"Hush, beloved. I will not hurt you. Gilda," he said sharply to the old woman, who had not moved, "do as I have commanded!"

"The physician's gone, like all the rest," Gilda said. "There's only me and Suchin left. We hid, or they'd have taken us away too." Tobeszijian, still trying to soothe his flailing wife, stared at Gilda. Although he had many questions, he knew this wasn't the time. Again he tried to ease Nereisse down, but she was still fighting him.

"Nereisse, it's Tobeszijian, your husband," he said. "You know me. I've come home."

This time she responded to his voice. Her eyes, so wild and frantic behind hanging wisps of hair, glared at him. "You're dead. I parted the veils of seeing, and you were dead."

"No," he said softly, stroking her hair. "I escaped."

"Saw you," she panted. "Saw the Nonkind surrounding you. Saw them rend you. How you fought, my beloved. You fought so fiercely and well, but you were alone and there were so many of them-" "No, Nereisse," he said, trying to silence her. "I am here, safe with you." She groaned and clung to him, weeping now. "It cannot be true," she said. "I saw so clearly."

"It almost happened," he told her. "Almost, but they could not trap me. Now you must rest and get better."

He laid her down upon her pillows, but she still clung to his hand, her blue-gray eyes frantic. "It is not safe here for you. The churchmen will capture you. The court has gone. Everything is gone."

"I saw," he said grimly, thinking of the deserted palace.

"Muncel-" She shivered, wracked anew with pain.

"Hush," he said. "I am here now. You must rest and get better. We will deal with the other later."

But she seemed not to hear him. "Muncel has claimed your throne," she said, her voice a whisper. "He has moved the court to Belrad, saying the palace here is accursed by eldin magic. The court left yesterday-nay, the day before. Sleds and troikas and wagons. They took all the-" "Hush," he said, masking his fury. "Let me worry about that. It does not matter as long as you and the children are safe."

Her gaze shifted, and for a second she was his old Nereisse, gazing into his eyes with a corner of her mouth quirked up in something between disapproval and amus.e.m.e.nt. "Liar," she whispered.

He gripped her slender hand in his and kissed it to hide a rush of tears. "No," he said, closing his eyes as her fingers swept across his face. "I will make war. Muncel will rue this infamy. He cannot steal my kingdom like a common thief."

"Then flee now," she said, shivering. "Find your allies and loyal liegemen who will raise an army for you.

Do not linger here, for they lie in wait for you, intending to take you prisoner. They would dare try you as a common-" "Never mind," he said, not wanting to tell her he was already a prisoner. But not for long, he vowed. He would crush Muncel. As soon as he raised an army, he would ride on Muncel's holding.

Belrad, the fortress he had given Muncel with impulsive generosity. Although he owed Muncel nothing,he had been generous to his half-brother. And this was how Muncel repaid his kindness. Nereisse shivered more violently, closing her eyes. Worried, Tobeszijian glanced at Gilda. "What can be done?"

"Nothing," Nereisse gasped out before Gilda could answer. She opened her eyes to stare up at him. "It is spellcraft, this poison. You must stay away from me before you catch it."

She released his hand, drawing back when he would have touched her.

"I cannot catch it," he said.

"You are half eld. It could harm you."

He frowned. "What happened, Nereisse? They told me Thiatereika caught it first.

Is she-"

Pain and grief creased her face. "Better," she said hoa.r.s.ely, her breath coming short and fast. "I drew it from her body."

He understood. In saving the child, she had infected herself. "Then we shall draw it from you."

She shook her head. "Nay, husband. Had there been a sorcerelle here when I first took it, perhaps. Not now."

He bowed his head in overwhelming sorrow, gripping her hand again, then holding it even tighter when she tried to pull away.

"The poison was meant for Faldain," she said. "It came in a sweet, baked in the shape he loves best.

One sweet, brought only for him. I was preoccupied, not paying attention, or I would have sensed it at once."

"Your majesty was not even in the room," Gilda murmured. Tobeszijian glanced at the old nurse, and her sad eyes met his. "I did not know, sire," Gilda whispered guiltily. "How could I guess anything was amiss? Except I sent to the kitchens for no such treat. Nor did I recognize the page who brought it for my lamb. Our precious princeling gave such a laugh when he saw it, and clapped his little hands. But the princess is ever greedy, no matter how many times I admonish her. She grabbed it off the tray before her brother could touch it. It went straight in her mouth. Seconds later, she was screaming." He thought of his daughter, only four, with her mother's grace and slenderness, already a beauty with long, golden curls.

His son was less than two years old, chubby and full of mischief. That anyone would want to harm these sweet innocents sickened him, and stirred his rage anew. "Where are they?" he asked. "In the nursery,"

Gilda replied. "Suchin watches over them. I could not bring them in here to watch their lady mother die."

"She will not die," he said firmly, turning back to Nereisse. "She will not."

"Save them," Nereisse said softly, her voice as thin as the springtime wind. "The children-so young."

She turned her face away and brushed at it with her fingers. "So hot. So hot. I must find my dear Tobeszijian, who walks this land no more."

He stared at her, feeling helpless and afraid, while Gilda went back to sponging her face. There must be something he could do. Her skin looked like wet ashes. She was breathing harshly, with great difficulty, and another spasm of pain shuddered through her, making her cry out. "Kalfeyd edr hahld't" she said. Awhoosh of energy pa.s.sed his head, just missing him, and one of the ma.s.sive bedposts split. Gilda dropped the enameled basin of water and jumped back, making the sign of a circle on her breast. "She'll kill us all, sire!"

"Wait, Gilda. She won't-"

The nurse was already scuttling away. Before she reached the door, however, Tobeszijian caught her around the middle and picked her up, carrying her back, kicking and weeping like a child.

"It missed us both," he said, putting the old crone down and patting her shoulder. "She won't harm us.

She won't. You've helped her so bravely, Gilda. You must help her still."

The old woman managed to stop her weeping and wiped her face with her ap.r.o.n.

"Forgive me, sire. There is nothing to be done."

He paced back and forth at the foot of the bed. "If I could reach the eld folk," he said aloud. But even as he spoke, he knew it was futile. He had the Ring to help him escape and return, but despite that he knew not where to go. The eld folk never stayed in a place long. And Nereisse had already said a sorcerelle could not help her.

Still, he would not give up. "The bathing tub," he said in sudden inspiration.

"Have the servants fill it with water. Cold water."

Gilda gasped. "You'll kill her."

"She's burning up. We must do something. Gilda, get the tub. Call the pages to help-" He broke off, only then realizing what he'd said.

The old woman pressed a corner of her embroidered ap.r.o.n to her mouth and wept, rocking herself back and forth.

In the bed, Nereisse moaned and tossed, mumbling incoherently in the eld tongue.

He felt tears falling down his cheeks. He could not let her leave him. Instinctively he knew it would take too long for him to go downstairs and find his way to the kitchens, or wherever water was brought from.

He hurried to the window and pulled aside the heavy draperies. Immediately cold drafts raced through the room, and when he pushed open the window, brutally cold air poured in. Tobeszijian leaned out, scooping armfuls of snow into the hem of his cloak, and came back inside, slamming the window shut behind him. He carried the snow to the bed and started packing handfuls of it around Nereisse. She opened her eyes and sighed. "Tobeszijian."

Grateful that she was lucid again, he dropped the snow and gripped her hands, kissing them. "Yes, beloved. I am here."

Grief filled her eyes. "Sorry," she whispered. "All my fault." He stroked her hot cheek. "What could be your fault? Muncel's ambition and those accursed reformers-" "No, listen to me," she said urgently. "I was casting with sight, parting the veils of seeing. I was lonely, missing you, missing my own people. It's forbidden, but I wanted to come to you across the-" "Hush," he said, hiding a shudder of worry.

"Never mind now. Come spring I will take you home, and you will see all your family. You will feast andlaugh and not feel lonely."

"The evil ones who have joined Muncel saw me," she said, looking past him. Terror filled her face. "I was not careful enough, and they saw me. They heard me. And I heard them. Muncel has made a pact with the Nonkind. This I saw. He has allowed Believers into the kingdom-" "Gently," Tobeszijian said, his alarm growing. The snow was melting on her skin, darkening her sleeping shift with moisture. She began to shiver, and he drew the furs over her. "It's all right now. I will deal with Muncel." "No, Tobeszijian, no! Nothing is all right. The Nonkind walk among us, by his invitation. They plan to kill you."

His mouth set itself in a grim line. "They will not."

"I wanted to warn you, fearing you would come to harm in the hunt, but they saw me. They would not have struck so quickly, so boldly if not for me." "Take not their guilt onto yourself," he said. "It is Muncel who is to blame, not you."

"Had you not wed me, the people of Nether would have loved you," she said, weeping. "They would never have given their hearts to Muncel." He pressed his hand against her lips, silencing her, and shook his head. Never had he regretted taking her as his wife. He loved her still as he had the first day he saw her dancing in the woods with her companions. She had been singing, wearing a chain of flowers in her hair, which had flowed unbound over her shoulders. Her song was like magic, so pure of note and expressive that he had felt enspelled by it. His gaze would not leave her. And although she had laughed and run, vanishing into the trees, he had pursued her, seeking her among the eldin until she was found.

She was a highborn princess in her own right. Had he not been king of Nether, had he not been half eld himself, her parents would have never let her wed him.

"You must guard the children," she said, bringing him back from his thoughts. "Never leave them for a moment. They are in great danger now. They have too much eldin blood for safety. While Faldain is the rightful heir to the throne, Muncel will never leave him be. Even Thiatereika is not safe, for her claim follows Faldain's."

"We are all safe," he said to her, wishing she would stop talking as though he and she were already dead. "Do not worry. I will not let Muncel get away with this. That, I swear to you."

"Swear you will protect the children first," she insisted, her blue-gray eyes searching his. "Swear!"

"By my word and my heart, I will see them safely guarded," he promised. "Now you must sleep a little. As soon as you are better we-"

"Do not wait for me, my love," she said urgently. "Flee with them now. Take them to my ... The forest will guard them.... The forest is friend to them. I can't ...".

She fell silent then, her eyes closing in exhaustion. Tobeszijian bent over her, kissing her brow. He hoped she would sleep. She must. And he had to find a way to make her better.

"Sire," Gilda said softly, "shall I have Suchin bring the children?" She gestured as she spoke, and Tobeszijian saw that Suchin had slid open one of the doors to the queen's ornate chambers and was standing there, looking afraid and worried. "No," Tobeszijian said. "We'll let my lady rest. She seems easier now. The snow has helped her."

"Shall I get more?" Gilda asked.

He nodded and glanced down at Nereisse, who lay quiet and still. Too still. He did not hear her struggling breathing now. He stared at her, and knew, with a stab of awful certainty.

Swiftly he bent over her, but she lay silent. Her eyes were shut; her head had fallen slightly to one side.

In his grasp, her hand had already grown cold. "No," he said. "Nereisse? No!"

Gilda turned from the window and came hurrying back. One look and she quickly retreated, drawing the circle on her breast. "Oh, your majesty," she whispered. "No!" Tobeszijian said angrily. He shook Nereisse hard until her head bounced on the pillow. "Nereisse! Nereisse!"

His cry came straight from his wounded heart. She could not answer him, could not smile into his eyes with that little crinkle of her eyelids reserved for him alone. She could not sing to him. She could not laugh and skip across the gardens with the children bounding after her. She could not ride in her troika, bundled in furs, her eyes shining in the starlight and her breath a mist about her delicate nostrils. She could not kiss him and give him the joy of her slender body. She was gone, his Nereisse. Gone forever. He leaned over her then and wept hard, clutching her to his chest. It was as though darkness surrounded him. He knew nothing except the weight of her in his arms, and yet already she felt foreign against his chest. For what remained was not his Nereisse, not the quickness and delight of her. All he held was an empty sh.e.l.l, so beautiful yet as worthless to him now as dust. He would gladly see every trace of her beauty gone if only the heart and soul would return to her.

But it could not.

She was dead, and he had lost her forever.

Gilda crept about the chamber quietly, her sniffles m.u.f.fled, her movements slow. She opened chests and withdrew items, coming back to the bed and gently placing her hand on Tobeszijian's shoulder.

"Let me care for her now, sire," Gilda said softly. "Let me make her ready." He could not think, could barely hear. Her words made no sense, yet he responded to her soft voice and touch as he had when he was a child in her care. She took Nereisse from his arms and laid his lady on her pillows. Placing a pristine white linen handkerchief over Nereisse's face, Gilda began dressing her in an exquisitely embroidered court gown.

Tobeszijian stood there in a daze, and a dim corner of his mind recognized it as Nereisse's coronation gown. His eyes burned with fresh tears, and he buried his face in his hands. His mind filled with the memory of how lovely and radiant she had looked that day, her face so piquant and solemn beneath the flashing jewels in her heavy crown. The people had cheered her then, but not warmly. He realized now that he had been so filled with love for her, so certain of her charm and intelligence and value, that he'd never paid attention to the people's lack of enthusiasm. He had believed they would come to know her as he did, and that they would overlook her eldin blood and see only the goodness of her heart. He clenched his fists against his temples, raging at his stupidity. He had been so blind, so foolish. He had brought Nereisse to this harm. He had taken her from the protection of her own people and brought her here among the bigoted, small-minded humans that were his own subjects. He had made his enemies her enemies, and now they had struck her down. Her ... and their children.

For the first time in several minutes he recalled his children's existence. Perhaps some extra sense was trying to warn him, for at that moment he heard a scream in the distance. It was thin at first, then rose to sharp intensity. He turned around with an oath, and Gilda froze by the bed, where she was carefully folding Nereisse's hands together across the jeweled bodice of the gown.

The scream came again, a piercing shriek that only a terrified child could make. The grief that fogged him fell away, and he knew that voice as surely as his own. "Thia!" he said.

From the doorway, old Suchin, who was supposed to be watching the royal children, gasped aloud. He turned and ran, while Gilda called out something that Tobeszijian never heard.

He told himself he should have sent for the children the first instant he entered the palace. Now they were in danger, and his heart went wild. He had lost Nereisse. He would not lose his son and daughter as well. Drawing his sword, he ran from the room.

Running from the queen's chambers down the corridor, Tobeszijian pa.s.sed a series of brightly colored doors. Overtaking Suchin, who was hobbling more than running, Tobeszijian returned to the staircase and charged up another flight of stairs. As he came to the top of the landing and stepped into a smaller, less ornate corridor, he saw a hirelance in helmet and mail struggling with a child he held in his arms.

Tobeszijian saw only Thiatereika's tangled curls and kicking legs, but he saw enough.

With a shout of rage, he brandished Mirengard and ran at the abductor, just as a nearby door opened and a second hirelance emerged with Faldain. Tobeszijian never slowed his charge. His shout had already warned the man holding Thiatereika, but she was kicking and flailing with all her might, screaming at the top of her lungs, and this hampered her captor. He managed only to turn partway around by the time Tobeszijian reached him. Tobeszijian swung his sword. The great length of steel whistled through the air, and caught the man's upper back. Normally he would have aimed for the hirelance's head, but it would have been too dangerous a blow with Thiatereika clutched tight in the man's arms. Instead, Tobeszijian aimed his sword lower, so that the blade bit deep into the hirelance's back. It cut through his hauberk as if it were cloth and sent tiny links of chain mail flying. The man screamed and dropped Thiatereika as he stumbled sideways. Mirengard had severed his spine, and the man's arms and legs no longer worked. Shrieking, he flopped to the floor, blood streaming from his wound.

Thiatereika darted away from him. With her hands outstretched and her face bright red from screaming, she came straight at her father. Tobeszijian sidestepped her and spun to meet the second hirelance's charge. The man had already dropped Faldain on the floor out of his way, and the toddler was wailing l.u.s.tily.

"My papa!" Thiatereika clutched Tobeszijian around the leg, hampering him. He parried weakly, and Mirengard was nearly driven right into his face by the other man's blow.

Ducking awkwardly, Tobeszijian scrambled back, disengaging his sword, and parried again-one-handed this time, while with his left he gripped Thiatereika by the back of her gown and lifted her off the floor.

"Climb on my back," he said through gritted teeth, again managing to parry the hirelance's charging attack with one hand. Mirengard was heavy and hard to manage this way. He knew he had only seconds before the hirelance would break through his weak defense. "Hurry, sweet. Play monkey on my back and hold on hard." Thiatereika grinned at him and climbed him like a tree, swarming across his shoulders and fastening herself to his back. It was a game they often played, with him rolling on the floor like a child himself.

Now, she wrapped her little arms around his neck from behind, almost choking him, and sang out, "I'm a monkey from Saelutia!"

Praying she could hang on, Tobeszijian skidded to his knees to duck another blow from the hirelance, and got both of his hands on his hilt. He swung with all the considerable strength and power at his disposal, his muscles flexing beneath his mail. The hirelance swung down his sword to parry the blow aimed at his knees, but Tobeszijian's strength broke the parry and drew blood from the man's legs.

Yelling and cursing, the hirelance stumbled back, and Tobeszijian gained his feet to charge, swinging the mighty Mirengard again and again. In two more blows, the hirelance's sword shattered. He stared at it and threw it down before he turned to run.

Tobeszijian swung a final time. The hirelance's head went tumbling, slinging blood and gobbets of flesh across the sunny yellow walls. His body crumbled in its tracks, with a great spurt of blood gushing forth from the neck. Breathing hard, Tobeszijian lowered his blood-splattered sword and pulled in air to the depths of his lungs, then turned around. It had grown deathly silent in the corridor.

He saw his young son standing frozen in the doorway of the nursery. Faldain's thumb was in his mouth, and his pale gray eyes stared solemnly at the corpses. He was too young to understand or to be afraid, but Tobeszijian wiped his sword on a corner of his cloak, sheathed it, and hurried to scoop Faldain into his arms. The boy broke into a wide grin and planted a messy smack on Tobeszijian's cheek.

"Pa!" he said proudly.

Tobeszijian touched his son's black curls, and felt himself undone by the sweet innocence in Faldain's face. He pressed his face against Faldain's tender one, breathing in softness and the smell of little boy.

And he thought of Nereisse, lying dead in her chamber, never to kiss this child again, never to soothe him when he cried, or to help him grow up brave and strong in his father's footsteps. Faldain would never know how wonderful she was, or how beautiful. He would never witness her courage or her grace.

Tears burned Tobeszijian's eyes, and he sent up a prayer of thanksgiving that his children had been spared.

"Suchin," he said hoa.r.s.ely to the servant cowering on the stairs, "get their outdoor clothes. Dress them for a journey."

Still looking frightened, the old man scuttled into the room and began searching through the brightly painted chests and cupboards for small cloaks and smaller boots.

Tobeszijian set both children on the floor. Thiatereika tossed her head, sending her golden curls bouncing on her shoulders, and ran to help Suchin. "I know where everything is," she announced.