A light dusting of snow had turned the hills of baronies Plesvar and Ryannt into a scenic landscape of rolling white. A few leaves still clung to otherwise bare branches, their russet hues rimed with frost.

It was all very pretty and picturesque … away from the road.

On the road, the snow had churned into muddy sludge that caked Alkath Halan's boots nearly to the knee and made the hem of his cloak drag behind him in a sodden, heavy mass. The men with him, occupied by their own thoughts, barely spoke as they continued along their way. The only sound but for the occasional call of a bird was the regular sucking squish of their feet and those of their pack-beasts sinking into and pulling out of the mud.

The low clouds jostled like an impatient crowd against the mountains, pressing down on the lower lands in an ominous grey ceiling. The smell of impending snow was unmistakable, and Alkath hoped they'd reach the estate before it began.

He was at once gladdened and dismayed by the prospect of seeing his parents again. It had been several weeks since their turbulent departure from Hothar City, and to the furious disgust of the baron, Alkath had elected to remain behind and continue carrying out his duties as High Commander of the Golden Eagle Army.

His days had been filled with his work. There were soldiers to train and equip, supplies to arrange, battle plans to be drawn up. The prospect of a springtime invasion by the Kathani could no longer be denied. Jherion's scouts had returned with reports of a camp already massing north of the great Dolga river.

Yes, his days were filled with work and passed quickly, but his nights were endless and ruled by bitter self-reproach.

It didn't matter that Jherion and all else concerned assured him that the Kathani would have attacked anyway. Perhaps they would have, perhaps they wouldn't. But now that they had his dear Idasha in their clutches, there could be no question. Knowing that Jherion was not the right-born king of Hothar, and having the true heir in their clutches, those things would give the Kathani an additional impetus.

And whose fault was it that they had Idasha? Who had failed her? Who had, mere moments after holding her so tenderly in his arms, had been unable to prevent the merciless Felin Kathak from abducting her? Who had chased fruitlessly after and returned empty-handed?

None other than Alkath Halan.

Her foster brother, Seric, the Stragest of Westreach and thus Alkath's counterpart and equal in rank, insisted they had done all they could. To continue their search would have only led to their own deaths. And so they had turned back, abandoning Idasha to her fate.

The guilt of that deed lay like a stone on Alkath's heart. It was the duty, the place, the right of a gentleman knight to lay down his life on behalf of a lady. Especially the lady that he loved! To forsake her and save his own hide smacked of the lowest of cowardice.

Ahead of them, the road branched. The left fork led deeper into Plesvar, toward his ancestral estate. The right fork wended its way higher into the hills, toward the mountains. Toward Deathstone Pass and Westreach beyond.

Alkath paused, letting the line of men and beasts trudge past him and down the left fork. He raised his head into the chill wind, looking at the cloud-masked peaks and remembering the previous summer. Climbing that steep road with Ithor and Gedren on their mission, meeting Idasha at the top of the pass.

A princess in the guise of a sentry … he should have realized from the beginning that there was more to her than met the eye! Only later, only after they'd shared a night of passion, had he learned that she'd been raised in the royal house. And only much later, only after she was kidnapped, had he learned who she truly was.

Now she was gone, and it would be better to believe, as Seric did, that she was dead. Seric felt that Idasha would never submit to the Kathani, would never allow herself to be used as a tool of conquest and a brood mare. But Alkath knew that Seric was only grasping at faint hopes. Strong and fierce though Idasha was, she'd be no match for the barbaric Kathani.

His sigh plumed his breath into mist, and he followed the others toward the baronial manor.

They reached the gates as the first grainy flecks of snow were beginning to fall. Servants rushed out to meet them, taking charge of the pack-beasts and ushering the men into a long low bath-house. Alkath divested himself of his travel-stained clothes, bathed, and made himself presentable. Then, alone, he entered the family wing and sought out his parents.

He found his mother in her sitting room, gazing out of the window with her embroidery resting untouched in her lap.

Her frailness shocked him to the core. She had been struck down by a terrible melancholy after the death of his sister Arayse, but now she was even thinner, paler, her eyes dulled blue orbs ringed by sunken hollows. Her hair, once the same finespun silvery blond as his, had gone brittle and ivory in just these few weeks.

"Mother?" Alkath finally ventured when she gave no sign of seeing him in the doorway.

Emrana Halan started in her seat. The needle she'd been aimlessly holding jabbed into the ball of her thumb, bringing a bead of blood. Alkath went to her and plucked the needle from her grasp, pressing his handkerchief against the tiny wound.

"Alkath … welcome home, my son." Her smile wavered, making him think of death-foretelling water spirits imprisoned beneath the surface of a rippling pond. When she brushed a kiss on his cheek, her lips were dry and cool.

"It is good to be home. Where is Father? I have news."

"Here," said his father, coming into the room. "They said you'd returned."

Alkath rose and faced him. They had parted badly, not with harsh words but with disagreements and injured feelings on both sides, and he did not want to begin badly. "Father. How fares Plesvar?"

"Well enough." His father hesitated long enough for Alkath to take a tentative step toward him, then fired off, "How fares your pretender-king?"

Biting back a retort, Alkath inclined his head. "Quite well. Preparing for Year's End Court."

"In the days of the Lendrins," the baron said, putting sharp emphasis on the name to make it clear he did not consider Jherion worthy of it, "the Year's End Court was customarily a time for the lords and barons to air any grievances. That practice fell a bit out of fashion during the reign of the Kathaks --"

Because Oldered, and Davore after him, would answer any grievances on the Day of Executions, Alkath thought but did not say.

"And so did most of the Court itself," his father continued. "Now, though, I see no reason not to resume. Should one perchance had a particular grievance to air. I've heard that most of the highborn plan to attend."

"Yes, that is true," Alkath said, trying to hold down the welling anger that bubbled up inside of him. With a tight smile, he added, "In fact, that is when Jherion and Olinne plan to make the formal announcement."

His mother gasped. "A baby? Is it a baby, Alkath?"

Taking a certain grim pleasure in his father's slapped, shocked expression, Alkath nodded. "To be born next summer."

"Oh, Maragon, how wonderful!" Her eyes brimmed with happy tears. "Our little Olinne, to make grandparents of us!"

"No!" snapped his father. "She is disowned, remember? Both of our daughters are lost to us! I will have no tie of blood to the get of a hog-drover!"

"Magician Ephes has divined that it will be a boy," Alkath said. "A fair-haired boy."

"Hearty peasant stock!"

"How can you do this, Father? Olinne is your daughter! My sister!"

"You may call her that if you wish, but she is none of me!" His gaze narrowed and pinned Alkath. "I will not be challenged in this, Alkath. You are my son, my heir, my only remaining child. I am willing to overlook quite a bit, but do not push me far."

"Or you'll disown me as you did Olinne?" He straightened his back. "I won't trade my sister for my inheritance. I was named High Commander in my own right, just as Jherion is king in his own right! I'll have that even if I am never a baron."

"You say that now, oh, such bold talk! But what will happen when your precious king is sent back where he belongs? Will you stay loyal to him then, on his farm? High Commander of hogs? General of geese? Lord of livestock?"

"Maragon, please!" Emrana sobbed.

Alkath took a deep breath and looked away.

"Aha, see, as I thought! You'd come crawling back then, wouldn't you?"

"Your outrage has had the better of your reason, Father. I pray one day you'll realize that and be as ashamed of yourself as the rest of us are ashamed of you."

His head was snapped to the side by the force of his father's strike. His hip banged a table and knocked two vases and a bowl to shatter musically on the floor.

Emrana moaned as if she'd been the one to take the blow, but Alkath made no sound. He straightened up, bringing his fingertips to his throbbing jaw, and examined the blood that had been drawn from the corner of his mouth.

His father was dumbstruck, staring from his hand to Alkath's face. "Son …"

"I shall stay with my men, in the barracks-house," Alkath said in a voice devoid of emotion. "Expecting only the courtesy and hospitality due the king's army. Good night, lord baron, lady baroness."

"Alkath!" his mother wailed. "Don't do this! Alkath, don't go!"

He steeled himself against giving in to her pleas, and left without looking back.

The great hall of Hothar Castle was bustling with activity. Under the supervision of Olinne and Gedren Ephes, many servants were hard at work adorning the walls and windows with the traditional draperies and decorations of the Year's End Court.

Gone were the autumnal themes that had dominated the hall through the past few months. The long harvest season was done with, and the land dozed in winter spirits' sleep, the days short and the nights long to the point of seeming endless.

Wood had been collected for the torches and bonfires, and to let a flame extinguish was to invite the worst of ill luck. From the highest to the lowest, every home in Hothar would be brightly lit to welcome back the life-giving sun.

Jherion had been told that this was normally supposed to be a time of quiet and rest throughout the kingdom. That usually, only a handful of the nearest highborn nobles bothered to leave their estates and make the cold journey to the city.

Such was not to be the case this year. He riffled his thumb along the edge of a stack of parchment and vellum, and shook his head ruefully.

Gedren caught him at it, and smiled so that the dimples in her cheeks deepened. "Oh, now, we all know that it would have been a large Court anyway. The first of your reign and all."

"Have I drummed up so many grievances already? Or is the mere fact of my being here grievance enough?"

"For some." She lowered her voice, glancing about to be sure Olinne wasn't within earshot. "You'll have trouble with one, at least. But not even Baron Halan would be so unwise as to try and oust you with a Kathani army sitting on our border, no matter how strongly he feels."

"I think you underestimate the baron." Jherion likewise checked that his wife was not overhearing.

His mood lightened as he caught sight of her, his beautiful Olinne. With the glow of merriment in her cheeks, and her dark hair tied back in a winter-white ribbon, she was more maiden than queen. Lovelier than she'd been the day they'd met.

"So, tell me truthfully, Dame Gedren," he continued with a jovial glint in his eye. "What will they do to me? Denounce me? Strip me naked, beat my back bloody, and throw me in a pig wallow? Your husband has been more close-mouthed than ever about his divinations, unless it is to go on about my imminent son."

Gedren sighed. "I fear he's told me little more than he's told you, and what he's been seeing makes little sense to him. He's making a wreck of himself trying to find out what has become of Idasha and what the Kathani are up to, and gets only bewildering omens in return."

"Does she live?"

"That much, at least, he seems sure of."

"I don't know if that news would please Alkath or not," Jherion said. "I'm worried about him. He blames himself too much."

"He's not the only one. Cassidor and Queen Chian feel it's their fault. But how could any of us have known about Nerrar, about Felin, any of it? Even so, we couldn't have kept her under lock and key."

"What am I to do, Dame Gedren? I've agreed to carry on, but when you cut to the bone of it, Baron Halan is right. I'm not a Lendrin. Who am I to deny Idasha what is hers by birth?"

"It wouldn't be hers anyway, not with the Kathani involved. They're not seeking to restore the Lendrin line. All they'll want from Idasha is to get a child on her, and then there'll most likely be a tragic accident, leaving a helpless, motherless babe with a Kathani father as regent."

"I can't let that happen. But what if the lords and barons don't see it that way?"

"Well, we'll know soon enough what they think. Nearly all of them mean to come to Court. Even the Premier of Narluk is sending his son as ambassador again."

"Yes, they all want to see what I'll do. Will I admit to these rumors of my lowly birth? Will I stand tall and proud and announce that I won Hothar by might of arms and I mean to keep it nonetheless? They'd overthrow me in the blink of an eye."

"And leave us without a king when the Kathani invade? Or plunge us into civil war as they fight among themselves for the throne? They may be pompous and greedy, but I'd hate to think they were that great of fools."

Olinne approached with a bundle of dried sweetgrass stalks in one hand and a spray of fresh snowberry in the other. "Which for the mantles, Dame Gedren?"

"Sweetgrass on the mantles, snowberry on the windowsills. How's the stomach?"

"The tonic you made me is a miracle!"

It was far too soon for her pregnancy to be showing itself yet, but the aura of her happiness wreathed her in a nearly visible glow. Jherion sometimes expected to see the same glow around himself.

He slid his arms around his young wife, smiling at the thought that soon it would be much more of a reach. Neither of them doubted but that conception had occurred the night they'd spent at the Iron Kettle, a night of such gentle passion that it made the scene upon their return to the castle the next day easily bearable.

Oh, how everyone had been in an uproar! The king and queen both gone missing without a word, and Baron Halan livid because he'd planned to leave with his daughter in tow! Ithor and Will had borne the brunt of the lecturing, for being so irresponsible as to sneak them off to an inn unannounced and unguarded.

Gedren and Olinne had finished their discussion of the various odds and ends of childbearing for the nonce, a discussion that Jherion realized with some bemusement he'd managed to non-hear just as utterly as Olinne could non-hear him talking about armsmanship with Alkath and Seric.

Leaving Gedren to finish overseeing the decorations, Jherion curled Olinne's arm through his and they strolled along the high, covered walkway that looked out onto the courtyard and the Great Square beyond. Once, fortress-tall walls had ringed in the Square, but those walls had been torn down and the area was now a bustling marketplace.

Although the meager sunlight was blocked by dark clouds, torches blazed and a festive bonfire crackled at the center of the Square. The shops and stalls were likewise undergoing holiday adorning, merchants and their families stringing garlands of sweetgrass and hanging their doors with gold and white swags of cloth.

"It's all so wonderful," Olinne said, leaning her head against his shoulder. "To think that what was once a site of such ugliness could be so bright and pretty! You have done so well, my love!"

"We have done well together," he said, burying his face in the clean midnight of her hair. "But all of the most precious things in the world to me, I hold now in the circle of my arms."

"You'll not lose that, never," she promised.

"Are you happy, Olinne? Honestly?"

"Of course I am!"

"I know how it's hurt you, your parents --"

"The loss is theirs. Yes, it grieves me, and I yet hope they might have a change of heart although I know how proud and stubborn my father is. But I have you and our son, and Alkath, and our good and loyal friends. It is more than enough for me."

He kissed her, not caring that they were in full view of everyone in the Great Square. "It's cold out … you shouldn't take a chill in your condition. Let's go to our room and warm ourselves by the fire."

Baron Halan kept his head high and his back stiff as he walked into the audience hall.

Like the rest of the castle and the city, it was all done up for the festival of Year's End. The baronial boxes were arrayed with gold-edged white bunting, the ceremonial candles emitting their fragrance. Below, the tiered seats for the lords, ladies, and knights were draped in linen and strewn with snowberry petals. The rows of benches at the rear of the room, open seating for any who cared to come, were covered with woven sweetgrass mats.

At the head of the audience hall, on a raised dais large enough to park a four-beast wagon with ample space to turn it around, the royal thrones sparkled in the light of thousands of candles. Other regal chairs fanned out around them, and Baron Halan's lips tightened a bit as his gaze fell on the one that might otherwise have been his.

The formal Court had not yet gotten underway, but several of the attendees had already filed in and taken their places. A crowd of commoners at the rear was being entertained by Jherion's witless jester - that should have been their first hint that the so-called king wasn't all he was supposed to be! Anyone who could find those crude jokes and lewd songs amusing …

"Oh, doesn't everything look nice!" Emrana said wistfully.

"It looks like a fancified barn raising." He sat down and smoothed the front of his tunic, nodding curtly to others of his rank.

As more people entered the room, the undercurrent of curiosity and tension began to grow. They all knew what was coming. Their 'king' was to be taken to task, called upon to address the woeful truth about his heritage. Rumors would be made reality.

This gross injustice could not be allowed. No matter what else, the basic fact of the matter was that Jherion, for all his kingly name and knightly prowess, was as lowborn as the man who brought the milk, or shoveled the stable.

A modest flourish of trumpets quieted the room, and all eyes went expectantly to the dais. The curtains at the rear of it parted.

Jherion and Olinne emerged together and moved to their thrones as the lords applauded politely and the commoners whistled and cheered. They wore matching mantles of simple white fur, over garments of golden cloth. Olinne's hair was swept up and caught in a net of gold sparking with jewels. Jherion's blond hair fell in shiningly-brushed waves to the nape of his neck, and a plain gold crown with oval-cut diamonds glittering at the points rested atop his head.

Emrana voiced a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan. "Maragon, look at her, she's radiant!"

The other notables of their court followed after. Magician Ephes, looking pale and unwell as if he hadn't slept in weeks. His temperamental wife. Old Ithor Drok, scowling and impatient with the nonsense as usual. Alkath … the bruise he'd given his son was still visible on his jaw, fading from purple to yellow.

Next came the foreign visitors. The dowager queen of Westreach with her second son and his family, the son of the Premier of Narluk, the grand duke of Torgotha, even an ambassador from Erri. Nearly all of Ilgrath was represented.

Turning out, Halan knew, not in homage to the new king but to witness his downfall. They wouldn't allow him to continue this sham, which went against everything monarchies were founded upon.

The last two chairs, that should have been his and Emrana's, remained empty. Baron Halan couldn't decide which would have been the greater insult, to have them so conspicuously ignored, or have them filled by others.

Jherion stepped to the edge of the dais, his thumbs hooked into his gilt belt. The precise way he doubtless stood when surveying his fresh-slopped hogs.

"There is no point in dancing around it," he said, his words carrying clear and strong even to the back of the room. "You've all heard, and yes, it's true. I am not the natural son of Meryve Lendrin. My father was a soldier, my mother a chambermaid."

He waited until the surprised chatter died away - surprised not that he was, but that he'd come right out and admit it.

"What does that make me?" he went on. "A false king, an imposter? An usurper? I don't know. In my own defense, I say to you that I did not learn of the circumstances of my birth until well after the coronation. I would ask her highness Chian of Westreach to tell her tale once more, if she is willing."

The dowager queen stood up, her hands folded gracefully before her. When she finished, an uproar ensued.

Jherion gestured for quiet and finally got it, though it was a sullen and disrespectful quiet with much grumbling and muttering among the highborn.

"When I agreed to come here and fight Davore, I believed that it was in the best interests of Hothar. I have tried always to conduct myself in that spirit, in the spirit to which Meryve raised me. But the point remains. I am not her son. Not royal. I have no Hotharan blood. It isn't for me to know what is best for Hothar. It is for Hothar to know, and to decide. And for Ilgrath to honor that decision or not."

Baron Halan rose, looking scathingly at the peasant in the garb of a king. "Hothar will not be ruled by a base-born hog-drover."

Jherion flinched only slightly, then again when a rumble of agreement came from the throats of the other nobles.

Alkath shot to his feet. "He is a knight! You always so conveniently forget that, Father, but with your own hand, with your own blade, you knighted Jherion when he had proven himself capable!" He stalked down from the dais and past the row of seated gentry, singling out the other knights with an intense stare. "Many of you fought beside Jherion, followed him into battle against the Red Sword Army. Has he proven himself worthy in your sight?"

They looked at each other, nodded, murmured in assent.

"But he's not one of us!" the baron of Lallon argued. "Not even Hotharan! He's a Westreacher!"

Seric of Westreach laughed.

Lallon flushed. "What I mean … by which I mean … well, at least if he were even a Lendrin bastard, that would be something! But a commonborn orphan?"

The baron of Trevale cleared his throat. "Say what you like, but when the Red Sword Army meant to crush my land and people underfoot, that man led his army to our aid. I say he's earned it!"

"You can't just give it to him!" the baron of Eastreach called. "That's how Oldered took Hothar, how our lands fell in the first place!"

"What about the true heir? It's hers by right!" Lallon said.

"But she's been taken!" someone else pointed out. "And now the Kathani have her and her claim as a weapon against us!"

"It leaves us a difficult choice," said Baron Halan. "We cannot submit to the Kathani again. Nor can we give the crown to a peasant. Yet something must be done."

"By the gods, man!" Trevale looked at him with loathing. "Your own daughter sits there as queen with a babe in her belly, and you'd speak against her husband?"

"They lied!" roared Halan, thrusting his finger at the dais. "All of them have lied to you! To all of us! Magician Ephes, you knew about this, didn't you? The queen of Westreach brought you her story, didn't she? And you, acting all on your own, elected to keep it a secret!"

"Yes," said Cassidor Ephes. "With the best of intentions, but yes."

Another uproar ensued, as barons and lords and commoners alike all began shouting at once. In the midst of it, a sudden crash brought everything to a halt.

A heavy bench had been overturned, and when they all looked that way, a woman marched into the center of the audience hall. She wore a cloak of silky-shaggy white fur, the hood thrown back to reveal a long braid of burnished-bronze hair. Her grey-green eyes swept the room, measuring them all with contempt.

"Idasha!" Alkath cried, overturning his own chair on the hem of his cloak in his haste to rise. He raced to her. "Thank the gods, thank the spirits! You're alive!"

Seric whooped and slapped his palm on his thigh. "Escaped! I should have known!"

"What good fortune!" whispered Halan sharply to his wife.

When she reached the center, she unslung a heavy sealskin sack from her shoulder and threw it on the floor. "I have a way to solve this for you since you arrogant fools aren't able to see for yourselves what's right!"

"The Lendrin heir!" Lallon exclaimed. "All hail the rightful queen!"

"No!" Idasha barked before anyone could do so. "Hail me nothing! I am not your queen, and having heard this strutting posturing rubbish, am quite pleased about that!"

"Welcome back, Idasha," murmured Chian of Westreach.

A torrent of questions poured in, making Idasha want to cover her ears and block out the din. But there was something she knew she had to do first, had to do now. As painful a deed as it was, it'd only be worse if she waited.

So, under the babble of hundreds of voices talking at once, she drew Alkath aside.

"Alkath …"

"Please forgive me! I promise you, I shall never let you out of my sight again. I'll be there to protect you, always! All you need do is say that you'll marry me, and we'll put all of this behind us."

She bit her lip and spoke as gently as she could. "Alkath, we could never marry. You would make of me something that I cannot be. A lady, a noblewoman … that's not me, no matter my bloodline."

"I understand your desire for freedom, for independence," he said.

"If I was just the sentry you'd met on the pass, the thought of marriage would be further from you than the world-belt from the earth," she said, shaking her head.

"You make me sound as petty and status-hungry as my father!"

"No, not that," Idasha said. "Never that. But I'm not what you need, what you want. You need someone who can be a lady for you, Alkath Halan. A proper Hotharan lady. I'm not, and will never be."

"You … you're breaking with me?"

"I'm sorry."

"It's because I failed you, because I gave up and couldn't rescue you, isn't it?"

"No, that isn't it. We're not right for each other, that's all."

"I … I'm at a loss!" He lowered his head. "But if it's your wish, Idasha … I'll abide."

Idasha knew that what would come later would hurt him all the more, but it, too, had to be done. But first, it was time to settle this once and for all.

"Let me speak!" she called.

"Give her silence!" commanded Jherion in a carrying tone.

"Thank you," she said. "Spoken like a true king."

Jherion froze. "I … this is all yours. I have no claim on any of it."

"Not so fast. There's a way out of this yet, that's to the benefit of all. Trust me." She opened the sack, and dumped out something large, black, and scaly.

It was the head of a snake, half the size of a man but dried, cured into a gruesome trophy with a mouthful of fangs.

The son of the Premier of Narluk uttered a low cry, then fell to his knees and began to sway and chant. No one paid him much attention, intent as they were on Idasha as she pulled a milky-grey bundle from within the sack.

"Is that what I think it is?" Seric asked. "Oh-ho, sister, I know what you're up to!"

"Good … have you a lhote? I've lost mine."

A man at the back of the room laughed but quickly smothered it.

"I have." Seric held up the double-edged pick-like weapon.

Jherion frowned in confusion. "What is all this? What are you doing?"

"Trust me and come here. Seric, give the lhote to the magician. He'll do nicely."

Cassidor Ephes accepted the weapon with all the dubiousness of a man being handed a dead fish. "What am I to do with this?"

The bewildering display held everyone rapt and blessedly quiet as Idasha brought Jherion to stand beside her.

"Take an edge of this," she told him, "and we'll lower it over us."

"What is it?" His expression matched that of Cassidor as he gripped the edge of the leathery, flexible substance.

"The stomach of a snake," she replied, reasonably enough. "The Black Snake of Westreach."

Working together at her guidance, they stretched and lowered and squirmed into the thing, until it bulged out around them. They must have resembled a lumpy piece of furniture under a grimy dropcloth.

"Is it a conjurer's work?" wondered one of the barons.

"Almost as good," Seric said. "Magician Ephes, if you'd take the lhote and slit open the snake's stomach? Carefully, mind you!"

"I don't understand any of this," Jherion said.

"I'll explain after, when it's too late for them to do anything about it," Idasha said. "Quickly, Magician! It's hard to breathe in here, and the smell isn't the nicest."

"What madness is this?" Baron Halan demanded. "It's some sort of a trick!"

Cassidor Ephes gingerly poked one point of the lhote against the side. "Are you certain about this?"

"Do it!" Seric said, grinning like a maniac.

The tip pierced the leathery stomach and Cassidor sawed at it until he'd made a gap large enough to admit a man.

"You first, Jherion," said Idasha. "Out you go."

Jherion squeezed out through the opening, still wholly confused, and turned to help Idasha wiggle free herself. She looked expectantly at Chian, whose smile was brimming with pride.

"And born anew from the belly of the snake, so shall you be united as brothers and sisters to one another from this day forward, of one blood, of one family," Chian intoned. "Thus spake the first king of Westreach, and by his law, by our law, so now are you siblings."

"What?" Baron Halan wasn't the only one to shout it, but he was by far the loudest.

Jherion, stunned, looked from Chian to Idasha to the crumpled stomach of the snake. "I remember that story …"

"It's the Rite of the Black Snake," Seric said, hopping up on a chair to make himself seen and heard. "It's been used before, in times of plague or disaster, when bloodlines have been nearly destroyed. Combining their families, combining their holdings and fortunes, they made themselves strong again. As legally binding as a marriage, or any other bond."

"Which means, Jherion," Idasha said, "now you are my brother, and I am your sister." She raised her voice, turning to the crowd. "And I hereby abdicate and yield any and all claim on the throne of Hothar to Jherion, my brother, who is the elder of us and firstborn!"

The previous outcries were nothing compared to this, a din so tremendous that it seemed as if the roof would cave in from it. Jherion was still too astonished to call for order, so at last Seric managed to bring the room under control.

"But this is a law of Westreach!" the baron of Lallon said. "Not Hothar!"

"She can't do this!" a lord protested. "She can't pick and choose her brother, and if she can, why him?!"

"Oh, for pity's sake!" Gedren Ephes stormed to the middle of the room. "What is the matter with all of you? Here is a sensible solution to a very knotty problem! Idasha?"

Idasha said, "Jherion loves this kingdom, has bled for it and risked his life. He deserves it. He should have been Meryve's son. I'm only setting right what nature made amiss."

"As it is a law of Westreach," Chian said, "on behalf of my son Gethin, the king, I acknowledge this tie of kinship to be true. As Idasha is my foster-daughter, so now Jherion, her brother, becomes my foster-son."

"You're giving up a kingdom!" Baron Halan was on the verge of frothing. "Don't you understand what you're doing, you foolish girl?"

"I understand full well," she said. "I would have made a terrible queen, and you already have a fine king. You're the one who should question what you're doing, baron. And what you've already done."

"I say, let it stand!" the grand duke of Torgotha proclaimed in his booming baritone. "But I do disagree me that you'd be a terrible queen! You've spit and fire enough to rule Ilgrath!"

"I am sure that I speak for his majesty the king of Erri when I second that," said the ambassador. "And might extend the mention that his majesty is yet unmarried --?"

"Say no more," Idasha warned him, shooting the snickering Seric a withering look. "I do not play the game of dynastic marriages."

"Well, magician?" Jherion asked Cassidor Ephes, a tremor in his voice displaying his nervousness.

Ephes handed Seric back his lhote. "Much that the spirits had been seeking to tell me is now made clear. I see it now. Let their will be done. I embrace this course wholeheartedly."

The son of the Premier of Narluk rose unsteadily to his feet. He pressed a kiss to his fingertips and then to the patch of scales between the shrunken hollow sockets of the severed snake's head.

"Although at first this seemed a grisly mockery and sacrilege," the whip-thin young man said, "I know that Nar would not give up the sacred body of one of his own if not for a good cause. Nar has spoken through this serpent. The Primacy of Narluk respects Nar's word, and supports Jherion, brother of Idasha, as true king of Hothar."

"Most of Ilgrath has come to agreement," Chian of Westreach said. "Does Hothar accept?"

"Oh, might as well," muttered the baron of Eastreach. "I can't afford another set of coronation and wedding gifts!"

Mirth greeted this, and it opened the gates of acquiescence. The commonborn responded with resounding, overjoyed clamor as the knights, lords, ladies, and other barons all indicated their agreement.

Baron Halan approached, with Emrana trailing nervously after him. When Jherion and Olinne saw them, a heavy hush fell and spread like ripples in a still pond.

"I believe I owe you an apology," the baron said. "Olinne, my daughter--"

"Oh, isn't that rich?" Idasha remarked, nearly as caustically as she felt. "You disown her, and treat them both like something you've stepped in, but now that he's the true king, you come licking around like a dog!"

"Idasha!" Alkath said, shocked out of his glumness.

"No, she's right." Jherion crossed his arms and glared at the baron, and in his golden garments, actually looked quite a bit like the eagle of the Lendrins. "Do you think that what you've said, what you've done, is so easily forgiven and forgotten?"

"I know that I have wronged you both --"

"All you ever cared for was having your grandchild be a king!" Olinne flared. "Had none of this ever happened, and had I been unhappy married to Jherion, you would have made me hold to it and do my duty for the sake of that crown! But when I loved him and you thought him beneath us, you tried to tear me away from him! How can I ever excuse that?"

"Olinne, dear one, please!" Emrana said. "Your father --"

"He said he had no daughters, so I must have no father!"

"Let me make up for my harsh and hasty words!" the baron said.

Jherion slashed his hand through the air, cutting off the baron's apology. "I think it's best if you are away from this court for a time, Baron Halan. We'll see how time heals the wounds your actions have caused, and speak again at the next Year's End."

The baron's mouth worked soundlessly as if he meant to protest, but in the end, he only nodded curtly and led his wife out of their sight.

Olinne watched them go, her breath hitching once or twice. But Alkath put a comforting arm around her, and Jherion touched her chin and bade her smile.

"Diplomatically done," Idasha said.

"For the distress he's caused, I would have sooner pummeled him," Jherion admitted. "But that'd hardly be noble, now, would it, Alkath?"

Alkath rubbed his jaw. "Nobility didn't stop him from pummeling me," he said wryly.

"Congratulations, my brother," Idasha said, clasping hands with Jherion.

"Idasha, I cannot begin to --"

"Don't … you deserve this. I just found a way to help it along."

Olinne threw her arms around Idasha in a sisterly hug. "But we must thank you! If ever we can do anything for you, anything at all, only say so!"

"Well … there is one thing … one boon I'd ask." She couldn't bear to look at Alkath, knowing what his reaction would have to be.

"Name it and it's done," said Jherion.

"You've not heard what it is yet."

"What, then, is your boon?" asked Olinne.

"Immunity and a pardon for someone who helped me get out of Kathan."

Jherion's eyebrows went up. "You still haven't told us how you managed to return. What happened, Idasha? Where were you?"

She took a deep breath. "I was brought before King Deveran, and as his teeming throngs of sons and grandsons were bartering over me like fishwives in the marketplace, I escaped the fortress. One of his kinsmen helped me, betraying his people and risking his life to do the right thing. He showed me a secret way into Westreach, battled the Black Snake with me, and came back to Hothar with me although he knew it might cost him his life. I'm asking that you spare him."

"It sounds as if that's the least I could do. Who is this man? Where is he? Here?"

Idasha looked over, and the man who had been waiting unnoticed came forward. He stopped a goodly distance away, too far to be a threat, and threw back his hood and cloak to show that he was unarmed.

Gedren Ephes cried out and clapped a hand over her mouth, thereby ensuring that everyone who wasn't already surreptitiously following the scene now turned to openly look.

The room rang with alarm and consternation, the crowd surging as those nearest tried to back away while those further out tried to get close for a better view. Not that they were likely to need one; with his hair red as a battle flag, there was no mistaking him.

Cassidor sucked in a sharp breath. "Now it is all clear!"

"Idasha, you can't be serious!" Alkath said. His hand leapt to his sword. "That is Felin Kathak!"

"Hold, all of you!" Jherion ordered as several guards came pushing through with weapons at the ready. He regarded Felin with great interest. "The Red Wolf."

"The Golden Eagle," Felin acknowledged with a slight, respectful bow. "We never had occasion to meet on the battlefield."

Alkath's jaw was set. "This man is a criminal and an enemy! And a threat to your crown, Jherion! If he's here, it's to kill you and take Hothar for himself!"

"What say you to this, Felin Kathak?" inquired Jherion.

"I do not come to you as an enemy, Jherion Lendrin. I renounce and relinquish any claim to Hothar and stand before you a man with nothing. No land, no home, no family. Nothing but my life. All I ask is to keep it. In exchange …" He knelt and bowed his head. "My swordarm and my fealty, I swear in service to you."

The longest night of the year was drawing to a close, the sky to the east touched with a hint of dawn. Overhead, the band of the world belt stretched in an arc from horizon to horizon, its countless individual orbs forming an intricate pattern of pale light and shadow. The far and unimportant spangle of stars dusted the blackness beyond.

The bonfires and torches burning throughout the city looked small as candle flames from the height of the tallest tower of Hothar Castle, hundreds of points of light in the darkness. All around, the land spread in a quilted carpet for as far as the eye could see.

"To think this could have been the view I grew up with," Idasha said, her breath making frosty clouds. "It's so open. Just countryside going on forever, with no defensive ring of mountains to make it seem invulnerable."

"Your heart's that of a Westreacher," Felin Kathak replied. "Jherion's opposite."

"And what of you?" she asked. "Your blood is Kathani, but you lived Hotharan … where do you belong, Felin? What's in your heart?"

"You are."

"Even now, after I gambled with your life? I hoped, I expected, but I couldn't know that Jherion would grant my request."

"Your new brother is a good man and a good king. He thinks first of what's best for Hothar, and knows that I can be of more use to him alive than dead. As Ithor pointed out, who better than a Kathani to know how to fight the Kathani?"

"Because they'll still come," Idasha said grimly, gazing to the north. "It won't matter that Jherion legally holds the crown. They would have come anyway."

He nodded. "They'll come, but we will stop them. If your Alkath, the High Commander, can stomach my counsel, and the rest of the barons hold to their stated trust."

They both fell silent, and Idasha knew that he was thinking of the lengthy and heated debate that had followed his offer of fealty to Jherion. The initial reaction had been horrified objection on the part of most of the highborn. But Cassidor Ephes had informed them that he had seen many omens in the cast-stones to this effect. And Baron Trevale had spoken well on Felin's behalf, citing his honorable conduct during their military exchanges, and in the end a reluctant approval had been given. Felin would be treading an uneasy line for the next many years, his every move watched for the threat of treachery.

Idasha herself gave those things only a passing thought. She knew he could earn their trust and respect. What still troubled her mind was poor Alkath.

"I regret that I had to do it that way," she said, more musing aloud than speaking. "But there wasn't time for gentleness. Deep down, he knows I'm right. As lovers, we could overlook our differences, but as husband and wife, we would have made each other miserable."

Felin pulled her into his arms and brought the full warm folds of his snowbeast-pelt cloak around the both of them. "Idasha, I have the feeling you'd make any husband of yours miserable."

She laughed. "I take it that's not a proposal, then!"

"I'm not adverse to a little misery … or even a lifetime's worth."

Idasha looked up into his forest-dark eyes and saw that he was in earnest. "I'll need a while to consider that," she said.

"As long as you need."

They kissed, a warm and lingering kiss full of promise for the future. When they parted, it was to find that they were no longer alone on the highest tower, but that a bemused Jherion and Olinne had appeared.

"I see we're not the only ones to seek out this private place," Jherion said.

Idasha and Olinne exchanged a weighted glance of many meanings, and the young queen shook her head, smiling beatifically.

"No, Idasaha, I'm not distressed about Alkath. He is my brother and I would want to see him happy, but I've also learned that love cannot be commanded. Nor can it be denied. We must, always, stand by those we love."

The four of them stood side-by-side, and watched the sun rise on the first day of a new year in the reign of a king for Hothar.

The End.

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