"Daimhin Feich has just declared your Lady of the Crystal Rose an enemy of the Throne. His Abbod has called her Wicke and demon and has suggested in recent gatherings that she is the representative of some supremely evil being. There are those who believe these things."

Iobert moved restively in his chair. "You are surely not among them. You saw her in the Hall. Her actions were not evil."

"Her actions spoke of a power I have seen wielded by no other." Madaidh held up the scroll, still dripping light. "I hold a piece of this power in my hand."

"That doesn't make her evil," said Aine-mac-Lorimer.

d.a.m.n the girl! Saefren glared at her and signaled her to be quiet. Couldn't she keep her mouth shut even in an a.s.semblage of Chieftains?

She had caught the Madaidh's attention. "This is so," he said reasonably. "But Daimhin Feich represents opposition to her. Powerful opposition. To ride into Creiddylad and ally yourselves to her by word or deed may be dangerous-to yourselves, to those of her followers who must exist within the city, even to those who possess no strong opinions. If Taminy-Osmaer is an enemy of the Throne, what does that make those who identify themselves with her?"

"She isn't an enemy of the Throne!" Aine protested. "She's protecting Airleas Malcuim. Teaching him, preparing him to be Cyne."

"You will never convince Daimhin Feich of that. He believes she perverts him, bends him to her will."

Aine leapt from her chair, face flaming with anger. "You're a coward, Madaidh! Afraid for your own skin, looking to your own interests-"

Saefren roared. "d.a.m.n you, Aine! Sit down! Have you no sense in your head at all?"

The Madaidh silenced him, his dark eyes still on the angry girl. "I am not a coward, child," he said quietly. "But I am wondering where the power is tipped at this moment. I am wondering what life will be like for those in Creiddylad if it is tipped to the side of Daimhin Feich."

"He can have no power compared to the Meri's," argued Aine. "Compared to Taminy's."

"You speak of spiritual power. I speak of temporal power. I do not think Daimhin Feich knows the difference. At this moment, that may give him an advantage."

"So," said Iobert Claeg, "you'll side with him?"

"I side with no one, Iobert. The Meri's will out. Neutrality has its advantage."

Iobert stood, the other Chieftains and Elders mirroring the movement. "Then you will sit on the border?"

The Madaidh chuckled softly. "We have always sat on the border. From here we can watch both friend and enemy come and go."

"Perhaps the young waljan is right," Iobert observed. "Perhaps you are a coward, after all."

The Madaidh bowed his s.h.a.ggy head. "If it pleases you to think so."

"No, Rodri. It does not please me. I doubt it pleases any of us."

When they were out of earshot of the Madaidh Elders, Iobert Claeg gathered his allies to a council.

"Before we enter the city," he said, "we need to get the Lady Aine to safety. She mustn't be seen with us by Feich's people."

You mean, Saefren thought, that we mustn't be seen with her. With the open enmity between her Mistress and Feich, Aine-mac-Lorimer was an exceedingly dangerous person to be around.

"Our Mistress intends that she go to the Osraed Fhada and Lealbhallain at Carehouse," Iobert continued. "I will take her there."

Before Saefren could protest, The Jura spoke up. "I'll go with you."

"Nonsense." Both Chieftains turned to look at Saefren.

"Rodri Madaidh is right about at least one thing," Saefren told them. "To be identified with Taminy-Osmaer right now could be fatal. I don't believe it would do for any of the Houses to lose their heads to Feich's purges."

"There are no purges-" began Iobert but Saefren interrupted him.

"There soon will be. Think, Uncle. It's the next logical step. Declaring Taminy an enemy is but a heartbeat away from purging Creiddylad and beyond of her servants."

"What are you suggesting, then?"

"I am suggesting that I take Aine to Carehouse-if, indeed, there's anyone there to greet her. Either of you will be easily recognizable in Creiddylad; I won't be. I don't think it wise that you be connected with Taminy-Osmaer at this moment."

Iobert's face grew deeply red. "It is far too late for you to worry about me being connected, Nephew. I would sooner die than disavow-"

"Iobert, Iobert!" The Jura patted his volatile companion on the shoulder. "Saefren is right. We may go farther with Daimhin Feich if our allegiance appears uncertain. If we declare ourselves too openly we may undermine our Lady's Cause rather than help it. Let your nephew take the Alraed Aine to her companions in Creiddylad; let us sit down with the others and decide what our strategy must be with Daimhin Feich."

Aine could not claim to be pleased that Saefren Claeg was to be her escort to Carehouse. His open disdain of her-and of Taminy-produced in her the most dreadful, sinking feeling. It also inspired her to flashes of equally dreadful anger. But, as they rode beneath the port city's open main archway and negotiated the evening streets, Saefren did not speak to her, disdainfully or otherwise.

Finally, she could take no more of the taciturn silence and asked, "Do you know where you're going?"

He swept her with his colorless glance. "My uncle wouldn't have sent me if I didn't."

"Then you've been to Carehouse before?"

"Aye. Once or twice. And been past it often enough. There're some haunts in the neighborhood I've been fond of."

"Oh? What sort of haunts?"

His gaze came back to her, bearing a touch of derision. "I doubt Uncle'd be pleased with me if I discussed them with you. They're not the sort of places a cailin would find . . . agreeable."

She knew what he meant, of course; she wasn't completely naive. Even a town the size of Tuine had "haunts," as he called them. She suspected her brothers knew those quite well judging from after-dark conversations she'd overheard. She was pleased not to have blushed or paled or done something else to give Saefren Claeg more to with which to mock her.

"So what's it like, this Carehouse?" she asked.

"It's a big, old stone place with miles of dusty, dark and damp corridors, tiny, cheerless rooms and rat-infested attics. It's like a little fortress . . . or a prison. Walled courtyard, parapets. Looks like it might have been an asylum once upon a time."

"An asylum?" she echoed.

"Where they keep crazy people. If that's the case, I can't think all that much has changed."

"They're not crazy," she said, her voice deliberately soft. "No more than your uncle is. They just . . . know something you don't."

He pursed his lips. "My uncle . . . I'll tell you what I think of my uncle. I think he may be under some sort of enchantment."

Aine couldn't help but stare at him, nor could she keep the laughter from bubbling out of her mouth. "Enchantment! What-by Taminy-Osmaer?"

Saefren jerked his head around. "Hush, you! Keep your voice down! All that's holy, you crazy girl! Yelling that name in these streets could cost you your life!"

"Well, then you'd be rid of me. Though I wouldn't like to be you facing your Uncle Iobert if that happened."

She could feel his discomfiture clearly-the rankling annoyance, his anxiety over his uncle, his suspicion, something else, nervous and twitchy. She was pleased with that insight-as pleased as she'd been when she'd caught his disparaging a.s.sessment of her as a mere saddle-maker's daughter. Though this time there were no words or thoughts attached, the roil of emotion was as vivid as one of her worrisome dreams.

"With my luck," he was saying, "I'd probably be killed right along with you."

They took a circuitous route to Carehouse, wending their way through narrow back streets and dimly lit alleys, beneath little footbridges that crossed from building to ancient building. She saw what she fancied were some of Saefren's haunts; inns that were little more than a hole in some sooty wall beckoned the pa.s.serby with a flood of light and music that tumbled from the front door and rolled across the street to tug on ears and eyes.

Sometimes the smell of cooking food tumbled out along with the rest of the overflow, making Aine realize how hungry she was. Often patrons fought their way in against the tide of light and noise, alone or with one of the many women who offered their own enticements from patio and walkway.

Occasionally, Saefren would turn his head to gaze at a doorway or the form within it, and Aine suspected that after he dropped her off, he might find his way back to his haunts.

When he spoke, he disabused her of that suspicion. "Funny," he said. "When I was younger, I thought this place was full of intrigue and adventure and mystery. Now it only seems . . . dark and poor and sad."

They spoke no more after that and soon arrived at their destination. Aine pulled up her horse just outside Carehouse's huge, thick gates and stared up at the stone walls. Saefren was right; it did seem a fortress. She shivered at the unbidden thought that someday it might have to be just that.

She turned to the man beside her. "You can leave me here."

He shook his head, his thick chestnut hair frosted gold by the lamps above the gate. "I promised Uncle I'd see you safe inside and that I'll do. Besides, I'd like to meet these Osraed of yours. See if they're all so blindingly virtuous as that last bunch."

He reached up and pulled the bell rope.

A young face appeared to peer at them from a slit above the gate. "Who goes?" asked an equally young voice.

In answer, Aine merely raised her left hand so that the youthful guard could see the palm. She heard the m.u.f.fled gasp of recognition just before the face disappeared. In a moment, the gate swung open just far enough to admit them in single file.

Inside, Aine slid from her horse and found herself enveloped in a strong embrace.

"Oh, Aine! How good to see you! Are you tired? Are you hungry? Come inside and sit! Who's this?"

The embrace loosed a bit and Aine found herself staring eye to eye at Lealbhallain-mac-Mercer.

Now, this is all wrong, she thought, because the last time she'd stood face to face with Leal, she had been looking down at him.

"You've grown," she told him, as if he mightn't have noticed.

He grinned at her, freckles dancing in the glow of the lightglobes that bobbed along the front of the huge stone building they stood before.

"I noticed. Probably never be as tall as Fhada, though. He's waiting to meet you, with the others. I felt you coming. I was waiting. I didn't even need to hear Ferret shout but that I knew you were here." His eyes moved to Saefren, then. "And you are?"

"Saefren Claeg. My Uncle Iobert and a troop of Claeg, Gilleas, Graegam and Jura are camped outside the city this moment, preparing to meet with Daimhin Feich."

Leal blinked startled green eyes. "Meet? You don't mean . . . ?"

"I don't mean a battle, no. The Chieftains plan to pet.i.tion the Regent to return Airleas to Mertuile and set him before the Stone."

Leal grimaced. "Good luck to them."

"They'll need more than luck, I fancy." Saefren seemed unable to keep his eyes from Leal's Kiss. The golden star shown from his forehead with enough force to cast shadow. "The others were green," he said. "Yours is gold like Osraed Wyth's."

"I'm Osraed by the Golden Meri, after the Cusp."

"And waljan, like the others?"

Leal raised his hand. The gytha also cast shadows.

"How does it happen?" Saefren asked.

Leal shrugged, smiling. "She touches you and you begin to burn." He glanced down at his palm. "They can be inconvenient when you're trying to stay hidden."

"Oh, but you can cloak them," said Aine. "That's part of what I've come to teach you. You won't have to use green paint anymore."

Leal laughed, taking the girl's elbow and guiding her toward the house. "How did you know about that?"

"Taminy told me. She was worried about you, Leal. About all of you here in Creiddylad."

The youth's face darkened. "Well, she'd have reason to be. It's not been easy. No way to tell who's friend and who's foe."

As the door to the huge stone barracks opened before him, Leal turned back to face Saefren. "Come in, friend, and welcome. We've laid on a feast for this lady, and you're more than welcome to our hospitality."

Saefren started to protest, but Leal cut him off. "I'll hear no argument, Saefren Claeg. We owe you much for getting Aine to us safely."

With a guarded glance at Aine, Saefren inclined his head in acquiescence and followed them into the house.

The Dearg's Hillwild was legend's own Wicke. Fey yellow-amber eyes gazed cat-like from under a thick mane of unruly black hair, full lips pouted arrogance beneath a long, aquiline nose. Her skin was the color of the foothill's clay and her body echoed their contours; she was voluptuous as the earth itself.

Feich had no doubt she'd borne her Dearg husband many fine, strong sons and earthy daughters. She was neither young nor old, neither homely nor fair, but there was about her the quivering vitality that exists in fire. Her entire being was wary; he could almost hear the aislinn growl. There was more-a haughtiness that lay behind the eyes like laughter behind a closed door.

It was the Hillwild in her, Feich thought, and was not altogether surprised when she did not bow to him. It didn't anger him. He admired it.

"I'm Regent Feich, Moireach. And you are . . . ?"

The woman's mouth pulled up at the corners. "Moireach, I'm not. I'm Coinich Mor of Dearg. My husband's a shepherd as well as an Elder and what land we've got's owned by the House, not by us. Call me Coinich. That'll be fine."

"Well, Coinich Mor of Dearg, do you know why I asked to see you?"

The smile deepened. "You need my help."

"Is that what your nephew told you?"

She chuckled. "My nephew barely knows his own name. Blessedly, he's not hard to look at. No, my aidan told me."

"Really? What else did your aidan tell you?"

"You have a crystal."

Her nephew might've told her that, too, but it hardly mattered. Let her show off if she wanted, he'd soon see if she could inspire his stone. He drew it from its belt pouch and held it out. It caught light from the chamber window and fired with a ruddy gleam.