It was only when she'd ascended to her chambers, closed the door to her salon and leaned back against it, that she permitted herself to breathe evenly...and to smile with triumph. She'd beaten them. And the old hag was dead.

Her waters broke moments later.

Loethar had paced before the same balustrade that ten anni earlier another king had paced for an identical reason. Both had awaited the birth of their son.

Both had been given daughters.

"What?" Loethar exclaimed.

Valya had banished the tribal women from her chambers; she had wanted a Set midwifery team. The eldest of those women now looked lost for words as she stood before her emperor.

"You have a daughter, my lord," she said, as reluctantly as she had spoken the words the first time.

Loethar placed two fists, balled tightly, on the balustrade that overlooked the private courtyard, once a place of play for the Valisar dynasty. He lifted his chin and let out such a roar of anguish that the midwife not only stepped back, but turned and fled into the birthing chamber.

Loethar placed his fists against his forehead. "I am indeed cursed," he murmured, his eyes closed.

The silence lengthened. At last a physic appeared, awkwardly and unsure, from Valya's chamber.

"Do you wish to see your daughter, my lord?" he asked, his tone soft, his manner careful.

"No," Loethar growled.

The man cleared his throat. "Perhaps you should, my lord. She is..."

"What?" Loethar said, opening his eyes, spinning around to face the hesitant man. "She is what?"

The physic looked pained. "She is sickly, Emperor Loethar."

A rueful smile of acceptance ghosted fleetingly past Loethar's lips. "Will she die?"

At first the man didn't reply. Finally he said, "Probably, my lord, if my experience is guiding me correctly."

"Then my child is already lost to me. I have no reason to stare at someone soon to be a corpse." Loethar turned and strode away.

"My lord...your wife?" the physic risked calling after him.

"She was lost long ago!" Loethar yelled and all but ran down the palace steps. He ran all the way to the chapel, where he ordered an immediate cremation of his mother's body.

Father Briar looked alarmed. "Emperor Loethar, surely a more public mourning time, a proper-"

Loethar's expression darkened like a sky gathering for thunder. "My mother was not a public figure. None of the Set people cared about Dara Negev and will not mourn her, Father Briar."

"But your brother and-"

"My half-brother and I will mourn our mother in our own way, Father Briar. Burn her today. I will witness it. I want her ashes by to night."

"My lord, that's not-"

"To night!" Loethar roared. "Or you'll go on the pyre with her," he bellowed and stormed from the chapel.

Elka could see he knew everything again. She saw it in the blink of an eye as he walked toward her now, looking tense and embarrassed but also like a man unburdened. Ten anni of her life she'd dedicated to this man, a stranger. He had built a new life while learning to walk again, convalescing and returning his body to the fit, strong person he was today.

Only tiny snippets of his past had revealed themselves over the many moons he had lived in Lo's Teeth. He had readily admitted that although Regor was definitely not his name it nevertheless resonated with him, so perhaps it was meaningful. He was convinced that he belonged to a family. And they'd all worked out easily enough for themselves that Regor was not of common stock.

Regor's wit and charm had worn away her brothers' reserve and suspicions. They had taught him to ride bareback, to shoot arrows accurately over long distances, and to drink copious amounts of the mountain brew they called Lo's Fury. Regor had been accepted by her family as a new brother. Even though he was overshadowed in height-even by her mother-and looked nothing like the tall, powerful people he'd joined, he had effectively become one of them.

The Abbess reached her before he did. "Are you ready?"

"He already looks different," she remarked, trying to hide her disappointment.

"No, Elka, he was different with you. Now he is back to the person he truly was...is." The woman squeezed her arm and Elka felt the conveyance of sympathy, the older woman's urging to be strong. "After your grandmother lost your grandfather, she joined us here. Her memory lives strongly among us. You know you are always welcome, if just to talk."

"I know, thank you."

"He will need to return to where you found him. You must let him go-wherever that is."

"I just want to take him home," she said, finding a soft smile for her companion of the last decade as he drew closer across the courtyard. He did look changed.

"His home is not in Lo's Teeth, dear one. Be warned." The older woman took her hand away and turned toward Regor. "Welcome back."

Elka watched his embarrassment deepen. "Thank you," he said. "I am back, in more ways than is obvious."

Elka felt her composure slipping but she kept it hidden, determined to let the unravelling happen only inwardly. "So what's your name?"

He regarded her with bright eyes that, despite all his recent sadness, could never hide their mischief, or their openness. Suddenly, in that pause, she wished she had told him everything: all that she'd felt for him these anni past, the fact that it didn't matter that he was Set or short, or didn't know his real name. She loved him. She couldn't help it.

"My name is Gavriel," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "I have a twin brother." She saw his eyes mist and he looked down. "I...my father was killed, murdered." He returned his gaze to her and she felt her heart break.

The Abess stepped away. "You two have much to discuss. Welcome back, Gavriel. I'm glad our Quirin helped you."

He turned. "She is wonderful. I am so grateful to the convent and will find a way to repay your generosity."

She nodded, smiling, before turning to Elka. "Look after each other," she said and withdrew.

"Elka," he began.

"No wait. Not here," she said, finding her courage again. Her own voice was back under control, as was her mood. She was Davarigon: a strong, in de pen dent member of the tribe who needed no man to fend for her, least of all a puny Set man. They were friends. She had saved his life once, helped him forge a new one, and that was that. Now he must return to his life, perhaps his wife! She was afraid to know. "Let's leave. You can tell me as we travel."

"Travel to where?"

"To the pass. At least that's where I'm going. I am going home, Regor...sorry, Gavriel. I don't know what your plans are now."

"Stop, Elka. Don't talk like that."

Their horses had been brought from the stables. Her Elleputian-the bigger species of horse the Davarigons bred specifically in the valleys-dwarfed his.

"I'm being realistic," she said, forcing herself to sound strong.

"No, you're acting like a woman." She gave him a look that would have made most men step back but Gavriel had seen it before. "Don't scowl at me. This attitude is so typical."

"So typical of whom?"

"Women."

"Oh, you remember them now, do you?" He laughed, only making her angrier. "You know where we live...if you ever want to visit," she said, trying to disguise her heartbreak.

But Gavriel grabbed her wrist as she climbed onto her beast. His grip was surprisingly strong. She paused, shocked. He never touched her. "Ride with me," he said. "I have lots to tell you."

"I don't think I can."

"Elka, ride with me," he urged, his tone matching his grip.

"To where?"

"Back."

"Home?" she asked, keeping the hope from her voice.

"Not yours. Not even mine."

"Where then?"

"Where it began for us. The Deloran Forest."

She began shaking her head, but Gavriel persisted. "You yourself have told me that Davarigons travel through the empire more easily now."

"I'm not worried about that."

"What is it, then?"

"I fear what you'll discover."

He shrugged. "I have to do this. It's important. No, listen," he said when she began pulling away again. "I really mean it. It's not that I'm important. But what I was doing before you found me, before they attacked me, was. It was critical to the security and future of Penraven."

She frowned. "What are you talking about? Who are you?"

"Ride with me. I will tell you everything."

Kilt found himself standing before a beautiful building of elegant proportions, currently accommodation for the man known as Vulpan, the emperor's latest weapon against the Vested.

"He doesn't take visitors," the guard repeated.

"You've already said that. I simply have a question for him. Perhaps someone could take it to him and bring me his answer?"

Before the guard could respond, the door was flung open and a tall man appeared, his dark eyes matching the color of his trimmed beard. He looked like a magistrate. "What is this? Your voices are disturbing my work."

"Are you Master Vulpan?" Kilt asked. The man sounded too impressed by his own importance to be anyone else.

"I am. And why does a clergyman need to know?"

"Pastor Jeves, Master Vulpan," Kilt said by way of introduction. "I believe you might have met my sister recently. I'm trying to find her with some urgency. Please forgive my interruption of your work."

"I know of no woman called Jeves."

Kilt hated having to even say the words. "She's married. My apologies. Master and Mrs. Felt. Her name is Lily."

"Lily!" The Vested nodded. "Ah, the beautiful Mrs. Felt. Indeed, I do recall her," he said, licking his lips, making Kilt wince inwardly. "She never mentioned a brother."

Kilt shrugged. "I can't imagine why she would. She hasn't seen me for many anni."

"How did you know she was here, then?"

"I've been tracking her movements. It's taken me an entire moon to get to this point. I sense I'm close; I must have missed her by only a short time."

"So close I can almost still smell her," Vulpan said.

Kilt forced himself to look deeply disappointed. "Ah, pity. But," he said, adding a fresh vigor to his voice, "that means she is within striking distance."

"What's it like to grow up around a Vested?"

"Er, well, Lily kept her skills very much to herself, Master Vulpan."

"Is that so?"

Kilt had assumed far too much, he realized. This man was no easy target and while the disguise gave him a mea sure of protection, Vulpan was already suspicious. But Kilt knew he couldn't flee now. "She didn't care to share it and our parents didn't encourage it," he blustered. "Which brings to me to my reason for being here, Master Vulpan."

"Why don't you come inside? Perhaps we can discuss your-"

"No, no," Kilt said, waving a hand. "You're a busy man, Master Vulpan, I can tell that much. I simply wondered if you had any information on Lily's whereabouts. I have to find her because our mother is gravely ill. I was hoping that they could see each other before she died and-"

"Do come in, Pastor Jeves. Let us discuss this inside."

"I'm actually in a bit of a hurry, sir, if you'll forgive my ungracious behavior."

"Pastor Jeves, I really do insist." Vulpan smiled, not a skerrick of warmth in his expression.

Kilt smiled back. "Well, all right, then. Just quickly." With a sinking heart, he followed the man inside the elegant house.

As Vulpan closed the door behind him, the cold smile still not failing, he added: "Pastor Jeves, are you aware that you have blood smeared across your face?"

Twenty-Four.