AS she got ready to mount her horse, Verity smiled at the pompous a.s.s who was escorting her to Arthes. She was not a seasoned traveler, yet she seemed better suited to the harsh conditions than the diplomat Gregor Wallis. He rarely smiled, and she sometimes felt as though her own smiles annoyed him. All the more reason to flash her teeth at him and toss her hair. Sure enough, he grumbled.

"Isn't it a beautiful morning!" she called.

His answer was no more than a grunt.

She wanted to smile at Laris, but did not. In the past few days she had started to feel a bit ill when she looked at him. More rightly, she felt guilty when he looked at her with those moony brown eyes of his. She never felt guilty! Still, if he was ever caught in her tent, or creeping in or out of it, she'd have no choice but to make it clear that he had not been invited. He would likely be killed if that happened, and that would be a pity.

Verity patted b.u.t.tercup on the neck and then stepped into the stirrup and lifted herself up, una.s.sisted, to take her seat firmly in the saddle.

Immediately, b.u.t.tercup bucked and tried to throw her off. Verity hung on tightly. As there was very little else in the way of entertainment in the Northern Province, she was an accomplished horsewoman. Thank goodness she didn't ride sidesaddle! Without a firm hold on the horse she would've been thrown to the ground. Her neck might've been broken. At the very least, she would've been badly bruised, and it would surely hurt to hit the ground so hard. Verity was not fond of pain, especially when it was her own.

She held on, as the horse took off at an uncontrollable run. With the air rushing in her ears she couldn't hear the shouts of the others, but surely they were concerned. Surely someone would save her! Holding on for dear life, she glanced back briefly. Already many horses were in pursuit, but it was Laris who was in the lead-Laris who bent low over the saddle and raced toward her.

Thank goodness for that love potion.

The horse beneath her was wildly uncontrollable. She'd ridden this mare for years, and b.u.t.tercup had never behaved in this way. Verity leaned down and tried to whisper to the animal, to calm her, but the mare was wild. Something was horribly wrong.

The mare was running for the hills, where there were steep drops and rocky cliffs and a rushing river and many, many other places an out-of-control horse should not go.

Again Verity glanced back. No one, not even Laris, was able to keep up.

She would have to rely on herself, she imagined. How annoying. She held on tightly with her arms and her thighs, and she leaned down until she felt as if she were a part of the horse-a part of the wild animal. Her heart pounded too fast, but there was no time to feel sorry for herself. That would come later.

b.u.t.tercup bypa.s.sed a turn that would've taken them both over a cliff and to their deaths, and Verity sighed in relief even as she was mercilessly jostled and tossed about. The animal stayed on a path which would take them through rough hills and to the river-but not at the crossing place where they were headed on this once-fine morning, where the ferry took horses and people safely across.

"No," Verity whispered as the mare raced headlong toward the banks of the rushing river. "Good heavens, no!"

b.u.t.tercup did not even slow before flying down the steep bank and plunging into the cold water. For a few moments Verity continued to hold on, and then the animal twisted in a new manner and finally managed to throw her-right into rushing, icy cold water. Verity's traveling gown immediately grew heavy, taking on the weight of the water and dragging her down.

For the first time, she was truly afraid. Not just afraid, but terrified. She'd thought Laris and her lucky talisman and the fact that she knew the mare well and the animal knew her and was accustomed to her voice and weight would protect her. Apparently that was not the case. Nothing and no one was going to save her. She was going to drown.

The current carried Verity along at a frighteningly rapid pace. Now and then she managed to raise her head for a gulp of precious air, but she realized that soon it wouldn't be enough. Soon she'd be dragged to the bottom of the river, where she'd get caught in the rocks, or else she'd just be too exhausted to move and she'd run out of air. What a horrible way to die. Her chest hurt, and she was so cold she felt as if she were encased in ice. She raced along out of control, so fast, so frightened. The world started to go black. Her plans to become empress and have fancy parties and take lovers and have many devoted servants seemed so silly, when all she wanted was to breathe.

Something touched her, and she panicked. Rushing along, cold as ice, not getting enough air, she was grabbed by an animal or a monster that lived deep in the river. She kicked, but had little strength with which to fight. The river beast held on tight, it had her in its grip and would not let go. The monster led Verity up to the surface, and once again she took a gulp of air. That done, she struggled to free herself from the grip which held her so firmly, even as the current took them both. The creature called her name, screamed her name, and she lifted her head to look at it.

Him, not it. Laris held her. It was Laris who struggled to keep both her head and his own above water, as the current steered them toward a nasty-looking outcropping of rocks.

ALIX became more cautious as they neared the village, where they would be able to buy supplies. According to Donia it was a small and isolated place, so it was likely that the news of Princess Edlyn's murder had not reached the inhabitants. Even if they'd heard everything, they'd expect Sanura to be blue.

He packed his cloak, which was too fine for a common traveler, in the saddlebag with what remained of the food Donia had given them. He'd spent part of a sleepless night removing imperial insignias from his vest and a pocket of his trousers, and though the removal left a ragged mark, he doubted anyone would notice.

The sentinel's sword he carried might alarm anyone who looked too closely, as it was finely made and not at all common, but he would not part with it, not even for the short amount of time they'd be in the village.

"You should not speak," he instructed Sanura as they approached the town. They left the woods and walked upon the road, which looked to be well traveled but was deserted at the moment.

"Why should I not speak?" she asked, openly incensed by his request. "Are you afraid I will say something stupid? Do you think I will give away your secrets?"

She had been in a foul mood all morning. "You have an accent," he said simply. "If we are to pa.s.s for common travelers, it would be best if we do not have to answer questions about where you are from."

"I worked very hard to learn your language, and my accent is not vile."

No, it was not. It was just enough to give her speech an arousing lilt, just enough to set her apart, just enough to make his gut dance in antic.i.p.ation of what he could never again have. It was also just enough to raise questions. "I will tell any who ask that you are mute."

"Mute!" She ran until she was alongside him. "I will not be able to speak at all! Do you expect me to walk behind you, head down and mouth shut like a meek little wife? Will you call me woman so no one will hear you speak my name?"

"Yes," he answered without heat.

She snorted, but did not argue.

"We will not be in town long," he said. He had a plan, of sorts. Though he was not ready to run to Jahn, he did need help. Someone would need to get to Jahn with a message, and Sian Chamblyn was the perfect choice. The enchanter and his wife were regular visitors to the palace. They came and went quite often, so no one would question Sian's request for an audience with the emperor.

Sanura did not argue again, though she was no happier than before. Alix was not thrilled himself. Her bracelets and earrings and girdle had been left behind, but she still sang. She still made music. Now it was the swish of her plain skirt and the sound of her boots in the dirt and the rhythm of her breathing that made music.

Music only he could hear. She was in his blood, and he wouldn't be rid of her until he was rid of her. When he proved his innocence and presented Sanura to the emperor as the gift she was intended to be, it was likely she would be released. Still, Jahn was nothing if not unpredictable, and it was also likely that he would keep the scandalous gift simply to annoy the more staid ministers and priests who would certainly be shocked.

Besides, what man would not want her? Bride or no bride, Jahn might very well see the benefits of keeping Sanura. If that happened, there would be no way Alix could remain in the palace and watch the two of them together, knowing what they shared-realizing what he could never have for himself.

"I wish you would stop this," Sanura muttered.

"Stop what?" Alix asked. Was she already tired? Did she need to rest? He turned and looked down at her.

She waved a slender hand at him, in obvious frustration. "Your insides are so jumbled and uncertain, I can see nothing. "

"Oh," he said, relieved as he resumed his walk toward town. If his indecision confused her, all the better. He didn't much like the idea of Sanura using her gift to study the very essence of his being.

"It's disconcerting," she explained. "Most men are very simple. Their desires are superficial, and they are easy to read and understand. You are not."

"There is no need for you to understand me at all," he argued.

"That is true, but if we are to journey together for a while longer, then it will be easier for me if I can understand your motives and your intentions."

"I won't hurt you," he a.s.sured her, not for the first time.

"I know that."

"Then what's the problem?"

She sighed. "You could never understand."

Alix took a few more steps before saying, "We'll reach the village soon. Perhaps you should practice pretending to be mute for a while."

"That is not at all funny," she said sharply, and then, with pursed lips, she settled into the silence he had requested.

Soon he saw a rustic building in the distance, the first structure of the village where Donia sold baked goods and bought the supplies she could not grow or make on her own. What he could see from this distance was roughly made and plain, but there were a number of buildings which likely supplied all the surrounding farms, as well as the occasional traveler. There they would stock up on supplies and . . .

His thoughts were interrupted when Sanura grabbed his arm and pulled him back in a display of surprising strength. "Wait," she whispered. "We can't go there."

He had learned not to dismiss her feelings. He'd done so once before, when she'd warned him about Vyrn, and that had led to disaster. They were still a good distance from the town, so whatever she was sensing must be very strong. "What's wrong?"

Her black hair was pulled back into a braid, much as his was, and he was still unaccustomed to the paleness of her skin. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, now that they did not have to compete with the blue paint that had covered her face until yesterday. He'd thought she'd be less tempting when she was presented like other women, without the paint, without the sensuous clothing, without the jangling gold. Somehow she was more tempting than before.

Her hand on his arm was warm, and she gripped him tightly.

"Fear," she whispered. "Fear and . . . violence, the same violence I sensed from Vyrn in the early days of the journey. " Her eyes caught and held his. "I think he might be there. We must not go to the village. He is there, looking for us."

"And the fear?" Alix asked.

Sanura's face paled. "It is the fear of many. That is why it's so strong."

Alix placed his hand over hers. "If what you sense is truth, then I cannot turn away."

She blinked twice and her spine straightened, then she sighed. "I know."

VYRN leaned forward to place his face close to that of the innkeeper who was bound to a plain wooden chair from his own common room. The man was middle-aged and gone to fat and his hair was more gray than brown, and he was very, very stubborn. The two of them were alone in this room made for merriment, drink, and food. The Tryfynian soldier Rolf held many of the village's residents prisoner in the feed and metalwork shop two doors down from the inn. Vyrn had insisted on speaking to the innkeeper alone. No one else could know of his actions and his plans, especially not Rolf.

His plan to divide the searchers had been a brilliant one.

"Simply admit to the truth, and this will all be over very quickly." So far everyone he had spoken to had denied seeing any strangers of late. A blue woman and a prince would've stood out quite prominently in this backwater village, so he had to a.s.sume they were telling the truth. However, a witness or two who could claim to have seen the odd couple, and perhaps even overheard a confession, would lend credence to the story Vyrn had fabricated.

"They stayed here, surely," Vyrn said calmly as he grabbed a strand of the older man's thin hair and yanked the innkeeper's head to one side. "I imagine you heard them share whispers of confidence, I'm sure you overheard them bragging about the murder of a defenseless princess from Tryfyn."

The innkeeper knew what Vyrn was capable of. Upon their arrival, the villagers had been welcoming enough. They didn't see many travelers, and it was thought that a sentinel, an official representative of Columbyana, might bring news and gossip from the capital city. It wasn't long before Vyrn made his purpose known, and he'd shown them that he had no patience with those who could not deliver what he requested. Those who had given him trouble had been restrained. Those prisoners and the cowards who did not dare to act were all in Rolf's care.

One overly enthusiastic young man had made the foolish mistake of rushing Vyrn with a tiny dagger in one hand, and had taken a sword to the gut for his folly. The body still lay on the town's muddy, main street.

The innkeeper had seemed to be the perfect choice as a corroborator. One could not expect a woman like Sanura and a prince to sleep on the ground. They would've sought out a bed, a roof, warm food, the bath they so desperately needed. It would be perfectly believable that an innkeeper might overhear their conversation.

And yet the stubborn old man insisted on telling the truth, even now.

So far Vyrn had limited his blows of persuasion to the midsection, where the marks he made would not be seen. A bruised and b.l.o.o.d.y witness would not be as believable as one who appeared to be unharmed. Still, if the old man refused to cooperate . . .

"Are you looking for me?"

His heart skipped a beat as he straightened and spun about. The prince himself stood just inside the rear door to the rustic inn. Prince Alixandyr held a sword steady in one hand, and he was not at all surprised or concerned.

Vyrn knew that if he shouted loud enough, Rolf would hear and would come running to his aid, but it would be so much better if he could simply kill the prince and be done with it. That had been the plan from the moment he'd seen Prince Alixandyr enter Sanura's tent, after all. Kill the princess, frame the prince for the deed, and then see him dead so he could collect that additional pay from his employer.

"Thank goodness I have found you, m'lord," Vyrn said with a smile. He stepped toward the prince. "After you fled, we discovered the true murderer. It was Tari, that plain, mousy maid." And that was true enough. How convenient that the woman he had chosen to use as his accomplice had been so eager to do her part. "She was jealous of the princess's privilege, I suppose."

He expected the prince to lower his sword in relief, but that did not happen.

The blasted innkeeper was no help. "Do not listen to him, m'lord! He means you harm."

"Yes, I know," the prince responded. "What I don't know is why." He moved forward, poised as if ready to strike, coiled like a venomous snake. "Why, Vyrn?" he asked coldly.

Vyrn drew his sword. It would've been easier to make his move while the prince was unprepared, but he was certain his skills were a match, even in a fair fight. After all, of late the prince had spent more time as a politician than as a soldier. Perhaps once he had been a fearsome opponent, but those days were gone.

"Sentinels receive a miserly pay, m'lord," Vyrn said as he sidestepped, his eyes never leaving the prince's face. "I found another who is willing to pay much more handsomely. "

"You became a traitor to your country for money?" The prince sounded incredulous, as if the concept were unthinkable.

"Yes, I suppose I did."

Vyrn lunged forward, hoping to take his opponent by surprise, but his maneuver was expected and easily evaded. Blades met, again and again, as they danced among and around the plain wooden furnishings and a bound old man who had proved most unhelpful. Vyrn soon found himself sweating, struggling to interpret and outwit the prince's tactics.

Apparently the prince had maintained his sword-fighting skills more diligently than Vyrn had realized. Soon Vyrn was tiring more quickly than his adversary, his moves became entirely defensive, and he was unable to make a single offensive strike. Sweat trickled down his face, and his arm trembled. He backed toward the front door of the inn. If he could escape and call for help, the prince would have no chance. He would be no match for Vyrn's sword when it was combined with the fury of a Tryfynian soldier who believed the prince guilty of murdering one of his own.

Vyrn stepped backward, his eyes remaining fixed on the prince's intense face. He had not bargained for this. He had not bargained for real combat. Fairness was highly overrated, and had never been one of Vyrn's sought-after attributes.

A few more steps, and he'd be able to make a run for it. Without warning the wind was knocked from his lungs and he hit the floor hard, with a weight atop him. The old man, bound to a chair and badly beaten, had found a surge of energy and had lunged forward to knock Vyrn to the ground. The man and the chair to which he was attached scooted away quickly, and then the prince was there, kicking away Vyrn's sword and placing the tip of his own blade to Vyrn's throat.

He opened his mouth to scream for help, and in answer the prince pressed the blade more deeply into Vyrn's throat, drawing a little blood. "Shout, and you'll be dead an instant later."

He could not very well spend his hard-earned money if he was dead. "Don't kill me! I'll tell you everything I know. Please." The prince looked as if he could do murder. In a small voice Vyrn said, "I surrender."

For now.

"HOW many?" Alix asked crisply. Vyrn's former prisoner responded.

"One other."

Alix knew he could easily take care of two, but his mind sought another way. For all he knew, Vyrn was the only one involved in the scam. The others likely believed him guilty of murder, and he could not imagine killing a good man for believing what he'd been told-what he'd been shown.

"Sanura," he called in a slightly elevated voice, "it's safe to come in." She had been waiting outside the rear entrance, and was inside the room before he'd finished his sentence. "Free the prisoner," he instructed.

She did as he'd requested, taking Alix's dagger from his belt and then dropping to her knees to cut the bonds. The older man and his chair were on the floor, both lying to one side.

The freed captive needed to be a.s.sisted to his feet, and he gladly took Sanura's hand for that a.s.sistance. "The sentinel said you were blue," he said as he rubbed his reddened wrists. "I should've known he was mad."

Sanura did not respond to that comment, but remained silent and tense.

"Tie him up," Alix ordered, his eyes flitting briefly to Sanura and then to the remains of the bonds Vyrn had used on his prisoner.

He was distracted for only a moment, but it was enough. Vyrn burst into action. He rolled toward the door, grabbed for his sword, and screamed loudly for help.

Alix made sure that Sanura and the gray-haired man were behind him and safe. "I will kill you," he promised the traitorous sentinel.

The door burst open and the Tryfynian soldier Rolf entered the room, his sword ready, his eyes blazing with anger. "You murdering b.a.s.t.a.r.d," the big man said as he stepped forward.

"No!" the gray-haired man behind him shouted. "The prince is innocent. I heard the sentinel himself admit as much."

"The innkeeper is lying," Vyrn said through clenched teeth.

"He said it was someone named Tari," the innkeeper added.

"Don't listen to him," Vyrn snapped. "No doubt the prince has offered this poor man a nice reward for such lies. Who knows how much the old man has been paid for his a.s.sistance?"

The innkeeper's words had made the Tryfynian doubt what he believed to be true. Alix could see the uncertainty in his eyes, in the set of his mouth and, most important, in the way he held his weapon.