THE RIDER—an outrider scout, an e'offizier named ci'Baden—was mud-spattered and exhausted. He gratefully drank the flagon of water that Jan handed him, though he refused to take the seat that was offered. "My Hïrzg, I came as quickly as I could. I have seen a platoon of the Garde Civile. They are within our borders and moving in our general direction. They number thirty men; they also have a single warténi with them, and several messenger birds in cages."

    They were outside Jan's tent, in the early morning sun. Jan glanced over to Markell and Starkkapitän ca'Staunton; behind them, Allesandra sat on the stool of Jan's field desk, listening quietly with her tutor Georgi, O'Offizier ci'Arndt, at her side. The army was encamped in a steep-sloped valley of pastureland. Sheep and goats wandered the hillsides, grazing on the heather. Around them, the men were striking their tents in preparation for the day's march. "You know where they are now?"

    The outrider nodded, gulping at the water. "I can find them again easily; they're less than a morning's ride away by now, following the Clario road."

    "Good. Go now and get some food. The starkkapitän will make certain you're given a new horse and a troop of your own: ten men, to leave as soon as possible. E'Offizier ci'Baden, I want you to find that platoon of Garde Civile again. You will carry the standard of the Third Chevarittai and be dressed in armor with our colors prominent. Let them glimpse you and the banner. Make no contact with them and don't get close enough to let any of the war-téni's spells reach you. As soon as you know you've been seen, turn and retreat back to here as if you're startled at finding them and are rushing back to report—not so quickly that they can't follow you; not so slowly that they realize you're leading them. You see that knoll there?" Jan pointed to a small rise in the valley, with a stand of oaks at its summit. Ci'Baden nodded. "I will wait for you there. Can you do that?"

    Ci'Baden bowed to Jan, who nodded back perfunctorily. "Bring them back by evening, E'Offizier." Ci'Baden bowed again and rushed away as Jan turned to ca'Staunton. "Starkkapitän, take the army on through the pass at double-time and wait. Leave me a company of men here as well as U'Téni cu'Kohnle and two more of the war-téni—that should be far more than sufficient."

    Allesandra tugged at the sleeve of Jan's bashta. "I will stay with you, Vatarh. I want to see."

    "No," he told her firmly. "You'll go with the starkkapitän. O'Offizier ci'Arndt will accompany you, so you can continue studying." As he glanced at ci'Arndt, he saw disappointment spread visibly over the man's face. "Is there a problem, O'Offizier? You may speak freely," Jan said to the man.

    "My Hïrzg, I would rather be with you, where my sword might be of help." Jan saw Allesandra's face light with that.

    "And me also, Vatarh," she said.

    His daughter's eagerness momentarily dissolved Jan's irritation— it reminded him of how he'd reacted, when his own vatarh had left him behind to go to war. He'd wanted more than anything to be with him. . . . "There will be time and opportunity for you, O'Offizier," he answered ci'Arndt. "I promise you. For now, take the A'Hïrzg up on the slopes of the pass so she can see the valley. Stay with her and answer her questions."

    O'Offizier ci'Arndt saluted, Allesandra pouted. Starkkapitän ca'Staunton shifted his weight, chain mail rustling. "My Hïrzg, I would rather you allow me to leave one of my a'offiziers in charge here. You should stay with the army, where you can be protected."

    Ca'Staunton's whining objection rekindled Jan's irritation. "You don't think I'm competent enough to be in command, Starrkapitän?"

    Ca'Staunton's face blanched. "No, my Hïrzg. Of course not. I only—"

    Jan cut him off with a slash of his hand through the cool air. "You'll do as I ordered, Starkkapitän," Jan snapped. "I suggest you go make certain that those orders are carried out. Now."

    Ca'Staunton looked as if he were about to protest further. His eyes narrowed and his fingers tightened on the jeweled hilt of his sword of office. Then he bowed to Jan as curtly as politeness allowed and stalked off. Jan heard him bellowing orders as he went.

    "The starkkapitän's offiziers are going to be unhappy," Markell commented. "He'll take out his frustration on them. It would seem the Kraljiki has heard rumors of your advance."

    "It's probably my dear wife who sent the Kraljiki the warning," Jan answered. "And if I find out that's the case, I won't need an annulment from the Archigos to rid myself of her." Markell rolled his eyes toward Allesandra, and Jan sighed. "Allesandra, perhaps you should leave . . ."

    "I don't like Matarh either, Vatarh. I told you—I like Mara much better."

    He might have chuckled at another time. Instead, he grimaced. "Go on," he told her, sternly. "And this time, no listening. O'Offizier ci'Arndt, if you'd go with her . . ."

    Allesandra sighed dramatically. She hopped down from the stool and left the tent with ci'Arndt behind her. Markell's face didn't change expression, but the way his shoulders had drawn back told Jan that he was thinking, as was Jan, of the Kraljiki's insulting arrogance in sending troops within Firenzcia's border. "I will make inquiries on my own regarding the Hïrgin and report back to you," Markell said. "The Téte of the Palais staff in Brezno may have something he can tell us. But if the Kraljiki has sent out the Garde Civile to verify the rumors of our advance, won't the silence from one of his offiziers confirm that? The messenger birds indicate that he expects regular reports."

    "By the time the silence becomes critical, we will be on the Avi a'Firenzcia and nearly within sight of the city. He won't have time to react. Besides, Markell, who says that this offizier won't be reporting back to the Kraljiki as he's supposed to?" Jan grinned and slapped the thin man on the back. "It's a fine day, I think, for the first battle of this war. . . ."

The sun had descended nearly to the shoulders of the western ridge before Jan saw the riders: first the galloping horses of ci'Baden's small group tearing at the soft earth of the valley as the banner of Firenzcia fluttered in the hands of the lead rider. Behind them by a half mile or so, the platoon of Garde Civile, their chain mail draped in the blue and gold of Nessantico, rode quickly but more cautiously into the valley. Ci'Baden brought his troop thundering up the short slope to the top of the knoll where Jan, Markell, and U'Téni cu'Kohnle waited for them on their own horses. Jan was dressed in his battle armor: his cuirass chased with silver filigree and draped in the white and red of Firenzcia. He wore a thin, golden crown. "My Hïrzg," ci'Baden said, saluting and panting as he leaned forward in his saddle. "They come."

    "As promised," Jan told him. "Good work, E'Offizier; you'll be rewarded for this, I promise. Now, if you and your men would stand with me . . ." The men turned their horses and they waited on the knoll, the nostrils of their horses blowing clouds of heated breath as they watched the intruders approach.

    They were no more than a quarter mile away now. Jan could see that the offizier in charge was troubled. He signaled his men to a halt, glancing from Jan on the knoll to the sides of the valley around them. Jan saw him converse rapidly with his men, and two horses turned and pounded away the way they'd come. They'd gone no more than a few hundred yards when a volley of arrows from the nearest copse of trees took down both riders and their horses. Jan could hear the scream of one of the crippled horses from the knoll until a second flurry of arrows stopped it.

    The riders had turned at the sound as well, and now they drew their weapons: as the soldiers Jan had placed around the valley emerged from cover; as he nudged his horse into a slow walk down from the knoll, the others following.

    The war-teni had begun chanting, but he was already too late: cu'Kohnle had begun his own spell as soon as Jan had begun to move, and now he released it. The ground erupted under the téni, a fountain of rock and earth that sent the man, broken and screaming, high into the air and then slammed him back down again, taking down a halfdozen of the riders next to him as well. One of the cages for the messenger birds broke open with the impact. A trio of white-and-tan pigeons fluttered up from the carnage; archers quickly brought them down. The offizier bellowed orders, but Jan's voice was far louder.

    "Enough! Put your weapons down. Surrender and none of the rest of you need die."

    "Surrender?" the offizier asked, his voice sounding weak compared to Jan's. He was bleeding from one of the rocks torn from the ground, the side of his face streaming red down his neck. "Is Firenzcia at war against the Holdings, then?"

    "I would say that it appears Nessantico is at war with Firenzcia," Jan answered. "The Kraljiki sends the Garde Civile into my country, against the laws of the Holdings and Firenzcia both," Jan answered. "I am Hïrzg Jan ca'Vörl, and I rule here. Put your weapons down. You've been sent on a fool's errand and you have no chance here. None."

    He could see the man hesitating, looking about as Jan's soldiers closed around them. With a look of disgust, he tossed his sword on the ground. "Weapons down and dismount!" he growled to his men. "Do it!"

    Steel clattered on grass as the men descended from their horses. Jan raised his hand; cu'Kohnle ceased chanting a new spell. Markell gestured to the foot soldiers to pick up the surrendered weapons, to take the caged messenger birds, and to lead the horses away. Other men bound the hands of the captives. "That was wise," Jan said. He was close enough now that he could see the stripes of the man's rank on his shoulders. "Tell me, O'Offizier, who sent you here, and what were your orders? What were you looking for?"

    "The order came from my a'offizier," the man answered. "Who gave him that order, I don't know. As for what we were to look for . . ." The man wiped at the blood on his face. "We seem to have found that."

    Jan sniffed. "You have, indeed." He turned to ci'Baden. "I leave you in charge," he told the e'offizier. "These men are spies, who have trespassed into Firenzcia against our laws, the laws of the Holdings, and the law of the Divolonté. Execute them."

    Ci'Baden's face blanched, but he saluted. The Nessantican o'offizier shrieked at the Hïrzg, breaking away from the soldier who had tied his hands and surging toward Jan. Ci'Baden leaped from his saddle and pushed the man back even as the o'offizier spat invectives at Jan. "No! You can't do this! Is this what the word of the Hïrzg is worth? The Kraljiki will put your head on a pike of the Pontica Kralji. You're a gutless coward and a liar!"

    Ci'Baden stepped forward and slammed the hilt of his sword into the offizier's face. Jan heard teeth and bone crack as the man crumpled.

    "Execute them," Jan said again to ci'Baden. "As the laws demand. All but the o'offizier; we'll need him alive for a bit. Markell—we will rejoin the starkkapitän and the A'Hïrzg, and perhaps we will send a bird back to Nessantico."

    He turned his horse and rode away to the screams and curses of the Nessantico captives.

"A NA!" Ana turned, startled both by the sound of the voice and the toofamiliar use of her name. She could see Mahri, crouched at the corner of the building. The ragged beggar beckoned to her. "How dare you address me in such a manner," she snapped at him. "Leave here now or I'll call an utilino and have you arrested." She turned quickly to hurry on.

    "Please," the cracked voice pleaded. His ruined, one-eyed face glanced around at the crowded plaza, as if he were about to flee if noticed. "I have news for you. Of Envoy ci'Vliomani."

    Ana hesitated. She was coming from the Second Call services, hurrying to her apartments to change before going to meet the Kraljiki again. There were many people about in the plaza; if she shouted, they would hurry to her. She bit at her lip, uncertain, then went over to him, following him back a few steps between the side of the temple and the sacristy alongside. "Tell me quickly," she demanded. "I don't have much time. What of Envoy ci'Vliomani?"

    Mahri's breathed wheezed in his lungs. He tapped his chest. "I . . ." he said. He stopped and swallowed. "I am not Mahri. I'm Karl. I'm Karl, Ana."

    Ana could not stop the laugh of disbelief. "I don't know what game you're playing here, but I won't be part of it. Good day to you."

    "No!" Mahri spat out. "Listen. You came to me in my cell in the Bastida. Commandant ca'Rudka brought you. He chained your hands together. You told me that you'd lost the ability to use the Scáth Cumhacht, the Ilmodo. You said that you'd lost your faith . . ."

    "How do you know that?" Suspicion narrowed her eyes. "You have spies in the Bastida, or you can use the Ilmodo yourself . . ."

    "He can, indeed," Mahri answered. "And more than you would think. Mahri sent his presence into my cell, somehow, and switched our places. He is the one who is in my body, Ana, sitting in the cell. And I'm trapped in his body."

    Ana was shaking her head. "No one could do that. There's no spell that allows it. Cénzi Himself would not allow it . . ."

    "I would have said much the same a few days ago. But it's the truth. I can prove it to you."

    "How?" His assertion held her while common sense shouted at her to leave, to refuse to believe any of this, to stop listening to what had to be the blathering of a madman.

    "Go to the Bastida. Have the commandant let you see me . . . him . . . again. Look at the person in the body that was once mine and ask him if it's true."

    She was shaking her head already. She started to step away from him, and the pendant that the Archigos had given her swung on its chain. "I gave you a stone shell," Mahri said. "Have you stopped wearing it?" Ana put her hand over the jeweled broken globe the Archigos had given her. She took a step backward. "It is me, Ana," Mahri persisted.

    Ana retreated again. He started to pursue her, but she scowled and that seemed to stop his advance. "What do you want of me?" she asked. "What are you after?"

    "I want you to come with me. To Mahri's rooms in Oldtown."

    "That won't happen."

    "You wanted me to teach you how to use the Ilmodo again. I could begin that process. And there are things there that you should see. That we both need to see."

    "You're not Karl. I don't believe that." It can't be true. I don't want it to be true. And she knew that it was not only because of the horror of thinking of Karl trapped in Mahri's body. It was because that meant that the sacrifice of her body to the Kraljiki had been unnecessary.

    "It's true regardless," he told her. "But whether you can believe it or not, I can still help you. Let me try, Ana. Please."

    Denial forced her another step backward. She was at the corner of the building, one hand on the marble seams. She could feel the sunlight at her back. Another step, and she could run. "12 Rue a'Jeunesse," Mahri told her. "I'll be there. Tonight."

    "Not tonight," she told him. "It's not possible."

    "Then tomorrow night," he insisted. "Ana, it's very important."

    She didn't reply. She took another step backward, then turned and hurried away. She didn't look back to see if he pursued her, not until she was safely in the crowds of the plaza. When she looked, she could not see him at all.

    At her apartment, she let Watha and Sunna help her change into a formal dress robe and comb and arrange her hair. She tried not to think of Mahri or of Karl as they fussed over her, as Beida came in to announce that the Kraljiki's carriage had arrived, as she was driven again over the Pontica a'Brezi Nippoli to his palace on the Isle A'Kralji, as Renard led her to the private back corridors and into the Kraljiki's apartment.

    As she went to him and kissed him, as she knew he expected that. He had made it clear to her that he wished his lovers to be actively affectionate in private, that he gave no pretense of propriety and expected none. There was a sharp, faint odor lingering around him, and his response was perfunctory, a bare brush of lips. "Is something wrong, Justi?" Ana asked. Francesca, was her immediate suspicion. She's done something, said something . . . She been expecting this—following her meeting with Francesca outside the Reception Hall, she knew that the Vajica would not easily give up her relationship with Justi, and it was not a subject that she could broach with him. Not safely. Francesca's presence had been in the background of all their conversations since, but Justi had never directly mentioned her.

    But Justi put his fingers on his temples, closing his eyes, and Ana realized that she was smelling the scent of cloves. "You've a headache?"

    "A horrible one," he answered. "It feels as if a smithy were smashing his hammer on the inside of my skull. I can't seem to rid myself of it, and the healer's potions have been worse than useless. I'm sorry, Ana."

    "Don't be," she told him. "Here, sit and let me rub your temples. I used to do that with Matarh when she had headaches, and she would do it for me." He allowed her to lead him to one of the chairs in the apartment, and she stood behind him, massaging his forehead and scalp. She expected him to be tense, but he seemed relaxed and comfortable.

    "You're not chanting," he said after a few moments.

    She stopped. "Kraljiki?"

    "Ana, you and the Archigos came every night after the Gschnas to my matarh. You kept her alive when she should have died immediately after ci'Recroix did his despicable act—you, not the Archigos. Matarh told me once that you had the 'healing touch,' and we both know what she really meant by that."

    "Kraljiki, the Divolonté . . ." Ana began. Her hands had fallen to her sides, and Justi turned in the chair to look at her.

    "I understand what the Divolonté says. I also know that the Archigos will sometimes look the other way when a téni uses that power. There's no one here but the two of us, Ana. Who would know?"

    She trembled. She looked down at the floor rather than at him. Her stomach burned. The walls of the apartment seemed to loom impossibly close, trapping her. "I can't . . ."

    His eyebrows raised, his already-prominent chin jutted forward even more. "You would refuse me that?"

    You can't refuse. You have to try . . . "No, Justi . . . But . . . I'm so tired, and I don't know . . ."

    "Try," he said, the single word burning in her ears. He turned away from her again, leaning back in his chair, obviously expecting her obedience.

    Ana took a breath. She closed her eyes. Cénzi, I pray to You to help me now. Please. I can't do this without You. I know that . . . She spoke the calming, prepatory prayer that U'Téni cu'Dosteau had taught her so long ago, letting the phrases open her mind to the Ilmodo. She could feel the energy pulsing around her after she finished the prayer, but it seemed to linger just outside the touch of her mind, almost mocking her with its proximity. She ignored the gathering feeling of failure, the sense that Cénzi had abandoned her for interest in the Numetodo. She allowed herself to find the words of healing, the syllables in words she did not know, and her hands moved as she chanted, following the path the words of release demanded. The Ilmodo writhed and sparked around her, yet continued to elude her grasp. She started the chant again, almost sobbing with frustration. Cénzi, I beg of You. I am sorry for my failures. I am weak, and ask You to forgive me my weakness and make me Your vessel again. . . .

    The Ilmodo slid around her again, and this time, this time she felt the cold shock of contact. She groaned aloud with relief, snatching at the Ilmodo with her mind before it could dance away once more. The words and her hands shaped the power. She took the Gift and moved her awareness to the man in front of her, she put her hands on his head again and let herself fall into him, searching for the pain in him and ready to release the Ilmodo to erase it . . .

    . . . and she felt nothing. There was no pain in Justi's head. No throbbing of agony in his temples or his neck. She moved through his body, searching . . . There was a nagging stiffness in his knees and lower back from years of hard usage in the saddle and on the fencing arena, and a clustering of scar tissue on his side from injuries in one of the Garde Civile's campaigns in which he'd been wounded. Nothing else. The Ilmodo burned in her and she could not hold it any longer, so she released it: to his knees, the spine, the scars. As the energy rushed from her, she gasped and sagged to the floor, exhausted.

    He has no headache . . . Cénzi, what have I done?

    She felt more than saw his hands around her, too weak to resist him as he lifted her and took her into the bedroom and laid her down there. "Thank you, Ana," he said. "I'm feeling much better now. . . ."

"WELL, WAS I RIGHT, Justi?" Francesca asked. "Did the Archigos' little whore perform as I told you?"

    He thought about lying to her, just to see how she'd respond, but he cupped one of her breasts in his hand and kissed the soft flesh there. "It was as you said," Justi answered. "She used the Ilmodo against the laws of the Divolonté." He saw her try to hide a smug, self-congratulatory smile and fail. She's ruthless but predictable. Those were, in Justi's opinion, good qualities for a Kraljiki's wife.

    "It's as my vatarh said," Francesca corrected him gently. "That whore and the Archigos use the Ilmodo against the Divolonté. They both deserve to be cast out of the Faith. They deserve the fate you should also give the Numetodo who are in the Bastida. You know that's why she gave herself to you—to save her Numetodo lover. She's nothing more than a harlot."

    And why did you give me your body, when you were already married? He toyed with the thought of asking her that, just for the enjoyment of watching her reaction. Instead, he pressed his lips together as if in thought. "That may be," he said, "but I confess that after Ana's ministrations I feel better than I have for the last few years. I can understand why Matarh thought she would be a good match for me."

    As he'd known it would, that banished the smile from her painted lips. The tiny lines around the corners of her eyes deepened as her eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed together. Then she seemed to realize the transparency of her emotions and ran her hand down his chest and past his waist. She caressed him as she snuggled close to him in the bed. "I'm the better match for you, Justi," she said coquettishly. "I could prove that again, if you'd like."

    "I'm certain you could," he told her, kissing her. He began to move on top of her, but a bell rang quietly in the outer room and both of them sighed.

    "Don't go," she whispered to him, tightening her arms about him.

    "Renard knows not to interrupt me without good reason," he told her. "This can wait." Reluctantly, he rolled from bed and donned a dressing gown and slippers. He went into the outer room, closing the door behind him. He sat in the chair nearest the fire and poured himself wine from the flagon on the side table. He took a long sip. "Enter," he called.

    The door opened and Renard hurried in. "My apologies for the intrusion, Kraljiki," he said, "but you asked me to come to you if there were news from Firenzcia. One of the message birds came a half-turn ago. This was attached to its leg." Renard held out a roll of paper to Justi.

The message was one of the phrases which Justi, Renard, and Sergei

had agreed upon. There is bright sun in Firenzcia. "Then there's no threat from the Hïrzg's army," Justi said. He found that the news was almost disappointing.

    "Except that there was an additional verification word that commandant ca'Rudka had told them to attach to the message. That word is missing. And the commandant had O'Offizier ce'Kalti write out all the phrases before he left so he could compare them to the writing on any messages we received. According to the Commandant, this is not written in O'Offizier ce'Kalti's hand."

    "Perhaps ce'Kalti suffered an accident, or had the bird handler write out the message."

    "Or perhaps this is not a genuine message, or someone other than ce'Kalti was responsible for it and intends to deceive us."

    "Ahh . . ." Justi leaned back, staring at the parchment again. "Interesting, isn't it, that A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca strongly urged us not to send the Garde Civile into Firenzcia. He said he was convinced that the Hïrzg would not be so foolish as to bring his army within a day's march of the border."

    He heard the click of the bedroom door and saw Francesca pad barefoot into the room, clad in another of his gowns.

    "Vatarh knows the Hïrzg better than anyone in Nessantico," she said. "Brezno is his charge, after all, and he and the Hïrzg talked often. I think that Vatarh's opinion is well worth attention. Always." Renard acted as if her presence were entirely expected, responding to her as if she were dressed in a vajica's finery rather than wrapped in one of Justi's robes.

    "The a'téni's opinion is indeed valued, Vajica ca'Cellibrecca," he answered, though Justi noticed that he kept his gaze on the parchment in Justi's hand rather than on Francesca. "But the Hïrzg is famous for his rash decisions. Look at what he did in the war with Tennshah—without the Hïrzg's provocation, the war might have ended with the Kraljica's negotiations at Jablunkov."

    "The Hïrzg has cooperated with my vatarh in the past," Francesca persisted. "He listens to Vatarh, almost as if he were the Archigos." She placed herself behind Justi's chair. Her hand rested on his shoulder, possessively.

    "Indeed, Vajica," Renard said. His gaze found her now. "The Kraljica was very familiar with the relationship between the Hïrzg and your vatarh. And its consequences."

    Justi felt Francesca's grip tighten angrily on his shoulder. Justi pushed himself up from the chair before she could speak. "I will want to speak with Commandant ca'Rudka in a turn of the glass, Renard. Please make sure that he's here." He fingered the scroll once more. "And thank you for bringing this to my attention so quickly." Renard bowed low to Justi, then gave a far more abbreviated bow to Francesca. He strode quickly to the doors and out.

    "That man is unbearably insolent," Francesca hissed before the doors had fully closed. "He was the Kraljica's servant, not yours. You should have rid yourself of him."

    "He was indispensable to my matarh and, for the moment, to me," Justi told her. "So I would prefer that you avoid making an enemy of Renard, my dear. He would make a very bad enemy, I think; he has been here long enough to know where all the skeletons are buried and who put them there. It would do you well to remember that."

    He watched her struggle to put away her anger, drinking the rest of the wine. He dropped the parchment to the table. "I pray that your vatarh is right about the Hïrzg. If he isn't, then I will be looking to him to support me against the Hïrzg and against his country."

    "My vatarh would support his marriage-son unconditionally. And his marriage-son would give me what I ask for. Also unconditionally."

    "You are extraordinarily unsubtle, Francesca."

    "Am I?" she asked. She smiled. She opened her robe and allowed it to cascade from her shoulders to the floor. Her fingers brushed the fleece between her legs. "Do you really think so?"

    He laughed. "Most charmingly so," he said, and went to her.

THE KRALJIKI'S DECISION troubled Sergei, but the man was adamant. "By the way, Commandant," the Kraljiki had said, almost as an afterthought toward the end of their meeting. "I think we need to demonstrate to the Holdings, and to Firenzcia, just how seriously we will take threats to our security. The Numetodo must confess their part in the assassination of Kraljica Marguerite. Those now in the Bastida, even if they're not directly involved, must be given the appropriate punishment according to the Divolonté to prevent them from misusing the Ilmodo ever again. The leaders, beginning with Envoy ci'Vliomani, will be prepared for public execution. Tomorrow." A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca, seated at the table with Sergei and the Kraljiki, had nodded his agreement, and it was obvious that no argument Sergei could make would change this order.

    Sergei wondered why it was A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca and not the Archigos who had been invited to the meeting. He also knew enough not to ask.

    "I will do whatever the Kraljiki orders," Sergei had replied, rubbing the polished metal of his nose, "but it's my duty as commandant to remind the Kraljiki that the Numetodo are no threat to anyone while they are in the Bastida. It would seem far more important that our attention stays on the very real threat of the Hïrzg."

    But the Kraljiki, with ca'Cellibrecca nodding vigorously beside him, had insisted that there was no threat from Firenzcia, and it was obvious that the Kraljiki had already made his decision. Sergei's objections had gone nowhere. Sergei knew it was also the duty of the Commandant of the Garde Kralji, once the decision was made, to carry out the orders without hesitation or second thought.

    He would do so. But he would talk to ci'Vliomani first, so the man knew what he faced and could prepare himself. He strode through the gates of the Bastida, saluted the gardai there, glanced up at the baleful head of the dragon, and went to Capitaine ci'Doulor's office.

    "Capitaine, I've come to meet with the prisoner ci'Vliomani."

    Sergei stopped in mid-sentence. Capitaine ci'Doulor blanched with Sergei's statement. His hand clutched at a sheet of paper on his desk, crumpling it and tipping the inkwell set on its corner. The man didn't seem to notice the mess. "Commandant ca'Rudka," the man stammered. "You must know . . ."

    "Know what, Capitaine?"

    The man's eyes widened. His mouth gaped like a river carp's. "I was just writing an urgent message to you. Only a turn ago, while you were at the palais . . . the prisoner . . . the Numetodo . . ."

    Sergei didn't wait to hear more. He spun on his toes and ran out of the capitaine's office, with ci'Doulor in pursuit. He went across the courtyard under the glare of the stone dragon and into the tower, taking the winding, ancient stone stairs two at a time. There was a garda at the landing to ci'Vliomani's cell, but the door was open. There were spots of blood on the garda's shoulders. Breathing heavily from the climb, Sergei went into the room, spinning around.

    The cell was empty.

    He heard ci'Doulor's panting entry a few moments later. "Where is he?" Sergei spat angrily, the question seeming to strike ci'Doulor like a fist. The capitaine shook his head as if denying the reality of what Sergei was seeing here. The garda, his face averted, pressed his back to the wall of the landing.

    "I don't know how to explain it, Commandant."

    "I'd suggest you try, Capitaine," Sergei told him. "I suggest you try very hard, and immediately."

    Rather than answer, Capitaine ci'Doulor's gaze went from Sergei to the garda. Sergei followed the motion. "You!" Sergei snapped. "Tell me what happened here."

    The man saluted and came into the cell. He stood at attention be fore Sergei. His eyes were focused more on Sergei's silver nose than his eyes. "The prisoner hadn't eaten for two days, Commandant," he said. "Not since the night that we found E'Offizier ce'Naddia unconscious at his post."

    Sergei frowned. "What? I wasn't told of that. Was Capitaine ci'Doulor aware of this event?"

    The man nodded. "We told him, sir."

    "Ce'Naddia fell asleep at his post, Commandant," ci'Doulor said. "That's all. He has been disciplined severely."

    Sergei nodded. "Undoubtedly. You said ci'Vliomani wasn't eating?" he asked the garda.

    "No sir, not since that night. The prisoner just sat there on his bed, his eyes closed. Wouldn't answer any question we asked of him, or respond if we . . . well, if we tried to get him to respond. Two days he was that way."

    "What happened tonight?"

    The garda glanced again at the capitaine, as if waiting for him to answer. He took a breath and continued. "About a turn ago, I noticed that it was cold here, as cold as the middle of winter. My teeth were chattering, sir, and I could hardly hold onto my sword when I drew it. I could see ci'Vliomani in the middle of the cell, and there was wind swirling around him, and a glow all around. I called for the gardai below to get the capitaine, and when he came . . ."

    Sergei glanced at the insignia on the man's uniform. "What's your name, E'Offizier?"

    "Aubri ce'Ulcai, Commandant."

    "E'Offizier ce'Ulcai, how long was it before Capitaine ci'Doulor arrived?" Sergei asked the man.

    Ce'Ulcai gave a sidewise glance at the capitaine. "I'm certain he came as quickly as he could, Commandant."

    "That's not what I asked."

    The man pressed his lips together at Sergei's tone. "The gardai below told me the capitaine would be up as soon as he finished his supper. I don't know how long that was, sir. Not for certain."

    Sergei nodded. "Capitaine?" Sergei said, and ci'Doulor's eyes returned to him. "What happened when you finally arrived?"

    Ci'Doulor licked his lips. "I looked in, and I saw ci'Vliomani."

    "As e'Offizier ce'Ulcai described?"

    "Yes, Commandant. I felt the cold and the wind, and saw the glow."

    "And you didn't immediately send for me, or for one of the téni?"

    "I thought . . . After all, the man was still in chains and silenced. No. No, sir. I didn't."

    Sergei glanced back to ce'Ulcai. "You opened the cell door?"

    "I didn't want to, Commandant," he said. "I told the capitaine so. But he ordered me to open it."

    Sergei nodded. "You did as you should, then, E'Offizier. The capitaine went in? You saw what happened then?"

    A nod. "The capitaine went in. He went up to the prisoner, shouting at him to stop. I saw him take his bludgeon and hit the man. As soon as he did, right at the moment the capitaine touched him . . ." Ce'Ulcai shivered. "The cold became worse than anything I've ever felt, and the glow was so bright I couldn't see anything at all. I heard the capitaine scream, and I started into the cell myself, but the wind threw me back into the wall, right there where you see the marks." He pointed out of the cell to the landing, where a few of the stones showed light scrapes in the dark surface. He touched the back of his head, and Sergei saw blood on his fingertips when he brought them away. "I hit the wall hard. When I managed to get up again, the cold and light were gone, and the only person in the cell was the capitaine. The prisoner had vanished. I went to the balcony, thinking he'd jumped, but there was no body in the courtyard, and even Numetodo can't fly. None of the gardai below say they heard or saw anyone on the stairs." The man ducked his head. "I'm sorry, sir."

    Sergei ignored the apology. "Capitaine, is this man's story true?"

    Ci'Doulor nodded. "Yes, Commandant. There was sorcery here. Numetodo work."

    "You had a guard rendered unconscious two days ago and since then the prisoner was unresponsive, and you didn't inform me. When you were told that there was something odd happening here earlier this evening, you decided that finishing your supper was more important. Seeing sorcery inside the cell, rather than inform me or someone in the Kraljiki's or Archigos' offices, you ordered this e'offizier to unlock the cell. You went inside. Alone. And now the prisoner is . . . gone. Are any of those facts substantially incorrect, Capitaine?"

    Miserably, ci'Doulor shook his head. "It just wasn't possible for him to escape, Commandant. We both know that."

    "Then he's still here, eh? I'm sure you're right. Then I'll leave you to search the cell thoroughly."

    The sarcasm struck ci'Doulor like a lash to his head. "Commandant, I'm sorry. I should have . . ."

    Sergei lifted his hand, shaking his head at the same time and silencing the capitaine. "No, Capitaine. This is entirely my fault and I'll accept the blame. It was my decision to leave you in charge of the Bastida when you were obviously not competent to perform that function. Therefore, I lost the prisoner, not you. But I can at least rectify my mistake so it won't be repeated. I relieve you of your command."

    Sergei gestured to ce'Ulcai to leave ahead of him, then walked to the cell door. Ci'Doulor was still standing in the center of the room, his body slumped, and now he began to follow them. Sergei shut the door in the man's face. As ci'Doulor called out in alarm—"Commandant! What are you doing?"—he turned a key in the lock and closed the viewhole in the center of the door. There were muffled screams and cries from the cell and a pounding of fists on the door. Sergei handed the set of keys to ce'Ulcai.

     "Your rank is now o'offizier," Sergei told him. "I'll have another of the Bastida gardai relieve you from your post immediately. Have the Bastida's healer look at the wound on your head; tomorrow morning after First Call, report directly to me at the office of the Garde Civile. I can use competence there."

    Sergei gave the sign of Cénzi to the man and went back down the long staircase, wondering how he would tell the Kraljiki and A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca what had happened, and wondering why he felt more relieved than angry.

"YOU'RE CERTAIN OF THIS?" Dhosti asked Kenne. His secretary nodded.

    "It came directly from our source in the Bastida, Archigos," Kenne had told him. "I just received the message."

    So the Kraljiki has ordered the execution of the Numetodo, despite Ana. And ci'Vliomani has vanished somehow. That will only inflame them further. I wonder if Ana knows yet . . . ? The beginnings of a headache throbbed on either side of his forehead, and his shoulders sagged. He suddenly felt very tired and very old.

    "I'll have to speak with the Kraljiki," Dhosti said. "Immediately. I pray that it's not true, though if ci'Vliomani has truly escaped, I'm glad, though I doubt the poor man can evade Commandant ca'Rudka for long. Let me just finish this letter, and . . ."

    He had no time to finish. Dhosti heard the commotion in his outer office: one of his staff member's loud voice protesting that the Archigos could not be disturbed. Then the tall, double doors pushed open and A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca strode through, his robes swirling. There was a quartet of gardai from the Garde Kralji with him. Dhosti's e'téni receptionist trailed after them, still protesting.

    The expression on ca'Cellibrecca's face told Dhosti everything he needed to know.

"E'Téni," he said. "A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca is always welcome in my

offices. Please return to your duties." He looked at Kenne, who was glaring angrily at ca'Cellibrecca. "Kenne, why don't you deliver the package I gave you earlier while A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca and I talk?"

    Kenne's head snapped away from ca'Cellibrecca. "Archigos? You're certain? I can stay here, in case you might need me."

    "Go on," he said. "You should deliver the package. Please. And tell the téni in the office that we should not be interrupted. For any reason."

    Kenne's eyes widened, but he gave the sign of Cénzi to the Archigos and—perfunctorily—to ca'Cellibrecca, closing the doors behind them. Dhosti placed the quill he'd been using back in its holder and stoppered the ink. He blotted the paper in front of him, then folded his hands on top. "Orlandi," he said. He deliberately didn't look at the soldiers. "This would seem to be more than a social visit. I hope you're not making a foolish mistake."

    "The mistake was yours, Dhosti, when you deliberately ignored the Divolonté. Not even the Archigos can do that." Ca'Cellibrecca seemed unable to keep a smug half-smile from his face.

    "You have proof of this? I would like to see it."

    "And you will, when you are brought before the Guardians of the Faith and the Concord A'Téni."

    "And you, as Téte of the Guardians, will no doubt endeavor to give me a fair trial."

    Ca'Cellibrecca's smile broadened. "I assure you that I will follow the precepts of the Divolonté, as I have sworn to do."

    "No doubt." Dhosti wondered how long he could stall here before he would have to submit to the inevitable. You had the throne of the Archigos for nearly eighteen years, longer than many. Eighteen good years, and you helped the Kraljica become the Généra a'Pace, the great creator of peace. You knew when the Kraljica was murdered that this might be coming. . . . "And no doubt you will take the throne as the new Archigos before the seat has even grown cold."

    "That decision will be up to the Conclave, as it has always been."

    "I'm an old man, Orlandi. All it would have required is patience on

your part and you might have been the Archigos in a few years anyway. Perhaps less. Cénzi will be coming for me soon."

    "You think I could wait while you maneuver your own heir into position?" Ca'Cellibrecca sniffed. "Surely you don't think me that stupid. Cénzi will send you to the Hags for your sins against Him, Archigos, and for your arrogance. Were I you, that would not be something I'd be anticipating with pleasure. But the Guardians will leave to Cénzi the decision of when you visit the Hags."

    Dhosti had seen the sad ones convicted by the Guardians, the téni who had violated their vows and been cast out from the Concénzia Faith, their hands cut off and their tongues removed so that they could no longer use the Ilmodo. Their terrible wounds were always cauterized, so that they might not die of them. They might wander for years as visible warnings of what the Faith would do to those who betrayed it. Dhosti imagined himself in that state, and his bowels turned queasily. "Who accuses me, Orlandi? You? Your cronies within Concénzia? Are you sure you have enough of the a'téni in your pocket?"

    "The Kraljiki himself makes the accusation, Archigos. Justi himself will testify to the Guardians against you and O'Téni cu'Seranta. I'm certain that when the a'téni hear the Kraljiki speak, those who have hesitated will be convinced. I've already spoken to ca'Fountaine and ca'Sevini; they agree with me that the Concord should be convened immediately."

    The words came with the finality of a sword strike to a bare neck. It's done, then. There is no hope. "Honestly, I would prefer you kill me outright, Orlandi. Now, if you like. I would accept the blow. That would be kinder than what the Guardians will do, and we both know it. We've never been friends, but even you would acknowledge that I care about the Faith as much as you do. All that I've done, I've done because I truly believed my course to be the right one, and I would say the same of you, Orlandi, even though we disagree. Slay me now, if that's what it's to be. I won't beg, but I ask you to have that much pity on me."

    Ca'Cellibrecca laughed. "You'd have me disobey the Divolonté? No, Dhosti. I've already called the Guardians to the chamber. You'll be taken first to the Bastida, where Commandant ca'Rudka will oversee that your confession is taken and any other names given to us so we may interrogate them. Afterward, you'll be brought before the Conclave A'Téni and the Guardians and the correct punishment will be meted out. Your disobedience to the laws will be made public, so everyone will know your shame when you are cast out from the Archigos' Temple without your tongue or hands."

    A winter storm lodged in Dhosti's gut, howling and freezing. His face was solemn and pale as he rose from behind the desk. The gardai around ca'Cellibrecca came to quick alertness, their hands going to weapon hilts. He knew that if he started to call the Ilmodo, if he began to move his hands in the pattern of a spell, they would strike. For a moment he considered whether that would be better, but he suspected that he would only end up wounded, not dead. This battle could not realistically be won. He could not prevail here: not at this moment. Not with the Kraljiki as ca'Cellibrecca's ally.

    No, there was only one feeble hope here and that was to flee so he could fight at a different time and place, when the odds might be better. The Kraljiki would realize soon enough that he'd placed a dangerous snake on the throne of the Archigos.

    If Dhosti were to be there when that happened, he would have to go to ground now. He would have to hide himself with those who might remain sympathetic to him. He hoped he'd given Kenne enough time.

    Dhosti spread his hands wide as he backed away from the desk. Once, you'd have been able to do this easily. Once, you wouldn't have even needed to think about it.

    But that had been so many years ago. Too many . . .

    The floor-to-ceiling doors to his balcony were open to admit the breeze from the plaza below, three stories down. There were balconies studding the outer wall of the building below, and a pole that flew the broken globe banner of the Concénzia Faith set to the right, half a story below. He'd stood on his balcony over the years and seen the possibility that he envisioned now: a running leap up onto the railing to get some speed, then a headfirst jump to the pole. Come in above it and catch it with reversed hands—let the momentum swing you around. Release just as you hit the banner—the fall from there would be somewhat blind because of the flag, but you should be able to reach the balcony directly below this one. Run out into the rooms there, into the main hallway and down the northeast stairway. They'll think you're heading for the plaza, but keep going down to the tunnels under the plaza. You mapped out an escape route from the tunnels months ago, one you hope that those following you won't know.

    You could do it. Once upon a time. You only have to do it this once more. Once more: for Ana, for Kenne, for the Kraljica, for those who believe as you do. But you can't hesitate. You must have faith. Faith, Dhosti.

    He could feel the doubt—you're too old, Dhosti, and even back then you used the Ilmodo, even if you didn't realize it. All that meditation before the performance you used to do, your hands moving through the routines . . .

    He forced the pessimism down and away.

    He took a breath. He smiled at ca'Cellibrecca.

    Then he turned and ran.

    He heard the shouts behind him: as he jumped clumsily, grunting, to the marble rail around the balcony, as he bent his knees and tried not to look at the long fall to the flagstones below, as he narrowed his gaze so that all he saw was the pole below and to the side.

    He leaped.

    He'd forgotten the strange sense of freedom that came with falling, the feeling that he'd surrendered himself to the hands of Cénzi. The wind fluttered his robes, tore at the wispy strands of hair, teared his eyes. He seemed to move in slow motion—as he once had, his body remembering the necessary positions. He saw the pole and reached out, his tiny fingers snaring the cold metal, the shock of the impact trembling the flabby, ancient muscles of his arms. The weight of his body and the force of his motion ripped his right hand from the pole, his short legs flailing to one side. Dhosti gripped the pole desperately with his left hand, but now the skewed angle took his body sideways and out.

    His finger slipped. He reached desperately for the banner there and found cloth. He dug his fingers into it as he started to fall again.

    He heard the sound of ripping, tearing fabric. He was still holding

onto the banner, but the piece he held tore away. He could see the colors in his fisted hand and he was falling free.

    He had time only to pray to Cénzi that he would not feel the pain for very long.

"OUT OF MY WAY, woman!"

          Ana heard the muffled shout from outside the doors as they rattled in their frames and were flung open. Kenne rushed in with Watha trailing him in wide-eyed panic. Kenne's face was flushed and his hair was tousled and windblown. He panted as he touched clasped hands to forehead. "O'Téni," he said, then had to stop for a breath. "You must leave. Now." The panic in Kenne's voice was palpable.

    "Leave?" Ana frowned. "Kenne, what's happened?"

    He shook his head. "There isn't time to explain. Ca'Cellibrecca just came with Garde Kralji to the Archigos' office. The Archigos spoke a . . ." Another pause, another hurried breath, a swallow. ". . . code phrase he'd given me not long ago, just in case. You have to leave, have to hide. So do I."

    Ana blinked at the torrent of impossible words. "I'll go to the Kraljiki . . ." she began, but Kenne cut off her protest.

    "Ca'Cellibrecca wouldn't move against the Archigos without the Kraljiki's knowledge. There's no hope there. Ana, they ordered all the Numetodo executed."

    Ana's hand went to her neck, but the stone shell wasn't there, only Cénzi's globe. "Karl . . ." she husked.

    "Ci'Vliomani's vanished," Kenne told her. "The Bastida's in an uproar. But ca'Cellibrecca's come to bring the Archigos before the Guard ians of the Faith and the Conclave. Take what you can and flee, Ana. They'll be coming for us next. They're already coming. We don't have much time at all."

    "Flee? To where?" Ana was rooted where she was. She stammered, wild thoughts chasing themselves in her head. You could go to the Kraljiki. Surely this is a mistake. He promised you. You gave him your body. "I need to talk to the Archigos."

    "You can't." Kenne's hands gripped her shoulders. His face was very close to hers. "You can't, Ana," he repeated, softly. "They've taken the Archigos by now, or maybe he's somehow managed to get away. Either way, he's gone. He's given us a little time to save ourselves, and that's what we have to do."

    "Where are you going?"

    "To friends I know. Out of the city. I can't take you with me, Ana; it's dangerous enough for them to take me in. You'll have to find your own way—but whatever you do and wherever you go, you have to do it now." He released her. Over his shoulder, Ana saw Watha press her hands to her mouth and flee from the room. "I'm leaving, Ana. I promised the Archigos that I would warn you, and I have. Get out of here. Take only what you can grab. They'll be coming for you at any moment."

    Ana had no answer. Kenne gave her Cénzi's sign, touched her shoulder again gently, and left. She listened to his hurrying footsteps. Somewhere in her apartments, someone was screaming in a high, thin voice. The sound jolted Ana from stasis. She ran to her room, shedding the green robe of the téni as she went. She dressed hurriedly in a plain tashta, and stuffed a carpetbag with some of her old clothing and a purse with a handful of silver siqils and a few gold solas. She could think of nothing else to take; everything in the apartment had been there when it had been given to her.

    She left, taking the stairs to the rear of the apartment. None of her servants were to be seen. The thud of the wooden door seemed final, like a hammer nailing closed the lid of a coffin. At the bottom of the stairs, she opened the street door slightly and glanced out. The en trance led onto one of the smaller side streets to the east of the temple plaza; only a cat prowling in the central gutter for food looked at her as she slipped out and started walking quickly away. She could hear the sound of some great commotion in the plaza: shouts and loud cries, and at the end of the street she saw people running in that direction. The low, shuddering, and mournful wind-horns in the temple domes began to sound at the same moment, making Ana shiver. It was still a good two turns of the glass before Third Call, yet someone had set the téni to sounding them.

    The sound frightened her, the spectral wail slithering around her.

    She turned her back, fleeing from it.

    As she half-ran, the bag bouncing against her legs, she wondered where she was going. Not to her old house; she could not involve Matarh in this.

    Mahri. . . . The name came to her as she hurried through the streets toward the Pontica a'Brezi Nippoli, watching for the Garde and ready to duck into a doorway if she caught a glimpse of green robes or any familiar faces. All that insane talk of his being Karl, and yet . . .

    There was nowhere else she knew to go. She would go to Oldtown. Its narrow, twisted streets would be as good a place to hide as any.

12 Rue a'Jeunesse was a narrow, thin, two-story building with a gloomy front courtyard. The building was wedged between larger structures on either side, which seemed to be all that held the flimsy, ancient structure together. A tavern occupied the lower floor; a set of rickety stairs led up over a narrow porch to an outside door on the second floor. Ana spoke a prayer of protection as she climbed the steps, a simple warding spell, but the touch of the Ilmodo comforted her.

    As her foot touched the landing at the top of the stairs, the door opened. "Hurry!" a voice whispered, and in the candlelit darkness beyond, she glimpsed Mahri holding the door open for her.

    "How did you know?"

    "He knew. He felt you use the Ilmodo," Mahri husked in reply. "Get inside—before someone sees you who shouldn't."

    She wondered who the "he" was that Mahri referred to, but she slid past him (a scent of old clothes and sweat) and into the room. Another person stood there in the shabby, tiny room. Ana gave a cry of delight; without thought, she dropped her bag to the floor and went to him, folding him into her arms. "Karl!"

    The man chuckled grimly, and he did not hug her in return. "You mistake the wrapping for the gift," he said. "Envoy ci'Vliomani is there." He pointed to Mahri. "At least for the moment," he added.

    Ana stepped back. Mahri—or was it truly Karl?—had shut the door and was slouched against it, the scars on his face yellowed in the light of the candles, his single eye gleaming under the black hood of his cloak. "I told you," he said. "Mahri, can we do this now? Not that I'm not grateful to you . . ."

    Karl—Mahri?—sniffed. "This will take a few minutes, and it will leave you disoriented. We'll both need to rest afterward." He took a long breath. "Sit there," he said, pointing to a chair near the window. "Be very still."

    Karl closed his eyes; the cloaked figure of Mahri went to the chair. Karl's hands moved; he began to chant in a language that Ana did not know, though the cadence and accent were both strangely similar to the language of the Ilmodo. Karl's body began to glow a sickly yellowgreen, and fingers of that light slipped away from him, like an ink droplet spreading through water, moving toward Mahri. When it touched him, his scar-distorted mouth opened and he moaned.

    Karl spoke a final word and spread his hands wide. The light flared. Mahri moaned again and slumped sideways to the floor; Karl's knees buckled and he went down, Ana rushing forward to catch him before he fell completely.

    "Karl . . ."

    His eyes opened. "Ana," he said. A hand came up to feel his own face. "It's me. I'm back . . ."

"YOU DIDN'T CARE for my body? I'm disappointed."

         Ana and Karl's head turned toward him. He'd managed to rise to his feet, though the weariness dragged on him as if an anvil were laced around his shoulders. All the old pains were there; after a few days in ci'Vliomani's younger and far healthier body, he could imagine the relief the man must be feeling at his release.

    You could have stayed. . . .

    He almost smiled at the thought. That would have been more of a sacrifice than ci'Vliomani could have realized. "Thank you," ci'Vliomani said now. "I thought . . ."

    "I know what you thought," Mahri told him. "And you'd have been wrong. I've no use for your form. I actually prefer this one." Mahri could see the disbelief pull at Ci'Vliomani's face, but otherwise the man said nothing. "After all," Mahri continued, "I'm not being hunted by the Garde Kralji for having escaped the Bastida. They were going to kill you. The order came from the Kraljiki."

    "No," the woman said, shaking her head. "He wouldn't have. He promised me . . . I . . ." She stopped.

    "Yes," Mahri said. He knew what caused her shoulders to slump, the tears to start in her eyes. The Capitaine had told him the rumors. "The téni who came to see you, who kept asking about you? She's the Kraljiki's mistress now, I hear. Just another of the grande horizontales. I can't say that I blame her—her future's better with the Kraljiki than you, eh?"

    Mahri also suspected what the woman thought she was trading for her body. He hoped that ci'Vliomani would be able to appreciate that when he learned what she'd done. "The Kraljiki lied," Mahri said to her gently. "I suspect he's very well-skilled at that. You're not the only one he's deceived." He stopped. "A moment . . ."

    There was a soft knock at the door. Ci'Vliomani stared, and cu'Seranta began to chant a spell, but Mahri shook his head to the o'téni. He went to the door, and spoke to the man there—one of the beggars who formed his information network. When he closed the door, he took a long breath before turning back to them.

    "The news is worse than I had thought," he told them. "The Archigos is dead."

    Cu'Seranta stifled a cry with her hands. She closed her eyes and made the sign of Cénzi. "How?" she asked.

    "He fell from his balcony at his residence. Jumped, some say. Or was pushed, according to others. A'Téni ca'Cellibrecca was seen at the same balcony immediately afterward, it seems. The news is all over the city. The Conclave A'Téni has convened in emergency session already; ca'Cellibrecca has been named acting Archigos until all the a'téni have been informed and a formal vote can be taken—they will meet here in a month."

    "And ca'Cellibrecca will be Archigos in fact at that time," ci'Vliomani said.

    "He has the backing of the Kraljiki," Mahri answered calmly.

    Ci'Vliomani snorted his derision. "And his daughter shares the Kraljiki's bed." Mahri saw cu'Seranta startle at that, turning to stare at the Numetodo.

    "You knew that?" she asked him.

    Ci'Vliomani nodded, pointing to Mahri. "He showed us," ci'Vliomani said. "While the Kraljica was alive, we might have been able to use the information. Once she died . . ." He sighed. "With ca'Cellibrecca as Archigos, he'll marry her. She's the obvious choice."

    Mahri saw cu'Seranta's face color, and she went silent. Yes, she was seduced, or allowed herself to be seduced, by the Kraljiki also. And ci'Vliomani . . . that frown tells me he's suspicious as well.

    "There's more news, and worse," Mahri told them. "It would seem that several of the Archigos' staff fled just before his death. They are suspected of gross violations of the Divolonté, as well as complicity in the Archigos' death."

    "That's not true!" cu'Seranta shouted, and Karl shook his head toward her, a finger near his lips in caution.

    "True or not," Mahri continued, "the Garde Kralji and the Garde Civile have been told to find those téni who were on the former Archigos' staff and bring them before the Guardians to be judged."

    "I can't stay here, then," cu'Seranta said. Weariness and fear whitened her face. "I have to find somewhere else."

    "This is as good a place as any," Mahri told her. "No one can come here that I don't allow, and there are things I can teach you." He included ci'Vliomani in his nod. "That I can teach both of you."

    He saw the disbelief, the uncertainty in both of them. It amused him. He took a long breath, letting his shoulders rise and his chest fill, letting himself settle fully into his familiar body once more. "But that's for later," he said to them. "For now, we all need food, and then some rest. The world outside will take care of itself. . . ."