His knuckles were very white against the table's rim. I was afraid I'd gone too far. But his voice, when he spoke, was measured and calm. "Let me understand you clearly," he said, as though testing a mathematical proof. "You are going to cry challenge against Lord Ferris, not merely to avenge a wrong, but so that this girl need not marry against her will?" "I'm going to challenge him because you can't treat people that way. No one seems to realize it; no one seems to care.He certainly doesn't. He thinks he owns her already, and her parents do, too-and even you. It makes me sick."

My uncle was looking up at me with the strangest expression, as if he were going to cry, if such a thing were possible. What he said next was even more confusing: "Katherine?" There was a curious smile on his face, as if he were telling himself a story that he liked very much. "What do you want for your birthday?"

What did I want? He was the Duke Tremontaine. There was a lot he could give me. There was a lot he had taken from me, too. Why was he asking me this now, all of a sudden? I didn't know what to say.

"I'll think about it."

"Good enough. Now sit down. You're right. I'm not going to do anything. I'm going to let you do it." I sat. "So." He was all business now. "You challenged Ferris once, but he did not accept. Neither did you revoke the challenge. So as far as he knows, you could appear any day with a skewer to his gut. He won't like that."

"I told him he could apologize to her."

The duke smiled. "Oh,that will definitely happen. When the river boils over. But that's not the point anymore."

"Why not? He's insulted her honor. It isn't as if girls don't have any."

"Have you asked yourself why he doesn't want a fight? And why he's so insistent that the marriage go forward despite your friend's objections?" He held up a hand. "Don't start. I'm not that coarse; I'm sure he had a lovely time wherever he did it with her, but it's not like Ferris to think with his-ah, his privates.

He did it to secure the wedding. He did it to secure the funds."

"Isn't he rich already?"

The duke bisected an apple with the paring knife. "Nope. That's his little secret-the one I have, the one he must be afraid is going to come out."

"How do you know?"

"I know it because...people tell me things they shouldn't." He took a bite from the apple and grinned.

"Sometimes I pay them to. Terrible. Trust no one; or if you do, try not to have any secrets."

"I don't understand."

"Ferris always liked being twisty. Overcomplication has been his downfall in the past. Before you were born, he tried to double-cross your great-grandmother-that's her, there on the wall." He pointed to the glorious lady in grey silk, the portrait with the flamingo mallet I had so admired. "It was my pleasure to ruin him the first time, and get him sent to Arkenvelt. From which he returned about ten years ago, laden with furs which he turned into cash, and so was able to buy his way back into society, a good marriage and back up the rungs of the Council of Lords to his present glorious position. But he never had much land, what he's got is mortgaged to the hilt, and now he's nearly out of cash. He has nothing left to fall back on except what he can create for himself. It's perfectly obvious: every bill he supports, every vote he casts is designed to feather his own nest-taxing the landowners, encouraging trade...It makes himlook progressive-Karleigh's cronies just hate him, but for all the wrong reasons.

"Politics. I'm boring you. I should start sending you to Council meetings-then you'd know what boredom is. But listen: Ferris needs this marriage. And he needs you not to mess it up. You're lucky he's not taking you too seriously, or he would have had you knifed on the street."

I felt cold. "But that's dishonorable!"

"Ferris has no more real sense of honor than that doorknob. Honor is a tool he uses to manipulate others. Challenge him soon. Do it right; do it in public with everyone watching. Then he can't weasel out.

Do you want to rid us all of him forever, or give him time to find a swordsman to take the challenge for him?"

"I don't think I should kill him."

"Probably not. Killing a noble in challenge means it goes to the Court of Honor, and then everything would come out. Either that, or I'd have to step forward and claim the challenge myself, and I'm not really interested in the eternal gratitude of the Fitz-Levis. No, you just fight his champion, and refuse to answer any questions after. Say it was a private affair of honor. People will draw their own conclusions, but with any luck they'll get it wrong, and you'll keep your friend's name out of it. But do it by the book, and do it soon."

"How soon?"

"Because I am your uncle and I have many employees, I will make it my business to learn Lord Ferris's schedule for tomorrow and the next day. That soon."

I nodded.

The duke rose. "Oh, and Katherine..."

"Yes, uncle?"

"Where's Marcus?"

"In bed. He's sick again."

"Well, never mind; I'll just write a letter and send it down to Riverside, and then you can ask Marcus where-oh, never mind; I can find the stuff myself."

It was the last time I saw him sober that night.

I went up to make sure Marcus was all right. He was dozing in bed. His room here was smaller than the one in the Riverside house, but it was cozy, with a fire lit and rain beginning to patter against the windows. He opened his eyes when I came in, and I sent for some broth for him and watched him drink it.

It was comforting just to sit with him in silence. There was so much I couldn't tell him now, about Lord Ferris and Artemisia and what the duke had said to me. But Marcus and I had secrets of our own.

"We can't just keep calling her 'Lucius Perry's friend,'" I said aloud. "Ah." Marcus smiled. "We don't have to. I found out her name."

"How did you...?"

"I do get out occasionally, you know." He sounded like the duke, only with such a bad cough I didn't have the heart to deny him his triumph.

"All right, tell me."

"Her name is Teresa Grey."

"Who told you?"

"No one. I read it on a letter she left lying on a table."

"You went into her studio?!"

"Don't be an idiot. I went over the wall again. She wasn't there, so I went right up to the window and saw it."

"I can't believe you went without me."

"I would have taken you if I'd been able to find you. But you've been hard to find these days. Anyway, it wasn't for long."

I did not tell him that I had gone there without him, too, the day of the theatre. What was there to tell, really? I hadn't seen any letters, just lurked on the street and followed Lucius Perry up the Hill to a gate I'd been scared to go through. I hadn't told Marcus about the theatre, either, or the Black Rose, or anything. I owed him. And so I said, "All right. You are remarkable. Teresa Grey. I like that name."

Marcus lay back and closed his eyes. "Isn't it lovely, Katie?"

"What?"

"Knowing somethinghe doesn't know."

"What if he does know?"

"He doesn't. I'd bet on it."

I giggled. "Maybe we should offer to sell him the information. He likes secrets."

"Not this one. This one's ours."

"Ours and Teresa Grey's." My friend's eyes were shut; he looked as if he were dreaming already. Softly I said, "He'd be furious if he knew we were doing this."

"He doesn't own us. He's the Duke Tremontaine, he's not the king of the entire world."

"What if he finds out?" "He won't."

"And we won't tell him, will we?"

When Marcus opened his eyes, they were brown and disarming and utterly frank. "I see no reason to.

Do you?"

I tucked his blanket back in. "None whatsoever. Good night."

I passed the duke's study. The hall smelt of a peculiar, sweet smoke; I went past quickly. I could hear him crashing around in there, calling for Marcus. I went downstairs and found a footman who could take care of him, and the staff gave me some hot soup and tried to pump me for gossip from the Riverside house, so I went back upstairs through the dark and empty house, and found myself standing in front of the doors with the wet rabbits on them. Funny to think about the first time I'd seen them, with Betty nervous beside me, and me nervous clutching my short cloak to hide my legs. And Master Venturus waiting behind the door, to teach me how not hold sword. And me maybe having already met Marcus, but not knowing really who he was, and still dreaming of sweeping down staircases in a ballgown...It was the same day I ran away to see Artemisia. I had not yet picked up a sword. I had not met Richard St Vier.

I went into the dark room; the mirrors gave it what glow there was, but I didn't need to see much. I thought of Highcombe, of the man practicing there with no opponent, who might be practicing now. I ran through the opening moves of a fight, any fight, and then I started thinking about what he would do next, and moved to counter him.

IN THE MORNING, WHENIWENT TO PUT MY JACKET back on, I found my note to Artemisia still tucked up inside it. I opened it up and sat down and added these words: Sweetest Lady Stella, A challenge has been issued, and awaits but the turning of the tide to bear a bitter fruit-bitter for some, but sweet, I hope, to your tongue, and a balm to your sad eyes. I told you he'd regret it, and I wasn't joking. Be of good courage-hold fast,and keep faith, for I will meet his champion on the field of battle, and blot out your stain with his blood.

Not Fabian, but True and Faithful TYRIAN.

I signed it with a flourish, and sealed it with several blobs of the duke's best wax.

Part IV Challenge

chapter I

MARCUS WAS BETTER THE NEXT DAY, BUT THEduke was badly hung over and didn't want anyone near him whom he could hear breathing. I felt jittery about the challenge, jittery about the letter I'd written to Artemisia (which I'd sent by the simple expedient of charging one of the Tremontaine House servants to safely deliver it to her maid). I didn't want Marcus to ask why. To distract us both, I proposed a little stroll down to what I jauntily referred to as "Lucius Perry's Love Nest."

To our silent delight, Perry was there, too. He was sitting on the sofa in a loose dressing gown, drinking chocolate and watching Teresa paint. He must have spent the night: the gown was a flowered print of yellow-gold on a dusky green that looked wonderful with her auburn hair, but didn't do a thing for his complexion. Knowing he was wrapped up in one of her gowns, and that he was slight enough to fit in it, made me feel tremendously tender toward them both.

It was a very domestic scene. We watched as Perry reached for more chocolate, and then he felt in the pocket of the gown and pulled out a folded paper, its seal broken, and looked hard at it.

Teresa Grey had gotten a letter, too.

ANOTHER ONE?".

"Don't open it," she said swiftly. "It's just more nonsense: ravings and accusations, pleading and boasting.... I shouldn't even break the seals anymore. I should just throw them in the fire." Her fingers closed on his, forbidding him the paper.

"Why do they let him?"

"They don'tlet him, Lucius, they force him to write. He doesn't really want me. They egg him on, they keep him in drink until he's all fired up and turns out his pages. I doubt he remembers a day later what he's done."

"But why? Why won't they let you go?"

"Cruelty, I suppose. And oddly enough, I'm still their last best hope for an heir. If the marriage is dissolved, they'd never find anyone else to take him as he is now."

Perry's face contorted with revulsion. "An heir."

"Well, we tried," she said. "Before I left, we tried."

"All right, that's it." He got up from the couch, hitching up his robe. "I'm an idiot. I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner. It's so much simpler, really."

"What is?" "I'm going to kill him."

"You can't kill Roderick!"

"Yes, I can. It's simple." He put one foot up on the windowsill, looking back over his shoulder. "I know exactly how it's done. Find a swordsman, pay him to challenge poor Roderick to the death without warning, andpoof! No more letters. No more husband. And you are free to choose..." he opened his robe "...another." She giggled, and came to his arms. He closed the robe around them both. "Choose me," he murmured, feeling her settle against him.

"No," she murmured. He felt her smile against his neck.

"Or not," he added agreeably. "You'll be free, at any rate."

"But really, Lucius, you mustn't do it. You mustn't think of it."

"Oh?" He drew back, wrapping the robe around himself. "Do you harbor still some tenderness for this forest god of yours?"

"Don't be disgusting. I harbor some desire to keep my privacy intact, and to keep you out of prison."

"Prison? For what?"

"Forthis, Lucius!" she said angrily. "For playing with their property! I married their son; in the eyes of the law, I'm their property yet. Don't you understand that?"

"The laws of challenge-"

"Yes, yes, I know. Your swordsman will slay him and then you'll stand up in the Court of Honor and proudly tell everyone why you killed their son. And the Lords Justiciar will say, 'Well, that's all right, then, never mind; just take her and be happy.' Is that what you're thinking?"

"I'll keep it private. If I must, I'll pay the swordsman to lie."

"And Roddy's family will swoop in with the truth. For all I know they've got spies on me already, and are just saving the juicy facts until they need them-which is to say, in case I ever try anything."

"But-"

"This isn't a game to me: the hiding, the being secret. I'm not doing it for fun, like you. If our liaison became public-and I assure you, if you challenge Roderick and kill him, it will be-then all that still makes my life tolerable will be taken from me in the wake of the ensuing scandal."