. Every man was full of them; it was what came next that mattered. Her eyes darted anxiously. If no one approached her again soon, she would have to make for the haven of Lydia, Lindley or no Lindley; it was beyond impossible for her to stand in the middle of the floor looking as if she had no one to talk to.

She bent her head down, carefully adjusted a curl by winding her dark tress around and around her jeweled finger. When she looked up, she was surprised to find her cousin Lucius bearing down on her.

"Cousin!" Lucius Perry kissed her cheek. "My friend Dav has begged for an introduction to the beauty of the evening."

She thought dear Lucius had had more than a little to drink; that accounted for the rose of his cheeks as well as the fulsomeness of his speech. But young Lord Petrus Davenant was a likely-looking man, with a jaunty eye and nice hair.

"Must all your friends beg you for favors, Lucius?" she teased. "You should be more generous!"

"You note," her cousin said to Lord Petrus, "she does not demur at being called a beauty!"

"That is because I know how free men are with their compliments, when they cost them nothing."

"Philosophy." She felt a strange shiver when the back of Davenant's hand swept her wrist as if by accident. She was wearing demi-sleeves, whose lace fell to just halfway down her forearm. The ruffles of his cuff had fallen back, exposing a broad hand tufted with wiry hair. "You did not tell me your cousin was one of those learned ladies, Perry."

"Oh, I assure you, my lord, I never pick up a book except to throw it at my maid!"

Lord Petrus said, "A learned man is merely a bore, a learned woman an abomination."

She tapped his sleeve with her fan. "You must not be cruel to learned ladies, for I fear they are so because they lack the power to charm and to delight."

"Only the fair are free to know nothing, then," observed Lucius Perry, and, bowing, "You will excuse me?"

His place was taken by Lord Terence Monteith, a man who managed to bore without being learned; buthe seemed content to stare at her charms while Davenant attempted to delight her with his conversation.

The flashing jewels and fluttering fan, the rippling laughter and high-flung head were attracting other men.

Artemisia Fitz-Levi found herself at the heart of a clutch of eligibles, saying anything that came into her head because it all elicited laughter and compliments from well-dressed, well-tended, well-jeweled men.

"The country!" she cried in response to Davenant's friend Galing. "Don't speak to me of the country! It is well enough for those who live to be milked two times a day!"

There was an edge to the laughter that surprised her; she must have said something really clever without realizing.

"I know some who do!" said Davenant.

"Well, don't we all?"

"What does any of us know, compared to the wit and wisdom of this most excellent lady?" a voice said warmly.

The young men's hilarity flattened out, and they turned like flowers in the sun in the direction of the speaker.

It was the older nobleman from the Godwin dinner who had so admired her spirit and told her so. Lord Ferris, the Crescent Chancellor of the Council of Lords, tall, commanding, still dark-haired despite his years, and dressed with elegant simplicity.

All the men were looking at Lord Ferris, but he was looking at her.

Artemisia felt her cheeks burning. She smiled brilliantly at him, tried to think of something to say that was clever and high-hearted, but her invulnerable feeling of a moment ago was suddenly gone. Her giddiness resolved into dizziness, and she reached out one arm. The crowd parted, and Ferris was miraculously at her side, giving her the support she needed.

"A breath of air, perhaps, my lady?"

"Oh, no-no, thank you. If I might just sit down for a moment...."

"Of course." He kept up a stream of easy chatter as he guided her off the floor, past people and through them, keeping her on his right side, where he might see her with his good eye: "These endless parties are exhausting-not any given one, to be sure, for all must be equally delightful, but in the aggregate they are enough to send anyone reeling."

"Oh, but I love parties!" Artemisia rallied.

"Because you are such an ornament to them," he said smoothly, "as the jewel must love its setting, or the, ah, the pearls in your ear must love the place that shows them off to such advantage."

His voice was low and silky in her ear. She wondered if he should be speaking to her so; but he was a great nobleman, and more than old enough to know how things should be conducted properly in society.

She tried to say something pertinent. "What can jewels know of love?" "Indeed." Lord Ferris seated her in an alcove. "They are love's servants, and not the thing itself. A wise lady, to know the difference." He seized a drink from a passing footman and offered it to her. "So you do not love the country, Lady Artemisia?"

"I had rather live in this city than anywhere else on earth."

"Not everyone agrees with you. But I do. No, I cannot see you buried in the country, raising herbs and children, and waiting for your husband or your eldest son to come home from Council with bolts of cloth and news of how new taxes will affect the estate...."

She shuddered.

"Just so. You must adorn our ballrooms here for many years to come, I think."

Artemisia smiled. "Thank you, my lord."

She wanted to hear more, only her head was pounding so. He must have noticed something. "Will you permit me to fetch your shawl?" he asked, and she answered, "Oh, no, it is so very warm. I promised Lord Terence a dance, but I do not think that I could bear it now."

"You must be protected," the Crescent Chancellor said, "from such as Lord Terence, to be sure. Ah!

Here is your mother. Lady Fitz-Levi is your surest bulwark. Madam, your daughter has given so much of her charm and beauty for the delight of the company, I fear she has little strength left to sustain herself."

"Curious," said her mother; "dear Artemisia is so seldom tired or weak. I assure you, my lord, she has never given us a moment's worry."

IN THE CARRIAGE, HER MOTHER HUGGED HER AND THENshook her. "What do you mean, languishing in front of Lord Ferris like that? Do you want to get a reputation as a vaporish miss? No man wants a sickly wife!"

"No, Mama," she said, too tired and ill to try to explain how well the rest of the evening had gone. Her mother would surely hear of it from the other girls' mothers. "But he said I was a jewel and an ornament, Mama."

"He is a man of very good address," said Lady Fitz-Levi. "He married late, but Ferris has always had a way with women."

"I did not know that he was married, Mama."

"She died, poor thing, and his heir with her. Sickly, both of them. So you see where that gets you, miss!"

But her mama was pleased enough when the flowers began to arrive the next morning: lilies from Petrus Davenant, chrysanthemums from an anonymous admirer, more mums from Terence Monteith, even a bunch of carnations from her cousin Lucius. And from Lord Ferris, a great bunch of white roses.

chapterV.

THE COLD ENCLOSED AND ENFOLDED US.DAYS WEREshort; when they were fair the sun was sharp and clear, the earth hard and sparkly with frost, and I dressed in layers of clothes and set out across the fields, to race back again before early sunset stained the sky violet. I dredged up old nursery games and riddles to amuse us by the fire, and we burned a wealth of beeswax candles keeping up with our reading. Highcombe was well endowed with history books. Some of them weren't bad. I learned a lot about the habits and practices of my noble ancestors that no one had seen fit to teach me before.

There was a lot more to history than dates: you had taxes and alliances and trade and secrets, and the wicked ways of certain kings. My teacher was particularly fascinated with battles. We spent hours and stacks of twigs, pebbles and candle-ends setting up and replaying the Battle of Pommerey. I was more interested in travel, though, and so we also learned about the wonders and marvels of foreign lands.

"It's never cold in Chartil," I suggested, "even in the winter, and all the noblemen are swordsmen, too.

Let's go there."

"It would be summer by the time we got there," he said. "I understand, their summers, you can cook an egg on a rooftop."

"Well, how about one of the Cycladian Islands? Here's one, Kyros: 'the climate temperate, and so too its handsome inhabitants, who take their industry and pleasant mien from the humming of the bees that do perpetually labor and sing in the great banks of thyme and olive orchards to make that honey which is renowned throughout the world, as its sands are for whiteness.'"

"Promising. But it sounds a bit like poetry; not reliable. How about the place with the two-headed beasts that uproot trees with their tusks?"

"And red flowers big as cottages? You think that's reliable?"

"There's only one way to find out."

But we didn't really want to go far from the fire.

We practiced, of course. I practiced my footwork up and down the house's long gallery, but my favorite drill was a kind of game where we'd sit at either end of the cottage hearth, using nothing but our arms, working out flashy and subtle wristwork. There was a pile of nuts in the middle. Every touch was one nut to the victor, and every flinch, start or attempt to use the legs was a forfeit of two. I was lucky if I had any by the end of a bout. He could sometimes be tricked into moving too soon; I kept the first one I ever won off of him by feinting.

The tiny staff that kept Highcombe in order for its owner kept us well supplied with food and comforts.

But if before I had secretly envied the grandeur of its halls and chambers, wishing we might occupy themourselves, now I was reluctant to venture into those icy caverns.

As the winter dragged on, night and day alike seemed grey and steely and unwelcoming. I missed the snow we had back home. Around Highcombe it never got deep enough to be much fun.

I couldn't stay indoors all the time, though. And I liked looking at the patterns the bare branches made against the sky, the cracks of ice on the path, the dried grass frozen in the field. Sometimes just before nightfall the sky would clear. There was that one night I caught the most glorious sunset at the top of the rise, and ran all the way back to the cottage against the shadows. The smoke from our chimney was heavy. When I came indoors, I found him sitting by a fire going so strong that the room was really hot.

The master's face was golden. "Put more logs on," he said; "really pile them high. It's Year's End tonight."

"Is it?" I thought of the famous city Last Night parties I would be missing. The notion of all that glitter and noise made my head ache. Sparks shot up as I dumped the new logs on the blaze. "I should have baked a cake, or something."

"No; I think a fire is just right to celebrate the Sun's return. When I was a boy, we built bonfires and threw all sorts of things on them."

"Oh! They did that down in our village, but we were never allowed to go." I pitched another log on in remembrance. It was so hot, we had to move away from the hearth, and I stripped down to jacket and shirt. "We had a big fire at home, and threw our naughtiness and regrets onto it."

The master smiled into his past. "Yes, bonfires, and people got very drunk and danced; that's probably why you weren't allowed."

I watched and let the flames dance for me. Year's End, and another year begun. In spring, I would dig out some beds. Maybe when the roads cleared, I would ride out to see my mother, and get some seeds from home. We could have little baby carrots in July.

"Listen!"

Carriage wheels rumbled on the drive. I grasped the leg of his chair without meaning to. Oh, please, I thought, oh please don't let it be anyone coming here. Please don't let them find us. The carriage swept on up the drive toward the main house. We both sat very still, listening.

"Maybe it's someone come to pay a Last Night call on the duke," I offered.

"They'd know he's not in residence."

"Maybe-maybe he told them he would be."

The master smiled, slowly, to himself. He knew my uncle. "Maybe he did."

Over the crackle of the fire we heard shouts and whoops of laughter, then doors slamming, and then nothing at all.