Lily had swooned into the large puddle of Kirin’s bright red blood but Stracker barely noticed her. Heads were turning to the sound of the man clapping in a jeering fashion, daring to make fun of him.

In fact, Stracker noticed, there were two people approaching. He was so confused, though, that he couldn’t even respond to his men, who were looking to him for instructions. He was even ignoring the man poking fun at him. All he could do was stare at his sword, bamboozled.

The strangers walked right up to the podium. People parted for them, falling away to ease their path up onto the structure.

“General Stracker?” the man said.

It was only then that Stracker came out of his stupor, and stared at the young man who stood before him.

“Perhaps you remember me?”

“Impress me!” the general spat.

“I’m Piven. And this,” he said, gesturing at the man beside him, “is Greven.”

“And what in Aludane’s Fires are you doing here interrupting me?”

Stracker’s voice sounded as though he was in control but inside he was filled with turmoil. Piven? The halfwit! It couldn’t be and yet there was no mistaking the familiar face, still such a youth; just a few straggly hairs around his jaw but otherwise still that baby-faced boy. But that was where similarities ended; he was tall now and looked strong—his body had filled out in a way that Stracker recognized could only be achieved from manual work. Stracker blinked. It didn’t make sense. Piven was not Valisar. He realized he was staring blankly but he promised himself he would not cower to the youth, no matter what dark magic was at work here.

Piven made a tutting sound. “Come now, general, that’s not a very warm welcome back for me, is it? I’ve been missing for a decade. Aren’t you even vaguely intrigued?”

“You might have intrigued my brother—”

“Half-brother,” Piven corrected.

Stracker snarled. “But you hold no interest for me. Throw him in the dungeon until I’m ready to deal with him.”

Soldiers immediately moved at Stracker’s command, but he was surprised to see Piven benignly smiling.

“Kill them, Greven. But, Greven . . . save Stracker for me.”

And at this new order, Greven—an old man as far as Stracker could tell—began to fight. He fought ruthlessly and with no expression on his face. He made no sound other than the odd grunt. His strength was remarkable. He didn’t need a weapon; his fist was a killing device, breaking bones, crushing limbs, snapping necks.

The most alarming fact was that no matter how many men rushed at him with their weapons, their swords could never touch him—or Piven—and their arrows appeared to bounce harmlessly away once they arrived within a hair’s breadth of their target.

“What is this?” Stracker cried above the sound of the slaughter and the crowd’s yells of fear as it dispersed, mothers grabbing children and running for what they thought was their lives; men pushing back, ringing the square now with a collective look of dread on their faces. The square, though not empty, was suddenly cleared of the press of people.

“This, General Stracker,” Piven said with a mirthful expression, “is the Valisar magic working.”

“Valisar?”

Piven nodded. “Greven is an aegis,” he said calmly while men died around him. Then he smiled and there was ferocity in it. “Now keep up, general. I know you don’t have the capacity of your brother’s cleverness but you must at least try and pay attention because I won’t be explaining this again. An aegis is the ultimate champion, available only to a Valisar.” He paused a moment. “Ah, excellent, I see the obvious is registering with you. Yes, indeed, shock upon shocks, I am a Valisar.” He tapped his nose. “Or I wouldn’t have the benefits of an aegis at my disposal. Oops, that’s at least a dozen of your warriors, general. Would you like me to stop him? The best way is for you to call your soldiers off.”

Piven paused again.

Stracker’s mouth moved but he couldn’t think of what to say.

Piven began to chuckle. “You know, general, another dozen could die while you make up your mind. I suggest you give the command. There’s no point in losing many more lives this day.”

Stracker found his voice finally. “Step back!” he shouted to his men.

“Well done. You see, Stracker, you should have remained as your half-brother’s second. These delusions of leadership you have are ill-advised; you’re at your best when you are taking orders from a higher source.” He smiled again. “A higher source such as I,” he finished. “Greven, leave us but keep me shielded.”

The older man removed himself to the shadows of the arches at the very back of the main square. Piven sighed pleasurably and surveyed the scene.

Lily Felt chose that moment to moan as she came back into consciousness.

“Would someone please pick up the fallen Mrs. Felt,” Piven commanded. “There will be no execution for her today—or indeed any day, general. From what I gathered watching your theatrics unfold, and how your audience was reacting, she is innocent . . . or at least, unworthy of execution. And she’s far too pretty to be killed off for no good reason. Now her husband I liked. Kirin Felt never did me a wrong. To be candid with you, general, I’m a little angry that you executed him. The least you could have done was offer him a trial.”

“Who are you?” Lily Felt was sitting up, her obvious confusion reflecting Stracker’s.

“Your savior it seems, Mrs. Felt. I am Piven, one of the Valisar princes.”

Her eyes widened. “Piv—” She stopped herself.

But his eyes narrowed. “You sound like you know me, Mrs. Felt, and yet I am sure I have never seen you until this day.”

“I . . . I know of you, of course. But no, we have never met, highness.”

Piven spun around on his heel like a child, laughing. “Highness?” he repeated and then he ran up onto the scaffolding and helped Lily to her feet. Without turning he addressed Stracker. “Don’t try anything, general. I should warn you that I cannot be killed. And for each attempt from now on I will have ten of your Greens slaughtered before you. Are we understood?”

Stracker paused. He was so angry he could feel himself shaking. But Piven didn’t notice, wouldn’t even look at him. He was staring at Lily.

“Do you understand, Stracker?” he repeated.

“Yes!” the general roared.

Piven ignored him, kissed Lily’s hand and stared into her eyes. “Thank you for paying me the courtesy of my true title. You are the first to utter it.”

The woman found a tentative smile and despite the streaks of dirt on her face and the blood over her clothes, she inclined her head politely. “Thank you for saving my life.”

Piven grinned, his face young and full of mischief. “It was nothing,” he said, waving away the thanks. “Forgive me for not acting sooner. Your husband was killed as we arrived into the square—shame on them for making you kneel for his death—but I could hear all the shouting as we were approaching. Just a few minutes earlier and . . .”

“Please, your highness, don’t say it.” She looked down at her blood-drenched clothing and gagged. “He didn’t deserve to die.”

“No,” Piven replied gently. “I knew him in childhood and he was a decent man. But he is dead, Mrs. Felt, and there is nothing to be gained from dwelling on it. Come, let us get you out of those clothes, bathed, rested. We shall talk shortly.” He looked around. “You, Father Briar.”

“Is it really you?” the man stammered.

“No one else,” Piven replied. “Now, take Mrs. Felt and see to it that she has all that she needs.”

Briar nodded dumbly, seemingly awestruck by Piven.

As Father Briar and Lily helped each other away, Stracker rounded on Piven. “He was helping her to escape in the first place!”

Piven regarded Stracker. “So what?”

“They are traitors to the emperor.”

Piven cocked his head to one side. “And you’re not?”

Stracker remained silent.

“Keep doing as I bid, general, and perhaps we can work together. You have to stop occupying your very small reasoning capacity, Stracker, with people who don’t matter. I can tell that Mr. and Mrs. Felt have offended you on some level but they are merely pawns.” He took a step forward and Stracker actually flinched. “They are unimportant people often sacrificed by the more important players in the deadly game of power, but whose deaths are meaningless in the greater plan.”

“What is the greater plan?”

“Ahh, now we come to it, general. Why, to rule.” Stracker felt shock run through him like ice water. Piven chuckled and continued, “But people like Father Briar, Kirin Felt, his wife, are unimportant.”

“Who is important, then?”

Piven smiled wolfishly. “Clear the square, order your men away and get this scaffolding dismantled. There will be no more executions for the time being.”

Stracker regarded the young man for a long time. Piven didn’t so much as blink beneath the scrutiny, patiently waiting until Stracker made his decision. At last, Stracker barked orders in Steppes language and soldiers leaped to his command, immediately dragging away Kirin’s corpse, herding onlookers away and summoning carpenters to take down the makeshift stage.

“Good,” Piven said, “that was your first wise move. Walk with me. I will answer your questions.”

Stracker fell in alongside him like an obedient dog. The aegis, Greven, followed at a short distance behind.

“Tell me about him,” Stracker said, thumbing over his shoulder.

“He’s not much fun, as you can tell. But he’s the father who took me on when you and your half-brother decided to kill mine.”

“But you’re adopted,” Stracker said.

Piven sighed, loudly theatric. “That was the ruse, General Stracker. I am Valisar.”

“Valisar?” Stracker queried, totally lost. Then he gathered his thoughts, punching the air with a finger. “I may not have the cleverness of my brother but you were a halfwit last time I saw you.”

“Yes, now that probably is the best secret of all. Not only was lucidity hidden from my family but it was hidden from me for many years. Unhappily for you, Stracker, I am far from the smiling monkey boy I think I once overheard you refer to me as. It seems I am Vested and Valisar. Hmmm, that is a potent mix.”

“And him?”

“As I explained, he is an aegis. He can singlehandedly fight his way through your army if he so wishes and he won’t so much as break a sweat. And, I might add, will not sustain even a scratch. And because I have trammeled him I am invincible as well. You cannot touch me.”

“What do you want?”

“To rule. I’m vastly better equipped than you. And with Greven, I am now stronger than your brother and his entire army.”

“Then why haven’t you killed me?” Stracker demanded.

“Because, although I don’t think you’re capable of ruling with any effect, I do like your anger. And if it’s channeled properly, you are useful.”

Stracker broke the first hint of a smile. “It’s my brother you’re after,” he stated, feeling smug.

Piven tutted. “He hates being called your brother. Your half-brother is definitely one of three people I intend dealing with and you seem rather pleased about that.”

“I am.”

“Then you shall have the pleasure of killing him.” Stracker grinned. “But only if you are prepared to take instructions from me and follow them without question,” he added. “Think about it.”

“No need.” He shrugged. “When Loethar is dead I will return to the Steppes with those among our kind who also wish to go back to their home. You can have all this,” he said, waving an arm through mid-air. “But I will want terms.”

“Terms,” Piven repeated, as though testing the word. “Are you in a position to demand them, I wonder.” They had entered the palace and Stracker noticed Piven looking around, his expression distracted as though remembering earlier days here. Suddenly he swallowed and turned back to Stracker.

“Tell me your terms, general.”

“Free trade.”

“Granted.”

“My people have rights into and out of the empire but are not ruled by you.”

“Granted, but they abide by the rules of my empire when they enter it.”

“Agreed,” Stracker replied. “One tenth of all yearly palace income is to be paid to the Steppes people annually.”

Piven smiled. “Audacious, but I’ll grant it.”

“And you will marry a daughter of the Steppes.”

“Marriage?” After a moment’s thought, Piven waved a hand. “Fine,” he said, sounding disinterested. “She must be at most my own age, not older. She will not bear the tatua. And, general, she must be dark and pretty, like Mrs. Felt, with small breasts and clear skin—as opposed to someone who could be a daughter of yours . . . if you understand me right. Take heed or I will send her straight back in pieces!”

Stracker actually laughed. Then he nodded. “As you wish, highness.”

“You see, Stracker, so much can be solved without having to resort to bloodshed. Who knows what simple promise you could have made and then kept Kirin Felt as one of your own, working for you. So much more powerful to have a fox in dog’s clothing, don’t you think?”

“How old are you?” Stracker demanded.

Piven laughed. “Use your fingers and toes, general, and I’m sure you can work out how many anni I am.”

Stracker shook his head. “I like you and I’ll be your general. Just give me my . . .” He thought about his next words. “My half-brother to kill.”

“There you go, general. You got it right at last. Well, I’ll make you this promise. Loethar is all yours, but my full brother, Leo, is all mine . . . as is my sister.”

Later, bathed and in fresh clothes, all her tears for Kirin done, with no more strength to weep and her sorrows firmly and determinedly buried for now, Lily presented herself before Piven. He was such a surprise—seemingly a man trapped in a youth’s body, and yet while he spoke in such a mature way, some of his mannerisms were still juvenile. She noticed he fidgeted like a typical youth; she remembered how he’d spun around with pleasure at her using his title, his clapping, the childish joy in his eyes to best Stracker. And unlike any man she had known, he appeared entirely unaffected by the earlier bloodshed.

“Your hair is still damp,” he noted, gesturing toward a seat.

Lily touched her hair self-consciously. “Thank you, your highness. I feel much better for the bath.” Kirin had warned her about Piven and his suppositions, which had seemed so wild, had been borne out. He was all Valisar—but he was also clearly in league with Stracker now, which told her plenty about where Piven’s loyalties lay. No doubt a deal had been struck.

She wished Piven weren’t so attentive. It was hard enough trying to keep the shock and confusion of losing Kirin under control. Her final words to him spoke of love; he had died believing that she loved him as much as he had loved her. And she had to admit Kirin had got under her skin with his vulnerability and courage, his constant sacrifice for her and his obvious love. She had felt love in that moment of unashamed terror. Later, sitting in the tub of warm water, alone and watching specks of his blood float off her skin, she realized that Kilt would have heard their exchange. Was it possible to love two men with the same intensity and yet very differently and for different reasons?

Lily realized she’d not been paying attention, had been staring absently out of the windows of the beautiful room.

“I’m sorry, I know we’re all being rather hard-hearted about the fact that you’ve lost a husband, Mrs. Felt,” Piven said, “but I cannot return him to you. I can only offer to do my utmost to make this difficult time as easy as I can. What can I do for you?”

“Do?” she repeated. Lily frowned. “Why, nothing. I want nothing from you. You did not kill my husband, your highness, and you saved my life. I owe you a debt of thanks.”

He regarded her soberly. “Do you like this room?”

She blinked, unsure of the sudden change in topic. “Yes . . . yes, I do. It is very beautiful. It makes me feel . . .” She didn’t finish but shrugged instead.

“Go on, please. How does it make you feel?”

Lily frowned as she thought. “Well, highness, I was going to say that it makes me feel as though this room belongs to a woman. But I do not wish to insult you.”

Piven smiled. “This room is—was—my mother’s suite. I spent a lot of time in this room with her. The witch Valya took it over for a while but I’ll soon have all remnants of her gone.” He closed his eyes and inhaled. “I can almost still smell my mother’s perfume.”

Lily wasn’t sure what to say. If Kirin was right, this boy standing before her, looking forlorn and wistful, was the enemy. She fell back onto her manners. “I’m sorry for you.”

“Don’t be,” he said matter of factly. “Are your parents alive?”

She sighed. “My mother died when I was newborn. My father?” Lily looked down. “I’m sorry to say that I don’t know how he is or even where he is. We have lost contact. But he and I were very close.”

“How did you lose contact?”

Before Lily could contrive a lie the door that led into one of the sundry rooms opened and to her disbelief her father walked in. Seeing Lily, he nearly dropped the tray of food he was carrying.

“Ah, Greven,” Piven welcomed. “Thank you. Just put it there, I’m ravenous.”

Lily’s shock numbed her so rapidly even her lips wouldn’t work. She stared at her father, who stared back, looking terrified. He regained his wits first and shook his head at her once. She knew that look and obeyed it even though it took all her will to close her mouth and bite back the torrent that was desperate to explode.

“Greven, this is Mrs. Felt. We saved her life. I don’t think you saw her properly when we arrived.” He looked at Lily. “Whatever is wrong, Mrs. Felt?”

Lily gulped. Her treacherous eyes were watering. “Er, forgive me. I know this sounds far-fetched, your highness, but your servant, Greven, just fleetingly reminded me of my father. Perhaps it’s because we were talking about him.”

“Really? Greven here is my adopted father, actually, not my servant.”

“I am your servant,” Greven said pointedly, scowling. “Let’s not pretend otherwise.”

Piven gave Lily a look of soft exasperation. “Greven raised me.” He smiled. “He has been a father to me and I love him but Greven struggles with the new me—the one that talks and thinks intelligently, the one that turned into a real Valisar.”

She stole a glance at her father. He wore a grimace but again in his eyes was only warning. Though his leprosy was gone the decade seemed to have turned him haggard and he was shockingly missing a hand. She realized she was holding her breath, feeling herself on shakiest of grounds.

“My father was a bit younger, now that I look at you, sir, and he was . . .” She hesitated.

“Whole?” Greven asked.

Piven tutted. “Let’s not go into that now, Greven, shall we?”

“Why not? Are you concerned by what people might think?”

“You know I’m not, old man!” Piven snapped, then took a breath and composed himself. “Forgive us, Mrs. Felt. I’m sure you didn’t fail to notice the carnage in the square.”

It wasn’t a question but she shook her head silently anyway, trying not to look at her father.

Piven continued. “It’s a long story that I won’t bore you with but it is connected with the Valisar legacy of aegis magic. Greven is an aegis and he is bonded to me.”

Lily swallowed. “Through magic?”

Piven nodded. “Indeed. A very powerful one. And Greven doesn’t care for these new circumstances. But he will get used to them over time. We are going to be together for a long time.”

“That means you are Vested, sir?” she asked Greven.

She watched her father’s face soften. “Yes,” he admitted. “But I hid it well.”

She nodded and quickly wiped away the tears that she couldn’t keep from falling. “Forgive me, highness. Now I feel sad for Greven, sad for myself, sad for my husband. I’m quite a mess really. I will take my leave with your kind permission.” She stood.

Piven did also. “Are you sure I can’t offer you anything—refreshment, accommodation, money . . . a position?” He shrugged, and Lily realized Piven seemed desperate for friendship. Why in Lo’s name had he chosen her?

She gave a humorless smile. “No, highness, but thank you. I wish to return to the north, if I may. I have good friends there and they will help me to start again.”

“Then travel safely, Mrs. Felt.” He cocked his head to one side. “May I know your first name? You seem far too young to be a widow and I do hope our paths cross again. I will look you up when I’m in the north.”

Lily panicked but hoped it didn’t show on her expression. “Of course,” she replied. “I am Maera.” She squirmed inwardly. Why the name of Kilt’s favorite whore from the Velvet Curtain in Francham would spring to mind at this juncture was anyone’s guess. Of all the names she could have chosen!

“Maera.” Piven gave her a curious look.

“Is something wrong, highness?”

“Not at all. I . . . I’m not sure that name suits your beauty.”

She blushed. Surely this youth was not flirting with her? “I promise when I meet my father again I’ll ask him about it. Thank you, your highness. You’ve been very generous to me.” She hoped he couldn’t sense her urgency to be gone from here.

“Do you know your way out of the palace?” He took her hand and kissed it lightly, courteously.

“I’ll find my way easily enough, I’m sure.”

“Greven, please escort Mrs. Felt to the stable and ensure that she is given one of the palace horses. Maera, I only ask that you tell people I am the new ruler of the Set as you head north.” He sighed. “We might as well spread the word.”

“Good luck then, your majesty,” Lily replied.

Piven’s face lit with amusement. “You are the first to use that title.”

“This way, Mrs. Felt,” Greven muttered, pushing past them.

Piven gave her a final look, begging tolerance. “Please excuse Greven. His way is very gruff. I can only control him to a point,” he said.

She waved the apology away, desperate to be gone, thrilled and yet daunted by the opportunity to speak with her father alone.

“Don’t be too long, Greven. You know I don’t like you to be far. Just go to the stables, no further.”

“You forget, your majesty,” Greven replied acidly, “the magic does not permit me separation from you for very long.”

Piven ignored him, already turning his charm to Lily. “Farewell, Mrs. Felt,” Piven said and Lily took her leave, hurrying away, trying not to make it obvious.

Once out of sight, Greven dragged Lily into a small vacant chamber. They hugged and Lily wept silently.

“Your hand?” she said, after they’d finally let go of each other. She was exhausted from tears.

“It’s called trammeling. That how he has bonded me. He ate part of me.” Even as he said it, Greven’s face convulsed and he appeared to gag.

Lily felt momentarily dizzied from shock. “Ate you?” she murmured, wondering if she’d heard right.

He nodded, stifled a sob. “I am his to command, Lily. He must never know who you are, or he will use you against me. Forgive me.”

“So you’re Vested,” she repeated, resigned.

“And so much more, I’m afraid. I knew it; I just never acknowledged it to you, or your mother. I thought if I could just keep myself to myself, live a simple life, stay well away from the palace and never cross the path of a Valisar I could live our lives in peace.”

“And then Leo came along,” she said.

He nodded. “That was hard for me.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, frowning.

“My magic responds to the Valisars. Fortunately Leo has no power at all, not a skerrick of magic in him other than the dormant Valisar Legacy. That was lucky. I realized immediately that he wasn’t sensing me but I was very glad that he spent the night in the crawlspace.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she groaned, twisting around and holding her head. “We could have—”

“Done nothing,” he interrupted. “We had to help those boys. I hated being an aegis but I was a loyalist.”

“What happened to you? You know I tried to reach you time and again.”

He nodded sadly. “I knew you would. But I held to the notion that you were safe with those outlaws. I never wanted such a solitary life for you. I wanted you to find a good man, enjoy family life.” He looked down.

“So you left our hut?”

“Yes.” He tried to cover his emotion with a soft cough. “I walked for days and days, feeling drawn toward Brighthelm even though all my life I had avoided it. And then I came to the edge of the woodland that surrounds the palace and I saw him.”

“The prince.”

He nodded, tears welling again. “He was pitiful, Lily. Abandoned, dirty, hungry, his face filled with joy, his tiny hand in mine. He was drawn toward me too. Even though he couldn’t speak, he filled my heart with pleasure. I knew I had to look after him, get him away from that terrible place.”

“But didn’t his magic—”

“Not initially. He was an invalid. The shortcomings that kept him safe also kept his magic masked. My magic didn’t react to him in the dramatic way it should have. Instead it happened gradually, over the years.” He shook his head. “I think without really being aware of it I was throwing up stronger and stronger shields as he emerged gradually out of the prison of his illness. I suppose I taught myself how to be around him. But tell me about you. You found your way to Kilt Faris, obviously?”

Lily quickly told him a drastically shortened version of her life over the last decade, ending with her convenient marriage to Kirin Felt.

“What an amazing tale. And there’s me claiming what a royalist I am when you’ve spent these past ten anni plotting against the empire,” he said, envy in his voice. Then he actually smiled. “I wish we could have more time for me to tell you how beautiful you’ve become but, Lily, you must leave now. Flee. You’ve escaped him once. Get as far away from Piven as you can.”

“But you—”

“There is nothing you can do for me. It’s magical, Lily. I belong to him now.”

“Dad—”

“No, listen to me. I have to finish this. I’m no longer frightened. Seeing you has stiffened my resolve to find a solution to Piven. I . . .” He shook his head. “I feel responsible. But you now have an important role.”

“Me?”

He nodded. “Pay attention, Lily. This all rests on you now. You have to find his sister.” He held up a hand. “Come, I’ll explain as we walk. No, my dearest one,” he said, kissing her head. “No more tears. We leave now. You must get away and you must listen to what I have to tell you.”

Piven was listening to Stracker. Though the big man was doing his best to rein in his anger and appear reasonable, it was clearly a struggle. The conversation had become tedious long ago and Piven’s mind had strayed quickly. He couldn’t place why but he felt vaguely preoccupied with the woman, Maera. She was lovely and far too old for him but it wasn’t her beauty that was gnawing at him. It was something else; he had been teasing at it for most of Stracker’s discussion but it was not yielding to him.

He sighed. “All right, general, then why don’t you go out and slaughter the same number of Denovians to match the loss of Greens?”

Stracker looked back at him, dumbfounded. “Do you jest?”

“Do I look like I’m amusing myself?” Piven asked.

Stracker shook his head. “How do I choose who dies?”

“I don’t know, general, and frankly I don’t care. This is your burning need. Go out, kill and make merry. I have other pressing things on my mind.”

“But if we kill without reason the people won’t trust us, won’t recognize us as the authority.”

Piven smiled at him. “Ah, that is a dilemma for you, Stracker. Suddenly you’re racked with a sense of rightness. Loethar would be proud of you. I’m surprised. I had you down as someone without conscience.” He laughed at the general. “You don’t have to kill anyone, of course. But I’m giving you permission to do so—so that you’ll stop your irritating bleat.”

Stracker looked confused. Piven sighed, tired of the big warrior already.

“Look, Stracker, there will be plenty of blood to stain your sword soon. You’ve told me Loethar escaped you—where would he head, do you think?”

Stracker shook his head. “I don’t know. I told you he was taken by a huge woman and a Denovian man.”

“Huge woman. You mean fat?”

“No. She was as tall as I am, as broad and lean. She was strong, used a catapult like a warrior.”

Piven thought about this. “Sounds like a Davarigon. My father took us north one year when I was very young, maybe three anni. He met with a group of Davarigons at the base of the mountains.” He frowned. “Is there a monastery at the entrance to the Teeth?”

Stracker nodded slowly. “A convent. It’s where, I believe, Loethar’s wife, Valya, has been banished to.”

Piven’s face lit. “Excellent. Now there’s someone I’m looking forward to executing.”

“She lost Loethar’s child.”

“Good. I hope she’s suffering.”

“He let her off easy. She poisoned our mother.”

“Good,” Piven said savagely. “Now, general, remember what I told you. Every attempt on my life is worth ten of your Greens.”

Stracker made an animal sound, close to a growl. “Maybe I will kill some Denovians. I’ll make sure it’s done in your name.”

Piven shrugged. “Tell them what you like. I am all they have now. I am emperor.”

“It’s going to be entertaining watching you tell that to my Loethar.” Stracker smirked.

“Then let’s go find him, shall we?”

“You think he’s in the mountains where the Davarigons live?”

“It’s a place to start. And while we’re up there, general, we will also be hunting my brother.”

“Yours?”

“Leo is alive. He has been harbored by Kilt Faris and his outlaw gang.”

Stracker’s mouth had fallen open. “You have confirmation of this?”

“I have no reason to lie to you, Stracker.”

“But how do you know that?”

Piven shrugged. “My companion, Greven, harbored my brother when Leo first escaped your clutch. He was instrumental in getting Leo to safety.”

Stracker gave a low snarl of disgust. “How does your companion know Kilt Faris?”

“He doesn’t.”

“Then how did the Valisar scum meet up with Faris?”

“Greven’s daughter. She . . .” Piven never finished. The pieces of the puzzle he had been absently pondering seemed to suddenly fit into perfect place. “Lily took him,” he said, as if in a trance, no longer looking at Stracker but searching his mind for further clues.

“Er, what do you—?”

“General Stracker,” Piven suddenly interrupted. “What was the name of the woman who married Kirin Felt?”

Stracker frowned, thought about it for a short pause. “Lily.”

“Lily! Are you absolutely certain of this?”

Now Stracker looked puzzled. “Yes, why?”

Piven’s expression had turned dark. “Crafty old Greven. He thinks he can thwart me but he has played into my hands more than he might imagine.” He sat forward. “Pay attention, general, this is what I want you to do . . .”