Celelioniel Astromancer had done Vieliessar no favors by her obsession with Amrethion's Curse.

Though Midwinter was still sennights away, preparations for it were already under way. A feasting-hall crafted entirely of ice was taking form upon the meadow beyond Oronviel Castel. The kitchens were busy day and night. As each dish was finished, the last touches applied by Oronviel's Master of Kitchens, it was cloaked in a Preservation Spell by a waiting Lightborn so that a sennight or a fortnight hence it could be brought to the feasting table as fresh and savory as if it had just been cooked. Unused chambers within the castel were aired and refurbished, temporary stables and paddocks erected, provision made for a full sennight of lavish spectacle.

It was a bit like going to war, Vieliessar thought. And in truth, this was the opening movement of her campaign, for Oronviel would keep Midwinter as if Vieliessar were already High King. In counterpoint to the lavish feasting of the nobles, she would feast the commons as well-and not upon the leavings of the great feasts, but upon bread and mutton and beer, given without stint.

Nor would her Lightborn Call the Light only upon the Fourth Night of the Festival, but upon all seven, turning away none who sought them out and taking none who refused them.

These things were new and strange enough that her ears had grown weary of hearing Gunedwaen, or Rithdeliel, or Thoromarth tell her why they must not be, and now she added one thing more: for the whole of the Festival, all within Oronviel, no matter their degree, had full right of woodland and lesser forest. They might gather what they chose, cut standing trees, and take game.

And take no hurt of it.

When I am High King, none shall starve and shiver in fear through the winter moonturns to enrich those who have no care for them.

But she was not High King yet.

Today she faced Komen Bethaerian in the circle. As with all the Great Keeps, a Challenge Circle had been set into the stone of the Great Hall when it was built: a ring of white granite set into the smooth, dark, Mage-forged slate. Here the knights of the War Prince's household demonstrated their skill and settled quarrels. Here, too, a disgraced knight might regain lost honor and earn a place with the Starry Hunt by facing all challengers until death's blood rinsed reputation clean once more.

Her own reputation among her knights was neither bad or good, but Vieliessar had not led them into battle for season after season. She must convince any who watched that she had set aside her Magery along with her Green Robe. And so Vieliessar met all who wished to do battle within the Great Hall's circle, calling it sport to liven the dull days of winter.

Bethaerian was the commander of Vieliessar's personal guard. It had taken Bethaerian sennights to challenge her, though she had watched the bouts from the beginning. She had put that time to good use, studying Vieliessar's skills. Though Oronviel's War Prince had disarmed Bethaerian quickly, when she slammed her shoulder against Bethaerian's chestpiece to thrust her from the circle and end the bout, Bethaerian stepped into the blow, pulling Vieliessar against her, front to back. Neither of them could launch a further attack in that position, but Bethaerian had not lost.

"I yield," Vieliessar said, laughter bubbling up beneath her words.

Bethaerian released her, stepping across the boundary of the Challenge Circle. Only when Vieliessar was pulling off her helm did she see Aradreleg awaiting her.

"My prince," the Lightsister said, "a Lightborn envoy comes from Caerthalien."

"Is he escorted?" she asked. Her people were smart and loyal, but no one in the Fortunate Lands-save, perhaps, the War Princes themselves-would go against the wishes of a Green Robe. If Ivrulion Light-Prince had refused escort ...

"Indeed," Aradreleg said, putting Vieliessar's worry to rest. "Peryn Lightsister sends to say Komen Berlaindist brings the Lightbrother with all haste."

It wasn't customary for a Lightborn traveling as envoy of a War Prince to give his name, only his House, so neither Peryn nor Berlaindist would know it. "*All haste' is...?" Vieliessar prompted.

"A sennight, Komen Berlaindist promises, no more."

"Then there is barely sufficient time to prepare to receive him," Vieliessar answered. She had invited Caerthalien to attend her Winter Court, of course, but an envoy arriving a fortnight before the start of the Festival could mean only one thing: Caerthalien meant her to pledge fealty. Word of her ambition would already have reached Bolecthindial. The emissary from Caerthalien must be its attempt to overturn her plans.

They will send Ivrulion, of course. Who else? And Lightborn or no, he will speak among my guests with princely authority....

But when Caerthalien's Lightborn envoy walked into Oronviel's Great Hall at last, it wasn't Ivrulion.

"Thurion!" Vieliessar exclaimed, struggling to keep all the welcome she felt out of her voice.

"War Prince Vieliessar," he answered, his voice steady. "War Prince Bolecthindial sends me to you, for Caerthalien has always stood friend to Oronviel."

"Oronviel thanks Caerthalien for her gentle care of her neighbor. We rejoice in your visit to us and hope you will find all you seek."

"I am certain I shall," Thurion answered, bowing.

"I pray your visit will allow you to partake of our hospitality this Midwinter, as well." She did not ask if he was Caerthalien's envoy to her Midwinter Court, for that would reveal too much. This meeting was a formality, a show enacted for those watching. Later they would have the chance to speak privately.

"Caerthalien sends me to discover if you mean to keep to your own borders and honor the treaties Lord Bolecthindial held of War Prince Thoromarth," Thurion said, the words bursting from his lips in a rush almost before the door had closed behind him. "Of course I'll tell him whatever you like, but-that was Lord Gunedwaen of Farcarinon at table tonight, wasn't it?"

The evening meal had been a long and lavish one, but it would be only prudent for any new lord of a small and embattled domain to wish to impress the emissaries of her large and powerful neighbors. Thurion had been seated upon her left hand, in the place of honor.

That he would see what he had seen was inevitable. But only one who still counted himself her friend would have broached the subject so openly.

Vieliessar waved him to a seat as she finished skimming the scroll she held-Gunedwaen's sennightly analysis of the information he'd gleaned from her knights as well as from a number of Oronviel folk who had gone secretly where they would not have been welcomed openly.

Thurion flung himself into a low chair, kicking the hem of his robes out of the way with the negligent ease of long practice. "It was, wasn't it? The Gunedwaen?"

"Does it matter?" Vieliessar asked, setting the report aside. There was nothing new there. The War Princes were obviously waiting for Midwinter before declaring for or against Oronviel. At least openly.

Thurion sat upright so abruptly that Striker raised her elegant head. "Of course it matters! Vielle! He lost his arm years-decades ago! No Healer has ever-" He stopped abruptly, gazing at her with disbelief. "You knew. You knew what you'd done when you Healed him."

She met his gaze squarely. This, her instincts said. This is more important than anything else we will say to one another about my plans and the lies he will tell his Caerthalien masters. "I knew I could do it before I began," she answered simply. "It was hard, and painful, but it was not impossible."

"It should have been," Thurion answered quietly. His words were not a rebuke. They were uttered in tones of one who looked upon the impossible. "I know of no Healer who could have done it."

"You know what hradan Celelioniel laid upon me at my birth," Vieliessar answered.

"*Death against Darkness, blood expunge blood, burn the stars and save a brand from the burning,'" Thurion quoted. It was the beginning of the passage about the destruction of the Hundred Houses. "Is that what you mean to do?"

"I don't know," she answered. "All I know is that I am the Child of the Prophecy, the Doom of the Hundred Houses. It took me so long to admit it that I do not know if there is enough time left."

Thurion drew a deep, shaking breath, summoning calm, summoning reason. "You think you have deciphered Amrethion's Prophecy," he said, but once again Vieliessar shook her head.

"Celelioniel Astromancer deciphered it. It was why I was allowed to live. *When stars and clouds together point the way / And of a hundred deer one doe can no longer counted be'-Farcarinon's destruction. Thurion, it does not matter whether I am the only one it could be, or simply the one Celelioniel chose. What matters is the rest of the Prophecy."

Thurion studied her face. "The Prophecy foretells a time when the Hundred Houses are ended by the prophesied child who becomes High King. It says a Darkness is gathering armies against that day and talks of a false promise coming true and two becoming one. If Celelioniel Astromancer decided you were the Child of the Prophecy, she must have believed that the false promise that becomes true means you will become High King, as Serenthon War Prince tried to. But ... Vielle ... How can you?"

"You are Green Robe and scholar, and once you were friend to me, when I had none. I would tell you a story that is no story. Will you hear?"

"Yes," he answered heavily. "I will hear."

Almost he could imagine himself back at the Sanctuary of the Star on some lazy afternoon when there was nothing better to do than to try to unravel the mysteries of their long and unfathomable history. Vieliessar spoke not of herself, but of Celelioniel's quest to discover the beginnings of the Lightborn, of how they had learned to wield their power.

"In the Sanctuary we are taught that each thing implies its opposite," Vieliessar said. "It is the foundation of our spellcraft. Heal or harm. Make fertile or blight. And not only in our Magery: we see in the world around us that each thing possesses its opposite. Creatures who fly and creatures who burrow, grass eaters and flesh eaters, and for this cause we have always been taught that the Beastlings are the shadow of all we are-but Celelioniel did not believe that could be so. If the Beastlings possessed a Darkness as great as our Light, surely they would have used it to make a desert of all the Fortunate Lands."

"Not if they want to live here," Thurion commented dryly, and Vieliessar made a rude snort of amusement.

"Perhaps. But surely they would make some desert. And they would feed their spellcraft upon blood. And we would have learned that those things are wrong from their example. We have learned those things are wrong, but not from the Beastlings. From who, then?"

"Everyone knows the Lightborn-some Lightborn-break the Covenant," Thurion said hesitantly.

"And why is there a Covenant?" she asked implacably.

For a moment Thurion was a Postulant still. "Because-it must have been a long time ago-some Lightborn did those things, and..." He stopped, because Vieliessar was shaking her head.

"Each thing there is implies-creates-its opposite," she reminded him.

"Theory is no validation of prophecy," Thurion answered, almost sputtering.

"No," Vieliessar agreed. "And Celelioniel did not begin with the Prophecy, but with an attempt to discover how we learned to do as we do. It was Mosirinde Peacemaker who first taught the Covenant-and she also who founded the Sanctuary of the Star."

"But-" Thurion said.

"But no one knows why, or how the Light came to us before the founding of the Sanctuary," Vieliessar agreed. "I will ask you to simply take as true that Celelioniel searched for that answer for years, that The Song of Amrethion was the end of her quest and not the beginning, that she discovered that what seems like nonsense to our eyes is instead a simple list of events that will come to pass before..." She stopped, and when she went on, her voice held sudden urgency. "Thurion, do you believe that evil can be done in the service of good?"

"Of course not," he answered promptly. "By its very nature, evil destroys and taints all it touches, so anything it touches cannot be good."

Vieliessar bowed her head, and Thurion didn't think he'd given her the answer she hoped to hear. But it was what they had both been taught in the Sanctuary.

"Imagine all the good things in the world. Everything you can. Everything that has given you joy, or a moment's pleasure, or made you happy," she said.

"The Light," Thurion answered softly. The look on Vieliessar's face frightened him, though he could not say why.

"Now imagine that all these good things have an opposite. Not the petty cruelty of the Hundred Houses-for the War Princes may be as kind and generous as they are cruel and petty-but an opposite. A being. A race that can only be named Darkness."

"You cannot know this!" Thurion exclaimed.

"High King Amrethion warned of them-every Astromancer, every great Seer from Mosirinde Peacemaker to Celelioniel has Seen them. Hamphuliadiel has swept all the books of prophecy from Arevethmonion-did you know?-so no other can discover that Celelioniel spoke true."

"It is only a theory, Vielle," Thurion said desperately.

"Yes," she answered. "A theory. But suppose it is not. The Prophecy says this Darkness comes, not to conquer us, but to destroy us. If I am the Child of the Prophecy, it will come in my lifetime. If the Hundred Houses do not act as one when that day comes, our defeat is certain. So tell me, my oldest friend, what would you have me do?"

There was only one true answer he could give: If the Prophecy is true, you must do everything you can, no matter what it is, to make the Fortunate Lands ready for the day we must fight as one.

He could not bear to give her those words.

"All right," he said into the silence. "Let us suppose the Prophecy is as you say."

"You do not believe," she said harshly.

"I want to," he answered helplessly, knowing only as he spoke that the words were true. "But I cannot imagine ... How can you hope to unite the Hundred and make the War Princes swear fealty to you? Serenthon-"

"Serenthon of Farcarinon intrigued to make himself High King with vows and promises, yet his strongest ally turned against him. Caerthalien was able to turn his allies against him and unify his enemies-because they feared what their lives would hold were he to rule," she answered unyieldingly. "I know his errors. I would not repeat them. But I ask again, Thurion: what must I do?"

His life had trained him to love the Light. His years in the Sanctuary of the Star had trained him to think. "You must fight," he answered, hanging his head. "If we die in battle, the Hunt will claim us for its own, so ... Vielle, you are the most powerful Mage I have ever seen. Could you-if you were to break the Covenant-"

"-call down lightning from the sky to slay all their armies in an instant?" She gnawed at her lower lip, as if choosing her next words with care. "That thought was in my mind. But I might render the Fortunate Lands a desert without destroying the Darkness. Or the Lightborn might slay me as I fought. Or I might succeed-" She broke off. "One chance in three of victory is not such a match as I would wager upon. If we are to face a great army, we will face it with a great army."

"But you have no proof!" Thurion cried. "You cannot make the Hundred bend the knee without giving them proof!"

"No," Vieliessar agreed. Her voice was hard. "Nor would I offer it if I had-they would only fight among themselves over who was to lead the army, just as they have fought all these centuries over which of them is to be Amrethion's successor. And so I will not ask anyone to believe in anything but me. The War Princes will swear to me, and to each other, and we shall face the Darkness an army of princes. All of us, Thurion. All."

"Did you...?" Thurion said. His voice trembled, and he could not finish the sentence. Did you use Magery to defeat Rithdeliel and gain Oronviel?

"I will do what I must, Thurion." There was no triumph in her voice.

Tears glittered in Thurion's eyes. He wiped them away before they fell, not caring if she saw. "Vielle ... Is it worth ... surviving ... if we cast aside everything that makes us what we are?"

"Once Amrethion and Pelashia reigned over a land without death, without war-without Landbond and craftworker sold as if they were cattle when the luck of battle did not favor their masters. We have already cast aside what we were. I would see us live to regain it," she answered softly.

"I ... I must..." With great effort, Thurion collected himself. "I suppose I have always known. Who you were. What you were. What you would become. I have thought, you know, since the news came to us of Oronviel. About you. The Sanctuary never finds Light in the Lines Direct, you know. I think something must have happened that forced Caerthalien to send Prince Ivrulion to the Sanctuary. Perhaps all of you-"

"I am no different than you, Thurion," she said, but he went on as if she hadn't spoken.

"-perhaps all of you have great power. Perhaps the Sanctuary fears the return of Lightborn like Mosirinde Peacemaker. They should. Have you ever thought about how miraculous Lady Nataranweiya's escape from Farcarinon was? She could have died a thousand times on the journey. She did not. She could have miscarried of you, lost you to cold, a fall from her horse, a dozen things. She did not. She gained the Sanctuary. You were born alive. Celelioniel knew all you say you know, yet she feared your birth as if it were the summoning of the Darkness, not our defense against it. And still she set her Master Spell upon you so you could grow up safely beneath the rooftree of your House's greatest enemy.

"You might have died there. Babies do. Children do. A kick from a horse, a fall from a wall, and all Ladyholder Glorthiachiel would have needed to do was not summon a Lightborn to Heal you. But she never got the chance. So you went to the Sanctuary, and there you were no one. Nothing. Powerless. Hamphuliadiel could have slain you and gained favor with any of a dozen Houses. He never did-and then it was too late, for not even the Astromancer may raise his hand against one of the Lightborn without cause. You have walked barefoot among adders every day of your life and never been harmed. Your destiny was always waiting for you. A task set upon your shoulders by Amrethion Aradruiniel himself, ten thousand years ago."

He had not meant to say any of this. It was admission that he believed. But he could not hold back the words.

"I think it has made you ... more," he said in a whisper. "I do not know why others do not see it. Perhaps you keep them from seeing it, as you kept Hamphuliadiel from seeing you. But they will see it. And they will fear you as you fear the Darkness to come.

"I cannot stand against what you have become, Vielle. The time when I might have is long past."

"Do you fear me?" she asked, and in her eyes Thurion saw sorrow, not triumph.

"Yes," he said simply. "And I grieve, for I had a friend whom I loved, and she was but an illusion, a shadow cast by a Great Power."

"I am no Great Power!" Vieliessar protested. "You said yourself-Nataranweiya was my mother-Serenthon was my father-"

"And now you are Child of the Prophecy, not of Farcarinon," Thurion said with gentle finality.

"Will you serve me still?" she asked.

Thurion closed his eyes as if the sound of her voice hurt. "Yes," he answered, opening them again.

She smiled painfully, and in that moment she was so beautiful his heart broke for her. "You will curse my name before we are done," she told him.

"I don't care," he answered steadily. "I will do all that you ask of me." He took another deep breath. "So let us now consider what I am to tell Bolecthindial, and how I am to keep Ivrulion from discovering the truth."

Vieliessar's Midwinter Court was a dazzling affair. Through her Lightborn, by spellbird, she had extended invitations to the princes of all the Hundred Houses. Only those of the forty Houses of the West could possibly attend, for the eastward passes were closed by winter, and the journey from the Western Shore was long and arduous. It did not matter. Every word spoken within Oronviel's walls on the first night of the Festival would reach the farthest castels of the Grand Windsward before the seventh.

"I still say you're mad."