"I don't see her about. And you won't go blabbing tales."

"You think not?"

"I think you don't want to find out what will happen if you stir up trouble."

"I will stir up trouble, though," she assured him, astonished by her own tone of cool conviction. "Lots of trouble. I'll go to your mother and let her know that you disobeyed her direct orders. I don't think she takes kindly to disobedience. But you probably know that better than I."

"She won't hear about it. And if you think I'll put up with these feeble little threats you're trying on, then you have a lot to learn. Your training starts here and now." He came at her.

Jianna did not allow herself to retreat. If she retreated now, she was lost. In any case, there was nowhere to run. At that moment she found herself almost beyond terror, her blood ablaze with loathing akin to exhilaration. Her father's face was there in her mind, and she knew what he would counsel.

"Touch me now and I'll tell your mother everything. No threat or force in the world will stop me. The only way you'll silence me is by killing me outright and if you do that, then all your plans fail. You lose everything." She locked eyes with him. He stood towering above her, so close that she caught the reek of his breath, but she resisted the urge to turn her face away. She took a deep breath and continued, "But you can make things easy for yourself. You can spare yourself all that trouble and bother by just standing aside and letting me walk out."

Almost impersonally she wondered if he would now kill her or worse. She might fight, but she would not be able to stop him. And afterward, even if she continued to breathe, her life would be over. She did not let her eyes flicker.

His face was a void as broad as the polar seas. He stood there looking down at her for centuries. Then he reached out and grasped her arm above the elbow, so hard that the pain squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.

"You're right about the bother," he told her. "You're worth none. It will be no hardship to wait a few more days for that Traveler fool to make it legal. And when he does, you may find that you'll regret today's business. Trust me, girl, we'll have ourselves a merry dance, you and I." His grip tightened. "Until then, stay out of my room and out of my way." Opening the door, he swung her around and thrust her through.

The big oaken door slammed shut behind her. For a moment she stood as if stunned, then hurried away. She still clutched the tray, but her hands were shaking badly, clattering the dishes. Now that she was alone, the sobs burst forth and the tears streamed. She had no idea where she was or where she was going, but wandered at random through a succession of alien chambers until by chance she came upon a stairway. She descended to the first story and once more had her bearings.

She paused briefly to compose herself, wiped her face on her sleeve, then made her way to the kitchen, where she rid herself of the tray and what remained of the crockery. And then, into the stillroom.

She placed the kalkriole on the table as Yvenza had commanded, began to turn away, then turned back to eye the jug. Her pulses still raced and her breathing was ragged-souvenirs of the recent exchange with her betrothed. If she remained in this place, she could look forward to many more of the same. But no, she reminded herself, not the same. Today she had escaped almost unscathed. She was unlikely to enjoy such good fortune a second time. Should the threatened marriage ceremony actually take place, then she would become his property, to do with as he pleased for the rest of her life, which was likely to prove agonizing and short. All of this would happen unless her father arrived in time to rescue her, and he was taking too long about it. She could wait no longer. She would have to rescue herself.

She needed a plan, and quickly. There was already a germ of an idea.

Her eyes traveled the surrounding shelves, skimming countless containers. No good, no good, no good. Then she spied a well-corked vial, tiny enough to suit her purposes. It contained a quantity of nameless grey powder, which she poured out onto the floor and blended with the dust in the corners. Kalkriole from the jug replaced the original contents. She jammed the cork in tightly, slipped the vial into her pocket, and felt indefinably comforted, as if she had found a weapon.

She did not know quite how or when she would use the soporific, but she would surely find a way.

Soon.

SEVEN.

She needed cheese. Meat might have been better, but meat was hard to come by and quick to spoil. The cheese would work almost as well, and presented several practical advantages. She had secured the necessary bread the previous day, and if it was growing stale, that was actually all to the good.

The cold-closet containing perishable foodstuffs adjoined the kitchen, which was never unoccupied. But the closet possessed a second doorway giving onto the courtyard, allowing convenient delivery of the assorted furred or feathered woodland creatures that Onartino and Trecchio managed to kill during the course of their sylvan rambles. The courtyard door was barred at night but remained unlocked during the daylight hours, for the Lady Yvenza hardly feared pilfering. Her confidence was well founded. With the sentry's tale of the mutilated wretch caught stealing salt pork still fresh in her mind, Jianna would rather have avoided the cold-closet altogether. But there the cheese was stored. And she needed cheese.

Most of the time Yvenza kept her busy drudging away at one domestic duty or another. Around noon, however, after she had finished inspecting a massive batch of mending, there came a lull in the rhythm of her labors and she managed to slip out into the courtyard.

The air was raw and the sky was drab. A wedge of black birds cleft a passage through the clouds overhead. Autumn was sharpening; time was passing. One of the servants, busy recaning the seat of an old chair, seemed wholly absorbed in his work and unaware of her presence. Another, working the tangles out of an enormous length of rope, appeared equally oblivious. They had not noticed her as yet, but she was scarcely invisible. One or the other need only lift his eyes. She hesitated.

Audacity possesses its own particular utility, her father had often advised her. Assume a confidence of demeanor and you will go unchallenged more often than not.

So be it, then. Audacity. Drawing a deep breath, she marched straight across the open space at an unhurried pace designed to create an aura of legitimate purpose. If anyone accosted her, she would claim that Yvenza had dispatched her upon an errand.

That necessity never arose. Neither of the servants glanced up from his work. Her presence went unmarked or else ignored. The cold-closet door, unlocked as expected, yielded without protest, and she slid through.

The place was windowless and dark. The air was still and thick with edible odors. Jianna waited and let her eyes adjust. Presently she spied a linear luminosity at floor level-light leaking in under the door from the adjoining kitchen. There were voices and clattering on the other side of that door, and she wondered briefly what she would say if someone entered and discovered her here. Assume a confidence of demeanor ...

Something rustled nervously in the dark. Mice.

Her surroundings lightened into dim view. The cold-closet was sizable, its walls draped in shadow. She spied wooden barrels large and small, baskets of fruits and roots, hanging garlands of sausage, pale cylinders and blocks wrapped in coarse fabric. She went to work on one of the cylinders, and her nose confirmed her success even before the coverings fell away to reveal a substantial round of firm-textured cheese. Exactly what she wanted.

Her fingers danced, worrying fragments off the edge of the cylinder. A few crumbs found their way to her mouth. Most went into her pocket. When she judged she had taken enough, she stopped. The big cylinder was visibly pocked, as if nibbled by mice. With luck, anyone seeing it would assume that such was the case. For the cold-closet was surely infested; she could still hear those furtive little rustlings in the gloom. For some reason the hairs along her forearms rose.

Time to go. She had managed to escape detection so far, but her good luck could not continue indefinitely. She took the time to rewrap the cheese neatly, then turned and made for the exit.

Her hand was on the latch when she heard another little rustle and then a whispery voice.

"Yes."

Jianna drew a startled gasp, too spontaneous to suppress and sharply audible in that confined space. No point now in trying to hide. The unseen other, whoever it might be, was certainly aware of her presence.

"That, too." The small whisper thrilled. The speaker's age and gender remained obscure. There was a long pause, and then as if in reply to a silent query, "They do not tell me."

Her curiosity almost outweighed her alarm. Stepping resolutely to the rear of the cold-closet, she discovered the owner of the voice lodged in the narrow space between the wall and a barrel. There in the shadows crouched a diminutive, skinny form crowned with straggling locks fair to the verge of whiteness. She descried a little peaked face and pale lambent eyes that seemed alien as a Sishmindri's.

"Nissi?" There was no response, no sign that the other had heard.

"I will ... try ..." The alien eyes were inexpressibly distant. Apparently unaware of Jianna's presence, she was speaking to herself or else to some unseen listener.

Automatically Jianna glanced about in search of the invisible audience, then recognized the absurdity. This pallid wraith of a girl was mad or moonstruck.

"Nissi," she repeated more insistently, and this time she was heard.

Nissi's luminous gaze focused. "He says, 'Ask them,' " she confided in her tiny voice.

"Ask whom? Ask what? Who says?" The questions were no doubt pointless, but Jianna could not contain them.

"He does. The nice one."

"The nice what?"

"They are not all nice."

"Who or what aren't?"

"Sometimes they get angry. Because I go too fast. Or else they just fade away. But he doesn't. He keeps up and he's nice."

"But who?"

"He tells me not to be afraid in the woods when the world isn't real anymore. Are you afraid when that happens?"

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, thank you." The enormous eyes widened. "Are you all right, too?"

"Well enough." As long as you don't go telling the world that you've seen me in here. Jianna eyed the other narrowly. What would this peculiar, inscrutable creature choose to do? A word in the wrong ear could bring punishment ranging from the unpleasant to the unspeakable. How best to silence Nissi? Enlist her sympathies, perhaps? Assuming a woeful expression, she elaborated, "Only-well, I've just been so hungry, so sick and faint for lack of food, so desperately famished, that I finally felt I'd surely die if I couldn't just-if I couldn't somehow-"

"Please," Nissi interrupted almost inaudibly. "Please promise."

"-find something, maybe just a handful of dried beans or an old root-"

"Please promise that you won't tell."

"Tell what?" Jianna inquired, her rush of creativity momentarily diverted.

"That you saw me here. That I did the Distant Exchange."

"Oh. Oh." So the white girl wasn't supposed to be in the cold-closet, either. Jianna's confidence rose and her curiosity bloomed. "The Distant Exchange-I've heard of that. It's something arcane, isn't it?"

"They would not like it. Lady Yvenza-Master Onartino ..."

"Why not? Are they worried about the Taerleezi ban?"

"They ... would not like it."

"I see. Well, then." Jianna considered. Her prospects had brightened. "In that case, I give you my word. Your secret is safe."

Nissi regarded the floor.

Jianna studied the huddled figure. At last, she ventured to ask, "You have the talent?"

The colorless head bobbed.

"And the Distant Exchange lets you communicate with others like yourself?"

Another silent nod.

It was not so surprising. Power ran in the Belandor blood and always had. Nissi might not be the legitimate product of a lawful marriage, but talent made no social distinctions.

"Well, then-" Jianna swiftly reviewed possibilities. "Perhaps you could send a message from me to my Uncle Innesq in Vitrisi? He has the talent, too, you see."

Nissi stared mutely.

"Just a short message, only to tell him that I'm alive and unhurt," Jianna urged. "He doesn't know what's become of me and he must be sick with worry. All of them would be." It was her father's state of mind that most concerned her, but an appeal on Aureste Belandor's behalf was hardly apt to rouse sympathy within the confines of Ironheart, so she concluded, "Uncle Innesq could let the rest of the family know that I'm alive. It would be a great kindness."

The ensuing silence suggested that the request had gone unheard. At length Nissi murmured, "Family ..."

"Yes. They probably think that I'm dead."

"They would ... grieve?"

"Very much so." Some of them, at any rate. "They've offended no one, they shouldn't have to suffer. Will you help me?"

Silence resumed.

"I think you want to," Jianna essayed.

"They would not like it," Nissi repeated.

"They'd never know."

Nissi shook her head.

"They wouldn't find out, you've nothing to fear." This last was probably untrue, but Jianna did not let herself think about it.

Nissi rose to her feet and drifted noiselessly toward the exit.

"Wait, where are you going? Nissi, please wait, won't you even send the smallest message to my uncle? Just enough to tell him that I'm still-"

"I am leaving now," Nissi announced.

"No, wait, you can't go yet, not if you don't want to be seen. There are servants out there in the courtyard."

"They will not ... notice me. I am easily overlooked."

"But shouldn't you at least-"

"I am leaving now."

The door opened briefly and Jianna blinked against the stab of daylight. During that blink, Nissi vanished and the cold-closet sank back into comforting shadow.

If otherworldly little Nissi could wander the courtyard at will, then surely Aureste Belandor's daughter could do at least as well. Chin up, Jianna departed the cold-closet and made her way back into the house without incident. Once inside, she was obliged to sit rolling bandages for hours, and after that she transcribed the notations on countless crumpled paper scraps into the household ledgers, copying each entry in her neat, fine hand. The afternoon slowly spent itself. In the early evening she endured dinner with the family, and after that she was free to seek the sanctuary of her own room. She heard the scrape of the bolt locking her in for the night, and then she was finally alone.

The room was cold. Despite the advancing season no fire burned on the grate, for the matriarch of Ironheart deemed such comfort superfluous. A tiny oil lamp furnished the sole illumination and by that feeble light she worked, sprinkling absorbent bits of stale bread with the kalkriole elixir, rolling the bits into tiny balls, enclosing each moist ball within a layer of cheese. Presently she had molded a dozen neat spheres, which she wrapped in her only handkerchief. The small bundle disappeared into the pocket of her gown. This done, she stripped down to her linen, blew out the lamp, and slipped into bed, where she lay taut and wakeful well into the night.

Two more days trudged by without incident before Jianna's unspoken hope was fulfilled and she was dispatched to the garden.

Once again she stood amid the thorny shrubs without the wall of Ironheart. Once again she bore a wicker basket that she had been commanded to fill with kalkrios leaves, the last harvest of the year. Once again the woods beckoned and once again Grumper barred her path to freedom. But this time it was going to be different.

Jianna worked her way along the row of bushes at an unhurried pace, the boarhound close on her heels. Practice had improved her skills and now she easily avoided the thorns. Her fingers flew unbloodied, and the basket filled quickly. When she reached the end of the row, she paused to shoot a glance at the gate in the wall. There slouched the homespun sentry, his attention fixed upon the lighting of his clay pipe. He did not trouble to look her way. The dog could be trusted to control her, and her value as a source of amusement had lapsed days earlier.

She was unobserved by all save Grumper. Turning to face him, she remarked, "We need to talk."

He stared at her.