"What does it mean, then, 'Mistress of Death'?"

He sat forward, elbows on knees, the empty goblet dangling from his hands between them. I refilled it and he gave me a nod of thanks. "The translation isn't quite accurate, which is why I use our word deyrr. It means more the impermanence of life. The fragility of it in the face of a world that falls into decomposition and decay."

"A cheerful lot, you Dasnarians."

"You have no idea. The Practitioners of Deyrr are a . . . sect, if you will, that honors an old religion. They worship a god long since shunned by decent folk."

"A god? Not one of the three goddesses?"

"No. Though Dasnaria acknowledges Glorianna, Danu, and Moranu, they are considered minor deities." He glanced at me, a bit of a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. I didn't bite. "The practices of this group go far back, with roots before King Orsk established the Dasnarian throne, when our ancestors lived in warring nomadic tribes. He is the god of the hunt and also of hunger, of death through starvation. He rules over the transmutation of the living animal into death and death recycling back into life through consumption of the meat."

"I suppose I see the logic there. But that's a fact of life. Hardly dire."

"In most instances, this is true. The Practitioners of Deyrr, however, take his dominion over transmutation to a terrifying place-if the stories can be believed."

Something in his deep voice sent a shiver down my spine that recalled the way I'd felt when Illyria looked at me with her coal-dark eyes. Captain Harlan seemed a most practical man. Though most warriors carried a healthy respect for the whims of fate and the blessings and curses of the goddesses-or gods, in his case-most had a strong grip on the real and relevant.

"Do you believe the stories?" I asked.

"I do. I have reason to. Though the rites are kept secret, tales have leaked from the temples. Blood sacrifices. Torture. Vile arts based in dark magics that muddle the line between life and death."

"I take it we're not talking about hunting deer anymore?"

"The higher the being, the more magic it carries. We're talking human beings."

"And this worship is legal in Dasnaria?"

He sipped his wine, contemplating me. "First, our governance is different. Our king does not hold absolute power. We have a number of ruling bodies that must debate and agree upon the laws. Second, though not precisely legal-kidnapping, murder, and torture of human beings are not-what cannot be proved cannot be prosecuted. The Temple of Deyrr is powerful. As long as they prey on those without consequence and support the ambitions of the ones with it, they are left alone."

"I cannot find that admirable about Dasnaria."

His even stare reminded me that not all in the Twelve Kingdoms went admirably at the moment. But we endured a time of trial that would soon be resolved. The High King would see that and take action soon. I had to have faith in that. If he didn't, I didn't know what I could do.

"I don't disagree," the mercenary finally replied, yanking my thoughts back. "You'll note I am not living in Dasnaria."

"So what are you telling me? That this Illyria is a priestess of this practice and she is here to attempt to start her religion? Glorianna's temple won't sit idly by."

"That's not what I'm saying. The rites gain the priests and priestesses the magic they wield. She seeks to use her power to gain more." And Uorsin made a fine path, he didn't say out loud. His meaning, however, hung in the air.

"How?"

"It's theoretically within her abilities to raise an army by animating the dead."

He returned my incredulous stare, not giving any sign of teasing. In fact, he looked dead serious.

"How is that even possible? I've never heard of such a thing. It sounds like a wild tale to me."

"You have a history of the Dasnarian kings on your desk. You'll find mention of all I've relayed here in the chapter on the foundations of the Orsk dynasty."

Sharp eyes on him. Sharp mind behind it. I would not underestimate him again.

"Presupposing this is true-where would she obtain the dead?"

He rolled his shoulders, shrugging off a tension he didn't otherwise reveal. "Tombs, crypts, mausoleums. I don't really know. I'm guessing at her plans-I am far from being in her confidence."

"Slave trade?"

"Not as far as Dasnaria is officially concerned. The temple does what it may in the shadows. Suffice it to say the dead have little protection from slavery."

"Mohrayans burn their dead," I mused to cover my chill. "But not so in some of the other kingdoms. So she has no other unusual powers-shape-shifting, wizardry, anything like that?"

The mercenary narrowed his eyes, set the goblet aside. "Are those stories of the Tala true, then?"

"Some, certainly. It's not easy to sort truth from hysteria. In the thick of a fight, much can seem mystical that isn't." Except that I'd stood on the opposite side of an invisible barrier that my sister controlled with her mind. "That said, should we battle the Tala again, be prepared for the extraordinary."

"I would say the same with Illyria. I don't know what powers she possesses, but I would put nothing past her. I believe her to be a great danger."

"Have you said as much to the High King?"

He tapped the tips of his fingers together, cocked his head, and studied me. "You know I could not."

"Because?"

"Your father is not receptive to hearing what he does not wish to." He'd phrased it carefully, but more lurked beneath his words. Frustration. Anger, perhaps. The implication that Uorsin favored her foul plans. Surely not. If I could count on anything in the King's increasingly strange behavior, it would be his hatred of magic. Salena might have given him the edge to win the High Throne, but he'd never let go of the resentment. And of the fear, if I gave it honest thought, that she had possessed a power he could not control.

The alternative, however, that he might be blind to Illyria's true nature-or that she somehow manipulated him-was not pleasant to contemplate. If only because it would mean I could not in good conscience go after Ami. What would it take to send Illyria away?

I poured myself more wine, hoping to dull the sharpening worries I didn't care to ponder. Our conversation could be considered treasonous-certainly by Uorsin, suspicious as he already was-and already I fretted over what I could possibly do to discover more without inciting him further. And yet, for the good of the Twelve, I could hardly ignore such a warning.

"Why are you telling me?"

"She asked you about this Star, and that concerns me. And because, Ursula, you impress me."

Uncertain how to respond to that and uncomfortable under his intent gaze, I drank from the goblet, the wine warm and rich. I didn't feel impressive. And I had no intention of telling him about the Star.

He read it in my face and laughed a little, looking into the fire. "You know, when I signed on and heard that High King Uorsin's heir was a woman, well-" He broke off, shaking his head. "I've said the Dasnarian women are not like you. When you walked into court, I thought . . ." He paused, glancing at me.

"You thought what?" I both did and didn't want to know. Better to hear it, though. Some odd part of me had gone breathless. Fear, perhaps, of feeling those old wounds. I'd long since stopped caring about the sly jokes and innuendos, but there had been a time when they'd cut me to the quick. Before my skin thickened. Something about this man, though, made me feel thin-skinned again.

"I thought you were the most extraordinary woman I'd ever seen." The mercenary said it softly, deep voice as smooth as the wine. "The way you faced the High King was amazing to witness. Nobody that I've seen has handled him so well. You're fearless, flawlessly intelligent, and you have the mind, spirit, and reflexes of a warrior. If anyone can save us from this potential disaster, you can."

I shook myself mentally, the eerie echo of Derodotur's words penetrating the allure of Harlan's flattery. He's a strategist; of course he knows how to play you. And how to suck up to his royal clients.

"I watched you deal with him and thought, here is an ally. Here is someone with the strength, the guile, to deal with what the presence of the Temple of Deyrr implies. Which brings me to my other concern." He stared into his goblet, as if seeking an answer there. "About what happened last night."

11.

Ice clawed at my heart. Warning me of trouble to come. Too thin-skinned. "To what do you refer?" My voice came out as cold as my foreboding.

"Why do you let him brutalize you?"

The shock hit me in the gut, taking my breath for a moment. Blindly I stared at the fire, willing it to chase away the discomforting chill. I poured more wine and took a deep drink from my goblet, willing it to dull the pain of humiliation. Willing him to shut up already.

"Am I supposed to ignore it, like everyone else? Collude to make it appear you earned this injury in honest combat instead of-"

"Instead of what, exactly?" I cut him off, unable to bear any more. "You are an outsider. You know nothing of our ways."

"Your ways? You're quick to criticize Dasnaria, and then you defend this. You wish me to agree that it's simply a different custom for a father to blacken his daughter's eye?"

"For a king to discipline his heir," I corrected, my chest unbearably tight. The wine did nothing to loosen it. "To teach me to get back up again."

"If you believed that, you wouldn't have tried to conceal it."

"It's time for you to leave, Captain." I reached to pour myself more wine, but he startled me by taking the goblet from my hands, seizing them in his own and dropping to his knees before my chair.

"Ursula." He tightened his grip, leaning his weight in and pinning my legs to the chair when I would have moved to tear away. "Look me in the eye and tell me why you let him do it."

Because he's my father. Because it's my duty. Because if I question him, then I will be forced to question everything. The foundation of my world would come crashing down and I didn't think I could survive that. The sound of teacups smashing filled my brain and I couldn't make any of the words come out over the din.

"It's not right, Ursula," he said, the quiet tone cutting through the jangling noise. "You know it's not right. I saw how it hurt your heart as much as your body. It cut me to the core."

"Let me go."

"I want to help."

"I don't want help, mercenary."

Instead of flinching, he smiled. "But it's in my contract."

"Not against the High King."

"Against all threats. Not because it's in the contract. Because I want to."

"My father is not a-What are you doing?"

"Your hands are cold. I'm warming them."

He curled his fingers around my hands, stroking my palms. Shivers of warmth traveled up from his touch, thawing me where the wine hadn't.

"Well . . . don't."

"What are you afraid of, Ursula?"

"You yourself called me fearless." Which wasn't true. My fears hounded me, baying that everything I believed might be a lie. Fear that sickened.

"Then why are you afraid of my touch? If you won't talk to me, let me comfort you, at least."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"Am I repugnant to you? You don't have a lover, according to Lady Mailloux. You're not promised to anyone, and you yourself said your virtue is not an issue." He lowered his head and, turning my hand, pressed a kiss to my palm.

I gaped at him, struggling to assimilate this shift in the world, the fiery sensations traveling to my heart, my groin. Thawing deep cells long since frozen over. This had never happened to me. I had no training, no skills, to counter it. The romantic posturings of my barely enthused suitors had been easy to ignore, to snip off neatly and early. Not so this visceral attack that no doubt penetrated because my defenses had fallen so low. "Are you trying to seduce me, Captain?"

He smiled, sensual and slow, then pressed a longer, lingering kiss to my palm. "How am I doing?"

"I-I have no idea. I don't think anyone's ever tried before." I'd never let anyone get this far. Why him? Why now? And with so much else tearing at me.

"And you scoffed at the Dasnarian women. What are your men thinking?"

A dozen overheard jokes and bawdy songs flew through my head. None that I cared to repeat, though surely he'd heard them. Harlan's hot mouth traveled up my index finger, pressing a kiss to the tip, and the words melted away.

"I love that you have sword calluses," he murmured, dark voice buzzing over my skin. "I have this idea of how your hands would feel on me, strong and soft, rough and caressing, all at once." He drew my finger into his mouth and the fire became lightning. Heat ran over me in waves and I suddenly seemed to be out of breath.

Unable to pull my thoughts together, I drifted on the furling flames that licked through me. This, then, was what it felt like, that drove everyone so. I'd been forever outside, looking in the window through a thick pane of glass and not understanding. I'd seen people eating at the banquet table but hadn't smelled the food or tasted it. Now the glass had shattered and I found myself starving.

For what I couldn't have. Would never have.

"I can't possibly do this." Though I said the words, I couldn't pull my hands away from the stirring sensations his mouth awoke in me. He'd worked his way to my pinky finger and nipped the tip with his teeth, so I gasped, my core clenching. Only hands, and yet... "I mean it. Stop this."

With a show of reluctance, he lifted his head, still holding my hands, rubbing my palms with his thumbs, a deeper echo of his kisses. "I think it's not me. Do you prefer women?"

I wished I did. It would be so satisfying to say so. And yet, I couldn't quite make the lie come out. I also couldn't tell him the truth.

"What's wrong?"

I shook my head, unable to find words. "I don't . . . I don't do this."

"Why not?"

"It's not who I am." It didn't matter that I was broken, so deeply flawed. I yanked my hands from his grip and pushed him away, easily extracting myself, as I could have at any moment, had I had the wit to make the effort. My head swam. Too much wine.

"You're a woman who finds me attractive. I'm a man who wants you. Uorsin has his lovers. You can, too. Your right as much as his." He leaned in, put a hand on my knee, hot through my silk court gown. "It's not more complicated than that."

"I don't have the luxury of taking lovers."

"I won't get in your way. Our goals are aligned. Protect the High Throne of the Twelve Kingdoms."

"Only you're paid to do it."

"Thus you know exactly where I stand."

"Is this part of the service you provide-did you pleasure the other princesses?" The anger flared in me and I stood, pacing a safe distance away from his seductive touch. "Were they locked away by their daddies and thrilled to have a hot man between their virgin thighs?"