Her father had not even known her at the last, Gaborn realized. He'd forgotten her existence, or did not recognize her, robbed of glamour. That seemed perhaps the worst blow of all.

Iome straightened, looked downhill at her knights. "Leave us," she said in the firmest voice she could muster.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Someone coughed. Duke Groverman watched her with unblinking eyes. "My Queen..."

"There's nothing you can do. There's nothing anyone can do!" Iome said. Gaborn knew she spoke not of the murder, not of the demands of justice, but of everything--Raj Ahten, this whole senseless war. Most of all, she spoke of death.

"These men...this is murder," Groverman insisted. "House Orden should pay for this insult!" By ancient law, a lord was responsible for the behavior of his vassals, just as a farmer was responsible for damage done by his cow. By law, Gaborn was as guilty of murder as Borenson.

"Gaborn's father lies dead with two thousand of his best knights," Iome answered. "What more do you want of House Orden?"

"He's not the killer--it's the knight at his feet we want! This is a matter of honor!" some knight shouted, after having decided all on his own that Gaborn was innocent. Gaborn did not recognize the fellow's device, two crows and an oak tree over the Sylvarresta boar.

Iome said, "You say honor is at stake? The knight at Gaborn's feet, Sir Borenson, saved my life yesterday, and the life of my father. He slew an Invincible outside Longmont for us. And he matched wits with Raj Ahten and helped drive the knave from our kingdom--"

"It's murder!" the knight shouted, shaking his axe. But Groverman reached out a hand, silencing the fellow.

"You say," Iome stammered, "it's a matter of honor, and perhaps it is. King Orden, my father's best friend, first ordered our deaths.

"And who among you is to say he is not right in this? My father and I were Dedicates to our sworn enemy. Who of you would have disobeyed such an order, were our roles reversed?"

"My father gave endowments to Raj Ahten, thinking it a small thing, just as I did. But many small wrongs can make a very great evil."

"Is it murder for this knight to slay his enemies, to follow orders? Or is it honorable?"169 Iome arose now, hands covered in blood; tears streamed down her face. She argued for Borenson's acquittal with her whole heart, and Gaborn wondered if he'd have had the presence of mind to do the same under such circumstances.

For his part, Borenson just glared at the knights blankly, as if he did not care how they judged him. Kill me, his eyes said, or let me live. Just be done with it.

Groverman and his men neither advanced nor retreated. They held their ground, as yet undecided.

Iome bit her lip, and her jaw trembled so that she pierced the lip, unnoticed. Such rage and hurt shone in her eyes. She couldn't deal with this any longer, couldn't argue. Her people were angry; she felt hurt and betrayed to the core of her soul--to lose all her family in the space of two days.

Gaborn had seen the aftermath when his own mother was slain, and now his father. He knew how desolate Iome must feel, knew how her own pain must outmatch his own.

Iome said to Gaborn facetiously, "Milord King Orden, Sir Borenson--after all your great kindness these past two days, I bid you get away from here, lest my people slay you. Ours is a poor land, and our hospitality suffers for it. Get out of here. For your service, I grant you your lives, though my vassals wish me to be more penurious."

She spoke in a tone that mocked her own people, but Gaborn knew that she was serious, that she could not cope any longer.

"Go on," Gaborn whispered to Borenson. "I'll see you at Bredsfor Manor." To his relief, Borenson stood and marched to his horse, executing the order without complaint.

Gaborn went to Iome, pulled off his right gauntlet, and let his hand rest on her shoulder. She seemed so slight, so frail beneath the thin cotton of her dress. He could not imagine that she'd hold up under the pressure she now felt.

She no longer looked as beautiful as the first star of evening. She no longer looked wretched. Her only glamour now was her own, and Gaborn could not have loved her any more than he did at this moment, could not have longed to hold her any more than he did right now.

"I love you, you know," he said. Iome nodded once, only slightly. "I came to Heredon to ask for your hand, milady. I want you still. I'd have you for my wife." He did not say it to confirm his feelings to Iome. He said it only for the benefit of her people, so that they would know.

In the crowd, several people hissed at the proposal. Some cried aloud, "No!"

Gaborn could see he wasn't in favor at this moment. These people didn't know how he had schemed and fought for their freedom. They'd witnessed only this last craven deed. He would not win their hearts this day, though he hoped to, in time.

Iome reached up and stroked his hand, but offered no words of comfort.

Gaborn walked to the top of the hill, where his horse pawed the snow in an effort to graze on the sweet grass beneath, then followed Borenson south.

At his back, Gaborn's Days broke from the crowd, following in his shadow.

Chapter 59.

THE HEALER.

As Iome sat over the body of her father, she wondered if she could even live another day. It seemed that her energy, her will to struggle, had been drawn out from her as completely as her beauty had been drawn out two days before.

She stood over her father's body, wanting desperately to sleep or to scream. The cold snow melted, penetrating her thin boots, just as the stout wind penetrated her thin dress.

Her people were a cold comfort. They knew they needed a lord to protect them, but Iome had no wit with which to guide them, no glamour to inspire them to follow, no brawn or skill in battle.

Without my glamour, they see through me, Iome thought. They see that I am a sham, a nothing. All Runelords are nothing, without their Dedicates to fill them with power, make them substantial.

As she shivered on the hill, Iome found that her people offered her nothing now. No one brought her a shawl or offered a shoulder to lean on.

None dared approach her. Perhaps they believed she needed time to suffer alone.

But Iome was no good at suffering alone.

She felt confused. Gaborn had not ordered her father's death. He'd struggled mightily to keep her father alive. Yet, somehow, she felt betrayed. Perhaps it was because he did not grow irate at Borenson.

Had Gaborn taken the man's wit, or his head, Iome would have thought Gaborn cruel and hard. Yet part of her felt Borenson deserved some unnamable punishment.

To her surprise, it was the wizard Binnesman who first came to her, after an hour, and wrapped a blanket over her. The wizard huddled beside her, handed her some warm tea.

"I--don't want anything," Iome said. It was true. Her throat felt tight, her stomach in knots. "I just need sleep." She was too weary to even look up at him.

"Sometimes rest is as good as sleep," Binnesman said, and he stood watching her. "I put lemon balm and linden blossoms in the tea, along with a bit of chamomile and honey."

He pressed the hot mug into her hands, and Iome drank. She'd learned long ago that Binnesman knew her needs better than she did, that he could soothe a heart as easily as he could soothe wounds.

The tea seemed to loosen her tight muscles, unknot her. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back, marveling at its effect.

The tea made her feel almost as if she'd just been wakened from bed a few moments ago. Yet she felt a deep--seated weariness even the tea could not touch, a tiredness and ache close to the bones.

"Oh, Binnesman, what should I do?" Iome asked.

"You must be strong," Binnesman said. "Your people need you to be strong for them."

"I don't feel strong."

Binnesman said nothing in answer, only put his gnarled arms around her shoulders and held her, as her father had when she170 was a child and she'd awakened from an evil dream.

"Gaborn would help you be strong, if you would let him," Binnesman offered.

"I know," Iome said.

Down below her, most of the knights had begun to set a camp in the fields. The thin snow had melted now, and the night would not be cold. But only part of the castle looked serviceable. The Duke's barracks and one of the manor houses still stood, though they had cracks in them. By no means could the castle house the thousands here, but some knights had brought squires and tents--enough so everyone would have shelter for the night.

Yet as the people put up tents, Iome caught many distrustful glances, heard grumbled comments. "What are the people down there saying about Gaborn?"

"The usual things..." Binnesman said. "Rumor-mongering."

"What kinds of things?" Iome demanded.

"They feel you should have reacted more strongly to your father's death."

"He died when Raj Ahten took his wit. There was nothing left of my father."

"You are made of stern stuff," Binnesman said. "But had you cried and demanded Borenson's death, perhaps your people would feel more...relieved."

"Relieved?"

"Some people suspect that Gaborn ordered your father's death."

"Gaborn? How could they suspect that?" Iome asked, astonished. She looked downhill. An old woman bearing a load of sticks from the woods glanced at Iome, suspicion deep in her eyes.

"So he could marry you, take over your kingdom. Some people think that the fact that you let him live is ample proof that he has you fooled, and that now you are about to swoon into his foul clutches."

"Who would say such things? Who would even think such things?" Iome asked.

"Do not blame them," Binnesman smiled at her. "It is only natural. They have been deeply hurt these past few days, and suspicion comes easily. Trust comes much harder, and it takes time."

Iome shook her head, dumbfounded. "Is it safe for Gaborn here? He's not in danger?"

"As it stands," Binnesman said, "I think some people in this valley pose a threat, yes."

"You must go warn him to stay away!" Iome said. She realized that she'd been hoping for Gaborn to come back tonight, that she could not stand the thought of being away from him. "Tell him...tell him we cannot see each other, that it's dangerous.

Maybe in time...a few months." Iome found herself shaking at the thought, tormented.

A few months seemed an eternity. Yet in another month or two the snows would begin to fly in earnest. Travel between their kingdoms would become difficult.

She wouldn't see Gaborn again before spring. Five months or six at the soonest.

Iome nearly collapsed in on herself at the thought. Yet it would be best for both of them to take this slowly, to give her people time to see. No other prince would want her, no one would take a wife who had been an enemy's Dedicate.

Now that her father and King Orden were dead, within a few weeks the chronicles of their deeds would begin to be slowly distributed by the Days, a volume here, a volume there. Perhaps when the truth came out, Iome's people would think better of Gaborn.

Yet another problem presented itself. Iome's Maid of Honor, Chemoise, would be heavy with child by the time Iome saw Gaborn again. If Iome's people disapproved of her match with Orden, how would Gaborn s people feel about her?

Ostensibly, Gaborn had come here seeking a union because the wealth and security of Heredon were to have been a boon to Mystarria. But Raj Ahten had taken the wealth, made a mockery of Heredon's castles, stolen away the Princess's beauty.

Iome had nothing to offer but her affection. And she knew that affection comes cheaply.

She still hoped that Gaborn might love her. She feared that she deluded herself in even hoping for a union with him. It seemed foolish, like the child's fable of the lazy man who planned to get rich someday by discovering that rain had washed dirt off a pot of gold that lay hidden in his fields.

Surely, in the months to come, Gaborn would come to see that she had nothing to offer, would reconsider. Though he spoke of loving her, surely he'd see that love was not reason enough to unite their kingdoms.

As Iome considered these things, Binnesman nodded kindly, worry on his face, lost in his own private musings. He studied her from under bushy brows. "So you want me to warn Gaborn away. Do you have any more messages for him?"

"None," Iome said. "Except...there is the matter of Borenson."

"What of him?" Binnesman asked.

"I...don't know what to do about him. He killed my father, a king. Such a deed cannot go unpunished. Yet his guilt is almost more than he can bear. To lay further punishment upon him would be cruel."

Binnesman said, "There was a time when knights who inadvertently erred were given a second chance..."

Chapter 60.

A TREASURE FOUND.

In the House of Understanding, in the Room of the Heart, Gaborn had learned that there are dreams and memories so disturbing the mind cannot hold them.

As Gaborn rode in silence on the road south to Bredsfor Manor, he caught up to Borenson, watched his knight's face, and wondered if the man would break.

Time and time again, Borenson's head would nod, his lips quivering as if he were about to say something unspeakable. Yet each time he raised his head, his eyes would be a little clearer, a little brighter, his gaze a little steadier.

Gaborn suspected Borenson would forget his deeds, given a week or a month. He might claim that some other knight had slaughtered Sylvarresta, or that the good king had died in battle or fallen from a horse.171 Gaborn hoped Borenson would forget. They rode in silence. Gaborn's Days coughed from time to time, as if he were developing a cold.

After twenty long minutes of this, Borenson turned, and on the surface his manners seemed almost carefree, the pain had retreated so deeply. But it was there, lying far within. "Milord, I was up above the Duke's lodge a bit ago, and I saw the tracks of a reaver. A big female. May I have your leave to hunt her tonight?"

It was an obvious jest. "Not without me," Gaborn said, musing. "Last autumn, I came to the Dunnwood to hunt boars. This year we shall hunt reavers. Perhaps Groverman will ride with us. What think you?"

"Hah, not bloody likely," Borenson spat. "Not after what I've done!"

Immediately, Borenson's eyes looked troubled again, and Gaborn sought to turn his thoughts. "Tell you what, if we kill a reaver, you get to eat the ears," Gaborn jested. To eat the ears of the first boar of the hunt was a great honor. But reavers had no ears, and no part of a reaver was edible. "Or at least I'll cut off a patch of hide shaped like an ear."