"Yes. Died." Her head fell a moment, a sharp dip of motion; she held out both hands, palms up, before her face in the darkness. "But she knew that the child was coming. And she knew that the child was a daughter."

"Who was she, Serra Teresa? Who was Diora's mother? I hear of her in every word you speak, and yet you have never named her." He paused, and then added, "I see her shadow in the face of the Serra Diora's father; I see that shadow fall between you, in a land where the only ties that count are blood ties."

The Serra Teresa laughed, a bitter, silent laugh-as ungraceful, as ungracious, as she had yet been. "The only ties that count?" She lifted her hand then, unfettered by the ties that he had so carefully invoked, and as the mage-fires flared above the lake below in an incandescent display of color and pageantry, the emerald that Alora had given her-a stone gained by dint of plea and subtle misdirection from the man who was her husband-caught light, held it, fractured it.

"An oath ring," Kallandras said softly.

"And what do you know of oath rings? What do you know of the oaths that bind them, you who walk unhindered in any land you pa.s.s through? You have your voice, you have your training, you have your own name-"

She stopped; he had not moved a muscle; not spoken a word. But he lifted his hand, and she had seen just that gesture once before-it was a gesture that a decade did not erase from memory; rather, it sharpened and heightened. A ring lay there, clearer than diamond, and harder and wilder.

"No oath bound that ring to your finger," she said, when she could find her voice.

"The breaking of oaths bound it there," he said coldly. "And to truly break an oath, one must first make the oath."

Humbled, she lowered her hand; he held his aloft a fraction of a second longer, as if a strong wind pushed against his palm and then subsided. "It is an oath ring," she told him. "But not of a kind that is common in the Dominion. Oath rings are plain, a simple band, sometimes less-the twining of hair, the weave of silk knots. Those who wear oath rings-they are the Serras and wives of the clansmen.

"In the North, you speak of love, and even in the South, we hear it sung. We dream, as girls, that love will come and take us, treasure us, make of us women who can rise above the lives the Lord has decreed."

"There is the Lady," Kallandras said softly, so softly that, were she not cursed, she would not have heard.

"Yes. The Lady." She turned from him, her face a face now, not the mask that came so naturally to her.

"I was not his Serra. I was not his wife. I had no part to play in his harem." Her hands fell to her sides; she stood a moment, stiff, head bent, the weight of memory preventing all movement. "I had no part to play in any harem; I was too old to be a child in my father's harem, and too much of an a.s.set to my brother to be granted a life of my own. You know this."

"Yes."

"I went to Sendari a year after his marriage. Adano- our kai, our much respected kai-sent me." The bitterness was now beneath the surface of her words; her words were like gla.s.s, smooth and hard and slippery. But they were as transparent, to Kallandras, as the globes of the lamp upon the waters.

He rose; she did not see his movement or did not care. "Adano wanted Sendari to take the Widan's test. To face the Sword of Knowledge. He had spoken with Sendari about it. Spoken harsh words, in the end; Sendari would not be moved, although he loved-and loves-our kai much.

"Sendari knew, when he saw me, that I carried the word of the Tor'agar. He knew that I was sent because of my gift; knew, the instant I stepped from the palanquin, that I was Adano's threat; the only threat he would offer."

The ring was green in the darkness; green and blue. The color of water, the color of life.

"He was pale; I remember that. I was no happier." She waited for some sort of comment, some condemnation-something to speak after or to speak against. He gave her his music instead. It was almost enough, but she waited a moment longer. "You are a Serra; he is par. You understood your roles."

"Yes. But understanding is not forgiveness, and neither Sendari nor I forgive much.

"He could not send me back without disobeying the Tor'agar-a slap in the face which he knew would force Adano to respond. But he could not allow me to speak with him alone."

"And you would not do this thing before witnesses?"

"No." There was scorn in the word; it left her voice as she remembered that she spoke not to a clansman, but to a Northern minstrel. "To do this before witnesses would be to shame Sendari in such a way that it would hurt the clan-and perhaps his chances for success in the test. They would not know the power of my voice-they would only see that he had submitted to the demands and the desires of a woman, a mere sister, in plain view of the Lord.

"He ordered his cerdan to have me placed, immediately, within the small harem that his Serra had gathered. "It was his right. As brother, he had-and has- precedence." She raised her hand again, lifted it as if to touch the hand of a person just beyond reach. The tips of her fingers stretched out into darkness and fell. "I don't know if he thought it would be punishment to me. I don't know if he thought of me at all, or of Adano and Adano's anger. He is canny, and when he is absolutely controlled, I hear only hints of his feelings in the words that he covers them with. "So I entered his harem.

"Had I been with the Tor'agar, nothing would have happened. Adano's palace is large, and the rooms within his personal quarters plentiful. I had very little to do with Adano's Serra, his wives, or his children. My rooms there were separate; I had cerdan to guard me, and serafs to serve me, and samisen and harp for company. I was occasionally asked to play for his guests, when his guests were those he did not trust; I was asked to play for his guests when he wished their influence to favor him. "I was sent to tell Sendari to take the test. "But as I said, I had no opportunity. "What I did not realize was that I would have little privacy either. I had no separate rooms; I slept in the hall where his wives slept; I was given the silks that they were given; I was expected to eat when they ate, and to sleep when they slept. I was not expected to entertain my brother's guests in the more earthy fashions, but in all else, I was subsumed by the harem itself, under another woman's rule."

"I cannot imagine," Kallandras said dryly, "that anyone could rule you, be he man or woman."

"You have not lived in the South for long enough."

"No?"

"Have you?"

He offered no answer. She spoke. "I was angry, at first. Angry at Adano, for sending me to force from my brother what he would barely let me force from his horses; angry at Sendari for refusing to follow what seemed at that time to be the only reasonable path; angry at myself, for not realizing immediately that Sendari would neutralize me in whatever fashion he could without bringing harm to our brother's clan. To our clan. Because I was not a young girl, then. I was a woman."

"You are not old now."

She was not in the mood to be flattered by him, although she heard the truth in his voice. "But I found myself liking his wives-the concubines. The Serra herself, I did not meet for the first five days.

"Alana, in particular, I found appealing; she was like one of my father's wives. Not the Serra- not my mother; she was far too perfect. Alana was graceful, yes, and lovely, but she was plump and if she suffered in this life-and she did-it ground the edges from her, rather than sharpening them.

"She knew that I was trapped in the harem, although she didn't understand why, and she knew that I was... a stranger. To all harems. I had no sister-wives. She made hesitant overtures, peace offerings in the name of her husband. And I refused them, politely, every one."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I wouldn't, now. Can you tell me that you understand the motivation for your every petty deed long after the motive has died?"

"Yes."

"I am not so... unlucky. I remember that I was not as... graceful as I could have been." She bowed her head; the seraf's hood dappled her forehead in soft folds as she seemed to retreat into it.

"But it changed when I saw her."

The shift in her voice came as no surprise to Kallan-dras; he listened, because he had been trained to listen, and because it was easier than speech. Even Salla lay silent in his lap; he could not trust himself to touch her strings. The Serra Teresa's loss was loss, and it reminded him, always, of his own. She was so very near to it now.

"She was beautiful, Kallandras, to me and to Sendari- but she wasn't beautiful in the cla.s.sical sense. I am, and I was. Not Alora." There was no false modesty and no pride at all in the words that she spoke. There was distance, but not from him. "Her eyes were dark and large, but not round enough; her chin was too square, her lips too full, her face was wide. But these things together, in her face-they were melody and perfect harmony. She was short. I remember that she was short; I thought- I remember thinking-that Sendari's vanity must have forced him to search hard to find a woman who would, by comparison, make him seem so much the clansman in stature. It was not a kind thought, but we were not kind to each other, my brother and I.

"She said, 'You must be the Serra Teresa.' "

"I said, 'You must be the Serra Alora. I've heard... much about you.' "

"And she said, 'And I've heard that you were born with a gift that you hope to wield against my husband.' Just that." She shook her head, seeing the past, Kallandras thought, more clearly than she saw the celebrations beneath them both. "He told her."

"She was his wife," Kallandras said and for the first time, understood what Alora di'Marano must have meant to Sendari.

"Yes. But not Adano's. Not mine. And while I watched this woman who was no part of me, she spoke again."

Alora said, "I have asked my husband not to take this test of his, this test of the Sword. I have no need of such proof of his power, and I will not take the risk. I wish children, his children, and I wish my wives; I have no other needs. If you have come here at his kai's insistence, then speak to me, Serra, because if you ask him, if you tell him, he will refuse you."

"And you rule Sendari? He obeys your commands?"

"We rule each other, although I don't expect you to understand that." Her eyes were like black lightning in a sun-browned sky. "I don't expect any of the Marano clan to understand Sendari. They never have before." She turned and then turned back, always in motion, flickering like fire, or like cloth turned by wind. "But I understand him.

"He's given me his word, Serra Teresa, that he will not take this test."

"If you know of my gift and my curse, you know that his word won't matter."

"No, Serra, I don't know that. You think you do. We are willing to test this, this eve. If you can break him, he will do as his kai demands; if you cannot, you will leave, and he will no longer live under your threat."

"You are... bold for a Serra."

"And the desert fox is bold when he defends his mate."

Silence, then. The Serra Teresa di'Marano watched the Serra Alora en'Marano, wondering how it

was that Sen-dari had managed to find this woman, how it was that she had managed to survive

the courtship, how it was that the Lady had offered the solitary younger brother a companion

whose love she would have heard in every word even had she not been born to the voice.

"You mean this," she said because she felt she must say something.

"Yes."

"How did he find you, Serra Alora?"

"Ask, rather, how did I find your brother? There is little love between you, or you would see him

clearly."

"There is too much love between you, or you would."

"And whose sight, whose vision, is preferable?"

Teresa's frown was momentary; a ripple across a perfect face. Then, smoothly, and because it

was the only truth that mattered, she said, "The Tor'agar Adano kai di'Marano's."

"Did you?"

"Did I?"

"Meet your brother?"

"That eve, yes. You never met Alora en'Marano. You could either dismiss her as unfeminine and

ungraceful, or you could listen to her. In the end, there was only one choice for me. Sendari and I

are... alike. It pains me to say this; I believe that he would die before such an admission left his

lips."

"And did you use the voice?"

"Oh, yes, Kallandras of Senniel. I did."

He was silent. She expected no less. She had, after all, been taught by Robart of Morniel College, and she knew that, to him, this overt use of voice was anathema. Worse. She would argue, at times, the sun settling into the Lady's dominion, that the subtle use was no less a violation of his odd code of justice-but influence, to Robart, was not the same as force.

In the Dominion, Robart, the only men who have influence are men who wield force; the one is just a promise of the other. It had been meant as a warning, but Robart did not understand that; not then. By the time understanding came, it had been far too late; he had already been broken by her father's machinations.

She waited for some sign of Kallandras' disapproval, some withdrawal. Instead, he said, "And did it fail?"

"Fail?" Turning, she saw that he stood, and that his lute lay upon the Lady's altar, untouched. "I do not understand you, Kallandras of Senniel."

"No. But it is not to understand me that you speak."

"And tell me, oh, wise Northern bard, why do I speak?"

He did not answer. Instead, he said, "Did you fail, Serra Teresa?"

And she said softly. "Yes."

She thought that Alora would be triumphant, but there was no triumph in Sendari's wife; instead, the first display of weakness; a sparkle in the eye, a glimmering blur that spoke of tears, no matter that they did not fall.

"You will return to Adano," Sendari had said, his voice as abrasive as sand-laden wind, and for all that it was quiet.

"Wait, Sendari." Not her voice. It was not in her to beg for any favor-be it even the ear-of her brother, of either of her brothers.

They both turned, as one person, to Serra Alora en'Marano. "This thing, this task, your brother set it. The Serra Teresa is a Serra, and one of whom much good is said. She could not refuse Adano. You can; you have that privilege. Let her stay with us."

"This is not what you said five days ago."

"Five days ago I had not met your sister. It is not just her gift, husband, that sets her apart; without it, she would still have influence. She has about her the Lady's eyes, the Lady's expression. Have her stay in our house, with us; Adano does not need her influence-or the protection such a woman might offer."

"My brother will not allow it."