"Something very bad," Leoff said.

"I'm trying to imagine. A band of pipers marching across the battlefield? A choir of trumpets, and everyone on the defending wall dropping dead?"

"It's not impossible," Leoff replied, feeling sick. "Hard to coordinate, but someone skilled enough in arranging and composing could do it."

"Someone like yourself?"

"Yes."

"Maybe that's why you're here, so well protected. Maybe Artwair has commissioned you to write the piece again."

"I won't. He knows that. He knows I would die first."

"But Mery might remember it?"

"No."

"She is a prodigy."

"No," he repeated, almost shouting.

"Not even to save Crotheny?"

"You stay away from her," he snapped.

Lady Graham nodded and drank a bit more tea. "What about your counterchord? Could you compose a music to neutralize whatever Robert may be up to? If he is up to anything other than his own amus.e.m.e.nt?"

"I don't know," he said.

"Have you tried?"

I don't want to be tricked again. He wanted to shout. He wanted to shout. I don't want to be used again. I don't want to be used again.

"You let something terrible into the world, Leovigild Ackenzal. You're responsible for that."

"Who are you?" Areana asked suddenly. "You didn't come here to talk about the custody of Mery."

The lady smiled. "I admit to practicing a bit of deception," she replied. "But I've come here to tell you certain things and to perhaps give you a bit of a slap in the face."

"Who are you?" Areana repeated, looking askance at the lady's armed guard.

"Hush, child, so I can tell your husband something important."

"Don't speak to her like that," Leoff said.

The lady set her cup down. "Don't you wonder why, since the days of the Black Jester, no one has ever discovered what you discovered?"

"Robert placed certain books at my disposal."

"Yes, my point. There are books! They describe armies being slain by choirs of eunuchs and water organs. They explain how the modes function. These books are well known to scholars. Do you think in all of this time no one else with the talent to do so has attempted what you did?"

"I hadn't thought about it," Leoff admitted.

"It didn't happen because it wasn't possible," Graham, or whoever she was, said. "The music you created can only exist when the law of death is broken, as it was during the reign of the Black Jester. As it is now."

"The law of death?"

"The thing that separates life from death, that makes them different states."

"Robert!" Leoff exploded.

"Robert wasn't the first, but before him the law was only compromised. His return from death was the breaking point, and once broken, the law is more easily violated again and again, until the boundary between quick and dead is entirely gone. And when that happens-well, that's the end of us all. Imagine the law as like a dike, holding back deadly waters. When it's first compromised, there's just a small leak. Left alone, the hole gets wider no matter what. But when vandals start poking at it with shovels, it widens very quickly, and eventually the whole thing collapses."

"Why would anyone do that?"

"Well, you might put a small hole in a dike to run a water mill, yes? And you turn a profit and need a bigger mill, a larger stream of water? There is great power in violating the law of death. Robert can be stabbed in the heart and keep walking. You can write a sinfonia that murders, and that's only the start. As the law grows weaker, those who break it grow stronger. This is especially true now, as other powers of destruction are waxing."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Your music made the hole, so to speak, considerably wider."

"But what can I do? How was the law of death mended before?"

She smiled. "I've no idea. But consider the possibility that if the right song can weaken the law-"

"Then another might strengthen it," Areana finished.

The lady stood. "Precisely."

"Wait," Leoff said. "That's not nearly enough. Why should I even believe any of this?"

"Because you do."

"No. I've been duped before. I'm not off on another fool's errand that might make everything worse."

"If that's true, there is no hope," the lady replied. "In any event, I've said what I came to say."

"Wait a moment."

"No, I shan't. Good luck to you."

And despite his further protests, she left, mounted her carriage, and was gone, leaving Leoff and Areana staring after her.

"Artwair knew she was coming," Areana said. "Perhaps he can shed some light on this."

Leoff nodded and absently realized he still had the duke's letter in his hand. He held it up, and blinked.

What had earlier appeared to be Artwair's seal was only an unmarked dab of wax.

PART I

THE UNHEALED

The land bristles shadow and shrugs off the sunFrail voices sing beneath the windIt all ends soonIn health, courage comes easilyDeath is still a dreamBut I watch nowI see the true heroesStagger up on shaking limbsAnd face what must be facedUnhealed-ANONYMOUS V VIRGENYAN POETIery cledief dernyFaiver mereu-mem.Even a broken sword has an edge.-LIERISH PROVERB

CHAPTER ONE.

THE Q QUEEN OF D DEMONS.

ANNE SIGHED with pleasure as ghosts brushed her bare flesh. She kept her eyes closed as they murmured softly about her, savoring their faintly chilly caresses. She inhaled the ripe perfumes of decay and for the first time in a very long time felt a deep contentment. with pleasure as ghosts brushed her bare flesh. She kept her eyes closed as they murmured softly about her, savoring their faintly chilly caresses. She inhaled the ripe perfumes of decay and for the first time in a very long time felt a deep contentment.

Anne, one of the phantoms simpered. one of the phantoms simpered. Anne, there is no time. Anne, there is no time.

A bit irritated, she opened her eyes to see three women standing before her.

No, she realized. They weren't standing at all. Feeling a weird tingle that she knew ought to be more, she turned her gaze around her to see what else there was.

She was elsewhere, elsewhere, of course, couched on deep, spongy moss grown on a hammock in a blackwater fen that went beyond sight in every direction. The branches of the trees above her were tatted together like the finest Safnian lace, allowing only the wispiest of diffuse light through to glisten on the dew-jeweled webs of spiders larger than her hand. of course, couched on deep, spongy moss grown on a hammock in a blackwater fen that went beyond sight in every direction. The branches of the trees above her were tatted together like the finest Safnian lace, allowing only the wispiest of diffuse light through to glisten on the dew-jeweled webs of spiders larger than her hand.

The women swayed faintly, the boughs above them creaking a bit from their weight.

One wore a black gown and a black mask, and her locks were flowing silver. The next wore forest green and a golden mask, and her red braids swayed almost to her feet. The third wore a mask of bone and a dress the color of dried blood. Her hair was brown.

Their undisguised lips and flesh were bluish-black above the coils of rope that had cinched about their necks and wrung out their lives.

The Faiths, those obtuse creatures, were dead. Should she be sad? Part of her thought so.

Anne.

She started. Was one of them still alive? But then she felt the ghosts again, tickling against her. Now she knew who the ghosts were.

Should she be frightened? Part of her thought so.

"You're dead," she observed.

"Yes," the faint voice replied. "We fought to linger here, but too much of us is gone. We had something to tell you."

"Something useful? That would be the first time."

"Pity us, Anne. We did what we could. Find our sister."

"That's right, there are four of you," Anne remembered. Was she asleep? She seemed to be having trouble recalling things.

"Yes, four. Find-ah, no. He's coming. Anne-"

But then a cold wind started in the depths of the quag, and the canopy was alive with strange dark birds, and Anne was suddenly alone with corpses.

But only for a moment. Then she felt him, him, as she had another time when in this place. All of her blood seemed to gather on one side of her body, and all of the branches of the forest yearned toward his invisible presence. as she had another time when in this place. All of her blood seemed to gather on one side of her body, and all of the branches of the forest yearned toward his invisible presence.

"Well, there you are, little queen," the voice said. "It's been too long."

"Stay back," she said. "You remember last time."

"Last time, I was weaker and you had help," the voice replied. "This is not last time."

"What do you want?"

"Your company, sweet queen. Your hand in marriage."

"Who are you?"

"Your king."

"I have no king," Anne bristled. "I am queen, regent in my own right."

"Look deeper in your heart," the voice purred.

"Who are you?"

"You want my name? What do names matter when one is as we are?"

"There is no 'we,'" Anne protested. But her belly tingled, as it had when Roderick had kissed her there.

The presence moved closer, and though she could not see him, she felt as if the shadow wore a wicked smile.

"Why did you kill the Faiths?"

A deep chuckle rustled through the branches, and the water stirred into circles all about.

Then a ruddy light fell on the broken surface of the fen, and Anne felt heat behind her. With a shriek, she turned to confront him.

But it was no male thing that stood behind her; there was no mistaking that. The body that shone like a white flame was willowy but certainly female, dressed only in locks that billowed and curled like strands of liquid, living fire. Her face was so terrible in its beauty that Anne felt as if icicles had been driven through her eyes and deep into her brain. She screamed so loudly, she felt her throat was tearing.

"Hush," the woman said, and Anne felt her larynx instantly close. Then the horrible gaze went through and beyond her.