They were normal children, not monsters. Happy children, not monsters. Children who were more than "lit fuses"-who were potentially normal, if only they didn't grow up burdened with a past they had not made.

"You have to send them away," Cecelia said, surprising herself. "There are people who want children and don't have them; there are places where these boys will be treasured as they should be."

"Bunny said-"

"Bunny's dead. They're alive. They can have a good future-and the universe is big enough that they need not be anyone's pawns in some power game."

"And you know who-?" A tone suspended between sarcasm and hope.

"No, but I can find out. Will you let me do that? Find them homes where they'll have a chance?"

Miranda sagged. "I . . . don't know."

"Miranda. You have other grandchildren, and will have more. Children you can love naturally.

Children whose political importance, if any, comes with a family commitment. You haven't even given these boys names-you know yourself that's wrong. Give them up; give them a chance."

"Brun wants to . . ." Miranda said. "She said . . . she doesn't want to hate them, but she can't live with them around. But neither of us can face the thought of an orphanage."

"She's right," Cecelia said. "You said we were alike-we may be, that much. If I had borne them, in her circumstances, I'd have to give them up. It's a big universe; they need never know."

She left Miranda in the doorway and went on into the room, nodding to the nurses, and sitting on the floor. Red, his hair an orange flame, put a fat thumb in his mouth, but Brownie grinned at her. Cecelia pulled out the ring of keys from the stable and jingled it. His grin widened, and he came to her, grabbing for the keys. Though he looked little like Brun, his boldness and the sparkle in his blue eyes suggested Brun's attitudes.

Cecelia did not think of herself as a religious person, but she found herself praying to something, somewhere, to give these boys a better life than their beginning.

"Lady Cecelia!" That was Brun; Cecelia turned.

"You look well," she said. Brun looked well physically-her tall body trim and fit, her tumbled gold curls in a riot around her head. But the clear gaze was shadowed, darkening when she looked at the boys.

"I'm fine," Brun said. "Considering everything."

"I agree with you and your mother," Cecelia said. "These boys need a proper home, not to mention names."

Brun's face stiffened, then she grinned. "Still tactful, I see."

"As ever," Cecelia agreed. "My dear, I'm almost ninety, and rejuvenation did nothing to soften my personality. Why don't we do it today?"

"Today?" Both Miranda and Brun looked shocked; so did the nurses.

"They're starting to talk; they understand even more. Every day you wait makes it harder on them."

"I . . . want to be sure they have good homes . . . that they lack for nothing . . ." Brun said.

"A good home is a loving home," Cecelia said, with all the confidence of the childless. "And right now they're lacking the most basic needs of all-a name, a parent-"

"But what will you do with them?"

"Take them to a safe and loving home. Brun, you've known me all your life. Have I ever lied to you?" Brun shook her head, tears rising in her eyes. Miranda started to speak, but Cecelia waved her down. "I have told you the truth, even when it wasn't what you wanted to hear. I tell you the truth now-if you let me have these boys I will see to it that they find a good home. I will do it myself. . . ."

"But your schedule-"

"Is my own. Miranda, you were twitting me with my self-indulgence. This is what self-indulgence is good for. I can help you, right now, because I have no other obligations in the way." She softened her voice. "Please let me."

Brun looked down, then nodded. Cecelia could see the gleam of tears in her eyes.

Miranda stared at Cecelia a long moment, then said, "All right. And I still have money for them-a start in a new life-"

"Good." Cecelia tried to think what next. She had said today without really thinking what that would mean, but now the two nursemaids were watching her, waiting for orders. She had no idea how long it took to pack up two children, or where to take them, but she knew she must not hesitate.

She spoke to the nursemaids.

"Are you full-time employees, and would you be able to travel for a month or so?"

"Yes, ma'am," said one of them. "We're from Sirialis, originally, but we thought we'd be staying for years . . ."

"Then will you please start packing-or have someone help you pack-the boys' things? I need to talk to Miranda and make some arrangements-" She would need a bigger ship-a momentary pang, when she thought of how easy it would have been with Sweet Delight, and Heris Serrano, to take the twins and their nursemaids anywhere. Reservations on a commercial liner? No, too much chance of publicity. She'd have to lease a ship and crew. No, to start with she'd need another room-set of rooms-in her hotel. She'd made reservations for one. Or perhaps another hotel. Ideas whirled through her head like leaves before a wind. "Miranda, let's go to your suite-we have business."

"Yes, Cecelia." Miranda nodded at the nursemaids, already beginning to gather toys. "I'll send a maid in to do the packing; just be sure the boys are clean and dressed. And I'll take care of your salaries and references."

Then she led the way to her suite. Brun came along with them, her face once more stiff with misery.

"Do you have any notion where you're going with them?" Miranda asked, when they were again in her sitting room.

"Yes." The thought had come as she walked down the passage. "I know the perfect planet, and probably the perfect couple. Do you want to know?"

"Not . . . now. Later, maybe." Brun sat hunched, her eyes on the carpet.

"Fine, then. Miranda, I'll need the use of your comset-"

"I'll just call Poisson-"

"No. I'll make the reservations myself." Only as far as the first hotel, she told herself. From there, she would arrange transportation. And she wanted no records in the Palace computers, where reporters might already have a tap.

"I have resources-"

"You said you were feuding with Bunny's brother-"

"In my own right. At least let me help."

"Of course." Cecelia turned politely to Brun as Miranda opened a line to her bank. "Brun-have you

heard from that girl-Hazel, wasn't it?-lately?"

Brun looked up. "I worry about her. She seems to be doing fine, for someone who's been through so

much, but she never has admitted how bad it was. She keeps wanting to get me to meet with that Ranger's wife-Prima Bowie."

"Why?"

"I don't know." Brun shifted restlessly. "Hazel liked her, I think. Says she was kind. Hazel feels

sorry for her, being a stranger in our society. But she chose it; she wasn't abducted."

"Are they all still together, all those women?" asked Cecelia.

"As far as I know. I don't . . . really care."

Miranda broke in. "I've deposited a lump sum in your account, Cecelia; I can send more later if-"

"Don't worry about it," Cecelia said. "Tell me-do the maids take the boys out to play? In a park

or anything?"

"Not off the grounds. The news media are bad enough as it is."

"Then-how about palace employees with children? Are there any?"