recognized the early signs of my talent and thought to train and develop it." His smile was grim. "And I saw her regularly throughout my training. It seemed that we barely released her, and before we could turn around she was walking-or crawling-through our doors again."

"How is Levee?" she asked wearily.

A shadow pa.s.sed over Dantallon's face.

An answering shadow crossed hers. "I see," she said quietly. "I do not have time, Dantallon." Her

eyes were wide and round, her face unnaturally pale. "I cannot stay."

"Of course not," he replied, and held out his arms just quickly enough to catch her before she

collapsed. He cursed then, unmindful of who might hear him. "I'm sorry, Majesty. But she must be taken to the infirmary."He glared at the back of one of the men. "Devon," he said, between clenched teeth, "I mean now.""I see," Member APhaniel said softly, as the doors closed upon the two men and their ungainly burden. "Majesty, let me withdraw my qualified advice. You are the King of Wise Counsel, and I am but a mage."

"I am not so certain that I do not wish to hear your advice," the King replied, equally thoughtful.

They both turned to look at the young woman. Her eyes were upon the door.

"You know her," Meralonne said.

Kiriel di'Ashaf nodded without turning. "She brought me here. To Kalakar." Bitterly, she added,

"I owe her my life."

"You don't sound as if you think much of the debt." It was Meralonne.

"She shouldn't have interfered."

"No," he replied, as he stared at her. "But she always does. And although I do not claim to

understand all of her motivation, she chose her risk when she chose you. I have been-we have all been-the beneficiary of many of her risks. Keep your counsel, Kiriel. For my part, I apologize." He paused, and then his voice grew quite cool. "But I would give much to know how your human parent and your immortal parent... met. And where."

Kiriel did not reply.

"Which leaves us," King Cormalyn said, "with a problem of a different nature. Kiriel di'Ashaf, you wear the colors of the Kalakar House Guard. You drew weapon, without Our permission, in the Great Chamber, and your House will be measured and fined accordingly. If we accept this as

a given," he added, glancing at The Kalakar and waiting just long enough to see her quiet nod, "and we dismiss, for the moment, the question of your birth, we are left with a few facts.

"You were aware of the creature before it made its attack. You faced it, upon the chamber floor,

and you recognized it. I believe that it recognized you."

Kiriel did not reply.

"You were able to stand against its attack-and you injured it before it left."

She nodded.

"Are you aware of what the creature is?"

"He is one of the kinlords," she said softly, her golden eyes narrowing. "He is the weakest."

"Why did you recognize him?"

"We've-we've fought before."

"Why did you call him Allasakar-Etridian?"

At that, she smiled, and the smile was cold. "To insult him," she said softly. "He is called Lord Etridian. To call him Allasakar-Etridian is completely correct-but it stresses his weakness and his subservience."

"I see."Her mouth fell open; she paled."Does he, indeed, choose to serve the G.o.d we do not name?""Y-yes. He's kinlord. But the kin serve the King- serve their Lord. They don't have a choice.

The Lord of the h.e.l.ls bears the mantle."

"What did you say?" It was Sigurne who spoke. She stepped into the conversation like a frail, kindly old woman. But her eyes were clear, and her voice was strong.Kind's shoulders tensed. "The mantle," she replied."And this mantle is?""It is the crown of the Lord of the h.e.l.ls. It is the G.o.d-right by which He rules." She braced herself."And how do you know of this, Kiriel?"Kiriel did not answer."And how do you know of the conventions by which these creatures are called and named?"Meralonne turned a moment, as if to speak in her defense, but he fell silent as he met her eyes."Please answer her question." A new voice. A voice that Kiriel did not recognize. But she knew the man; he had stood, between the Kings, in a rigid silence, and his eyes had never left her face.

Danger.

Oh, it was clear that she had said too much.

"You will answer, please."

"I-I can't."

"You're lying."

She lifted her chin, straightened her shoulders; her hand fell to the hilt of the sword that she had been allowed to keep. "Very well. I won't." She planted her legs firmly against ground. It was clear, to Kiriel, that the time to make that stand had come.

Clear to Alexis, Duarte, Auralis.

And clear to Cook. But only Cook was stupid enough to interfere-a second time-when she had already made it obvious what she thought of such interference. He did not make the mistake of touching her, and he did not make the mistake of drawing a weapon. But he moved to stand beside her, his arms crossed tight against his chest, as if he needed to hold his hands idle.

She glanced up at him-the difference in their heights would always be there-and her brow creased, as if the effort of speech was wearying. Frustrating.

"What do you wantV she demanded, breath pa.s.sing between her clenched teeth as she glared at him.

"To face," he replied calmly, as if speaking to a cornered wild creature, "any danger you do. You're an Osprey, Kiriel. That means something in my books."

"In your books," Alexis said mockingly, as she came to join him. "You don't even read, let alone do numbers."

"Primus," The Kalakar said icily. Duarte shrugged. "I did warn you," he said, saluting halfheartedly. "They're Ospreys for a reason, Kalakar."

"If they continue to embarra.s.s my House with their display, they will be corpses for a reason."

"Well if that's the case," Auralis said, his smile a lazy accompaniment to his long drawl, "I'd hate to be excluded. Sanderson?"

Sanderson glanced at Duarte for permission. He was young, and he had been admitted into the company after the Southern wars had ended. Duarte liked him enough that he failed to give that permission.

"Kiriel," the Kalakar said. "This is not the time or the place for such a display. If the Ospreys will not stand down, they will be disciplined. But they are not under the King's eye here. You are.

This is Essalieyan. You are in the heart of Averalaan Aramarelas. Not even the Kings have the right to execute by fiat those they deem dangerous. They do have the right to defend themselves. Do you understand?"

No. She wanted to shout now. Wanted to shout it as loudly as she dared; to fill the hall with the roar of a voice she knew would shock every man and woman-save perhaps the mage and the frail old woman-in the chamber. She wanted to pull her sword, and have an end to it, one way or the other.

This-this Empire-it was not hers. It made no sense. She knew human courts. She had spent time observing the Shining Court, and she knew, as only those who truly understand power could, that person for person, this court outranked any humans that she had seen there, save three.

Yes, humans were not of the kin, but they were cold and calculating when they chose to play their games of power against each other. They were ice and steel when they chose to watch the kin at play.

And they did not gather in such a group, for such an inquisition, without a victim. Not for long.

She had known that she was the victim when the mage had first cast his sight upon her. She had even accepted it, on some level. She was weary, but she was relieved, for here, finally, was something that made sense.

Evayne played her own game; Evayne played her hand. She did not understand the game itself, but to be a p.a.w.n was something that she understood, however bitterly. But even Evayne was not proof against this man, this last player. She thought him more dangerous than the mage, although she could not say why; he was darker.

At last. An enemy. A challenge. A fight.

Then they came, unraveling this one corner of the certainty that she had managed to weave so painstakingly around herself: Cook, who hovered about her as if he thought to protect her; Auralis, copper-haired and golden-skinned, the darkest of the Ospreys; the man she most understood-until now; Alexis, dark-haired and yet pale, oddly beautiful for her distance and her heated anger- perhaps the person she least understood.

Go away.

But she did not say the words, and if she had, they would not have listened; she felt certain of it.

Go home, she told herself, forcing her shoulders back. You've seen these lands. There is no place for you in them. Go home. Make your place, and hold it. These lands will not survive no matter what you decide. Go home.

"Kiriel," the old woman said, and Kiriel looked up blindly. "How long has it been since you slept?"

"I don't need to sleep."

"Oh, my dear," the old woman said, and her eyes were full of a terrible pity. "But you do." She lifted a hand; light fell from it, dripping onto the ground like liquid water. Or liquid fire. Transfixed, Kiriel watched. She watched the light, fascinated by it.

Afraid of it.

Looking up, she saw the face of the King-King Cor-malyn. And beneath his face, unquestioned, unquestionable, she saw that pale, luminous beauty that no longer existed anywhere in the Shining Court. King Reymalyn shone that brightly. The men and the woman that The Kalakar had called the Exalted were brighter still.

Isladar had taught her, years ago, to abjure the light, the light's compelling, compulsive beauty. And it had been easy, then.

What do they see in me ?

She wanted to ask them, but she knew the answer: Nothing. They did not have the blood.

The light that the old woman had dropped upon the floor had crept, unwatched, to form a circle around her feet, separating her from the Ospreys. She looked up; saw that the Ospreys had not noticed the light that surrounded her, rising like a finely beaded mist-or a blood-wraith.

Yet this woman, no luminescent beauty, was not a dark one either; she was gray and light, that perfect, knowable blend of color that Kiriel had grown accustomed to, in Ashaf. That she had grown- Say it. To love.

That was the horror of it, that she could say it in the silence of her thoughts, no matter how much it made her writhe.

She knew what the light would do when it touched her; she thought that the woman might even suspect it. But she saw another woman's face briefly, and she held fast, remembering.

She did not even cry out when the light burned her skin, seeking her eyes and her parted lips.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

Sigurne had survived a great many things in her life, and most of them she kept in the past. She did not speak of the wars she had seen, although they were far too many; she did not speak of her life in a far away village, when magery had been a whispered curse, and its onset had almost destroyed her. She did not speak of her first master, although if pressed, she might politely say that he had pa.s.sed away some time ago. In fact, Sigurne Mellifas rarely spoke at all of matters that were not issues in the here and now, although when she spoke, she could be quite decisive. And the members of the famed Order of Knowledge were certain, to their sorrow, that the grave that time dug slowly for her would be the repository of all those many years of acc.u.mulated knowledge, for she kept no diaries or journals of those early years.

Yet not a mage-or a member-of the Order itself would have ever said that she was incapable of sharing.

Sigurne knew pain when she saw it. Her brown eyes widened, clearing and darkening almost at once. "Mother's heart," she said. "What have they done to you?" She gestured, a movement of fingers and lips that ended in an abrupt stillness.

"Kiriel," she said softly. "My name is Sigurne Mellifas, and you would honor me by remembering it."

The younger woman froze; eyes that were golden by birth shone, catching the light too strongly. She looked, for that moment, like a wild, hunted creature-not a cornered one, nor a frenzied one, but like a creature at harbor who has seen that the hunter carries no weapon and cannot quite believe the lack.

"I am Kiriel di'Ashaf." She spoke quietly. "And I, too, would be honored."

"You must sleep," Sigurne said, walking toward Kiriel as if the girl was no danger-and no mystery-at all. "Is that-is that what it was?"

"Yes. It was meant to have a-a different effect." She paused. "Have you slept since you arrived here?"

Kiriel shrugged, her dark hair dancing a moment in the light as if it had a life of its own. Or as if it sought to shake itself free from the last of the touch of her spell. "I don't need to sleep much," she said at last.

"But you do," Sigurne said, repeating the earlier words. She lifted her hands again, and reached out. Kiriel took a step back, a step away, but her movement was as slow and cautious as the older mage's.