"Doesn't sound like a very princessly attribute," Denth noted.

It isn't, she realized. That sounded like something Siri would say. What is wrong with me lately? She forced herself to sit down on the stool, folding her hands in her lap, rea.s.serting control of her hair which had rebelliously started to lighten to a brown. "Please," she said, forcing herself to sound patient, "tell me of this place. Why did you select this building?"

Denth cracked an eyelid. "We rent it," he finally said. "It's nice to have safehouses around the city. Since we don't use them very often, we find the cheapest ones we can."

I noticed, Vivenna thought, but fell silent, recognizing how stilted her attempt at conversation had sounded. She sat quietly, looking down at her hands, trying to figure out just what had set her on edge.

It was more than the fight. The truth was, she was worried about how long things in T'Telir were taking. Her father would have received her letter two weeks before and would know that two of his daughters were in Hallandren,. She could only hope that the logic of her letter, mixed with her threats, would keep him from doing anything foolish.

She was glad Denth had made her abandon Lemks' house. If her father did send agents to retrieve her, they would probably try to find Lemks first-just as she had. However, a piece of her wished that Denth hadn't been so insightful. If they were still living in Lemks' home, she might very well have been discovered already.

And she might be on her way back to Idris.

She acted so determined. Indeed, sometimes she felt quite determined. Those were the times when she thought about Siri or her kingdom's needs. However, those times-the princess times-were actually rather rare. The rest of the time, she wondered.

What was she doing? She didn't know about subterfuge or warfare. Denth was really behind everything she was 'doing' to help Idris. What she had suspected on that first day had prove true. Her preparation and learning amounted to little. She didn't know how to go about saving Siri. She didn't know what to do about the Breath within her. She didn't even, really, know if she wanted to stay in this insane, over-crowded, over-colored city.

In short, she was useless. And that was one thing, above all else, that her training had never prepared her to deal with.

"You really want to meet with the Idrians?" Denth asked. Vivenna looked up. Outside, it was growing darker as evening approached.

Do I? she thought. If my father has agents in the city, they might be there. But, if there's something I can do for those people...

"I'd like to," she said.

He fell silent.

"You don't like it," she said.

He shook his head. "It will be hard to arrange, hard to keep quiet, and will make you hard to protect. These meetings we've been having-they've all been in controlled areas. If you meet with the common folk, it will be different."

She nodded quietly. "I want to do it anyway. I... have to do something, Denth. Something useful. Being paraded before these contacts of yours is helping. But I need to do more. If war is coming, we need to prepare these people. Help them, somehow."

She looked up, staring out toward the windows. Clod the Lifeless stood in the corner where Jewels had left him. Vivenna shivered, looking away. "I want to help my sister," she said. "And I want to be useful to my people. But, I can't help feeling that I'm not doing much for Idris by staying in the city."

"Better than leaving," Denth said.

"Why?

"Because if you left, there wouldn't be anyone to pay me."

She rolled her eyes.

"I wasn't joking," Denth noted. "I really do like getting paid. However, there are better reasons to stay."

"Like what?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Depends, I guess. Look, princess, I'm not the type to give brilliant advice or deep council. I'm a mercenary. You pay me, you point, and I go stab things. But I figure that if you think about it, you'll find that running off to Idris is about the least useful thing you could do. You won't be able to do anything there other than sit about and knit doilies. Your father has other heirs. Here, you might be largely ineffective-but there you're redundant."

He fell silent, stretching, resting back a little more. Tough man to have a conversation with, sometimes, Vivenna thought to herself, shaking her head. Still, she found the words comforting. She smiled, turning.

And found Clod standing right beside her stool.

She yelped, half-scrambling, half-falling backward. Denth was on his feet in a heartbeat, sword drawn, and Tonk Fah wasn't far behind.

Vivenna stumbled to her feet, her skirts getting in the way, and placed a hand against her chest, stilling her heartbeat. The Lifeless stood, watching her.

"He does that sometimes," Denth said, chuckling, though it sounded fake to Vivenna. "Just walks up to people."

"Like he was curious about them," Tonk Fah.

"They can't be curious," Denth said. "No emotion at all. Clod. Go back to your corner."

The Lifeless turned and began to walk.

"No," Vivenna said, shivering. "Put it in the bas.e.m.e.nt."

"But, the stairs-" Denth said.

"Now!" Vivenna snapped, hair tingeing red at the tips.

Denth sighed. "Clod, to the cellar."

The Lifeless turned and walked to the door at the back. As he went down the steps, Vivenna heard one crack slightly, but the creature made it safely, judging by the sound of his footsteps. She sat back down, trying to calm her breathing.

"Sorry about that," Denth said.

"I can't feel him," Vivenna said. "It's unnerving. I... forget that he's there, and don't notice when he approaches."

Denth nodded. "I know."

"Jewels, too," she said, glancing at him. "She is a Drab."

"Yeah," Denth said, settling back down. "Has been since she was a child. Her parents sold her Breath to one of the G.o.ds."

"They each need a Breath each week to survive," Tonk Fah added.

"How horrible," Vivenna said. I really need to show her more kindness.

"It's really not so bad," Denth said. "I've been without Breath before."

"You have?"

He nodded. "Everyone goes through times when they're a little bit short on coin. The nice thing about Breath is that you can always buy one off someone else."

"Somebody is always selling," Tonk Fah said.

Vivenna shook her head, shivering. "But you have to live without it for a time. Have no soul."

Denth laughed-and this time it was definitely genuine. "Oh, most of that is superst.i.tion, Princess. Lacking Breath doesn't change you that much."

"It makes you less kind," Vivenna said. "More irritable. Like..."

"Jewels?" Denth asked, amused. "Nah, she'd be like that anyway. I'm sure of it. Either way, when I've sold my Breath, I didn't feel much different. You really have to pay attention to even notice it's missing."

Vivenna turned away. She didn't expect him to understand. It was easy to call her beliefs superst.i.tion, but she could just as easily turn the words back on Denth. People saw what they wanted to see. If he felt the same without Breath, it seemed a fairly easy way to rationalize the selling of it-and then buying of another Breath off of an innocent person.

The conversation died off until Jewels returned. She walked in and, once again, Vivenna barely noticed her. I'm starting to rely on that life sense far too much, she thought with annoyance, standing as Jewels nodded to Denth.

"He is who he says he is," Jewels said. "I asked around, got three confirmations from people I kind of trust."

"All right, then," Denth said, stretching and climbing to his feet. He kicked Tonk Fah awake. "Let's carefully head back to the house."

Chapter Twenty-Three.

Lightsong found Blushweaver in the gra.s.sy portion of the courtyard behind her palace. She was enjoying the art of one of the city's master gardeners.

Lightsong strolled through the gra.s.s, his entourage hovering about, holding up a parasol to keep away the sun, and generally seeing that he was overly pampered. He pa.s.sed planters, pots, and even vases filled with various kinds of growing things. There were hundreds of different items, and many had been arranged into patterns and rows.

Temporary flowerbeds. The G.o.ds were too G.o.dly to leave the Court and visit gardens, so the gardens had to be brought to them. Such an enormous undertaking required dozens of workers and carts full of plants. Nothing was too grand to deny the G.o.ds.

Except, perhaps, the ability to leave.

Blushweaver stood admiring one of the patterns of vases. She noticed Lightsong as he approached, his BioChroma making the flowers shine more vibrantly in the afternoon sunlight. She was wearing an amazingly modest dress, for her. It had no sleeves and looked to be constructed entirely out of a single wrap of green silk, but it covered up the essential bits and then some.

"Lightsong, dear," she said, smiling. "Visiting a lady in her home? How forward. Well, enough of this small talk. Let us retire to the bedroom."

He smiled, holding up a sheet of paper as he approached her.

She paused, then accepted it. The front was covered with colored dots-the Artisan's Language. "What is this?" she asked.

"I figured I knew how our conversation would begin," he said. "And so I saved us the trouble of having to go through it. I had it written out beforehand."

Blushweaver raised an eyebrow, then read. "'First off, Blushweaver says something that is mildly suggestive.'" She glanced at him. "Mildly? I mentioned the bedroom. I'd call that blatant."

"I underestimated you," Lightsong said. "Please continue."

"'Then Lightsong says something to deflect her,'" Blushweaver read. "'It is so incredibly charming and clever that she is left stunned by his brilliance and cannot speak for several minutes...' Oh, honestly, Lightsong. Do I have to read this?"

"It's a masterpiece," he said. "Best work I've ever done. Please, the next part is important."

She sighed. "'Blushweaver says something about politics which is dreadfully boring but she offsets it by wiggling her chest. After that, Lightsong apologizes for being so distant lately. He explains that he had to work out some things.'" She paused, eyeing him. "Does this mean that you're finally ready to be part of my plans?"

He nodded. To the side, a group of gardeners removed the flowers. They returned in waves, building a pattern of blossoming trees in large pots around Blushweaver and Lightsong.

"I don't think that the queen is involved in a plot to take the throne," Lightsong said. "I've spoken with her only briefly, but I am convinced."

"Then why agree to join with me?"

He stood quietly for a moment, enjoying the blossoms. "Because," he said. "I intend to see that you don't crush her."

"My dear Lightsong," Blushweaver said, pursing bright red lips. "I'm harmless."

He raised an eyebrow. "I doubt that."

"Now, now," she said, "you should never point out a lady's lies. Anyway, I'm glad you came. We have work to do."

"Work?" he said. "That sounds like... work."

"Of course, dear," she said, walking away. Gardeners immediately ran forward, pulling aside the small trees and clearing a path for her. The master gardener himself stood directing the composition.

Lightsong hurried and caught up. "Work," he said. "You know what my philosophy on that word is?"

"I am under the subtle impression that you do not support it," Blushweaver said.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. Work, my dear Blushweaver, is like fertilizer."

"It makes people stink?"

He smiled. "Well, I suppose though that comparison is rather valid to. No, I was thinking that work is like fertilizer in that I'm very glad it exists; I just don't ever want to get stuck in it."

"That's unfortunate," Blushweaver said. "Because you just agreed to do so."

He sighed. "I thought I smelled something."

"Don't be so boring," she said, smiling to some workers as they lined her path with vases of flowers. "This is going to be fun." She turned back, eyes twinkling. "Mercystar got attacked last night."

"Oh, my dear Blushweaver. It was positively tragic."

Lightsong raised an eyebrow. Mercystar was a voluptuous woman with more weight on her than Blushweaver. Both were, of course, perfect examples of feminine beauty. Blushweaver was simply the lithe-yet busty-type and Mercystar the curvaceous-yet busty-type. Mercystar lounged back on a couch, being fanned with large fern leaves by several of her serving men.

She didn't have Blushweaver's subtle sense of style. There was a skill to choosing bright clothing that didn't edge into garishness. Lightsong didn't have it-but he had servants who did. Mercystar, likely, didn't know that such a skill even existed.

Though, he thought, orange and gold aren't exactly the easiest colors to make look dignified.

"Mercystar, dear," Blushweaver said. One of the servants provided a plush stool, sliding it beneath Blushweaver just as she sat. "I can understand how you must feel."

"Can you?" Mercystar asked. "Can you possibly? This is terrible. Some... some miscreant snuck into my very home, accosting my servants! The home of a G.o.ddess! Who would do such a thing?"