"But the Twelve are dying. What will you do about it? It falls to you, Ursula."

"Della!" I called the maidservant. She cringed her way into the room and curtsied and stayed down, biting her lip. "How long has Lady Zevondeth been out of her mind like this?"

"Your Highness." Her voice trembled. "I did try to send you away."

"I know you did. I'm not angry at you." I took my hand off my sword hilt and, for lack of anything else to do with my hands, adjusted the flame under the teapot at Zevondeth's bedside. "When did she start talking crazy?"

"I'm not crazy, girl!" Zevondeth muttered.

Taking Della by the arm, I led her out of the room and shut the door. "Talk."

"After the Dasnarians arrived."

"Did something in particular occur?" Zevondeth had some powers of foresight and possibly other tricks she cleverly kept out of sight. Had she run afoul of Illyria? She'd been here first, from what Captain Harlan had said.

"No, Your Highness." Della wrung her hands, wide eyes shimmering with tears. "Not that I witnessed or that she mentioned. She declined bit by bit, not wanting to go to court and sleeping more." She glanced at the closed door. "Saying crazy things."

"Has anyone else heard these remarks?"

A few tears escaped her lids, trickling down her cheeks. "Your Highness, I've kept everyone away but you. Please don't execute her. She's just a frail old lady. My gran went this way. Thought everyone was a shape-shifted Tala demon wanting to drink her blood. You can't take what she says seriously."

"Oh, for Danu's sake-I'm not an executioner and I'm hardly going to drag her before the High King for judgment. Have the healers been to see her?"

"I didn't dare, Your Highness. With her treasonous talk and all, I-"

I held up a hand to stop her. "I understand. And I'll take care of this, okay? You did the right thing, but we need to help her."

Della burst fully into tears and dropped to her knees, gathering the hem of my gown in her hands and kissing it. "Thank you, Your Highness. I didn't know what to do."

"There, Della." I patted her curls, feeling awkward. No one tries to kiss the hems of pants.

With a few more reassurances, I extracted myself, the much cooler summer warmth of the corridor nearly a shock. Surely it couldn't be good for Zevondeth to overheat so. Or perhaps she'd do better in a warmer climate. If we could get her well enough to travel, I could send her with Ambassador Laurenne's retinue. With Erich pulled back into Windroven, it might be safe enough.

Certainly safer than leaving her here, where Uorsin would inevitably get wind of her traitorous bent.

Casting an eye at the afternoon sun, I calculated that I'd have time before supper to catch up on the reading Dafne had marked for me. She'd awakened and sat at my desk, looking through one of the histories and making notes. Glancing up, she either frowned at my dress or retained an uncomfortable thought from what she'd been reading. Remembering herself, she jumped up from the desk.

"I visited Zevondeth," I told her, forestalling any tiresome apologies or conversation about presentation.

"Truly?" She raised neat eyebrows in surprise. "I asked around a bit and heard that she hasn't been taking company. That maidservant of hers is as loyal as a dragon."

"Rank has its privileges." I smiled thinly. "Though it turns out to have been a smart move on her part. Zevondeth is bad off. Who do we have for healers for the elderly who can keep his or her mouth shut?"

"Most healers are discreet," Dafne pointed out. "Part of their vows."

"I need someone who won't be tempted to curry favor with Uorsin."

"Oh?" She kept the question carefully neutral and brought me a pot of tea.

I frowned at the text she'd been reading, not seeing the elaborately scripted words, Zevondeth's crazed screed rolling through my mind. "She actually talked about me killing the King." I would have laughed if the thought weren't so very wrong, so deeply horrifying to me. "Can you imagine me doing such a thing?"

Dafne didn't reply and I looked up to find her frozen in place, a truly stricken look in her eyes.

"Don't fret, Lady Mailloux. Nobody but Della and I heard her say it-and now you. None of us will point a finger at her for her demented talk, but you can see my point that the healer must have discretion. Maybe someone from outside Ordnung? Or Mohraya entirely? A priestess of Moranu, maybe. I understand one tended Andi and kept her secrets well enough. Though someone from outside would find themselves trapped here and they might not appreciate that kind of summons."

"Ursula." Dafne gathered herself and sat in the chair across from me. She started to reach across the desk, as if to take my hands, but several books were in the way.

I raised an eyebrow at her somber expression. "Dafne," I said, in the same tone of voice.

"What if-" She broke off. Then folded her hands in her lap. "What if she's not crazy or demented?"

Now I did laugh, rolling my head on my tightening neck. Thought about having some wine. Too early to start. "Don't say things to me I'd be honor bound to act on. You I could never pass off as out of your mind."

"Tell me this, Ursula, as a citizen of the Twelve-is Uorsin a good king?"

Out of habit, I glanced to be sure the door remained closed, some young and fragile part of me certain that he'd come crashing through at any moment. "That doesn't matter."

She gaped at me. "How can that not matter?"

"Because, Dafne, he is the King." I held up a hand when she opened her mouth. "No, there's nothing to argue past that. If nothing else, I'm a warrior and that demands adherence to discipline, to order. Uorsin is the High King. More than a man, he embodies the power of the High Throne. Without that, we have chaos. He's not subject to our analyses of good and bad any more than the goddesses are. I cannot pass judgment on him any more than I can on the drought that eats away at our most fertile farmlands-it simply is, and all we can do is work around that reality.

"You said some things are beyond the law of man, and I happen to agree. The King is a law unto himself, one that we abide by. Now, will you look into it for me-finding Lady Zevondeth a healer?"

"Yes. Yes, I will." She stood and turned to go. Then glanced back at me.

I caught the movement and looked up from the text. This was the bit about the Orsk dynasty all right. "Something else? This is interesting. Thank you for digging it out."

"You're welcome." She seemed to be searching for something else, and I waited, semipatiently, for her to get it out. Finally she shook her head slightly. "I'll get right on that."

I went down to supper late, I'd gotten so absorbed in the Dasnarian texts. Captain Harlan had relayed the information with impressive accuracy. The Orsk dynasty-which inaugurated the history of Dasnaria, it seemed-came into power with the overt and possibly covert assistance of the Temple of Deyrr. The writer employed a clever style, implying much, definitively stating very little.

However, the tales of those battles contained many references to an army that fed itself, that could not be stopped or killed. King Orsk participated in some sort of temple ritual-that much was clear. Opposing forces fell before his irresistible soldiers and then-if the text could be believed-were recruited and made to fight against their former brethren.

None of it, however, spelled out the absurd idea that these armies were formed of the resurrected dead. No doubt a profound sort of superstition came into play. Some sort of mystical brainwashing, perhaps. Or possibly wizardry akin to shape-shifting. It bore contemplation.

And Illyria bore watching.

I hadn't ruled out the possibility that the Dasnarian witch had somehow poisoned Lady Zevondeth. I needed to find a way to show Uorsin some of this information. Whether that would penetrate whatever hold she had on him would have to be seen. The texts didn't spell out what had happened to King Orsk. Certainly his dynasty continued for some time, but the man himself seemed not to have survived much past the establishment of his throne.

My mind full of the implications, I hurried down to the banquet hall, the final summons ringing through the empty halls. Good thing I'd resisted the urge to change out of the flouncy dress-it would serve well enough for supper, and finding a new gown would have made me unforgivably late. How Amelia could bear all the primping I'd never understand. I just thanked Danu no one expected it of me.

Most everyone had already seated themselves, with a few courtiers milling about still, having muted conversations. I nodded at the long table where my Hawks sat, and Marskal gave me a sober look, along with the hand signal for being on the lookout for unexpected danger.

Strange.

Scanning the hall, I saw nothing amiss, until my gaze fell on the head table. Uorsin, already seated, naturally, was deep in conversation with a woman next to him. Sitting in my mother's chair.

Illyria.

My heart grabbed, sending a burst of blood to my brain, the edges of my vision going red. Grief, rage, shock. Greasy cold filled my veins, allowing me to continue to walk. Pretending nothing had happened.

The courtiers I passed glanced surreptitiously at me, assessing how I'd parry this fresh attack. Ambassador Laurenne caught my eye, a look of grave sympathy on her parchment face that only stung the heart wound. I looked through them all.

Being brave in the face of disaster often meant locking out the softer emotions.

Captain Harlan stood as I approached the table, and for once I felt grateful for his archaic courtesy, holding my chair and offering a steady hand as I lowered myself into it. I hated that my legs felt weak enough that I might have faltered without the support. I could only hope he hadn't noticed the lack of steadiness in me.

I eyed the wine jug, desperately wanting to pour myself a goblet or twenty, but not if my hand would shake. The courtiers gazed with avid interest, their own troubles forgotten temporarily in the drama playing out. Uorsin, shoulder to me, had yet to acknowledge my arrival, speaking in deep tones with Illyria, resplendent in emerald satin.

"Your Highness." Harlan had filled my goblet for me, briefly touching my hand to get my attention. It made me jump, like a skittish deer hearing the crack of the hunter's footstep, and my gaze swung to him. Surely such a small thing wouldn't break me, after all I'd been through. Just a bit of first blood, a ringing blow that slipped through my guard. I needed only gain some room to move, retreat long enough to clear my head and regroup.

Sometimes, however, the press of the battle prevents retreat.

"Daughter." Uorsin turned to me, sliding his chair back somewhat, eyes glittering with that unholy light he gets when he's winning. He held Illyria's hand in both of his. "Have you been properly introduced to Illyria? Illyria, my eldest daughter, Ursula."

No honorific for me. She smiled, full of confident triumph, white skin smooth, glossy hair tumbling, and those dead eyes burning deep in her skull. Did Uorsin not see? Did he choose not to or had he been blinded? Regardless, it would take careful maneuvering to open his eyes.

"I know much of your exploits, Ursula." She smiled coyly, a rasp under her sweet tone, like the echo of hissing snakes. "I hope we shall be fast friends."

"You shall be much more." Uorsin spoke in answer to her, but smiled at me, making it clear he delivered a command. I knew him well. Could anticipate the flat of the blade coming to knock me down.

Defend, parry, attack, retreat, regroup.

"I have an announcement!" Uorsin stood, drawing Illyria along with him. My eyes snagged on Derodotur, looking miserable, as if he might be ill at any moment. The courtiers held their collective breath. Everyone knew what was coming. As absurd, impossible, unthinkable, as it might be. "I am making Illyria my wife and Queen. All hail your new Queen."

Well trained and obedient to his will, we all stood, cheering and applauding. Harlan put a hand to cup my elbow, though I thought sure I didn't sway on my feet.

Sometimes, not only was retreat impossible, but the press of the enemy became so great that there was nothing to do but endure the onslaught. Praying to survive to fight another day. At last we sat again.

"She should have the royal jewels, don't you think, Daughter?" Uorsin gave me a boyish grin, full of lethal pleasure. "Since you were so good to remind me of them."

"Of course," I managed to say, amazed that I kept my voice steady. "I shall bring them to court in the morning."

"Oh." Illyria pouted. It should have been pretty. I'd seen Amelia pouch her lips the same way a thousand times, always with devastating effectiveness. On Illyria, it made my skin crawl. As if by holding her mouth that way, something awful might come slithering out. "I'd so hoped to have them now-to celebrate."

"You shall have them, my love." Uorsin lifted her hand to his lips and kissed that white skin, which I more than half expected to sizzle at the touch. Over his bent head, she smiled at me, and I realized how hard I gripped the hilt of my sword.

Retreat, retreat, retreat. The alarm claxon sounded in my head, and I stood so abruptly the backs of my knees banged the chair. "I'll go get them."

"Don't be silly," she cooed. "Send one of your ladies to fetch them. We have so much to discuss." Then she clapped a hand over her heart, in apparent feminine distress. "Oh! Forgive me. Do you not have any ladies-in-waiting? I know you're not much for womanly ways."

Her dead eyes burned through me and the sound of all those songs and jokes chorused up around my ears. I wanted to hunch my shoulders to keep them out. More like a sword than a woman.

"Here is Lady Mailloux, Your Highness." Captain Harlan's deep voice broke the spell, and I felt like the mouse fleeing the snake's hypnotic gaze. He gave me that calm, deceptively placid look. Backing me in the fight. No friend of Illyria's, he. Something to remember, if I could trust it.

Dafne curtsied, the picture of elegant grace. "I shall retrieve the rubies immediately, Your Highness."

"Thank you," I told her, infusing the words with all my appreciation for her support and craftiness. Illyria would have seen only the rubies, as I'd foolishly worn them that first night, and Uorsin was not a man to remember all of my mother's jewels.

"This is so delightful." Illyria clapped like a girl a third her age and Uorsin smiled dotingly on her. "Shall we have a special feast, too? To celebrate our engagement!"

"Of course. Whatever you desire shall be yours." Uorsin waved a hand, willing the feast to materialize.

Oh, Danu. Each minute spiraled into another level of disaster. My back ached and a headache throbbed low at the base of my skull.

"Perhaps we should order the engagement feast for tomorrow night." I tried to keep my tone light, enthusiastic. "That will give us the opportunity to prepare something truly extraordinary for you." Or anything at all.

"Oh, but the dashing Captain Harlan leaves on the morrow and I know he wants to be here to enjoy the celebration."

Harlan nodded to her, the picture of politeness, forever inscrutable, but I began to know him well enough to sense his tension.

"The servants already carry out the supper platters," I persisted. Underscoring my words, a great platter of meat was set before the King.

Illyria frowned at it. "Why, this looks like an ordinary meal. Not special at all."

Never mind that we ate a hundred times better than ninety-nine percent of the rest of the Twelve tonight, Ambassador Laurenne glowered from her table. How to save this situation? "To prepare a great feast-"

"Of course we'll have the feast now," Uorsin assured her, giving me an angry glare. "Do you insinuate, Daughter, that Ordnung, seat of my power, the crown of the Twelve Kingdoms, cannot provide a worthy celebration at a moment's notice?" He laughed, with a cruel edge. "I suppose that, if the Tala attacked, you'd ask them politely to wait until tomorrow night, also?"

Illyria laughed gaily, pressing a palm to his cheek. "Oh, my lord King-so witty you are!"

"Send back those platters!" Uorsin called out, waving his goblet so the ruby wine splashed on the white table covering, like fresh blood on snow. "Bring out a feast worthy of my bride-to-be!"

The servants took the platters and scuttled back to the kitchens-in some cases pulling plates away from people who'd already begun to eat-and the room fell into uneasy muttering. The minutes stretched out. I sipped my wine, thinking what to do. My earlier analogy of the King being like the drought haunted me. How to handle this?

"Send out the cook!" Uorsin commanded. "We shall tell her what we want."

The headache rose to circle my eyes. Think, Ursula.

Madeline emerged, stately and composed, curtsying before the King. "How may I serve you, High King?" she asked in a clear voice. The cabochon topaz, hot from my hand, pressed smooth into my palm.

"What will you have, my love?" Uorsin asked Illyria.

"Lobster!" she declared. "And duck in pastry. Flavored ices, too, don't you think?"

"Whatever pleases you. It shall be done." He waved a hand in that imperious way of his, and Madeline, to her vast credit, barely blinked.

"My King," I said quietly, unable to think of any other way to salvage the situation. "We'd have to acquire lobster from Koon-celund or the Isles of Remus. It would take days to-"

"Silence!" Uorsin's hand pounded flat on the table with such force that my goblet turned over, adding to the spill of growing red. "Do you say"-he turned his glare on Madeline as if I hadn't spoken-"that Ordnung is unprepared?"

She didn't flick an eye at me. Simply sank to her knees and bowed her head. "The fault is mine, High King. I cannot do as you require."

The vast room went still, apprehension thick as smoke in the air.

"Do I ask so much?" Uorsin's quiet words fell, stones crashing to the marble. "I am Uorsin, High King, Uniter of the Twelve Kingdoms, and I cannot give my chosen bride a simple meal."

Madeline remained where she was. Across the hall, Dafne froze in the doorway, the rubies glittering in her hands.