"I see smoke. We must be approaching a village."

"Possibly Hurtle, although I've lost my bearings," she offered. Though her voice was tight he could tell she was making an effort.

"Lily, I know this is asking a lot of you but when we arrive we've got to look and act like lovers. You know, in the full bloom of love."

She nodded, but said nothing.

He persisted. "What ever I do, I will do purely to protect our disguise. Once we're behind closed doors, I will not touch you, I promise."

"How decent of you," she said, her sarcasm biting.

"I'm sorry."

She turned to him, apology on her face. "It's not your fault, Kirin. It's mine. What's more, you've already saved my life once, and here you are doing it again. I'm being ungracious. My father would be ashamed of me. I'm ashamed of me. I'm the one who is sorry and I will try hard, I give you my word."

"Well, that sounds like a good place to start," Kirin said, trying to inject some brightness into his voice. "Tell me about your parents. I'd like to know as much as I need to know." He looked at her, meeting her eyes straight on.

She frowned as she regarded him. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Yes, I suppose I should have mentioned it. I find myself blind in my left eye."

"What?" she exclaimed.

"The price one pays," Kirin said matter of factly.

"Blind, because of your magic, you mean?" Lily asked, aghast now.

"I'm afraid so. It's been threatening to go for years and now it finally has." He gave her a rueful smile. "It's a relief, really. Now I don't need to fight it anymore. Perhaps that explains to you, though, my reluctance to use my power."

"I had no idea," Lily said, her voice shaking.

"Why should you?"

"I'm sorry, Kirin."

"Don't be."

"But it's my fault," she said, her distress intensifying. "You gave your sight for my life."

"I have another eye," he dismissed. "Now tell me about your father." At her distraught expression, he added, "Please, Lily, don't make this harder."

"All right," she agreed hesitantly, though it was obvious she was struggling to ignore his revelation. "My father's name is Greven. I haven't spoken about him to anyone in many years. I'm not even sure whether to speak as though he is alive."

Kirin listened as Lily sloughed away years of silence about her family, and sensed a melancholy settle around her like a shawl, until they were both enveloped within it.

Fourteen.

Greven stared dully at the bloodied stump that his arm had become. He was quietly weeping. Piven had gone about the painful business of cauterizing the wound by heating up the axe head and while Greven had still been in shock had placed the hot iron against the stump, sealing it.

Greven had shrieked and then fainted.

When he'd come to, Piven had regarded him with only love in his eyes. "I won't heal this one, Greven," he explained gently. "My instincts tell me it has to remain this way. That's why I used the flames rather than magic to close the wound." Greven had not responded, so Piven had continued, ripping up linen as a makeshift bandage. "This will have to do until we can get to the next town. I've rubbed it all over with merkin-leaf, so no infection should penetrate immediately."

They had not exchanged words for some time now.

Finally Greven stirred. "Why did you do this?" he growled, his good hand pushing the tears off his cheeks, as though he hated himself for that sign of weakness.

"You know why," Piven replied, not looking at him.

Between them in the fire lay Greven's hand. Greven struggled not to look at it, as each time he glanced at it he felt the bile rising.

"Why don't you tell me all the same?" he said.

Piven sighed. "It's pointless. We both understand what this is about. I can't be sure but I think even Vyk does too. Perhaps you're the attraction rather than me."

"He's here for you alone," Greven said with no sense of doubt in his voice. "But I want to hear it from you."

Piven turned. "How's the pain?"

"How do you think?"

The youth shrugged. "I'm hoping it's bearable. On my way back from Green Herbery I followed a stream. Along its banks were some white willows and I grabbed some of the bark to boil with staren flowers that I found over there," he said, nodding his head toward the forest.

"So you were very well prepared," Greven said, unable to disguise his anger.

Piven ignored it. "While you were skinning the rabbits, I prepared a liquor, much of which I poured down your throat when you passed out. That accounts for the stains on your shirt, if you're wondering."

"Why don't you just take my pain away?" Greven sneered.

Piven checked his bandaging for any leakage but Greven snatched his arm away. Piven looked up at him. "I told you, it has to be natural, or it won't work."

"What won't work?"

Piven sat back. "That should do it," he said, concern in his voice.

"What won't work?" Greven repeated icily.

"The magic I need to draw from you."

Greven gave a snort of disdain. "You've mutilated me for nothing, Piven. You're delusional."

Piven eyed him before shifting his gaze to the scorched hand that lay in the flames, bubbling and blackened. "Let's see, shall we." Using a stick, he flicked the ugly mass onto the grass. "It doesn't take much."

"Piven, don't," Greven warned.

"But you're not a believer. I want to prove it."

"Don't do it."

"I have to."

"No! Turn away from it."

"I've tried. But I'm already evil. Can't you see it? But what ever it is, this darkness has claimed me. Now I need protection."

Greven's tears arrived anew. He shook his head as fresh rivulets formed on his cheeks. "If you pursue this, I am lost."

Piven ignored his plea. "I'm glad you don't deny me any longer; how you resisted me for so long is a miracle. Fear not, now we will always be together."

"Hating each other," Greven snarled.

Piven poked at the smoking hand. "The hate would be only one way. Toward me. I don't hate you, Greven. I could never hate you."

Greven retched as he watched the child he loved tear off a piece of cooked flesh from the severed hand. To add to his horror, the raven swooped down to land near the appendage, which now looked like a blistered claw.

"Our companion may like to try some too," Piven said lightly but there was no amusement in his voice.

"I won't witness this," Greven said, desperately trying to stop himself from gagging.

"You will sit there and bear witness, Greven," Piven ordered and now there was no lightness to his words or bearing. He placed the cooked flesh in his mouth and chewed, no revulsion in his expression. As he swallowed, Greven felt his world begin to spin. He couldn't believe it. It seemed impossible that Piven could be Valisar, and yet deep down Greven's whole body, his very soul, had known the truth; his own magic couldn't lie. It knew a Valisar when it found one.

He couldn't hear the words of binding but he could feel their effect. If the hacking off of his hand had hurt, this pain sucked all the breath out of his lungs. Through the screams he would later learn were his own, he could suddenly feel the hideous binding of two lives as Piven consumed him. Now their hearts were beating in tandem and the movement of their blood pulsed in synchronism. For a few moments of nerve-tingling darkness, in which he hoped he had died, there was only silence.

And then he heard Piven speak through the void. We are bound.

I hate you, Greven groaned.

I expect you do. As I warned, the hate will always move toward rather than away from me.

I will not help you.

You have no choice. You have no will anymore, other than to serve and keep me safe. Unlock your power, Greven. I can see it glowing within you like a river about to burst its banks.

I will not give it to you.

Again, I say, you have no choice. It belongs to me.

Then I will fight you.

And I will win. I own you.

The shadows surrounding Greven began to clear and with it all the pain left him, other than the throb where his hand had once been. As Piven's face swam into view and Greven was able to re-focus his eyes, he noticed with disgust that the raven was tearing ferociously at the withered hand. "What now?" he growled.

"Once Vyk has finished with it, we burn the bit of you that you no longer need and-"

"So now you've become heartless, have you? Feeding me to a scavenger!"

"Not at all," Piven said, frowning. "I sense this was meant to be. Ever since Vyk consumed a part of you, he can talk to me. He asked me to tell you that he is honoring you by eating you." Greven gave a sound of anguish. "He is done," Piven concluded.

"Burn it!" Greven demanded.

Piven sighed. Greven was sure the boy was talking to the bird at this moment. "Did you want to say anything?" Piven asked, reaching down to pick up the hand by one of its roasted fingers.

"Like what?"

"Perhaps a blessing from Lo, or-"

"Lo has deserted me. Toss it on the fire."

"As you wish," Piven said quietly and placed the hand into the flames.

They both watched it sizzle and crackle for a few minutes in silence before Greven's attention was diverted by the nearby raven, cleaning its beak of his cooked flesh. Suppressing the desire to sicken at the sight of this, he tried to focus on what needed to be asked, but Piven spoke first.

"Who were you meant for?"

"Your father," Greven snapped. "How long have you known?"

"That you are an aegis, or that King Brennus was my real father?"

"Both, damn you!"

Piven shrugged. "I knew of your magic almost as soon as I placed my hand in yours ten anni ago. I didn't know what it meant initially because I was still in my own stupor, but as my *madness' cleared, my intuition about life, who I was, who you were and so on, became clearer and clearer. As to your other question, I never doubted that Brennus was my father. From the moment I could think clearly enough to have logical thought I knew the truth in my heart."

"But you continued the ruse with me."

Piven nodded. "Another Valisar secret. I was just continuing a fine family tradition. My parents wanted to offer their second heir as much protection as they possibly could. You have to admit, it was very clever."

"But what about your madness?"

"Ah," Piven said, a tone of resignation in his voice. "That outcome they couldn't have foreseen." He smiled sadly. "Despite all his forethought, it must have grieved my father greatly to realize his grand plan was thwarted by what appeared to be a twist of nature, far more cunning than he. Now I realize, of course, it was not nature but the magic itself. You see, my father had none of the famed Valisar power and neither did his father. I think my great-grandfather might have been vaguely touched by it but even my great-great-grandfather missed out. No, we have to go back five generations to find a Valisar endowed with a level of magic that is spoken about as impressive."

"Piven, how do you know these things?" Greven asked.

"I suppose I was listening. I was trapped in a prison of my mind and while I couldn't concentrate or even know what I was hearing, I was nonetheless always close by my father. Despite my so-called madness, he loved me and I felt his love. He kept me close, and he would often read to me from the books in his great library. I suppose during one of those sessions he must have shared the Valisar history with me. I think I learned plenty during those years without anyone realizing it, least of all myself."

"But you were such a young child! Even a healthy, normal five anni old wouldn't grasp what you did...surely?" Greven asked, his loathing momentarily set aside as his fascination with Piven's past sucked him deeper into his secret.

"Young in years, perhaps, but as we can both tell, I am endowed with a mind far more mature than is normal for someone my age. Even at five I suspect I was drinking in a lot more information than a normal child of that age, despite my incapacity."

"And no one knew?"