"A... warning?"

"Indeed. Make of it what you will," the seeress added, her face now an unbending mask.

"Who gave you the warning?"

"You learned enough on our journey here to know that I cannot answer that question," Evayne

said softly, but without rancor. "The warning is this: Lord Isladar has been sent to the South."

Kiriel knew that she had lost what little color she had; knew further that her eyes showed shadow and the lines of her face, the leanness of the fight. "Thank you," she said."Is this bad news?"The young girl's laugh was bitter; Ashaf had always said it was too old for her. I'll grow into it, she'd answered. Her jaw tightened. She wanted to be quit of these lands, for the longer she stayed in their soft facade of safety, surrounded by those that were gray and white and barely capable of being a threat to a loaf of bread, let alone each other, the more she thought of the past.

And the past was dead dead dead.

"Of course it's bad news," she said angrily.

But Evayne, having delivered it, was gone. Kiriel rose and made ready to leave, but lingered a

moment in the sunlight, as if waiting for a cloud to curtain it, to draw this scene to an end.

And because she waited, there was none.

He came next, and she would have known him anywhere: Pale hair, long, white, and perfect; eyes of silver, glinting with light that the sun couldn't touch; supple arms, legs, perfect grace-in all things, beautiful.

The hair on the back of her neck rose, but she was used to this reaction by now; she bit it back; forced herself to sit at a semblance of ease. Wondering. "Member APhaniel," she said, in a polite and perfectly respectful tone of voice.

"Kiriel di'Ashaf." He bowed. She saw that he did not carry a sword. But perhaps he did not need it.

"I have come to ask a favor of you."

"A favor?"

"Yes." A white brow lifted. "You are acquainted with the concept?"

"Oh, yes," she said, although his words riled. "A favor is when I agree to do as you've requested because we have a mutual goal, and make plans to have you killed, or to kill you myself, at the moment those plans come into fruition."

He chuckled, not at all offended. "I see. Daunting, but I fear I must ask it anyway."

Nonplussed, she rose, her hand on her sword hilt. She did not trust the mage; how could she? But she did not distrust him either. And anyone that you did not distrust was dangerous, because it was through trust-or the uneasy alliances that power in a shifting clime demanded-that you opened yourself to the naked blade, the unseen attack.

"I had a visitor," he said softly.

Ah. "So did I."

They were silent a long time, or what felt like a long time; Kiriel was only comfortable with silence when it wasn't shared.

"We are not friends, she and I," the mage said; Kiriel heard the steel in his voice more clearly than she ever had. Unsheathed, she thought it would be a wonderous sound. "I do not know if you know it, but we have encountered Isladar before."

"You are here; he fled. You won."

"Yes. And I would like to see that history repeated," the mage said quietly. "But the South has always been prey to the Allasakari and their minions because of their superst.i.tious belief that the G.o.d-born are demon-kin. They do not have effective measures at containing what has been summoned-if they even have the desire to try." He bowed. "We will not, 1 think, be friends, Kiriel di'Ashaf. Neither you or I have that luxury-and perhaps, if I am honest, that inclination. But we have a mutual foe, if I understand Evayne correctly.

"Let us make the same pact that the kin make; let us take the same risks. Let us trust one another in this field, for this fight."

She nodded.

And then he said, "I wish the binding oath."

"No."

He shrugged. "Then I will not have it. I believe it has been a long time since the kin have used it -if they use it at all."

"They force the weak to it," she said with disdain. "Only the unnamed and those a tier above it will take that oath, and they take it to save their lives."

"Fair enough," he said coolly. "I have taken binding oaths in my time, and I have never been forced to them. Only forced," he added softly, "to their consequence. But that is not a story for this day. I will travel with the entourage of Valedan di'Leonne."

"Then why did you come to seek my permission?"

"Because the war he fights, and the war we fight, are entwined, perhaps inseparable in this conflict-but they are not the same war, and we two know it."

"No, Meralonne, you are wrong," a third voice said.

Kiriel's sword was out of its sheath; its shadows drained the warmth of the sun from the balcony. But she relaxed when she saw the young woman-the young seer-who had come to speak with her in the Kalakar House.

The young woman who had acknowledged that, alone, the Northern Imperials, and the man who claimed the waters of the Tor Leonne, could not win the war.

"Jewel," the mage said, clearly less pleased by the intrusion than Kiriel, "this is a private matter."

"It's not a private matter," Jewel replied, as if Meralonne were merely a man, and not a man of power. "If Valedan kai di'Leonne loses, we have lost; if he wins, we have won reprieve." Her eyes appeared, for just that moment, to be clear gla.s.s; a trick, no doubt, of the sun.

"The Terafin has given me permission to ride with the host. I have pet.i.tioned Valedan kai di'Leonne."

"Pet.i.tion the army," Meralonne said, with an odd expression. "That's what I did."

"If it comes to that, I will. They'll take me because they'll hope I can jump through the hoops of their questions with answers they like. But I'd rather be accepted by Valedan." She paused. "And by you," she said, turning to Kiriel.

And this so-called Sun King won't be your puppet? She had said it to Jewel ATerafin, but did not repeat it; the words had been meant for the Commanders, and they were no longer witnesses. Kiriel shrugged briefly, but not with disdain. Because there was, in Jewel ATerafin, a kernel of light that had not been dimmed.

Oh, Kiriel knew about Jewel's background; the Ospreys delighted in telling it. But it had not tarnished her; the guilt of it, or the shame in it, were simply not there. She had done what she had to do, done it cleanly, and survived; she felt a perverse pride in the fact that she had made her living stealing out of the pockets of the rich before becoming one of those rich.

And she never pressed charges against young thieves, or so the Ospreys said.

"I remain a part of the Kalakar House Guards," Kiriel said, neutrally.

"Then you've made your decision," Jewel replied, no relief-in fact, no expression-upon her guarded face.

"Yes," Kiriel said, turning to the mage. "Please leave us, Member APhaniel."

Jewel showed her surprise at that-and it only deepened when Meralonne APhaniel tendered a respectful bow and obeyed what was, after all, barely a request. "That's not the mage I know," she muttered.

"No," Kiriel said, and she seemed surprised herself. She folded her arms across her chest and waited until his footsteps-and the echoes they left-were gone. And then she met Jewel's eyes, and hers were golden. Even though she knew it to be safe-perhaps even an a.s.set-in the Empire to appear so, she usually remained hidden behind eyes that were dark, dark brown. "I will fight this war, your war; I will fight it by your rules as I understand them. What oaths Valedan kai di'Leonne needs, I will make, if it is necessary."

"But-" Jewel was quiet for a long moment. Kiriel could see the flicker of surprise behind her eyes; the apprehension that almost stopped her from questioning the gift that Kiriel offered. Almost. "But you said that you didn't want to fight-that we couldn't win this war."

"You said it as well," was her grim reply. "If there were an easy answer, I would give it to you- and I am not used to being questioned. Pretend that there is ease. I have seen Valedan di'Leonne. I have seen him fight, and I've seen what he chooses to do after a fight. I don't understand it; but I know that it is a weakness that is his strength. And I find it... compelling.

"We are not the same, you and I, and we will never be. But I see in you some of what I see in him."

"That's not all," Jewel said softly.

Kiriel raised a brow. The silence stretched between them a moment before she chose to break it. Ashaf would have recognized the hesitation; the decision implicit in that pause. "No. But I thought it would be enough."

"I'm a seer."

"I'll remember that." She shrugged and turned away. "An enemy of mine has chosen to go South. I would take any field against him that was offered to me. Any field. Is that what you wished to hear?" She turned as she asked the question.

Jewel grimaced. "No. But it's the truth, and it'll do." She held out a hand. Kiriel stared at it. Jewel laughed. "It's a gesture of solidarity, Kiriel."

Kiriel hesitated a moment longer, and then she took the hand, touching for the first time a person who was brighter inside than Ashaf had been. She was afraid; she had not thought to be afraid. But that light, unlike the light of Sigurne Mellifas, did not burn; it did not even flinch.

"Kiriel?"

She shook herself, angry at the awe and the awkwardness. "We don't even know if we're leaving."

"We're leaving," Jewel said, her gaze distant. "We just don't know when. And we're praying to Kallairis that it won't be until the Festival of the Moon."

Kiriel nodded, and they stood together companionably, S.

both women holding secrets of their own that they still sought to protect.

"You aren't used to trusting people." Jewel's voice was quiet and so matter-of-fact it seemed surprising that she bothered to say something that self-evident at all.

"And you are?"

"With my life. Every day. Well, every other day." She grinned, although Kiriel sensed the pain beneath that rueful movement of lips.

"I never trusted anyone with my life."

Jewel turned to lool^ at the younger woman, feeling, for a moment, that she was fifteen years old, and her responsibilities extended only as far as a handful of street children she'd chosen as family. "You can, you know."

"Oh?" Kiriel replied, her voice as cold as a Northern spring. "And if I did, who'd be foolish enough to trust me in return?"

Jewel Markess ATerafin turned to meet eyes that were both golden warmth and icy darkness. And she laughed. "You can turn it off, you know," she said, as she saw Kiriel's brows rise. "It doesn't impress me."

Kiriel was nonplussed.

"Don't tell me. You do it naturally." She laughed again, but the laughter trailed into what would have been, from anyone else, uneasy silence. From Jewel, it was silence, plain and simple. "You're a killer," she told the younger woman.

It was Kiriel's turn to smile, but the smile faltered as Jewel ATerafin continued to speak.

"But that isn't all you are. Tell me I can trust you, and I'll trust you."

"It looks like it's going to scar," Alexis said sweetly, as she circled Auralis. He was a vain man- admittedly with good reason-and she particularly enjoyed p.r.i.c.king that vanity now and again. Especially in the drill circle; especially when she was the one who was on the receiving end of a temper that, three days after what was now referred to as the "incident," still hadn't worked itself out. He was off his stride. Feeling his age, she thought, and that made her smile as well.

Which was unfortunate, because Auralis off his stride was easily a match for Alexis distracted, and it was Alexis who ate dirt. Again. It didn't increase her affection for the young Annagarian n.o.ble who had, to the amazement of the Ospreys and the endless relief of their leader, managed to put Auralis in his place-but it did increase her respect.

Cook gave her a hand up; Auralis was already looking for his next sparring partner. Victim, she amended, as she tested her knee. "Duarte, you lazy son of a b.i.t.c.h-you take him!"

Duarte laughed. Yes, lazily. He was the only Osprey who could come up even against Auralis consistently, and it was only even. If, she amended again, you didn't count Kiriel. She was willing to fight for the girl's rights as an Osprey, but Kiriel still didn't inspire the gut reaction that was, to Alexis, what the Ospreys were all about: family, for better or worse.

"I'll wait," Duarte said. "At least another hour. Maybe two. I like to choose my battles." He smiled as he offered her a hand. "You should choose yours more carefully."

She slapped him half-playfully; he did her the grace of not dodging. "I hope he keeps this up for the rest of the week."

"Betting pool?"

She laughed. "Seven days, three hours."

"Three hours?"

Alexis shrugged. "We had to differentiate. We've all known Auralis for a long time." Her knee still hurt; she winced as she shifted her weight to accommodate the pain. "We're all getting older," she told him softly. "We're not the same men and women we were when we fought in the last war."

"Worried?"

"Some," she said, brooding. It surprised him; Alexis rarely condescended to worry. "Have you heard yet?"

"I'm just a lowly Primus," Duarte said. "And at that, a lowly Primus in Avantari. The Kalakar connections don't mean as much as they could." She didn't smile; in fact, she bent, struggling with the straps of her boots. As if, he thought, they were complicated. He started to reach for her, and stopped, remembering where they were and who she was. Alexis barely knew what the word tender meant-and never in a public place.

"I'm just too old," she said softly, without looking up.

It was probably the only way she could say it. "I thought-I thought I wanted Auralis to kill the boy. Part of me still does. Not because I think he's dangerous- even if he took Auralis down, I don't-but because he means that we have to go back to Averda." She shook her head; dark strands of hair fell, as if at unspoken command. A curtain. A shield. "When we left, it was the only thing I wanted. To go back. To raze the Terrean. To kill every man, woman, child."

"I know."

"I was younger, then. Then, I could have done it."

He willed her to lift her face; she didn't.

"But they're going to die, again, on foreign soil. Doesn't matter how good you are, or I am, or he is. We could be G.o.ds. Won't save them. And I can't think of more than a handful that I'd be willing to lose." She tightened the straps of her boots almost viciously. "I thought of them as comrades, back then.

"Now, I think of them as family."