"I didn't have the time."

"It's a long walk from your rooms."

"1 don't owe you explanations, Avandar. Or is hearing the truth at the same time as The Terafin not good enough?"

He said nothing at all, but stepped back, bowing as if the gesture were a reprimand.

"Do you think the Southerners intend war?" The Terafin waited a moment and then reached out to the side, gesturing. Morretz nodded, and the lamps flared eerily, brighter in their burning although the height and the width of the flames did not increase. In the new light, the older woman studied the lines of the younger woman's face as they blended with sweat and strain and certainty. She had come to this house a young woman of fifteen or sixteen years; she had grown much, in the intervening seventeen years, both in power and in wisdom. Her temper, however, had not changed greatly. "You cannot call the vision back."

"No, Terafin." She did not add that she was not certain she would if it were possible. Was it imagination? Was it more? For she thought she saw the shadows at The Tera-fin's back stirring with unwelcome, unnatural life. "I don't know what the Southerners intend. At this point, I wouldn't bet money they do. But I do know this: We can't kill those hostages, or we've already lost."

"Jewel, you're young yet."

"I'm thirty-two."

"Yes." The Terafin rose. "What good are hostages if your enemy knows, with certainty, that you will never use them?"

"They can't know-"

"They can. And they will, the moment we fail in our resolve. Those men and women who are now confined in the King's Palace-they came as both guarantee of peace and sacrifice should the situation change. Have you read G.o.derwin's report?"

"Yes."

"Then you know who died, and how." Jewel, tight-lipped, said nothing. "This is not savagery, Jewel, it is politics. Every Anna-garian n.o.ble within the Tor saw those deaths; it is too close to their Festival of the Sun for things to unfold otherwise. The Annagarians respect power and its practice. If we fail in our resolve, there may well be war, and it will be entered into lightly. By the clansmen."

Jewel rose as well; the two women exchanged a brief glance. It was the younger who looked away. But as she turned for the door, she said, "I didn't start out ATerafin; I started out in the twenty-fifth holding, with no money, no luck, and my den. I love my den. I chose them. I trained them, and I protected them. But I couldn't protect them all." Hard lesson to learn, that one. "When Lander died, back then, we knew it was because of the interference of a rival den, led by a boy called Carmenta. Have I told you this?"

"I don't believe you have."

"I made sure that Carmenta died for it. Wasn't his fault, in the end; certainly wasn't the fault of the rest of his den. "And they died horribly. Probably slowly. There were two bodies the magisterians couldn't even identify without the help of the Order's best mages."

"Jewel."

"I told myself, I didn't know. I told myself that it wasn't my hand that killed them. But I'm seer-born. I knew that a creature that was masquerading as a friend, even then, was a killer. I knew it. And I knew that if I told him that Carmenta and his gang were a threat to the undercity, they'd die."

"These situations aren't the same, Jewel. A den is not a House."

"No. A den isn't a House. As a denleader, I had the luxury of being vengeful."

Silence, utter and profound. Amarais was quiet in her anger.

Mirialyn ACormaris stood stiffly in the Hall of the Wise, listening to the rage in her father's voice. Her father, King Cormalyn, the G.o.d-born son of the Lord of Wisdom, had never once raised his voice in her living memory. He spoke now with a voice that took the years from him, and a Wisdom-born man made, at best, an uneasy compromise with youth. His golden eyes were flashing; she could see their reflection in the armor of the man he argued with. The G.o.ds were here, in strength and power.

The Queen Marieyan, silver-haired and delicate in seeming, bent her head a moment, and then lifted it, resolute. She reached out to touch her daughter's shoulder; her grip was strong. "Do not interfere," she said quietly. Beside tier, standing as ill at ease as Mirialyn, stood the Queen Siodonay the Fair. Like the Princess, she was armed as for battle, and like the Princess, she was stricken into a stillness and silence that was, for her, unusual.

Mirialyn shook her head mutely. Interfere? Between these two? She could not conceive of such an action as a possibility.

King Reymalyn's face was pale, but his voice was as loud as her father's, his eyes as bright. "And where is the justice in that?"

"Where is the justice in the slaughter of innocents?"

"These are hostages, brother-or have you forgotten?" He lifted his sword-his sword, bright and gleaming, lightning with haft-in mailed fist. "Those who died were our people and our care. We have always taken steps to ensure that they would not be threatened by our actions. And how has such peaceful intent been rewarded? They were slaughtered for sport!"

"I do not deny it, but I-"

"You will do as you agreed-as we both did. Here," he said, and in his free hand he raised a signed and sealed scroll. The force of his hand should have crushed it, but such treaties were protected by the craft of the Order of Knowledge against the ravages of time or handling. "This is the treaty we signed. Read it."

"I remember it well. I wrote it."

"Then you know that the Annagarians have forfeited their rights here. A death for a death."

"Has it not occurred to you, brother, that there was a reason beyond the sport of slaughter for these deaths? Has it not become clear to you that we have, among these hostages, the one man who can lay claim to the Tor Leonne?"

"And is the Tor our desire?"

"Reymalyn-" "No. No, I tell you. This is not a day for politics. Ask them," he said, throwing his arm wide to take in the vast-ness of the city that lay beneath night's cover without, "Ask them what they desire. They will tell you what they know to be right."

"They will tell you," Queen Siodonay said suddenly, her voice trembling, "what you desire to hear. But it will not necessarily be the answer to our predicament." As she spoke, her voice grew stronger. "No, husband, hear me. It is my right.

"This is a dangerous time for the Empire. You and King Cormalyn have been, and will be, our best defense should defense be required. But you cannot be seen thus-quarreling like angry children."

Even King Cormalyn was shocked into silence.

Queen Marieyan nodded softly.

"The Ten offered hostages. The Ten have suffered the loss. The Ten will meet-as you know they will-to discuss the fate of the Annagarians now confined in the Arannan Halls.

"You are of the G.o.ds, and your parents make their demands known now; in this matter, your blood rules you both too dearly. You are what the Empire has always needed, almost all of the time. But this atrocity, my Lords-this atrocity is a matter of men, and for men. Let The Ten decide as they must."

"Well said, Queen Siodonay." King Cormalyn bowed.

"Reymalyn?"

"They are the injured parties," he said, but it was grudging.

"Yes," she replied softly. "Trust them to make their decisions. The dead ride them harder than they ride even you."

Ser Fillipo par di'Callesta bowed very low as he entered the presence of Ser Valedan di'Leonne. He was the only clansman to do so, and Ser Valedan stared at him uneasily as he exposed the back of his neck. If Ser Fillipo par di'Callesta was aware of this singular lack of grace, he did not show it at all. He was the last of the Annagarian hostages to be escorted into the open-air courtyard; the others-those sent by Garrardi and Lorenza-had come an hour past, and had gathered in the corner farthest from both the open arches and the Swords that waited beyond.

Ser Fillipo was the most important man in the courtyard. He had six cerdan and ten serafs; he had two wives present and three children. He was tall, he fought well, and he rode a horse as if two legs were unnatural. Averda, of all the five Terreans, had taken the treaty between the Dominion and the Empire very seriously. Ser Fillipo was the brother of the ruler of Averda, a par. Serra Alina had often called him the second son of a man who was lucky beyond the whim of fortune to have one of such caliber, let alone two.

He was, in too many things, all that Valedan was not. Already, the clansmen were coming from the corners of the courtyard in which they found refuge, as if Ser Fillipo's presence could bring order, reason, and safety. Especially safety.

"Ser Valedan," Serra Alina whispered.

Valedan glanced at her, and then realized that Ser Fillipo had no intention of rising until such permission was granted. He had seen this posture many times before, during the Festival seasons when the children of the concubines could wander the Tor Leonne freely, spying on the clansmen, and joining their children in sports, in song, and in other less approved of games.

"Rise," he said, and his voice was very quiet-but it was steady.

Ser Fillipo rose. If the position was natural in seeming, it was not in truth, and he shed it quickly. "Serra Alina."

"Ser Fillipo."

"Have you had news?"

"I? But I am merely a Serra. Surely the clansmen-"

"Enough. I was considered enough of a danger that I was detained. I have not had the time, nor do we have it now. Speak."

Her smile was edged as his tone; sharp and hard. "At your command, Ser Fillipo." She bowed; the bow fell short of perfect grace. "Mirialyn ACormaris has come twice. She believes-although she will not say for certain-that The Ten meet on the morrow to decide our fate." She paused, as if to gather breath, and the simmering anger left her features, emptying them in a rush. "I was able to obtain, from another source, a written copy of the report made to The Terafin."

He held out a hand, and she reached into the folds of her sari. There was no question of etiquette, no subtle struggle, as she handed him the papers. Valedan saw Ser Fillipo pale. His mother began to cry. Ser Oscari began to shout. Serra Helena began to wail.

It was too much. This courtyard, with its fountain, its quiet, open s.p.a.ce, its familiar stone walls and unadorned floors had oft been his retreat. He drew breath, and even the air that filled his lungs felt stale and dirty. "ENOUGH!"

Silence descended at his word.

Serra Alina was the first to drop, and she dropped into a fully executed crouch, knees against what would, in the South, have been smooth mats, not rough stone, forehead against her knees.

Women held no legal t.i.tle in the Dominion, but they held a subtle power; Serra Alina was the most notable woman present. As she, the other Serras bowed down to the floor, their unadorned hair falling like scattered strands of shadow.

Ser Valedan di'Leonne turned his gaze to the men. Ser Fillipo par di'Callesta met the young man's gaze, held it a moment, and then raised a brow. It was a flicker of expression that heJd-of all things-a certain amus.e.m.e.nt. And then, he spoke a single word. "Tyr'agar." The silence became absolute.

"Tyr'agar?" Ser Oscari, sputtering as if he'd been caught mid-drink with a joke. "Ser Fillipo, surely you jest? Why the boy's-"

The overweight, overfamiliar man gaped a moment, and then, as Fillipo turned to face him, actually reddened. "Ser Fillipo," he mumbled. And then, turning, "Tyr'agar." The five cerdan who were Fillipo's escort found the stones as well, and hugged them almost-but not quite- as closely as the women.

Ser Mauro di'Garrardi, a young man of Valedan's age, shrugged a lithe shoulder. His was the acknowledged beauty of the foreign Annagarian court, and he knew it. He did not flaunt, but he did not hide; there was nothing false, in either direction, about Mauro.

He was new to the court. A fourth son, to be sure-but cousin to the Tyr'agnate Eduardo kai di'Garrardi. His older brother, the third son, had been recalled two years ago to the Dominion. Mauro had been sent in his stead. There were rumors, of course; when a man was as comely as Mauro, there would always be rumors. To his credit, Mauro di'Garrardi paid them no heed, either to affirm or deny.

"Take the t.i.tle," Ser Mauro said, bending gracefully, but slowly, at the knee. "But remember that it is just that. Tyr'agar." He had four cerdan, one of whom accompanied him at all times in the course of a normal day. There were to be no more normal days. He gestured, and they joined him.

Ser Kyro di'Lorenza was the oldest man in the group. He brought a hand to a frosted beard and then dropped it again. Looked down at the white silk that pulled slightly across the pale back of his wife, the one woman who had come with him into this foreign exile, this other court. Helena. "I do not like it," he said, speaking for the first time. "But I will abide my word, Ser Fillipo."

"What word is this?" Valedan said, speaking softly where sharpness was called for.

"Have you read Serra Alina's report, Ser Valedan?"

"No."

"Then you will not understand the covenant. But both Ser Fillipo and I have agreed to... abide by the decision of the foreigners. We live at their whim, instead of dying like men at our own.

"These knees," he added gruffly, motioning with a frown to his son-his adult son, Ser Gregori, who should have known better, "are not what they used to be. They haven't bent much, these past twelve years. Not much at all."

"And we don't have our swords," Ser Kyro added. "This oath, this acknowledgment-it means nothing without swords."

"No," Ser Fillipo said, turning his head to the side, that he might see Ser Kyro. "It means more. We are under the open sky, Kyro, and the Lord watches."

"The Lord watches warriors," was the truculent reply. But the old man nodded to himself, and then, knees against the stone, he smiled grimly and raised his face to look upon a man a third his age, if that. "Tyr'agar."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

"Duarte."

Duarte AKalakar was just this side of being able to control the mutinous rage that had spread through the ranks of the Ospreys. The effort cost him, though; it always did. Fiara was calling for blood, and if he hadn't had use of the detention chambers, he was certain that Annagarian blood- even Annagarians gone native-would be thickening the waters of the bay. If only it were just Fiara. "What?" He looked up, and froze as he met the wide darkness of black eyes. Kiriel.

He had two guards posted outside of his doors; he always did. Only one person got through those doors without being announced, and it certainly wasn't Kiriel.

He rose, slipping into a defensive posture as he took his place within the flat rings that had been etched-by his own power combined with that of Alexis-into the stone floor. "What," he asked carefully, "are my guards doing?"

"Guarding the door," she replied. "And they saw fit to let you pa.s.s?"

"They didn't see me."

She was always like this, a mixture of the cunning and the blunt that never quite fit. He didn't relax, but only because he found it impossible to relax around her. "You told me that you weren't a mage."

"I'm not a mage." She swallowed. "The Kalakar said that our pasts were not at issue."

She didn't ask me, he thought, but he didn't say it. "Why did you feel it necessary to come to me unannounced?" The circle beneath his feet grew cool to his magical sight.

"Because I wasn't certain of your guards."

"Pardon?"

"I wasn't certain of your guards."

"I see." He took a deep breath, waited a moment, realized that she intended to keep him waiting, and frowned. "Continue."

"Some of the Ospreys are planning to stage a demonstration in the merchant common tonight." She met his eyes, and hers were unblinking, unnerving because they did not swerve or dip or change. "Where did you hear this?"

"I can't tell you," she replied softly. In everything, she was infuriating. "Kiriel, you've come here to essentially betray the confidence of the Ospreys who've planned this... excursion. You've come in person instead of leaving the traditional note beneath the door. You've interrupted me, by methods which you will not explain, and having done so, have given me news which I needed -and did not want-to hear. If you're trying to be ingratiating, you're failing miserably-and if you're trying to be helpful, you will give me the names of the ringleaders."

"No," Kiriel said quietly, "I won't. They bound me by my word."

"They... bound... you... by... your... word."

"Yes."

"Kiriel-"

"I can kill them, if you'd like."