"She's right," Jewel Markess said, and her voice was the seer's voice-the distant, cool certainty that made of the speaker a vessel. "We can't win."

No one spoke; the moment stretched, thinly, between each of the men and women there. Glances were joined and broken as the unsaid surfaced: That Jewel Markess ATerafin was seer-born. Then, as they watched, they realized that the seer's gaze did not waver from the face of Kiriel di' Ashaf. Her gaze held weight, and the eyes of the men and women who were in large part to decide the course of the coming battle turned to Kiriel as well.

"Kiriel," the seer said, "will you come to war with us?"

"As a member of the House Guards-" The Kalakar began, but Jewel's imperative wave cut the words off so cleanly it might as well have been a blade.

I hope, Devon thought, cringing as he saw the cloud settle into the lines of one of the ten most powerful people in the Empire, that you know what you're doing, Jewel. Because I guarantee if you don't, you'll wish you'd never left the street.

"You said this was my war," was the cool reply. "And if I wanted allies, I'd ask."

"You'd go to the h.e.l.ls themselves in burning chains before you'd ask for anyone's help."

Kiriel smiled at that; the smile was genuine. And then it faded. "You came here to ask me questions. The Kalakar said I could answer whatever ones you asked that didn't have anything to do with my past.

"You won't ask any," she said, rising. "But let me be generous. I know what you're facing. You could field the biggest army your world has seen since Moorelas fell, and you still wouldn't win.

"They don't want you," she added softly. "At least, they don't want you yet. Stay home. Let them play in the Dominion. Maybe, by the time they're finished there, you'll have had enough time to build some sort of a defense." Her tone made it clear that if there was one, she couldn't conceive of it.

"Who?"

But she shook her head and looked away, and if there was anger in her eyes, there was a very real pain-the type of pain from which anger often springs hottest. "I am not ready," she said. "I am not ready to betray him." She spoke each word as if it were dragged from her, and Jewel felt that they had been, and by her. It was a promising start.

Duster.

"But if whoever this is deserves your loyalty, why are you here?"

"We fight our own battles." There was no warmth in the words.

"Excuse me, young lady," Commander Allen said, standing quietly by Jewel's side, although just when he'd moved, no one but Kiriel had noticed. "But the protection that you... enjoy... is at The Kalakar's behest. You are a member of her House Guards, and as long as you behave in accordance with the rules that govern the Guards, your right to protect your past will be respected.

"But the House Guards of Kalakar will go to war, if that is the Crowns' decision.

"And if you are not among the House Guards when they choose to take the field against the armies of the Dominion-and her allies-you will no longer have the right to the grace that The Kalakar has granted. I'd advise you to consider this carefully." Commander Allen's voice was so deceptively soft it was easy to miss the threat in the words-and the threat was not subtle. He bowed, curtly, to Jewel ATerafin-an apology for his interruption. He offered Kiriel nothing.

"I'm going," Jewel said, as if the Commander had not spoken. The words were a challenge. "I'm not afraid of what we'll meet on the road, and I think I see it more clearly than anyone here but you."

"I-am-not-afraid."

The Kalakar's gaze traveled the length of the connection between Jewel ATerafin and Kiriel di'Ashaf, traversing it again and again as if to find answers there. Finally she said, "Kiriel, Commander Allen speaks the truth.

"But you're an Osprey, and the Ospreys have always been trouble. Report to Primus Duarte on the morrow; he'll have your detail-and your orders. You will either follow them, or you will leave Kalakar and its protection."

Kiriel forced herself to nod, but her eyes were upon Jewel ATerafin's pale, almost ordinary face.

"You have," the seer said softly, "a decision to make."

Kiriel laughed, briefly and bitterly.

"Well, this is either very good or very bad." Duarte leaned against the wall, the seal across the scroll that bore his new orders unbroken for the moment.

"Duarte."

"Alexis," he said, mimicking her tone precisely, hoping to distract her. Then, when he realized just how futile it was, "I told you it was risky to make that stand."

"We thought the risk was worth taking. We'll live with the consequences. Open the d.a.m.ned thing."

The scroll came an inch off the desk, and then another, casting a thin shadow; neither Duarte nor Alexis had moved to touch it. "Fancy." she said coolly. "But I think we have better things to do than watch you practice a trick that couldn't kill a flea. The orders."

It was the women who were always the problem. The Kalakar. Kiriel. Alexis. Give him Cook, or Sanderson, or Auralis-well, maybe not Auralis, but Auralis wouldn't get into so much trouble if he could keep away from the women.

"Duarte, I'm waiting."

Never ever, he thought sourly, get emotionally involved with a member of your unit. Never. He grabbed the scroll as it lolled in the air and cracked the seal.

"What? What does it say?"

"We're to report to Verrus Andromar at Avantari. Tomorrow." He looked up at the sharp-faced woman he considered the most attractive person in the Empire. "In the Arannan Halls."

"Jewel."

The younger woman looked up from the scrolls that she labored over; ink stained the corner of her mouth, as it often did when she let her mind wonder. She relaxed when she saw Torvan ATerafin in the doorway, and then tensed when he drew close enough that she could see his expression.

"Does The Terafin want me?"

"Yes." He paused. "By the Shrine." He winced, and added, "I don't think she wants to wait for as long as it's going to take you to clean up. I'd avoid Avandar if at all possible, if I were you."

The woman who ruled the House and the woman who served it met in the late afternoon light. It seemed strange to Jewel ATerafin; the Shrine of Terafin was a nighttime relic; a place where ghosts and restless dreams could be either invoked or laid to rest. Shadows and darkness gave mystery; light took it away, shining too harshly across unadorned marble and bronze.

Shining just as harshly across the rather stark features of the woman whose rule over House Terafin was unquestioned. "Jewel," The Terafin said, her voice quite cool.

Jewel bowed at once, and held that bow, gathering her thoughts and her expression before she rose. Bows, she had discovered over the years, were good for that; you could use them to hide shock, anger, contempt, or fear while feigning respect. Anything that bought time acceptably was to be valued.

"I've spoken with Devon," The Terafin said.

"Oh."

"Join me." It was an order. Jewel joined her lord on the steps of the Shrine, and together, in a

careful and graceful lockstep-although it had to be said that The Terafin's grace was natural, and Jewel's learned-they climbed to the altar that rested beneath the domed roof. "Now. We have peace, and we have privacy."

The breeze flew past, picking at strands of Jewel's unruly hair. Time, lessons, and a dozen different attendants had not taken the wildness out of those dark curls; she'd been told with a sniff that the color would go first.

"I did not," The Terafin said, when Jewel did not immediately speak, "grant you permission to travel with the army. You are a member of House Terafin, and you owe fealty to Terafin. You, of all people, know this." As if to make her point, she glanced around the Shrine and its confines, alluding, with that single gesture, to all of their mutual history.

"I did not," The Terafin continued, as a crimson stain spread itself across cheeks that were-or that should have been at thirty-two years of age-too old to take well to blushing, "give you leave to insult The Berriliya or The Kalakar, and while we are not perhaps the friends that we could be, our Houses owe each other the respect of rank. If anyone from Terafin is to push past them as if they don't exist, it will not be you."

"Terafin.""The House needs you here."Jewel bowed, the motion a bobbing of head, no more."And now I would appreciate it if you would tell me why the House needs you there."There were days when she hated the sight."Terafin," she said quietly, "what would you give-of your House-to win this war?""This is not a discussion, Jewel."And there were days when she loathed it. "Terafin." She swallowed, because she knew that she didn't have an answer.

"I would not give the life of my House," a third voice said, and they both turned, and neither woman was surprised. Standing before them, hands behind his back and face lined with thought, the spirit of Terafin wore a face that Jewel had never seen, and that The Terafin knew well.

Jewel had never seen the guardian of Terafin during the hours of the day before. But if she did not recognize the face that he wore, she recognized what lay beneath it: concern for Terafin, the Great House of his founding. One could not summon the spirit of Terafin; not even if one were The Terafin. The spirit chose his time-and his companions. And in this generation of those chosen worthy to be ATerafin, he had only two: The Terafin, and Jewel. Neither woman had ever given voice to what this meant.

Because Terafin was a big House, the most powerful of The Ten, and if The Terafin was its undisputed leader, the S.

House Council was not without its power. The Terafin had wisely chosen to announce no heir to the t.i.tle.

"I would not give the life of my House," the guardian of Terafin said. "But I risked my House for the Kings."

"And the House became stronger for the choice," The Terafin said quietly.

"Yes," he said softly. "But we did not know that that would be the outcome. Terafin, the House is, and has been, many things; it will be many things in the future. Some of them, you envision; some you cannot.

"Many of the patriciate turned their backs upon the cause of the Kings when they came seeking support for their war against the Barons. They did it in the name of their families, of their Houses.

"Terafin did not. And if the Kings came today, Terafin would not."

"You do not," The Terafin said wryly, "rule Terafin. I do."

He bowed and his smile was almost rueful. Almost. "As you say, Terafin." His bow carried the respect that his tone did not. "But if I do not rule, I advise. If I might beg your indulgence?"

She laughed, and the laughter took the last of the edge out of her voice, although it was a quiet laugh, appropriate to a woman of great station.

"Jewel Markess ATerafin, go South if South calls, and do what must be done. But I will have your word, before you leave, that regardless of the state of the war, if you are summoned to Terafin, you will return."

"Of course!"

The guardian's smile was almost sad. "Take those who you feel are worth risking. And also take your domicis."

The hostages were freed, but in a limited fashion; they were allowed to return to their quarters, allowed to have their cerdan as escorts, allowed even to resume the style of t.i.tle and dress and entertainment that had been their wont. They were not, by royal decree, allowed to leave Averalaan Aramarelas, and any need that required a journey beyond the confines of the Holy Isle was to be facilitated by the Kings' Swords.

Which was better than any of them, save perhaps Serra Marlena en'Leonne, had hoped for when news of the slaughter had first reached them. But they did not yet feel safe; had they, the restrictions would have already begun to chafe and annoy.

Ser Fillipo par di'Callesta was quiet as he contemplated their fortune, and their fate. He, of course, would be free to travel the moment the Kings decided to announce their decision-if, he thought grimly, they chose to make one-and he very much wished to do so. It had been years since he had fought by his brother's side, and his brother had proved himself, if anyone born to Callesta ever doubted it, to be worthy of the t.i.tle the Wolf of Callesta.

But he also dearly wished to leave his wife and his younger son in the safety of the Imperial court. For in the Imperial court, Valedan di'Leonne had found safety against the servants of the Lord of Night-and if such a boy could find safety against such an enemy, his own family, far more important to him, and far less important to anyone else, would surely be protected.

Michaele, his oldest, was fourteen-and fourteen was not too young to blood a blade in the service of Callesta. Besides, if he elected to leave Michaele behind, he thought it would go ill; the boy was not unlike his father, and had every intention of going to war. Whether or not the Imperials declared themselves allies-and if they did, it was a very mixed blessing-Averda would see battle.

"Fillipo."

He knew the voice at once; it was a dusky voice, a sleepy one, full-throated and heavy and feminine. Andrea en'Callesta. Smiling, he turned to greet her; the smile stiffened. "What has pa.s.sed?"

"Nothing yet. But Tara bid me come to find you. She is with Valedan."

He started to walk, and she touched his shoulder, catching the silk of his shirt and holding him a

moment. She had always been bold, and although at times he found it annoying, he had never quite mastered the appreciation he felt for that hint of wildness-and its strength. "What?"

"Men have come. Soldiers. They bear a standard I recognize only half of."

She was sharp; she missed little, if she missed anything at all. "The half?"

"Kalakar. I believe they have come for Valedan."

He grew still at once. "Where is the Tyr'agnate?"

"I do not know. He did not leave word."

"And the General Baredan di'Navarre?"

"With the kai Leonne. He does not-he does not appear to be pleased." She paused, as if

weighing the moment and necessity to speak her mind. It did not take long. "These men and women-they are old enough to have served, I think, in the wars."

Kalakar.

He cursed, a single sharp word, and pulled himself free from the grip of his wife. And then he left her, and his musings, behind, thinking that if they took the boy, and made of him some Imperial puppet, Averda had already lost.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.

Valedan knew Kiriel the moment he saw her, although she stood in the middle of the ranks of what appeared, for a moment of chill uncertainty, to be a small army. He did not think that he would ever forget her, and in this at least, he was right; he was to be proved wrong about many things in his life.

General Baredan swore, unmindful of the presence of the women; the women chose, with a certain pale grace, not to hear him. He understood, immediately, that it had been choice and tact on their part, and had the good sense to fall silent. But he drew his sword and held it out, at chest height, for Valedan to see. Valedan knew what he offered.

I haven't taken your oath yet, the young Tyr'agar thought. He nodded, but said, "Put it away, General. I do not believe that these soldiers have come to offer us injury."

"You don't recognize their banner," the General said softly, although he followed the orders of the man-boy that he had chosen to pledge his sword to. "I do." Valedan noticed that Baredan kept his hand upon the hilt of his sword.

The men stopped at barked orders. And then one of them stood forward, and Valedan saw, as the soldier approached, that he faced no man; this was a woman, sharp-faced and cool. But he had been trained in Essalieyan; she was not the enigma to him that she was, and would no doubt always be, to the General. Princess Mirialyn ACormaris had taught him to ride; it was the Princess, as well, who sparred with him when he reached a high enough level of skill. He knew- for his mother reminded him constantly-that in Annagar the women did not do anything so demeaning as fight or kill, at least not so brutishly; that they did not choose to smell of horse-sweat, and clomp around gracelessly in heavy boots and light armor.

But he was not in Annagar, and he wondered, briefly, if he would ever be. This woman, this Sentrus, was another soldier to him, no more, no less. Or she would have been, if not for the General's reaction. As he appraised her, she appraised him, and then she lifted her arm and performed the Imperial salute. Sloppily.

"It's good to see," the General said stonily, "that the Black Ospreys of the Kalakar House Guards can still live down to their reputation."

The soldier, thus rebuked, returned a gaze as cold as the General's tone. "The Black Ospreys of the Kalakar House Guards reporting for duty."