"You could have offered her openly."

"And what test," he replied with grim amus.e.m.e.nt, "would that have been?" He reached down and his hand rested, open-palmed, above the haft of the sword. Twice it wavered, and once it touched the twined cotton grip around the hilt, but it did not close there. "I told him," he said, whispering because he knew his wife could hear the words, "that we would travel together.

"I have not taken this sword from this room since the end of the Imperial wars. If I take it, it will become known."

"Yes, my husband." She placed her hands in her lap, the very picture of demure silence, for she knew, as well as he, that he could not return it to this room unblooded.

Lift it, and he was committed to war, no matter how short and one-sided. Or how long and b.l.o.o.d.y.

But demure or no, he knew his wife's measure. "And what would you counsel, my delicate wife? If I am not to go to the Tor Leonne-what does that leave me?"

She lifted her chin, it was the defining line of a strong face. "A seventeen-year-old boy with the blood of a Tyr'agar weak enough to be destroyed in one evening's short work." She paused.

"And a clansman you admire, who will pursue and support that boy to the best of his ability."

The corded muscles of his arms tightened; the edge of his chin touched the hollow of his collar. "I am a fool," he said, as his hand closed.

Light caught the blade; Serra Amara gasped in a voice twenty years younger than she as he raised it high and spoke a single word: Callesta.

Carelo kai di'Callesta was his mother's son in appearance, but he had his father's youthful impatience and his father's temper. The last of which, many said quietly, was not so bad a thing. Those who knew of Serra Amara by hearsay said it because a Tyr'agnate who is too gentle is merely weak, and a weak Tyr'agnate cannot rule a border Terrean. Those who knew Serra Amara quite intimately said it because such a temper was not to be trusted with the wise rule of a border Terrean. Those in between felt that it was better that the son mirror the father in as many ways as possible as a matter of principle.

"Kai di'Callesta," Serra Amara said, the formality of the address a sign that she had grown weary with argument, "the Terrean cannot be run solely on the basis of your fear of the good opinion of other clans."

"Serra Amara," he replied, matching her formality with a stiffness all his own, "I do not intend any insult to the way the Tyr rules the Terrean. But what you have told me is-"

"What I have told you, I have told you at the behest of the Tyr," she said, before he could, indeed, insult his father. Although they were alone in the stone gardens, serafs toiled under the sun of the Festival season, and how many of those serafs reported directly-and secretly-to Ramiro, she did not know. But she was certain that there was at least one, and she did not wish her son to endanger himself by openly insulting the Tyr. That, Ramiro would not accept without intervention, whatever he might choose to hear in private.

He understood her warning, and fell silent, but barely. In that, he was like his father as a youth- and that man, Amara remembered well, although the years had gentled the memory."Carelo, before you decide upon a course of action, know this: I support your father's decision."

"And what would you have me say?"

"A good question." She rose. "I will leave you with it, but will add this: There will be war, one way or the other."

"If we went to the Tor Leonne, the war would be with Mancorvo-and Lamberto would finally be crushed!"

"Lamberto," she said evenly, thinking privately that her son spent too much time with his riders, and not enough with his wife, "will be a target for the new Tyr'agar. There is no question of it. But think: He cannot be more of an enemy to Averda than he already is, and Mareo di'Lamberto will accept no offers from the Tyr'agar. At worst, Lamberto will fight two wars, but I think it likely that the raids between Averda and Mancorvo-should we desire it-will end rather abruptly."

"Serra Amara-"

"You are too trusting," she said coldly, resuming her seat.

Stung, he flushed.

"The General Alesso di'Marente controls perhaps half of the armies of the Tyr'agar."

"More, if Baredan di'Navarre is to be believed."

She shrugged delicately. "More, then. Do you think fear of these armies is enough to have the Tyr'agnati proclaim him Tyr'agar?"

Silence.

"Carelo, you will answer me."

Grudgingly, Carelo shook his young head. He was, Amara thought, such a striking man. "No."

"No, then." She gestured; a seraf appeared at her side in an instant with a goblet and a fan. She took the fan herself and sent him on without speaking a word. "We know, from the reaction of Mareo di'Lamberto, that Mareo was not one of the Tyr'agnate who supports Alesso's bid. We know, because we are as surprised by Baredan di'Navarre's news as Lamberto was, that we are also not one of the clans upon whom Alesso's success rests. Think," she said, allowing frustration to texture her tone.

"You think," he said slowly, "that Mancorvo and Averda are to be among the spoils of the new Tyr's reign."

She almost clapped her hands, but stopped, closing them around the stem of her goblet instead.

Young men could be so headstrong. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because, my son, he must have felt confident of the support of two fourths of the Tyr'agnati-in

no other way could he be proclaimed Tyr'agar; the four would war among themselves for that

right." She paused. "Therefore, it is clear that Oerta and Sorga.s.sa support him."

"But we can't stand for long against the armies of the Tyr'agar." Here, he showed a glimmer of the pragmatism that had become his father's strength. Young Alfredo, his brother, was just as likely to stand against impossible odds with honor as he was to act intelligently.

"Not if things remain as they are, no."

"Then let us enter our own negotiations with Marente, while time remains. Averda is the richest of the Terreans. Let him lose one of the three he holds instead."

"Possible." This time, there was respect in the word. "However, negotiations rely on two things.

One: that we have something that he wants. Two: that he has something that we want. What do we have?"

"We have Averda."

"And will we give that to his rule? I think not," she said softly. "What else do we have?"

"Legitimacy."

"Yes. And it may be that in the months to come he will need it. If, indeed, he does not choose to field his army the moment the Festival of the Sun has ended.

"What does he have that we want?"

"Mancorvo."

"Promised, I believe, to someone else."

"Then nothing. We wish to rule our lands as we have, in peace."

"There will be no peace," she said again. "Because in order to negotiate, two parties must be at

equal strength, or at equal disadvantage. Unless the situation changes, I would say that Alesso di'Marente does not feel the need to bargain. It is rumored that he holds the Radann, and they may very well be forced to bless his rulership at the Festival-which means he does not need legitimacy.

"We have Averda, and he wants it. It is as simple, for the moment, as that."

Carelo kai di'Callesta bowed his head, this time with genuine respect.

"Na'care," she said, knowing that he hated the name, but feeling fond enough to use it anyway.

"You should spend more time with your lovely wife."

He straightened his shoulders, striving to look anything but the young Tyran. "We should begin to plan. Where is the Tyr' agnate to be found?"

"He is currently inspecting the defenses along the southern border."

"Without me?" Carelo bridled. Which was as Amara expected; the border defenses were, after

all, his command.

"Carelo, he left you in charge here. What better way to show his trust could he have chosen?"

The son had the grace to redden, and when he rose and walked away, his mother cast her gaze out

to the standing rocks in the spa.r.s.e, empty s.p.a.ce. She was disappointed.

Until she heard his voice again, at her back. "Serra Amara."

"Yes?"

"As we do not intend to negotiate with Marente, you expect that we will have to face them on the

field."

"Astute."

"Then you neglected to tell me how exactly it is that the Tyr'agnate expects to be able to

withstand the General's armies."

"Ah, Na'care, Na'care," she said, unmindful of who might hear the pride in her voice, "we will make a ruler of you yet."

She did not, of course, expect him to like the answer.

Radann Fredero kai el 'Sol, Please accept our apologies for our inability to attend the Festival of the Sun this year. The Radann in the Ter-rean of Averda have been instructed to perform the proper rituals, and while we fully understand that these rituals, so far from the Tor Leonne, are no replacement for your exalted services, we feel in this clime that we must make do with their lesser grace.

We would, of course, accept your invitation, but it has come to our attention that Mareo di'Lamberto has not, and it places us in a delicate situation. As you may be aware, the difficulties between Lamberto and Callesta have grown ever more bitter; as of late, we have lost a village, and during this season we cannot afford to lose another. As Lamberto will remain within his Terrean, we do not have our traditional guarantee that, for the Festival of the Sun, hostilities will cease, and we cannot leave our Terrean open to attack by stripping it of its most able leaders.

We hope that you will understand our difficulty and speak a word on our behalf to the Lord.

The loss of the Tyr'agar is a blow to Callesta, but the clan Leonne was small and perhaps not as strong in influence as it might have been; the Dominion lost much in the wars under the Tyr'agar's direction-Averda knows the truth of that better than any Terrean. We have no desire to rule the Dominion, nor would we accept the position were it to be offered to us. Yet we do not believe that any of the current Tyr'agnati would suit better; if there is to be a Tyr'agar, it is not from within the four that he is to be found.

The Radann have always given wise counsel, and it is our belief that in such times, their counsel will, of course, continue to be a wall against the wind. Should you desire it, we would be pleased to enter into deliberations with regard to the seat of the Tor Leonne.

-Tyr'agnate Ramiro kai di'Callesta "Well?" Alesso di'Marente set the scroll aside.

"He's committed it to writing," the Widan Sendari said. He lifted a goblet and a seraf, a young boy with perhaps too much energy, filled it.

"Yes. And if it were written to me, I would accept it as an offer."

Sendari shrugged. "There is no doubt that Baredan di'Navarre traveled to Averda. Ramiro di'Callesta has never been a stupid man."

"No. Unfortunately."

"He does not choose to expose himself by presenting himself to you directly at the Festival of the Sun. We both know, in his position, that we would do the same."

Alesso frowned. "Yes."

Sendari set the goblet aside untouched, and began to stroke the fine, long line of his beard. "He is no Lamberto, to stand on points of honor."

"Do you think he would be satisfied to serve me?"