"Colors, no," Lightsong said, chuckling. "If you haven't figured out that this is dangerous, then you're far too dense to worry about warning."

"Oh. Well, that's pleasant. Do you have more insults for me, or should I slap you now?"

He smiled. "I just wanted to give some advice. The first is about your persona."

"My persona?"

"Yes," he said. "It needs work. Using the persona of an innocent newcomer was a good instinct. You fit it well. But you need to refine it. Work on it."

"It's not a persona," she said honestly. "I am confused and new to all this."

Lightsong raised a finger. "That's the trick to politics, child. Sometimes, you can't disguise who you are and how you feel, but you can still control how people react to you. Take who you are and adapt it. You want to know how people regard you, because that way you know how they'll react to you."

Siri frowned.

"Take me as an example," Lightsong said. "I'm a useless fool. Always have been, as long as I can remember-which, actually, isn't all that long. I call you child, but I've only been alive five years, though I feel as if I've lived forty. Either way, I know how people regard me. I enhance it. Play with it."

"So it's a lie?"

"Of course not. This is who I am. However, I make certain that people know it. Controlling how you look-how people think of you-is paramount, my queen Let them see you, let them become comfortable with you. People distrust that which they can't predict. As long as you feel like a random element in court, you will appear to be a threat. If you can skillfully-and honestly-portray yourself as someone they understand, then you'll begin to fit in.

"You can't control everything. But you can find a place in this mess. And once you have it, you can begin to push on temperaments and influence factions. Should you want to. I rarely do because it's such a ha.s.sle."

Siri c.o.c.ked her head. Then she smiled. "You're a good man, Lightsong," she said. "I knew it, even when you were insulting me. You mean no harm. Is that part of your persona?"

"Trust me," he said, smiling. "I'm not sure what it is that convinces people to trust me. I'd get rid of it if I could. It only serves to make people expect too much. Give what I said some practice. The best thing about being locked in this beautiful prison is that you can do some good, you can change things. I've seen others do it. People I respected. Haven't been many of those around in the Court lately."

"All right," she said.

"You're digging for something-I can sense it. And it has to do with the priests. Don't make too many waves until you're ready to strike. Sudden and surprising, that's how you want to be. You don't want to appear too nonthreatening-people are always suspicious of the innocent. The trick is to appear average. Just as crafty as everyone else. That way, everyone else will a.s.sume that they can beat you with just a little advantage."

Siri nodded. "Kind of an Idris philosophy."

"You came from us," Lightsong said. "Or, perhaps, we came from you. Either way, we're more similar than a lot of our outward trappings make us seem. What is that Idris philosophy of extreme plainness except a means of contrasting against Hallandren? All those whites you people use? That makes you stand out on a national scale. You act like us, we act like you, we just do things in opposite ways."

She nodded slowly.

He smiled. "Oh, and one thing. Please, please don't depend on me too much. I mean what I say. I'm not going to be of much help. If your plots come to a head-if things go wrong at the last moment and you're in danger or distress-don't think of me. I will fail you. That I promise with the absolute sincerity of my heart."

"You're a very strange man."

"Product of my society," he said. "And, since my society consists pretty much only of myself, I blame G.o.d. Good day, my queen."

With that, he trailed away, walking back to his pavilion and waving for her servants-who had been watching with concern-to finally rejoin her.

Chapter Twenty-Eight.

"The meeting is set, my lady," Thame said. "The men are eager. Your work in T'Telir is gaining more and more notoriety."

Vivenna wasn't sure what she thought of that. She sipped her juice. The lukewarm liquid was addictively flavorful.

Thame looked at her eagerly. The short Idris man was, by Denth's investigations, trustworthy enough. His story of being 'forced' into a life of crime was a bit exaggerated. He filled a niche in Hallandren society-he acted as a liaison between the Idris workers and the various criminal elements.

He was also, apparently, a staunch patriot. Despite the fact that he tended to exploit his own people, particularly newcomers to the city.

"How many will be at the meeting?" Vivenna asked, watching traffic pa.s.s on the street out beyond the restaurant patio gate.

"Over a hundred, my lady," Thame said. "Loyal to our king, I promise. And, they're influential men, all of them-for Idrians, that is."

Which, according to Denth, meant that they were men who wielded power in the city because they could provide cheap Idrian workers, and could sway the opinion of the underprivileged Idrian ma.s.ses. They were men who, like Thame, thrived because of the Idrian subcla.s.s. A strange duality. These men gained notoriety among an oppressed minority, but without the oppression, they would be powerless.

Like Lemks, she thought, who served my father-even seemed to respect and love him-all the while stealing every bit of gold he could get his fingers on.

She leaned back, wearing a white dress with a long skirt that rippled and blew in the wind. She tapped the side of her cup, which caused a serving man to refilled her juice. Thame smiled, taking more juice as well, though he looked out of place in the fine restaurant.

"How many are there, you suppose?" she asked. "Idrians in the city, I mean."

"Thousands, my lady. Perhaps as many as five or six."

"That many?"

"Trouble on the lower farms," Thame said, shrugging. "It's hard, sometimes, living up in those mountains. Crops fail, and what do you have? The king owns your land, so you can't sell. You need to pay your levies..."

"Yes, but men can make pet.i.tions in the case of disaster," Vivenna said.

"Ah, my lady, but most of these men are several weeks travel from the king. Do you leave your family and seek a pet.i.tion, yet fear that they'll starve during the weeks it will take to bring food from the king's storehouse? Or do you travel the much shorter distance down to T'Telir? Take work there, loading on the docks or harvesting flowers in the jungle plantations. Hard work, but steady."

And, in doing so, they betray their people.

But who was she to judge? The Fifth Vision chastised her haughtiness. She sat beneath a shaded canopy, enjoying a nice breeze and expensive juice while other men slaved to provide for their families. She had no right to sneer at their motivations.

Idrians shouldn't have to seek for work in Hallandren. She didn't like to admit fault in her father, yet his was not a bureaucratically strong kingdom. It consisted of dozens of scattered villages with poor highways that were often hampered by snows or rockslides. In addition, he had to expend a lot of resources keeping his military strong in case of a Hallandren a.s.sault.

He had a difficult job. Was that a good enough excuse for the poverty she saw in her people who had been forced to flee their homeland? The more she listened and learned, the more she realized that many Idrians had never known the idyllic life she'd lived in her mountain valley.

"Meeting is three days hence, my lady," Thame said. "Some of these men are hesitant after Vahr and his failure, but they will listen to you."

"I will be there."

"Thank you." Thame rose-bowed, despite the fact that she'd asked him not to draw attention to her-and withdrew.

Vivenna sat and sipped her juice. She felt Denth before he arrived. "You know what interests me?" he said, taking the seat Thame had been using.

"What?"

"People," he said, tapping an empty cup, drawing the serving man back over. "People interest me. Particularly people who don't act like they're supposed to. People who surprise you."

"I hope you aren't talking about Thame," Vivenna asked, raising an eyebrow.

Denth shook his head. "I'm talking about you, Princess. Wasn't too long ago that-no matter what or who you looked at-you had a look of quiet displeasure in your eyes. You've lost it. You're starting to fit in."

"Then that's a problem, Denth," Vivenna said. "I don't want to fit in. I hate Hallandren."

"You seem to like that juice all right."

Vivenna set it aside. "You're right, of course. I shouldn't be drinking it."

"If you say so," Denth said, shrugging. "Now, if you were to ask the mercenary-which, of course, n.o.body ever does-he might mention that it's good for you to start acting like a Hallandren. The less you stand out, then, the less likely people are to connect you to that Idrian princess hiding in the city. Take your friend Parlin."

"He looks like a fool in those bright colors," she said, glancing across the street toward where he and Jewels were chatting as they watched the escape route.

"Does he?" Denth said. "Or does he just look like a Hallandren? Would you hesitate at all if you were in the jungle and saw him put on the fur of a beast, or perhaps shroud himself in a cloak colored like fallen leaves?"

She looked again. Parlin had lost some of his woodsman's grace in recent weeks, and he lounged against the side of a building... much like she'd seen street toughs his age do other places in the city.

"You both fit better here than you once did," Denth said. "You're learning."

Vivenna looked down. Some things in her new life were actually starting to feel natural. The raids, for instance, were becoming surprisingly easy. She was also growing used to moving with the crowds and being part of an underground element. Two months ago, she would have been indignantly opposed to dealing with a man like Denth, simply because of his profession.

She found it very difficult to reconcile some of these changes in her. It was growing harder and harder to understand herself, and to decide what she believed.

"Though," Denth said, eyeing Vivenna's dress. "You might want to think about switching to trousers."

Vivenna frowned, looking up.

"Just a suggestion," Denth said, then gulped down some juice. "You don't like the short Hallandren skirts, but the only decent clothing we can buy you that are 'modest' are of foreign make-and that makes them expensive. That means we have to use expensive restaurants, lest we stand out. That means you have to deal with all of this terrible lavishness. Trousers, however, are modest and cheap."

"Trousers are not modest."

"Don't show knees," he said.

"Doesn't matter."

Denth shrugged. "Just giving my opinion."

Vivenna looked away, then sighed quietly. "I appreciate the advice, Denth. Really. I just... I'm confused by a lot of my life lately."

"World's a confusing place," Denth said. "That's what makes it fun."

"The men we're working with," Vivenna said. "They lead the Idrians in the city but exploit them at the same time. Lemks stole from my father but still worked for the interests of my country. And, here I am, wearing an overpriced dress and sipping expensive juice while my sister is being abused by a terrible dictator and while this wonderful, terrible city prepares to launch a war on my homeland."

Denth leaned back in his chair, looking out over the short railing toward the street, watching the crowds with their colors both beautiful and terrible. "The motivations of men. They never make sense. And they always make sense."

"Right now, you don't make sense."

Denth smiled. "What I'm trying to say is that you don't understand a man until you understand his motivations. Every man is a hero in his own story, Princess. Murderers don't believe that they're to blame for what they do. Thieves, they think they deserve the money they take. Dictators... they believe they have the right-for the safety of their people-to do whatever they wish."

He stared off, shaking his head. "I think even Vasher sees himself as a hero. The truth is, most people who do what you'd call 'wrong' do it for what they call 'right' reasons. Only mercenaries make any sense. We do what we're paid to do. That's it. Perhaps that's why people look down on us so. We're the only ones they understand."

He paused, the met her eyes. "In a way, we're the most honest men you'll ever meet."

The two of them fell silent, the crowd pa.s.sing by just a short distance away, a river of flashing colors. Another figure approached the table. "That's right," Tonk Fah said, "but, you forgot to mention that in addition to being honest, we're also clever. And handsome."

"Those both go without saying," Denth said.

Vivenna turned. Tonk Fah, like the others, had been watching from a distance. They were letting her start to take the lead in some of the meetings. "Honest, perhaps," Vivenna said. "But I certainly hope that you're not the most handsome men I'll ever meet. Are we ready to go?"

"a.s.suming you're finished with your juice," Denth said, smirking at her.

Vivenna glanced at her cup. It was very good. Feeling guilty, she took one last gulp. Then she rose and swished her way from the building, leaving Denth-who now handled most of the coins-to settle the bill. Outside on the street, they were joined by Clod, who'd been given orders to come if she screamed for help.

She turned, looking back at Tonk Fah and Denth. "Tonks," she said. "Where's your monkey?"

He sighed. "Monkeys are boring anyway."

She rolled her eyes. "You lost another one?"

Denth chuckled. "Get used to it, Princess. Of all the justices in the universe, one of the greatest is that Tonks has never fathered a child. He'd probably lose it before the week was out."

She just shook her head. "Whatever," she said. "Next appointment. D'Denir garden, right?"

Denth nodded.

"Let's go," she said, walking down the street. The others trailed behind, picking up Parlin and Jewels on the way. Vivenna didn't wait for Clod to force a way through the crowd. The less she depended on that Lifeless to help her, the better. Moving through the crowds really wasn't that difficult. There was an art to it-one moved with crowd, rather than trying to swim against its flow. It wasn't long before, Vivenna at the front, the group turned off into the wide gra.s.s field that was the D'Denir garden. Like the crossroads, this place was an open s.p.a.ce of green life set among the buildings and colors. Yet, here no flowers or trees broke the landscape, nor did people busy about. This was a more reverent place.

And it was filled with statues. Hundreds of them. They looked much like the other D'Denir in the city-with their oversized bodies and heroic poses, many tied with colorful cloths or garments. These were some of the oldest statures she had seen, their stone weathered from years spent enduring the frequent T'Telir rainfalls. This group was the final gift from Peacegiver the Blessed. The statues had been made as a memorial to those who had died in the Manywar. A monument and a warning. So the legends said. Vivenna figured that if the people really did honor those that had fallen, they wouldn't dress the statues up in such ridiculous outfits.

Still, the place was far more serene than most in T'Telir, and she could appreciate that. She walked down the steps onto the lawn, trailing between the silent stone figures.

Denth moved up beside her. "Remember who we're meeting?"

She nodded. "Forgers."

Denth he eyed her. "You all right with this?"

"Denth, during our months together I've met with thief lords, murderers, and-most frighteningly-mercenaries. I think I can deal with a couple of spindly scribes."

Denth shook his head. "These are the men who sell the doc.u.ments, not the scribes who do the work. You won't meet more dangerous men than forgers. Within the Hallandren bureaucracy, they can make anything seem legal by sticking the right doc.u.ments in the right places."

Vivenna nodded slowly.