Colors take you, Blushweaver! he thought. I really don't want to be part of this.

He almost withdrew. But, then, that wouldn't be very pleasant of him-and contrary to some of the things he said, Lightsong did like being pleasant. Best to be kind, he thought, smiling idly to himself. That way, if she ever does take over the kingdom, perhaps she'll behead me last.

"You ask after the nature of my visitation?" Lightsong said. "I believe it has no nature, your majesty, other than to be natural-at which nature I have already failed by staring at you for far too long while thinking to myself about your place in this mess."

The queen frowned again.

Lightsong popped a grape in his mouth. "Wonderful things," he said, holding up another one. "Delightfully sweet, wrapped in their own little package. Deceptive, really. So rough and course on the outside, but so delectable on the inside. Don't you think?"

"We... don't have many grapes in Idris, your grace."

"I'm rather the opposite, you know," he said. "Fluffy and pretty on the outside, without much of import on the inside. But I guess that is beside the point, since it is about me-and anything about me is always beside the point. You, my dear, are a very welcome sight. Much more so than a grape."

"I... How is that, your grace?"

"We haven't had a queen in such a long time," Lightsong said. "Since before my Return, in fact. And, old Susebron up there really has been moping about the palace lately. Looking forlorn. It's good he has a woman in his life."

"Thank you for the compliment, your Grace," the queen said.

"You do seem a little boring, however."

She fell silent.

Well, then, that's it, he thought, sighing. Blushweaver was right. I probably shouldn't have come.

"All right," the queen said, hair suddenly turning red as she threw her hands up in the air. "What is going on here?"

He hesitated. "Your majesty?"

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Probably."

"But you're supposed to be a G.o.d!" she said, leaning back, staring up at the canopy. "Just when I thought things in this city were staring to make sense, the priests start yelling at me, then you come along! What am I supposed to do with you? Banter? You seem more like a schoolboy than you do a G.o.d!"

Lightsong paused, then settled back into his seat, smiling. "You have me found out," he said, opening his hands. "I killed the real G.o.d and took his place. I've come to hold you ransom for your sweets."

"There," the queen said, pointing. "Aren't you supposed to be... I don't know, distinguished or something?"

He spread his hands out. "My dear, this is what goes for being distinguished in Hallandren."

She didn't seem convinced.

"I am, of course, lying through my teeth," he said, eating another grape. "You shouldn't base your opinion of the others upon what you think of me. They're all much more deific than I am."

The queen sat back. "I thought you were the G.o.d of bravery."

"Technically."

"You seem more like the G.o.d of jesters to me."

"I've applied for the position and been turned down," he said. "You should see the person they have doing the job. Dull as a rock and twice as ugly."

Siri paused.

"I wasn't lying that time," Lightsong said. "Mirthgiver, G.o.d of Laughter. If ever there was a G.o.d more poorly suited to his position than I, it's him."

"I don't understand you," she said. "It appears there's a lot I don't understand in this city."

This woman is no fake, Lightsong thought, staring into her youthful, confused eyes. Or, if she is, then she's far better an actress than any I've ever met.

That meant something. Something important. It was possible there were mundane reasons this girl had been sent instead of her sister. Sickness on the part of the elder daughter, perhaps. But Lightsong didn't buy that. She was part of something. A plot, or perhaps several. And whatever those plots were, she didn't know about them.

Colors! Lightsong thought. This child is going to get ripped apart and fed to the wolves.

But what could he really do about it? He sighed, standing, causing his priests to begin packing his things. He had, by his own choice, little part in the politics of court. If this child were ignorant of the plots she moved amongst, then he was hardly any better.

The girl watched with confusion as he nodded to her, giving her a wan smile of farewell. She stood and curtseyed slightly, though she probably didn't need to. She was his queen, even if she wasn't herself Returned.

Lightsong turned to go, then stopped. He reached over, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Don't let them get to you, child," he whispered.

And with that, he withdrew.

Chapter Seventeen.

Vivenna walked quietly, thoughtful, dissecting the argument she'd heard at the Court of G.o.ds. Which of the priests had made the best point? Those for war, or those against? Her tutors had trained her that a discussion in the Court was just that. Just because they discussed war didn't mean that there would be war.

This discussion, however, seemed to mean more to Vivenna. It seemed too pa.s.sionate, with too many voices for one side. It seemed to indicate that her father was right, and that war was inevitable. Could she determine how long Idris had by the way the priests had talked? Worries about this consumed her as she made her way back to Lemk's house.

She walked with her head down on a mostly-empty street. She was beginning to learn that she could avoid the ma.s.ses by walking through more residential sections of the city. It appeared that people in T'Telir liked to be where everybody else was. Her path led her through an upscale neighborhood. The homes were larger, and there was more s.p.a.ce between them. In Idris, each would have been considered a mansion, but here they were only of modest size-probably the homes of merchants.

The street had a cobbled sidewalk running along the side of it, something else she'd never seen back in Idris. It made for pleasant walking. Parlin walked beside her, occasionally pausing to study ferns or palm trees. The Hallandrens liked plants; most of the homes were shaded by trees, vines, and exotic blooming shrubs.

I need to stay focused, she thought. Is Hallandren are going to attack soon? Or is this just a prelude to something still months and months away?

A discussion was just a discussion-the real action would occur once the G.o.ds decided to vote, but Vivenna wasn't sure what it would take to get them to that point. She shook her head. Only one day in T'Telir, and already she knew that her training and tutorials hadn't prepared her half as well as she'd a.s.sumed.

She felt as if she knew nothing. And that left her feeling very lost. She was not the proud, competent woman she'd a.s.sumed herself to be. The frightening truth was, should she have been sent to become the G.o.d King's bride, she would have turned out to be nearly as ineffective and confused as poor Siri undoubtedly was.

They turned a corner, Vivenna trusting in Parlin's amazing sense of direction to get them back to Lemks' house, and they pa.s.sed beneath the gaze of one of the silent D'Denir statures. The proud warrior stood with sword raised above his stone head, his armor-carved into the statue-augmented by a red scarf tied and flapping around his neck. He looked dramatic, as if he were going gloriously to war. She thought she recognized the statue.

Indeed, it wasn't long before they approached the steps to Lemks' house. Vivenna froze, however, when she saw that the door was handing from one hinge. The lower portion of its wood was cracked, as if it had been kicked very hard.

Parlin pulled up beside her, then hissed, holding up a hand for her to be silent. His hand went to the long hunting knife at his belt and he glanced around. Vivenna stepped back, nerves itching to flee. And yet... where would she go? The mercenaries were her only connection in the city. Denth and Tonk Fah could have handled an attack, right?

Someone approached from the other side of the door. Her BioChromatic senses warned her of the proximity. She laid a hand on Parlin's arm, preparing to bolt.

Denth pushed the broken door open, sticking his head out. "Oh," he said. "It's you."

"What happened?" she asked. "Were you attacked?"

Denth glanced at the door and chuckled to himself. "Nah," he said, pushing the door open and waving her in. Through the broken door she could see that furniture had been ripped apart, there were holes in the walls, and pictures were slashed and broken. Denth wandered back inside, kicking aside some stuffing from a cushion, making his way toward the stairs. Several of the steps had been broken.

He glanced back, noting her confusion. "Well, we did say we were going to search the house, princess. Figured we might as well do a good job of it."

Vivenna sat down very carefully, half-expecting the chair to collapse beneath her. Tonk Fah and Denth had been very thorough in their search-they had broken every bit of wood in the house, it seemed, including chair legs. Fortunately, her current chair had been propped up reasonably well, and it held her weight.

The desk in front of her-Lemks' desk-was splintered. The drawers had been removed, and a false back had been revealed, the compartment emptied. A group of papers and several bags sat on the desktop.

"That's everything," Denth said, leaning against the room's door frame. Tonk Fah lounged on a broken couch, its stuffing sticking out at awkward angles.

"Did you have to break so much?" Vivenna asked.

"Had to be certain," Denth said, shrugging. "You'd be surprised where people hide things."

"Inside the front door?" Vivenna asked flatly.

Denth just shrugged again. "Would you have thought to look there?"

"Of course not."

"Sounds like a pretty good hiding place to me, then."

"People get really clever when it comes to hiding important stuff," Tonk Fah said with a yawn.

"You know the thing I hate most about being a mercenary?" Denth asked, holding up a hand.

Vivenna raised an eyebrow.

"Splinters," he said, wiggling several red fingers.

"No hazard pay for those," Tonk Fah added.

"Oh, now you're just being silly," Vivenna said, sorting through the items on the table. One of the bags clinked suggestively. Vivenna undid the drawstring and pulled open the top.

Gold glistened inside. A lot of it.

"Little over five hundred marks in there," Denth said lazily. "Lemks had it stashed all over the house. Found one bar of it in the leg of your chair."

"Got easier when we discovered the paper he'd used to remind himself of where he hid it," Tonk Fah noted.

"Five hundred marks?" Vivenna said, feeling her hair lighten slightly in shock.

"Seems like old Lemks was storing up quite the little nest egg," Denth said, chuckling. "That, mixed with the amount of Breath he held... he must have extorted even more from Idris than I a.s.sumed."

Vivenna stared at the bag. Then, she looked up at Denth. "You... gave it to me," she said. "You could have taken it and spent it!"

"Actually, we did," Denth said. "Took about ten bits for lunch. Should be here any minute."

Vivenna met his eyes.

"Now there's what I'm talking about, eh Tonks?" Denth said, glancing down at the larger man. "If I'd been, say, a butler, would she be looking at me like that? Just because I didn't take the money and run? Why does everyone expect a mercenary to rob them?"

Tonk Fah grunted, stretching again.

"Look through those papers, princess," Denth said, kicking Tonk Fah's couch, then nodding toward the door. "We'll wait for you downstairs."

Vivenna watched them retreat, Tonk Fah grumbling as he had to rise, bits of stuffing sticking to the back of his clothing. They thumped their way down the stairs, and soon she heard dishes rattling. They'd likely sent one of the street boys-who pa.s.sed periodically yelling that they would bring food from a local restaurant-for the meal.

Vivenna didn't move for a long moment. She was increasingly uncertain of her purpose in the city. Yet she still had Denth and Tonk Fah, and-surprisingly-she was finding herself growing attached to them after just a short time. How many soldiers in her father's army-good men, all of them-would have been able to resist running off with five hundred marks? There was more to these mercenaries than they implied.

Eventually, she turned her attention to the books, letters, and papers on the desk.

Several hours later, Vivenna still sat alone, a solitary candle burning and dripping wax onto the splintered desk corner. She had long since stopped reading. A plate of food sat uneaten by the door, brought by Parlin some time before.

Letters lay spread out on the desk before her. It had taken time to put them in order. Most were penned in her father's familiar hand. Not the hand of her father's scribe. Her father's own hand. That had been her first clue. He only wrote his most personal, or most secret, communications on his own.

Vivenna kept her hair under control. She breathed in and out. She didn't look out the darkened window at the lights of a city that should have been asleep. She simply sat.

Numb.

The final letter-last before Lemks' death-sat on top of the pile. It was only a few weeks old.

My friend, her father's scrawl read.

Our conversations have worried me more than I care to admit. I have spoken with Yarda at length. We can see no solution.

War is coming. We all know that now. The continued-and increasingly vigorous-arguments in the Court of G.o.ds show a disturbing trend. The money we sent to buy you enough Breath to attend those meetings is some of the best I have ever spent.

All signs point to the inevitability of Hallandren Lifeless marching to our mountains. Therefore, I give you leave to do as we have discussed. Any disruptions you can cause in the city-any delays you can earn us-will be extremely valuable. The additional funds you requested should have arrived by now.

My friend, I must admit a weakness in myself. I will never be able to send Vivenna to be a hostage in that dragon's nest of a city. To send her would be to kill her, and I cannot do that. Even though I know it would be best for Idris if I did.

I'm not yet sure what I will do. I will not send her, for I love her too much. However, breaking the treaty would bring the Hallandren wrath against my people even more quickly. I fear I may have to make a very difficult decision in the days to come.

But that is the soul of a king's duty.