It didn't fall neatly, and after a few attempts to flip the edges into place, she gave up and walked all the way around to pull it straight on the other side. When she turned to see why he still hadn't answered, she found him looking at her with a smile.

"I liked it better when you crawled across to do that," he said.

She wrinkled her nose at him pertly. "I'll warrant you did, the way it made my backside stick out! As if it didn't stick out enough already, spirits know! It's only at times like this when I'm making this meadow-sized monstrosity that I wish we were back in our old house. It may have been small, but at least I could reach across the bed!"

"You needn't do it yourself, you know," he chided gently, helping her adjust one final corner so the spread hung evenly on all sides. "The Mistress Housekeeper thinks you don't trust her girls."

"Hmph!" Gedren said, patting her rumpled hair back into place. "For one thing, with the coronation ball in less than a week and highborn guests already arriving from all over Hothar, I'd hope the Mistress Housekeeper and her 'girls' have enough to keep them busy! For another, I'm unused to having someone else pick up after me. I was a lady's maid, recall, and after we married I was well able to look after our home myself."

"Ah, but we live in the castle now," he said, looking around the four-chambered suite that was twice as large as their home in the city had been as if still surprised by that fact. "You are one of the most influential ladies in all of Hothar. Why should you be undertaking such menial tasks?"

"That, Cassidor my sweet, is just the attitude that led to Davore's decadence. It's bad enough we suffer the service of the cooks and laundresses. I'll not have that gaggle of chattering geese nosing about in our very bedroom!"

He snorted. "The bed's large enough that a gaggle of them could be in there with us and we'd not notice."

Gedren hurled a pillow at him, striking him full in the upper chest and face. "Oh, is that what you're thinking? Fie, husband! If I thought for a moment that such carryings-on had ever taken place in this bed, I'd have it chopped down for firewood!"

"On that count, you can rest assured." Cassidor replaced the pillow askew and Gedren sniffed at him as she had to trot around the bed again to straighten it. "The grand duke Avar was never reputedly one for such sports, though in the years following the death of Felin's mother, he would not have lacked for opportunities."

"Strange to be in his quarters," Gedren said. "Not that one would much know it to look at them, with your books and magician's trappings in the room that he once had filled with arms and armor from across Ilgrath."

"Your warm feminine touch has done much to dispel the marks of his residence as well," he pointed out. "But for some of the furnishings, this bed not the least of them, it's hardly recognizable."

"Still and all, you never did answer me. Why so fretful? All is well, dearest. We've won! With the coronation ball, the last trace of the Kathak reign will be scoured away once and for all, and I'm sure it won't be long before pretty young Olinne produces a royal heir to make the Lendrin Restoration secure. Yet you are troubled. Why?"

Cassidor sighed. "A feeling, that's all."

"A feeling?" she pressed. "Or have the spirits made something known to you?"

"The spirits ..." he sank into a chair, rubbing his chin musingly. "They are trying, or so I believe. I cast the stones again and again, and see patterns that should make sense but do not, as if I am missing some vital knowledge that would make all else clear. One thing is certain -- for all we've done, our new king's troubles are far from over."

"Danger for Jherion?" she asked worriedly. "At the ball?"

He shrugged and shook his head in the same motion. "I think not, but as I said, it's unclear. If I knew the right questions, if I knew what I was missing ..."

"Whatever the threat, I know Jherion will be able to meet it," Gedren said. "Look how much he's accomplished already! A year ago he was a hog-drover with only the barest inkling that he was meant to be something more. Since then he has undertaken arms training, gathered an army, earned the support of barons from here to Trevale, led his troops to victory, taken back his castle and his throne, and won the hearts and loyalty of his people."

"But not all of those who opposed him are accounted for," he said. "It troubles me greatly that they never found Felin Kathak's body --"

"He was slain," Gedren cut in. "Recall I told you, Alkath himself fought and killed Avar Kathak, in whose very rooms we now reside, and when he did, Avar was wearing the mantle of the High Commander. He never would have taken it back upon himself unless his son was already dead."

"Mayhap," he admitted grudgingly. "Yet I cannot quiet a nagging whisper that wonders to me if Felin escaped that battle. And then there's Nerrar ... how do you explain that, Gedren? How did he vanish from the great hall that fateful night?"

"I had the full ghastly truth of it from Alkath. Nerrar's claims of messenger-immunity availed him nothing. Jherion had him beaten, maimed, and mutilated before seeing to it that he was brought to the castle."

"And yet, by the time we were freed from the dungeons beneath the Ministry of Justice and brought to the great hall ourselves, he was gone. He was not among the dead, nor was he among the chained prisoners."

"Cassidor, he could not have survived. He was only barely clinging to life when he was presented to king and court. That we did not see him is no surprise, for there were many bodies that night. His must have been overlooked."

"I would have known him. I never much liked him, but he was my apprentice for four years. No matter what state he was in, I would have known him."

Gedren perched on a footstool before him and smoothed her skirt over her dimpled knees. "What are you saying? That he somehow was able to take himself unnoticed from the great hall? Even assuming he did, which may have been possible given the hectic events of that night, where would he have gone? His remaining life would have been measured in heartbeats! He couldn't have gotten far before it expired him, and had his body been found elsewhere, we surely would have heard of it!"

"My head wishes to believe your words, dearest wife, yet I cannot rid myself of the suspicion. From the moment he first set foot in this castle, he was a wily and sneaky youth. If there were hiding places or secret passages to be found, Nerrar would find them. He could have gotten himself to some place of concealment."

"If so, then he'll be there still, and perhaps someday a servant will stumble across his bones. He was dying, Cassidor! Although I've come to love Jherion as I would a favored nephew, I cannot deny that he can be brutal. He was not raised from birth as Alkath was to aspire to a highborn ideal of gentlemanly combat. What would his mother Meryve have known of that? Even if she had, look how well her efforts at instilling courtly manners succeeded! For all her gentle influence, he is coarse and unskilled in the social arts."

"It is hardly the same, his ignorance of courtly behavior and that he would willfully torture a man to the point of death."

"It is the same," she insisted. "He takes far more readily to Ithor's view than Alkath's -- though I grant you that Alkath's own view may have taken on less of a romantic rosy glow now that he's had a taste of warfare. He told me what was done to Nerrar. It would turn you a sickly hue."

"Perhaps that, too, was colored by Alkath's rosy-eyed view of war. The atrocities seemed twice as severe to him because of the breach with honorable custom."

"Twice as ... Cassidor, they cut out his tongue and sealed the stump with hot pitch that he not bleed to death 'ere he reached the city! How could that be half as severe as it seemed?"

He flinched and covered his mouth with a hand. "They ... Jherion did this?"

"I don't mean to upset you, my dearest, but please hear me and understand that there is no way Nerrar could have lived. These things that trouble you must stem from some other source."

"You may be right ... I have wondered many times if we've done right. I know that it is, that it must be, for all of Hothar, yet our presumption disturbs me. Who are we to shape the course of kingdoms? I was commonborn, your folk were highborn but impoverished, and Ithor ... is in a class all his own."

"Baron Halan is highborn as they come," she said. "He believes in what we've done, and not solely because it saw one daughter avenged and the other made queen. And you, my husband, have wisdom. That comes rare to any man, be he born common or high."

Cassidor leaned forward and kissed her, first on the brow, then on the tip of her upturned nose, and lastly on her full, smiling lips. "But less rare to women?"

"Oh, much less rare to women," she laughed. "Much less!"

"It's customary for an escort party to meet royal visitors at the Arch of Hothar!" Alkath Halan argued.

Ithor Drok smirked. "Custom, is it? First I've heard of it!"

Alkath flushed under the old soldier's knowing leer. "The custom is an old one. It predates your coming to Hothar. And given that you came with an invading army, there was hardly time nor inclination for it then!"

"An old one. Hmm. What say you, Will? Heard of this before?"

"Never once," the jester said, the bells on his festive hat jangling to accompany the shaking of his head. "Then again, what would I know of royal customs? I'm only here to lessen the ominousness of you two!"

"Ominousness?" Alkath repeated. "What do you mean?"

"Aye, in that silly ceremonial armor, he's more a strut-cock than a threat!" Ithor slapped the plume on Alkath's helm forward into his visor. "All these geegaws and fripperies ... why, a blade would wedge right between them and pierce in rather than glance off!"

"We're not here to do battle. The king of Westreach is sending his own mother and brother --"

"And sister," Ithor muttered in a meant-to-be-audible aside to Will.

"-- to pay their respects to our king, so the least we can do is give them a proper greeting!" Alkath finished.

Will chuckled. "What I meant was that sending the High Commander of Hothar's armies, along with the Minister of War ... it lends the impression that peace is not foremost in mind! Thus, add in one merry fellow such as myself --" he did a handspring, much to the delight of the children and onlookers that had collected to watch the proceedings, "-- and the effect is much more congenial."

"Unless you mean to try that business of juggling knives again," Ithor said. "You're more deadly than any six soldiers then!"

"I thought I'd try swords next time."

Alkath rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the street. It was the widest in all of Hothar, extending from the Eagle Gate (once demolished by Oldered Kathak's order but now in the process of being rebuilt) through the city and beneath the Arch to end at the Great Square, beyond which rose the castle itself.

Until recently, the Great Square had been walled in, enclosing the infamous block upon which so many had met their unjust deaths. The stonemasons of Hothar had been busier than a swarm of ants these past weeks, for not only had they begun work on the Eagle Gate but had torn down the walls, using the stones to shore up commonborn homes.

Now the Square was as it had been in generations past, open to the city, a marketplace of wooden stalls and flapping tents. Lively barter and bustle took place on the flagstones that had once run dark with blood. Upon the spot where the block itself had once stood before being burnt to ashes, sculptors would soon be placing a fountain in the shape of an eagle with the halves of a broken sword clutched in its talons.

The Eagle Gate stood open, though guarded by men-at-arms. People, livestock, and wagons came and went. But from his vantage point, on one of the tiered platforms on the sides of the Arch, Alkath could see the glint of sunlight on helms and spears, the flicker of flags from the top of standard-poles, and the bulk of a royal plankwin swaying between large pack-beasts.

"They come!" he said, straightening the fur-trimmed mantle that fell from his shoulders and wishing once more for the breadth of shoulder and chest that made King Jherion such an impressive figure.

Ithor groaned and stumped about on his crutch until he was more or less standing at attention. His armor was the same battered practical hauberk he'd worn all through the campaign of the Restoration, though it had been mended and the armorers had done their best to make it shine.

"What's the difference betwixt a soldier and a knight?" Will asked jauntily. Before either of them could hazard a guess, he supplied the answer himself. "A soldier drills and drills all the livelong day, but once a knight's enough!"

Ithor guffawed and clapped Will on the back so hard he nearly catapulted the thin jester onto the heads of the laughing onlookers below. "Ah, now, boy, that's the gods' own truth!"

Alkath ignored them, straining his gaze to the approaching procession that was passing through the Eagle Gate. There were no Narluki-bred ride-beasts among them, for the colder winter climate of Westreach made keeping them impractical and expensive.

Instead, the bodyguards came along afoot at a steady ground-eating pace. They seemed to have set out from only a mile distant rather than the hundreds it had actually been. They wore uniforms of grey sewn with rings of blackmetal, and bore the emblem of the Black Serpent on their shields.

Stewards under orders from Alkath scurried along the street, crying importantly for the people to make way, make way, make way for the emissaries from Westreach. This drew interested and excited cheers from the crowd.

During the reign of the Kathaks, while Westreach hadn't restricted trade between Narluk and Hothar, neither had they been overly demonstrative of goodwill toward the Red Sword. This was the first time in almost two decades that any of the Westreach royals had visited the lowlands ... and with good reason! The last time an effort at diplomacy had been made, Oldered Kathak had seized and executed King Goran. His subsequent attempt to wrest the mountain land away from the then-twelve-year-old heir had led to the disastrous rout at Deathstone Pass.

As the procession drew closer still, Alkath motioned to Ithor and Will and they slowly descended the steps from the foot of the Arch to wait in the shadow of its high, curved span.

The giggles of children warned Alkath that Will was using two fingers to make rabbit-ears behind his head, but a warning glare from his ice-blue eyes was enough to make the jester retreat with an insincere apology.

The Westreachers came to a halt, and the leader of the uniformed men approached Alkath. He doffed his helm and shook the road-dust from a close-shorn cap of dark brown hair, and grinned winningly from beneath a well-groomed moustache.

"May the winter spirits brush mild over your land! I am Seric Goranson, Stragest of Westreach and brother to King Gethrin."

"Welcome, Stragest, to Hothar," Alkath said, offering his arm. "I am Alkath Halan, recently named High Commander by King Jherion."

Seric grasped it firmly. "Well met!"

Another figure pushed forward, and Alkath's heart sprang into his throat as he recognized the eyes like stormclouds rolling over the sea. "High Commander, is it? You've done well for yourself since last we met!"

"Idasha ... princess ..." He'd known she would be here, the messengers had said as much, but all the time he'd spent thinking what he'd say when he saw her again seemed to have been for nothing.

She was as striking as he remembered, even more so in tight-fitting leather trousers, a tunic that looked to have been made from the soft woolly pelt of a young pack-beast, and over all a buff-colored longcoat. Her lhote, a small double-edged pick made for throwing as well as hand-fighting, hung at her waist. A blackmetal-edged leather cap was snugged down over burnished-bronze hair which had been braided and coiled.

"You've done well for yourself too, girl," Ithor said. "From sentry at Deathstone Pass to princess of the realm?"

"So, sister," Seric said, amused. "These are the folk you met last summer?"

"Two of them, yes," she said. "And it seems there was more to their visit to Westreach than they led me to think!"

Alkath, having recovered his wits, smiled. "It may be that there was, at that! But first, you have made a long and far journey. The castle is but a little farther. Come, rest and refresh yourselves!"

Idasha fell in beside him as he led the way through the Great Square. She gave him a sidelong knowing look that made him burn to seize her in an embrace, but he didn't dare. Their previous meetings near a Westreach way-house seemed very distant.

At the time, as Ithor had pointed out, she hadn't identified herself as the king's sister. At the time, he had only been a young knight, not right hand to the king.

And now ...? Alkath wondered what the future might hold for them.

The people cleared a path to let the soldiers and pack-beasts pass, and once the procession reached the castle proper, an army of stewards and servants and grooms descended on them. Close behind were Jherion and Olinne, followed by Cassidor and Gedren Ephes.

The plankwin was settled to the ground and opened. Seric caught a leaping bundle of energy, a boychild of three winters, with dark hair and eyes.

"Rodrin!" a woman's voice called in dismay, followed by the appearance of a petite brunette in a gown of forest-green wool.

"Not to fear, Falysse my love, I have him!" Seric swung the boy around, eliciting squeals of joy, before setting him down.

He offered Falysse his hand. When she fully emerged from the plankwin, she went on tiptoe and gave her husband a kiss that raised eyebrows all over the castle. Alkath felt his face grow warm, remembering for himself how openly demonstrative with their affections and passions Westreachers could be.

Another lady stepped into the light. She was tall and carried herself with a quiet queenly pride that proclaimed her rank even more than the circlet of gold and rubies upon the braided coronet of her grey-streaked brown hair.

"My mother, the dowager queen Chian of Westreach," Seric said. "And here, my wife Falysse and our son Rodrin."

"I'm pleased to present King Jherion and Queen Olinne," Alkath said as those so named came up to them.

A round of introductions later, Seric turned to Jherion, sized him up with a swift glance and an approving nod, and folded one closed fist across his chest.

"On behalf of Westreach, may I be the first to congratulate you on your victory! My brother King Gethrin sends his regrets at being unable to personally make this visit, but his lady queen is near her term and he'll not be pried away for anything! It's all the good dammes of Lady's Veil can do to keep him from storming their very sanctuary!"

Idasha took Alkath by the elbow and drew him apart from the group, leaning close to whisper. "So that's the nephew the old man was looking for?"

"Ah ... eheh ... well, not as such," Alkath admitted. "It is a fairly long story, but the crux of it is that Ithor's nephew was Jherion's stepfather. His true parents were royals of Hothar."

"Your trust is stirring," she said dryly. He blustered, and she laughed. "Oh, come now, Alkath! I understand why you weren't forthright in your purpose there!"

"It's not as if you were the most honest of confessors either!" he said. "Why didn't you tell me you were the princess?"

She stifled a groan. "Why? Because if there's one thing I loathe, it's being treated like a princess. I like my freedom. I like being able to go where I please ... do what I please with whom I please ... as you well know!"

He coughed and looked frantically around to see if anyone was watching him; no one had been but after seeing him look frantically around, a few people did start watching. "Had I known --"

"Precisely."

"So ... so ... what happens now?"

"Now that neither of us is who the other thought? I don't know. I do know that I could have stayed in Westreach, but I didn't. When Mother ..." Idasha turned her head and trailed off. "That's strange ..."

Alkath followed her gaze. The dowager queen was standing apart from Jherion and Seric, who seemed to have become immediate friends, as had Olinne and Falysse. But it was Chian's expression that had brought Idasha to silence, for it was one of thinly-masked dread and resignation.

Two nights before the coronation ball, Jherion and Olinne hosted all of the highborn of Hothar plus their foreign guests in a feast the likes of which had not been seen in years.

Cassidor Ephes pleaded a headache and retired early.

Nor was this plea a lie; between the pressures of combined diplomacy and Will's endless pranks and antics, it felt as though a bevy of blacksmiths were practicing their art on the inside of Cassidor's skull.

Further, there was something ever-so-faintly perturbing about the jester. Almost as if they'd met before, though Cassidor could not fathom where and when such a meeting might have taken place. It did his head no good to ponder it, only worsening his situation.

He made his way through the corridors and stairwells, noting with pleasure the many changes that had been made to Hothar Castle and indeed were still continuing. The servants moved with a livelier step and relaxed manner, no longer living in fear of the petulant whims of Davore and his court.

As he reached the door to their chambers, Cassidor concluded to himself that as usual, Gedren was right. They had done what was best, what had to be done. Not because they fancied themselves the equal to spirits or gods, but simply because they had been in a position to work the change.

He slid his key into the lock Gedren insisted they use.

Then paused, for under the rattle of tumblers, he'd heard a rapid thudding and clumping as of hurrying yet clumsy feet.

Cassidor listened, but now there was nothing to hear save the distant music and voices from the great hall, and the plaintive howl of a fanghound in the kennels bestirring bleats from the pack-beasts.

Still, he moved with caution as he opened the door. A cool draft brushed past his ankles like a cat, rippling the furred hem of his winterweight overrobe.

Already imagining Gedren's ferocity at learning that someone had gone uninvited into their rooms and then compounded the offense by leaving a window open to the wind and rain spirits, he hurried within.

The windows were shut and latched, nothing out of place but for a spray of tiny petals blown loose from a bunch of snowblossom that Gedren had picked and put into a vase given them by Olinne.

One of the many jars in his study contained his wife's peerless headache remedy. He poured a mug of steaming water from the kettle that hung over the banked coals, scattered the dried leaves into it, and grimaced at the muddy color it turned as well as at the swampy reek that met his nose.

As it steeped, he prodded the fire into renewed vigor and added several pieces of wood. Soon he had a cheery blaze, and removed his overrobe.

The medicinal tea was foul but he drained it anyway. That was the trouble with Gedren's remedies ... the most potent herbs tended to have the strongest, most vile of flavors. Taste irregardless, it did as it was meant to do, and his headache melted away.

He sat at his desk and rolled the pouch of cast-stones in one hand. Thinking, wondering, contemplating. The omens had not deserted him, on the contrary they seemed to come with altogether more urgency, but he was still struggling to make sense of them.

"What am I missing?" he breathed, rolling the stones and rolling them, hearing them click and rub their polished sides against one another.

He poured them into the cloth-lined box with a sweep of his wrist, and bent to examine the patterns and meanings they formed.

Deception ... tragedy ... a terrible choice ... long-held secrets about to come to light ... a powerful but hidden enemy ...

"Who has the answers?"

Again, he poured and studied the results.

Meaningless! It made no sense whatsoever!

Cassidor was about to sweep the stones back into the bag when he saw it. He froze with his hand still poised just above them, tracing his eyes over the patterns.

There, in the box, the stones had arranged themselves into two distinct marks of the trade-script used across all of Ilgrath.

Queen ... west.

Spelled out before him in so many words.

He was, therefore, not particularly surprised when a few moments later Gedren came in, and brought the dowager queen Chian of Westreach with her.

Findersniff had plans of his own for the rest of the day, plans that involved Whiskertwitch of the shiny eyes. His gift of bread and cheese had been well-received, and he was beginning to be quite optimistic, when the Master called.

He tried to pretend that the call hadn't been for him, hunching closer to Whiskertwitch and bumping his side against hers. She moved away, but coyly, leading him to think that a second bump might not be rebuffed.

The call came again, and this time there was no mistaking. Even Whiskertwitch heard it, and scurried away, not wanting to make the Master that she was keeping Findersniff from his duties.

With a sullen baring of teeth at no one in particular, Findersniff spared one last glance at the sleek naked flicker of Whiskertwitch's tail disappearing into the darkness. He nibbled up a crumb that had fallen from the crust of bread, and went to where the Master waited.

The orders were straightforward enough. Findersniff would have preferred being sent out to fetch something for the Master, rather than pointless listening. Although he could understand the speech of the tall ones, they never had anything important to say.

Still, the Master willed it and so he had to obey. He went where he was bid, climbing the timbers and wedging his body through cracks in the stone, until at last he emerged onto a ceiling beam high in the shadows.

The tall ones were gathered below him, around a fire so bright that it stung his eyes to look. He identified two by their scents but the third was new to him. And none of them had any food.

They had plenty to say, though, and Findersniff grumpily settled down to listen.

Chian of Westreach turned her royal signet round and round on the forefinger of her left hand as she considered how best to begin. Her heart weighed heavy as a stone within her breast at the prospect of what she was about to do, but she knew that if she did not, she'd never rest well in her own mind again.

"In most things, my people are equal," she said. "Men and women share the labors of farm and field, orchard and hunter's wood, smithy and craft-hall. Some things will be primarily done by one sex or the other -- our soldiers are mostly men, our spirit-talkers mostly women -- but there is neither restriction nor shame should a daughter wish to become a soldier, or a son a spirit-talker."

"Here in Hothar," Cassidor Ephes said, "and also in Narluk and Kathan, magic and omen-reading are the province solely of men."

"So is nearly everything else," Gedren tartly reminded him. "Westreach sounds much more enlightened."

"We may well be," Chian said, "but there remain two areas of firm and strict division between the sexes. One of these involves the dead. No woman is permitted to prepare a body for burial, dig a grave or build a cairn, or speak the funeral words. Some believe it is bad luck for a woman to touch a corpse or set foot in a cemetery, for to do so would put not only her spirit in danger but that of the deceased as well."

"Even for their own families?" Gedren asked, shocked.

"Even so. Only men may become carres, tenders-of-the-dead. Because women are the life-givers, it is feared that to have them too near will cause the dead to forget they have passed and try to rise again from their graves."

Cassidor stirred, frowning as if he thought this last to be nonsense but too polite to say as much to her face.

"The reverse of the same coin," Chian went on, "is the mystery of life itself. No man may stay near a woman during the final weeks of her pregnancy, be present at the birthing, or see a new mother or babe for ten days thereafter. My people believe that the nearness of a man at these times brings about premature labors, stillbirths, deformities, and infant deaths."

"Again, even for their own family?" Gedren repeated. "A man whose wife is with child may not stay with her?"

"Rather, she does not stay with him," Chian said. "As her time draws near, she must take herself to the home of the village damme until ten days past the birth."

"Your son mentioned that word," Cassidor said. "I'm unfamiliar with it."

"Wise-women?" guessed Gedren. "Midwives?"

"Some of both," Chian agreed. "The dammes are the keepers of the woman-mysteries. They instruct young girls on the changes of the body, they advise the passionless, they know of medicines to ease the pains of a woman's red-week, and ... and hold many other secrets besides. Sometimes many will gather together in a dammes-ayle, a shared house. It is kept up and provided for by all the local women, who donate food and clothing and help in the gardens or with the chores. Many live there in addition to the dammes ... widows, women fleeing unkind husbands, orphans."

"Then, if I am to understand," Cassidor ventured slowly, "your eldest son, the king of Westreach, has turned his wife and queen over into the care of these women until her child is safely born? And cannot see her, or the babe, for ten days?"

"That is so. The dammes will send word, and he may reply in kind by messages and gifts, but to visit is forbidden. But, Seric's light-spoken words aside, Gethrin would never force his way into the place of the dammes. He'd not risk Nissa, nor the child."

"It seems cruel," Gedren said.

"It is sensible," Chian countered. "Not only would it be bad luck, but can you imagine the problems a man would cause? My own husband was a giddy fool from the time my belly began to swell until I was able to escape to the dammes, fussing over me to the point I thought I might go mad. And no sooner had I returned than he was fussing at me in another way. Those ten days of rest were vital!"

Cassidor cleared his throat. "As ... fascinating as this is ... and as much as I appreciate you sharing with me these things that are not for mere men to know, your Highness ... what is it that you need to tell us? I believe you possess knowledge that I must know if the omens I read in my cast-stones are to be made clear to me."

"There is a dammes-ayle on the outskirts of Where-the-Lady's-Veil-Grows, a town very near to Westreach Castle," Chian said. "When I was queen, and when I was regent for Gethrin until he came of age, I spent two weeks of every year there, helping as any other local woman might. My children and grandchildren have all been born there."

She took a deep breath and met the magician's dark eyes. "And it was to that dammes-ayle that Meryve of Hothar came, almost twenty years ago ..."

Chian cradled the newborn in her arms as the two dammes let a length of white cloth fall over the mother's body. She shut her eyes against the sight; Lorys had been one of the castle's chambermaids, a fair and friendly girl.

"Take the child to the nursery, milady, if you would," Damme Elrin murmured. "We must send for the carres. Oh, how I hate it when our duties and theirs collide!"

Damme Sanah sighed heavily. "She brought the ill luck on herself! She should have come to us earlier, instead of waiting for her husband's regiment to return. It was almost too near her time anyway, to be near the men ... and then to have him brought home in a shroud ... ill luck, I say! Had she touched him, we might well have lost the babe too!"

"So this little one is orphaned now," Chian said, looking down at the tiny, sleeping red face. "And entering the world amid such misfortune, poor thing!"

She carried the precious bundle downstairs and into the care of the damme minding the nursery. Word of Lorys' death had spread swiftly through the house, and the usual bright chatter was subdued. Two of the younger women were already scattering luckleaf in all the doorways, windows, and chimney-hearths.

Chian spent much of the next day in the orchard, walking beneath the boughs heavy with plump sweet apricots. Her thoughts were on her own two boys, her gratitude great indeed that she was able to see them grow. Studious, serious Gethrin ... playful little Seric ...

The sound of sobbing startled her from her thoughts. She had come nearly to the edge of the orchard. Beyond it was a grove of small saplings all clustered together in a ring around a fallen log whose trunk was thick with soft moss. Delicate white flowers with long trailing petals -- lady's veil, for which the nearby town was named -- rose on slender pale green stalks from the grass.

A fair-haired girl of perhaps seventeen was seated on the log, bent forward as far as her swollen girth would allow to cover her eyes with her hands. She'd given her name to the dammes as Andrisa, wife of Osric the free-soldier, but something in her posture and expression had led Chian to suspect a falsehood.

No matter, though ... Chian could not leave the girl to her weeping without making an effort to comfort. She approached.

"Andrisa?"

The girl jumped and raised her head. When she saw Chian, her eyes brimmed with something besides tears, something that looked almost terrified. She tried to stand, but her weighted-down movements were awkward and slow.

"Sit, sit, spare your back," Chian said, joining her on the log. "No need to rise for me."

"Oh, but your Majesty ..."

Chian smiled and shook her head. "Here, I am just Chian. We're all sisters at the dammes-ayle."

"I'm sorry for disturbing you."

"No need. I was in the orchard and heard you. What troubles you?"

"I miss my husband," Andrisa blurted. "I miss him so, oh how I wish he were here!"

"You'll see him soon enough," Chian said. "That babe of yours will come along quite soon, and ten days later --"

"No, no, you don't understand. My real husband! Him, I'll never see again!" Her lower lip trembled, and tears overflowed again.

Chian gave her a handkerchief, and put an arm around her shoulders. "Mayhap it would be best to speak of it, and you'll feel better."

"I cannot ... I don't dare! You'll have me taken away!"

"Whatever for? What horrible thing have you done?"

"I'm ... I'm Hotharan!"

"That's no crime," Chian said with a gentle laugh. "Hothar may be a troubled land, but we have no quarrel with her or her people. You're highborn, too, aren't you?"

Andrisa gaped at her. "How did you know?"

"Your manners are far too fine for the daughter of a craftsman, as you said you were. What's happened to you? Did your family send you to escape the war?"

"They're lost, they're all lost!" she wailed. "My husband, my family, all of them! The spirits chose me to live, and I know why, I do, but oh, I wish it hadn't been me! I'd rather be dead than be without him!"

"Your husband?"

"He saved my life. He died for me. It's not fair! We were only married two days! A bride and then a widow ... and now a mother? And if they ever find out ... they'll come! They'll hunt us down, me and my baby, and slaughter us like herd-beasts!"

Chian's suspicion grew darkly. "Who are you, child? Andrisa's not your real name."

"It ... it was his name. My husband. Andris. We'd only been married two days!"

"Prince Andris Lendrin? You were his wife?" She cast about for the name; they had been unable to attend the royal wedding (and a good thing too, as it turned out, for the Kathani wouldn't have stopped at murdering visiting royalty), but they'd sent a gift to Andris and ... "Meryve?"

"He could have escaped himself," Meryve said, staring into the distance while her mind was lost in that horrible night most of a year ago. "He could have escaped, but he wouldn't leave without me. He died saving me. I thought the soldier would kill me too, but the spirits touched one of them with kindness and made him help me escape. But someday ... oh, yes, someday ..."

"Meryve ..." Chian said, troubled.

"My son will go back," she announced, and now there was a strange gleam in her eyes that heightened Chian's disquiet. "He'll go back and avenge his father's death, avenge his family, take back what is his. You'll see. A prince of the Lendrin blood. I'll keep him safe until he's ready, and then I'll tell him. It's his duty. He will destroy the Kathani and take back Hothar!"

"That is a noble thought, Meryve, but --"

Whatever else she might have said was forgotten as Meryve screamed in sudden pain, her body clenching.

Chian leapt up, looking toward the house. She could only see the roof over the orchard, and no one else was in sight. "Come, I'll help you back to the dammes-ayle."

"It's time? It's time! My son ... see? I told you! He's ready! Ready to face his destiny!"

"We need to return. Lean on me, yes, that's good --"

Meryve cried out again. A flood of birth-water nourished the lady's veil. Her knees buckled and it took all of Chian's strength to keep her upright.

They got through the orchard and nearly to the house before the ever-quickening pains became too much for the girl to bear. By then, their faltering, staggering progress had been noted and the dammes were on the way.

All the while, between her groans and screams, Meryve kept up her insistence that her son would return to Hothar. The revelations brought wide-eyed consternation to the faces of the dammes and other women, but a stern queenly look from Chian silenced their wagging tongues.

"You've all heard the tales of what happened in Hothar," she warned. "If the Kathaks came to suspect that someone survived that massacre, what do you think they would do? No army has ever taken Westreach, but we needn't be too eager to put it to the test! This does not leave the dammes-ayle, understood?"

Meryve labored far into the night. The pains had come on so quickly that the dammes expected a rapid birth, but the babe was turned, and required all of their skill and many long hours to coax it around to emerge headfirst. By the time her child slid from her womb, Meryve was barely clinging to consciousness.

"Let me see him!" she panted as the first thin cry filled the room. "Let me see my son!"

Damme Elrin glanced worriedly at Chian, and with a deep breath the queen nodded.

The damme held out the infant. Meryve took one long look, and the strength returned to her body in a tidal burst.

"Where is he? Where is my son?" she shrieked. "What have you done with my baby?"

"This is your babe," Damme Elrin said. "You've borne a fine strong daughter."

"What?!?" Cassidor Ephes sat up straight in his chair, rigid with shock.

"Twins?" Gedren gasped, hands fluttering up to the sides of her head like birds. "Meryve had twins? Then where is the sister?"

"No," Chian said. "Not twins. The child was a girl."

"That cannot be," Cassidor said, staring aghast at her.

"Please, permit me to finish."

"But Jherion --" Gedren began.

"Please," Chian urged.

Cassidor was very pale, but said, "Go on."

"Upon being told that the son she'd expected was a daughter instead, Meryve fainted dead away. When she revived, she seemed a bit better, but continued demanding that we bring her son to her. It took great coaxing on the part of the dammes to get her to give suck to the little girl. As the days went by, Meryve sank further into such a fit of black fury and despair that I never hope to see again. Until ... one night ..."

Chian trailed off with a shudder, and steadied herself before continuing. "I heard the crying, and when I reached her room, I found Meryve holding the naked babe out the open window, to the chill air, calling for the spirits to come and take back the trick-child they had given her."

Gedren moaned in horror.

"I spoke to her calmly as I could," Chian said. "She moved away from the window, but then she raised the babe as if she meant to dash her to the floor. I had to strike Meryve, wrest the child from her grasp. She fell into another faint, and I did the only thing I could think of to do that might save her mind and the child's life."

Cassidor lowered his forehead into his hand, his body set as if braced for a blow. "The ... orphaned infant ... the one that had been in your care ... a boy?"

"A boy," she confirmed. "I brought him from the nursery, and gave him to Meryve when she wakened from her faint. Upon seeing him, it was as if everything of the past several days was gone from her memory. She clasped that boychild to her breast, all but weeping in joy and love."

"Jherion," Gedren said in a voice full of stunned realization. "He's ... he's not ..."

"He's not of the Lendrin line at all," Cassidor said. "The son of ... a soldier and a chambermaid ..."

"I was able to convince the dammes to keep the secret," Chian said. "At the end of ten days, Meryve took her 'son' Jherion and left the dammes-ayle. When I heard the news from Hothar, heard of the restored heir by that same name, I knew I had to come and see for myself. And tell someone the truth of what I knew."

"What have we done?" Cassidor got up and went to the window, and both Gedren and Chian followed him.

The afternoon's festivities had moved to the garden, where many of the younger highborn sons were laughing as they practiced walloping at each other with staves. Since the death of Davore Kathak, the stout lengths of wood had become a popular weapon, much to the disgust of the older fighting men.

There stood Jherion, conversing companionably with Seric of Westreach and the tall whipcord-thin son of the Premier of Narluk.

"We didn't know." Gedren touched Cassidor's arm, and he pulled away.

"I should have known! The spirits have been warning me of some grievous error since the beginning of this madness! Look what we've done, Gedren! We've usurped a kingdom! We're as bad as Oldered Kathak -- no, worse, for he at least was a conquering royal while we won the love and support of the people to a false prince!"

"Magician, hear me," Chian said. "You did what you felt was best for your land. If the spirits chose to hide the truth from you, that blame cannot be laid at your feet."

"We set the wrong heir on the throne! In two days we crown him before all of Ilgrath! We --" He spun to look at her. "Then ... where is Meryve's real child? What happened to the daughter?"

Chian exhaled softly. "As she was born of royalty, I felt it would be unfair to leave her to be raised an orphan. I took her into my house, let it be known that she was the daughter of a faithful servant who had died bearing her, and brought her up as sister to my sons. Idasha is the true Lendrin heir."

Continued in Vol. VI -- Spirit Path

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