Copyright © 2012 M.E. Corey Brown

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Cover Art by Elena Dudina (Copyright © 2012)

For Daniel,

my Champion, who is my inspiration for all things magical.

Table of Contents

AFTER THE BURNING……….

NIGHT STORM’S MEETING……….

PREPARATIONS ARE MADE……….

PROMISES OF THE PAST, THREATS OF THE PRESENT……….

MACHINATIONS……….

THE CHALLENGERS……….

THE HUNT……….

MESSENGERS……….

TEST OF TRUTH……….

HEIR AND CHAMPION……….

AFTER THE BURNING

“How much did you love her?”  The question was wistful, and came from lips salty with tears.

“I didn’t.”

Antonia whirled around on her father.  It would have been a shock for any woman, but more so for Antonia, always the romantic, the idealist.  She stared at her father with wide eyes and an open mouth.  “Truly?” she whispered, as though someone might hear.  “Never?”

The gray beard and mustache trembled a bit as he smiled.  “Truly.  Not the way you mean.”

Her glistening green eyes blinked.  “Not even when she was young and beautiful?”

The smile became a chuckle.  “Youth and beauty, my dear,” he intoned gently, “are overrated.  And anyway, your mother always had both in abundance.”

Antonia paused, trying to understand, attempting to come to terms with the idea that her parents had never been in love.  “Then why…?”

“Dear, love is not made of youth or beauty.  Your mother had her youth long after her peers had withered, including me, and her beauty surpassed any woman in any room.”

It is true, Antonia agreed silently.  Never has there been a Lady of finer grace.

“Nia, I loved your mother, but not in the way I know you mean when you ask.”

Too soon, Antonia realized, her head swimming.  Too soon to speak like this.  Just after the funeral, still in these dreadfully heavy clothes, eyes still stinging from the Burning smoke-it was too soon to figure out what the man was trying to say.  She never should have asked.  “I don’t understand,” she murmured miserably.

“Your mother and I were true friends, Nia.”

It hurt worse than if he had said they had been mortal rivals.  “Friends!  Father, she was your wife!  Your Queen!”

“Nia, dear.”  The man settled himself wearily into a chair, the one Malona had hated for its inability to match any other part of her décor.  Somehow, he thought absently, it was not as comfortable without Malona there to roll her deep blue eyes at it.  “Nia, your mother and I met just once before we married, and that was at the signing of a treaty, so that I might propose marriage to her in person.”  He smiled wryly at the memory.  “Your grandfather thought that to be an unnecessary nicety.  In any case, the moment we met, I knew I would like her.  She exasperated her own father as I did mine, and I thought we’d get along nicely.  We did.  For twenty-five years.  But it never became the story land love that you imagine.  She was a wonderful companion, and I shall miss her dearly.  We were luckier than most.  Some arranged marriages end in disaster.  Your mother and I had a friendship many husbands and wives do not.”  As an afterthought, he added, “I learned from her.  Before her, I never knew a woman could be clever.  My mother certainly showed no signs of it.”  Not that his father would have allowed it, he thought. 

Antonia stood.  She wondered if her feelings were disappointment, anger, grief or some other.  “Grand.  You tell such a romantic story!”

“Dear, don’t be upset, and do not leave yet.  I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Cursing her tendency toward obedience, the young woman sat again, folding her hands on her lap.

“I did not know I would talk to you so soon of this.  But our segue could not be better.  You ask me of my marriage, when I wish to speak of yours.”

A sickening punch hit the bottom of her stomach.  Too soon….

Enré took note of her eyes.  It was as if he had slapped her, though her expression had not changed a bit.  Unknowingly, he echoed her thoughts.  Perhaps it was too soon to speak of such things.  But it was too late to take it back.  “Nia, before she died, Malona and I spoke of your marriage.”

“I see.”

The man swallowed.  “You must know it is nearing time for it.  You must know that.”

Antonia lowered her gaze.  “I feared so.”

“As she was dying,” Enré began again, wondering how he could lead men into battle, face devilish foes, but still fear an unhappy expression on his daughter’s face.  A part of his mind snickered to imagine his First Lieutenant’s reaction if he ever learned that.  “As she was dying, we came to a decision.  Certainly you must marry, Antonia.  Let there be no mistake.  For there must be an heir.  I will not die without an heir, Antonia.  When we lost your brothers, we lost our future kings.”

Antonia nodded, another, remembered pain filling her.

“Your cousin Pordos would be dangerous on the throne, Antonia.  I believe that, as did Malona.  So what we determined is this.  Burning games will be held for your mother, in her honor.”

“Of course,” Antonia breathed, even as her throat tightened.

“At the end of these games will be a challenge.  Or rather, a series of challenges.  From among your suitors, among the noblemen of acceptable birth and wealth, one will arise victorious, having proven to me, and to you and my bannermen, that he will be a true king, with courage, strength and intelligence.  He must be the most honorable of men.  He must be a good king, and a good husband.  And a good father.”

“A challenge,” she frowned.  “A joust?  For my hand in marriage?”

Enré shook his head vehemently.  “Of course not.  These challenges will be of my own design, known only to me until the moment they are announced.  I want no man to have advantage over another.”  He reached for her hand, which he found strangely cool.  He searched her face for reaction to his proposal.  Surely Malona would have been more eloquent in the saying of it, he chided himself.  “Do you understand?”

“He must be a true Champion.  He must win the heart of the kingdom and the trust of the King.”

The man smiled with relief.  “And hopefully the heart of the Princess, my romantic daughter, as well.”

The young woman, laden with her mother’s grace, lifted herself from her chair.  “It is more than fair, Father,” she whispered.

He sat back against the pillows of his old chair, and ventured a smile.  “Be glad, my dear, that there is not presently a war to correct,” he teased softly.

She rewarded him with a smile of her own.  “The war you and Mother ended…I am glad of that too.”  She placed a kiss on the wrinkles of his forehead and exited the room with an elegance reminding him of Malona. 

And for the first time since his wife’s death, Enré was alone with his pain.  For the first time, he allowed tears to fill his eyes and soothe their burning.  For the first time in his life, Enré, King of Tridencia, son of Caros the Callous, grandson of Arbon the Unshakeable, great grandson of Eron the Fourth, called the Stone-Hearted King…for the first time in his life, Enré wondered if perhaps he had loved his wife after all.

He bent his gray head and wept. 

*****

Antonia pulled the door closed behind her.  Her heart was pounding in her breast as she briskly walked back to her chambers.  Servants watched her mournfully as she passed.  All were dressed in appropriate shades of black and gray, and each wore a sash of burgundy.  It had been her mother’s favorite color, and had been unofficially adopted as a symbol of the Queen.  While Antonia truly appreciated their show of love for her mother, a pang of anguish hit her each time she spoke to one of them.  For the past few days, each had accurately entitled her High Princess Antonia, a term only used in Tridencia for the eldest daughter of the Queen after the mother’s Burning.  The knowledge that High Princess was the respectful term for her servants and all visitors to use made it no less a painful reminder. 

Does that ever pass? she wondered.  No one to ask.  The only other Princess of Tridencia, her aunt Betucé, had married and taken another title soon after the death of her own mother.  She was now Betucé, Princess of Tridencia, Duca of Divari.  Her full title was used only at major events, which she rarely attended anymore. 

Worse was the thought of being called Queen.

Antonia had quickly issued an order to the palace Steward to eliminate the “High” before her title, breaking in tradition.  Even if that was her true title, she did not intend to be referred to as such by the servant staff.  Not until she was married at least.

She flung open the door to her bedchamber to find Kazandra already on her bed.

Dark eyes full of sympathy gleamed at her.  “Come here,” she commanded gently.

Antonia closed the door and plopped herself down next to the slender woman.  The rich blankets comforted her, as did Kaza’s arms.  “I’m so tired.”

“I know,” Kaza purred.  “Let me help you undress.”

Another day, that might have been said more playfully, but today, Antonia simply allowed her Lady-in-Waiting to strip her layers of skirts down to her knees with no ceremony.  She stepped out of them, staring at nothing.  Kaza patiently pulled her leggings off as well, and loosened the knot on her bodice.  After helping Antonia into a nightgown, she took the skirts to the maid in the hall, who awaited her final duty of the night with sleepy eyes, then returned to kneel behind the Princess on the huge bed.  Antonia relaxed as Kaza freed layers of her braids.  The weight of her hair had seemed to rival the burden of her clothes, but now she felt the relief of Kaza’s soft hands on her neck as she unraveled each braid without a word.

Once her hair was loose, Kaza dutifully picked up the wooden brush next to the bed, and went to work calming the red curls.  Finally, she spoke.  “You’re feeling better.” It was not a question.

“I am,” Antonia admitted.  She took the brush from the Lady’s hand and turned to face her.  “You always make me feel better.”

Kaza’s heart melted at the words and the beauty of the woman before her.  “Truly, I’d do anything to keep you from pain,” she whispered, almost to herself, feeling each word deep in her heart.

Green eyes lowered.  “I know, my love.  But you cannot bring back my mother.”

Regret seized Kaza’s chest.  “Would that I could, Toni!”

“Nor can you,” she continued slowly and wearily, “take back my father’s words.”  Eyes awash with tears finally lifted to meet her lover’s.

A coldness filled Kaza, and she wrapped her bare arms around herself.  “No.  No, Toni,” she whimpered.

“It is time I did my duty to my father, as he has always done his to me.”

Breath came short and jagged for the young, slender Lady.  Her lips began to tremor.  “But, but Toni!  Your mother-she just died, you can’t-”

A tender kiss stilled her rising panic.  “Shh,” her lover whispered.  “Not yet.  But soon.  You knew it would happen.”

Kaza nodded jerkily.  “I knew.  I hoped it wouldn’t.”

For once, Antonia seemed the older of the two, the wiser, speaking as to a child.  “Did you think, perhaps, that my parents would breed another boy?” she teased gently, brushing a stray lock of hair from Kaza’s forehead.

A glare and defiant shake of her head, spilling hair to her shoulders, was her silent answer.

Antonia breathed a sigh and took Kaza’s face in her cupped hands.  “My love, you know you will never be joined in my heart.  There is no room for any but-“

Kaza pushed her away angrily.  “Rather that you joined me in marriage!”  She stalked to the window to stare out moodily.

Antonia let her go, languishing on the bed for a moment, and enjoying the woman’s naked silhouette in the moonlight.  She realized with a start how late it was.  Kaza must have been awaiting her return for hours.  “Darling, that isn’t possible.”

“I won’t share you.”  It was said through gritted teeth, and had the threat of a sob behind it. 

“You will.”

Kaza’s dark eyes flashed madly as she whirled around.  Her voice was vicious.  “I won’t!  See if I will!  I’ll drown myself in the river first!”

Antonia failed at holding back her laugh.  “More likely, you’ll drown him!”

“I might.”  But she left the window and sat beside her on the bed again, the fire fading from her eyes to make room for despair.  “Would you hate me if I murdered your new husband?”

“No, but it would be difficult to explain, and I would just have to find another one.”

At last, Kaza laughed too, and the movement sent her tears sliding past her lashes down her cheeks.  She allowed Antonia to put her arms around her, and she closed her eyes to enjoy it.  She sniffed.  “I just don’t want to lose you,” she whispered into the Princess’s breast.

Antonia’s eyes closed then too, as though she could block out the pain in her rapidly changing world.  “I know, my love.  To lose my mother is wretched enough.  To lose you, I would not survive.”

“Who is it?” Kaza asked flatly.

“I don’t know.”  She repeated her father’s words to the dark Lady.  When Kaza broke their embrace to give her an odd look, Antonia laughed mournfully.  “Sweetness, I do not believe he had you in mind when he said my ‘suitors.’”

“No.”  The Lady’s head shook very slowly.  “No.  That isn’t what I was thinking of.”

The Princess frowned, taking note of the intelligent sparkle in her lover’s eyes.  “What are you thinking of, Kazandra?” she asked fretfully.  Kaza deLunadoné was one of those clever women the King had never known existed.  It was one of the reasons she loved her. 

But the Lady was not ready to reveal the beginnings of her scheme.  “Later,” she promised.  “When I have thought it out further.”  Then a wicked smile played on her face.  “Come.  Let us enjoy what limited time we have.  Perhaps I’ll convince you to leave your inheritance and run away with me.”  With that, she pounced on the Princess and covered her skin in kisses.

Too bad, Antonia thought.  She had almost hoped that was Kaza’s actual plan.

*****

Kazandra had not considered that her parents might arrive for the Burning Games.  But when the announcement came that her brother’s banner could be seen approaching the palace, she was not surprised.  Felíz could not be far from any action for long.  He had fought beside Eron and Ever in the war, then immediately had hired himself out as a mercenary to the High Temple, which sent him to what were now his own lands, to put down a new cult made of former priests.  There, he had met Lady Daena, and, before long, had advanced his social status considerably through their union.

Kaza liked her.  She was a quiet, sweet gentlewoman, who barely spoke above a whisper.  But she had chosen Felíz because he was enamored of her, and through him, she enacted several changes in her region to help the poor.  In particular, she was kind to peasant mothers.  She had convinced Felíz, who never would have thought of it himself, to employ the services of a tiny army of physicians who traveled from village to village giving free advice to mothers and children.  She had recently had the idea that each of the physicians should choose an apprentice from these villages, a young boy, who would learn the trade and assist the physician as he traveled.  Other members of the court thought this was ridiculous, that a peasant boy could learn a science.  But Felíz was powerless to deny Daena anything, and immediately ordered his physicians to choose a common boy to assist each of them. 

Daena had undoubtedly rewarded him, Kaza considered as they approached the courtyard.  Her sister-in-law had a huge belly, and Felíz was beaming.  “Another one?” she laughed.

Antonia smiled at her.  “Daena is doubling the population of the kingdom by herself.”

“It is a wonder my brother has reached his fortieth winter, with all that activity!”

“Quite.”

The moment Felíz’s eyes beheld his sister, he strode straight for her and lifted her into his arms.  “Kaz,” he shouted happily.  “How is the third most beautiful woman in the world?”

It was his joke, that only his wife and his Princess were more beautiful than his sister.  

“Well, brute.  Put me down.”

She was placed upon her feet as Daena approached.  “Dear Kazandra, hello!  Your Majesty,” she said, dipping as well as she could under her burden.

Antonia grabbed her arm.  “Daena, please.  Felíz did not even greet me; I certainly do not expect you to curtsy for me under your condition!”

Felíz’s face flushed.  “My Princess, I-“

“Shut up, Felíz.  Hug me, then help your wife to a chair inside.”

The grin was back.  “Have you seen what I’ve done?” he teased after the warm embrace.

“Is there any way to miss it?  Daena, please, relieve your feet.”

Kaza shook her head.  “Stupid Felíz, it’s a wonder you didn’t make her ride the whole way!”

Daena smiled sweetly.  “My Lord just purchased the most comfortable of coaches, filled with pillows.”

Felíz beamed.

“Come, Lady Daena.  You’ll sit and tell me of all my tiniest subjects!”

Kazandra and her brother watched as Antonia lead the Lady away, speaking of her seven children, including two sets of twins, and the one on the way.  Then they turned again to each other.  Behind them, the Steward of the palace was supervising the attending to Felíz’s men and horses and coach.  “Jepón would have appreciated some notice that you were coming,” she scolded playfully. 

“He’d never show his irritation for fear it would cover his usual expression of annoyance.”

Kaza gave a giggle.  “Here for the challenge, Brother?  It would appear that you remain happily married.”

A booming laugh reminded her of the time they had spent together as children, though he had been much older.  “With seven children and nearly an eighth!  No, any other man who can handle Antonia may have her!  My Daena is a sweet Lady without a thought in her mind except how she might please her Lord and best rear her children.  Did I tell you, though, about my newest idea for the physicians?  They shall have apprentices, you see, but not noblemen’s second sons, as you might expect….”

And that was why Kaza liked Daena.  She was so subtle that she was able to make Felíz believe these were his own ideas.  Then she even spoke of them to others to show how clever and compassionate her husband was.  Women like Daena made Kaza wonder why Antonia could not simply be the sole, single, heir to Enré’s throne.  She was smart enough to make her own decisions.  It seemed ridiculous to her that a man was needed in order for progress to be made and peace to be kept.  Tradition aside, there were still too many who believed that women were simply incompetent and fragile. 

She let Felíz prattle on about his brilliant ideas as they walked into the palace and she led him to his guest chambers.  When they entered the room, however, Felíz’s demeanor changed.  He took her by the shoulders, looking into her eyes.  “Poor, dear Kazzie,” he murmured, using her childhood nickname, which their mother had loathed.  “How are you?”

She pretended not to know what he meant, but her eyes lowered.  “I’m well.  I told you.”

“Antonia’s hand in marriage is about to become a prize in a joust.  And you are not bothered.”  He looked unconvinced.

Kaza finally lost her smile, and allowed herself to lean on her brother’s chest.  “It’s horrible.”

Now that she had relented, he risked a small joke.  “Would you like to join the challenge?  I’ll lend you some britches.”

She squeezed her eyes shut.  “Don’t think I haven’t considered it.  But since the point is to get a baby on her, I imagine it would not work out.”

“No,” he admitted softly.  “Probably not.  I’m sorry.”

Kaza sniffed.  “What is the big problem?  Plenty of women have a relationship, then one will get married, and that is the end of it.  No problem.”

“That’s not the end of it, Kazzie.  Those women who really love each other as you and Antonia do are miserable afterward.  It is only the end of it for those women who are not in love.”

“I’ll make it through.”

Felíz nodded.  “Aye, you will.  You of any woman can take care of yourself.  But it will be hard.”  He sighed.  “And you know you will be expected to become a bride immediately following Antonia’s wedding.”

At last, she stepped back and sat at his breakfast table.  “I won’t.”

Felíz looked down at her for a moment, and then joined her.  “My sister, you are impossible.  In all this talk of Antonia’s upcoming marriage, you’ve given not a thought to your own.”

His sister gave another indignant sniff and looked into his eyes fiercely.  “I’ve thought of it.  And there will be none.”

A great sigh came from Felíz, and he was finally showing the signs of a long day riding.  “Kazzie, that’s just not possible.  Mother and Father are already preparing negotiations with several-“

Kaza leapt to her feet.  “Who?” she shrieked.

A shrug was her answer.  “Vence of the wine country, Alternon of-“

“I know where they’re of, Felíz.  Names!”

“Paulo-“

“Paulo!” she shouted, beginning to pace in a shaky panic.

Felíz’s patience was wearing.  “Yes, Kaza.  Paulo.  A very suitable match.”

She gave a quite unladylike snort.

He threw his hands into the air.  “Kaz, you’ll marry.  So you had better begin planning for it.  What I am offering is to sway Father toward the suitor of your choice.  But you must choose!  And quickly.  You have only a few weeks before Antonia’s husband is announced, and only a few more before she marries.  Tradition holds that her Lady-in-Waiting marry with her or on the next day!”

“Tradition,” Kaza spat.  But her eyes had changed, her expression cooled.  “You would do that, Felíz?”

He was startled, then suspicious.  “Do what?”

She spoke slowly, as an idea formed in her mind.  Something, which had taken hold in abstract shape several nights before in Antonia’s bedchambers, was now becoming solid…tangible.  “You would push Father toward my choice?”

“Aye.” Felíz looked relieved.  “It is all I can do, Kazzie, but I’ll do it.  Choose smartly, and I’ll make it happen.”

She surprised him with a prompt kiss on the cheek.  “Thank you, brother!  Rest yourself for the challenges.  I believe you will find them to be worth your trip!”

With that, she hurried from his room, skirts rustling and braids flying.  Once the door had closed on her confused brother, she raced down the stairs, a wicked smile upon her face.

*****

The true plan formed slowly in Kaza’s mind while her lover slept that night.  It was the first good sleep Antonia had gotten since the Queen’s condition had deteriorated three weeks ago.  The daughter had held vigil at her mother’s bedside night and day, and even Kazandra deLunadoné, her closest Lady-in-Waiting and friend since childhood, had been unable to convince her to sleep.  She had dozed in a chair when the Queen slept, but got little rest.  She had insisted upon caring for her mother’s comforts herself, except occasionally, when Kaza had begged her to eat.  Kaza had spoken privately to the head of servants, the Steward.  He had asked Antonia to leave the room while the women bathed Malona to “preserve the Queen’s dignity.”  Kaza was grateful for Jepón’s role in getting Antonia some much-needed fresh air and bread.  Jepón was crafty, and had come up with the only phrase that would remove the dutiful daughter.  Even Kaza had not thought of it.

The Queen was dead two weeks now.  The first several days had been spent holding Antonia as she sobbed.  This would be the last night they would have to themselves, Kaza knew.  The following morning would begin the nearly endless feasts and games in honor of the Queen’s life.  Then would come the King’s challenges. 

Kaza had no doubt every eligible man of breeding would be in attendance for the Princess’s sake.  The idea of these young men polishing their armor to catch Antonia’s eye both amused and sickened her.  A great number of self-named Champions had already arrived, and were eating Enré out of most of the palace’s winter reserves.

She glanced down at the future Queen, and stroked her red curls from her face.  So soundly did she sleep that she did not even stir at the touch.  Kaza’s gaze returned to the moons out the window, made of real glass. 

Every man will be here, she thought.  That includes Derík.

Derík of House Shogan was one of the most handsome and elegant young noblemen in the kingdom.  The Shogans were horse people.  There did not exist finer horses than they bred, and a Shogan mare could sell for a small fortune.  A former Second Lieutenant had once joked that he would sooner ride a sick, blind Shogan into battle than any other perfectly healthy horse.  Upon hearing of his comment, Derík Shogan had made a gift of a colt to the young man, forever ensuring the favor of the military commander.

And the king.  That Second Lieutenant had been his oldest son, Prince Eron the Fifth.  The colt had been with Prince Eron in his final battle, and by all accounts, had fought as ferociously as his rider.  Afterward, Derík’s father Cebo had asked the King awkwardly if he intended to Burn the horse with the young Prince, as was sometimes done.  Enré had quickly allayed Cebo’s and Derík’s fears.  “My men said that colt fought off everyone who tried to go near him, like a damn dog.  Refused to believe the boy wasn’t getting up again.  He even bit the flesh off one of our Knight’s shoulders-he’ll carry the scar forever.  No horse that loved my son that much is going to be put down before his time.  In fact, take him back, and breed more like him.”  Since that day, Enré and Cebo had been friends.

“Nothing would please him more, my love,” Kaza murmured, soothing her lover’s curls absently.

“Hmm?” came from Antonia.

“Nothing, my love.  Sleep,” she coaxed.  When her breathing had returned to normal, she smiled.  “You wed Derík Shogan, my love.  Nothing would please our king more.”

NIGHT STORM’S MEETING

Terrance of House Venoré was riding.  In the rain.  He hated the rain, which was ironic, because it suited him so.  He had a gray pallor that made him seem both unhealthy and unsavory at the same time.  His skin was not his best feature.  His best feature, he mused darkly, was probably his purse.

He was soaked clean through by the time he got to his destination, and was deeply tired of self-analysis.  Looking inward always put him in a sour mood.  His mood was what his mother blamed for the lack of female callers.  In spite of his disinterest in female callers, he bothered to argue with his mother that it could be blamed instead on his position as a second son and an ugly man.  Making the old saying painfully true, his mother always responded that she loved his face.  And even that was a quite obvious lie.

Terrance’s mere existence was something of a scandal and mystery-an embarrassment.  Old Man deVenoré had been dead for five months before Delise deVenoré had begun to show signs of giving him another son.  Though polite company did not mention it, Terrance had been around enough impolite company over the years to know she had been pregnant for fourteen months before giving birth to a quite ugly baby.  It had been Terrance’s first struggle with math as a child, until his older brother Kenton had cleared it up for him in a crude way that had ended in Terrance’s first closed-fist punch.

Things had gone down from then.  Once he had realized why the servants were sarcastic in their “Yes, m’lords,” Terrance had shocked his mother’s sensibilities by telling them to knock it off entirely and just call him by his given name.  When that dissolved into “Terry,” his mother had thrown her hands in the air and told him he might as well be a servant.  He always snickered to remember the time she had walked in on him playing dice with the stable grooms.

He had quickly learned that the servants respected him more as Terry than as Lord Terrance.  And since his noble “peers” respected him little anyway, he found the poorer classes to be better company.

That was until he met Derík Shogan.

They had met at Kenton’s knighting.  The reception following the ceremony was a gaudy show of wealth, and everyone of note was there, which meant Terrance had to be.  His hatred for his half-brother ran deep, but even he recognized that Kenton was a formidable warrior, and the Princes Eron and Ever could have no better to protect them in battle.  It was why he held so dear the memory of the one and only time he had won a fight between them, and wished he hadn’t been too angry and hurt at the time to enjoy it.  It was also why it had come as such a shock when, years later, the Princes had been slain at the Battle of Farley, and Kenton had not been.  It had been his duty as a knight to give his life to protect the Princes.  Terrance, and many others, had secretly found it odd that his brother had failed both to protect the Princes and to give his life.  But such things happen in the heat of battle, or so he was told.  Several knights were killed, Kenton had received a nasty shoulder wound, which had never healed properly, and by all accounts, Kenton had been glorious at Farley.  Hearing of his heroics made Terrance want to be sick.

At the reception following his knighting, two years before Farley, long speeches were made on behalf of Kenton’s prowess in battle.  Of course, he had only been tested in the practice fields and tourneys by then.  But there was little doubt in his skill.  As the toasting speakers bleated on and on, and Kenton’s grin got larger and larger, Terrance began looking around the room for something-anything!-else to focus on. 

And there, down the table near the Princes and commanders and their wives, had been Derík. 

Never had Terrance seen more natural elegance.  The easy grace with which the man held himself and his goblet of wine struck Terrance dumb.  Afterward, when the dreaded mingling began, he found himself hoping to speak to this young noble, but hoping at the same time never to do so.  Derík made the decision for him.

He had approached with two goblets, and handed one to Terrance, as if he had asked for it.  “Are you as bored as I?” he had drawled, in a sweet accent Terrance had come to adore in the next few years.

The accent and bluntness caused Terrance to lose his practiced court sensibility.  “You’re a Shogan!” he blurted.

The young man laughed joyfully, and Terrance felt his gray face fill with red.  “And you are a Venoré.  Pleased to meet you.”

Terrance stammered.  “I-I’m sorry, I-“

The young man waved away his embarrassment.  With that simple gesture, Terrance felt his unease fade.  “Now, we don’t either of us hide behind our families.  I am Derík.”

“Derík,” he repeated, mesmerized.

“You are also called Derík?” the young horseman teased.  “What a coincidence!  I thought mine was a Felsian name, and I know Venorés are not Felsian.”

Terrance came to his senses suddenly.  “No!  No, I’m Tridencian proper.  Of course, you know that.  What was the question?”

The horseman leaned in to him, and Terrance could smell the exotic perfume he now associated with happiness for the first time.  “Your name,” the Felsian whispered sensually, close to his ear.

The whisper made the clamor of the party vanish.  A rush of wind in his ears was all he heard.  “Terrance,” he breathed.

“Terrance,” the man said, nodding as though he approved.  “I am pleased to meet you, Terrance.”  With that, he clinked their goblets together and disappeared into the crowd, leaving a gray man very confused…and very intrigued.

Now, standing in the rain six years later, gripping the leather reins on a Shogan horse, Terrance winced to think of how stupid he had been in their first meeting.  If there was anything that Terrance was not, it was stupid.  He simply acted that way around Derík, especially in the first few weeks.  He smiled wryly, admitting to himself that Derík still had the ability to make a fool of him.

The door opened before his hand touched the knocker.  It was Derík himself at the door, and for once, the Felsian was the pale one.  Without a word, Derík opened the door wider to reveal that he already had a guest.

Kazandra deLunadoné.  Terrance recognized her at once.  Who wouldn’t?  She was the First Lady-in-Waiting to Princess-no, he silently corrected himself-High Princess Antonia.  Kazandra was the daughter of York and Liza deLunadoné, and the foster of the King of Tridencia.  And here she was, unescorted, in Derík’s common room.

For no reason, a sickly feeling came upon Terrance, and he patted his pocket to be sure his stomach potions were there, not taking his eyes off the dark woman behind Derík.

None of them spoke, but Derík lead them to the library.  The manse had two, but the smaller the horseman used as his study.  It was private.  Even the head servant did not disturb him there.  Terrance began to feel that his nausea might be justified.

Kazandra finally spoke when they had seated themselves, and Derík had poured them all wine.  Terrance noticed with some alarm that Derík’s hand shook slightly.  He searched his memory for a time when he had seen Derík tremble, and came up blank.

“Lord deVenoré,” she began.

Terrance’s eyes flashed as he tore his gaze from his lover’s hands to her face.  “That would be my brother, Lady deLunadoné.”  He raised an eyebrow to be sure he had pointed out her faux pas.

Lady deLunadoné, of course, was her mother.  She flushed at her mistake and cleared her throat, but did not apologize for the gaffe.  “Lord Terrance, then.  I’ve been speaking with Lord Derík at some length as to marriage prospects.”

If Terrance had not yet been sitting, he now would have been.  He forced himself to stare at Kazandra and not the Felsian, in spite of the ache filling his chest.  “I see.  What has this to do with me?”  Suddenly he thought he understood, and it was at once hard to breathe.  But his upbringing steadied his voice.  “Or am I to witness a contract between you?”  His mind screamed at Derík to deny this as the reason for summoning him, to deny this was how he would learn of Derík’s betrothal to some fussy noblewoman.

To a Lady-in-Waiting.  Whose Princess was still unengaged.  To a Lady-in-Waiting who was unescorted, and still in waiting.  Ladies in this position, according to Tridencian tradition, did not become engaged until their Princess did.  He had heard no such news of Antonia. 

Terrance frowned as his mind raced.  Nothing about this made sense.

Kazandra glanced at Derík.  Terrance held his eyes steady and sipped at his wine.  His mother would have been proud of his restraint, he thought bitterly.  Why didn’t Derík say something?

When he still did not, the words bubbled out of his own mouth.  “Well?”  He still looked at Kazandra, hoping she could not sense his hatred for her.  “Shall I congratulate you, dear friend?”  And then he could not stop.  “Shall I?  We shall have to throw an engagement party, mustn’t we?  One to put Enré and Malona’s to shame!  Certainly you couldn’t have found a more beautiful bride, old boy.  Shall we throw a party just after the Games, then?  I think so.”  Keep talking, a wild mind told him.  Then he cannot say it is true.  Do not stop talking.  Derík’s silence would be your answer, and your heart will burst.  “Well, old Felsian, you found yourself a native girl here!  I’m glad-I’d worried we would lose you back to your pretty yellow-haired ladies back home!”

“Terrance.”

His name from his lover’s lips stopped him cold.  He looked down to see his wine rippling in his shaking cup.  He wondered if he could swallow it before dousing himself in it.  It did not appear likely.

Kazandra shifted uncomfortably in her heavy skirts.  For the first time, Terrance took note of the black dress and cloak, and remembered she was in mourning.

His hands stilled.  “Oh, forgive me, my Lady.  I’ve neglected my manners.  I speak of parties, and you are in mourning.  You must think me quite the monster.”

A half-smile lit her face, and Terrance had to confess silently that what he had said was true.  She was quite beautiful.  A petite thing, to be sure, but gorgeous.  Good luck, he thought wickedly, getting Derík to appreciate your beauty, my dear.

“No, it isn’t that,” she murmured.

“Terrance, you are not to be the witness.”

He looked up to see Derík’s humorless smile.  “No?”  Was it too much to hope?

Derík swallowed his wine in one gulp.  Terrance stared at him.  “No,” he confirmed.  “You’re to be the groom.”

Groom.  The word meant nothing to Terrance.  He blinked.

Finally, Derík gave a real smile.  “Bridegroom, Terrance.  Lady Kaza has suggested you and her father enter into negotiations.”

Disaster seemed to have been averted, but Terrance was still slow in comprehending.  His mind was stalled on the knowledge that Derík did not intend to marry this tiny wench. 

Kaza sighed and rolled her dark eyes.  “My Lords, shall we dispense with the intrigue?  None of us can afford it.  It costs us time and pain.”

Derík nodded his agreement and poured more wine.  After downing it, again quickly, he turned to his lover.  “Ter, she knows.”

“Knows?”  He blinked.  “Knows what?”

“Us.  She knows about us.  I don’t know how.  She was about to explain that part when I saw you coming up the path.”  He turned to the woman.

“I saw you.  I’m sorry, my Lords, I was not spying.  It was at the funeral for the Princes, after Farley.  I had noticed you both in the funeral, and I might have sensed it then, but I was distraught.  Eron and Ever were my foster brothers, and truer brothers I could never have had, other than my Felíz himself.”  She paused for a moment, then refocused.  “After the Burning, I slipped away, into the Vine Garden ivies, for a moment to myself.”

Terrance’s cheeks filled with blood, and Derík began to laugh heartily.  Wine was the only thing flushing his face.  He is shameless, Terrance thought fondly.  “You saw us.”

“I am sorry.  I did not think there might be someone else among the vines.  Everyone else was with the family-“

“As we should have been,” Terrance growled.  It had been Derík’s idea to slip away, and Terrance had been powerless to refuse him.

Derík laughed again.  “You wanted me too,” he drawled simply.

Shameless.  Terrance put his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees.  “And why bring this up now, Lady Kazandra?” he murmured through fingers.  He felt as if the world had turned itself inside out, and nothing was quite real.  Perhaps Derík and this bold woman were simply playing a joke on him.  So far, it was the only theory that made sense.  Or did she plan to blackmail them?  Knowledge of their relationship would make life more difficult for both noblemen, especially Derík, whose father harassed him about marrying and having sons.

Seeing his frustration, Derík sobered with a sigh.  “The Lady Kazandra has a proposition for us.  I think we should listen.”

The word “bridegroom” came to his mind suddenly.  “Is this, perchance, to do with me being married?”

“Yes,” Derík said.  “Listen to her.”

And he did listen.  Then he shook his head and asked for the story again.  After the second time, he frowned and asked for more wine.  Derík, polishing off his third cup more slowly than the first two, gladly obliged.

“So, you see,” Kazandra finished, “it would truly be best for all of us.”

Terrance stared, first at the Lady, then at the blond Lord.  “It couldn’t happen,” he blurted.

Both looked at him, surprised.  “Why?” they harmonized. 

“Because, you stupid, you’re Felsian!  Enré would never allow a Felsian heir!”

“I’m as Tridencian as you, practically!”

Terrance rolled his eyes heavenward.  “Except that no one can understand a thing you say when you’re drunk.”

Kazandra frowned deeply.  “But Malona was Felsian.  Back when Felsi was not even our territory.  Princesses marry foreign Princes all the time.  Surely this would be acceptable!”

“I wouldn’t even be here if Malona had not been,” Derík agreed.  “My father fought for the other side in that war, but assimilated when it was over.  And since then, we have been loyal subjects, retaining our titles and land.”

Terrance’s dreamlike state persisted.  Did these two court-bred nobles honestly not see the flaw in the plan?  “That was a generation ago!  There is no war now, my dumb love!  No reason for diplomacy with a small territory we already possess!  Enré will want a native son-in-law and native grandchildren.  And if he did want a foreign Prince, he’d choose a foreign Prince!”

Derík’s eyes darkened.  “My family-“

“Is very powerful,” Terrance interrupted, “goes back centuries, is royal on both sides.  The point is that you’re not a foreign Prince or a native Lord.  You’re a Felsian Lord on Tridencian soil.”

Derík’s eyes lowered, as did his goblet.  “He may be right, my Lady.  I find he often is.”

Kaza glowered at Terrance.  “This will work.  I’ll see to that.  I will not lose her to some ogre intent upon taking her inheritance and her body, and demanding her heart and bed.”  Her breasts heaved under the mourning cloak she still wore, and Terrance then realized the depth of her love for Princess Antonia.

Much, he decided wryly, like my love for Derík.  And that he could respect.  “Then listen to me,” he said softly, an idea taking over him, “and we shall devise a way for my Felsian love to become our King’s heir.  You will do anything for her?”

“Anything,” the woman said fiercely.

He nodded and leaned in to her confidence.  “Then do as I say.”

*****

At times, Derík was certain-certain!-that he could feel Terrance’s finger touch his cheek when the gray man was not even present, or his voice whispering in the breeze as he rode alone.  It was something Terrance did now and then that Derík could not understand and his lover could not explain.  Derík knew there existed such men and women who could alter reality to their choosing, but he had always thought it required the use of a book and potions.  Terrance used only his will to do these things. 

He had first learned of Terrance’s talent accidentally.  During their first attempt at lovemaking, the gray man reached an explosive ecstasy.  All at once, every candle in the room, as well as the fireplace and bedside lantern, were arush with flame.  Derík later learned from frightened servants that this phenomenon had occurred nearly everywhere in the manse.  Terrance had been unaware of the release of his power until Derík had gasped in surprise.  “Oh!” Terrance had exclaimed, and the fires had extinguished just as suddenly as they had ignited.

Derík had stared at his lover.  “What-what happened?” he had demanded.

Terrance’s breath was heavy, his skin aglisten with sweat.  To his embarrassment, the candle in the bedside lantern continued to flicker obstinately, and he had to actually blow at the wick before it would go out.

Derík had laughed in delight at the trick.  “Can you truly make magic?” he had cried.

Terrance had winced.  “Sometimes whether I choose to or not,” he murmured, then looked up at his new lover’s face with fear.  “Does it anger you?  Frighten you?  I promise I can control it most times-it is only just then I lost control-“

The horseman settled next to the man with an easy laugh.  “I think it wonderful, Ter!  Only, please do not be disappointed when my own climax does not cause nature to join in!”

Terrance had laughed then, relieved.  “Nothing,” he swore with emotion, “could disappoint me about you, Derík Shogan.  You are everything I could want and more.  Your body holds the magic; mine simply wields it, awkwardly.”

Since then, Terrance had sometimes humored his lover by shyly lighting candles one at a time before they made love, and caused their flames to rise carefully during.  To Derík’s disappointment, Terrance never allowed himself to lose complete control again.  But he began to test Derík’s promise that the magic did not frighten him.  He slowly revealed more of his talents over time.  Derík’s favorite was Terrance’s ability to enter his dreams from miles away.

But the magic took its toll on Terrance, in strange ways.  Sometimes it seemed to be an effort to use it; other times it was an effort to hold it back.  Terrance described it once as being akin to drink.

“Wine damages the mind when too much is used,” he had said thoughtfully.  “But it can also make the mind ignore pain.  I get the same sort of feeling when I do these tricks.  I never know that it is too much until I have already done it.  And sometimes, it does not hurt but heals me to use it.  I know,” he had sighed, “that it makes no sense.  Things about me seldom do.”

Over time, Derík came to understand it better, but never truly.  After the first time, he had only been frightened by Terrance’s powers once.  The man had become ill a year into their relationship, and a fever had quite nearly taken his life.  Unable to control himself, Terrance’s magic had run amok.  All but the most necessary of servants had been told to flee the Shogan manse, for their own safety, and a physician could not be called in.  Terrance, when conscious, had struggled to keep his nightmarish enchantments within the confines of his sick room, but despite his best efforts, the few remaining servants noticed strange things during those long days and longer nights.  For Derík’s part, it was hellish.  Terrance unwittingly projected dark thoughts and images into his mind, and it had been the truest test of Derík’s courage and love.  Even when he was aware of what he was doing, the gray man had been powerless to stop it.  He had begged Derík to leave, sobbing madly.  Toward the end, he had even expressed the wish that Derík end his humiliation by ending his life.  This, of course, Derík had refused to do, and not long after, the fever had broken.  The dark illusions had died.

Derík never admitted to his lover that he sometimes had nightmares of this time, even years later.

As they watched Kazandra deLunadoné slip back into the night and mount her horse, Derík turned to Terrance.  “Ter, are you able, somehow, to influence the King’s decisions?”

The gray man sighed, and closed the door against the storm.  He carried his weary body to the bedchamber, and took off his boots before answering.  Derík followed him patiently.  “It’s possible,” he said finally, running a hand through his stringy dark hair, then over his tired gray eyes.  “But unlikely.  And I could never promise the correct outcome.  It’s tricky that way, my love.  While I can plant a suggestion-and I do not relish doing that, by the way-it is the other person’s mind that decides what to do with it.  Since you can never know another’s mind, you can never be sure of his reaction to a suggestion.  He may ignore it entirely, do just as I’d like, or convince himself of the opposite.  Enré would not be the easiest to influence, I’m certain.  And so soon after his wife’s death, I cannot be sure of his emotions either.  Besides, imagine the consequences of one of the court Mages from the Academy discovering someone using magic on His Grace!  It is better that Kazandra do her suggesting.  She knows him better, and it is safer.”

Derík nodded.  He did not entirely understand the possibilities of Terrance’s powers, let alone their limitations.  He knew it was best to trust the man’s instincts.  He changed the subject.  “You truly feared I’d called you to witness a marriage contract?”

Terrance paused in his undressing long enough to wince, his back to his partner.  “I’d feared it.”

“I’m sorry, then.  I would never be so callous as that.”  He sat on the bed to remove his own boots slowly.  “Do you think it could work, Ter?”

A flick of Terrance’s finger brought the dying embers of the fireplace to life.  He stood naked before it, staring into the flames that played strange shadows across his gray skin.  “I don’t know,” he admitted.  “I am afraid to hope.”  An odd look came over him, and he let his dark hair fall to block his face from Derík, a habit the Felsian found both endearing and annoying.  “This scheme, my love.  It is something of a contract between us two, as much as between you and Antonia, and I and Kazandra.”

Derík shrugged as he finished undressing.  “In what way?”

“It means,” Terrance began, then stopped to lick his pale lips.  “It means we intend to be together for our whole lives, as do Kazandra and the Princess.”

An amused smile played across Derík’s face then.  “Did you think, my love, that the past six years had been a farce?  Just something to do while we awaited our true mates?”

The man turned to him to reveal tears in his eyes.  “I’d been afraid to hope,” he said again.

The horseman stood and went to his lover, taking him in his arms.  “Then let there be no doubt and no reason to fear.  I love you, and I intend to be with you somehow.  I’ve put off my father’s demands for a grandson this long, and I will put them off as long as it takes.”

Terrance gripped gently at Derík’s gold mane, relishing the feel of his muscles and skin.  “I had always known a woman would come between us for the sake of a son.  Antonia and Kazandra have the same troubles.  Perhaps it will work!  Perhaps we can begin to hope for a life together!”

Derík led him to the bed, and Terrance followed happily.  “Do something for me,” Derík said playfully. 

It was a request for magic.  Terrance sensed, from the lighting of the fire, that the use of his magic just then would energize his weary body.  Another day, it might have done the opposite, draining him.  The gray man thought for a moment, deciding upon a simple illusion.  He watched Derík’s eyes as the vision entered his mind.  Since Derík was a willing recipient of his suggestions, he knew the illusion would play out as it was meant to.

He was rewarded by Derík’s laugh of delight a moment later.  He could not see the dragon himself, but knew that, in Derík’s mind, it must fill the room and be awash in colors.  He imagined the scales like a dove’s feathers, reflecting magnificently off the firelight, with all sorts of radiant hues.  When the dragon bent its neck and offered its muzzle to Derík, the horseman’s hand floated up to touch the air.  Terrance placed his own face in the palm, and Derík’s eyes refocused.

“I had expected,” he laughed, “that a dragon’s skin would be scaly.”

“No,” Terrance corrected.  “It is soft, and gray, and ugly.”  He issued a new illusion into Derík’s mind, making it seem as though he were a mirror image of the Felsian himself.  If only I could be so beautiful for him always, he thought wistfully.  If only it were not an illusion.

But Derík shook his head.  “I do not want my reflection.  Give me back my lover.”

The image dissolved.  Terrance’s skin turned from healthy and glowing to sickly, his face from radiantly handsome, to gaunt and macabre, his hair from golden and fine to greasy brown.  Terrance’s lids lowered.  The use of his power had excited him, made his muscles tingle and his mind race.  But the reminder of how his own face looked in comparison to the lovely one before him made him melancholy again.  “I am able to choose any face for you, but you want mine,” he whispered miserably.  “I don’t understand.”

“Never doubt,” Derík responded, drawing him onto the bed, “that you are what I want.”  With that, he pulled his body over the gray man’s, and proceeded to work what little mundane magic he himself knew.

*****

Antonia’s mind wandered.  She knew the discussion was important.  Most days, she would even find it intriguing.  Not today.  Right now, nothing could penetrate her thoughts of Kaza.  Not even talk of magic.

Jepón was not so distracted.  The head servant was far more engaged with the conversation than his position would normally deem necessary.  But Antonia knew, as did everyone in the room, that the man made the study of all things magical his hobby-and few were as much of an expert on the subject.  Absently, she watched as he intellectually trampled the group of elder Mages before him.

“The point, my friends,” Jepón orated, “is that if she shows the level of potential which you suggest, she should be given access to your library for her research.  If she does discover something of import, it will be understood that she must share it with the Academy.”

The group exploded into murmurs, some agreeing that this was fair, others arguing that Antonia must understand why common folk should not be allowed into the Academy to glean secrets from their library of magic. 

The Princess was no longer hearing them.  She and Jepón had already discussed the situation privately, and she had agreed with his point that the Academy, and the rest of the world, would only benefit from the sharing of information, and would be enhanced by different points of view.  It would be a shame to miss out on this common woman’s potential discoveries because of exclusivity.  Antonia knew that King Pryor of Felsi had once executed a man of common birth for suggesting that he could perform magic-a study reserved only for nobles.  It was probably true that the man had been a liar.  Antonia had always been told magic required the use of books, and Pryor had severely discouraged literacy among the lower classes.  It was an example of how the Felsians were better off under Tridencian rule.  Enré would never have had a man beheaded for reaching above his caste, even if Tridencia had such a restricting policy on education, which it did not.  Most were grateful that Enré did not subscribe to such a backward tradition.  In Tridencia, anyone who could afford a teacher could be educated.

There were backward people in Tridencia proper too, Antonia acknowledged with a sigh, as she glanced from the bickering coven of elders to the shy but poised peasant woman sitting quietly and alone on the other side of the room.  The High Princess felt for her, but knew there was no need to fret.  Jepón, who could have been a fine statesman had he been of noble birth, would settle everything.  The disagreeable few would quickly quiet down once he had delivered the final blow, announcing that Antonia had decided to become the woman’s patron so that she could afford to devote herself to research and live at the Academy. 

Having already made her decision, one with which her father had trusted her, Antonia ignored the debate.  Kaza had left before dawn to go riding.  She had left a note assuring her future queen that she had not gone to drown herself (or anyone else) in the river, but did not say where she had gone, or if anyone had gone with her.  The note said only that she would be back by the following night.  Kaza had always been headstrong.  There was little sense in trying to talk her into or out of anything she had made up her mind about.

Antonia’s hand dangled off the throne’s arm, and she suddenly felt a soft, large head nuzzle it.  She smiled and turned to Obie, one of the pair of three-year-old tigers who haunted the palace.  Obie and Keeda had been gifts to her from her older brother Ever, who had sailed with the navy before the attacks by Bela on Tridencia’s ports, which had left both him and their brother Eron dead.  She had always been closer to Ever than Eron, and the man had been the only one at court who knew the nature of her relationship with Kaza.  He had brought the tigers as cubs from the exotic land of Egaal, after their mother had been found with a fatal injury in the jungles.  He had given Obie to Kazandra, and Keeda was Antonia’s.  It was not long before the two outgrew the bedchambers, and now they spent most of their time among the vines, hunting in the woods with the Second Lieutenant, or basking in the sun when the Princess and Kaza had time to go to the river to be alone.  The tigers, Ever had known, gave the women the freedom to leave the palace walls together without an escort, for who would attack noblewomen guarded by huge tigers?  Ever had always tried to arrange for them to have outings together, and understood their frustration.  He had been a kind and loyal brother.  However, Antonia suspected his helpfulness came less from being a good brother, and more from being head over heels in love with Kazandra, and delighting in her happiness.  If he could not have her himself, he was simply glad no other man would, and he did what he could to arrange for what little privacy they could have.  He had melted each time Kaza had thanked him for his trouble.

“Poor Obie,” Antonia whispered.  “I miss her when she’s away too.”  She scratched the huge head, and pretended to watch the proceedings.  Keeda was not far away, she knew.  The cat was rarely far from her brother, and followed Jepón around the palace at all times.  The man and cat seemed to enjoy each other’s company.  When she was not with Antonia, she could generally be found with Jepón in the library or his office, lying at his feet.  Oddly, Jepón never spoke to the cat, hardly even looked at her, but seemed strangely at ease in her presence, as few others were.

Obie yawned and put his head in her lap.  His eyes flitted around the room to settle on the peasant woman whose fate was being decided.  His ears relaxed and eyes finally closed as Antonia’s long fingernails lulled him to sleep.  She smiled fondly at him.  He was certainly the most relaxed creature in the palace, and yet the most dangerous.

At that moment, she caught sight of Keeda hiding half in a curtain at the other end of the Hall.  Her eyes glowed in the candlelight as she watched Jepón speak.  Antonia shivered at the intense stare, and wondered briefly if she had been wrong in her assessment of who was the most dangerous of creatures.

*****

Something about Terrance deVenoré annoyed Kaza.  She thought of it as she rode home.  Derík had traded her tired horse for one of his fresh mares, so she would not have to stop before she reached the palace gates again.  It was a long ride, and it gave her plenty of time to determine what exactly bothered her about the man.

For one thing, she could feel him judge her the moment the three had sat in the library together.  He had scrutinized her immediately, and she got the feeling he had not been satisfied with what he had seen.

There was also the ghoulish face.  He was easily the most homely man she had ever met.  All parts were accounted for-two eyes, a nose, and a mouth-but it was as though none of them were meant to be on the same face.  Even the eyes were two shades of gray, both of which were completely wrong for the color of his hair and eyebrows, which were dark brown, nearly black.  The mouth was a pale pink, almost white at times, and the lips were quite thin.  His skin was so gray that it appeared greenish.  His nose was the least offensive, quite normal really, making it entirely wrong for his face.  The eyes were large, but always half-closed in a glare.  Or perhaps that was only when he looked at her.

Then there was the feeling she got when in his presence.  She had noticed it years ago, before she had even really known who he was.  He and his brother Kenton had been taking lessons from the palace’s man at arms for a time as teenagers.  Kaza, several years younger, had always watched, wishing she could do the same.  Kenton had excelled with every lesson, drawing attention for his skill and enthusiasm.  Terrance had dutifully completed every lesson with some skill, but as little effort as possible, then had escaped into the library or vine garden for the rest of the day.  Kaza had once approached him, though she suspected he did not now remember the encounter.

Even then, he had been sickly.  She followed the sound of him wheezing into the courtyard’s vine garden, to find him on his stomach on the ground, with books all around him, and a cloth pressed to his lips.  The sight of him repulsed her, but she ventured on.  He had not seen her approach, she was sure of it.  But though she knew she had made no noise, he looked up, right into her eyes.

The way he regarded her disturbed her.  “Why don’t you try at the practices?” she had demanded with no greeting.

It was as though he had expected her and the question.  His gaze returned to his books, and he put his cloth in his pocket.  “What makes you think I don’t?”

Something about that response angered her.  “It’s obvious you could be good if you would just try.  Not so good as Kent, certainly, but good.”

A page turned without him touching it-odd since there was no breeze.  “If I cannot be as good as my brother, why be good at all?”

It was not the response she had expected.  “I think you’re lazy.”

“I suppose I am,” he answered, still not looking up from his reading, “when it comes to things I care little about.”

“You should care about learning to fight.”

At last he glanced at her again.  “You want to learn to fight.  That doesn’t mean I should care to.”

The conversation and the eerie feeling had stayed with her all these years.  And now, she realized forlornly, she had made plans to marry this ghoul.  The boy who preferred studying about dragons and griffons to actually learning how to slay them, the boy who coughed into cloths at formal dinners, the boy who had spent all his time alone with books or with servants-he had grown into this creepy, distasteful, ugly man, who looked at her as though she were the one unworthy.

What was it, she wondered, that made Lord Derík love him?

She just hoped Antonia understood what sacrifices she made for her.  The thought of being married to the ghoul made her stomach turn.  But, she reminded herself, she would have the Princess, with no competition from a man.

If the ghoul’s scheme worked, it would all be worth it.

*****

Far away from a rider desperately plotting to save her lover, a creature caught the venom from her fangs in an exquisite glass vial.  She gave a whispered curse as she missed a drop, which fell to the stone floor with an evil hiss.  The vile stuff secreted only during the nights of no moon, and little enough even then.  There was none to waste. 

It was her mating year.  She glanced down at her own naked body in the darkness with a snarl.  Irony!  Feeling her heat coming on months ago, she had set out to find the most powerful male from whom to harvest seed.  She had found the alpha male of this society, and had pursued him carefully.  The irony of his impotence stung.  She had but another few weeks in her heat, and a suitable mate had to be found.  She abhorred the idea of waiting another seven years to collect seed.

As the venom dripped into the rich purple vial, she considered her plans carefully.  Her poorly chosen mate was powerful, and any suggestion of foul play would put her mission at risk, along with her very life.

The Burning had been an enlightening experience.  Or, rather, the night following the Burning had been.  That had been the night the Queen’s body and Elsee’s delusions had gone up in smoke. 

For that was the night she had come upon the King in his Vine Garden, weeping among the ivies.

Weeping.

Elsee’s eyes grew colder at the memory.  Weeping like a child.  It had disgusted her.

All through the Burning itself, the King had been a rock, a figure of strength.  Certainly, the little Princess had sobbed like a banshee, but that pathetic display of weakness had been expected.  That girl had gotten entirely too much of her manner from her mother.  Malona had blathered sentimentally about any little happening.

But the King was different-stronger, more powerful.  Or so Elsee had thought.  Since coming to court months ago, she had not once seen this side of the monarch.  There had been no inclination toward such failure of character.  Or, if there had been a clue, she had missed it.

Elsee sighed.  Perhaps it just showed how little she yet knew about these people.

Shaking her head, she extracted a sample from the reluctant viper that lay in the basket beside her bed.  It spat at her, but she ignored it.  Another day, she might have punished its insolence.  Tonight, she was distracted by the problem at hand.  The thing’s tough skin would grow back or scar over anyway.

The snake-that she understood, she mused as she dipped the skin into her broth.  The viper did not sulk when it lost its own flesh, let alone that of its mate’s, which she had harvested to death a week before.  Snakes cared nothing for their mates.  They fought for their own survival only.  When one lost a battle to a superior being, it simply moved on with dignity.

Not these people.  They mourned, grieved for what was not even theirs.  If her people had been half so easily defeated, they would not even exist now.  The Terrible War would have destroyed their race entirely, and the Vicious Enemy would have been completely victorious.  Weakness in any form was unacceptable.

Therefore, King Enré was unacceptable.

Strange that these people would choose for their leader such a weak man.  Perhaps he had deceived them as he had her.  If others had seen what she had, surely there would be an immediate challenge to his power.  No man could let himself be lead by an inferior.  It just made no sense.

Little about these people made sense.  How could their blood be the key to the Prophecy?  How could it be that one of these people would help to breed their savior?  The warrior who would destroy the Vicious Enemy, restore the race to its former glory and true home; how could he come from these pitiful people?

No matter.  The Prophecy was what it was.  The race had waited too long for this warrior to be born.  Elsee intended to force the Prophecy into fruition.  The strongest of her people and the strongest of these strangers would breed the Warrior of Prophecy.  Since none among the Survivors was stronger than she, it was up to her to find the most powerful among them.  Falsely, she had assumed the King would be that man.  So she had endeared herself to the Queen, under the guise of a foreign noblewoman in exile, and quickly became an attending Lady of the Court, to this woman not fit to serve her servants back home.  She had endured it long enough to poison her without causing suspicion.  A wasting disease, they called it.  Any child among the Survivors would have known the poison for what it was, but these physicians had evidently never seen the stuff before.

With the Queen effectively removed, she had begun her plan to seduce the King the night of the Burning.  (Any Survivor knew it was safest to witness the Burning of an enemy or rival to ensure all life force has been scattered to the winds.)  However, she had found a broken, sniveling worm where she had expected a thick-skinned anaconda.  Slipping into the ivies, she had observed him, repulsion in her heart.  To think of the mistake she had nearly made!  With the entire race of Survivors depending upon her, she had nearly mated with this…this…this worm!

No matter.  The problem was solved.  The better-the best!-man had presented himself.  It was obvious that the old King was beyond his prime.  His heir apparent was young and steady.  Not attractive by these people’s standards, but what cared she for that?  It was his seed she needed, nothing more.  In any case, the resulting child would take his beauty from her, she was certain.

The King had no sons.  They had both been killed in a war, she had learned.  The next in succession was the King’s nephew, the son of Princess Betucé of Divari and her husband the Duc.  Pordos was a true warrior.  She had made inquiries since noticing him at the Burning.  She had watched him at court.  He was a large man, intimidating, with cold eyes that stared at the flames enveloping his aunt’s body with almost complete detachment.  He stood a head taller than his uncle, and was as big around the shoulders and chest as a wine barrel.  He looked down his nose at everyone he encountered.  It was obvious this man knew he was more powerful than any of them. 

He was perfect.  And if he turned out to be a disappointment as well?  She had a contingency plan.  A few words whispered to Malona before her death had influenced the King.  She had already heard the rumors.  The King was going to announce a challenge, and the best man would be found.  Whoever that seemed to be, if he was better than Pordos, she would take him.  She would not be so impatient this time.  This time, she would wait until the time was right, and watch each creature unknowingly compete for the honor of lending his seed to her womb.  And afterward, of course, she would dispose of the man so that none but she would have his progeny.

Elsee stirred her broth with a slender wooden spoon, threw in an extra rat’s whisker for added potency, and then sipped at it gingerly.  Yes.  Things would be just perfect.

*****

Pordos shoved past the Steward’s assistant, tossing the young man into the wall, on his way to his uncle’s worship sanctuary.  The man yelped in protest.  “The King will not be disturbed, your Grace!  He is in prayers!”

The Prince snarled, but did not miss a step.  “He had better be,” he snapped.  He threw open the heavy door to the sanctuary, and found Enré with head bowed at the altar.  He descended the sanctuary’s stone steps until he was surrounded by all the faces of the gods, at the center, where his uncle stood in quiet contemplation.  His eyes grew cold as he waited for Enré to acknowledge his presence.  When it appeared that he would not, Pordos did it for him.  “I will speak to you, Uncle!”

“Your mother was already here this morning, Pordos,” the older man murmured.  Unlike his nephew, he kept his tone quiet and respectful, his hands clasped before the gods. 

“And I know what you told her.  It is unacceptable!  Vie for my own right!  My own land!  Compete for my own throne!”

Enré’s eyebrow lifted.  “My throne, Pordos.  I’m not dead yet.”

“Time will heal that, Uncle,” he spat. 

“So it shall.  Please don’t grieve too much for me, Nephew.”

Pordos sneered at him.  “To what do I owe this betrayal, Uncle? What have I done that is so hideous that you do not trust me to be your heir?”

 Enré shrugged, and retreated to a stone bench.  He glanced up at the ceiling, which he had always loved.  It had been commissioned by a king so many generations ago that no one knew who.  It depicted the wise goddess Iste, who it was said imparted her wisdom only to the kindest of creatures, so that it would be used well, instead of wickedly.  “You have done nothing, Pordos,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“Then why-”

“Nothing!” he said again, louder this time.  He turned back to his kin, his old eyes filled with disapproval.  “Nothing for our people.  Nothing to endear yourself to me or any of the court or bannermen.  Nothing but foster bad relations with Felsians and foreigners alike.”

“Felsians are foreigners, Uncle.  We would have done better to take what was ours and run them off.”  He shook his head angrily.  “But this has nothing to do with me!”

“It has everything to do with it!  Since my father’s time in that chair you want so badly, we have lived in peace!  Aside from defending ourselves from Bela, we have had no reason to raise our swords in a generation!”

“Even when we should have!” Pordos roared.  “Even when we could have taken land and resources by using our strength, you held us back!”

“Yes.  And I am not about to turn over my people to a war-hungry king now.  I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Oh yes you do!  And to the nation!  They deserve to know why your heir is being deprived of his-”

Enré’s eyes flashed.  “You are not my heir, Pordos.  If you choose to compete with the others to prove yourself, I will accept your bid.”

“I will fight this!” the younger man shouted.

Suddenly, the King began to smile.  “Pordos,” he chided, “if you could have raised an army against me, you would not have waited until now to do it.  You don’t have any support out there, Nephew.  Your mother knows that as well as you do.  So don’t try to intimidate me, child.”

“I’m no child.”  The Prince was seething, and his breathing was erratic.

Enré turned from him then, and went back to the center of the sanctuary to continue his prayers.  “You’re no man,” he responded.  “And no king.”

Pordos let his glare bear into the back of his uncle’s head for another moment, then he turned and stormed from the sanctuary, boots clicking on the stone.  Laugh now, old man, he thought wildly.  I will be king.  I’ve come too far to stop now and let some peasant prince take what is mine.  Laugh now if you will, for I will be laughing later.

PREPARATIONS ARE MADE

No one knew more about the Felsian court than Cebo Shogan, who had been a member since before the Great War.  In spite of his pride in this position, he had become the most loyal patriot King Enré could hope for.  He even changed the spelling and pronunciation of his young son’s name to make it seem more Tridencian.  But he had despaired of Derík’s fascination with Tridencia proper.  He had always hoped the boy would be happy living among his own people, speaking his own language, and, above all, marrying a Felsian woman. 

So it was with mixed feelings that he gave his blessing to Derík to go to the Games and put his sword among the growing pile of noblemen’s and knights’ who were vying for the Princess’s hand.  He noted with distaste that the younger deVenoré son was still accompanying Derík everywhere.  No matter.  With the ugly man’s money, perhaps they would be able to bribe their way to the throne.

Derík’s first stop upon reaching the city walls was to mingle among visiting Felsian families.  Cebo had given him all the latest information on the region.  He told tales of the Duc and Duca of Nord, who were never inclined to miss a party of any kind.  The Duc of Kalamar was surely with another beautiful young admirer, or two.  The Lady Lana of Brosia was expecting finally, and her brother Redd deBrosia’s second wife was scandalous in her dress, and younger than was proper, in Cebo’s opinion, considering Redd’s own age.  He’d never had another son, of course, just the one, Lanx.  The stories went on, and Derík took note of them all.  Terrance was ever-present, and it was he who did the mental calculations.  Of course, he knew most of the names, and had even met a few at weddings and Burnings, but the details of their relationships were important, he told Derík.  Oh, and while he was among the people of his old home, he’d said firmly, it would be Derek.

“If you’re going to go among families of your barbaric nation, we’ll call you by your barbaric name,” he had teased.  Derík had grumbled reluctant agreement.

All the better to endear him to his Felsian family.

“Tonight, you will dine with the Duc and Duca of Nord,” Terrance reported in the first afternoon of their arrival.  The entire valley was bursting with people, horses, soldiers and, in the field just beyond the walls of the city, brightly colored tents.  These tents hosted the important families and their entourages.  It was like a rainbow city just beside the capitol city itself.  “They certainly wasted no time in arriving.  From what I hear from the laundresses at the palace, they were here for the Burning, heard of the impending challenges, and sent messengers to fetch their tent and supplies and nearly their whole blessed army.  They moved out of the guest chambers at the palace, of course, to make room for family, but they had no intention of going home without seeing the festivities.”

Derík rubbed his eyes.  “Tell me again why I want to dine with the Duc and Duca of Nord?  I mean, isn’t that something of a reach down, since my family is royal in the old country?  They bought their title,” he reminded his lover with disgust.

As did my family, Terrance thought uneasily.  “Yes.  Four hundred years ago.  When the old country was still a country and not a province within one.”

“Still.”

“Derík, they know everyone.  All right?  It’s about the image.”

“Would it not look more impressive to host something of my own, and allow them to come?”

Terrance sighed.  “No.  You’re to appear modest but regal.”

Derík sniffed.  “I’m both.”

Biting back a sarcastic reply, the gray man nodded. “Of course you are.  But you have not been much involved in politics for the past many years.  They must reacquaint themselves with you.”

He gave a curt nod.  “Fine.  But why am I trying to impress those who already love my family?  Why not dine with someone from Tridencia proper?  A true bannerman, or an officer’s family?”

“That will come.  Very soon.  But now we need to shore up support for your participation in the challenge from your own family.  It is certain that Redd, for example, will want his son to throw his sword in.  We must convince him that you are the better man.”

Derík snorted softly.  “I am.  Why not simply crush the poor fellow during the challenges?”

“The fewer men in the field, the better.  If Redd believes you are more likely to win the throne, he will support you.  He is a reasonable man.  He certainly doesn’t want to see you crush his son.  Remember that we still do not know what these challenges are.  They could be dangerous.  Redd will not risk his only son if he knows you will simply defeat him in the end.  Better he support you from the start, and perhaps endear himself to a future King.”

“I see.  So I am rallying support in order to thin the field.”

“Aye.”

Derík nodded.  “And what will you be doing?  You said I will be dining with Nord tonight.  Where will you be?”

Terrance waved his hand to dismiss him.  “Worry less about me.  I will be with an entirely different crowd.”

His lover watched him.  “With the serving class.”

Intelligent eyes smiled back at him.  “With the observing class, you mean.  Of course.”  Terrance gave him a grin, which looked ghoulish on his pale face.  “We are both practicing the art of diplomacy and using the charms with which the gods blessed us each.”

“And will it work, Ter?  Do you think so?”

Terrance reached up and took the horseman’s hands.  “For the first time, I feel like we have a chance.  Our families demand marriages.  We want only each other.  The same is so for Kazandra and the Princess.”

Something had been bothering Derík, and he whispered it now.  “Is it not a lie, though?  It seems so dishonest.”

Terrance’s eyes grew hard and narrow, and he dropped his lover’s hands.  “More dishonest than marrying any other woman?  More a lie than that?”

Derík nodded slowly.  “Yes, Ter.  I think so.  For, now we lie to a whole world.  And have you thought about the after?”

“What do you mean?” he asked angrily.  “When we are finally happy and together?”

“No, my love.  When one day I am King.”

Terrance fell silent, staring at nothing.

Derík stood and put his hands on Terrance’s shoulders.  The gray man sighed jaggedly at the touch.  “Or, Ter, that I will have to have an heir too?”

Gray eyes closed painfully.  “That would be so even if you married someone else.  I have no such obligation, but you’re the first son.”

“The only son,” Derík corrected gently.  “The only one at all.  But the responsibility would be even more profound in this case.  King, Ter.  I thought only to be Lord, perhaps one day Duc.  But High Prince?  One day King?”

His lover turned to face him.  Derík was the taller of the two, by two inches, and far more beautiful.  The sight of him made Terrance’s heart ache.  “Who better?” he whispered, with adoration bleeding from every word.  “Who better than you?  You have all the court upbringing of a Prince, and the education surpassing most royalty in the world, including Enré’s himself, most likely.  You are wealthy enough for a Prince, no doubt.  You have a mind for law and a heart for justice.”

Derík gave a smile that took his lover’s breath away.  “And surely you can run the country for me if I ever falter.”

“You have never faltered, my friend, in anything you’ve tried.  But, yes, of course I can advise you.  And don’t forget Antonia herself.”

“Or your fiancé either.”

Terrance cringed at the reminder.  “Yes.  That wench has enough brain and passion to rule the heavens.”

“You should call her ‘Lady.’”

Amused, the gray man laughed.  “Do not think to tell me how to treat my future wife.  Anyway, Kaza can fend for herself.  What Lady sneaks off in the night alone to a secluded manse of an unwedded man and has his unwedded friend meet them there?”

“The kind in love, Ter.  Do not belittle her love.  She kept our secret when another would not have.  Do remember that.”

Terrance kissed him gently, and promised. 

*****

Things happened quickly after Malona’s Burning.  The games had been held quietly, with toasts and memorials.  The announcement of the challenge to find an heir had come during the games.  Pordos and his supporters had been outraged.  Protests that the King had lost his mind along with his wife had been harshly silenced, though whispers and Pordos’s fury had not been.  Then the noblemen had begun arriving, day after day, with elaborate tents and armies of servants, to take up residence in the land directly beyond the castle walls. 

Terrance had quickly gone to work doing what he knew best, befriending the servants and whispering in their ears.  What the gray man knew that many did not was that servants had a great deal of influence over a household.  They had subtle means of tipping scales and muddying waters.  Things the gray man whispered to servants at night were on the lips of their masters on the morrow.  Within just a few days, Terrance could hear the whole Felsian court singing Derík’s praises and suggesting-demanding-that a Felsian lord be considered as a match for Antonia.  They had given Malona years ago.  It was only right that Antonia do what her mother had done for her people.  This became a focus of those who had fought for years for equal standing between Felsians and those from Tridencia proper. 

While Derík was with Nord and the other important Felsian lords and ladies, Terrance entered dice games of palace guards of Felsian descent, and flirted with kitchen maids of Felsian households.  His purse and humility made him an attractive companion for those of the lower classes.  He was sure to lose at dice terribly, and buy expensive wines for the maids.  Tongues loosened, and much was gained.  In no time, Derík was the choice among noblemen and ladies to champion Felsi at the Tridencian court, and loathing of Pordos was palpable.  A Felsian Lord was equal to a Tridencian Prince in any case, they boasted, even if Derík weren’t from a royal bloodline.

When Derík walked the streets of the capitol after just three days of visiting with the noblemen and flirting with the ladies, he found a much friendlier reception, and he expressed amazement at how quickly Terrance had worked.  His lover also had a wealth of information for the Felsian, collected by himself and a few trusted servants, including the favorite flowers, wines and vices of each lord and lady at court, Felsian or Tridencian.  Derík took the Duc of Nord hunting; the Duca of Carbo received special fox herb to fan her addiction; the retainer of Lar found a case of fine Tusoni wine at his tent one morning; the horseman diced with Felsian Prince Ferrel and his men at arms; he taught Duca Ambre, the seven-year-old love of her father Duc Constan’s life, to dance.

All this, when King Enré had not yet approved a Felsian to join the challenge.  It would be the Lady Kazandra’s duty to ensure this, and with every day that passed, Terrance found himself more annoyed at having to trust the woman to take care of such an important task, when he was so used to handling everything himself.

*****

“Antonia, my dear, I cannot agree to that.”

Kaza’s eyes closed.  The ghoul had been right, she thought bitterly.

“But, Father, why? His father is a dear friend of yours, came over to your side with Mother from what I’ve learned, and has served you faithfully all the while!”  Antonia had practiced these words.

Aging eyes darkened with pain.  It was obvious to Kaza that the old man wanted to give his daughter what she wanted.  That was a good start, she thought.  When the opportunity arose-and Kaza would see that it did-the King would be happy to accept the horseman.

But not yet.  “Antonia, you know why.”

“Father, he was a small child when that war ended.  He is truly a citizen now!”

The gray head shook firmly.  “Nia, he isn’t Tridencian, and I cannot consent to it.  Imagine what my retainers would say when I step over their sons to give my daughter’s hand and the country to a Felsian.”

The second choice, then.  “Well, what about Terrance deVenoré?”

The old man’s eyes widened.  “What?  I wouldn’t let you marry that ghoul-“

Kaza let slip a giggle, which she covered with a cough.

“-even if he were not a second son bastard!”

Antonia’s teeth grit together.  “Well, Father, they are the two wealthiest men in the country.”

“And both are entirely unacceptable.  I’m beginning to think you are simply trying to talk me out of this challenge.”

“Terrance-”

“Is not an option.  I’d sooner marry you to Felsi’s poorest goatherd or a Belesian fisherman than that creep.  I’ll not die and leave King Terrance the Sickly on the throne!  I may just as well hand all of Tridencia to Pordos now, and be done with it!  No, my decision stands.  We will begin the challenges in a week’s time.  That is my final word.”

Kaza felt it was time to speak up.  “Your Grace, if I may?”

Enré had obviously forgotten she was in the room.  “Ah.  Kazandra.  Speak some sense to my daughter.”

The small dark woman stepped from the shadows.  “Your Grace, I agree.”

Antonia lifted an eyebrow.  “Do you?”

“Yes.  Although I hope you don’t feel quite that strongly about Lord Terrance.  I’ve taken a fancy to him myself, and my parents are considering negotiations with him in light of Antonia’s upcoming engagement.”

The King frowned, but said nothing.  He suspected York and Liza smelled gold upon this nuptial.

“I just wonder if there were a way Derík Shogan could enter the challenge with all the rest.”

Enré breathed in deeply, ready to begin his tirade again.

But Kaza spoke quickly.  “It would certainly be wonderful for relations with Cebo Shogan and the rest of the Felsian families if we allowed just one Felsian to compete for the honor.  Certainly he could never hope to win Antonia’s hand, but at least he will have the glory of trying.  That by itself might be enough to pacify the families.”

The King nodded, then stopped.  “Pacify them.  What have you heard?”

Kaza smiled prettily at him.  “Well, only that many are unhappy with their status.  They believe they are looked upon by true Tridencians as lower class, and it is causing some unrest.  But I’m sure it will work itself out.”

The blow was struck brilliantly.  She watched as Enré reacted quietly to the words Terrance had coached her to say. 

“Unrest, you say.  My Lieutenants have brought me no such news.”

“Oh,” she purred, “that’s to be expected.  They would never speak to a soldier about it, your Grace.  But I’ve heard from many of the families in the past week since our dear Queen’s passing that things are becoming quite…unstable in that region.”

“Unstable.”  The King began to pace.  “Strange that you should hear rumors that I do not.”  But it was obvious that he was worried.  Felsi had been a difficult region to contain since it had come under Tridencian control.  Peace was ever fragile.  During the Great War, nearly half of the Felsians had attempted to aid the enemy by sending supplies and gold to the Belesians discreetly, or running off to soldier for them openly.  Considering the enormous wealth and the fertility of the land in that region, it would be a sore thing to lose control of it altogether, which was always a possibility.  The King seemed to come to a decision.  “All right.  The boy can compete, but he cannot win.  And he must be the only Felsian involved.  I don’t want any families I trust less than the Shogans entering their sons into this mess.  Imagine.  A Felsian on the Tridencian throne!”

Kaza clucked her tongue and shook her head.  “A strange world it is becoming, Your Grace.”

“Aye,” Antonia murmured, in the peasant vernacular.  “Isn’t it.”

Kaza smiled simply as the King called for his First Lieutenant, and she slipped out the door unnoticed by either King or incoming soldier.  Only Antonia and ever-present, ever-silent Jepón watched her go.  Antonia glanced after her accomplice and sighed. 

*****

The news came first to Terrance.  He humored his mother with infrequent visits to her aunt in Talloh, half a day’s ride from the city.  Now seemed as good a time as any to engage his aunt, then return to his duty to Derík.  While in the middle of an excruciatingly long tea, one of her elderly servants burst in. 

“What is it?” his aunt cried, noting the look on the old man’s face.  Terrance sipped his tea without interest.

“Lady, it’s incredible!”

“What is, Eke?”

“A bird just came in from the palace!”

Suddenly, Terrance was interested.  “Do you often receive birds from the royal holdings?”

His aunt winked at him and turned back to Eke.  “What is it?” she asked again firmly.

“The King is allowing a Felsian to compete in his challenges for the Princess’s hand!”  Eke said it all in one breath.  It was then that Terrance heard the very subtle accent in his voice.  A Felsian.  The gray man smiled into his cup. 

His aunt let her cup down too hard on the saucer.  “Truly?  Who?”  She turned to Terrance.  “It had never occurred to me that the King would permit a Felsi boy to compete.”

“Perhaps he is a special Felsian,” Terrance murmured calmly.

“The bird’s note does not say.  I know not who it could be!”

Dafoe nodded.  “Return a bird to the palace expressing our interest in the names of all those chosen to compete.  And send another to my niece, and a third to my contact in the Academy, to spread the word as soon as you have a list.”

Terrance looked up again.  “Surely if you have this news, it has already reached the Academy and other noble families.”

Dafoe smiled mysteriously.  “Not necessarily, my dear.  My birds are quite swift.”

“In that case, spare a fourth for Cebo Shogan.  He must know what water is boiling.”

Eke nodded, gave a quick bow, and disappeared. 

Terrance sat back in his chair, his mind racing. Was this not what they planned?  What they wanted?  Gradually, as Dafoe chatted on about other news, her nephew’s face began to take on a sweaty green hue.  Fortunately, his aunt did not seem to notice.  It was unsettling how easily Kaza had implemented her part of the scheme.  Was it good, or terrible, that the King could be manipulated with such ease?  And was it good, or terrible, that his future wife seemed to be such an adept liar?

Dafoe watched her great-nephew ride down the path toward the capitol city, leaving Talloh’s gates, an hour later.  She knew he never rode with attendants, in spite of the dangers.  A man with as rich a purse as Terrance deVenoré should never ride without a personal guard, but he never bothered with it.  Others might say he had been lucky thus far.  Dafoe knew better.  No one saw the gray man unless he wanted them to.  He disappeared into shadows, made not a sound, and bandits never knew he had passed by, even if they were seeking him in particular.

Terrance had become quite an interesting man.  She had watched him with great concern for many years.  It had not been an easy childhood, she knew.  His elder brother, the real son of Lord and Lady deVenoré, had regularly bullied and abused him.  It was well known that the younger was a bastard, but very few people knew the identity of his father.  Dafoe was one who did.  Terrance was not.

Nor had he ever asked.  Dafoe doubted this meant he did not wonder.  Especially considering the special circumstances.

Terrance had been a bitter child, but so intelligent.  He had absorbed all information he heard and read, never forgetting details.  At family gatherings, she had found him in corners, observing everything around him with a cool, detached stare.  He harbored no love for his family, and held his mother Delise at an especially firm distance.  It had saddened her to see the grief he knowingly caused her niece.  But she saw how the child felt.  He had defended her honor to everyone, including his own brother; however, when he had reached out to her for comfort, Lady deVenoré had called him weak.  She compared him to Kenton unfavorably each and every day.  Dafoe had warned her niece gently about making Terrance feel inferior.  Delise had dismissed the caution, saying that Terrance did not even try to measure up.

Dafoe shook her head now, as she watched him disappear over the hill.  Her niece was so simple-minded.  Her lack of intelligence and pettiness was something Terrance had learned to resent, as he got older.  Until he was past twelve winters, he had no friendships.  At thirteen, he had been found playing bookie to the grooms’ sons, who raced the estate horses against Delise’s wishes.  It had infuriated her to find her own son arranging their bets and calculating their math for them.  Terrance had received a severe whipping at the hands of his brother.  Lady deVenoré, thinking herself quite clever, had ordered Kenton to beat him with a riding crop.  Kenton had relished the opportunity.  Then she had forced Terrance to do the same to the two stable boys who had been caught with him.  Her niece had told her after that it had been evidence of Terrance’s weakness that, even though he seemed to be using all this strength while whipping them, they had not cried out, nor shown any marks on their skin the following morning.  Dafoe had remarked quietly that Terrance seemed to be strong enough.  Delise had rolled her eyes.

That had been the last day Terrance had felt anything but bitterness toward his mother.  Since then, she had often caught him dicing with the servants, reading to them, or otherwise fraternizing with the lower class.  Initially, she had punished him, but had eventually given up.  At the first opportunity, Terrance had informed her he was making a large purchase: the estate of a recently deceased old Duc, whose family could no longer afford its maintenance.  He took with him nearly the entire serving staff, having promised them more money, better food and living quarters, and more respect.  Lady deVenoré had been appalled.

What shocked everyone the most was that Terrance had not used his mother and brother’s money to buy the estate, nor had he taken any with him when he left.  He had simply convinced a majority of the family’s business associates that their investments were far safer with him than with his brother.  That had been the easy part.  Few people credited Kenton with the amazing increase in the Venoré wealth over the few years preceding Terrance leaving.  No one at all gave credit to Delise.  Terrance had expanded upon what Lord deVenoré had built tenfold, as a man of not yet twenty.  He had always seemed to know when he was being cheated, and he invested in areas others had not yet considered.  He made himself invaluable to traders and merchants, as well as fellow investors.  When he left, he took with him all but enough wealth for his mother and brother to live well on, though not enough to support Delise’s lavish lifestyle.  And for the first time since Terrance was ten winters old, Kenton had to keep his own books.

Terrance had continued to thrive.  He had trained five assistants, and split his business among them.  Though he made all major decisions, these well-paid assistants oversaw daily transactions and dealings.  Having evaluated and schooled them himself, he left them to grow his assets, and was generally free to pursue other interests.

Dafoe knew his major interest was in Derík Shogan.  Her niece seemed entirely clueless on this point.  In spite of their separation, Delise still attempted to harass Terrance into marrying.  Kenton, too, was showing no signs of committing to a woman, but he certainly had more than his share of trysts with any woman who came near enough.  There were even rumors of bastards, but Kenton ignored them.  On the other hand, Terrance’s friendship with Derík Shogan, Cebo’s boy, had remained steady for years.  Dafoe knew Terrance’s mother had no grandchildren coming by this route.  That Delise did not see it was a testament to her great power of denial.

It occurred to Dafoe that Terrance’s mood had altered at the news that a Felsian would compete in this shameful, barbaric challenge for Antonia’s hand.  If it were Derík, it would explain the sickly expression on her great-nephew’s face.  For Terrance’s sake, she hoped Derík did not end victorious, if that was indeed the game he played.

*****

The news that King Enré intended to allow a Felsian landowner to enter the challenge also reached the tent city by nightfall.  Within an hour of the news disseminating, crowds had gathered to discuss the newest development in the odd game Enré played.  Within another hour, the crowd had gotten ugly.  Emotions were high, and old prejudices resurfaced.  At last, a man began to shout in the middle of the makeshift town square.  It was Pordos, accompanied by a brooding Knight, Kenton deVenoré. 

“Felsi is not equal to us!  Felsians are dogs, barbarians!  They don’t speak our language, don’t share our traditions, and cannot produce a competent soldier among them!  My uncle thinks to hand over our kingdom, my kingdom, to them wrapped in ribbons!  Their greedy horse thieves will loot our land and impoverish us all!”

Terrance glanced in alarm at Derík, whose eyes looked murderous.  The heir apparent had used the most insulting slur in society when referring to the Felsians.  Any noble discipline or restraint Derík possessed went up in smoke at the words “horse thief.”  And it was obvious that Pordos intended to ignite his temper, for he continued in his diatribe. 

“Horse thieves,” he spat again, “all of them!  And Enré intends for us to hand them the keys to the royal stable, to let them tax us and let them eat food out of our mouths!  I’ve warned for years that the Felsians were becoming too powerful in Tridencia proper!  I’ve warned you all that they would step out of line!  Now they’ve seduced our king into giving away an inheritance that is rightfully mine, as the last remaining grandson of King Caros.  And what will they do once they seize the throne?  Likely, the horse thieves will open the kingdom’s doors to Belesian pirates!  Why stop at Felsian barbarians on the throne, then?  Why not just hand over our ports to Bela now, to save time?”

Now others in the crowd were looking worried.  Terrance, along with many in the assembly, watched Derík’s face, wondering how he would respond.  There were several Felsian nobles and servers who looked as though they were waiting for Derík’s signal to go for the heir’s throat.   Even Kenton appeared uneasy about the prospect of a fight, which Pordos seemed determined to bring upon them.  Some of the Tridencians in the crowd were upset by the derisive words.  Peace between Tridencia proper and its small, resource-rich territory was always threadbare.  There were others, though, who seemed to consider what Pordos said, fearing for the future.  Most of the crowd was looking between Pordos and Derík, who was obviously the object of the young man’s rage.  Terrance watched his lover’s face for an indication of how this would end.

Derík surprised them all by suddenly releasing a peal of laughter, which boomed across the field.  Everyone stared at him, mouths agape.  He continued to chuckle until the silence around him turned to murmurs.  The man wiped a tear from his eye, and finally spoke.  

“Yes, Pordos.  Yes.  And I shall invite demons to be my advisors.  I shall give titles to my wraith friends, and drink away the royal treasury among sorcerers!”  He shot a gleeful wink at Terrance, who rolled his eyes heavenward.  “And best of all,” he called, holding out his hands for effect, “I shall finally be free to steal all the horses in Tridencia proper!  You know, the ones my father brought with him from Felsi, the ones all of the military and gentlemen were gifted with or bought from my father?  I’ll steal them all back, and give them to Belesian pirates, for use on their boats.”

The crowd began to join in his contagious laughter.  Some even called out to Pordos about the absurdity of his paranoia. 

Terrance studied the crowd’s reactions.  It was obvious that the few Felsians among them were still quite insulted by Pordos’s remarks, and that some Tridencians were still fearful of Pordos’s doomsday scenario.  But most were shaking their heads in disgust at the petty politicking, as though they had expected little better from a disappointed, threatened heir apparent.  Reaching into a few minds, Terrance found more than he liked were actually sympathetic to Pordos, thinking that this whole challenge had robbed him of his rightful place on the throne, and turned the future of the nation into a strange game.  Many suspected Pordos would remain heir even after the challenges.  The shrewdest among them suspected the challenges might even be a way to appease Felsians, to allow Pordos to prove himself, or to distract attention away from some as-of-yet unknown scandal.  The theories and emotions were many, but it seemed no one could resist a good fight between two noblemen.  Regardless of opinion, it was clear that everyone was caught up in the drama of it all.

And there it was.  A disjointed thought, from an unidentifiable mind.  Terrance’s back stiffened, and he tried to ascertain whence the thought had come, but it was gone.

Pordos himself was stomping off into the crowd, followed by Kenton, his ever-present shadow.  But the stray thought had not come from them; of that, he was sure.

The heat from the sun beat down on Terrance as he scanned the crowd, which was excitedly returning to normality.  A drop of sweat streamed into his eyes, and he blinked the burning away, as he concentrated on the throngs of people.  It was as though the mind that had produced the idea were covered in a mist.  It could not be located again. 

Terrance suddenly became aware of Derík approaching him.   The anger in his eyes was unmistakable.  It was a wonder he had hid it from the crowd and Pordos so adeptly.  “Did you hear what he called-“

“I heard something far more important than that,” Terrance interrupted quietly.

“What-“

He grabbed his lover’s arm, and dragged him across the tent city to their own temporary residence.  Once inside, his eyes flitting around them restlessly, he explained.  “Someone plans to assassinate the King.”

“What?” the Felsian shouted.

“Hush!  Yes.  I-I don’t know who.  It was a partial thought, an idea, but not yet fully formed.  Pordos remains heir apparent until Enré confirms a new heir.  This voice-this mind-is plotting with Pordos to kill the King if he does not choose him.  Before he can make the announcement.”

Derík stared.   “Then what do we do?”

Terrance shrugged.  “What can we do?  Demand to see the First Lieutenant to tell him I overheard someone thinking about murdering the King?  No.  We shall just keep our eyes and ears open.”

“Perhaps we had better tell Kaza and Antonia.”

The gray one shook his head slowly.  “No.  My Love, they cannot know about my abilities.  It will ruin everything if they think I am an evil sorcerer.  Don’t you understand?”

Derík nodded, distraught.  “I suppose so.  Won’t they know when this is all finished, if we take residence in the palace?”

“No,” Terrance replied firmly.  “I have told you before. No one thinks twice about beheading someone suspected of being a sorcerer.  It happens swiftly and silently.”

“Surely you could prevent them from harming you.”

He sighed heavily.  “Not from the stories I’ve heard.  Derík, the Academy Mages are brought in to get rid of any potential threat.  I don’t know how they do it, but they do.  When a sorcerer is suspected, they ask no questions.  They remove his head from his shoulders without a trial, without a judge.  Being revealed is the greatest danger to me, Derík.  It is why I cannot risk dipping into the King’s head for answers to the riddles he is about to pose to you and the other challengers.  I have no way of knowing if Mages monitor him somehow, if they would be able to find me that way.  It seems reasonable to think that the King would have the Mages protecting him from sorcerers.  And if they found me, who knows what they might do to you?  No, we tell no one.  We operate just as planned, but we keep our eyes open.  The King has the Second Lieutenant to guard him.  He’ll be fine.”

The Felsian heaved a ragged breath.  “Enré won’t be the only one in mortal danger if I hear Pordos use those words again.  Bet on that.”

Terrance raised his hand to touch the man’s face.  Even in anger, Derík was beautiful.  He had seen less sun in this forested area than he normally saw in the plains, so he was not so dark as usual. But his hair was still brilliantly gold.  His eyes, even afire with loathing, were stunning.  “Don’t let him bait you, dear one.  Continue to laugh.  You performed admirably a moment ago.  Use that charm of yours to dispel any insults, and you will come out on top every time.”  He shrugged playfully.  “It always works on me.”

The fire was calming.  “You’re easy,” he teased back.  “And you’ve never called me ‘horse thief.’”

“No, I haven’t.  I know better.  Academy Mages be damned; you would suddenly be what I feared the most.”

At last, the Felsian laughed too.  Then he slipped into a wicked smile.  “And soon, I will be what Pordos fears the most.”

*****

Enré gave a great sigh. 

Jepón glanced up from his books.  “Your Grace?”

The monarch looked years older than he had a month before.  The Queen’s death had taken them all by surprise.  Jepón was not often surprised by anything that went on inside his castle.  It annoyed him.

Finally, Enré spoke.  “Perhaps I moved too quickly, Jepón.  Perhaps I should have simply selected a husband for her.”

Jepón could not have agreed more.  This challenge, as it was being called, was the most ridiculous idea he had ever heard.  But he did not say so.  How these royal and noble families chose to mess up their lives meant very little to him.

“I just will not have Pordos on the throne.  Conniving snake, he is.  Reminds me of my father, if I told the truth.  How my sister could raise such a boy is beyond me.”

Jepón had his own opinion about Betucé’s ability to raise a reptilian child, but he held his tongue. 

“And what I know of the other suitable choices is not favorable.  All power-grabbing treasure-hunters, the lot of them!”

Jepón returned his attention to his ledger.

Enré did not seem to notice.  “If I were honest,” he growled, “that Felsian boy Shogan has more heart and dignity than any of my bannermen’s sons!”

The Steward did not bother to look up.  “Then why not choose him.”  It was more a statement than a question, as though he hoped a decision had been made so that he could get back to inventorying the wine cellars and pantries.

The King sputtered.  “That’s-that’s just not-it isn’t an option!”

At last, Jepón put down his quill, heaving an impatient sigh.  “You say yourself he is the best choice.”

“I-I didn’t say that!”

Jepón simply looked at him blandly.

The large man shoved his fingers into his red beard.  “Perhaps I said that.  He is known to be terribly honest.  His father has been a loyal servant to the throne many years now.  In the war with Bela, he spotted for me those traitors in Felsi supplying money and arms to the enemy.  But Derík is Felsian, and that makes him unacceptable.”

“Why?”

His face was flushing red.  “Because!  No Tridencian would ever follow him!  My bannermen would rise against him!”

Jepón rubbed his eyes.  It annoyed him to have to explain politics to a court-bred monarch.  “My King, the country will follow him because he is your choice, and your heir.  Any who whisper traitor’s words will be dealt with by your Lieutenants and Generals; it is why you have them.  Each bannerman will be disappointed regardless of who you choose, if it is not his son.  But they will all see your choice as a political one, considering the unrest in Felsi.  Do not count out Derík Shogan himself.  He is well-loved by Felsian and Tridencian alike.  Besides,” he finished, going back to his work, “money, land and titles go far when making friends.”

“My bannermen have money, land and titles.”

“Perhaps.  But have you ever known any of them to turn down more?”

Enré gave a small smile.  “So I should choose Derík Shogan as heir, and buy loyalty to him from my friends?”

Jepón’s patience snapped then.  “No, Your Grace.  What you should do is allow Antonia to remain unmarried, which is her preference, and train her as your heir, for it is what makes the most sense.”

The King’s mouth opened slightly.

Before he could answer, Jepón stood and carried his books to the door.  “The nation awaits your decision, and will follow any you make.  A true King should never doubt his strength with his own people.”  He gave a low bow.  “But I am a mere servant, Your Grace.  Surely I know nothing.”  The door closed behind him. 

PROMISES OF THE PAST, THREATS OF THE PRESENT

The current festivities reminded Terrance of another night, long ago, when they had been at the royal palace for a ball.  It was Kazandra deLunadoné’s coming of age party. 

“Come!  The blind woman is here.”  Derík gave an excited smile. 

“A festival trick, my friend.”

The golden man laughed with delight.  “Aye, but such a trick it is, Ter!  Indulge me!”  Then his grin became devilish.  “Indulge me today, and I shall indulge you tonight,” he whispered into his lover’s hair. 

Terrance felt a blush of annoyance-and of pleasure-creeping along his cheekbones.  “Go find your blind tart.  I shan’t keep you from being gullible, since you are determined to be so.”

Derík gave a boyish laugh, and led the way through the crowds of dancers.  Terrance, more out of habit than anything more, took a mental count of who had attended and who had not.  He calculated each guest down to the smallest detail of his or her dress.  No, he cared little for the way Lady Rohobin had braided her gray locks, or how the captain of the naval academy watched her dance, but it was never bad to have trivial knowledge of people in power.  Terrance noticed the way a serving girl, normally so composed and graceful, spilled some drops of wine into the captain’s lap, and he reminded himself that sometimes it was important to know something of those not in power as well.  As he watched the girl apologize and bend herself to clean the captain’s lap gingerly, Terrance smiled to himself.

Power.  An odd thing.  Few saw it the way he did.  Few noticed the underclasses, and their brilliant manipulation of power, though they themselves had none.  Few noticed the little things, like which noblemen got a clean glass, and which received one that had been contaminated by a spiteful server or bottler.  Few noticed the larger trifles, such as which servants ran for the doctor when commanded, and which dawdled just enough.  No, most saw only what they wanted to see: perfectly obedient, happy peasants, going about their chores gratefully.

Terrance smiled as he saw the captain speak to the girl gently.  The Lady Rohobin would not be the one sharing the captain’s quarters tonight, it seemed.

“Ter!  Come on, then!”

The blind woman sat at the foot of the staircase.  A chair, soft and welcoming, sat before her.  A young noblewoman was in consultation, eyes wide with wonder-and a bit of fear.  Presently, the blind woman patted the lady’s hand and sat back, signaling that their meeting was over.  A bit shakily, the Lady stood-Terrance knew her to be the unwed daughter of a wealthy vineyard family-and walked away with an empty gaze.  Her friends surrounded her, whispering excitedly about what had been said.  Terrance rolled his eyes and leaned on the great banister.

Derík was sitting before the woman, smiling intently.  “Good evening, Widow.”

The woman nodded.  Her useless eyes were covered in cloth, and her dress was dark, hair silver.  Her hands were old and veiny, but the nails were sharp as talons.  She grabbed Derík's hand swiftly.  “Ah.  Ah, a Felsian.  Hm.  An important Felsian, I think!”

Again, Terrance’s eyes rolled heavenward.  The accent was obvious.  And everyone in the room considered himself to be the most important among them all.  But Derík beamed, and the witnesses leaned in. 

The woman kept nodding, much, Terrance thought, as though her head were not quite attached at the neck.  “Yes.  Hm.  I do think so.  Very important.”

Terrance sighed.

“Your light shines brightly, young man.  You are strong.  Very strong.  A good fighter, I think.  Hm.  Yes.  I think you are soon to become more powerful than ever you imagined, yes.  Your light shines with a royal color.”

Terrance leaned his head against his hand.  Nearly a quarter of those in the palace at that moment had royal blood, if one looked far enough back.  And those who didn’t often liked to believe they might.

“Yes!  I am of royal blood!”

“Hm.  But that isn’t what I see.  That, yes, but more.  Your essence is royal, but your future too.”

“What does that mean, Good Widow?”

She shook her head.  “I’m not sure.”

His lover had heard enough.  “All right.  You’ve had your tricks for tonight.  Let us go now; I’m bored of hearing the obvious.”

But the woman had dropped Derík's hand, and was staring in Terrance’s direction.  Blindly, she leapt to her feet and fell to the ground in her attempt to back up.  Her covered, sightless gaze never left Terrance.  Fear clouded her face.  A gasping breath passed her lips.

Men and women began to whisper at the spectacle, and Terrance was quickly self-conscious.  “Madam,” he said, taking a step toward her.

“No!” she shrieked, raising an arm to shield herself.  Derík dropped to the ground to help her stand.  Still, she shook her head.  “No.  Come no closer.”

“Widow Jeroria,” a gentleman called from the approaching crowd.  “What is it?”

“Have you a vision, Widow?” another cried.

Her elderly hand rose to point at Terrance, who cleared his throat uncomfortably.  “What is it?” the woman whispered, echoing the man’s shout.  “What is this I see, hm?”

He cleared his throat again.   “Madam, I fear I’ve startled you.  I am Terrance de-“

“I know who you are,” she hissed.

The crowd became silent, and the musicians stopped to see what ruckus had distracted their dancers.

Derík glanced worriedly around him.  “Good Widow, are you all right?”

The woman stepped toward the awkward gray man.  The crowd backed away to see.  She traced his body with her outstretched finger, but never touched him.  “Darkness,” she hissed.

Derík frowned.  “But, Widow, I thought you only saw the colors of light.  Auras, as you call them.”

“That,” she whispered, “is because I have never seen this before.”

Terrance swallowed hard.  Sweat trickled down his back.

“What do you see, old woman?” a man called out.

“Darkness,” she repeated.  “There are tears in our universe, torn by the death of stars and the birth of gods, which create no light, reflect no light, but instead absorb light.  Inside these voids, nothing can survive, not even light.”

“A shadow?”

The woman whirled around.  “More than a shadow!  For a shadow uses light.  These voids devour light.  Feed on it.  Snuff it out.  This man’s essence is darker than black.  It absorbs light.”

Derík stared, as did every other guest.  “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t!” she snapped.  “Because you look with your eyes!  You!  Your aura is bright gold, dark blue! Truly good and regal.  The woman before you was yellow, soft and afraid.  I have seen hundreds of auras tonight, thousands in my life.  I tell you this man’s is different.  Instead of light, it is the absence, the death, of light!”

Murmurs flooded the hall.  Terrance stumbled backward, feeling like cornered prey.  Derík stared at him in silence.  The woman, having said her piece, sat daintily back into her chair and folded her hands on her lap.  Terrance’s mouth was too dry to speak, and anyway, he knew not what to say.  Finally a shout came from the crowd.  “Widow!  Are you saying there is evil here?”

Terrance’s eyes flitted to the speaker.  His elder brother, Kenton, grinning like a cat.  He was enjoying this, the pig.

At last, the widow looked unsure of herself.  It lasted only a moment.  She set her jaw and faced Terrance confidently.  “He could be evil if he chose to be.”

A hearty laugh burst from the center of the stunned guests.  Everyone turned to face Kazandra deLunadoné, who laughed mercilessly until her hair loosed itself from its ties.  She wiped a strand from her eyes.  “Aye, old woman,” she teased seductively, “and what man here couldn’t be evil if he chose?  I know a few who plan to be devils tonight, do I not?”

Relieved chuckles rang out around the hall, and shoulders relaxed.  “A bit of playacting makes every party more enjoyable.  Thank you, Lord Terrance, Widow Jeroria, for providing some tonight!  Imagine!  Lord Terrance as evil!  But!”  Kaza laughed merrily.  “But, none of you shall be naughtier than I, for I will dance all night long, and none but the baddest of all, King Enré himself, could stop me!”  She turned and gave a meaningful glare to the musicians, who hurried to play their next song.  Guests smiled and flirted, following the lead of the guest of honor.  Some patted Terrance on the back, and thanked him for playing the troubadour, and several whispered to Derík and each other that the Good Widow had been very convincing in the strange show.

Terrance rushed to the glass doors, and out into the vine garden courtyard without a word.

Derík set to follow him, but the Widow grabbed his sleeve.  He turned.

“I saw what I saw, Prince.”

The Felsian stammered.  “I-I am a Lord, but no Prince, old woman.”

She shrugged and released his sleeve.  “I saw what I saw in you too.”

He spared one last moment to stare, then ran for the courtyard, as the music and laughter reached higher volume.  He found Terrance at the pond, gazing at his own reflection.  This was a small courtyard, within the great hall.  The design was strange, but delightful.  Inside the walls of the castle, there was, of course, the bailey, where events and daily exercise took place.  The stables were there, as were the forges and barracks.  It was an enormous structure.  But within the castle itself, there were courtyards and pathways, which were open to the air.  This one was infamous throughout the nation as a place of secrets and romance.  Vines and ivies grew in controlled chaos, hanging from the castle walls, climbing up trees.  For large events such as tonight, the gardeners went to great lengths to delicately braid the falling vines that provided a curtain from the rest of the world.  Inside the courtyard, it was easy to imagine that nothing else existed.  The vines blocked most of the sound coming from the Great Hall, and the benches about the pond were idyllic.  The trees in this gorgeous yard were mainly weeping willows, and it was often difficult to tell where an ivy stopped and the tree limbs began. 

The most impressive and dramatic of the ivies which grew there was the moon glory.  It was the symbol of the royal family, and cuttings of the plant grew at nearly every estate in the land, as a sign of loyalty and love of the throne.  Oddly, though the ivy grew heartily in every region, the moon glory flowers themselves seemed to choose where they would blossom, and where they would not.  They constantly bloomed around the royal palace, but not at the King’s summer residence, for example, to the endless frustration of the gardeners there.  The most gorgeous moon glories Derík had ever seen were outside Terrance’s home, though older servants claimed they never grew until a few years ago.  The spectacular thing about moon glories was the variety of colors they expressed, and the exotic phenomenon surrounding the changing of the colors.  It was tied to the moons, they said, although Derík had never understood quite how.  The glories would be red one night, and greenish a few days later, only to change to brown, purple, pink or blue.  Rarest of all was a silver moon glory, seen only for a few hours in six weeks’ time.  Ancient calendars had been recordings of the moon glory rhythms, he knew. 

In spite of the beauty revealed by the moonlight tonight, he found his lover looking quite shaken.  “Ter?  I’m so sorry, Ter.  I had no idea she was so mad as that.”

To his relief, his friend smiled.  “Of course she’s mad, Derík.  She’s a blind woman who claims to see light around other people, and tell their fortune from it.”

Derík laughed quietly, and sat at the nearest bench.  He tossed a rock into the still water.  “Yes, I guess you’re right.  But I never thought her anything but harmlessly mad before now.”

Terrance looked up.  “Derík, let’s go away.  To Felsi, to the end of the world, who cares?  But let’s do it.”

Derík tossed another pebble uncomfortably.  He did not meet his lover’s gaze.  “All because of tonight?  Ter, Lady Kazandra deLunadoné convinced everyone it was all playacting.  No one-“

“Not because of tonight, Shogan,” Terrance snapped.  Then he took a deep breath, and softened his voice.  “No.  Because I love you.  Because I want to go somewhere we don’t have to pretend.”

Derík snorted quietly.  “You mean, be peasants?  Ter, men like us don’t have the luxury to do as we please.”

“Men like you, you mean.”

He pursed his lips, then nodded.  “Fine.  Men like me.  And you too, if something happens to that ugly brother of yours.”

“Gods willing,” Terrance teased.

“I’m serious, Ter!  You know I want exactly what you want.  It can’t be that way.  Men can love one another in the underclasses.  It isn’t the same where we are.  I must take a wife, and I must have a son.”

The gray man grit his teeth.  “Of course.  And I can watch, and perhaps be a lover now and then.”

Derík sighed.  “It won’t be so bad, you know.  You’ll have your own wife-“

“Bite your tongue.”

“Well, you might.”

“Not I.  I won’t have a wife to breed a son, just so I can have someone to leave my money and lands to.  It’s all so stupid.”

“I suppose you’ll take your money and be Burned atop it!”

“Perhaps I simply won’t die!”  Terrance glowered.  “Or perhaps I’ll find a peasant man who cares less about status and more for me!”

“That’s not fair!”

“My Lords?”

They whirled around to find the First Lieutenant to the King before them.  Both gave an awkward bow. 

“Ah,” Derík croaked.  “The First.”

A strong and handsome man who rarely smiled, Terrance believed him to be the youngest First Lieutenant in the nation’s history-except for a few Princes here and there.  One hundred percent not royal, from what they said.  Earned the place by merit alone.  This Terrance respected.

“Forgive the intrusion.  You seem to have had a dramatic night, Lord Terrance.  Who knew you had such a flair for theatre?”

Terrance licked his lips.  “So it would seem,” he responded.

The canny look in the military man’s eyes persisted.  It was clear he was no fool.  “Lord Terrance, if I may beg your company’s pardon and steal you away, I would be very interested in your opinion about something.”

My company! Terrance thought, amused, as he noticed Derík stiffen beside him.  As if the Lord Derík Shogan were merely my petty entourage!  “As you wish, sir.  Lord Derík, perhaps we can continue our disagreement at a later date?”

Derík’s eyes flashed angrily.  “At your convenience, Lord Terrance.  For my part, there are dozens of lovely maids about tonight, who would enjoy-“ He smiled coldly at the First.  “-my company.”

As the man reentered the party, Terrance smiled after him.  “You are a cunning military man, sir,” he chuckled.  “You know just where to strike a blow.”

The First showed no emotion, and gave no response.

Terrance turned to look at him.  “Or could you be unaware that the Lord Derík’s standing is higher than my own, and therefore should be addressed first, as the superior man?”

A soft snort was his reply.  “Because his family is older than yours, and closer to royalty?  My Lord, let it never be said that this makes him a superior man.”

Terrance’s smirk returned.  “I did not say he was, only that he should be addressed as such.  What can I do for you sir?”

Finally, a smile spread onto the thin man’s face.

“What was it that the First Lieutenant wanted of you that night?  I never remembered to ask.”

He licked his lips, tasting salty drips of sweat.  He gave a weak cough, and sniffed.  It was an inconvenient time to be ill again, and Terrance loathed sickness.  The trip to Dafoe’s had tired him badly.  Derík passed the cold cloth over his forehead.  “I’m not sure exactly,” he rasped.  “He brought me to his office, poured wine, and we played chess.”

“You played chess.”

“Yes.”

“During the birthday party of the Princess’s Lady-in-Waiting.”

A small shrug was his answer.  “Yes.  He asked me what I knew of my uncle’s estate.  He said some strange tales were told about the place.  I told him I knew little of my uncle, who always preferred my brother, and only that my aunt’s constable Eke kept amazing birds who seemed to deliver messages far faster than anyone else’s.  It was all I’d taken notice of as a boy.  My aunt had too many books about for me to pay attention to anything else during my visits.”

Derík smiled down at him adoringly.  “Always in a book, weren’t you?”

“So it seems.”

“Ter, do you think it odd that Kazandra was the dame who came to our rescue that night?”

“You’ve got the vernacular wrong again,” Terrance corrected.  “Not a dame till married.”

“Yes, but do you?”

“Not really.  It was her birthday the old witch and my aura were ruining.  Do not think for a moment she did it for me, friend.  Lady Kazandra has always been about Lady Kazandra, and no mistake.  I assure you she does not even recall it.”

Derík leaned back on the bed.  “Do you think so?  I’m not convinced.”

Terrance snatched the cloth from his hand.  “Well, be convinced, and stop bringing up that horrible night.  Or do you forget the Widow’s tirade, and all the stares I endured?”

The man laughed to himself.  “Because of your wicked aura,” he teased.

“It’s not funny.”

“Terrance, absorber of light.”

“Shut up, idiot.  Get me some more tea.”

The chuckling continued, but Derík lifted himself to the task.  After refilling the cup, he lay on the bed beside his lover, on his stomach. 

“Your boots will get the bed muddy,” Terrance complained softly.

Absently, the man sat up to take off the boots.  He’d been riding that afternoon, with several young noblemen excited about his chances in the challenge.  “Ter, I meant to marry someone else.”

The sickly man swallowed his tea and bitterness without a sound.  “You are marrying someone else, Derík.”

“No.  Well, yes, but in this way, I am more like marrying you.”

“More like,” he repeated sarcastically.

“But do you remember how we fought that night?  It’s why I brought it up to start with.  Because that night, we fought about me leaving you to marry.”

“So?  We fought about that more than once.”

“But that was the first time, really, that you threatened to find another man.  The only time you’ve said it.”

Terrance frowned at his empty cup.  “I never said any such thing.”

“You don’t remember, but you did.  You said you would find a peasant man to love.  So you didn’t have to hide about it.”

The gray man touched his lover’s face gently, then dropped his hand again.  The effort seemed too much.  “If I said that, I never meant it.  That was years ago, before the Princes even died, and I was angry.  I shouldn’t have said it.”

“You did mean it, in a way, and you still do.”

“Derík-“

“No, listen.  Not that you’d rather be with someone else, but that you don’t like to hide our love.”

Terrance understood and grew quiet again.

“I don’t like to hide it either, and I know Kazandra and the Princess don’t.  But we’ve all got parts to play.  Roles that are larger than we are.  We are into something quite larger than we ever knew we would be.  The Princess needs a man who can give her a child.  Do you think Kazandra wouldn’t if she could?”

Terrance rolled his eyes.  “Perhaps she could.  I’m not convinced she is a Lady.”

“Stop it.  Stop that too!  Of all people, should you judge what a Lady should be?  You, who won’t even wear a dress sword to a meeting with noblemen?”

“Kaza probably would.”

“But listen!”

“Okay, yes, Love, Antonia needs a baby.”

Derík shook his head.  “But not just that.  Don’t you see?  She’ll need me to pretend to love her.  Just as you and Kazandra will have to pretend.  Because people will be watching.  What we’re doing has never been done, Ter.  A queen on the throne, with a King chosen among a group of challengers?  Everyone with a few dozen swords will be trying to take it from her.  A sign of weakness is all they need to spring on her.”

Terrance nodded.  “A sign like her husband not standing by her side.”

“Exactly.  I meant to marry someone else years ago, someone who didn’t need me, but needed my money.  Antonia doesn’t need my money.  She needs a strong husband, so she can rule her nation.”

Terrance gave a weak smile.  “I don’t need your money either.”

He was rewarded with a grin.  “No.  That you don’t.”

“I will be a pretender, my Love, but only so long as you come to me in secret.”

Satisfied, Derík lay down beside him.  “If we must forever be a secret, let us at least be forever.”

“Yes,” Terrance agreed happily.  “The vows said to our wives will be meant for each other, and theirs to us will be meant between them.”

Derík took the cloth again and wiped his lover’s cheek.  “It is lovely in its way, Ter.  Perhaps not the easy love of a peasant, but the best we can do.  There is some poetry to it.”

“Of course, my Love.”

“Ter, help us to sleep.”

With a sigh, Terrance concentrated.  He spread the silent cloud of his power over both of them.  It quieted thoughts and nerves, and first Derík dropped off to sleep, then Terrance nearly did.  He could never completely work the magic on himself, for he was its source.  Thoughts of that night at the palace were dampened, but not altogether at rest.

Besides, Terrance never trusted himself to dream when he was feverish.

*****

The King was bellowing at his advisors when the bannerman arrived at the palace.  He was ushered quickly and quietly into a study, not with the King himself, but with the army’s First Lieutenant. 

This surprised the Duc of Farley, and he said so.

Fredríck sighed.  “My Lord General, I request your counsel as you would give it to our beloved King.”

The Duc accepted wine and lowered himself cautiously to his chair.  “Has the King been informed of my arrival?” he asked with suspicion.

Fredríck smiled wearily.  He himself did not sit.  “You see through me, my Lord.”

“Call me Jayt, and tell me why I am truly here.”

Fredríck appreciated the forthright attitude of this military veteran.  Finally, here was someone to whom the Lieutenant could speak with candor.  Presently, he sat on the desk in front of the Duc.

“Jayt, I surely know you better than you me, simply because there are no bards singing my praises.”

The Duc grunted into his cup.

“And there is no better man to advise our King on the game of war.”

“War is no game, Freddie.”  An eyebrow rose.

The commander noted the use of his childhood nickname with a smile.  “Perhaps you have heard of me.”

“Very little, as you say,” he admitted, tasting the wine again.  “But enough.  Am I here to advise the King on war?”  It was obvious the Duc already suspected what was going on.  “For it seems a job you could do.”

“If it came to that.  Jayt, there must be no war.”

The Duc’s expression did not change.  It was as though he intended to force the words out of the First.  “And why would there be?”

“Pordos.  And Felsi.”

“Hm” was all he said.

“Hm, indeed.  Felsi first, then.  Your family was Felsian generations ago.”

“Farley Rock changed hands many times, Commander.  My family stayed on the same rock we’ve been on since before either nation existed.”

“Surely you still have ties in Felsi.”

“Perhaps.  Our rock has always been a battleground, Commander, though no one has ever had any feud with my family itself.”

Fredríck smiled.  He had heard it said that Jayt Kameel was arrogantly modest.  He could see this for himself.  “What will prevent rebellion in Felsi, Jayt?”

The Duc had come to the palace prepared with an answer, in hopes of being asked.  “Antonia.”

The smile remained, but the Commander looked as though all the air had been released from his lungs.  “That’s unacceptable.”

He nodded.  “Very well.  My men have begun preparations to defend-“

“There must be another way!”

“I see none.”  He watched the commander stand rigidly and stumble to a chair.  Wine splashed into a cup, but the Lieutenant did not even bother to drink what he had poured.  The Duc could imagine the thoughts going through the man’s mind, and did not envy him. 

Fredríck was a tall man, very slender, and possessed a military man’s grace.  The Duc knew Fredríck’s background better than he had let on.  He knew, for example, that the man was not noble, that he had risen through military ranks on merit alone, ignoring as best he could the spite of noblemen’s sons not half so intelligent or strong in combat.  The commander’s discipline was famous and admirable, and his loyalty to his King was unwavering.

For the Duc’s part, he made a point to know who held power in the army-on both sides of his rock.

“It is your recommendation that the King choose a Felsian heir,” Fredríck said very slowly.

The Duc smiled at the younger man.  “That isn’t what I said.  You asked how to stop the impending war.”

“I did,” the Commander agreed.  His eyes lowered to his wine, which he still had not tasted.

The Duc sensed something not right about this man’s fatalism.  “Pordos has always been a proponent of stripping titles and land from Felsian families, and handing it over to loyal friends of the throne. It is likely that Felsi will see Pordos as an immediate threat.  They would rebel upon the King’s death, if not sooner.  Now that Malona has died, Antonia is the only one remaining with any Felsi blood, and in all appearances, she takes after her father’s side.  The red hair is a symbol to the Felsians that there is no one left who cares about them now that their Malona is gone.  If Pordos is pronounced heir, or another true Tridencian who shares his feelings, Felsi will not wait for the King to pass before there is an uprising.  And all of Tridencia, like it or not, is dependent upon that little territory.”

Fredríck did not stir.  “Aye.  But there are a great many in Tridencia proper who see Pordos as rightful heir now that the Princes are gone.  He is the only remaining Prince.  The lines of succession are clear.  If the King dies now, the nation belongs to Pordos, not Antonia.”

Jayt eyed the younger man carefully.  “What part of our situation do I not know, Fredríck?”

The ghost of a smile played on his thin lips.  No one would mistake Fredríck Insha for a charismatic man.  He had never needed to be, since Enré and his sons had charisma in spades.  He loved the position of First Lieutenant, as it gave him the chance to use his talent with strategy and numbers, and he excelled at what he did.  He always left the parades to his current Second in command, and before that to the King or Princes themselves.  Inspections and interviews with subordinate commanders were where his genius shone; organizing patrols, supplies and the protection of the borders, the acquisition of arms and horses and grain, were his forte.   He was an excellent peacetime commander, and had proven himself at the Battles of Farley, Tuson and Ahma, when Bela had struck three parts of the Tridencian border in a futile but bloody attempt to shake the throne into allowing access to the Rhodi ports of Felsi.  No one in the nation, whether they liked him personally or not, doubted his strength as a military leader.

At long last, Fredríck spoke again.  “Is it naïve to trust a man just because he is our King’s bannerman?” he asked softly.

“That is not why you trust me, son.”

“Tuson followed Ahma so closely that I did not speak with our Tusoni Duc, nor the Guardian of Ahma.  I regret that, but more do I regret not finding you after Farley.”

There is no before or after Farley, the Duc thought.  It always was, and always will be.  “You had just lost your Second, Prince Eron, and Prince Ever too.  I understood.”

“Ever never should have been at Farley, Jayt.”

Ah.  That was it.  Guilt over the Princes’ deaths.  “Every commander makes mistakes, Fredríck.  That was long ago.”

Fredríck sighed, standing again.  His boots clomped softly as he paced.  The Duc’s eyes followed him.  “I don’t mean that.  I mean he wasn’t supposed to be there.”

Jayt’s eyebrows inched up slowly.  “You mean he disobeyed orders?  Abandoned his post elsewhere?”

Again, the man shook his head.  He ran a hand through his dark hair with frustration.  “I don’t-I don’t know.  No, I don’t think so.  I didn’t have time to pursue it then, right after, because Bela was on Tuson before we’d even licked our wounds.  But I tried later, too much later, I think.  I tracked down his commander and demanded to know why the Prince’s unit had been sent to Farley.  He was meant to take his men to Ahma, since we suspected the attack there would be soon in coming.”

“But he took his men to Farley instead.  He was young, Fredríck.  He followed the action.  He was a bit of an impulsive boy, from what I gathered.”

“No.”  The First laid his hands out on the desk in front of him, and looked Jayt in the eyes.  “No.  He sent his men onward to Ahma, as ordered.  But his commander told me that he had sent the Prince himself to Farley.”

A strange itch played at the Duc’s brain, as things slowly fell into place.  “On whose orders?”

“That’s just it.  The commander simply said he had received specially delivered orders from his commanding officer.”

“Who was that?”

“Jerome Kie.”

“He died two days before the battle at Farley.  I remember.”

Fredríck nodded.  “Aye.  The trail of the change of the Prince’s orders ends there, with Kie.”

“But why would Kie order Ever to the front, without his men, knowing Prince Eron was also at risk?”

A snap of the First’s fingers almost startled him.  “That’s my question.  Do you recall the nature of Kie’s death, sir?”

The Duc thought for a moment.  “I remember something about it was odd, other than the timing of course.  Just like Jeromy Kie, to die two days before we needed him, we all said.  But what was it that did him?”

“He broke his neck.”

Jayt nodded slowly.  “I remember now.  The freezing rain, he fell down a set of stone stairs.”  A shiver crept up his spine.  “You think there’s something to that?”

At last, the First gave a great sigh and sipped his wine thoughtfully.  “I don’t know.  But do you remember the relation Kie held to the throne?”

“Certainly.  He was the King’s cousin.”

“And where he fell in line for the throne?”

Jayt frowned darkly.  The last piece of the puzzle slipped into place.  “Just after Eron and Ever, as I recall.”  He swallowed the rest of his cup, and helped himself to another before he spoke again.  “You think he meant to risk Eron and Ever in the same battle?  That he did it purposely?”

“Or that someone meant for it to seem that way,” the First said quietly.

The Duc looked up, worry etched across his face.  “Pordos was in line right behind Jeromy, because he had not yet come of age.  Do you think he could have-?”

“Not by himself, he couldn’t.  But with the Queen’s recent death….”

“You’re afraid we may have a murderer in the royal family.”

“Would it be the first time?”

Jayt gave a wry smile.  “No.  Certainly not.  Arbon was called Unshakeable because he stabbed his father Eron the Fourth through the heart without batting an eyelash.  They say he did it during supper and went right on eating afterward.  And there’s some who say the original Eron and his second wife killed his first wife when no heir was produced, and it was called an accident.  Pordos comes from a long line of ruthless men and women. It is fortunate that our own dear King is not so afflicted.  So you see Pordos as a threat if he is not named heir, and Felsi as one if he is.”

The Lieutenant tapped his nose twice, to show that Jayt was getting his line of thought.

The older man heaved a heavy sigh.  “When we train, we learn from our commanders that we fight for honor.  Women, words and waters are another matter.”

Fredríck stopped drinking and looked at him.  “What?”

The Duc laughed softly.  “It’s something we used to say when I was an active commander, Fredríck.  The three things that will send good men to their deaths the swiftest are women, words and waters.”  He stood.  “No matter who was on the throne, Farley Rock stood strong.  We have always been loyal to ourselves first, and our king second.  But Enré has been different.  His father and father’s father, and the old Felsian kings, and those Belesian bastards, they didn’t know what honor was about. Enré does.  You can count on Farley to protect him, and the Princess, no matter what the threat.”

The First smiled.  “That’s what I need.  I need a rock, when everyone else’s loyalties seem so malleable.  The King is the only man standing between Pordos and a throne, when a few years back, there were three others.  Now the Queen is dead, and my gut tells me something malevolent was behind that too, though I have no proof.”

Jayt nodded, finally understanding his own role in all of this.  “I’ll see what my sources can find out, sir.  I’ll report back to you when I know anything, either about Felsi’s movement, or Pordos’s.  He will never be without a shadow.”

When the door had closed after Duc Jayt Kameel, there was a movement from behind a curtain, and a hidden observer emerged.  Without looking up, Fredríck sighed.  “What do you think?”

Antonia placed a slender hand on the First’s arm.  “I think he’ll do as he says, and there is nothing Jayt of Farley can’t find out if he wants to.”  Her voice was soft as she spoke.  “Thank you, Fredríck.”

“I do not like keeping this from your father.  If you believe something unnatural happened to your mother, why not tell him?”

“Why not tell him your suspicions about my brothers?”

The First nodded reluctantly.  “Proof first.”

The High Princess gave him a kind smile.  “I knew you would understand.  Let me know the moment you learn anything.”  Without another word, she slipped from the room as silently as she had occupied it a moment before.

MACHINATIONS

It had not taken long for the merchants and artists to descend upon the tent city filled with noblemen and otherwise wealthy spectators.  It was the best opportunity for sales in a lifetime.  Merchants wasted no time in setting up tables and booths for the wealthy guests to examine their goods.  Colorful scarves, exotic jewelry, and lovely tapestries appeared everywhere one looked.  The air was filled with spices and smoke as cooks roasted chickens, ducks, and rabbits in rich sauces.

There were other opportunists as well.  Players, jesters and bards seemed to appear from nowhere.  Musicians could be found, of any variety, at any time of day or night.  Mysterious women and young men discreetly offered their intimate services to those who seemed able to afford them.  Shady healers arrived, promising health and fertility.  Pickpockets and cutpurses wandered the crowds, and gamblers approached the gullible and unobservant, for a friendly game of cards or dice.

In the midst of it all were the challengers, jockeying for position.  They wined and dined fellow noblemen, and promised the heavens and moons to any supporters.  Anyone who was supposed to have any influence upon the King was flattered and gifted into exhaustion.  And at this prestigious junction, everyone was assumed to have influence over the King’s decision.

The only people ignored were the servants.  Their lives changed remarkably little, except that they now operated out of massive tents instead of stone manors and keeps.  There was little at the newly-formed bazaar in the center of the tent city which they could afford.  They did enjoy the street players and musicians, but had little time for them, since they were now expected to do their duties at double their normal pace, to keep up appearances for their masters in front of their peers.

In addition, it had become necessary to carry food and chamber waste further into the forest each day, to keep the smell from offending those living in the tent city.  Boys native to the capitol were hired temporarily just for this duty.  Local girls were given daily work as laundresses and seamstresses.  For the capitol, the economy was booming.  Only the hunters and fishermen complained that the noise and refuse kept animals away from the river.

Except for the rats, of course.  The servants and cooks had their hands full dealing with them.  That is, they did until a certain gray stranger approached them one by one.

Every one of the wealthy gentlemen and ladies were different, but they all had one thing in common.  They viewed peasants as necessary evils.  Some masters were kind and others not, but only one deigned to speak to them as equals.

Terrance deVenoré arrived at the house of Duc Marlin on the third day after the Duc’s household had arrived, while the Duc was visiting the city temple.  He was politely told the Duc was unavailable, but he waved away the young woman who said so. 

“I have little interest in speaking to your Duc, my lady.”

The woman blinked.  Was the man drunk?  No one mistook her for a lady!  “Aye, well, sir, can I serve ye?”

“Perhaps.  I’ve come to see how your staff is doing.”

A suspicious frown came over her face.  “Our steward is about in the market to find-“

“Perfect.”  Terrance pushed his way into the tent and looked around him.  The interior of this tent was radiant, nearly gaudy.  Duc Marlin seemed to have no intention of missing out on a single convenience or amenity while camping in the King’s backyard.  Twice the size of a general’s war tent, it held furniture covered in fur, fabrics creating the illusions of separate quarters, and tapestries hanging as though on solid walls.  Servants bustled around, cleaning and gossiping, but stopped when they saw a guest among them.

An unaccompanied nobleman, unexpected and unannounced made the entire household immediately wary.

Then he reached into his pockets and pulled out something small.  He began to smile.  “I’m not really at home with those arrogant pigs out there.  I was hoping for some more intelligent company.”  He opened his hands to reveal a handsome set of bone dice and several silver coins.  “Shall I find some here?”

The peasants glanced at each other, and smiled.  “Allow me to bring some wine while you, ah, wait for our master.”

Terrance gave a small nod.

An hour later, laughter and good-natured grumbling filled the room.  The savviest among the servants had found it completely unnecessary to try to cheat this nobleman out of his money.  Terrance was losing coins with every roll, and he never truly complained.  Each time it seemed he had lost everything, he pulled more from another pouch hidden under his cloak, which he never removed.  He did not win a single toss.  Soon, even the most dedicated of workers ceased their cleaning and food preparation and sewing to come watch the pleasant, ugly rich man lose all his money to the stable boys and cooks.

At one point, the conversations turned to the struggles of adapting their talents for the tent city.

“Worst,” one girl groaned, “is the rats!”

Terrance glanced at her, then quickly turned his attention back to the dice.  “Really?” he said quietly.

Everyone nodded with disgust.  “Ye wouldn’t know it, your lordship, but they’re awful!”

“Aye.  No doubt your own serving girls have to swat them out of your food before they give it to ye!” confirmed one.

“And out of the laundry!” lamented another.

“And the chamberpots!” a third agreed.

Terrance’s stomach turned, but he pushed away the feeling.  “Surely not!”

“Oh, aye, my Lord!  They’re everywhere!”

The gray man shook his head.  “No, I say it with confidence.  No rat lives in the tents of Derík Shogan.”

They stared at him.  “How does your steward manage it?”

Terrance smiled.  “Unlike several of my peers, I was not so stupid as to bring my head servant away from my estate.  Is it not the point of a steward to make decisions and see to the needs of the staff in my absence?”

His carefully chosen words had their desired effect.  The needs of the staff?  What nobleman concerned himself or his steward with anything but his own needs?  They all glanced at each other.

Finally one spoke again.  “Certainly, my Lord.  But how then do the rats get dealt with?”

“They simply do not approach.  Derík Shogan, my business companion, scents his tents-both his own and those of our servers-with a fragrant herb rats find distasteful.

The small group looked at each other in amazement.  “What such herb, my Lord?” they asked eagerly.  “Can one exist?”

“Of course.  Now see.  If you can beat me at dice-as I am out of money-I will have one of my girls bring a basket of it to you.  Is it a deal?”

There was immediate agreement.  “Imagine how much easier things will be without the rats!” one cried.

The head cook nodded.  “I still do not believe such a thing that rats won’t come near exists, but if it do, it will be a blessing!  I will try anything!”

Terrance nodded and tossed his dice.  For the first time that day, the roll was very good.  Only a single possible combination could beat it.  He gave a satisfied smile, and handed the dice to the quietest serving girl.  Her eyes widened. 

“Oh, no, sir, someone else.”

He shrugged.  “Everyone else took a turn.  And my money.”

The cook rolled his eyes.  “That girl is the least lucky among us.  If there is something to trip over, Mouse will find it.  If there is something to spill, Mouse will do it.  We need this herb too badly to count on her!”

Terrance smiled.  “My deal is with her. Take it or don’t.”

Grumbling ensued.  The girl swallowed hard, looking around at the unfriendly stares all about her.  She sighed, took the outstretched dice, and immediately dropped them back onto the table, without so much as a shake.  She did not bother to look at them when they settled.

“Hey!” the cook cried.  “She did it!  The little Mouse did it!”

Terrance watched as her cheeks warmed.  “Did I?” she breathed timidly.

“Mouse!” another woman called.  “You saved us from the rats!”  She laughed, and the others joined in, patting the younger girl on the back.

The gray man stood and gave her a bow.  “Then it is to lucky Mouse that I will have my girl deliver the herbs.”  He gripped the head cook’s wrist.  The surprised man returned the embrace, a gesture reserved between high class gentlemen.  Terrance knew a leader when he saw one, no matter what sort of clothes he wore or accent he had.  “I appreciated your hospitality.  Please spend the money you made off me discreetly.  I see no reason your master need hear of this, do you?”

They laughed.  “Of course not, my Lord.  This will be our secret,” the cook promised with a wink.  “T’would be nice, though, to have folks like yourself and this Shogan gentleman in charge of things.”  The man raised an eyebrow.

It was Terrance’s turn to wink, unseen by the others in the room.

The cook nodded, and turned to his fellows.  “Aye, it would.  Seems to me things won’t get a bit better for our families if Duc Marlin made it into that palace, now would they?  Likely, lots of us would end up out on our backsides.  After all, they’ve no need for our services in the palace.  But seems to me things might get a bit better if this gentleman’s companion found himself at the head of this game of the King’s.”  He nodded to his friends.  “Imagine an heir to the throne treating common folk like they was people.  Might even become a trend!”

A stableboy smirked.  “Not if our Duc were King, ye can bet!”

“Nor that Pordos neither!”

The cook and the nobleman shared a smile.  The seed was planted.  “I’ll be on my way, ladies and gentlemen,” Terrance said grandly.  As he was escorted to the door, he heard whispers behind him.

“Ye think he did it all to get us on the Felsian’s side?” the Mouse breathed.

The cook’s low chuckle answered.  “Aye, of course.  But who else would have even thought to do that?  I like him.  And if it means our Duc loses the throne to some Felsian Lord, I’ll see to it we’re every bit as much help as he thinks we’ll be!”

Terrance bit back a grin as he lifted the tent flap and strode out into the bright daylight.  He took a moment to reach into the mind of every rodent nearby and send illusions into their senses.  In the rats’ minds, the smell of cats and dogs seemed to permeate the air around Duc Marlin’s tent.  Immediately, a dozen small rats rushed frantically out of the pile of refuse behind Marlin’s residence.  For good measure, he reached into the minds of a few cats and sent them the scent of rats in the area. As long as he remembered to renew the illusion each day, there would be no rat problem there again.  But every Mouse would be doing her job.

Cradling a new headache brought on by the use of his illusions, Terrance returned to the tent he shared with Derík. 

“Shall I get you some tea, my Lord?” Derík’s manservant asked nervously.

Terrance gave a sigh.  It seemed every servant in the land loved him except Shogan’s.  They knew him well enough to fear him.  “No, thank you, Hoddep.  I’ll spend the afternoon in bed.”

“Yes, sir.  A message came for you, my Lord.  From the palace.”

“From?”  He rubbed his temples gently.

“The King’s physician.”

This got his attention.  “Enré’s personal physician is contacting me?”

“It appears so, sir.  He announced his intention to call upon you this evening.”

“Yes?”

“It was all the messenger said, my Lord.”

Terrance sighed.  Under normal circumstances, he would have sought out information himself, but he had no energy for sleuthing at the moment.  “Fine.  Discover his favorite wine or liquor, and be sure we have it in plenty.  If you can discover his intentions, alert me immediately.  I will keep my appointment with my bed for now.  Awake me when he is here or when you know why he is coming.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“And your master will be dining with the Lady deGrace tonight.  Find out her favorite flower and have it delivered to her prior to his arrival.  If it cannot be found, collect her favorite tea.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Send a basket of those pungent herbs the cook planned to throw out to Duc Marlin’s servant called Mouse.”

“Uh.  Yes, sir?”

“And give the rest of the staff a silver coin each and the night off, with the exception of a cook, a serving boy, and yourself, after Derík has left.”  He handed a pouch to the man after untying it from his belt.

The manservant’s eyebrows shot up.  “A silver coin, sir?  Each?”

“Yes.  Well, give the children a few coppers instead.  But the men and girls may have a silver each.”

“Any assignment, sir?”

Terrance smiled.  “Only to have some fun, Hoddep.  They have done every piece of spying and gathering and rumor-starting that I have asked of them.  They should have a true night off.  The cook and boy remaining shall get two silvers apiece for their help with this doctor.”  He started away to bed.

“Two silvers!”

Terrance turned.  “Too much?”

“Well, well, no, sir!”

“Good.  Because you shall take three for yourself, and tell no one.”

The man frowned suddenly.  “Does Lord Derík know of this, sir?”

A sigh emanated from the gray man.  He needed sleep desperately.  “Hoddep, it is my coin you are disbursing.  Do not bother the Lord with it.”

“Very well, my Lord.”

Terrance peeled off his clothes and fell into the bed behind the great curtain.  He passed into unconsciousness without another thought.

*****

On this cool evening, Derík dined with the recently widowed Lady deGrace, and it was less enjoyable than most of the other undertakings.  For one thing, it was soon obvious that she intended to bed him that very night.

Derík smiled at the servant who came to refill his wine glass.  It had not surprised him to learn that Mereda, the sister by marriage to Betucé, the sister of the King, demanded real glass at her table, when most would be content with stoneware, wood or ceramic.  She seemed intent to have only the most expensive of things.  The boy exchanged a glance with the horseman, which might have been one of sympathy, though he could not be sure.  “Thank you,” he murmured.

He had been expecting to dine with more than just Duca deGrace.  Of course, Betucé would never deign to break bread with anyone who challenged her son for the throne, but Mereda seemed to have no true love for her nephew or her sister-in-law, or even her late husband’s brother, who was Betucé’s husband.  He had not expected Betucé, but had thought there might be others, and he had also hoped that Terrance would join them.  But Terrance must have suspected this woman’s intentions, and had the cruel sense of humor to become ill with mysterious headaches that afternoon.  Derík made a mental note to strangle his lover when he returned to the tent later.  He also mentally cursed Mereda’s late husband for dropping dead in a jealous tirade weeks ago, thereby leaving him alone with his wife.

They had been through most polite topics, and Derík had feared he would run out of things to say.  He should not have worried.  The widow had not paused for breath in a half hour.

“But I look dreadful in black, so I told them I simply will not wear it.”

Derík replied automatically.  “Truly any color would not do your beauty justice, my Lady.”

The woman preened, blushing prettily.  “How kind of you to say.”

The horseman swallowed a gulp of wine, deciding that coyness, along with black, did not become her.

“But it remains that I prefer to not sulk for the dead overlong.”

The fact that her husband had been dead a mere few weeks was not something Derík thought prudent to point out. 

“After all, it is crude to think of death!  Isn’t it far nicer to think of the living, Lord Shogan?”

“Please, my Lady.  As my father yet lives, I prefer Derík.” 

“Derík, of course.  I’ll use your given name from now on.”

The purr with which she said it made him wish she wouldn’t.

“And you may call me Mereda.  Yes, Lord Derík, we must think of the living.  You, for instance.  Such a strong, virile man as you-could I be blamed for desiring such company rather than the memory of my beloved Duc?  Yearning for him holds no power to bring him back.  And a Lady quickly tires of lonely days.”  Her lids lowered to dramatize her point.  “And nights too, my Lord.”

The wine went down awkwardly, causing him to cough a bit.  “Yes, my Lady.  No one could blame you for it,” he sputtered.  He washed his throat with the rest of the wine, and nodded to the boy to return with more.  He wondered what education this child was receiving tonight, and thought again of Terrance’s warning that servants’ ears were always open. 

The boy rushed to the table.  “My Lady,” he whispered softly, “I’ve run low on good wine.  Shall I serve the lesser bottle or run to the bottler for more?”

“You urchin!”  Mereda’s face was suddenly aflush with anger.  “You’ve neglected my guest!  Low on wine!  How can that be?  You are simply looking for an excuse to go to the kitchen!  You think that because your master is dead, you can disobey me?”

The child began to tremble at her sudden wrath, which startled Derík into full attention.  “No, my Lady!  Of course not!”

“You’re hoping to go down to the larder and steal bread while I’m busy with a guest.  You boys are all alike!  If I see your dirty handprints in that larder, pet, I shall cut off the fingers that made them!  Do you hear me?”

The child was miserable, and it was Derík’s turn to feel sorry for him.  “Aye, my Lady.”

“Aye?  Are you in the residence of a peasant?  Do you use such a vulgar accent with me?”

“No, my Lady.”

“What is your name, son?” Derík asked quickly. 

Mereda whirled around.  It was as if she had forgotten he was there, listening.

The boy looked at the Lord fearfully.  “Marc, my Lord.”

“Marc.  Certainly a humble Lord such as myself does not require wine fit for a King.  The lesser bottle is adequate for me.  But your Lady is special, so run to the kitchens to fetch something nicer for her.  Do take your time, won’t you?  Leave the Lady and me to ourselves for just a time.  We shall call you when you are needed.”

Marc looked grateful for the escape.  He gave a quick bow, and ran from the room.

Mereda settled back in her chair, an odd look on her pretty face.  “My Lord,” she began.

“Forgive me, Duca,” he interrupted.  “It is impolite to order another’s servants.”

Mereda looked as though that never would have occurred to her.  She sniffed.  “That’s all right.  He was being impudent.”

“Certainly.  I hope I was not too forward requesting that your boy leave us for a time.”

Wine was immediately forgotten.  The woman lifted herself from the chair and tucked her feet under her, allowing bare feet and legs to show.  “Not at all.”

No stockings, or even shoes, he saw, disgusted by her wanton, lustful behavior.  He wished now that he had more wine.

“It is so lonely here without my Lord,” she purred, letting a hand flutter onto her round breast, which was barely contained in a corset, with a sigh.  “A Lady needs a strong man to help her feel whole, you know.”

“Of course.”  Sending the boy to safety had been a mistake, he realized.  Now he had no clear exit himself. 

When Derík did not rise from his place at the dinner table, Mereda relocated to the davenport under the window of the private, curtained chamber, patting the pillow beside her.  Derík swallowed and moved to obey her summons rigidly.

When the knock came at the door, the thought flashed in his mind that Terrance always won at chess because he was able to think so many moves ahead.

Mereda’s eyes narrowed.  “What?” she shrieked with frustration.

“My Lady,” a muffled voice called from behind the heavy curtains, “there is a messenger for the Lord of Shogan!”

Derík held back a smile.  “My apologies, my dear.”  He managed to rise with grace instead of relief.  He opened the curtain while Mereda pouted behind him.  “Yes?”

The servant lowered her eyes at his hopeful stare.  He thought he spied mirth under her lashes.  “My Lord, your companion, Terrance deVenoré, he asks that you attend him at once.  His illness has worsened, and he has summoned the palace physician to your home.”

Biting back a smile, Derík gave a heavy sigh, and mustered up a look of disappointment for the lustful widow behind him.  “It seems, my Lady, that I must away.”  As the serving girl floated through the tent again, he felt generous suddenly.  He bent at the waist to place a sensual kiss on Mereda’s lips.  The same mouth which melted Terrance every time sent the young widow into ecstasy.  Her hand lifted to touch his gold hair, and for just a moment, he felt some sympathy for a woman not yet thirty winters old who had given herself to an abusive old man for over a year’s time, until his death. 

The feeling dispensed immediately when her other hand slid up his inner thigh to rest at his groin.  “We will see each other again, my Lord,” she whispered.

Derík took her words as a threat.

*****

Terrance closed his shirt with a sigh.  “Thank you for your time.”

The physician shook his head in frustration.  “I am sorry to not be more helpful, my Lord.  It is something I have…never seen.”

The gray man gave him a weary smile.  “Neither has any other.  Do not worry for it.  I had simply hoped that Tridencia possessed one who had seen it, and-even better-cured it.  It is kind of Enré to send you.”

The physician had been staring into space, but he came to attention.  “Enré?  No, it wasn’t he,” he said vaguely.  “A friend heard of your ailment from your aunt, and asked me to see you while you visited the capitol.”

Ah, Terrance thought as he finished dressing.  Dafoe’s secret palace friend.  “Who-”

A hand went up, and a smile formed.  “I’m not permitted to reveal that, my Lord.  Please forgive my silence.”

“I had thought that might be so.  No matter.  It was kind of someone to send you, and I am grateful to know that not even the King’s own doctor can identify my illness.  That makes me quite unique, does it not?”

The doctor smiled at his patient’s good nature.  “I suppose it does at that.  I wish you well.”

A hint of despair tugged at Terrance’s mind as the doctor prepared to go.  “No recommendations at all, good doctor?”

The man turned to him again.  “Live fully now, my Lord.  And consider being prayed on.”

It was a kick to the stomach to hear it from the most famously talented physician in the land, instead of just his own heart.  “No,” he joked with eyes low, “I’ve been preyed upon enough over the years.”  But he suddenly did not want to be alone, and Derík was not scheduled to return for hours.  That was to say, his message would not arrive to save him for at least one hour.  “You saw to Malona the day she died, did you?”  he said, just to make conversation and stall inevitable loneliness.

The doctor stopped putting his instruments away in his bag, but did not look up.  “Aye.”

“A terrible thing, this wasting sickness.”

He turned to look at Terrance then for a long moment, and seemed to come to a decision.  “Yes,” he answered at last.  “So is poison.”

Terrance’s lips parted.  The implications of the word sunk slowly into Terrance’s mind.  His own illness completely forgotten, he sat in a chair hard.  “She was being poisoned?”

The doctor’s eyes were narrow.  “For many days, I think.  I knew Enré would not consent to my examination of the body after death.  It is why I cannot tell him the truth now.”

  “Tell me,” he said softly.

After the doctor and Terrance had talked for a long time, the physician extracted a vow of silence from him, which he gave.  Then he grasped Terrance’s forearm.  “It is a relief to tell someone.  Even if nothing will ever be discovered, I intend to continue my own investigations.  Malona was murdered, and I will discover how.”

“And by whom,” Terrance added thoughtfully. 

The doctor nodded.  “I must go.  Lady Daena is in residence, and it is imperative that I examine her nightly.  The baby’s time is near enough.”

“I understand.  Thank you again for your opinion of my condition.”

The sad smile made the man seem much older than he was.  “Live fully now, Lord Terrance,” he said again.  “And prepare your farewells.”

So when the surgeon slipped back into the night, as mysteriously as he had come, Terrance changed into a robe, and sat down at the writing desk.  The table was filled with books containing information about his accounts.  While other noblemen had brought comforts and luxuries from their residences to fill their tents, Terrance had required only clothing, his account books, and a pair of messengers and horses to carry missives to and from the estate, so that he would never be out of contact with his Steward or business associates.  Everything else in the huge tent belonged to Derík, although Terrance had commissioned the tent itself from his own purse. 

Paper was expensive.  No matter how wealthy Terrance became, he never forgot that.  When he wrote, it was with care and purpose.  He had a will, something to direct all of his worldly funds to Derík, except for his main estate itself and enough money to run it, which would go to his servants.  That would probably send his mother into fits, and Kenton into the bottle, but he cared little about that.  The only other person in the world he cared anything for, other than his attendants and lover, was Dafoe, who needed nothing from him.  Nevertheless, it was to her he wrote the first letter.  He thanked her for sending the physician, and for caring about him enough to even notice he was sick.  He thanked her for those few summer weeks he had spent as a child in Talloh with her and her husband, reading their books and hiding in her gardens.  He appreciated the peace of those nights, without his mother’s nagging or his brother’s bullying.  As he wrote, he wondered why he had not tried to spend more time with Dafoe over the years, but he stopped himself before he became regretful. 

The second communiqué was to his Steward.  The man was capable and soft-spoken, two qualities for which Terrance had chosen him.  He explained in the letter how the estate should be divided among the serving staff, and that he trusted the old man to be fair in carrying out his last wishes.  He ended the letter with a note confessing remorse that he could not be there to witness the look on his mother’s face when she found that everything had been passed on to servants. 

Lastly, he pulled out a blank sheet of paper and stared at it.  How could he say goodbye to Derík Shogan?  After nearly twenty minutes of sitting motionless with pen in hand, he heard the manservant Hoddep greet Derík outside the private, curtained quarters.  He hid the other notes inside his account books, which he knew were far too dull for his lover to be interested in.

He burst into laughter at the expression on Derík’s face as he entered the quarters.  No explanation was necessary, but he sought one anyway.  “What is it, Lord Derík?  Have you become ill?”

Derík treated him to a hateful glare, and threw himself fully-clothed onto the bed.  “No, but you are supposed to be.  Good touch, saying that you’d called the palace physician.”  He gestured to the mess on Terrance’s desk.  “What’s all this?”

“I write letters,” he replied vaguely, then joined his lover on the pillows.  “How awful was it?” he asked, his expression balancing between amusement and pity.

“The woman is incorrigible!”  the horseman cried, face down into a cushion.

Terrance laughed again, softer this time.  He stroked the Felsian’s hair fondly.  “I’m sorry, Derík.  Being beautiful is such a burden, is it not?  Truly, I’m glad I’ve never had to shoulder it myself.”

Derík lifted his head from the pillow and looked up at the gray man.  He had been sick, he realized with a start.  His skin was even more pale than usual, and had the glistening of sweat in places.  The dark hair hung in strings, loose at his neck, and there were deep bruises under his eyes.  With a pang of guilt, he wondered how long the man had been ill, without him noticing.  “My Love,” he spoke softly, “you are beautiful.”  He lied with all the feeling in his heart.  “Never could I have found a sweeter face.”

The weariness showed even stronger on Terrance’s face when he smiled.  “I worry for the health of your eyes, Derík,” he murmured.  “But thank you.”  He stood to return to his desk, and wavered in his step.

Alarmed, Derík hurried to provide a stabilizing hand.  When he grabbed Terrance’s shoulder, it occurred to him how thin the man was becoming.  What little flesh he had seemed to hang off of him morbidly.  “My Love!  Are you all right?” he drawled.

Terrance shook his head to clear it, then nodded.  “Of course.  I stood too fast, that is all.  It is a phenomenon I still have yet to understand,” he added absently.

“Of course,” Derík repeated with obvious doubt in his voice.  “Have you eaten?”

“Hours ago, Derík, and stop worrying.  I lost my head for a moment, but I’m found again.”  The gray man laughed.  “I have at least as much of my mind as I ever had.”

Derík frowned, but released his friend’s shoulder.  He disliked Terrance’s self-depreciation, and tonight it seemed worse than normal.  Perhaps he had spent too much time impressing nobles and had neglected his gray lover of late.  “Ter, let us go riding tomorrow.  If you are up to it of course.”

Terrance gave a curt nod.  “We shall invite Pasov’s son Polus, and his friend Mito.  It will give us the chance to- “

“No.”

Terrance blinked.  “What?”

Derík cleared his throat, firming his voice.  “No.  I want time alone with you.  And you need fresh air and exercise.  A ride will be good for you.”  His decision made, he began pulling off his boots.

“Derík, we are in the capitol to-“

“To secure our future together.  For in the end, it is the most important thing we gain from this charade.”  All of the sudden, the horseman realized he was angry.  He threw his first boot to the floor.  “I do this for you, Ter!  For us!  I do everything you say, from hunting with Nord to being seduced by that witch tonight, from leaving my home to pretending my home is here, from conspiring among royals to becoming one myself, it is all for you!  If I did not owe my father a son to continue his line, I would damn this whole game and settle with you among my horses, and never emerge from my home again, except for rides!  Don’t you see that everything I do is for you?  And what use is it if I cannot have you when I want you?  Care for you when you need me?”

Terrance stared for a moment as his lover’s chest heaved, and blue eyes filled with tears of frustration.  At last he spoke.  “Was Mereda that bad then?”

The second boot, Derík threw at him. 

They both laughed, grateful for the release of tension.  Terrance helped him out of his rich clothes, and began to massage his naked muscles as Derík sat on the bed’s edge.  “We’ll ride tomorrow,” he promised.  “Just us.”

“Thank you,” Derík sighed, relaxing at the touch.  His eyes closed.  “Things are happening so quickly, Terrance.  I just need to be reminded of why we do this.”

The gray one nodded.  “It is that you will be King, my dear, Lord of the Tridencian palace, husband to the most powerful of women.”

“I don’t care for all that.  I want only to be with you.  Is my family not rich, not powerful, enough?  I am one breath away from Prince already, along the Felsian line.”

“It is true.  But think of the good you could do as Antonia’s husband.  Would you see Pordos destroy your homeland as he intends to, and likely mine as well?  And what other woman than Antonia would share you with me, my Love?  Antonia and Kaza want us to be together, so that they might be.”

Derík sighed.  He leaned back into Terrance, who sat behind him, and who wrapped his arms around him.  “I hope very much that Antonia can manage to conceive a boy at one try.  Being with Mereda tonight showed me how hard that will be.”

The man’s breath stopped.  “Just how far did she get?” Terrance demanded.

“Not far,” Derík admitted.  “And I can see that if she were not so annoying another man might find her tempting.  But to me, it seemed so….”

His voice trailed off, but Terrance understood.  “But you have been with women before,” he reminded him.  He released the Felsian long enough to take a cloth from his robe pocket to dab at the sweat on his forehead, then encircled him again in his arms.

“Yes.  But since finding you, it seems all of those times were someone else, not me.”

Terrance gave a weak smile.  “I have always thought it strange,” he began, then stopped, embarrassed.

Derík waited, then opened his eyes when the silence went on.  “What was strange, my Love?”

Shame filled Terrance’s heart and stomach.  When he spoke, his normally deep voice was higher, and broke, causing him to flush at the cheeks.  “I-I always wondered….”  He started again after a deep breath.  “I wondered why you approached me that night years ago.”  Then his eyes closed, and his mouth went dry.  Suddenly, he did not want Derík to answer.  “It is no matter.  You did, didn’t you, and here we are.  Why does it matter why?”

This time, Derík did not interrupt the silence, knowing Terrance was not yet finished.  The generally eloquent man only babbled when talking to him, and only when he was afraid that Derík might actually answer a question he was asking.  Derík was used to it.  He just listened.

Misery played on the man’s face.  “After all, should an ugly man think to wonder how he came to be with one of such beauty and elegance?  One who had his choice of both genders?  One who had access to noblemen and women in two nations, who certainly would never have needed to settle for a man such as he?  Shouldn’t, then, the ugly man simply adore him, and not tempt his luck with questions, for fear Luck might change her mind and devastate him?”  Terrance showed no signs of allowing his lover to respond.  “Of course he should.  He should be grateful and never question the why of it.  He should know only that he has been blessed and not ask whence the blessing came.  Especially when, after years of wondering, he remains without an answer for his questions, without a reason for the love he is given.”

Derík gave a sigh.  How long had this pain bottled itself?  Why had Terrance never brought this up before, if it bothered him so?  For that matter, why was he bringing it up tonight?  What had happened to make him so melancholy?

“You are so beautiful, Shogan.  And I am the second son, a bastard in all probability, to a family who bought and did not earn their lands and titles, and am so wretched to look upon that my reflection hurts my own eyes.  You are gold, and I a pebble.”  Tears escaped and flew down gray cheeks.  “I should not ask, I know.  If Luck changed her mind-if you changed your mind-I would die.  But I must know why you love me.”

Derík turned his body to face his lover.  Seeing him in his naked glory made Terrance’s heart ache.  He let the horseman lay him down with a small push on his chest.  He closed his eyes, squeezing tears from them, to block out Derík’s beauty, the strong arms and chest, the golden hair and deep eyes, that devastating mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed helplessly.

Derík shushed him, placing a tender kiss on each of his lover’s eyes, one after the other.  Still, they would not open.  “No, my Love,” he whispered.  “It is I who am sorry.  For I always thought you knew.  Listen to me, and I will make you understand, then I’ll say it every night to you with every kiss, for as long as we live.  With every touch, I shall tell you that I love you for your passion, that I approached you that night because I could see in your eyes intelligence lacking in most others.  I came to you because you were as bored with your life as I was with mine, and you promised mystery and passion.”

The eyes flickered open hesitantly.  “Truly?”

“Truly.  I sought a lover to be my soul’s companion, and I hoped you would be it.  I wanted not just a lover, but a brother, a friend.  I hoped you would be different from other men I knew who might have been persuaded into my bed.  Even some women I may have enjoyed for a time, but never for long.  You were different, and I could see that right away.”

Terrance’s gray eyes stared hopefully into his, awash with tears, wanting to believe the words.

“And the first time we made love, Terrance, you loved me so fiercely I knew at once there could be none to love me better.  When you look at me as you do now, I know it is still so.  You are the smarter of us two, my Love, but I am keen enough to know I had best not lose you.”

“I love you, Derík.”  It was more a breath than a statement.

  Without another word, Derík pulled aside his lover’s robes to gaze at the man’s body beneath.  Terrance flushed under the scrutiny, but moaned at his touch.  He made the decision at that moment to die believing Derík’s words, and to show him tonight that he could still love him as fiercely as the first time.

Derík himself had never doubted it.

THE CHALLENGERS

The man was relentless.  He came at the First Lieutenant with a powerful attack, beating the soldier’s blade away, and coming in for the kill with immaculate form.  It took all of his remaining strength to retreat from the offending weapon in time.  He whipped his rapier up in a frantic highline parry to deflect the blow.  He mightn’t have bothered.  It was what his enemy counted on.  With a simple snapping of his wrist, the flawless opponent lifted his point, completing the feint with a coupé, and dropped the point to the other side of the soldier’s chest-precisely at his heart.

It was how it ended every time.  Jepón always finished at his heart.

“Why is it,” the First panted, “that you end me always at the heart?  Never my right side, never a shoulder or belly.”

The Steward put his mask under his arm.  As usual, he seemed completely unruffled, and only slightly out of breath.  “Is it not the most efficient way to kill your opponent?”

The First smiled.  Of course.  Efficiency.  “I suppose so.  You remain the only man in the Kingdom who can consistently defeat me, you know.”

A shrug was his response.  Jepón began cleaning his weapon.  “A great teacher once said that any man can win any battle any day.  It is only small factors which make the difference each time.”

“Aye.  Factors such as you being faster, smarter and more…” The First laughed.  “Efficient!”

The ghost of a smile played at Jepón’s lips.  “Perhaps I should enter the King’s challenges myself then.”

The First gave him an odd grin.  “I would that you could, old friend.  Imagine a Kingdom run like you run the palace!”

His companion sneered.  It seemed to the First that this was as close as Jepón ever got to a real smile.  “The lives of the noble families are all run by Stewards anyway.”  He shook his head then, becoming serious.  “In any case, being a king will require more than efficiency.  It requires passion as well.  And in that, I am severely lacking.”

Surprised at the man’s modest mood, which was rare enough to be an oddity, the First watched him.  “Nonsense!  You have passion in spades!  You complete your duties and practice rapier with plenty of-“

“Dedication.  It is not the same thing, I assure you.  To work hard at perfecting something is not the same as harboring a passion for it.”

The First was intrigued.  It was strange to learn so much about such a secretive man.  They had practiced together twice a week or more for years, but he had never been able to discover much about the Steward.

He searched his mind for an argument.  Then he smiled.  “Everyone knows about your passion for the magical sciences!  It is untrue to say you have passion for nothing at all!”

Jepón nodded, but said nothing further.  He continued to clean his weapon, pausing only to unbutton the black jacket, which protected him during the bout.  The First sat with him and began to work on his own blade.  This was more familiar, an easy silence between him, during which they each reflected upon their performance in the bout.

But it seemed the Steward’s mind was elsewhere, for presently he initiated conversation again.  Without looking up, he spoke.  “And what thinks ye of those who have put themselves forth as heir?”

The First gave a great sigh.  Even the Steward of the Palace wanted his opinion of the candidates.  At least he could be honest with Jepón, unlike most who asked.  “Friend, the whole situation is odd.  I once might have agreed with Enré that any would be a better choice than Pordos, and that a King might be chosen for his merits instead of birthline.  But now that the choices are before us, I fear for the nation.”

Jepón sneered at his weapon as he oiled it.

“To be honest, I think Enré fears for it too.  I think he regrets this whole, stupid thing, but it is too late now.”

“Well,” the older man said quietly, “it was of course not his idea.  He opposed it from the first.” 

He turned away from his own rapier to stare at his somber companion.

Feeling his gaze, Jepón looked up to meet it.  “Aye,” he drawled.  “I thought ye might not know it.  Twas Malona’s dying wish.”

This news buzzed in his mind for a moment.  “Malona?” he breathed.

Jepón was pleased with the reaction.  “Aye.”  Whenever the common-born Steward and the common-born Lieutenant spoke privately, they receded into the peasant vernacular, which neither would use in the company of any other.  It was strange, as though their shared common blood and powerful positions put them on equal footing with none but each other.  The First was certain no such relationship had ever existed between a Palace Steward and First Lieutenant before.

“But why?  Did Malona fear Pordos so much?”

Jepón shrugged.  He rarely concerned himself with royal politics, and did so only when it affected his duties or his interest in magic.  “She claimed it was a way of choosing heirs from another culture, though I know of none who do it in this way.”

The First frowned.  “A culture who chooses their leader based upon competition in times of peace?”

“To prove strength, intelligence and courage, aye.  That was her claim.”

“Where does this group of people live?”

“I do not know.  I have traveled a great deal, before I was Steward, and I never knew of any who did this.”

“Do ye think she made it up?”

“I suppose.”  Jepón placed his weapon on the wall where it would await him until the next practice.  “But ye ducked my question.  What thinks ye of the King’s challengers?”

The First gripped his rapier.  The weapon was clean, but he continued to rub it with the rag anyway.  He had always found the chore soothing.  “Well.  Let’s look at the field.  There’s Redd’s son.”

“DeBrosia?”  Jepón shook his head.  “He won’t compete.  Redd knows he hasn’t a chance, and the other Felsian will represent their interests.”

“Ye mean Shogan.”

“Aye.”

“Yes, I agree.  Redd is too smart to put his son in Shogan’s path.”  Finally he set aside the sword.  “Then there’s Duc Marlin.”

“The Fish?  Will he compete?”

“He is a first son of a first son.  His title goes back five generations.  He has royal blood back three generations ago.  He’s a first son, over twenty and under fifty winters.  He has no debt, and has always been a loyal bannerman.  Those are the only requirements.  Why wouldn’t he try?”

“All right.  Your opinion?”

“A tragedy at best.  A comedy at worst.”  The First grimaced.  “The man doesn’t have the brains to lead or the spine to protect.”

“Kenton deVenoré?”

“Will he compete?” the soldier wondered aloud.  “I think not.  He is Pordos’s man.  And not royal in any case.  His father bought their title.”

“Though he could claim it through his great-aunt’s marriage.”

“Weak claim.”

Jepón nodded.  “A relief, it is.”

“It is.”

They were quiet for a moment, both considering the horror of a Tridencia ruled by Kenton deVenoré. 

“Who do ye see as the strongest challenger?” he asked, turning the question back on Jepón.

The Steward shrugged.  “Will Jayt Kameel or your Second compete?”

“Neither.”

“Then the Felsian boy and Rizen will be the two to watch.”

The First cleared his throat and tried not to seem surprised, staring at his rapier.  “Rizen.  Ye think so.”

Jepón was watching for reaction.  “Rizen.”  The man smirked.  “The one who tried to take your job will surely be happy to take Pordos’s.”

*****

Rizen d’Arn’tiz was the most dreadfully serious man Kazandra had ever met.  He had a tragic lack of humor about him.  In most other ways, he could not be faulted.  He was Enré’s most deadly General, and undeniably loyal to the throne.  He was also devoted to worship of the gods.  It seemed to Kaza that he had chosen the most dreary of gods as his patron: Basot, the god of duty, sacrifice, and ice storms.

Not that it was uncommon for folks in Rizen’s region to dedicate themselves to pacifying Basot.  The area was covered in snow year round, except for the Glory Month, when it was warm enough for the moon glories to poke out for a few nights.  Ice storms in that region killed all but the heartiest crops, livestock, and people.  It was said that Rizen himself was the sole surviving son of parents who had borne twelve children.  Why anyone lived in that region at all, Kazandra could not fathom.  The report that it was the most beautiful place on the planet when covered with snow made her laugh.  No place filled with so much death and hardship could be beautiful.

Rizen’s own name, Arn’tiz, meant axe of ice in the old language.  It referred to Basot’s weapon of choice, an axe made entirely of jagged ice shards, which he used to defeat demons and sorcerers in the old stories.  One of the odd traditions of the South Country was to sculpt ice using ice picks.  She had heard that there was a giant Arn’tiz, Axe of Ice, sculpted by artists, which stood before the gates of Rizen’s keep year round, replaced after each Glory Month.

The folks from the South Country were strange people, with music but no dancing, feasts but no games, temples with no joy.  And as much as Enré and the court appreciated the feats of General Rizen, and praised his accomplishments, no one seemed especially pleased whenever he came to the capitol.

Enré gave a forced smile.  “Arn’tiz, my friend!  How good it is to see you!”

The young general’s expression of cold indifference did not change.  “Quite,” he responded.  “I have come for your good Queen’s games.”

It was unlike Rizen to be coy, so they all waited for the rest.

“And, of course, if Pordos is no heir, I am your best choice, Cousin.”

There it was.  No pretense, no fine words.  Enré continued to smile at the young statesman.

Kazandra glanced at her lover.  Antonia was staring at Rizen with a mixture of fear and resolve in her eyes.  She wished she could squeeze her delicate hand.

Two of the King’s advisors cleared their throats, one after another.  Kazandra could see Jepón’s eyes rolling behind Rizen’s back.

Conspicuously absent was the First Lieutenant.  The Second had been sent to greet the General in his stead.  He, too, cleared his throat.  “General Rizen.  You’ll remember me, I think.”

A cool eye passed over the man.  “Of course.  Our Second, brave enough to enter battle with an axe in one hand and a hammer in the other instead of a shield.  An honor to meet you again under more…peaceful circumstances.”

The Second laughed.  “If my bravery is judged by my need for balance in melee, then yes.  I am truly brave, Sir General.  The Queen’s games have been ongoing since her departure.  The King’s challenge to would-be heirs will begin in the morning.  It seems you have arrived just in time.”

“Aye.  My timing is always good.”

Jepón sighed audibly.  “I suppose you have an entourage needing guest quarters?”

“Not at all, Steward.  My men are erecting a tent, and I will dine and sleep with them.  Your weather is strangely warm here, and they will welcome the chance to sleep out of doors.”  Rizen’s dark eyes passed slowly to Kazandra.  His voice softened somewhat.  “It is good to see you again, my Lady.”

A chill went up Kaza’s spine, and she fought down a shudder.  All eyes watched her.  She gave a small smile.  “And you, General,” she responded sweetly.

His gaze lingered for just a moment, then he turned back to the King.  “Your Grace, I take my leave to prepare for your challenge in the morning.”

“Of course.  You know I will be watching you carefully, Rizen.  You have always been a loyal bannerman, and a great warrior.”

“I have,” he confirmed.  With one last glance at Kaza, he and his two men left the hall.  Jepón followed, shaking his head.

“What thinks you?” the King murmured as he watched the grand door close behind the Steward.

The Second sighed.  “Truly?  Your most promising choice, your Grace.”

The King nodded.  “I was afraid of that.  Perhaps I shall simply never die, my dear,” he said to Antonia lightly.

She gave him an adoring smile, and touched his cheek gently.  “It would solve all of our problems, your Majesty,” she teased.

But he did not smile.  “I’ll have the doctor work on it,” he said dryly.  “In the meantime, how do you feel about Rizen?”

She spoke slowly.  “He is quite clever, and a proven leader.  He manages his region very well.”

Enré waved this away.  “Those things I will concern myself with.  What do you think of him?” 

“He will be a loyal husband, in spite of his obvious desire for my First Lady-in-Waiting,” Antonia sighed.

Kazandra coughed nervously.

The men all shifted uncomfortably.

Antonia smiled again.  “Father, Cousin Rizen is kind enough, and strong.  I can hope for little more from any suitor.  He will see to my happiness, which is more than can be said for Cousin Pordos, who would most certainly have me locked in a tower for the rest of my days.”

Kaza frowned.  It was not an exaggeration.  It was assumed that if Pordos became King, he would stow Antonia away in a cottage somewhere, with a few servants, and forbid her to marry, for fear of her producing a son who might challenge him later in life.  It was unfortunate, but any intelligent King would protect himself and his own future sons in this way.  Antonia would be given comforts but no freedom, and Pordos would have spies watch her every move.

Rizen was far preferable to that.  Kaza just hoped they would not have to settle for Rizen.  There was still a chance Derík would secure his place as Antonia’s husband.  Kaza said a silent prayer to the goddess of Love, then added another to the trickster god of Luck and Lies, just in case.

*****

Pordos glowered at his companion.  Kenton could be considered the Prince’s best friend, if one were to twist the definition of the word “friend” into a mangled, distorted abomination of etymology.  Certainly, Pordos himself would never use the term to describe the man who had been at his side for over ten winters.  At most, he categorized Kenton as the last person, including his own mother, he would kill to achieve his goals.  Not that he would not.  Only that it he would hate to have to.

Fortunately, of course, it would never come to that.  Over the years, Kenton had never shown anything but complete loyalty.  His greatest show of dedication had been, not coincidentally, on the best day of Pordos’s life.  The day Kenton put his sword through Eron’s heart, in the chaos of the Battle of Farley, could only have been better if Pordos had been there to see it himself.  That had not been an option.  It would have been even more suspicious had both of the King’s sons and his nephew been in the same battle.  As it were, the fact that the sons of the crown were lost in the same week was a scandal.  Too bad that the First Lieutenant had been kept too busy defending the borders to investigate right away.  Too bad the King’s cousin Jere Kie, the only man other than the highest military commanders in the land who could have ordered Ever into the battle with his elder brother, was dead and Burned before the First could begin his investigation.  Too bad no evidence remained that Pordos himself had been with Cousin Kie the night of his terrible accident.  What whore in the city wouldn’t be happy to claim the King’s nephew had graced her bed the whole night?

Kenton, completely unmoved by the fierce glare on his Prince’s face, swallowed his ale in one gulp.  “You are stupid to trust her.”

Pordos’s nostrils flared.  The fact that his temper did not frighten Lord deVenoré angered him nearly as much as the man’s audacity.  “You wretched pauper!  Your nerve will see you out on the streets!  Do not be so bold with me if you value your position as my companion!”

The baseborn knight snorted.  “I note that you threaten my status, for you know as well as I you are no threat to my health.”

The Prince’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits.  “Let there be no mistake who is the better man, Venoré,” he growled lowly.

Kenton raised his own eyes for only an instant.  “Let there be no mistake who is the more dangerous man, Prince.”

A twinge of fear tickled Pordos’s spine.  But it would never show in his eyes.  “I make the decisions, peasant.”

The knight shrugged carelessly.  “You do.  It remains that you are also stupid.”

“She can help us.”

“Since when does the grandson of Caros the Callous need help?”

Suddenly, Pordos gave an unexpected chuckle.  “Eron was a grandson of Caros as well,” he reminded him wickedly, “and he could have used some help at your last meeting with him.”

Kenton’s smile did not reach his cold gray eyes.  The eyes were the only feature he shared with his brother Terrance.  “No mortal could have saved him.  Not once the bloodlust hit me.”

Pordos shifted uncomfortably.  He considered himself to be entirely ruthless when necessary.  He had even somewhat enjoyed shoving Cousin Kie down those stone stairs so long ago.  But it was different with Kenton.  The knight got a deep, primal pleasure out of inflicting pain.  He had a reputation in whorehouses across the capitol as a horror, though, by law, a royal knight could not be refused as a client providing he could pay the fee.  He had once admitted to Pordos that he preferred hurting women to intercourse with them, though one always led to the other, regardless of how either began.  He claimed it was different with men.

“Men must be devoured, reduced to writhing, crawling things, before they can fulfill me.  It is a different sort of passion, a thrill.  A woman is a small thing, a pleasing toy to smash.  A man is a challenge.  The bloodlust of destroying a man is far more potent than the entertainment of a woman’s flesh.  After all, it is the simplest thing to draw tears from a woman.  To hear a proud man beg,” Kenton had breathed, with a vicious sparkle in the gray eyes, “that is the result of art.”

Pordos had often caught himself feeling relieved that this dark man was an ally and not an enemy.

Kenton spoke again in the present, more subdued than that day he had described his fascinations.  “A shame you refused me the chance to slice him through the lung or belly instead of the heart.”

It was said softly, with a bitter undertone.  Pordos winced inwardly.  They had had this conversation more times than he could count, before and after the deed was done.  Pordos had insisted upon a quick, sure death.  Had Kenton had time to play with his prey as he would have liked, he might have been discovered.  In the heat of battle, the only creature who suspected that the Second Lieutenant Eron had been killed by his own bodyguard was the damn Shogan colt who had seen him do it.  The horse had attacked Kenton and torn a chunk out of the man’s shoulder, which had never completely healed.  Though he never complained of pain, the Prince suspected it still ailed him.  He subconsciously rubbed it each time he mourned the missed opportunity to watch Prince Eron writhe.

Pordos gave the same response he always did.  “You had your fun with Ever,” he said quietly.

The smile returned, and Venoré was silent in his nostalgia.  Pordos coughed aloud to hide his shudder.

He still did not know what he had done to the younger Prince.  Pordos had ensured the boy would be at the battle, knowing Kenton would take care of the rest.  All he knew was that Ever had been separated from Eron’s units in the second day of battle, and a body had resurfaced the fourth dawn.  It was difficult to keep track of every man during such a chaotic time, especially since none of the commanders were even aware of Ever’s presence at Farley.  When he was found, the whispered rumors Pordos heard back at the capitol were fraught with shock and horror at what evil things Belesian pirates were capable of doing to their prisoners.  Pordos knew Malona had been told nothing more than that Ever had been killed, but the King demanded to hear every last detail the First could give him, which was very little at the time, but enough to make Enré’s heart burn with hatred for Bela.  At the Burning, both Princes were covered head to toe in burgundy silk, to hide Eron’s wound and Ever’s mutilated corpse.

That Enré had focused all his hate on Bela had worked in Pordos’s favor.  The First and his subordinates were kept busy destroying every Belesian vessel that came within miles of Tridencian soil, instead of investigating the orders given to Ever to report to Farley Rock.

Kenton’s eyes refocused, and he stared down at his empty mug.  “This woman, though.  Her name?”

“Elsee,” Pordos sighed.

“Yes.  Lady Elsee,” the man sneered.  “A delicate thing.  You’d risk your crown for this wench?  We know nothing about her.  Or her family.”

“I do not intend to tell her everything, peasant!” Pordos snapped.  “She came to me.  She says she believes I am the rightful king-“

“She’s right.  Suddenly you need a woman to say it?”

The Prince snarled at the tall, slender man.  “You seem determined to try my restraint this evening, Lord deVenoré,” he warned.

The man tossed his money purse onto the table to unburden his shoulder, and raised his dirty boots to the chair beside him.  “I live in trembling terror of your wicked wrath,” he promised dryly.

“Do not test me, Venoré!  What has you in this mood in any case?  Did another whorehouse run out of unscarred women for you to play with?”

Kenton licked his top teeth, a habit Pordos found boorish.  “When I choose to, I leave no marks,” he said thoughtfully.  At last, he turned to the Prince in earnest.  “When do we move on Enré, then?”

Pordos stared.  It never ceased to amaze him that Kenton could be such a burr in his boots one moment, then completely defer to his Prince’s wishes the next.  It was as though the knight never intended to refuse him.  Now that he had made it clear that he felt killing the King himself-Elsee’s idea-was too risky, he would follow Pordos’s orders to do it anyway.

“Elsee is right.  We give him the chance to name me an heir during the challenges.  If he does not, we move in and kill him, and whoever he does name.”

“So I must learn how to kill each challenger in case he is the one named Champion.”  The eerie smile was back.

The Prince sighed in exasperation.  “Yes, Sir Peasant, but you only get to go through with two murders when the time comes.”

Kenton looked at him for a moment.  A chill came over Pordos.  It was the look Kenton gave someone he was fantasizing about hunting.  Then the knight stood and bowed his head.  “Of course, Your Grace.”  With that, he turned and slipped from the room to begin the task at hand.

*****

He could feel the tingling everywhere.  It seemed to originate in his eyes-behind his eyes to be precise-as a burning sensation.  He always got the strange impression that his skull was being cleansed with a cool-burning fire, as if the sinus cavity his tutors had taught him existed under his flesh was being flushed with the freshest, most intoxicating sea breeze.

After that, he always felt a warm, nearly sexual sensation filling his belly.  The warmth spread downward to his groin and thighs, and for just a moment, it made him weak with pleasure.  When that had passed, the true thrill began.  The warmth became a burning, and the creeping accelerated into a race through his bloodstream to his whole body.  All at once, the fire reached his fingertips, and he was nearly powerless to contain it.  The only relief he could feel from the intense pressure was in releasing the power through magic.  If he refused to allow the release, the pressure continued to build until it was painful, until it totally absorbed his thoughts, until he was nearly mad with it.

At those moments, even Derík could not penetrate his distraction.

Through extreme force of will, Terrance showed no sign of his physical state, except a startling widening of his eyes, and a set jaw.  But Derík had come to recognize even that.

“Must we go?” he whispered to the man beside him, as the Duc’s speech droned on, welcoming the challengers and discussing the significance of the day which began the challenge.

“No,” Terrance hissed sharply.  “Of course not.”

“You know you can’t prevent it forever.”  Derík tried not to look at his lover, but his hand moved under the table to touch Terrance’s thigh gently.

The gray man sucked in his breath through his teeth, as his eyes rolled, fluttering open and closed.  A few guests glanced his way in concern.  Terrance did his best to lower his eyes to his plate to hide his pained expression.  His lover quickly removed his hand, but the leg burned maddeningly where the weight of it had been.  His self-control was faltering rapidly.  As his eyes flicked around the room for a potential outlet, they fell upon a slender figure standing at attention beside the fireplace. He recognized the Palace Steward.  The man was watching him with open curiosity, with an intense stare.  Terrance gulped.  He had not realized his gasp had been loud enough to alert the man all the way across the room.

It was too late to excuse himself.  That window of opportunity had been walled up moments ago.  The well-meaning touch from his lover had sent him over the edge.  The only option now was to use his magic before it exploded from him.  He knew from past experience that allowing that to happen could end in devastation.

The key was to release it in a quick, unnoticeable, but sufficient use of his powers.  If he used too little, he would not be able to dam up the flood once it began.  If he used too much…well, he was not about to let that happen.

At last, just as the effort of restraining his magic reached its boiling point, his half-crazed mind settled upon a solution.  “A storm,” he murmured.

Instantly, the Great Hall darkened.  The only light came from the candles and fireplace.  The sunlight from the windows was gone.

Muttering began around the long tables.  The Duc stopped speaking and looked around him.  A fantastic downpour began outside the palace, from what had been a clear sky.  Lightening flashed violently, and thunder louder than any heard before rumbled and crashed, invoking startled screams from the King’s guests.  Only three men in the room did not react to the sudden, terrifying storm.  Derík and the unflappable Steward were watching Terrance. 

The pain was gone from his face.  While other guests were shifting uncomfortably in their seats and speaking to each other loudly of the mysterious weather, the gray man’s eyes were closed, lips slightly parted in ecstasy.

Derík alone understood.  This storm was not even real.  Wind tore at the windows and thunder shook their wine glasses, but it was all in their minds.  The rain splattered maliciously against glass, and lightening flashes fragmented a sky dark as night, but Derík knew they would find the grass and tree leaves dry when they left the palace that evening.  Ghastly screams of wind played in their minds, and not their ears.

When the windows exploded, though, showering the guests nearest them with glass, Derík knew that was very real.  Guests began to flee the table.

“The bloody hell!” roared Enré, jumping to his feet to shake glass shards from his royal person.  Antonia was trembling very slightly.

Derík stared at Terrance, who had not moved, but was breathing very shallowly.  “Ter,” he hissed above the roar of wind and rain.

The gray eyes fluttered open for only an instant.

“Ter, the windows have shattered.  You’ve got to stop.  Before you hurt someone.  Or yourself.”

The sorcerer took a shuddering breath.  “No,” he mouthed.  The pale lips were spread into a ghoulish grin.  Sweat trickled down his forehead in spite of the sudden cold.

By now, servants had rushed in to clean the fragments of glass from the floor and table, and to help the guests out of the room.  Jepón was directing the procedure with flicks of his fingers, while waving frightened nobles to the smaller hall.  He never took his eyes off Terrance deVenoré for long.

Derík grabbed Terrance’s shoulders.  The jolt startled his lover into opening his eyes, but somewhere nearby, several wine goblets shattered.  “Terrance,” he shouted, shaking the man.

Sir Kenton paused as he was leaving the Great Hall.  He looked at his brother, now the only guest still seated.  A deep frown etched across his face, but he turned and followed the crowd. 

“Terrance, please!” Derík begged.

All at once, a look of dread came over the gray man’s face.  Screams erupted from the large group of courtiers.  Men and women began clutching their heads in pain.  Derík felt as though his brain were on fire and his skull were being crushed.  He shrieked with the others. 

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it stopped.  The agony dissipated, as did the storm.  Guests began shouting all at once.

“I don’t understand-“

“Is it an omen of sorts?”

“Did you feel it too?”

“The spirits of the Princes!”

“Yes!  It must be!  They are angered by the naming of an heir!”

King Enré’s voice silenced them all.  “Enough!  I will not hear of such things!  Is a storm and a pain in the head associated with it so uncommon as that?  My sister’s husband falls ill of head pain each time it rains!”

The noblemen and ladies looked unconvinced, but they nodded slowly.

“Let us continue our evening at the smaller hall, as my Steward has this room cleaned.  A sudden flashstorm will not disturb my announcement of the challenge!”

Shakily, but reassured, the crowd followed.  Terrance and Derík witnessed the exodus.  The Felsian glanced at the destroyed dinner and ruins of the windows, which servants were sweeping away quickly. 

Terrance licked his lips.

“What happened?” his lover demanded in a low voice.

Terrance lifted himself from the chair and placed his cloth napkin on his plate atop chards of glass and spilled wine.  At last, he responded.  “We will speak of it later,” he promised.  “But never try to shake me out of myself again.”

“But you were-“

Gray eyes slid to him, more terrifying than the lightening.  “In control,” he snapped quietly.  “I was in control.  Now let us join the others.  It will not do for one of the challengers to miss the feast, even if dinner has been abruptly ended.”  He turned without seeing if Derík would follow, and rejoined the group. 

After a moment more of glancing at Terrance’s display of “control,” Derík took a deep breath and did the same.  Jepón bowed gracefully and closed the heavy hall doors behind them.

*****

Out of control. 

The words slammed his brain in time with the pounding of his heart. 

The guests had all recovered and were now enjoying themselves.  A juggler and a group of musicians entertained, wine flowed, and servants scurried.  Only Terrance could get no pleasure from the night.  His head ached, and his muscles were spent.  It had not been the use of his magic which had caused the exhaustion.  It was the restraint still needed to prevent the use of it which drained him.  Never had there been such a public explosion of his power.  And, in spite of its intensity hours before, it continued to take every ounce of his strength to contain it.

Out of control.  It was unacceptable.  He could never lose control.  He had no idea how destructive he could potentially become.  The thoughts of those all around him had overwhelmed him when the windows had blown.  Fear and confusion filled his mind, drawn from others in the room.  He had been unable to keep from absorbing all the chaotic emotions around him.  Then Derík had shaken him just as he was trying to push the projections away from himself.  Instead of shielding himself from the frantic minds of the others, he slammed those minds with his own built-up force of power.

In hindsight, he knew it was unfair to have blamed Derík.  He would say as much later that night, at home, he vowed.  His own weakness had caused nearly tragic consequences.  Derík had simply tried to prevent it.  It had been foolish to not leave when Derík had suggested it.  He had been too proud to admit he could not control whatever it was that kept happening.

Why was it he who had these abilities to turn dull speeches into nightmarish evacuations?  Surely someone strong and graceful like Derík could find ways to use the magic which did not end with people screaming.

He gave a sigh.  He let his mind reach out for stray thoughts in the crowd, which released the tiniest bit of his built up tension.  Most of the thoughts around him focused on who would be named heir at the end of the challenges, or on what these challenges would be.  Some were insignificant, petty thoughts, but he stored them away in his memory anyway.  All information was worth having.

Then he heard Derík.  Just as he sometimes mumbled in his native tongue as he slept, the man switched back and forth between languages in his waking thoughts as well.  Presently, Derík was a swirl of emotions, mostly anxiety and weariness.  He was wondering, just as Terrance was, how he could have handled the previous situation better.  Hurt and confusion dominated his thoughts as he went over and over it in his mind.

Terrance sighed.  He extended the fog of his magic into Derík’s mind as the two sat watching the juggling man.

My Love, he whispered into his lover’s mind.

Derík was startled.  He glanced at Terrance, then back at the juggler when he realized the gray man was not speaking aloud.  Yes, Ter, he thought wearily.

Do you prefer I stay out of your head? Terrance fretted.

I never have thoughts you are not welcome to.

Pale, thin lips smiled tightly.  You are generous, my Love.

Why should I try to hide what you can take so easily?  Better that I give it freely.

Terrance was surprised at the fatalism.  I would never-Derík, I’m sorry-

Hush.  It was more of a sound, a breeze through their linked minds, than a word.  I did not mean it that way.  Are you all right now?

The madness has passed.

Derík gave an audible sigh, more of exhaustion than relief.  I see.

I am so sorry, Derík.  It came upon me so suddenly this time.  I had to channel it into something, before….before…

Before you destroyed us all?  The thought was sharp, but without emotion.

Terrance held back the rising desperation so Derík would not feel it in him.  No, my Love!” he pleaded silently.  “No, it would never be that way!

That is not how it felt.  Gods, Ter, I thought our heads would split with the pain!

Terrance emitted a whimper beside him.  If I could go back and undo that pain, I would!  You startled me, is all, threw off a delicate balance-

Derík finally turned to stare directly into his companion’s eyes.  The sounds of the clinking glasses and playing music faded from Terrance’s mind, as he found his eyes locked with those of golden Derík Shogan.  For a moment, he even stopped breathing.

You are beautiful.

The thought had slipped from him to Derík without him meaning for it to.  He felt his cheeks begin to burn hot.  He severed the mental link between them, and stumbled drunkenly to his feet.  The use of his powers and the proximity, mentally and physically, to the man he loved so desperately was more than he could take.  He hurried from the crowd to the entrance to the courtyard, and escaped into the sanctuary of the vines.

It was the second time he had fled his lover that night.

Others were there, paired and tripled in quiet discussion or romance.  He had no interest in listening in, only in calming his own emotions.  He simply stared down at the moon glories, which were brighter than any he had ever seen, except around his own manse, which he suddenly was homesick for. 

Then he heard his brother’s voice.

Though he and his brother had met eyes across halls crowded with nobles or streets filled with venders, they had been mutually disinterested in conversation.  Each was an unpleasant reminder to the other of an ugly childhood.  Other than in necessity, they had not truly spoken in many years.  They had continued to loathe one another into adulthood. 

Kenton was speaking to someone behind a curtain of ivy.  The voices were too low for Terrance to understand them, but he would recognize his brother’s voice on the darkest day among the shrillest of shrieks.

He had long vowed to never enter his brother’s mind again.  The knight thought only in visions, images, and only of violence.  As older children, Terrance had happened upon Kenton with a peasant girl in the field.  They were sitting together quietly.  She was looking upon him with adoration.  Though he himself was uninterested in girls, Terrance was curious to learn Kenton’s idea of love, so he dipped into the young man’s mind.  The images he now owned haunted his thoughts every time he saw his brother.  The horror he had gleaned was in such incredible contrast with the peaceful picture of Kenton sitting with this girl that it had frightened Terrance more than anything ever had.

For his younger brother, the bastard, Kenton had actually reserved quite unimaginative pain.  Being crop-whipped or simply punched until he was unconscious had been a somewhat regular occurrence in his childhood.  Through it all, Terrance had restrained himself.  He refused to allow himself the pleasure of ripping Kenton to shreds with his magic, or driving him insane with illusions.  He knew that if he could restrain himself while being whipped by his loathsome brother, he would never have to worry about being disciplined enough with his powers.

At least, he had thought so.  It was getting worse, though, almost daily.  His control and discipline was being tested in ways they hadn’t since those nights in the stables with Kenton’s crop.

Well, he thought, I didn’t use it then, and I won’t now.  Anger and fear and pain didn’t make me do it.  Neither will this.

Neither will pleasure.

Shame filled his heart.  What type of person found pleasure in destruction?  Men like Kenton.  After all these years, were the brothers turning out to be so much alike?

Sorcerers were always evil in the faery stories; in the legends, they devoured children and enslaved villages.  He would not give in to the pleasure of dark magic.  He would use his talents for good things, to help Derík become king, for one.  He would anticipate the needs of his servants, and treat them with the dignity they deserved by feeling for their emotions.  He would ease pain with tricks of the mind.

If only he could resist the temptation of the power.

“I did not kill Kenton,” he reminded himself.  “I did not let it win then, and I will not let it win now, no matter if it tears me apart.”

But even as he whispered it to himself, he could feel the tingling beginning again, and he was forced to sneak out of the palace and to the stables for his horse.  He was shocked to find him already saddled.

The Palace Steward held the reins.  “My Lord,” he intoned.

“What are you-“

“You are returning home, are you not?”  Jepón’s eyebrow raised.  “Am I mistaken?”  He said it in a way that made it clear he knew better.

“No, you are right.  I-I just don’t know how you knew that.”

The Steward sniffed. “I make a point to know your needs before you do, my Lord,” he said mysteriously. 

Terrance gave a weak smile.  The build-up of power was not as intense this time, but it remained necessary that he flee into the night to release it safely.  “I see.  Thank you, then.  If asked, tell His Grace I became ill, and tell Lord Derík Shogan that I will attend him as he breaks his fast.”

“Yes, sir.”  Jepón handed over the reins.  “Good luck to you, my Lord.  We will meet again soon.  For the challenges.”

“Of course.”  Terrance had no energy to wonder why the Steward acted so familiar with him.  He mounted the horse and raced through the gates into the darkness.

He heard the Steward’s thoughts as he rode away, and later he would wonder about them: Ride quickly, Terrance deVenoré.  The moons are high in the sky tonight, and every moon glory is in bloom.

*****

A raven-haired woman was receiving almost as much attention at the gathering as the High Princess herself.  And she was bored of it.

She was relieved when Felíz cut in to a conversation with an older gentleman.  “My apologies, Branon.  I must discuss an important family matter with my sister.  You understand.”

Lord Branon frowned humorlessly.  “Of course.  Felíz, Lady Kazandra.”  He brushed her hand with his lips, and stepped back into the milling crowd.

Kaza let out a huge sigh.  “Thank you, Felíz.”

He put his arm around her small waist, and led her away from the eyes of the noblemen to a dark corner of the room.  “Forget it.  I did it selfishly.  Daena has retired to bed, and I am lonely.  I have been fighting off scandalous ladies myself all evening, you know.  Having you at my side will be a relief.”

Kaza gave him a weary chuckle.  “I’m glad to help.”  She leaned against the wall and accepted the goblet he offered.  “Remember the style of corsets when I was a child?  The ones that laced in the back?  Mother would tighten it so I couldn’t breathe, and then you would steal me into a corner and loosen it for me before I passed out?”

“I lived in constant fear that Mother would discover it and think I was trying to be inappropriate with my own sister.”

Kaza giggled brightly.  “She would have made Father break your arms.”

“At least,” he shuddered.

“In any case, it couldn’t be done now, with the corsets that lace in the front.”

“No.  Too obvious.”

“Yes.”  She heaved another sigh.  “So wasn’t that a strange flashstorm?’

“Aye.”  Felíz had an odd expression on his face.  “Daena said she has heard of such things before.  She claims there are old tales in our land of occurrences such as that.  Legends of magic.”

Kaza frowned.  “King Enré is right.  It was just unusual weather.”

“I don’t know.  That thing that happened…there was something that happened after…Do you remember? It was something…”

The dark lady watched his face.  She had already had this conversation many times before, with several of the others at the party.  It was as if the storm had happened so quickly, and shocked them all so badly that no one could quite remember what had taken place.  Frankly, it was beginning to wear on Kaza’s nerves.  Since when did a little flashstorm cause such excitement among grown men and women?  Personally, she was glad for the rain; it would get much-needed water to her garden and the ivies in the courtyard.  She had been amazed to find, when she snuck out an hour ago for fresh air, that the moon glories were brighter than ever.  It must have been the rain.  The ground had been so dry before the downpour that the rainwater had soaked up into the soil immediately; it was as though it had never rained at all.  But the moon glories were a testament to the storm.

Kaza was looking around the room.  Her eyes fell upon a large, brooding figure standing off to himself.  She felt a chill in her spine.  “There’s Rizen.  He’s been watching me all evening.”

Felíz nodded, unsurprised by the change of subject.  “Yes.  He was finally making a move toward you; that’s why I came over.  I figured you could handle Lord Branon.”

She snorted.  “I can handle Rizen too.”  But she sounded unconvinced herself.

“Of course you could.  Forgive me for not wanting you to have to handle him.  He’s a creep.”

Kaza shrugged.  “He’s different from us, that’s all.  More serious.”

“He is a zealot, and a warrior.  As a man who was once a mercenary for the High Temple, I can testify that the two are a poor mix.”

She lowered her gaze.  “What might happen if he is the one chosen, Felíz?”

The man gave the deepest frown he was capable of.  “The first thing that would happen is that you will leave the palace, either to be with your new husband, or to live with Daena and me.”

“Why?”

Felíz’s eyes rolled heavenward.  “Because, my naive sister, Kings tend to take whomever they choose as mistresses.”

Horror came upon her face.  “But I would never-“

“And they don’t need permission from the lady to do it,” he finished harshly.

“That’s not true.  Enré would never do that.”

“Perhaps he was satisfied with the Queen.  Do you think Antonia would fulfill Rizen’s needs?”

All at once, Kaza felt sick to her stomach.  She imagined Antonia trying to do what she could-what she had to-to keep Rizen’s interest off of Kazandra, to protect her.  “She would.  But I think I would die to see it.”

“And so you see why you must marry and go.  Rizen has the best chance once things start.  Some think Enré has already chosen him.”

Kaza watched the large Southern Lord approach her lover with confidence, and saw Antonia shrink away from him subconsciously.  “But what about Derík Shogan?”

“The Felsian?  Not a chance.  He’s got a better manner about him, and a good heart from what I hear.  But you need much more than that to be King.  You said yourself they were only allowing him into the challenge to pacify the Felsian population.  Most of us think it would be dangerous to have a Felsian on the throne.”

Kaza turned to him, surprised.  “Then who would you choose?”

He shrugged.  “Enré,” he responded.  “The man’s not dead yet.  Why must we have an heir this moment?  If Enré were to fall from illness suddenly, Pordos could handle things fine.  His mother, Betucé, would probably run everything anyway.”

Kaza could not believe her ears.  “You would have Pordos?  The man would keep us constantly at war!”

“Not a strong argument against him when you are talking to a soldier.”

“You aren’t a soldier anymore!  You’re a Lord of lands now!  Surely you don’t want your children at risk!”

“I can protect Daena and the babes.”

The Lady shook her head.  “Enough.  I don’t want Pordos on the throne.”

Felíz looked at her for a long while.  “You know, of course, that it would be the absolute best situation for you and Antonia.”

She watched the High Princess as she listened to Rizen across the room.  “How so?”

“If Pordos is heir, Kazzie, he will see to it that Enré has no direct line.  He will not wed her himself.  He is too paranoid.  He will ship her to a cottage to hide her away.  But he will allow her to choose servants to take-“

“And a Lady-in-Waiting.”

“Exactly.  Anything less would be seen as cruel.”  Felíz watched her face for reaction.  “You and Antonia could live out a lovely life together, hidden away from all the pressures of society.”  He smiled handsomely.  “You wouldn’t even have to wear a corset if you didn’t want.”

Kaza recognized her sister-in-law behind this scheme.  Goodly Daena would weep and pray for Kaza’s heartache if Antonia were forced to marry.  In her mind, Kaza’s love was more important than the politics of a nation.

“It would be the best thing for your happiness.”

She swallowed with difficulty.  After a deep breath, she responded in the way she knew Antonia would.  “Best for us, but not best for Tridencia.”  The words tasted sour and sounded bitter.  She could not meet Felíz’s eyes.

He wrapped his arms around her, and placed his chin on her head gently.  “I’m sorry, Kaz.”

*****

Rizen surveyed his would-be subjects.  He could hear himself speaking flattering words to the Princess, but he had no true interest in their conversation.  The dull talk of the morality of domesticating animals allowed him plenty of opportunity to assess the others in the room. 

There were several men who thought enough of themselves to have entered the absurd contest of the King’s.  The child knight Pelham, for instance.  He was so awkward at this gathering that it was nearly impossible to imagine him with any true authority.  He was barely twenty winters, freckled and naive.  As far as Rizen had seen, the boy had yet to gather the courage to approach the King in causal conversation.

There was the large tree trunk in the center of the room, flirting with every female who approached.  Rizen’s lips tightened as he watched Duc Grusso with disapproval.  Then they raised into a snarl when he noted that the giant was keeping an eye on Lady Kazandra, who was in a dark corner with her brother Lord Felíz deLunadoné.  It would be especially satisfying, Rizen thought, to defeat this barbarian, then exile him from the capitol city.  No man who looked at Lady Kaza as if he would devour her should be permitted near the palace, he vowed silently.

Rizen was completely unaware of the irony of the oath.

Off to himself was Trindd, the challenger who seemed the most likely to stab a fellow contestant in the back. This smallish man was deathly pale.  If he ever saw sunlight, it was difficult to tell.  Rumor said he was so frightened of assassination that he remained locked indoors nearly all the time, with guards under orders to watch even each other.  Rizen’s vast military experience told him that paranoids were the ones who bore the most watching.  He tell his men to be on the lookout for this Duc, to watch his movements and machinations.

Trindd was watching with suspicion another challenger, the foppish Yan.  This man dressed in the gaudiest of fashions.  It disgusted Rizen, and obviously Trindd as well.  Yan was well-liked, but hardly a threat to Rizen.  The man refused to get his own hands dirty, and he was a clothes horse.  He would surely spend the entire treasury on jewelry.  Rizen had no doubt that Enré would have little tolerance for this man.

Then there was fat Duc Marlin.  This man bothered him on a spiritual level.  Marlin pretended to be deeply religious, and went to Temple regularly.  But it was clearly a façade.  He used religion to justify any of his desires-and his means to acquire them.  Rizen considered this man to be a glutton.  He could often be found gorging himself at formal gatherings.  Jepón would likely have to restock the wine cellar and pantries after this man finally left for the night.

And Derík Shogan.  Rizen nodded at Antonia absently, and searched the room for his most qualified opponent.  He found him laughing easily with the Second Lieutenant over a private joke.  The musicians were settling into quiet melodies, as the night wore on and many guests retired for the evening.  This, it seemed, included Shogan’s constant companion, Terrance deVenoré.  That ghoul of a man made Rizen uneasy.  He saw an opportunity to approach Shogan without the brooding companion between them.

“So I restrict my meals in general,” the Princess was blathering, “since I cannot bring myself to eat such intelligent creatures.”

Rizen nodded.  “Fascinating.  I myself eat whatever the gods see fit to provide for me.  In the icy region my people come from, one does not have the luxury for such ethical considerations.  If you will excuse me, your Grace.”  He turned from her stunned face and crossed the ballroom in long strides.  As he expected, most revelers parted to make room for him.  Also, as he had guessed, Derík Shogan did not.  He was glad to find that the man was not easily intimidated.

“Lord Derík Shogan,” he announced grandly.

Derík sipped his wine.  Rizen saw immediately that the Felsian was sizing him up.  Instinctively, he stood even straighter.  The horseman noticed, and smiled.  “Lord Rizen.  An honor.”

The nicety threw Rizen off balance slightly.  “Indeed.”

But Shogan did not stop there.  “No, truly.  You grace us by entering into the crowd of would-be Kings,” he intoned, without the smallest hint of sarcasm.  Others watched curiously.  “We all know,” he continued, “of your prowess in battle.  It far exceeds my reputation, certainly.”

Rizen was unexpectedly uncomfortable.  “Certainly not, sir,” he replied quietly.

“Of course it does.  Am I right?”

Others around them began to laugh.  Rizen turned on them.  Was there a joke he could not detect?  Why would they laugh?  It was true that the Southern Lord’s skill was of higher merit than any other in the room!  So why would it benefit Shogan to bring it up?

“Oh, yes,” Shogan proceeded.  His accent was a bit thicker than usual, surely a result of fatigue and drink.  “Dear Rizen.  You bring legitimacy to the fray, do you not?  Think of those who would compete for our High Lady’s hand?  Is there any more deserving than you?”

“I think not,” Rizen answered numbly.

Still, others laughed.

Rizen’s eyes narrowed.  What charm did this Felsian cousin have over these people?

“Surely, there is no Tridencian stronger.  None more ready to defend us all.”

“I am glad that you see it.”

“I think, then, that any man who could defeat you would be a true King indeed!  Do we all agree?”

Rizen looked around.  It was like a dream.  The other noblemen and ladies laughed and nodded.  “I suppose so,” he said hesitantly.  Suddenly, he wished Derík were not the adept opponent he had been thankful for just moments ago.

“The gods, certainly, would never allow the wrong man to rule.”  The smile had left Derík’s eyes, as he stared at Rizen coldly.

The knight stiffened.  “No.  They would not.”

“Glad to hear that from such a pious man as yourself.”  Derík nodded.  “For I hear there will be, among the challenges, a test of wits, a test of courage, a test of justice, and one of loyalty.  Perhaps more.  It is rumor only.”

“Games.  I shall triumph over all.”

“Hm.  Strong conviction.  I like that.”  Derík raised his glass to the crowd, which had gathered round them.  “Don’t you?  I expect fine things from this gentleman!”

Rizen felt his face redden.  Mocking.  The Lord dared to mock him.  “Your tongue is becoming tiresome,” he growled.

“Tiresome?  No, my dear Rizen.  I’ve just begun to get into the spirit of the occasion.  Truly, a King should watch his temper,” he drawled silkily.  “One might think you were…afraid?  If we wanted a hot-tempered coward on the throne, we could have been happy with Pordos, no?”

The fist came flying at his nose faster than anyone could even follow.  It was nearly as large as Derík’s face, and hard as a stone.  The speed with which it sailed toward him startled even Derík, who had been expecting it.  But without blinking his eyes, Derík grabbed the fist, and pulled, knocking the larger, stoic man off balance, to fall past him onto the floor with a crash. 

Looking up from where he lay, he saw an unflustered Felsian sipping at his wine, which had not spilled a drop.  “Good show, dear Rizen,” he called down to him.  “Let us remember to keep our good humor and humility during the real challenges, shall we?” He raised his glass and stepped backward into the crowd with elegant grace that made Rizen feel like a brutish oaf.

Dusting himself off, Rizen stood to find a laughing crowd, an unimpressed High Princess and Lady-in-Waiting, and an unamused frown barely hidden in the gray beard of King Enré.  The general took a deep breath, and stomped out of the ballroom without a word to the host.

Jepón, the Steward, held the door with a low bow.

*****

Elsee glanced around the gathering.  The challengers were an interesting lot.  Duc Grusso was large, handsome and had a reputation for being a brute on the battlefield.  A fine choice, should he prove to rise above her Pordos.  Something about Trindd made her like him too.  He did not seem to possess the physical strength of Grusso, but the way his eyes shifted, and the way he spoke, with mystery and the hint of a hiss, reminded her of a snake.  She liked that.

Really, several of these challengers would meet her requirements.  She found herself searching their throats and wrists for scars, out of habit.  Of course there were none.  She had to remind herself that these strange women marked their mates with jewelry, not bites.  What was wrong with this society’s women that men such as these could remain unmarked?  At home, she had marked a dozen males, spoiling them forever for any other female who might desire them, and reserving them for her own pleasure as it fancied her.  Men here seemed free to do as they pleased.  Here, Elsee was expected to submit to the male’s desires.  Strange people.

She had seen the brief altercation between Rizen d’Arn’tiz and Derík Shogan.  Interesting.  However, she was not yet ready to rule out the hulking Southern Lord as the better man.  There was too much ice in his stare for her to not give him a second chance.  As for Shogan, she was wary.  She got an uneasy feeling about the horseman that she could not place. 

She knew Pordos would be angry that she had even attended the event.  But, like Kenton, she had to.  It was necessary to both keep up appearances and gather information.  For Kenton, the information gathered was on Pordos’s behalf.  For her, she was simply making certain that Pordos was the right choice to father the Promised One.

*****

A bright, silent flare rose high above the tent city.  Terrance was sipping tea in the darkness, awaiting sunrise.  He watched the flare explode, without a sound, in the sky above him.  He felt a sharp tingle go through him, as it had a moment before when he had used his power to boil the water for his tea so he would not have to wait.  Odd that witnessing this phenomenon gave him the same itching thrill.

He had no time to ponder about it.  As if from the darkness itself, a palace messenger appeared.  He arrived between the explosion of the flare and the first sliver of dawn, within a moment of each other.  Exquisitely timed, Terrance noted with appreciation.

“Lord Derík Shogan!” the messenger shouted importantly. 

Throughout the tent city, Terrance could hear other shouts, from other heralds, at the same instant.  In the stillness, he could hear scrambling inside several tents, including his own.  He used his magic to extend his hearing into the minds racing in his temporary home.  Servants forced themselves on their tasks groggily; Derík’s manservant was cursing silently to himself about not having set out Derík’s clothing the night before, as he rushed to do so now.  Terrance found Derík’s sleepy but startled mind zipping through images of the night before, and guessing as to the message from the herald outside the tent.  The words in his mind were all in Felsian, and the man was consciously switching to Tridencian proper, something he rarely had to do anymore.  It was only then that it was clear to Terrance how exhausted his lover was.  Immediately, the gray man gathered his own energy and sent it flowing to Derík.

The result was a whirlwind of sudden activity.  Within just a few moments, a sharply dressed and groomed, wide-awake, charismatic Felsian noble burst from his tent.  Terrance could hear only chaos coming from the other residences.  He himself fell, drained, onto a crude wooden bench.

THE HUNT

Antonia had been alarmed by the nature of the first challenge.  “Hunt down the most dangerous creature in the forest, and lay its head at the feet of your King,” the messengers had all cried out to the challengers.  They had timed it so that each messenger arrived at his destination at the exact same moment.  This ensured that no challenger had an advantage over another.  In reality, however, several of the men had indulged too much at the party the night before, and were too groggy to move quickly.

Kazandra had been pleased to hear that Derík Shogan had been dressed and upon his horse within minutes of the challenge being issued.  Enré had merely smiled when told that both Derík and Rizen were alert and on the move before some of the others had fallen out of bed.

“A King must be ever vigilant, Kaza,” he had told her in a low voice, as others bustled around them to prepare for the luncheon that would be held later that morning.

Kaza nodded.  “You yourself are always awake long before any of us.”

He chuckled.  His fingers tied knots in his red beard without him noticing.  “Well, except for Jepón.  I am convinced the man does not sleep.  He and Fredríck are always haunting the castle before even the sun is awake.”  He leaned in to her confidence.  “I hear Jepón has not missed a sunrise since coming to the palace so many years ago.”

Kaza giggled.  “He probably thinks it needs him to orchestrate it.”

Enré laughed softly, and folded his hands.  They sat at the breakfast table alone, except for the doctor, who insisted upon taking his tea with a dose of Drosnosik.

“One day,” Anwar replied without looking up from his philosophy book, “Jepón will die a very efficient, organized, well-planned death, and we will discover the next morning that the sun indeed does not know what to do without him.”

The King and Lady laughed heartily at the idea, each wondering silently if it may in fact be true.  “How do you read such droll stuff in the morning, Doctor?” the King demanded, stretching his legs.  He allowed his plate to be whisked away by one of the servers. 

Anwar chewed on his bread crust thoughtfully.  “Drosnosik was a brilliant physician, your Grace.  I should think you would want your surgeon studying the best.”

The King snorted, then yawned.  It was true that the man was up at dawn each morning, but as the years crept by, he found himself often ready for a short nap by noon.  Last night’s festivities had fatigued him more than he liked to admit, even to himself.  “Drosnosik likely could have benefited from lessons from you, Doctor,” he said lazily.

“No, but thank you, Sire.  He had an intimate knowledge of the human body and purpose which a man such as I may never achieve.”

“Purpose?”

They turned to find the Second Lieutenant joining them.  He saluted the King casually, then dropped himself into a chair, and grabbed at the book.

Anwar cleared his throat.  Kaza assumed he could still smell the liquor from last evening on the Second’s breath.  Anwar himself refused to indulge, even the slightest bit.  “Yes, purpose.”  He snatched his book back.  “Such as why we are here, and why we do the things we do, and whether the design of our bodies suggests we should do them.”

The Second winked at Kazandra scandalously.  “Why we are here?  We are here, good sir, to enjoy a beautiful life, to achieve honor, to fight glorious battles, and to please gorgeous women!”

Kaza giggled at Anwar’s expression of distaste.

“Quite,” the doctor sighed.  “How silly of me to go to an ancient text, when all I should have done was consult our resident barbarian.”

“Philosopher, Anwar!” the Second corrected happily.  “Not a barbarian!  A philosopher.”

The King allowed his neck to crack by bending it to the right.  Relief splashed his face, and he smiled.  “Enough annoying the doctor.  Have you something to report, or does Fredríck not keep you busy enough?”

With exaggerated formality, the commander popped to his feet at attention.  “Your Grace, I am here to report that the challengers have all entered the forest, save one.”

The King’s smile froze.  “Save one?” he growled.  “Who?”

“A certain Duc had more trouble than the others after last night’s party, your Grace.”  Again, he winked at Kaza.

The Lady flushed deep red, and sunk a bit in her chair.  The Duc Grusso.

Kaza had learned from the Second the night before that a hunt would be scheduled for the next morning.  She had remembered Terrance’s words.  “At every opportunity, do whatever it takes to get word to us of the nature of the trials.  Tell no one but Derík or me personally.”  She had tried.  But neither man was anywhere to be found.  Jepón reported having seen Terrance leave early in the evening, but Kaza’s boy could not find him in the tent city.  Neither could he locate Derík to deliver her sealed note, written entirely in Felsian in strange handwriting.  Knowing not to trust anyone else with the note, she had thought desperately about any different way she could help them in the first trial.  Then Terrance’s next set of instructions came to her mind.  “If you can, look for ways to undermine the competition.  Anything which makes them look foolish or unfit will help Derík.  Do anything you can without giving yourself away.”

If she could not find Derík or Terrance, she could find someone else, she realized.

After Antonia had fallen to sleep, fretting about the next day, Kaza had slipped out of bed.  She dressed in her black corset, skirt and cloak.  It was appropriate for the shadows, but this skirt also hid in its folds a small silver dagger.  Though she prayed she would not need it, she was happy to know it was there.  Lastly, she slipped a tiny vial into her corset, snuggling it between her breasts.  Then she slid through the darkness, without a sound, down the hall and out of the palace.

Tridencians used the terms palace and castle interchangeably when referring to the capitol holding.  But in actuality, it was a fortress.  One of the duties of the Second Lieutenant was to ensure the safety of those living in the palace.  He took nothing in life seriously, except for his duties as Second.  The level of security around the palace was extraordinary.  Every guard was a soldier, trained in hand to hand combat, crossbow archery, and swordsmanship.  They interrogated everyone entering and exiting the gate, including residents.  In fact, Kaza happened to know that the Second sharply disciplined any guard who did not question even the King, First Lieutenant or himself on his way in or out.  It was not well-known except to a very few, but some mages trained in the Academy had the ability to change the appearance of their faces and the sound of their voices to imitate another’s.  If the First Lieutenant could not give the current password on his way in or out of the gate, he was to be detained and treated as a prisoner. The code changed often, even in peacetime, and Kaza could not be sure of what it was unless she went to the Second to inform him that she intended to leave.  Since it was imperative that no one knew of her escapades, it was hardly an option.

Aside from the rumor that any guard found dozing on duty could expect to pay with his life, or at the very least his commission, there was also the matter of the gates and walls themselves.  Even if someone got past the palace guards, who stood sentry at every door, and Jepón and Keeda, who appeared like ghosts at the least expected moment at any corner of the palace, she would still be faced with the run from the House to the gates, with at least one accusing, glowering moon revealing her.  Once she got there, miraculously undetected by the Second’s men and birds, she would find herself at a closed gate set into an unscaleable wall.  Opening the gate took the coordinated effort of three strong men, each with a separate, uniquely shaped key, meant to be turned simultaneously.  The wall stood twenty feet high, and rose to a point at the top so it could not be walked upon even if someone did manage to climb the smooth stone.  Except at the gate itself, which was constantly guarded in groups, a ditch was dug around the wall.  If someone somehow were to discover a way to climb up the wall from outside, she would find herself careening down the wall on the inside, and deposited neatly into the ditch to await discovery by the sentries on duty.  Climbing out of the trench was out of the question.  Even Obie had found himself stuck down it once, on the west end of the palace, and sentries had been forced to find long pieces of lumber to allow the big cat to climb back out of the pit.

Getting into the palace was nearly impossible.  Getting out undetected was just as unfeasible.  However, Kazandra deLunadoné was quieter than the stray stable cats, and darker than the deepest shadow.  She would never be seen, nor heard.  And she was not headed for the gates.

The Vine Garden ivies whispered in the slight breeze.  The moon glories, in brilliant color, lit her path.  She knew these ivies better than Rizen d’Arn’tiz knew his prayer stones, better than Enré knew his coat of arms, better than Antonia knew her circlet.  The vines seemed to speak to her in the breeze, to welcome her.  She had spent more hours in this garden than anyone else in residence at the palace in the ages it had been standing.

Her hand knew just which vines to lovingly pull aside to reveal the small stone lever.  As she pressed it down, the noise of the rustling ivies and weeping willows masked the sound of the sliding stones.  When the sound stopped, Kaza looked around her.  Confident that no one had seen, she disappeared into the gentle chaos of the vines, seemingly consumed by them, into the hole in the stone behind them.  As if they had never been disturbed, the vines fell back to hide her secret.

The tunnel led under the palace grounds, beneath the wall itself, and out into a dizzying swarm of moon glory ivies which danced and slithered all over an old ruined stone temple, in the forest beyond the capitol.  Like the entrance in the palace garden, Kaza emerged from a stone wall covered in ivies, and there was no evidence of her passage.  Slipping out without a sound, Kaza brushed dried leaves from her cloak and hair, and reoriented herself to the moon’s light.  The journey through the tunnel had taken a little less than an hour, and there was no light at all within the tunnel.  It should have amazed her that the ivies were able to grow there, but somehow it did not.  There was something special about moon glory ivies.  Each time she had begun to feel frightened in the complete darkness, she would reach out and feel for the ivies which ran through the whole passage.  They guided her, reassured her.  They remembered her, and would not let her come to harm.

From the ancient temple, she backtracked over land until she found herself at the edge of the tent city, which slept soundly.  She easily picked out the Duc’s colors among the rainbow of canvases, and glided toward it determinedly. 

The quick prayer to Luck whispered at the ancient temple seemed to have been worth the lost two minutes.  The Duc himself was smoking outside the tent, and it seemed the rest of his household slept.

Her silky, nearly celestial voice startled him, causing him to drop his pipe and herbs.  “The King’s trial tomorrow morning will test the courage of his challengers, or so I’ve heard.  What will we learn about you, my Lord?”

A shaky hand moved for his dagger at his belt.  “Who is that?”

Kazandra stepped partway out of the shadows and into the moonlight.  “Does my Lord remember my face?”

Brown eyes were wide as they gazed at her.  “Lady Kazandra!”

“My Lord.  Does it not please you to see me?”

“Of course it does!”  He stared at her, lust becoming apparent on his face.  “Why do you come to me tonight?  Are you alone?”  He glanced over her shoulder briefly. 

She gave him a coy smile.  “Am I not enough?”

He grinned toothily, and she began to wonder how much herb he had smoked before her arrival.  “Lady Kazandra,” he breathed.

“I brought you something, to celebrate your victory.”  She pulled from her cloak a small bottle of liquor which she had taken from the bottler at the palace. 

“What victory?” he breathed, taking it from her, and glancing at it briefly.

“The one which will be yours tomorrow.”

The Duc laughed quietly.  “How can you be so sure?”

“It is a test of courage, my Lord.  I am told no one surpasses you in bravery.”

The grin thickened.  “It is true.”

“Of course it is.  Will you toast with me?”  She stepped fully into the moonlight, pulling down her hood.  The man sucked in his breath through his teeth as he witnessed the full magnitude of her beauty.  Her raven hair feathered over her shoulders in the breeze, and her delicate, pale throat floated above small, round breasts coyly hidden in a corset.  One petite hand touched his larger one.  The other hand slipped its fingers between her breasts seductively, lingering just momentarily, and produced the vial she had placed there before.  It was warm for all its time spent so close to her body, but the crushed blue leaves were still vibrant.  “I know in my heart you will win this, my Lord.  Let me be the first to congratulate you.”

Eyes widened when the Duc saw what she had pulled out from her corset.  “Is that-”

“I harvested it myself from my own beloved plant.”

He stared.  “I have never smoked anything so strong as that.”

She gave him a disappointed pout.  “If you are lacking in courage tonight, perhaps I am wrong about who will win tomorrow’s test.”

The Duc grabbed the vial.  “I said I never had.  I did not say I would not.”

Kazandra smiled.

Three hours later, she had crept back into her own bed.  Her silver knife had not been necessary.  The man had been vomiting in the bushes while professing his endless love for her after just a few puffs on his pipe, and a few gulps of the liquor.  It seemed that what she had always heard about the leaf and the spirit mixing badly were true. 

So the following morning, when the Second Lieutenant mentioned that one challenger had not been able to pull himself together, Kazandra simply smiled nervously and continued her breakfast without a word.

*****

The Second raised an eyebrow at Lady Kazandra’s reaction to the news about the Duc.  He gave her his signature wink and careless grin, then excused himself from the breakfast party.  Antonia was not in attendance that morning.  She often broke her fast privately anyway, but the Second knew that this morning she was angry with her father.  Antonia was a great lover of all creatures, and she had been shocked and appalled at the nature of the first trial.  Antonia herself adhered to a strict ascetic diet which did little harm to creatures.  The Second quietly teased her about it, and her father found it to be ridiculous.

The Second pulled two uniformed men aside on his way to the stables.  They were  members of a special unit, reporting directly to the Second himself.  “The cunning and comely Lady Kazandra has managed to sneak out of the gate again, without a single one of my men seeing her.  Discover how,” he ordered one man quietly, then turned to the other.  “Discover why.  If one headstrong little girl is able to sneak in and out according to her fancy,” he warned them coldly, “gods help us if a man of cruel magic chose to do so.”  He began to walk away, adding, “Do not fail me.”

The Second had no need to look behind him to know the men had disappeared to begin their tasks.  He smiled wryly.  Between Jepón’s graceful servants, and the Second’s own stealthy units, the only people who ever made any noise were the court nobles themselves.  Except for Lady Kazandra.  The woman intrigued him.  This was far from the first time that he had heard rumors of Kazandra deLunadoné haunting the lands beyond the gates without anyone even noticing she was missing from the castle.  If it was the last thing he did, he would learn how she did it.

*****

While Terrance consulted his books, and Hoddep and other servants spoke to village hunters, Derík was given several minutes of quiet inside his own head.  It was not that he minded Terrance’s whisperings from miles away.  But it was quite distracting, and often startling.  He preferred to be able to concentrate on the unfamiliar terrain until Terrance discovered something useful.

He patted the young stallion’s neck absently.  It was only the first trial of the King’s challenges, and he was already stumped.  “Give us a Felsian forest any day, eh, Friend?” he murmured to the horse in his native tongue.  He knew what the most dangerous creature in the Felsian region was.  Without a doubt, it was the mosquito.  More hunters died battling it than were slain by any other creature.  Derík himself had once known a cousin who had perished in this way.

In his own region of Tridencia proper, where the Shogan Manor lay, south of the capitol, the biggest threat was a pack of wild sand dogs.  A man and horse traveling alone could ride, unsuspecting, into the middle of the pack, and be torn to pieces before horse or rider even saw a single predator.  The small beasts hunted large prey-the largest single creature they could find-to feed their whole pack at once.  There was generally nothing left for scavengers except bone marrow.  The hairless dogs, who could blend into any background, were rarely seen by their victims before it was too late.

But what was the most dangerous of creatures in the forest south of the capitol?  Sand dogs could not survive this far north; there was too much competition for food, and not enough large game.

Certainly, there was plenty to fear in this forest.  As wooded areas went, this one was more intimidating and less inviting than most.  For one thing, there was very little sunlight which extended through the canopy on to the forest floor.  For another, there were haunting sounds which were impossible to identify.  For every shadow he could explain, there were a dozen more he could not.  There were eyes everywhere.  Derík chuckled.  “I wonder how Prince Paranoid is doing,” he whispered to his mount in Felsian. 

“Quite terribly,” a Tridencian accent responded in his head.

Derík’s smile widened.  “I’ve suddenly got an appreciation for your company, Terrance,” he laughed aloud.  “Even in bright daylight, these woods are creepy.”

He could nearly see the man’s smirk.  “For a hunter and tracker such as yourself?”

“For anyone.  What news do you have for me?”

He heard his lover sigh.  “Very little, my Love.  We have searched every book and spoken to every hunter.  Every response has been different.”

“Such as?”

“The boar, the owlbear, the wildcat, the sky snake-”

“Sky snake?”

“A myth as far as I can figure.  It is a huge snake which moves among the tops of the trees, and falls upon its victims.”

“Brilliant.  I’ll look out for that one.”

“Don’t bother.  I’m certain it is a hoax.  Enré appears to have anticipated us doing some research, and encouraged the locals to be creative in their helpfulness.”

“Are others asking about?”

“A few.  But it seems still others are trusting upon the gods and their own intuition to lead them to the prize.”

“Rizen?”

“Spent most of the first hour praying.”

“Naturally.”  Derík sighed.  “Are he and I truly the only two who set off alone?”

“Duc Marlin has half his household out there.”

“I know.  I ran into them picking thorns from his backside twenty minutes ago near the river mouth.  These maps are rubbish, Ter.”

Another sigh filled his mind.  “I know.  More help from the locals, as per Enré.”

“Is there any among us who knows this forest well?”

“The boy will know it well.  But I feel him.  He’s too afraid, Derík.  He will be no threat.”

“Marlin says Yan hired a local high-priced guide to go with him and his guard.  There is much to be said for having useful friends, as you know.”

Terrance was smiling; he could feel it.  “Assuredly, Lord Derík.  But your friend is far more useful than his.”

“Also, I don’t intend to pay you.”  Derík ducked under a low-hanging branch as his horse passed slowly below it.  “Make a decision, Ter.  I won’t return empty-armed.  What am I hunting for?”  Unlike many of the other challengers, the question was not whether Derík could hunt down and triumph against the most dangerous creature in the forest.  He was an accomplished hunter, and a relentless tracker.  His prey rarely evaded him for long.  Derík’s concern was the King’s riddle.  Which creature was the most dangerous?  A mosquito and a pack of sand dogs were quite different enemies, requiring quite different tactics to survive an attack, and he would be hard pressed to name which he would rather encounter.

“I don’t know, Derík,” Terrance admitted.

The Lord’s eyes narrowed as a bat flew past his head.  “Pick something, Terrance,” he growled.  “Wandering this gods forsaken wood is getting me nowhere.  The others may return before long.  What are they searching for?”

“They aren’t anymore sure than we are.”

Derík gave a subtle tug on the reins to stop their descent further into the dark woods.  “What is Rizen seeking?”

“A wildcat, I believe, although he has yet to fully decide-”

The horseman whirled his surprised stallion around and headed back toward the stream he had crossed moments ago.  “A wildcat it is, then.  It’s as good a choice as any of the others, and I saw prints back a few paces.  If Rizen changes his mind-”

“I’ll let you know,” his lover swore quietly, fading from his mind.

The prints were clear enough in the soft mud.  The paw was large, and the stride was long.  They led up an incline to a ridge hidden in brush.  Along the ground lay a great tree trunk, and he could see deep scratches in it.  A long, coarse hair was caught in the bark of a tree nearby.  It would be an easy thing to track the cat from here, and there was nothing Derík could not bring down with his bow.

Just as he was about to dismount, he felt his horse quake beneath him.  The beast let out a horrific cry, and tumbled down the incline, pinning Derík underneath him.  As they fell, Derík heard a sickening crack of bone.  The man grabbed at the nearest tree, and the horse fell past him to the bottom.  He scrambled down after it.

The stallion writhed at the bottom of the ridge, his legs at nightmarish angles, with blood and spittle dripping from his mouth.  Derík shrieked in terror, and hurried down to him, babbling in Felsian.  “My Friend!  What happened?  You’ve never lost your footing!  Never!  What-”

A glint of metal caught the rider’s eye, and his despair turned to blinding fury.  He grabbed at his horse’s rear left leg, and clawed at the steel trap which bit into it.  The horse’s breathing became more labored, and Derík could hear thick liquid filling the animal’s lungs.  He pried open the leg trap with a shriek.  He threw it to the ground.

The leg was mangled.  What once had been a beautiful, strong, sure muscle and joint was now a mass of blood, hair, bone, sweat and mud.  A quick glance told Derík that two of the horse’s other legs had broken in the tumble, and that there were likely internal injuries from the rocks as well.  The horseman dropped to his knees beside his friend, who lay suffering but quiet.  The beast’s eyes were wild with pain, and he breathed blood, but he stared at Derík with complete trust and adoration.

It broke Derík’s heart.

“My Friend.  It isn’t right to lose you like this!” he whispered, holding the huge head.  “I knew your sire, and your grandsire, and my father knew you back four generations before that.  I helped your mother drop you, and I taught you to take a rider.  No other man has ever touched your back.  It is shameful to lose you like this!  How could I let this happen?”

The large eyes blinked at him.

“I’m so sorry, my Friend.”  Derík’s hands shook as he reached for his knife.  “Please forgive me.  You deserve so much better than this death.”  He slid the knife across the horse’s thick throat, and watched the sliver of blood form and wash the creature’s neck.  As the horse’s eyes faded to peaceful, glassy stares, Derík made an oath in his native tongue.  “I’ll find the ones who did this to you.  I promise you that.”

*****

Terrance felt his chest tighten sharply, and he sat back from his books.  The sudden pain had originated in his mind, but he was feeling the spasm in his lungs.  For a moment, the gray man felt a tiny panic welling in him.  So this was it.  What the doctor said would happen.  He had not expected it so soon.

But a moment later, he realized that it was not his own pain he was feeling.  He immediately reached out in a frantic grasp for Derík’s mind.  He felt himself traveling through the distance between them at a breathtaking speed.  Never had he rushed his powers like this before, and a part of him thrilled with it.  The rest of him desperately searched for Derík in a forest full of primitive animal minds.

At last, he sighed.  There he was.  Alive.  Not mauled by a cat or eaten by an owlbear. 

The man was indescribably angry.  Terrance could get no words from the man in either language.  He prompted him, wrapped his magic around the man, holding him, consoling him.  Still, there was no response.  He sensed only rage and pain from the golden man, and no amount of whispering in his mind could calm him into communicating.  He was unsure if Derík could even feel him or hear him.  He had never been so blocked from a mind as he was from his lover now.  He considered briefly that Derík was somehow pushing him away on purpose, but it was clear that this was unintentional on the horseman’s part.  He simply was not thinking in words or visions.  He was not thinking at all, only feeling.

Instinctively, he attempted something he had never before tried.  He found himself gazing out of Derík’s eyes at the scene around him.  A flood of visions overwhelmed him, as he saw through Derík’s eyes and his own at the same time.  He closed his own eyes to keep from disorienting himself. 

Derík was stalking through the trees, on foot apparently, ignoring branches that clawed and scraped at him.  Terrance was startled to see blood dripping from the man’s hands, and he was desperate to find out what had happened.  Still, Derík showed no signs of returning to a normal state of mind in which Terrance could communicate with him.  What had happened out there?

He traveled with Derík, and realized they were tracking something.  The cat?  Had he encountered it and been forced to retreat, and now was tracking it again?  What was going on?  He had been with Derík on enough hunts to know his tactics.  Though Terrance himself did not care for hunting, he knew Derík’s passion was for the chase.  Nothing evaded him.  But what was their quarry?

Finally, Derík’s mind cried out in a victorious and feral but silent shriek.  The man’s grace was unearthly, but inside his head, he was writhing with emotions.  Here and there, furious words seeped to the surface of his mind, incoherent and in no logical relevance to each other, and all in Felsian besides.  Terrance could make no sense of it. 

Terrance saw what Derík had found, and he felt a chill creep across his skin.  A footprint.  A man’s footprint. 

Derík was hunting a man.

The sorcerer screamed in his head, demanding to know what was going on.  All at once, he felt a wild, feral smirk on his own face, and he realized that Derík’s emotions were transferring themselves to him.  Derík knew what he was doing.  He was mad with fury, but, at the same time, still in control of himself, in an oddly calm way.  He could hear Terrance’s warnings.  He chose to ignore them, and common sense.

There was nothing Terrance could do but watch.

The next thing he knew, Derík was peering through foliage into a tiny clearing.  It was a campsite, Terrance saw with surprise.  The tracks led there.  Terrance and his lover searched through the same pair of eyes at the entire campsite.  A rope hung between two trees to dry clothing.  A pair of boots lay next to a stone fire circle.  All around, there were traps of various sizes, and there next to the small tent was the body of a mountain cat, mangled and hanging at a sickening angle across a tree stump.  All four paws had been removed.  Two men lounged at the other end of the clearing, munching on what appeared to be cooked fish.  They were laughing over some private joke when Derík stalked into the campsite.

The men grew quiet as they saw the furious Felsian approach.  They stood quickly, suspicious.  “Who are you?  Why are you here?”

Derík’s eyes blurred with madness, and for an instant, Terrance was afraid the man had had a heart seizure.  Then his vision cleared, and the sorcerer felt the strange smile again.  “You killed my horse,” he said quietly, by way of explanation. 

The men had just enough time to widen their eyes before Derík flew at them.  Terrance watched desperately as the men dove for their knives, shouting in a panicked tone to one another.  One man wrestled with Derík on the ground, and another ran for the forest.  Terrance reached into this man’s mind, and brought uncontrollable terror to the surface.  The man screamed, grasped his head, and fell to his knees.  Derík grabbed him, and pulled him back into the fray. 

Terrance watched in horror as Derík took hold of each man’s neck, and slammed their heads together.  The impact produced a crunching sound, and the two men fell prone to the ground.  One did not move at all, and the other emitted just a pathetic whimper before slipping into oblivion.  Derík lifted the larger of the two dirty men onto his shoulder, and the other he dragged by his shirt collar.  Still the Felsian refused to allow Terrance access to him.  Even after an hour of tossing the two men bonelessly from arm to arm and carrying them out of the forest toward the capitol, Derík was unreachable.  His fury fed itself for a full hour of treacherous trekking through the trees, hauling the poachers’ unconscious bodies.  At one point, the smaller man began to moan, and Derík responded by throwing his palm into the man’s temple.  Other than that, there was no sound from any of the three of them other than huffing.  Terrance stopped watching after Derík had hit the man again.  He hurried to check on each of the other candidates, and spoke to Hoddep and a few of the others.  Then he made his way to the palace, to be there when the candidates began arriving to show the results of their hunts to the King.  There was obviously nothing he could still do to keep Derík from making a fool of himself.  The best he could do was try to speak to Kazandra to glean information about the next trial.  This one was obviously lost.

*****

Enré’s eyes lifted from the boar’s head presented to him by the boy lord, to see what the commotion was about in his great hall.  All eyes were staring behind, at the entrance.  There, the Felsian lord, alight like golden fire, dragged two full-grown men across the hall.  The crowd of nobles and servants parted to make way for him as he stalked directly to the King.

Derík threw the men down at the King’s feet.  He was bloody, sweaty, dirty, and mad with fury.  But his voice was calm.  “I propose that these are the most dangerous creatures in your forest, your Grace,” he panted angrily.

Shocked murmurs cascaded down the hall, and the Second Lieutenant stepped forward quickly.  He took hold of one man’s hair and lifted his head gently to see the face.  Then he began to smile.  “Your Grace,” he echoed.  “This is Rekov Blenning.”

Gasps filled the hall, and the name was repeated over and over again.

Derík sneered.  “Whoever he is, he’s been poaching in your Majesty’s forest.  They’re trapping for creatures, like the forest cat, for its paws, and one of their steel traps caught my horse’s hoof.”  Derík looked even more dangerous as he spoke of his beloved horse.  “May I suggest a harsh sentence?  And may I offer to carry it out for your Grace personally?”

The Second laughed.  He exchanged a glance with the King, who was smiling.  “And the other is young Trevor, I assume,” Enré asked, amused.

“Aye,” the Second drawled.  “Looks like.”

Derík stared at them suddenly.  “Rekov and Trevor Blenning?”  A look of recognition came across his face.

Kazandra stepped quickly from her seat just beneath the King’s own chair.  “The Blennings.  People say they have stolen more livestock than any other.  Is that true, your Grace?  Are these men those Blennings?  The ones who are known to await carriages outside the city to ambush them?  The ones who killed the Duca of Tribon?”

The Second slapped the Felsian on the shoulder amiably.  “The same.  Dangerous creatures, indeed,” he agreed.  “They’ve avoided capture by my best men for years.”

“And now the Felsian lord delivers them sleeping like babies to Our feet,” the King said quietly, with a grand use of the royal collective.  Kazandra faded back to her seat, satisfied that everyone present was clear who Derík’s prey was, especially Enré himself. “We are grateful to the Felsian lord, and will see him seated at Our right hand tonight for the feast.  The Duca of Tribon was a dear friend of Ours, and to have the murdering thieves who caused her death laid before Us is no small thing.”

Derík looked shocked, and he turned to the crowd, who was cheering loudly around him.  One gray face at the far corner of the room caught his gaze.  Terrance deVenoré was rolling his eyes at him.  Leave it to you to find the two poachers in the world the King’s own army cannot find, and deliver them unto him without having any idea who they are.  My dumb love, Terrance whispered in his mind with delicate fondness.  Then he said the thing that reminded Derík why he loved him.  I’m so sorry for your horse, dear one.  There will be no replacing such a fine friend as he.  We shall arrange the most honorable of Burnings for him.

Tears filled Derík’s eyes, but he sniffed them away, and turned back to the King, remembering to look princely and modest at the same time.  His grief would await him.  Right now, he owed it to Terrance to make the most of this strange turn of events.

As he looked back over his shoulder at the crowd one last time, it was not Terrance’s soft gray eyes that he saw, but the icy blue ones of Lord Rizen.  He straightened his back, and took a deep breath.  But he saw something surprising in Rizen’s cold eyes, something he would never have expected to see: the seed of respect.  The Duc bent his neck ever so slightly. 

Then the moment was gone, as a messenger flew through the great doors.  “Your Grace!  Lieutenants!”

The Second looked up from where he was directing two guards to carry the prisoners to a cell. 

“What’s that racket?” Enré roared, silencing the excited whisperings around the room. 

“It’s Yan’s man, Sire,” the Second murmured.

“My lord!  He’s been...he’s been....”

Enré rolled his dark eyes.  “You’ve run all this way, child.  Take a breath, then spit out what you’ve got to say.”

The boy gulped in air, then nodded.  “My lord’s been hurt, your Grace!  He’s being carried in the gates now!”

The Second whirled around, and began directing his guards.  He nodded at Jepón, who was already headed toward the door, snapping his fingers at servants to follow him.  “Water,” the Steward barked at one girl, then turned to another.  “Fetch the physician.”

The boy collapsed into a small chair, wringing his hands. 

“What happened, child?” Enré demanded.

“The ranger told Lord Yan not to mess with it.  My lord wouldn’t listen.”

“Not to mess with what, child?”

The boy swallowed hard, and looked up, suddenly aware of the large crowd of noblemen and ladies staring at him.  “The owlbear, your Grace,” the boy said miserably.  “My lord thought he had found you the most dangerous of creatures, Sire, and he approached it to fell it himself.”  He shook his head with sadness.  “But it wasn’t the beast itself that was so dangerous, your Grace.  It was its mother that proved to be the problem.”

There was silence in the great hall.

The still was broken by the quivering of King Enré’s red beard.  He reached down his hand to steady himself as he fell back to his chair.  Everyone stared in horror as the man’s shoulders began to quake, wondering if he was having a heart seizure.  At last, the laughter burst from him, booming against the walls and high ceiling, and echoing back at them all.  The crowd blinked at him in amazement.

“You mean,” the King sputtered breathlessly, “you mean to say that Yan mistook a baby owlbear for the most dangerous of creatures?”

The Second Lieutenant allowed a smile to cross his lips.  “Well, Sire, they are very vicious, even if they are only two feet high.”  He curled his fingers into claws and pretended to be an infant owlbear clawing at an invisible attacker. 

This made the King roar with laughter, and now several others in the crowd joined in.  The boy messenger looked around in dismay as the entire hall full of nobles began to chuckle at his lord’s expense.  He unintentionally made matters worse by insisting that it had been a rather large baby beast.  “He didn’t know they got bigger than that, your Grace!” he shouted over the rippling laughter.

Kazandra gave the boy a sympathetic smirk.  “Of course, child.  Surely the biggest threat Duc Yan has ever had to face before today is an incompetent seamstress.  He can hardly be expected to know what a real dangerous creature looks like.”

Enré wiped tears of mirth from his eyes.  “Child, be assured that we are greatly concerned for Duc Yan’s health.  Our physician will see to it that he has no lasting injuries.  But for his own safety, perhaps we shall make this your lord’s only challenge.  He can return home knowing that he has competed honorably.  I will personally replace any clothing that has been ruined in today’s ordeal,” he added, winking at Kazandra.

The boy sighed and shrugged his shoulders.  “Yes, your Grace.  I will report it to him when he is well enough to hear it.”

“You are dismissed, son,” the King said, not unkindly.  “You have served your master well, by alerting us to his condition quickly.  We will do all we can to return him home in one piece.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” the boy said.  He bowed to the King, and hurried out the door, away from all the stares and chuckles.

Enré stood and stretched.  “It has been an interesting first day.  Yan has taken out an owlbear,” he snickered.  “Marlin and Pelham have each brought us boars, which will be added to the menu for tomorrow’s feast.  Trindd has brought to me a huge, nasty snake, which will feed my kennel tonight.  Duc Grusso got a late start this morning, and it seems he has returned empty-handed.  General Rizen has found a forest cat the size of a horse, which he managed to bring back alive and angry in his net, and it has been drugged and released back to its home to keep down my population of boars, snakes, owlbears, and hopefully poachers.”

Derík nodded.  It seemed Enré had made his choice.  Rizen’s prey regularly feasted on each of the other creatures brought in today.  He sighed.  Next time, he would outthink the Southern Lord.  Today, it seemed he had lost the first battle to the ice Duc.

“But today’s game goes to Lord Derík of Felsi, who brought to me not one, but two creatures who have been enemies of forest creatures, domestic livestock, and the throne itself.  For the inspiring, righteous anger but cool head he displayed in capturing two known criminals who took the life of the dear Duca of Tribon, I award the first day to Lord Derík Shogan.”  He turned to Antonia, who had remained silent at his side the entire time.  “My daughter ?”

The Princess stood stiffly, and approached Lord Derík as he bowed to her.  “A token of our appreciation,” she announced.  Then she produced from her clenched hand a dagger.  It was exquisite, with a jeweled hilt lined with blood-red rubies.  “The first challenge is yours, Lord Derík.” 

Derík swallowed and took the knife from her.  He felt its weight out of habit, then smiled back at her.  “I hope my choice pleases you as well as your father, your Grace,” he  teased quietly, while everyone in the hall held their breath.

Kazandra pursed her lips.  To anyone else, it would seem as though Derík were flirting with her lover. 

“I am pleased that you have brought to my father’s justice two who have evaded it for so long.  And I am pleased that nothing had to die in the process,” she added, throwing a glance back at her father.

Derík nodded.  “Thank you, High Princess.  Your words are the world to me, your pleasure my only desire.”

She gave him a wry smile.  It was the first time since the beginning of the challenges that they had spoken to each other, and dozens of nobles leaned in to hear every word.  “Then continue to do well in my father’s games, Lord Derík.  That may please me.”

Derík kissed her palm lightly.  He raised his eyes to hers, from where he knelt before her.  They were lover’s eyes, Kazandra thought.  An irrational jealousy was rising in her.  “I will not fail you, your Grace,” he promised.

“See that you don’t,” she said, and she turned back to her seat without another glance at anyone. 

Derík dared to turn his gaze on Kazandra, who smiled tightly.  Then he stood again.

“Now we will all recess.  Return at nightfall, all of you, for a dinner and music.”  Enré turned to Duc Grusso then.  “See that none of you indulge too greatly tonight, for I intend to reveal the next challenge with the morning sun.”

The large Duc lowered his eyes and slunk out of the great hall ahead of the rest of the crowd.

Derík looked about for Terrance, but saw no sign of him.  On his way back to his comfortable tent, where he expected a bath and a bed to await him, he thought of the day’s losses and gains.  He felt as though he had lost a brother when the horse had fallen.  But Terrance’s promise of a Burning satisfied his aching grief.  He loved that Terrance understood how important the beast had been to him.  Terrance always understood.  He began to wonder why Terrance was not there, at his side, but he shrugged, assuming that the gray man was slipping about somewhere, gathering information or planting suggestions, creating opportunities, or doing whatever it was that he did to ensure Derík came out of all this on top.

*****

“The Felsian put on a good show, Fredríck.  You should have been there.  Just threw open the hall doors and tossed the two of them right in front of Enré.  Then he sat there and acted all modest right up to the point where Antonia gave him her palm.  He was King for a minute then, I’ll tell you.”

Fredríck smiled absently at his Second Lieutenant.  The man had his feet up on Fredríck’s desk, and was grinning wildly.  “You’re enjoying all this, are you?”

“What’s not to enjoy?  All my arrogant cousins getting shown up by a Felsian, Yan getting ripped up by an irritated owlbear.  It was great.”

The First tried to frown at the man.  “Certainly you don’t wish that any harm would come to the Duc.”

The Second yawned.  “Nothing permanent, sir, certainly.”  He stretched his arms behind his head.  “You’ve made yourself quite scarce these past few days.  I saw that as soon as Cousin Rizen appeared to thaw his boots at our doorstep, you’ve been off inspecting the same troops you inspected just a fortnight ago.”

The First put down the map he was studying, but did not look at his Second.  “You know I like to be sure everything is running smoothly.  I often revisit the same garrison soon after I’ve found it lacking, to be sure it has been straightened out.”

“Surely.  But there’s not a thing wrong with Captain Timbron’s garrison, and you’re making the poor boy dreadfully nervous.  He’s near to biting his nails down to the second knuckle with all the extra attention you’re giving him the past few days.”

The First chose this moment to point out to his Second that he had no need to justify his actions to him.

The Second’s grin spread across his face.  He shrugged.  “All right.  So you’ve got some secret reason for making Tim sweat out at Talloh.  Something so secret you can’t share with me.  All right.  Maybe it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Arn’tiz is here.  A coincidence, I suppose.”

Fredríck sighed in irritation.  “Honestly, do you never stop talking?”

The other man burst into laughter. 

Fredríck allowed a small sheepish smile to cross his lips.  “It has not been so long ago, you know, that he attempted to become First Lieutenant.  I find it more politic to stay out of his sight.”

“Not worried about him, are you?  Freddy, your position is more than stable now.  Only the King himself can unseat you.”

“I know that.  But have you considered that he is the best choice among them?  As heir, do you think Rizen is above replacing me for spite?”

The Second frowned.  “Replacing you with who?”

The older man rolled his eyes.  “Who would be the most logical choice, Second Lieutenant?  Were I killed in battle, who would take my place?”

“You mean me.”

“Don’t be so dense.  Of course I mean you.  Rizen respects you more than he does me, at any rate, even if you weren’t of noble blood.”

The Second waved this last part away.  “Blood,” he snorted.  “Nobles and common-borns have the same sort of blood, and we all bleed the same way in combat.”

“Tell that to my Southern General.”

“I’d decline it, you know.”

“What?”  Fredríck whirled around to face him.

“If it were offered to me.  I’d turn it down.”

“But why?”

He shrugged.  “Don’t want it,” he drawled.  “I’m happy as I am.  Being Second to you is my life.  It’s my identity.  It’s who I am.  It is where I am best used.”

“What if I were to die?  You’d have to be First then.”

“Until Enré found another.  Then I’d gratefully move back down where I belong.”

It had never occurred to Fredríck that his Second Lieutenant did not have the ambition for his job.  Like Fredríck, the Second had worked himself up the ranks.  Fredríck himself had begun as a foot soldier, but the Second, because of the station of his birth, had begun as a cavalry officer.  Beyond their starting points, they had followed the same path.  Now it seemed as though both had reached their final destination.  “If Rizen married Antonia and became heir, he would decommission me within days.”

“Then he will have lost me too.  If you aren’t good enough for him, I’m too good for him.”

Fredríck laughed, somehow relieved by the man’s loyalty.  “I hope you don’t mean that, because it is a very real possibility.”

The Second gave a strange smile then.  “I don’t know.  You didn’t see the look on the Felsian’s face when he asked Enré’s permission to carry out the Blennings’ sentences.    The man got Enré’s attention today.”

He sat down finally, contemplating the words.  At last, he shook his head.  “No.  Enré would never have a Felsian on the throne.”

“He won some hearts today, Freddy.  Possibly even Antonia’s.”

The First gave the man a half-smile.  “I doubt it,” he answered, but refused to elaborate further.  “And if Pordos is King.  What then?”

The Second began to frown, something he did rarely but every time the King’s nephew was mentioned.  “He’s no longer even a candidate.  He refused to compete for what he calls his right.”

“And I think he will not leave it at that.  I believe he has other ideas about how to earn back his birthright.”

The Second stiffened, his eyes sharp and angry.  “Do we have evidence that he-”

Suddenly, Fredríck’s eyes were both weary and dangerous.  “He is Pordos,” he reminded his Lieutenant quietly.  “And that is all we need to know to suspect that he is up to something.”

*****

For Terrance, the most dangerous part of the game the two sets of lovers played was the realization that if it did not work, he would already be betrothed to Kazandra.  Competing to win Derík the throne, and thereby the chance to love him freely, all that was well and good until he calculated how much it would cost him to remove himself from the obligation to marry Kazandra if things did not work out.  If he was not motivated to do whatever it took to see Derík victorious before, he certainly was now.

As he glanced across the room at Liza deLunadoné’s sickening smile, he padded at his stomach potions to be sure they were still in his pouch.  He was likely to need them before the end of the night.

“I was not even aware that you knew my daughter,” Liza was saying brightly. 

Felíz was rolling his eyes.  He towered over his mother’s chair, gripping the back of it with a white knuckle clench.  While Terrance judged him quickly as not intelligent enough to pick out their scheme, his penetrating stare nonetheless made him nervous.  It was so obvious that he did not approve of Kazandra’s choice that his disgust was practically tangible.  It was not necessary to enter this man’s thoughts to determine how he felt about the Lord before him, and Terrance thought his own ego would be better off not listening in.

“I did not until recently.  I spent some time at the palace as a youth, learning from the men at arms.”

Again, Liza preened, and Felíz’s eyes rolled heavenward at his mother’s reaction. 

“While there, Lady Kazandra caught my eye,” he forced out.  Caught his eye?  Annoyed him and kept him from his books more accurately.  “Meeting her again as grown adults, I was struck by the beauty she had become.”  He wondered at how he had phrased that.  Had he just indicated that Kazandra was not beautiful as a girl?  He sighed.   Romantic language was not his forte.  When he spoke to Derík, it came from the heart, stumbling out of his throat and off his tongue.  Even awkward words came out right when there was such passion behind them.  This was entirely different.  Now, a man who had never in all his years felt the need or desire to impress any lady’s mother, was being forced through the gauntlet without any preparation.  Damn Kazandra for not warning him her mother was arriving!

“Yes, my Kazandra is the most beautiful of young ladies, aside of course from the High Princess herself.”

Felíz pressed his lips together a moment, then spoke up.  “I’m told you travel incessantly.”

Terrance looked at him.  Was travel a good thing or a bad thing?  “It is necessary for me to inspect my investments, yes,” he answered cautiously.  “I make it a policy to meet every trader and fellow investor personally, and that often takes me away from my home.  For example, I have a vineyard in Talloh that requires my attention several times a year.  I have heard, though, that the Lady deLunadoné has an excellent nose for fine wine, so perhaps I could ask her the favor of trying out a few bottles each season for me, to ensure their quality.”

Liza’s smile turned from coy to covetous.  The Venoré Vineyard in Talloh was infamous for its flavorful wines, and she could afford to indulge only once or twice a year with such a bottle.  Terrance could sell a few cases of bottled wine for about the same price as Derík could sell a gelding.  “Certainly, my Lord,” she cooed.  “If it would help.”

“I will send you the first bottle within the week,” he promised, biting his cheek against the loss of profit.

“Generous, my Lord,” Kazandra purred, amused at Terrance’s bribery.

He shot her a cold smile.  “Not at all,” he responded airily.  “The lovely Liza deLunadoné deserves only the best, as does her unmatchable daughter.  I simply hope that my humble bottles will be equal to her discriminating palate.”  He wondered briefly if it would hurt Derík’s chances if he were to strangle Kazandra the moment they were alone again.

Felíz was unimpressed.  “How am I to know that you will protect my sister?  I’m told you do not employ a personal guard.  Nor have you ever seen true battle yourself.”

Liza looked up, startled.  “Felíz!”

“A valid question, Lord Felíz,” Terrance said cooly.  “I am not the accomplished soldier that you are, and could never claim to be.  However, your research on me has provided you with inaccurate information, I think.  I do employ a personal guard.  It is one so fine that most never know they are with me.  They are Shadowmen.”

At this, even Felíz took in his breath.  “Shadowmen?” he repeated.

Liza shook her head.  “I don’t know what that means.”

Felíz never took his eyes off of his future brother-in-law.  “They are hired swords, Mother, who never make their presence known until the moment of their attack.  Guards who are the most silent of shadows until they are needed.  One would never know they exist until they are necessary for protection.  And they are the most expensive of guards, because they are the most effective.”

“Exactly,” Terrance confirmed.  “A man of my purse must always be protected, of course, but it is in the interest of my business to not be encumbered by clumsy hired thugs.  Shadowmen are the only breed of guard which serves my purpose.” 

To some degree, it was true.  The only times Terrance had ever hired a guard, he had done it through the Shadow Guild.  But in general, he had no need for them at all.  He only used these guards when going through the lands near the Academy, when he could not risk using any sorcery, lest he be discovered by the Mages.  Bandits worried him far less than the ominous threat of exposure.  He resented the expense of hiring swords when he was quite capable of taking care of himself, but he knew it was not worth the consequences of being named a Sorcerer.  At times, on the long trek through the lands near the Academy, it was even nice to be able to let down his own guard and rest well at night, allowing the Shadowmen to watch over him, his Shogan horse, and his property. 

It was Liza’s turn to look nervous.  “I hope your transactions are not so dangerous that you need such protection.”

He hurried to ease her fears.  “I would never expect your daughter to accompany me on such trips, my Lady.  While I will mourn the hours lost at her side, I would be easier knowing she was safe in my manor, surrounded by servants and guards.  Her own travels would be most heavily guarded, of course, should my Lady have need to travel at all.  I intend to give her everything she needs to be happy, and all the entertainment and guests she needs to be comfortable.  Should she want of anything, she need only ask.”

Liza’s worries were forgotten immediately.  “It seems a good match, I think, Felíz.  Your father would approve.”

Terrance sighed with relief, and Kaza, seeing, repressed a giggle.

Felíz remained uncertain.  “Perhaps we should await Father’s return-”

“Felíz,” Kazandra warned sharply.

He sighed.  “Fine.  Lord Terrance, I give my blessing in the stead of my father.  We will draw up papers.”

The man felt for his stomach potions, and wished there were some graceful way to administer them without calling attention to his queasiness.  “Excellent.”  At least contracts were a strength of his.  “I have no need for a lawyer.  I will do my part personally.”

Felíz looked surprised.  “As will I,” he stated defensively.  “We will retire for tea, and return in one hour.”

Terrance nodded, both grateful for the rest and irked that he could not get the contract over with.

Kazandra smiled sweetly at them all.  “I’d like to chat with my future husband, if I may,” she purred with just the appropriate amount of wickedness that made the desire to strangle her rise up again in Terrance.

“Of course, dear,” Liza cooed.  “Come along, Felíz.”

The brother stared at Terrance for one last moment, then followed his mother from the suite with a shake of his head.  He gave one final look of suspicion, not to Terrance but to his sister, then closed the door behind him.

Terrance grabbed at the nearest cup of wine, and tore into his pouch.  Without a word, he dropped the vial’s entire contents into the cup, and doused his throat with it.  His stomach continued to churn, so he washed it down with another cup of wine before turning to Kazandra who was watching him amusedly.  “I require more notice before I am to lie about your virtues,” he snapped finally.

Her eyes narrowed only very slightly.  “You did fine.  My mother would marry you herself if my father would not be so distraught.”

“If your father were smart, he would let her.  Your mother reminds me of my own.”

She chose to let the remark slide by.  She sat across from him at the small table.  “Shadowmen?  Truly?”

“Truly,” he responded irritably.  “Would any other be suitable for a man such as myself?  Do you know how many hands would enjoy reaching into my pocket?”

“Including my mother’s?” she giggled.

Terrance looked up at the unexpected humor.  His face softened.  “I’m sorry if I offended you,” he mumbled.

“How?  By taking advantage of my mother’s greed and taste for wine?  Not at all.  It shows me you are opportunistic, which is not a bad quality in a husband.”

His lip curled at the word.  “Husband,” he spat.  “I had vowed to myself I would never do this.”

“Marry?”

“Never.”

She watched him, and he felt more scrutinized than by her brother a moment ago.  “Why?”

He sucked on the wine cup nervously, and found his hands shaking.  “You know why.”

“Because women hold no interest for you.  But surely you knew you would one day have to.  Even I knew it would come for me one day.”

Terrance stared down at the wine which quaked in his cup.  “No.  I have no obligations to anyone but myself.  Or I did not, until Derík came along.”

“Do you resent it?  Are you changing your mind?”

“Of course not,” he snapped.  “It is only that I am breaking an oath I made as a child.”

“Never to marry.”

He swallowed a mouthful of wine, and poured another with a pale, trembling hand.  “Even had I been interested in women, I never would have chosen to marry.”

She stared at him.  “Why not?”

He shrugged awkwardly, wondering why he was telling her these things.  “Who would I marry?  Who would marry a man such as me?  I have just one good quality, and that is my money.  I would always know that the woman I married was tolerating me for my money, and it would make me resentful.”

“Derík is different?”

The ghost of a smile lit his gray face, and he nodded.  “I don’t know why.  He does not need my money.  Yet he remains.”

Kazandra gave him a small laugh, and took the bottle away from him.  “Then perhaps he sees something in you that you and I do not.”

Terrance looked up, startled at her candor.  For some reason, it was refreshing, and he laughed with her.  “Let us only hope,” he agreed.  “For I will be a damned unsatisfied husband should he change his mind about me once we are all married.”

She shrugged.  “I see no danger of you trying to satisfy yourself with me.”

He gave her a look that was part disgust and part amusement.  “No.  You can be sure of that.  And I am equally pleased that you have no interest in male companionship.”

The Lady grinned.  She leaned back in the chair and stretched.  “I do hope you are not intending to lock me away in your manor,” she commented.  “‘Should my lady have need to travel at all?’  Shall I be a prisoner in your tower?”

“I have no towers.  Only dark dungeons.  I will have one prepared for you.”

She watched him closely.  “It is difficult to tell if you are joking or not.”

He nodded, his expression quite serious.  “It is my face.  It being so uncooperative with my emotions makes it difficult for others to tell.”

She giggled.  “You know,” she said finally, “perhaps it will not be so dreadful being married to you after all.”

Terrance stood, slung his cloak over his arm, and gave her a smart bow.  “I assure you, my Lady,” he replied wickedly, “it will be.”

*****

Pordos entered the dark room, and skulked about moodily until his hand found what it was seeking.  He grabbed the whet stone from the desk, and turned back to the door to leave. 

At that moment, a candle flickered to life behind him. 

Startled, he whirled around, his dagger at his hand, to find his mother sitting on the chair by the cold fireplace.  The candle she held cast dark shadows around the room, and lit her face in a distorted, odd way that made Pordos catch his breath in his throat.

A moment was all it took to recover from his mother’s dramatics.  “Mother.  I did not see you.”

She said nothing in response.  She stared at the tiny flame in her hands.

Pordos swallowed.  “Excuse me, Mother,” he murmured.  He again turned to leave as his teeth gritted together.

“You are not dismissed,” Betucé called, as though she had summoned him in the first place.

His lip curled.  “I am not to be commanded by you.”

“Pordos, face me.”

“I am very busy.”  But he turned back to her anyway.

“With your girl toy, no doubt.  The two of you have become inseparable.  I don’t like her.”

“I do not need your approval of who I take to my bed.”

A flash of teeth appeared over the candle’s flame.  Pordos swallowed again.  She was laughing at him.  As always.  “But you haven’t, have you, darling?” she cooed in false sympathy.  “She hasn’t let you.”

His heart began to pound, as it always did when his mother humiliated him.  He could feel his palm sweating around the whet stone.  The other hand had put the dagger away, and he was starting to wish it had not.  “No woman refuses me.”

Betucé stood to her full height.  For a woman, she was tall and solidly built.  There were none of the feminine lines and curves that had been on Malona.  It was one of the reasons Betucé had hated her brother’s queen.  That, and the fact that she had hoped to influence Enré herself, before pretty Malona had come along.  “But she does, doesn’t she, pet?  I can tell by your face.  She turns you away.  It’s why you call for a servant girl every night after you’ve been with her.  She plays with you and leaves you, does she?”

Pordos’s nostrils flared, and he wiped his free hand on his hip to dry it.  “Perhaps I choose the servant because Lady Elsee is insufficient for my needs.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed.  “But perhaps a servant girl is all you can find.  Perhaps your only hope for pleasure is to rut with a peasant.  Perhaps that’s all you should be yourself.”

“Enough.  You will not speak to me this way.”  But his voice was weak.

“Your father has accepted your lowered status.  Perhaps you have as well.”

The Prince clenched his teeth.  “Father is an idiot.  You’ve said it more often than I.  I will be King one day, Mother.  I have not been lowered.”

“Enré sees you as unfit for his throne.  He has humiliated us before the whole nation.  You think to recover from that?”

“He never said that I was unfit-”

Betucé slammed the candle down to the desk.  It flickered wildly, sending him nightmarish images of her face glowering at him.  “He does not have to say it!  He is holding a tournament to see who would be more fit than his nephew!  Could it be more obvious to you?  And you refused to compete to prove that you are a better Prince than them all!”

Pordos threw his hands up angrily.  “Mother, you told me it would be seen as a sign of weakness to recognize the competition for my throne!”

Her hand shot out.  Before he had even seen it move, she had struck him across the face.  He stumbled backward two steps, and shook his head to clear it.  “It is not your throne,” she roared.  “After today, perhaps a Felsian ass will occupy it!  A Felsian horse thief has them all chanting his name.  And you do nothing!”

His eyes were dark with fury when he reached up to grab her by the throat.  As he pushed her back against the wall, he was satisfied to see the flicker of fear behind her glare.  He spoke very softly, forcing her to strain to hear him.  “Listen to me, Betucé,” he snarled.  “I have plans of my own.  I told you that I shall be King.  It is all you need to know.”

She watched his eyes for a moment, then real fear replaced her anger.  “You...you will not kill my little brother!” she choked against his restraining hand.

Pordos began to grin the terrifying, humorless grin he had inherited from her, and his teeth gnashed as he lowered them to his mother’s throat.  “I shall be King, Betucé,” he repeated.  He held her by the throat, unrelenting, as he dropped the whet stone to the floor.  Reaching down, he grabbed at her skirts, pulling them up.  He could feel her trembling.  “I get whatever I want,” he added in a whisper, before throwing her to the floor. 

For just a moment, he stared down at her.  She was too terrified to move.  He considered what Kenton deVenoré had said about breaking a woman.  He let her lie there, staring up at him with an open mouth, and enjoyed her fear.  But he was no Kenton.  After just a moment more of letting her wonder what he would do to her, he picked up his whet stone, and left the room.  He could hear his powerful princess mother break into sobs behind him, and smiled hollowly to himself.

“I get what I want, Betucé,” he murmured.  “Anything I want.”

*****

Kazandra kissed her neck, letting her fingers explore the beautiful white throat gently.  She gave the Princess a wicked smile, and kneeled before her.  She reached for Antonia’s skirts, and lifted them to reveal soft, sensual legs.  She could feel Antonia trembling, as she always did, and she helped her to the bed, laying her down softly.  Then she took a moment just to stare down at her.  The woman looked up at Kazandra with such trust and devotion in her eyes that it took Kaza’s breath away.  “So beautiful,” she whispered to her lover.  “I’ll give you anything.  Tonight, and always.  Anything, my love.  Whatever you want.”

Antonia reached for her, and she obeyed the summons by leaning down into the warmth of her body.  “You, dear heart.  I only want you.”

“Anything you want,” Kazandra swore.  “Anything.  I will somehow make it happen.”

MESSENGERS

Jayt Kameel splashed his throat with wine, then gripped the wooden cup mercilessly.  He gave his messenger a curt nod.  “Very well.  I suppose we have our answer.”

The Shadowman shrugged.  “Depends, your lordship, if you believe that Pordos is capable of what he threatens.”

Jayt’s eyebrow raised.  “You don’t?”

The man then did the most inelegant, ungraceful thing he had ever seen a Shadowman do.  He snorted.  “A killer?  Definitely.  An assassin?  Not likely.  He lacks any talent for it, your lordship.”

The Lord of Farley Rock took a step back and leaned against the wall thoughtfully.  It had never escaped the shrewd man that the Shadowmen who used Farley as their guild’s home had never referred to him as “my Lord.”  Always “your lordship.”  The Shadowmen bowed to no one.  Much like Jayt himself, so he took no offense.  The Shadowmen paid no taxes.  There was little point in asking them to.  How would one find them at collection time?  They paid no tribute at all to “his lordship.”  But out of some sort of thieves’ honor, they did favors for him now and then, such as sending two of their number out to trail Prince Pordos.  Jayt suspected that the little favors done for him were fulfilled by the most inexperienced among the Shadowmen, who needed training.  It mattered little to him.  A Shadowman in training was far better than any other man he could have sent.  The only Shadowman he had ever spoken to was the man before him now, who went only by his alias, which in the old language meant Whisper.  This was the current spokesman for the guild. 

“Talent for assassination, friend Whisper?  Morbid at best.”

“That it is.  Nasty line of work,” he added with a grin. 

Jayt rolled his eyes.  “Might I need to increase my tribute of wine and black thread to the guild to keep you from taking a job that might remove me from this world?”

Whisper smiled thoughtfully.  “Of course not, your lordship.  But any gifts are greatly appreciated.”

The Duc sighed heavily, and made a mental note to pacify the guild.  It was a small price to pay to know that they were busy elsewhere and not sneaking into his bedchambers at night.  “Have you taken any jobs for Venoré lately?”

Whisper clucked his tongue.  “Your lordship knows we never kiss and tell.”

Jayt shrugged.  He liked to keep abreast of what Terrance deVenoré did.  Wherever that man went, money followed, no doubt.  If Terrance thought it was the right time to be looking at cattle in the plains, it likely was.  If he thought it better to be investing in barrels of ale, who was Jayt to argue?  Terrance was the last one to make an enormous profit from a shipment of Belesian stone just before the war.  It was as though the man knew exactly when to buy and when to get out.  Others had stayed in the trade too long, and war had cut off the ports and their investments.  It was when the man had invested in Felsian silk that Jayt had noticed him.  Terrance had traveled through Farley on his way to the Felsi territory, and had made the obligatory visit to Jayt’s keep.  He had watched the nobleman with little interest until he noticed him chatting with the servants.  Jayt himself had an amiable relationship with most of those who worked for him, so he spoke to his Steward afterward about what had been said.

“He simply wanted to know about life at the keep, my Lord,” the Steward had reported with a shrug.  “Asked about everything from our favorite foods to what grows best around the rock.  Talked about our goats, asked how we care for them.  He never settled on one topic, my Lord.”

“Interesting,” he said softly.

“Aye.  Most interesting, my Lord?”

“Yes?”

“He learned all of our names.”

Jayt’s eyebrows raised.  “In one night?”

“Aye, sir.  Down to the boy who carried the chamber pots.  And I do believe he’d remember them if he ever came back.”

Jayt tucked this information away to analyze later.  “Hm.  Strange.  Odd-looking man too, isn’t he?”

“Quite,” the Steward said with a smile.

“If ever he does come back, you’re to assign someone to watch him and keep a log of his activities and his conversations.  Discreetly, of course.”

“Of course.”

Now, looking at Whisper’s arrogant grin, he could tell that the man had been nearby recently, acquiring the services of the guild, without Jayt’s knowledge.  How did a man like Terrance deVenoré move about without anyone knowing it?  Most of the kingdom’s economy rested on his shoulders.  One would think others would be watching him.

“No matter,” he snapped at Whisper now.  “Tell your friends to keep an eye on Pordos, but to spare one for his mother as well.  Betucé is sly enough.  We will watch her too.”

“My men will split to watch them both.”

“Good.  But have a care.  I do not wish to pay the guild for dead Shadowmen.” 

It was in every contract that if a Shadowman died while on a job, a sum would be paid to the guild for the loss of him.  Whisper smiled.  “It is rare we have to collect, your lordship.”  He began to back away, and Jayt knew this to mean that their conversation was nearly over.

“Thank you for your help.  I don’t know how your men manage to slip around in the most guarded of estates.  You likely have men crawling all over my own keep.”

For once, Whisper became serious.  “With you, your lordship, it is unnecessary.  You are watched, certainly.  But unlike other noblemen, you rule as fairly as you can, and you do not create enemies.  No one approaches us to cause trouble for you.”

Jayt was surprised by his candor.  “Truly?”

“Yes, your lordship.”  Then it was past, and the man began to grin again.  “You’ll have to become far more interesting for the guild to get involved.”

The Duc smiled too.  “I’ll remember that.  Split the pair between Pordos and Betucé.  Keep me up to date.  But do not approach them, except to save the life of the King or Princess.”

“Aye,” the man murmured, backing away.  “Aye.”  Then he was on his horse and away, faster than the Duc could speak again.

Jayt sighed, and returned to his keep’s gate.  The guards opened the massive doors, watching him.  He knew they wondered at the conversations he had with dark men outside the keep walls.  But they trusted him implicitly.  They knew that his only purpose in living was to protect them all. 

Once he was back in his cold keep, he sat in his library and took out paper and ink.  He scrawled two letters quickly, and called for a messenger.  A strong boy of perhaps sixteen was sent to him.  He looked at the boy for a moment without speaking.  A young man almost.  What would become of him and his family if Pordos was made King?  War would ravage through Farley once again.  This boy would be done carrying messages, and would be forced to carry a sword.  He would have been too young for the last war.  Still too young for this one, Jayt decided sadly.  Always too young.  “Cawl, how did you spend the war with Bela?”

Cawl blinked twice.  “Sir?”

“What did you do?  When we were at war?”

“I ran arrows, my Lord.  For your archers.”

Jayt nodded, and handed him the two scrolls, stamped with his seal.  “Let us hope that is as close as you ever need to come to real war.  Take this one to the capitol, to the office of the First Lieutenant.  Tell them you are there for Jayt Kameel, and they will let you see him personally.  If he is unavailable, you give it to the Second, but no one else.  Yes?”

“Aye, sir.”

“The other is to go to Talloh.  You know where.”

“Aye, sir.”

Jayt nodded.  “Leave tonight, take just one guard, and have a care for yourself.”

“Aye, sir.”

*****

The heralds came at dawn, as promised, sending every available hand reaching for a law book.  Terrance could hear the grunting in the tent of Duc Marlin.  After he ordered Hoddep to acquire, through means of money or threats, every legal book, scroll or scribe he could lay his hands on, he took a walk to the Fish’s tent to investigate.  He had no desire to dip into the minds of the tent’s inhabitants, until he heard the chaotic sounds emitting from it.  Confused, he slipped his magic into the mind of one of the servants.  Since his experience with Derík during the hunt, he had practiced seeing through another’s eyes twice more, and found it to be quite helpful, if disorienting.  He found the young Mouse who had won his dice game days before, and peered out of her little brown eyes. 

The household was in a frenzy.  The Steward looked terrified, and the other servants scurried around busily.  Someone was bellowing nearby, and Terrance thought at first that it was the Duc, but it quickly became clear that it was not.  The Duc himself was in a miserable state, atop a chamberpot, groaning horribly into a second one on his lap.  He felt the Mouse snicker quietly, and he wondered what was going on.  Mouse brought her emotions under control as she approached the cook.  It was he who was bellowing. 

“How could this happen?  I use the freshest of herbs, the choicest of meats!  Conspiracy, my Lord!” he shouted.  “It must be!  Duc Trindd himself must have poisoned your foods!  Let me kill him, my Lord!  Give me leave to take my butchering knife to his throat for what he has done to our beloved Duc!”

Mouse smiled again, and had to turn away.  Terrance felt her emotions, but did not read her thoughts.  He did not need to.  It was obvious what was going on here, and it tickled him as much as it did pretty little Mouse.  Terrance might have done away with all of the rodents in the area, but there were a few rats of his own making still in the tent.  The cook and little Mouse had given their own Duc food poisoning! 

Terrance resisted the temptation to watch the chaos in the household.  He removed himself from the scene, and whistled quietly on his way back to Derík’s tent.  The Felsian was slipping calmly into a pair of trousers when he pulled the curtain back to their private room.  He stopped dressing when he saw his lover’s face.  “What makes you so satisfied with yourself?”

The gray man could not help but smile.  “It seems the Fish is under the weather this morning,” he reported.

Derík eyed him closely.  “Kazandra again?”

“No.  No, I don’t think so.  I feel certain we are in no way directly responsible for his misery.”

Derík raised an eyebrow and smirked.  “Directly responsible.  Which means one of us is indirectly responsible.  Allow me to guess who.”

Terrance blinked innocently.  “How might I have managed to give Duc Marlin food poisoning?  It sounds like something Trindd might have done, don’t you think?”  His smile broadened.  “Or...perhaps his own cook?”

The Felsian sat down on the bed hard.  “How?” he laughed quietly.  “How do you do it?  How do you convince another man’s servants to poison him?”

His lover shrugged and lowered himself to the ground to place Derík’s boots on his feet.  “I assure you, that is a far cruder punishment than I would have thought of.  I simply became friends with them.  They devised all plans themselves.  A nice job of it they did too.  I’m no physician, but I suspect he will remain in his tent most of the day, and perhaps into tomorrow.  I don’t envy any of them the ordeal.”

“King Enré will be suspicious with so many falling out.”

“Suspicious of whom?  Grusso did it to himself, with overindulgence.  Yan attacked a baby owlbear, for gods’ sake.  Who might have seen that coming?”

All of the sudden, Derík’s eyes widened.  “You didn’t!”

Terrance shrugged.  “A mere suggestion that what he was looking at might in fact be the most dangerous of creatures.  It was his own mind that agreed and attacked the poor little thing.  I hardly needed to help him with that.”

“He might have been killed!”

“And I was the one who prevented that too.  Did no one mention that the mother and baby owlbear suddenly ran deeper into the forest after mauling poor Yan?  Why would they do that?”

Derík sighed.  “You frightened them, I assume?”

“I let them believe he was dead, and they took the opportunity to run.  Influencing an animal is not as easy as it sounds.”

“I don’t like it, Ter!  It isn’t right!”

Terrance stood.  “What isn’t?  Letting each challenger be seen for what he is?  Grusso is a self-indulgent pig.  Kaza let the world see that.  Yan is a coward.  And Marlin is a disgusting-”

“All right, Ter.  All right.  But don’t hurt any of them!”

“I won’t do anything to them that the King’s physician cannot heal,” he promised wickedly.

Derík shook his head.  “I don’t like it.  Am I not already the right choice?  Must we sabotage each of the others?”

An odd look came over the gray man’s face then.  Pain seared his eyes.  “Do you think the others have not tried it with you?”

Derík stood then too.  Terrance tried to not look at his powerful bare chest, or beautiful gold mane.  He stared into the man’s eyes only.  “What do you mean?  Has someone made an attempt to stop me?”

“Stop you?  My Love, do you think they have not tried to kill you?”

The horseman staggered slightly.  “Who?” he rasped.

Terrance’s eyes flashed with anger.  “Pious Marlin for one.  He has sent two would-be assassins this way, both of which have inexplicably become confused and disoriented, and lost their way.  Trindd’s men have come to that same fate.  Yan had tried to poison your horse before the hunt.”

“My horse!  You caught that man too?”

Terrance shook his head sadly.  “No.  I’m sorry, my Love.  I missed that one, while trying to find out more about what we were hunting.  It was one of my men who caught him.”

“One of your men?  One of the messengers?”

“No,” he murmured.  “I brought only my messengers from my own residence.  But I hired others to be watching.”

“Who?”

“Shadowmen.  One saw Yan’s man slip something into your horse’s grain, and he emptied it to the ground a few meters away from where your horse was tied.”

“That’s why I found the feed bag empty.  I accused Hoddep of having forgotten to feed him.  I must remember to apologize.  But my horse?  Why not try to poison me?”

Terrance sighed deeply.  “I told you.  Yan is a coward.”

Derík’s eyes closed painfully.  “Fine.  Do what you must.  But cause no permanent damage, Ter.”

The gray man smiled.  “As you wish, my Love.”

Derík sighed, and started back to dressing.  He was quiet for a moment. 

Terrance watched him.  “Are you anxious about today’s challenge?”

Derík frowned down at his shirt laces.  The new style suited him much better than the old tunics of years ago, but he missed the ease of them, Terrance knew.  When they had met, these shirts of laces and ruffles had just come into fashion.  Terrance had never seen it so elegantly worn as by Derík Shogan.  He approached him now to lace the shirt at the chest for him.  “No.  Yes?  Yes, but not because I should be.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

The horseman sighed.  He allowed Terrance to tie his cuffs.  “I am worried....”  He  was resisting the urge to move his hands as he talked, as he was accustomed to doing, so Terrance could complete the chore.  It was a Felsian habit, one his father had never lost either.  On the few occasions in which Terrance had seen the father and son together, he had found himself watching the two of them converse with gestures more than with words, especially when agitated.  “I am worried that my justice will not be accepted by Enré, and that in order to win this charade, I will be forced to swallow down what I know is not right.  I don’t think I could do it, Ter.”

Terrance finished tying the second cuff, and moved to straighten Derík’s belt over the shirt.  The shirt was a perfect snow white, and the belt was black, with a slim gold buckle.  The britches were black, as were the clean leather riding boots, which nearly reached Derík’s knees.  Terrance stood behind him now, raking his hair with his fingers, and tying it back neatly with a deep blue strap. 

“Are you certain I shan’t go in a doublet today?” Derík murmured absently.

“No, my Love.  Not today.  The others will be trying to look as kingly as possible, in robes and such.  Trindd will all but crown himself for this trial.  For you to stand out, you are to look humble, but elegant and comfortable.  Let the others sweat.”

“Do you see what I’m telling you, Terrance?” he asked, as though they had never spoken about clothing.  “I cannot pretend someone is guilty because the King wants me to.  I cannot pronounce something in someone’s favor when it isn’t.”

Terrance sighed, and ceased in his fussing over Derík’s appearance.  “Derík, stop.  Enré will be looking for your insight, your ability to judge fairly.  This is what makes you the best choice, my Love, more than any other virtue.  You were born to be a judge.  You would have been a lawyer if you had been in need of a profession.  You see the right of things, no matter how clouded other men’s judgement becomes.  This trial frightens the others because they fear they will judge poorly.  It frightens you because you fear you will judge justly.  Do what you feel is right, as you always do, and your heart will guide you correctly.”

“And if it doesn’t, you likely will,” Derík murmured.  But he was smiling.

“Yes, my Love.  I will.  Now put on your rapier, and let’s go be courtly.”

“A doublet tonight, you think?”

“Yes, Derík.  A doublet tonight.”

“My blue one.”

“Yes,” Terrance said, smiling fondly.  “The blue one.”

*****

As the men filed into the room somberly, Antonia nodded her approval of Derík’s modest garments.  While the horseman was dressed stylishly and simply, the others seemed determined to compete with each other in gaudiness.  Trindd, in his usual black and green, was dripping with jewels from head to toe.  He was in a black velvet robe, trimmed with gold thread, with green piping down the sleeves, where Antonia felt sure he hid a dagger or two.  He wore a green and gold necklet that covered most of his chest.  Young Pelham was busy attempting to look older than he was, with a doublet that somehow, at the same time, looked perfectly tailored to him and entirely too big.  He wore his hair loose at his neck, which Antonia guessed he thought made him look distinguished, but which really made him look like a child playing at soldiers.  Duc Grusso was wearing a chain shirt over his tunic, and looked far more as though he thought he would do battle today than judge a dispute.  He wore several heavy jeweled chains around his neck, which did more to show off his bulk than his good judgement. 

Then Antonia watched as Rizen entered after Derík.  The man looked every bit the judge.  He wore a simple long robe, with his symbol of Basot on the chest.  He took his seat gracefully, and sat with such confidence that Antonia thought even Derík Shogan looked awkward in comparison. 

Duc Marlin, it seemed, would be unavailable for today’s trial.  Enré had been livid.  She wondered if her father would allow him to continue after today.  Considering Yan’s accident, and the Duc’s inexplicable absence, the field of challengers was dwindling.  She did not mind at all.  Derík was still strong, and her father was taking more notice of him since the hunt. 

Still, she found herself continuously imagining a life as Rizen’s wife.  In spite of Kazandra’s hopes and best efforts, Rizen still was the most likely heir.  Far preferable to Pordos, Antonia reminded herself, as she had done many times before.  If only the man ever smiled!  He was a strong warrior, a good leader, and from what she had heard, he ruled fairly, if coldly, in the South.  As a king, perhaps he would be a good ruler.  But a husband? 

She remembered the strained few months as Rizen had challenged Fredríck Insha’s right to the position of First Lieutenant.  His common birth had bothered quite a few of the other military leaders, and many of the bannermen besides.  When Enré had chosen him, it had shocked nearly everyone.  Not that anyone could deny that Fredríck was qualified as a military man.  Only that he was not a nobleman.  General Rizen had been expected to take the position when it became available due to the retirement of the last First Lieutenant.  The current Second also seemed to have been an obvious choice to many, as he was a General himself in the Southeast.  Antonia had been young at the time, and had asked Eron to explain the hierarchy to her. 

“Vondalar and I are Father’s Lieutenants.  We answer only to him.  Vondalar is retiring as First Lieutenant.”

“Then why aren’t you-”

“Because I’m not ready for that.  Besides, I am one day to be king.  It isn’t right for me.  Should Father die suddenly, it would not do for the nation to be left without a First during the transition.  You asked about who controlled what.  Just below the King’s Lieutenants are the Generals of their various regions.”

“Ever says that in other places, like Bela, Generals outrank Lieutenants.”

Eron shrugged.  “We are the King’s Lieutenants, Nia.  It isn’t the same thing.  We answer only to Father.  The military hierarchy begins below us.  We are above the hierarchy.”

“Will Ever be a Lieutenant one day?”

“Ever is a Captain,” Eron sneered, “and lucky to be that.  When I am King one day, I don’t think I want to entrust my safety and my family’s to Lieutenant Ever.”

Antonia bristled.  “Ever is just as loyal and good at fighting as you are!”

Her elder brother smiled down at her fondly.  “Nia, it takes more than that.  Ever is a good captain.  He is.  But his heart isn’t in it, Nia.  It isn’t what he wants to do.”

“What does he want to do?”

Eron shrugged.  “Who knows?  Did I answer all your questions about the military order?”

“Is every bannerman or every Duc a General?”

“Hardly.  We would never be safe like that!  No.  There are eight directions on the map, and eight generals, plus one for the central region.”

“Nine generals?  And they answer to you and Vondalar?”

“Yes.  Then there are Captains beneath the generals.  The generals, some of them, are also Ducs, like Duc Rizen and Jayt Kameel.  In peacetime, you can use either title, but in wartime, you call them general.”

“I see.”

“Unlike the generals, the captains are only military men.  They usually don’t have land.  Second sons of the high families, usually.  They live off the Generals, and keep their region safe and the armies practiced in case we need them.”

“They are the ones you inspect all the time.”

“I don’t.  But Vondalar does.  The Second, Antonia, is to keep the capitol safe, no matter what.  It is the job of the Second Lieutenant, me, to protect the King and the royal family, and the palace and capitol city.  I also assist Vondalar with training new captains that the Generals send us.”

“So if Vondalar is retiring, who will be First?”

Eron shrugged again.  “There are several good choices.  I know General Rizen wants it.  But our Southeastern General shows great potential as well.  And there is a captain from the North who I have encouraged Father to meet.  He has been far more than a captain to us.  He is the most brilliant of military leaders.  His men love him.”

“Can a captain be made a First Lieutenant?  Does he not first have to be a General?”

“No.  Father may choose anyone.  He is King, you know.”

And when young Captain Fredríck Insha was promoted above General Rizen, with the Southeastern General destined to become the Second after the loss of Eron years later, the Southern Lord came storming to the capital.  It had taken months for Enré to ease the man’s ruffled feathers.  Antonia silently wondered if Rizen did not consider being Prince, and one day King, to be consolation to his primary wish of being First Lieutenant.  It was almost as though he would have preferred the position of military leader, and was vying for the title of King only because he could not have his first choice.  She hoped Fredríck understood that his days were numbered in his current role.  If Rizen became Prince, as seemed most likely, he would surely replace the baseborn Lieutenant with a nobleman such as the Second.  A shame, she thought.  She liked Fredríck, and the Second seemed perfectly content where he was, protecting the capitol and training captains. 

In any case, she had plans for Fredríck anyway.  He had given her no updates on his investigations into the curious deaths that had befallen her family members, and she was becoming impatient for answers.  But she knew Fredríck, and if there was anyone who would be able to discover what was going on, it was he.  Rizen or not, she intended for Fredríck to remain just where he was.  She imagined that it would be the first of many arguments between husband and wife.  Not that Rizen seemed to be the type to allow her to speak her mind.

Antonia sighed.

When Enré arrived, he was flanked by the Second and Jepón, who looked perpetually irritated at being kept from his duties.  From the corner of her eye, she could see Keeda, the large tiger, stalking the Steward.  A flick of his wrist sent her to sit quietly at the exit.  Jepón did not even need to look down to know that the beast was following him, let alone that she had gotten his command and obeyed it.  The eyes of the many judges, including her father’s, followed the tigress as she hid herself in the shadows and fixed her gaze on Jepón. 

The Second cleared his throat.  “His Majesty the King of Tridencia and Felsi will open his court to bestow his wisdom upon those in need of justice.  Captain Bartolemeo, what is the first judgement to be on?”

“Lieutenant, sir,” the Captain barked back from his position by the door.  “The first on His Majesty’s docket is a man charged with killing a woman.  Jamison Arn’ron, aged twenty-four winters, son of Jamison Arn’ron and grandson of Tyrone Arn’ron.”

The Second glanced at the King, who nodded.  “Bring forth Jamison Arn’ron, son of Jamison.”

Rizen sneered.  Everyone glanced at the Southern Lord nervously.  Arn’ron was the name of a longtime rival family to the Family d’Arn’tiz.  It was assumed that they had at one time been of the same family, but there was no love lost between them now.  It would be interesting to see if Rizen could maintain his objectivity when faced with an Arn’ron.  It occurred to Antonia, as she glanced at the Second, who did not bother to contain his amusement, that this trial may have been chosen just for Rizen.

The man was brought in, bound at the wrists, and he glanced around him fearfully.  On one side of him sat rows of spectators on benches, all glowering evenly or staring curiously at him.  On the other side were five men sitting on the edges of their chairs, looking at him as though they could see straight to his soul.  At the end of the walk sat the King and his daughter, his Steward and the Second Lieutenant.  Behind him were guards and the Captain who had called for him.  The man had likely never seen anyone in the room before, except perhaps the Captain and his guards who patrolled the city.  But his eyes settled on one of the judges, and they widened.  From his lips flew a startled prayer.  “Help me, Basot!” he hissed desperately.

Rizen’s snarl curled his lip almost until his teeth were showing.  “You dare blaspheme before the King of Tridencia!” he rumbled.

Enré watched this passively. 

Antonia saw the young man stare at Rizen.  “You...you are d’Arn’tiz!” he cried.  Antonia could hear the Southern accent in the man’s trembling voice.

“I am,” Rizen replied with his signature coldness. 

The prisoner spent one last moment staring at the Duc, then flew to Enré’s feet, sliding on his knees.  “Your Majesty!  Mercy!”

“Captain,” the Second growled in warning, all mirth gone from his face.  “Remove him from the King’s person.”

Bartolemeo rushed forward with one of his guards, to drag the prostrated man back from the King and Princess, yanking him to his feet.

The Second took two long strides to put his face directly in front of the prisoner’s.  “Let me be clear.  If you come within five paces of His Majesty’s person, I will kill you with no further warning.”

The man was shaking violently.  “Aye!  Aye, I’m so sorry.  Please, Your Majesty!”

Enré spoke up then.  “You will get your chance to speak, Arn’ron.  These men act as my advisors today, but your fate is in my hands alone.  The Captain of the capitol guard claims that you have killed a woman.  I will hear evidence, then I will hear your story, and then I will consult my advisors.  I will give my verdict, and if you are found guilty, I will pronounce my sentence.”

“Aye, Your Majesty.  I understand,” the man cried pitifully, glancing at Rizen. 

Antonia watched the proceedings.  Everything seemed to pass slowly, and by the time the evidence against the man had been presented, and he had given his own testimony, she was exhausted.  When the men went behind closed doors to discuss the case, she turned to Kaza.  “Let us walk, my Love,” she whispered. 

Kazandra nodded quickly, and jumped from her seat.  “The courtyard,” she murmured back.  They walked in silence, until they had reached the vine garden.  Others were there, taking a recess from the trial, but they moved to a quiet area by the pond and kept their voices low.  “Are you all right, Toni?”

“Yes.  Just weary.  I haven’t slept.  And now there is something about this trial...something about the crime that doesn’t make sense.”

“Why?”

The Princess shrugged her shoulders with a sigh.  “I can’t think to tell you.”

Kazandra lifted her hand to the woman’s hair, brushing it from her face lovingly.  “I spoke to Elsee today,” she said absently, barely even listening to herself.

“Did you?  Has she deemed herself Pordos’s Lady-in-Waiting or mine?” Antonia snapped suddenly.

Kaza frowned at her.  “What do you mean?”

“Since my mother has died, she has been nowhere to be found.  I have been told that she spends most nights at Betucé’s estate.  With him.”

“Surely not.  She can’t think to marry him.  She must be out of her mind.”

Antonia irritably waved her hand.  “She can have him.  It would be my pleasure to see the two of them together.”

“You don’t trust her.”

“I never have.  You know that.”

Kaza shook her head.  “But I thought you had changed your mind.  She was loyal to your mother until the very last.”

“Perhaps.  But there is something about her I do not trust.”

“You never told me this.”

Antonia sighed, and looked down at the pond.  There was a small frog swimming in it, and she wished she could play with it.  In her childhood, she had befriended every animal in the vicinity.  What wouldn’t she give to be a child again, to have no care past catching frogs or turtles and teasing Kazandra with them?

“You can turn her out.  Elsee, I mean.  If you don’t want her.”

“Of course I can.  But it is better to keep eyes on her.  Anyway, it doesn’t matter.  She’s rarely around, since my mother passed.  It just gives you and me more time alone in any case.  I suppose you think I’m being suspicious.”

Kazandra shrugged, and followed Antonia’s gaze.  Finding the frog, she grimaced.  “You used to catch those things.”

Antonia smiled at her.  Kaza always seemed to read her mind.  “I did.  It was the only thing that you could not stand!”

“And the only unladylike thing you ever did in your life!” the petite woman shot back.  “Toni, I wanted to say something.”

“Yes, my Love.”

“If...things don’t work out the way we want...perhaps we could....You know, if Pordos does become heir after all.  We could simply retire in a cottage somewhere.”

“Yes.  We could.  Do you think I haven’t considered that?  It would not be what is best for our people, Kaza.  But if it proves to be beyond our control, and we end up in a cottage, we shall never want for anything as long as we have each other.  And I promise you I will be happy.”

Kaza stared at her.  “Truly?  You would be?”

“As long as Pordos doesn’t send us all to an unnecessary war.”

“You know he will, the moment he can.”

Antonia sighed.  “Then let us do what we can to prevent it now.”

*****

In the less tranquil conference room where Enré met with his judges, tempers were flaring.  Each candidate was attempting to make himself heard over the others, to impress Enré with his wisdom. 

“A murderer must be hanged, Your Majesty!” Trindd was protesting.  “The sooner the better!  It is my practice to be swift in this matter.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Cousin.  This man is a threat to the people.  But an example must be made.  Hanging is all well and good, but I find in my region that beheadings are far more effective deterrents for this type of filth.  Arn’rons are little better than wolves, Cousin.  They pick apart whatever gets near them, even each other.”  It was Rizen’s calm, disapproving voice booming out now.

The boy was less sure, as always.  “I would like to hear the testimonies again, Your Majesty.  One can never be too careful when life is on the line.”

Grusso laughed at Pelham, who tried not to blush.  “Cousin, really.  Have you need to hear the inadequate evidence again, or the whining excuses of the accused?”

Enré listened to each in turn.  He allowed them to argue amongst themselves, and noted that only Derík Shogan remained quiet.  He saw the man shaking his head, and shared a look of interest with the Second.  “Shogan.  Has Felsi nothing to say in this matter?”

The horseman shrugged.  “I do not speak for Felsi, sir.  But I agree with young Pelham.”

The youth looked up, shocked.  “You do?”

Derík smiled kindly.  “I do.  I believe there was a piece of evidence we missed.”

Grusso snorted.  “The captain gave us everything he had.  A weak bit of evidence, it sounded like to me.  Though Rizen and Trindd are ready to hang the poor scoundrel for it.”

“What have we missed?” Pelham asked quietly.

Derík shrugged again.  “What do we know?” he asked the boy, in a way a tutor would.

Pelham thought for a moment.  “The crime took place at night.”

“What type of night?”

“A dark one?”

Trindd rolled his eyes.  “Of course a dark one, child.  It was raining.  What are you getting at, Felsian?”

“Just trying to gather all of our facts.  It was at night, and it was raining.  And dark,” he added for Pelham’s sake.  “And where did it take place?”

“Arn’ron’s home,” Rizen growled.

“Yes, but where?”

“At the entrance to his door.”

“Yes.  And had the woman been inside the house?”

Grusso laughed heartily.  “One would think she had spent the night there!”

“But she didn’t.”

Rizen frowned.  “How do you know?”

“Why would she leave in the middle of the night, in the pouring rain?”  Derík shook his head.  “No, I rather think she was on her way in than out.”

“Does it matter?”

“It may.  It makes me wonder what she was doing there to begin with.”

Grusso glanced from Derík to Enré and back.  “And I suppose you know.”

“No.  But maybe the Captain could tell us if this woman was a working girl.”

Pelham frowned with confusion.  “A what?”

Grusso slapped the boy on the back roughly.  Pelham glowered at him.  “A whore, boy.”

Rizen’s eyebrow raised.  “Indeed.  Are you suggesting that the guard should not be bothering with crimes against whores?”

“Not at all.  Who are the guards there to protect if not the most vulnerable of citizens?  No, I am suggesting that Arn’ron really did not know the woman.”

“So?”

“He said that he was awoken by a knock on the door.  By the time he reached the door, the guards had been alerted to the commotion by a stranger who did not give his name.  Arn’ron found the woman’s body just as the guards were racing across the street to his house.”

“So he says,” Rizen reminded them.

“So he says,” Derík agreed. 

“We know all that, Shogan.  What piece of evidence are we missing?”

Derík glanced at Enré.  “I’d like to know who alerted the guards to what was going on at Arn’ron’s home.  If he had killed her, why dump her right outside his home for the guards to find her?”

“Arn’rons are not known for their high intelligence,” Rizen scoffed quietly.  But even he looked less convinced than before.

“A dark stranger comes up to a guard and says, ‘There is someone there who needs your help.’  Then he disappears.  Sounds odd to me.  But that’s what the guard said.”

“Like I say,” Grusso bellowed.  “Loose evidence and unlikely facts!  The man didn’t do it.”

Derík shrugged.  “I don’t think so either.  But I think he does know who did.”

Finally, Enré spoke up.  “If he knew, why wouldn’t he say something?  To save his own skin?”

The Felsian frowned deeply in response.  “Arn’ron does not want to hang.  That much is obvious.  But if you look in his eyes, you see that isn’t all that frightens him.  He is afraid of something worse than hanging.  If we find out what that is, we find out who killed this woman and left her at Arn’ron’s door, framing him for a crime he did not commit.”

“What do you suggest?”

“What does Arn’ron do?  No one mentioned an occupation.”

“He was a servant at Princess Betucé’s estate for a time.  Since then, I don’t know,” the Second mused.  “He said he delivered messages.  Said that since he cannot read, people trust him with their messages.  Odd thing is that he seemed able to read the paper accusing him of murder.”

Derík smiled.  “An illiterate messenger who can read.  Inconvenient for someone trying to hide correspondence.  Someone hires an illiterate messenger when they are trying to keep something from becoming known.  What did the man learn?  And who knows that he learned it?  That is your dark stranger who spoke to the guards.”

Enré’s eyes were stormy.  He frowned at the Second.  “Pordos,” he murmured.  “And Venoré.  Go find out where they both were that night.”

The Second took a bow, and hurried from the room.

The others were silent, as Derík sat back in his chair quietly.  “Of course,” he added breezily, “I could be very wrong.  Perhaps dear Rizen was right, and we simply should hang the man for being born into the wrong family.  Or for Trindd’s sake, hang him for appearing suspicious.  Or in Grusso’s case, we should simply let him run free without questioning him.” 

Enré smiled to himself as the room erupted again.  Shogan had nothing more to say.  He had made his point about each of the other judges, including Pelham, who he declined to even mention.  Rizen was prejudiced, Trindd was paranoid, Grusso was careless, and Pelham was a child in a man’s discussion.  Enré glanced at each of them in turn. 

Amazing that this Felsian came out on top after every challenge.  A man he never would have let compete without urging from Kazandra seemed more and more to be the best choice.  In a way, Enré was choosing an apprentice, just as a glassmaker would.  He needed someone who could still be taught.  Pelham was the right age for an heir, certainly.  He would still be able to teach him a great deal, and Enré had secretly hoped the boy might prove himself a man.  But the youth had been sheltered for too long, and he remained completely naive about the ways of the world.  With enemies inside and out, this was not the time for innocence. 

Trindd even looked like he might handle himself for a while.  If there was anyone who could take care of Pordos, it would be him, although Enré was unsure how he felt about Trindd’s method of dispatching of his enemies being used on his sister’s son.  But when it came to the protection of his own daughter, he felt certain Trindd would sleep with guards posted at every inch of the palace.  The Second would have his hands full convincing Trindd that the place was safe enough.  That suited Enré fine.  With men like Kenton deVenoré out there awaiting the opportunity to put a dagger in his own heart, he would like to believe that his daughter would be safe from the same fate. 

For that matter, Grusso was a notorious warrior.  He also had a sense of humor, something badly lacking in most of the others, especially General Rizen.  He knew better than anyone that sometimes humor was essential to ruling well.  On the other hand, so was moderation, something Duc Grusso had no intention of learning.  The man was a glutton when it came to liquor, ale and smoke.  Enré had posted a man at each tent to watch the candidates during their personal time, and it seemed Grusso spent every waking moment romancing serving girls, drinking, brawling and smoking herbs. 

Duc Marlin was out of the question, and had been from the beginning, just like Yan.  Enré had never had any intention of handing over the throne to foppish Yan or the conniving Fish.  Both would destroy the treasury on their own desires, and use his daughter as they pleased with little regard for anything else.  He was surprised that neither of them seemed to have tried to dispatch of any of the other candidates, although he snickered to think of the fate of one trying to assassinate Trindd.  No, they could not be trusted.  Marlin and Yan never had a chance, and he was grateful that both had been taken out of the competition without his help.  Everyone could see the two for what they were, and there was no reason for Enré to even make comment.

Rizen, on the other hand, seemed the best candidate.  A general, an intelligent strategist, and a pious man.  The nation and his daughter would be safe, if not happy.  He might not grow the coffers, but nor would he empty them.  He might not earn the people’s love, but would know their respect.  If Jepón did not kill him out of irritation, he would outlive them all, so healthy was he.  The arrogance was unfortunate, but there was not a man before him who did not suffer from that.  And could Enré truly say that he had never been blinded to justice and ethics by family affairs, as Rizen had been during this trial?  When Eron and Ever had been killed, had he not erupted all force upon Belesian pirates and peasants alike?  Anyone who attempted to cross the border was slaughtered, regardless of their intent.  It was a deep regret of his, something he would live with the rest of his life, now that the madness of seeing his sons’ bodies had passed.  Rizen was predisposed to hate Arn’rons.  Enré himself hated all Belesians. 

And then the Felsian.  He surprised the King time and again.  He was ruthless in his ambition, but calm and collected, always.  He had an intelligent spark to his eye that was missing in several of the others’.  He never raised his voice, but made others lower theirs to hear him, a trick Enré often used himself.  In fact, of all these men, Derík Shogan was the closest to Enré.  It was like having another son.  Strange that he was not even born in Tridencia proper, but seemed as though he had been born to Enré and Malona.  More and more, he found himself watching this golden Lord, contemplating the consequences of actually choosing a Felsian heir.  Certainly, it would bring the two people together.  But would his Tridencian bannermen rise up against him?  Would Derík be able to win the hearts of all the Ducs and Lords on both sides of the Felsian border?  With his amazing charisma, Derík seemed to put everyone at ease but his opponents, who he consistently put on edge.  Enré was beginning to think that this horse breeder might actually have a chance at this game.

*****

Someone was talking in Derík’s head at the moment.  So he sat back and watched the others argue, and focused on what the voice was saying.

That was excellent, Shogan.  I could not have done better myself.  And Enré is impressed.

Is he? the Felsian Lord wondered silently, frantically.  I haven’t insulted anyone?

No one you shouldn’t have insulted.  You’ve got them all on the defensive.  There’s nothing they can do now but claw upward.

So Enré is not upset that I did not come to an immediate, conclusive decision as the others did?

No, my Love.  Stop worrying.  You have won this day.

Derík sighed with relief.  Thank the gods, Ter.

Relax and enjoy the aftermath of your work.  I will see if I can find out what is in store for you next.

A nap, I hope.

Terrance slipped a chuckle into the horseman’s mind.  The sound of it, or more precisely, the feel of it made the tension in his muscles ease.  Let’s hope, Terrance agreed softly.

Ter?  Without meaning to, I’ve implicated your brother in something wicked.  You’ve said the king is not upset with me.  What of you?

Nothing of me.  Kenton is far more wicked than any of you know.  Only I have ever seen the dredges of my brother’s mind, and it is a place I hope to never wander again.  His heart is as vacuous as Rizen’s sense of humor.  If he finds what is coming to him, you’ll hear no complaint from me.

Still, he is your blood.

He could feel Terrance’s mind’s warm embrace stiffen cooly at the reminder of his relation to the knight.  Blood perhaps.  Half-blood, most like.  And I do not identify myself by that half.

Derík sighed audibly.  How can that be if you have no guess as to what the other half is?  Do you feel no familial connection in the whole world, my love?

You are my family, Derík.  You, and no one else.  The only other I have any kinship to is Dafoe, and the old lady needs nothing from me, apart from the occasional visit to divert her from her lonely, dull life in Talloh.

*****

At that moment, Dafoe’s life was neither lonely nor dull.  A boy had arrived from Farley, carrying a message.  He was still bewildered, as was the guard who accompanied him, as to how he had managed to get to her manor so quickly.  “The horses seemed never to tire, my Lady, and we never grew hungry ourselves, though I must admit to being famished now.”

Dafoe smiled at him warmly.  “Eke, see to these young men.  The groom will take care of the horses, and you two may enjoy a hot meal and a warm bath each.  I know you leave for the capitol in the morning.  It would be prudent of you to turn in early tonight.”

“Aye, my Lady,” they each said wearily.  They followed Eke from the Lady’s library.

She waited for the door to close to open the scroll.  She pulled it from its casing, and checked its seal.  It was Jayt’s signet of course, but it was the color she was seeking.  Orange.  The color for dangerous times.  Jayt Kameel’s colors were orange and silver.  He used his silver wax for common correspondence.  Orange was to alert the recipient to open his message privately. 

Breaking the seal, she took in a deep breath, and opened the paper.  Jayt’s firm hand spelled out the danger in his usual curt way.  “Lady Dafoe,” he wrote without any flowery titles.  “I encourage you and your friends to lie low.  Pordos is on the move, and you know his opinion about those like you.  He is still determined to have the throne, and by any means necessary.  We have Shadows on him, but if we fail to protect Enré until he can name an heir, your kind will be in grave danger.  Pordos has often mentioned purification of all cities and towns.  He will not stop at declaring war on foreign nations.  He will bring the blood onto our own soil, by seeking and destroying your friends wherever they may be.  You know this.  I offer you as much protection as my Rock can provide, but I suspect this warning may be all that I can truly give you.  We are doing what we can.  Just be prepared for the worst.  Lord Jayt Kameel.”

Dafoe sighed.  She carried the scroll to the fireplace, and tossed it in.  She spoke quietly as it caught with flame.  “Do not worry for us, dear Jayt.  We have always survived before.  He will be just yet another tyrant who has tried to eradicate my kind.  He will be no more successful than any other.”  Still, she caught herself wondering how many of her friends she would have to watch die if Pordos found enough support to crown himself.  And how was she to know that any of these so-called Champions of Enré’s would be better?  Enré himself did not actively seek them out, but certainly condoned the killing whenever one was found.  Pordos might be worse, but she had no promises that any of the others would be any more tolerant than Enré had been, of people who just wanted to be left alone.

*****

As he turned the corner, Attenuh Trindd could hear the voices more clearly.  His hand rested on the hilt of his dagger.  Another man might have clutched at a sword in the same situation.  His own father, Herut Trindd, had even studied swordsmanship under the great Corbron.  But, even though Attenuh was well-versed in the sport, he always felt safest when he handled his daggers.  He had a huge collection of knives from all over the world at home, and it had been difficult to choose which ones he would take with him when he went to compete for the Princess’s hand.  He knew others called him paranoid.  He cared little about that.  He preferred to think of it not as paranoia, but preparedness.  Whatever one called it, it had kept him alive this long, and he did not intend to let up his guard now.

What many did not realize, even his own father, was that Trindd had spent time as a very young man with a companion who had changed his naive view of the world forever.  The woman had been a mystery.  They had met in secret, and she never told him her name.  What she did tell him had frightened him badly.  She had been a member of a guild of rogues, thieves who haunted the city at night.  She was newly initiated when she was sent on her first mission, which would become her last.  She had been instructed to acquire something from a local temple, near the Academy of Mages. 

“Steal, you mean,” young Trindd had murmured with disapproval.

The woman had raised an eyebrow.  “I said so.  I was never told who wanted this object or why.  That was not my place to know.  But when I got there, a Mage was waiting for me.  Somehow they knew I would be coming.  He was very old, but moved faster than you would think possible.  It was like he could smell me coming.  When his eyes met mine, I felt cold all over.  It was like staring into the eyes of darkness itself.  I ran from him, into the woods outside the temple.  Do you know where I mean?”

“The Ahman forest, of course.  In the dark?  You’re lucky you weren’t eaten by something.  Did he follow you there?”

“He would have.  I know it.  But a priest was there suddenly, and he called to the Mage to ask what he did there at night.  The Mage responded with a voice so chilling I hear it in my nightmares.  ‘I am protecting your temple, Priest,’ he said.  ‘I sense a nonbeliever in your temple tonight.  I will find her and help her to know the gods.’”

Trindd had frowned deeply.  “Know the gods?  He meant to preach to you?  A Mage?”

“Kill me, Attenuh!  He meant to kill me!  And I still feel him in my head sometimes.  I know he will find me.  It is why I must leave again soon.  I am not safe anywhere for long.”

“You think he still tracks you?”

“I know he does.  He feels me.  There is something in me he wants, and I know he has not forgotten me.”

Trindd had licked his lips slowly.  “Do you know how to defend yourself?  Surely this guild of yours has taught you that.”

“It has.  The things I’ve taught you about knives.  I learned that from my masters at the guild.”

“What is this guild of yours?  Do I need to fear it for myself and my family?”

“We are Shadowmen, Duc.  And yes.  Everyone needs fear them.  The things they taught me, about disappearing and fighting, are the only reason I yet live.”

He had swallowed hard.  “Do you think it is another Shadowman, this Mage?”

“I have thought of that.  How else could he know I was coming?  Shadowmen are everywhere, and can appear as anything when they appear at all.  I’ve no way of knowing what I may have done to offend the guild, but that matters very little now.  It must have been a Shadowman, Attenuh.  And there is nothing worse than being marked by a Shadowman for assassination.”

The woman had disappeared the next day, but her body had turned up not a week later.  It was found at the temple, with her head severed from her neck.  Trindd’s father had commented that the woman must have been a sorcerer, and there was much excitement over the execution.  Sorcerers were deposited headless at the gates of the royal palace when possible, at the doors to the local temples when necessary.  The Academy was praised for its work keeping the people safe.  Trindd’s stomach had turned, and his emotions had conflicted terribly.  Certainly it was a good thing that the world was rid of another sorcerer.  But this woman, who had shared her secrets with him, who had laid with him several nights, had seemed a far cry from the evil witches of the story books.  She had seemed genuinely unaware of why she was being targeted by the Mage.  Was it possible that the woman was innocent of the charge?  He timidly brought up the question to his father, whether it wouldn’t be better to give these accused sorcerers a trial before carrying out an execution.  He would never forget Herut’s answer.

“It is better to strike first than to be struck unawares, son.  I would rather that we carried out a hundred executions of innocents than let one guilty man go free.  You must always protect yourself, Attenuh.  There will always be those out there waiting to destroy you.”

The two most important things he had learned from the experience had been his father’s words and the woman’s knowledge of knives.

The knife he carried now had been left on her pillow for him when she had slipped out of his life while he slept.  He had often wondered if she would have been able to defend herself better if she had not been so sentimental as to leave it for him to remember her by.

The voices were hushed and hurried.  He flattened himself against the wall in the shadows, and listened.  He could have sent his men to do this, he knew.  But he could trust no one to complete the task as he could.  He had to know if Pordos was a threat to him.  He could not afford to leave that type of reconnaissance to anyone else.

The growling voice which spoke now belonged to Sir Kenton deVenoré.  “If your reason for having me end Rizen, as your message demanded, is Lady Elsee’s wandering gaze, perhaps I should do the same to the Felsian and the Snake she has been watching so closely as well.”

The cloaked man caught his breath as he heard his pseudonym.  Like it or not, the animal was only used to refer to him.

“The Snake?  Trindd?  She watches Trindd?”

Kenton gave a small laugh.  “Let me kill them all.  You seem to care very little about your original goal.  You’ve done enough lately to jeopardize your throne.  Why not let me kill everyone Elsee looks at, if that is your main concern?”

“Of course it isn’t!  Elsee is nothing.  The throne is everything.  It annoys me that she talks of Rizen, nothing more.  He is Enré’s choice, and you will need to take him out of the running.  Enré will have no choice but me.”

“You still believe the old King will ever put you on that throne?  Just because Elsee tells you it could happen?”

“Do not speak to me in such a way-”

“Enré has made it clear that you are not to be heir.  You have told me to kill Enré and his chosen Champion.  I will do so.  I think killing Enré is risky; I’ve told you that.  But the challenge of breaking and murdering a reigning monarch is enough to sate me.  If Rizen is the choice, I will destroy him as well.  They will be the greatest men I have ever broken.  But to kill them now is madness.  While everyone surrounds them?  While the challenges continue?  It is stupid.  Wait until the heir is chosen, as you originally said, and if it is not you, which it will not be, I will take care of it then.”

“No!”  Pordos’s voice rose in anger.  “I will not have Rizen named heir!  If you kill him, there is no one left!”

The knight lowered his own voice to counter Pordos’s.  “Do not underestimate my brother’s Felsian companion.  I warned you of that in the beginning.”

“A horse thief and nothing more!  Rizen is the true rival!”

“Rizen does not have my brother at his side,” Kenton spat.  “I warn you, overlooking Shogan’s threat is dangerous.  If you want me to take out one of them now, it should be Shogan or Trindd.  It will be near to impossible to touch either of them once they are named heir.  Trindd will be surrounded by guards night and day, and Shogan...as I’ve said, he has my brother.”

“Your sickly bastard brother means nothing to me.”

Trindd could nearly hear Kenton’s sneer.  “He should,” the knight growled.

“The horse thief has no chance at a Tridencian throne.  Elsee has said the same.  She watches him only for amusement.  As annoying as that is, she is far more enthralled with Rizen.”

“And the Snake.”

Trindd wracked his brain for recognition of this Lady Elsee.  His thoughts settled on a woman he had seen at the feast that had opened the challenges.  She had been the first one, other than Trindd himself, to leap from the table when the storm had shattered the windows.  He remembered the way she had looked around the room, in the same way he had, as though she expected an attack to come from any side.  Then, later in the night, Trindd could remember seeing her analyzing the challengers one by one, with a cold eye. 

“And the Snake,” Pordos admitted finally.  “Kill them both.  Leave Enré for now.  He may still come to his senses and choose me when the two of them are gone.”

“They are already suspicious.  I have heard that your messenger Jamison has been brought before the King but not executed.  He may have spoken about the message he delivered me.”

Trindd’s ears pricked.  It was them.  Enré had been right.

“That Southern pig.  We never would have known he was lying about being able to read if my mother had not mentioned it.  Are you certain they don’t mean to execute him?”

“It’s what I heard.  I also hear that the King is looking to speak to each of us about the matter.  It will be difficult to kill both Rizen and the Snake without raising even more suspicion.  I can make the Snake’s look like an accident.  But two accidents are hard to ignore.”

Pordos threw his hands in the air.  “Are you determined not to kill Rizen for me?  Shall I do it myself?”

Kenton was quiet for a moment.  “I want Rizen,” he said finally.  “When it is time to kill him, I want him.  Just like Enré, and the Felsian.  They are all excellent.  I simply don’t believe the timing is right for Rizen or Enré.”  There was a smile in his voice.  “But simply give the word, and I will tear the Felsian to shreds.”

“What is the difference?  You say you can hide one man’s death, but not two.  Now you tell me that you can do the Snake and the horse thief, but not-”

“I want that Felsian,” Kenton hissed nastily.  The hatred dripping from his tongue made Trindd’s heart pound.  “I want my brother to find his friend’s face, separate from his head, awaiting him when he wakes up to break his fast.”

Pordos seemed uneasy with his companion’s bloodlust.  “That isn’t why we do this.”

Kenton’s teeth flashed in the moonlight.  “It’s why I do it.”

Trindd had heard enough.  With the most silent of movements, he backed away from the two men and turned to hurry back down the street.  But when he did, he found himself face to face with a woman.

Lady Elsee smiled sweetly at him.  “Hello, Duc Trindd.”

The men whirled around at the voice.  Pordos’s barrel chest began to heave in rage.  Kenton’s sneer widened.  The knight took a few long strides and approached the cornered nobleman.  “What have we here?  A spy?  An eavesdropper?”

“A dead man,” Pordos corrected.  “End him.  I will not have him running to Enré.”

Trindd’s trembling hand whipped out his dagger, and he backed into the wall of the old building again.  “Don’t come near me,” he hissed.

Elsee continued to smile, and she put up a hand to keep the other two from approaching.  Even Kenton stopped to watch what she would do.  “Dear, dear Trindd.  I hear they call you the Snake.  Why is that?”

The man tightened his grip on the dagger’s hilt.  “I don’t know,” he rasped hoarsely. 

“Oh, you do.  It’s because you are so strong, so silent and so deadly.  A snake is the most regal of all creatures, did you know?  Perhaps you would have been the best choice for Enré.  A Snake ruling the nation, wouldn’t that be impressive?  Far better than Marlin, who they call the Fish.”

“Marlin is a fool,” Trindd spat.

“So are you,” Kenton shot back. 

“Enré knows what you are doing.  He will be ready for you.”

Pordos smiled.  “In a hundred years, he could never prepare for what my friend Venoré has planned for him.”

“How shall I kill him, Prince?” Kenton asked, staring at Trindd with disgust.

“Don’t come near me!” he shouted again shrilly. 

Elsee seemed unfazed by the situation.  “It is such a shame, isn’t it?  That we will never know how you might have ruled.  But I see now that you are not the best choice.  A shame.  I was hoping for you.  But the best choice never would have become prey to other men.  The best choice will be the snake who strikes before he is struck unawares.”

The words rang in his head, echoes of his father, and for the first time, he realized that there was no way out of this situation.  Dread covered him, and he could feel his heart throbbing in his throat.  “Enough,” he hissed at last.  “You’ve planned to kill me.  I’ve spent my whole life preparing for this attack.  If you’re waiting for me to beg you for mercy, you’ve a long wait.”

Kenton pushed Elsee aside, and pulled a thin dagger from his belt.  He tossed his sword to the ground with a clatter.  Pordos took Elsee’s hand and backed away.  The knight grinned maniacally at Trindd.  “If you try to run, I will place this knife between your shoulder blades.  Let there be no doubt of my ability to catch you as you run.”

“I believe you,” Trindd whispered miserably.

The two circled each other in the dark, while Pordos and Elsee watched.  The large knight moved his knife from hand to hand in an hypnotic way that shattered Trindd’s nerves and concentration.  At last, he could take it no longer.  He lunged at the knight, slashing at his chest.

Kenton leapt back effortlessly, and prepared to attack.  When it came, it was everything the nobleman could do to avoid the thrust.  Trindd was horrified to see that the man was at least his equal in a knife fight.  His own curved dagger sliced the air near Kenton’s right arm.  The knight snickered.  Without warning, he threw himself at Trindd’s face, gashing the man’s cheek down through his lips.  The Duc let out a howl, sputtering blood.  Enraged, he charged the knight, finally feeling the knife catch flesh.  Kenton gasped, but otherwise gave no sign that he had even noticed the knife rending his already injured shoulder.  The laughter left the knight’s cruel eyes, and he plunged his knife into Trindd’s chest. 

Heaving desperately, Trindd fell to the dirt street.  He clutched at the dagger, but he needn’t have bothered.  Kenton grabbed the knife for him, resting his foot on the dying man’s stomach to pull the weapon from his chest.  Oddly, the pain of the chest wound was momentarily overwhelmed by the pain of Kenton’s boot in his gut.  Then, as his life’s blood trickled out onto the dusty street, he felt the agony of the cut at his face.  To his own surprise, he began to laugh.

Pordos stared at him.  He dropped Elsee’s hand, and leaned over the dying man.  “What is-”

“It will be hard,” he wheezed, “to make this look...like an accident.  Long live Enré,” he added for no reason other than to annoy the huge Prince.

Pordos delivered a severe kick to the man’s side, cursing.  Kenton was swearing just a few feet away.  “Damn Snake shoved that blade right into my shoulder!” he writhed.

Elsee kneeled beside him, and put her hand on his sliced cheek.  “You might have been a very good choice, my Snake,” she murmured regretfully.

Trindd glowered at her until the world seemed to turn a sudden bright yellow around him.  He could hear their voices, but it sounded like a windstorm in his ears.  As the yellow turned sickly orange, he felt another sharp blow from a boot, this time to his ear, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

*****

“We were instructed not to approach except to save the life of the King or Princess.  That is exact wording.”

“You just let them kill him!” Fredríck roared.

“Our contract was specific.  The life of the King or Princess.”

Fredríck shoved his hand in his hair.  “You Shadowmen are heartless!”

The cloaked man before him shook his head.  “We are neutral,” he corrected.  “We do as we are hired, and nothing more, nothing less.  It is unwise to step out of the boundaries of a contract.  How are we to know if this man was someone you wanted dead or not?  We were meant to observe and report.  We have done that.”

“Enough!” he shouted.  “I’ve heard enough about Shadow neutrality!  You let one of the King’s Ducs die at the hands of these men, and did nothing to prevent it!  What’s more, you brought me no proof with which to go to Enré!”

“We were meant to observe and re-”

“Report, I know.  Get out.  You’ve finished your work.”

“Are you certain of that?  Jayt told us to remain until you felt our job was finished.  If you are ending the contract, you will need a new one to-”

“I said get out!  I will continue myself!”

The cloaked figure bowed gracefully.  “As you say.  We have been paid, and we will depart.  I have just a single question.”

“What is it?” the First snapped.

“There is a woman I would like to speak with before I take my leave.  Lady Kazandra.  Where might I find her now?”

“What business have you with Lady Kaza?” he demanded suspiciously.

The man smiled softly.  “Nothing dangerous, Lieutenant.  If I had wanted to kill her, I would not have asked for her location.  I would already know it.”

He took a long breath before responding.  “She is likely in her gardens at this time of day.  Assure me that she is safe.”

“I do.  You can trust me that we have no intention of harming the Lady.”

The First stared at him a moment longer, then nodded.  “Your men are to be gone from the city tonight.”

“Those you have hired through Jayt Kameel will be gone.  I cannot vouch for any who are here under other contracts.”

The man’s smile infuriated Fredríck.  “I have a mind to shut you down,” he warned.

The smile did not falter.  “Try,” was all he said before the door closed behind him.

TEST OF TRUTH

The brutal death of Duc Trindd in the fire the night before had shocked and frightened everyone in the capitol city.  There had been little left of the man, from what Terrance had heard, and Pordos had disappeared, as had his constant companion Kenton.  There were rumors that they had also been killed in the fire, but no bodies had been found.  Trindd had been known only by his jewelry and knives, which were with him.  Some had expected King Enré to put a temporary stop to the challenges, but he had stated publicly that these new developments made it all the more crucial to find an heir. 

It was Antonia herself who came to Terrance with information about the next challenge, and just in time.  She grabbed his arm as he spoke to a guard at the palace about what had happened.  “Lord Terrance, I must speak to you immediately,” she said.

The guard looked surprised.  He excused himself, but glanced back at the odd couple who was walking away quickly. 

Terrance was acutely aware of several sets of eyes on them.  “What is it?  You mustn’t-”

“There is to be an interrogation.  It was already planned for the challengers.  But now it will include information about Trindd and several other mysteries.  Each challenger will be subjected to questioning about his loyalty and other aspects of his personality.”

“Derík will be fine.  He has charmed judges and crowds alike-”

“No,” the woman snapped.  “This is not just questioning.  The Mages of the Academy will be here.”

Terrance lost what little color he had in his face, and his breath caught in his throat.  “The Mages?  Why?”

“They will be on hand to test the honesty of each man.”

“How?”

“It is something they do when there is a trial which cannot be decided easily.  Father brings them in, and they use their magic to be sure of the truth.”

The gray man nodded.  “What do they do?”

“I don’t know.  All I know is that a man writhes in horrible pain if he wavers from the truth.  There is no way to lie.  Everyone will know.  What if they ask Derík about me?  About his intentions?  About Kaza approaching him?  What if-”

“They will ask none of those things,” Terrance reassured her, but his chest was tightening with fear.  “Derík will be fine.  I promise you that.  They can ask any question they like.  Derík is honorable, and will have no trouble.”

“But what if-”

“My Lady, we are not doing anything wrong.  Derík fights for his chance to lead, to serve the people, and to be a kind husband and friend to you.  He is the best of men, and honest to a fault.  There is no question they could ask which could cause him pain.”

The Princess bit her lip, and pushed her red hair from her eyes.  “I hope that is so.  Because if he shows pain, it will be the end of our chances.”

Terrance nodded, frowning.  “Have no worries, Princess Antonia.  Derík will emerge from this more victorious than ever.  He is the right choice for Enré, regardless of why you, Lady Kazandra and I want this for him.  This challenge will be no different from any other.  I promise you that.  Thank you for your information.  We will prepare accordingly.”

As he walked away, he could feel the Princess’s eyes still on him.  It was the first time the two of them had ever spoken more than a few words.  But he had done his research on her, just as he had on everyone else at the palace.  She was kind, intelligent and progressive.  He liked what he had heard of her, and had found no one willing to speak a single unpleasant word about her.  As much as he loathed the thought of her marrying Derík, he had to admit that there would be no woman he would resent less.

The Mages.  His mind flashed back to her words.  “A man writhes in horrible pain if he wavers from the truth.”  Regardless of what he had said to Antonia, he saw no way that Derík could go through any intense questioning without having to lie at some point.  So the key was to make it look as though he felt no pain. 

Even thinking of his lover in pain tore a gash in his heart.  Making it appear that Derík felt no pain was not enough.  He would have to keep him from feeling it at all.  

He briefed Derík on this new development as soon as he returned to the tent.  The Felsian horseman paced the length of the curtained room, wringing his strong hands.  “I will withstand it,” he murmured.  “Whatever it is, I will simply withstand it.”

Terrance’s eyes filled with fever.  “I cannot let you.”

“What do you mean?  I will show no sign.  No matter how bad it is.  We have come too far to be stopped by Mages.”

He shook his head.  “Derík, I have heard awful stories.  Since meeting Antonia an hour ago, I have spoken with several who have seen the procedure.  It is brutal, my Love.”

“You think I cannot take it.”

“I did not say that.  You may be able to cope.  I could not.  Derík, I must stay hidden in the tent tonight.  There will be too many Mages about for me to be safe.”

“I understand.  And there, you will not see my pain.”

“You will not feel it.  I will keep it from you the best I can.”

Derík watched him.  “Can you do that from such a distance?”

“I will.  I have to.  I cannot approach and be safe myself, but I cannot leave you to be tormented either.  Answer the questions as you know how, but I will keep your mind disconnected from the pain.”

The horseman nodded.  “It is the worst cheat we have played.”

Terrance sighed.  “I see nothing for it but that, my Love.  Do you think the others would not do it if they could?  Who among them has no lie to tell?”

He shrugged and sat on his chair, placing the side of one of his booted heels on the opposite knee.  “Perhaps Rizen.  The man is without humor or compassion, but he likely is without fault as well.”  He smiled sadly.  “Perhaps it is better that Trindd will not go through this.  I find it unlikely that any of us have more secrets than he did.  Pelham will be a mess.  He may be perfectly honest, but he will be nervous anyway.  Grusso will be equally entertaining.  Marlin...should he even bother trying, I suspect we will find out more than we would like to know about him.”

“The field has grown very narrow, Derík.  With Yan and Trindd gone, and Marlin and Pelham each a joke, Grusso and Rizen are the only true rivals remaining.”

“Do you think Grusso has a chance?”

“Not judging by the way Enré looks at him with disgust, after what Kazandra did to him ahead of the first challenge.  Funny that he actually looks the most like the old King.  And Pelham is the same age as Ever was.  But Rizen is the only real choice among them.”

“Then why do the others continue?”

“Pride,” Terrance responded quietly.  “The same thing that took out Yan, and likely Trindd as well.”

“What do you think happened to Trindd, Ter?”

“A fire in a whorehouse?  Trindd?  He didn’t trust whores any more than he trusted anyone else.  He never would have been there without his guard, certainly.  The fact that no one has seen my brother or the Prince suggests that they know something of how the man got there, and how the fire started.”

“You don’t think it could be Grusso or Marlin?”

“No.  I doubt it.”  Terrance took a deep breath.  “Go now, and mingle with the nobles gathered at the palace.  I must sleep now if I am to protect you later.”

“Thank you, Terrance.  Will you be able to do this, since you’ve been so ill lately?”

Terrance’s gray eyes looked up at him.  “Anything that threatens you with pain must go through me first, my Love.  Just know that.”

Derík nodded, and stood.  As he slipped silently through the curtains and out of the tent, Terrance followed to approach Hoddep, who spoke with the cook.  They both looked up uneasily as the gray man neared them.  “Yes, my Lord?”

Terrance gave a weak smile to the men.  “What work is there left to do for your people today, Hoddep?”

The manservant frowned.  He had taken the temporary position of steward in Derík’s tent, since the true steward had been left back at the Shogan estate.  “What do you mean?”

The gray man loathed to repeat himself when it was unnecessary.  “What have your people left to do today?”

“V-very little, my Lord,” he stammered.  “Prepare for the night’s meal, clean the Lord’s bed and rugs, and his clothing.  A few things are left to be sewn, I think....”

“Fine.  Forget today’s meals.  Leave the bed and rugs just one more day.  Have the laundresses take the clothing and sewing with them.  All are meant to be out of the tent tonight.”

“What-what do you....”

“The festival is tonight, Hoddep.  I want every one of Derík’s people to enjoy it.  The Lord himself will be away all day, and I have no need for anything at all.  You are all to go to the festival early in the day, and stay very late.”

The cook’s face lit with pleasure, but Hoddep remained skeptical.  “Is something wrong, my Lord?”

“Yes.  You are still questioning me.”

The manservant swallowed hard.  “I apologize, my Lord.  Of course.  As you say, we shall all attend the festival tonight.  I will spread the word.  Would you like me to stay, or have a boy here to serve you-”

“No, Hoddep.  Please.  I am very tired.  Just tell everyone they are to go out and not return until very late.  I require solitude, and you and your people require a good night of festivities.  Enjoy yourselves.” 

“May I prepare you something before I go?” the cook asked gingerly.

Terrance turned to him, and was surprised to see the first real smile he had received from one of Derík’s servants in years.  He returned it wearily.  “No.  Thank you, Laaron.  You are all free to go immediately.  Hoddep, give everyone a few coins to feed themselves on sweets at the festival.”

“Shall we report back to you on anything?” the man asked as he received Terrance’s money.

He hesitated.  “No.  Only if you should see my brother, the knight.  Do not approach him, but should you see him, let me know upon your return.  Would you know him?”

“I would,” Hoddep returned.  “Likely the others would not.  I will keep my eyes open, my Lord.”

“Good.  Enjoy your night.”

As he walked away, he heard them whispering, but did not care enough to listen in.  All information was worth having, but just then, he was too exhausted to think.  He lowered himself to the bed in Derík’s room.  There was another room with his own bed in it, but there was not a servant in the tent who did not know that he spent his nights with the Felsian lord.  These servants, like his own, were discreet. 

When he awoke two hours later, he felt the silence around him.  The sun was fading, and the last of its rays warmed the tent.  He reached out his mind, and found not a soul nearby.  The entire population of the tent city was in the capitol, attending the festival.  Straining, he could hear the music drifting toward him.  The festival was yet another way for the locals to bring in money from the visiting nobles.  There would be vendors and entertainers everywhere, and everyone from the highest noble to the lowest peasant would be in attendance.

It suited Terrance’s needs perfectly. 

His mind reached for Derík, and found him sitting in the palace library.  He pretended to read a book, but his eyes did not even see the page.  There were others there, Pelham, Marlin, Rizen, and several others.  Grusso was the only one missing among the challengers.  Dipping gently into Derík’s thoughts, without disturbing him, he discovered that Grusso was being questioned.  He had been taken away nearly an hour ago. 

Terrance cursed himself for sleeping so long.  Only a moment later, a door opened, and the Second appeared.  All eyes turned to him miserably.  The soldier looked as though he had not slept in weeks.  He tried to give a small smile to them, but when it faltered, he gave it up.  Terrance saw his mouth form Derík’s name, and he realized he had arrived inside Derík just in time.  They were about to question him.

The horseman stood, and uttered a bit of a joke.  Terrance did not listen, but saw Pelham smile gratefully for the attempt at humor.  Rizen was obviously asking about Grusso.  The Second was shaking his head, but did not respond.  He took Derík by the upper arm, and lead him down the hall.  They descended stone stairs that Terrance was not familiar with.  He wondered where in the palace they were.  They passed a guard leading Duc Grusso back up the stairs.

The large Duc was weeping, and shaking uncontrollably.  Terrance’s heart began to race, and for the first time, he heard a sound from Derík as well.  It was Derík’s own heart pounding.  Derík stared at the Duc as they passed.  He kept his chin high, but swallowed several times. 

Terrance sighed heavily.  It was time to take the fear and pain from his lover.  He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, feeling Derík’s emotions rushing into his own lungs.  A numb fear overwhelmed him, and he felt himself breathing shallowly.  He watched desperately as Derík began to smile a soft smile.  He knew Terrance was at work, and a feeling of safety and love filled the horseman’s chest, just as trepidation and panic was filling his own.

He had decided not to listen to the proceedings.  He would watch, and feel, but he could not concentrate on what he had to do for Derík if he were also nervous about the way the man would answer the questions.  But the silent movement of mouths and closing of doors enhanced the feeling that reality had somehow slowed.  He saw the Mages approach Derík as he entered the room, and saw Enré and the First sitting at the side of the room.  Jayt Kameel was also present, as was the Guardian of Ahma, the High Temple priest and several Mage elders.

The Guardian stood as Derík was shown a chair.  He waved one of the younger Mages over to him.  They poured wine, and the young Mage approached Derík with it.  The horseman smiled, thanked them, and drank.  He drained the cup in one gulp.  Terrance could immediately feel the warmth of the alcohol rush over him.  There was something else there too.  A potion. 

Now the Guardian was asking him questions.  The Guardian, whose job it was to protect the sacred lands of the gods in Ahma, began his interrogation with what must have been easy questions.  Terrance was tempted to listen, but held firm in his resolve to not do so.  At first, the fear Derík was transferring to him eased a bit.  The horseman himself, relieved of the anxiety, smiled as he proceeded to charm the men and women in the room.  A few of the witnesses even began to smile with him.  With each question and answer, Derík’s fear subsided, and Terrance began to wonder if all this worry had been unnecessary.

Then the Guardian stared hard at Derík.  The words he spoke sent ripples of panic through Terrance.  Derík, unaware of the feeling he was transferring to the gray man back at the tent, smiled and responded quickly.  All at once, Terrance felt a horrible convulsion in his throat.  He gagged, and dropped the image of Derík at once.  He remained bound to him, but the power it took to hold the connection was too much by itself.  He could no longer watch the proceedings, only feel them.

An instant later, his stomach twisted sharply.  He dove for a chamberpot, and heaved into it.  His chest seized with throes of agony.  He dropped to the floor helplessly.  The dread that Derík could no longer feel wracked Terrance’s body nearly as severely as the spasms shooting through his chest.  Tears sprang to his eyes as the pain grew more and more intense. 

At last, the gray man could stand it no longer.  He let out a shriek of despair as the questioning and lies continued.  What must they be asking him? he wondered desperately.  What must he be telling them? 

Sometimes, whole minutes would go by before he felt the pain rip through him again.  Each time, he prayed that they were done, that the worst was over.  But it seemed that the Guardian and the others were intrigued by Derík’s unfaltering honesty.  They continued long past the time Grusso had been dismissed.  Terrance had lost the vision in his mind, and he slowly became aware that he was losing his physical eyesight as well.  The streaks of agony through his head were eating away at his senses, and at times he feared that even his sanity would be martyred for this cause. 

He had been unaware of the volume of his screams until a small woman came hurrying into the tent.  He writhed helplessly on the bed, sobbing, unable to conceal his panic.

“My Lord?  Gods, Lord Terrance?  What is it, what can I do?”

Mouse.  Pretty little Mouse, of Marlin’s household.  Terrance found himself smiling through his tears.  “No,” he rasped.  “No.”

“What is happening to you?  Are you sick?  Are you hurt?”

“No, little Mouse,” he whispered.  He held his head between his hands, as though it would split apart if he did not.  “No.  Headaches.  Only headaches.”

“I will fetch a doctor-”

“No!  No.  The doctor has been and gone, good Mouse.  There is nothing to be done.  I am ill.  There is pain.  That is all.”  His breath was shallow, and he cringed as another aching shock ran the length of his spine.

Mouse sat beside him on the bed, and held his hand.  “I’m so sorry, my Lord.”

Her kindness surprised him greatly.  No one but Derík or Dafoe had shown any empathy for his pain in his life.  He managed to smile at her.  “Talk to me,” he breathed then.  He could not believe what he was saying.  “About anything.”

She nodded shyly.  “The festival tonight is wonderful.  The lights and music are truly magical.”

He stared at her.  The pangs were less severe now, but the dull pain remained.  His tears froze on his face as he watched her. 

“There are jugglers and play actors.  I enjoy seeing them.  There are even trained animals there.  They are from Egaal, or so they say.  There is a bird who can talk, and a dog who can dance.  They say the Princess Antonia has a tiger from Egaal.  Do you believe that?”

“I’ve seen it,” he wheezed.  “Monstrous thing.”

“I’ve always wanted to go places and see things.  Help people, you know.  Not that I could.  I’ve only got talent for messing things up, not for fixing them.”  As she said this, she raised herself to fetch for him a cloth to wipe the sweat from his brow and cheek.  He watched her in amazement.  “If I could read better, perhaps things would be different.  Perhaps I could accompany the Duc when he needed a scribe.  But I’ve only read what I’ve taught myself.  I’m not very smart, you see.”

“Nor lucky,” Terrance teased gently, wincing.

“Nor lucky,” she agreed.  “The only time I’ve ever felt lucky was when I diced with you.  And I’m convinced you somehow let me win.”

The lord raised an eyebrow.  “How-how could that be?”

“I don’t know,” she responded.  “As I said, I’m not very smart.  But you are, aren’t you?  I heard some of the Duc’s friends talking about you.  They call you dangerously intelligent.”

“No such thing.  Ignorance is dangerous, Mouse.  Not intelligence.”

She shrugged, and left to find a flask of water for him.  She helped him swallow it, then smiled.  “I suppose,” she said finally, “it depends upon who is threatened as to whether ignorance or intelligence is more frightening.”

They must have finished with him, Terrance thought absently.  It had been several minutes since he had felt the last spasm of pain.  Now his body simply ached.  “You seem smarter and more educated than you let on, Mouse.”

She paused in wetting the cloth with the flask’s remaining water.  As she wiped his face with the cool cloth, she shrugged her shoulders again.  “I know only what I am told or what I can figure out,” she explained.

He smiled, closing his eyes.  The cool cloth eased the ache in his head.  “That is all any of us knows, Mouse.”

“Aye, my Lord.  But some of us are taught better than others.”

“What is it you do for Duc Marlin, Mouse?”

She blushed feverishly.  “I am a chambermaid, my Lord.  I do whatever he tells me.”

“I see.  And does he treat you well, Mouse?”

“As well as he treats anyone,” she answered vaguely.

Terrance cringed as he tried to pull himself into a sitting position.  “If you had your own money, Mouse, what would you do?”

“My own money?”

“Yes.”

She laughed quietly.  “I have only what Duc Marlin sees fit to give me.”

“But if you did?”

“I would help people.  If I could.”

He smiled at her.  The young woman did not meet his eye, but instead stared down at her pale hands.  “Perhaps you would make a fine nurse,” he murmured.

She shook her head, but the corners of her lips tugged upward.  “No, my Lord.  I don’t have any education for that.”

“You’re well-spoken and bright.  Everything else, you can be taught.”

“Not while being a chambermaid.”

“No.  Of course not.  You would have to leave Marlin’s household.”

Mouse stared down at him.  “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t want to stay with him, do you?”

She looked uneasy suddenly.  “Perhaps...perhaps I should go.”

He grabbed at her hand.  “Wait.  I’m asking you.  If you had a bit of money, and the chance to become a nurse, would you take it?”

Mouse began to tremble very gently.  “Of course I would.  It would be a dream, my Lord.  But people like me don’t have dreams.”

Terrance smiled at her kindly.  “Of course you do.  People like you have the best dreams.  I will see what I can find out about getting you a position as an aide to a nurse.  My future brother-in-law has a need for them, I think.”

“Your future brother-in-law?  Do you plan to marry, then?”

He rolled his eyes, but found that it hurt to do so.  “Only if I cannot help it,” he said vaguely.  “Go on, good Mouse.  Leave this ugly man to his pain, and enjoy your festival.”

She shook her head.  “No.  You aren’t well.”

Sadly, he squeezed her hand.  “And I won’t be.  Go now.  Thank you for sharing your kindness with me.”

The young woman raised herself hesitantly.  “Aye, sir.”

“Mouse?  I have a book for you.  It is there, on the second shelf.  The dark brown one.”

“A book?  For me?  Sir, I couldn’t!”

“Of course you can.  It won’t be any use to me in a few months time, anyway, from the looks of me.  It is a medical book.  Read what you can.  Use what you read.”

“Aye, sir.  Thank you, sir!”

He waved her away, and rolled over to nurse his head in his hands.  He began to weep again, but he was unsure whether he sobbed with pain, relief or simple fatigue.  When he finally opened his eyes again, she was gone, as was the book, and the sun had set completely outside the tent.

*****

“Why didn’t the Prince have you killed, then, if he knew you had read the message to Venoré?”

Jamison Arn’ron shrugged.  His face was unshaven, and his hair was sweaty and matted.  The man refused to speak to anyone but the First Lieutenant himself.  “My father, once, when the Prince was a boy, saved his life.  He fell in a river and nearly drown himself, he did, but my father dove in for him and saved him.  I think it’s out of a sense of debt that he didn’t kill me.  He’s just hoping you will.”

“He had to know we would investigate.”

“I don’t know it was real thought out, sir.  I think it was just Sir Kenton’s mind that twisted the plan.  He has some real frightening things he does, sir, real frightening.  I think he thought I might not talk about what I read, since I know what he can do to somebody.”  He looked up into the First’s eyes.  “But you’ll protect me, aye?  You won’t let him get to me.”

“Just tell us again what the message said, Arn’ron.”

“That Kenton were to end Duc Rizen at his earliest opportunity, sir.  Written by Prince Pordos’s own hand, it were.  I swear on Basot’s axe.”

Fredríck stood wearily.  “Was there any mention of poison, Arn’ron?”

The man frowned.  “No, sir.  I don’t think so.  He just said that Kenton should end Duc Rizen first chance he got.  Didn’t say how, sir.”

“I see.”  He was quiet for a moment, then waved over a Captain.  “It is Enré’s judgement that Pordos sent a message through this man to Kenton deVenoré, and that this man read and delivered it, then quit Betucé’s estate.  When Pordos realized the man could read, he sent Kenton to frame Jamison for the death of a young woman.  The fact remains, Jamison, that you did not tell anyone about the message that you read, even when asked at your trial about it.”

“I could not let them know I had read it!  Venoré, do you know what he would do to me?  Did you see the whore’s body?  Did you see what he did to her?  It weren’t just to frame me, sir.  It was to scare me!  To keep me quiet!  I would have taken it to the grave, if it weren’t that you figured it out on your own!”

“It’s treason to know of an assassination attempt and do nothing to prevent it.”

“Then hang me for that.  Just don’t tell Pordos and Venoré that I talked about what was in that message!  Hanging would be a great bit easier than what they would do to me!”

Fredríck sighed heavily.  “Get him to the Guardian.  He will take him and use him for Ahma, where he cannot be harmed by anyone working for Pordos, but where he might work off his punishment for not alerting us to the danger he knew was coming.”

“Aye, sir.”  The Captain took hold of Jamison’s arm. 

“Thank you, sir!  Thank you!”

“Get him out of here,” the First grumbled.  He stalked from the room, and up the stairs.  The interrogations of the challengers had taken place in the same room that he interrogated prisoners.  It had been an exhausting, horrible display.  Grusso had sobbed for mercy, Pelham had lost consciousness at one point, Marlin had been reduced to a blubbering mass.  Even Rizen, who seemed to have nothing to hide, had experienced severe pain and nausea when asked if he intended to be forever loyal to Antonia, if he would love her and no other, and if he considered her to be an important advisor.  Only Derík Shogan had made it through the inquiry without incident. 

They had asked Shogan about his loyalties to Tridencia proper, and his loyalties to his home land.  They asked him about his feelings about Trindd, about Pordos and about the other challengers.  They asked about his strange friendship with the bastard Terrance deVenoré, about whether Terrance would have any influence on him as heir.  Derík had laughed heartily at that, and had responded that when it came to the royal treasury, he had every intention of being influenced by the financial genius.  They asked about his father’s ties to old Felsi families, and his horses.  They asked him his feelings about Belesians and Egaalis.  They asked him to speculate on what had happened to Trindd.  The man had an answer to everything, and did not so much as cringe the entire two and a half hours during the interview.  It had been incredible.  Fredríck himself was the most loyal man Enré had, and he was not sure he would have fared as well as the Felsian had.  Enré’s face had not changed during the entire inquiry.  He had stared hard at the man in the chair before them all.  Fredríck’s Second had chattered about it the rest of the night. 

For the first time, Fredríck Insha took a moment, during his climb up the stone stairs, to think that perhaps he would soon be protecting King Enré and Prince Derík.  Relief bubbled in him for just a moment before he quelled it.  Pordos was still a threat, no matter who was chosen heir, he reminded himself.  Perhaps even more so if the Felsian were chosen above him.

It was time he found Prince Pordos. 

Enré was at the top of the stairs speaking quietly to Jepón when the First emerged from the lower level.  “Fredríck,” he murmured behind his red beard. 

“Yes, your Grace.”

The Second appeared in the doorway.  “Lieutenant, Rizen is taking the south to the sands to track the man.  I am headed east toward Ahma, escorting the priest, and I will search for him along the way.  Captain Timbron is headed north with his Talloh guard, and Captain Bartolemeo will be taking his troops to the west of the capitol.  We will find the Prince.”

“Wait, both of you.”  Enré held his hand up.

They looked at his hand, which gestured toward Jepón.  The Steward’s lip curled in vexation.  “I might be able to narrow your search, gentlemen.”

“How?”

He shook his head irritably.  “Princess Betucé, Duca of Divari, is here to see you, Lieutenant.”

The commanders exchanged glances.  “She’s going to tell us where Pordos has gone?”

“It seems she has come to help, under the advisement of Widow Dafoe.”

“Dafoe?” the Second cried.  “From Talloh?  What has she to do with anything?”

Jepón smirked mysteriously.  “If you notice, something always has to do with Lady Dafoe.  If you’ll follow me, gentlemen.”  It was an order from the Steward’s mouth, not an offer nor a request.  The King and his two highest ranking military officers did not dare hesitate.  Jepón, as always, had a schedule to keep.

Princess Betucé sat stiffly on the davenport beside Lady Dafoe, who held her hand.  “Enré,” she whispered, the tremble in her voice belying her apparent self-possession. 

“Sister.”  He went to her side and reached down for the hand that Dafoe was not holding.  “Forgive me for this madness.”

“You could have prevented it all, Enré!” she growled.  “Choose my son as your heir, and it all will-”

“No, Betucé,” he said firmly.  “You know I won’t do that.  Especially not now.  Where is he?  What has he planned?”

The woman licked her lips, staring miserably at the floor.  “Promise you will not hurt him.”

“I cannot promise that, Betucé.  Only that I hope I won’t be forced to.  You know what he has planned.  Tell me.”

“I don’t know,” she protested in a wail.  Fredríck saw Dafoe squeeze her hand for strength.  “But I know he plans to kill you if you do not name him heir.  You and whoever you do name, he will kill.”

“How?” the Second demanded sharply. 

She shook her head at him.  “I don’t know.”

“Where is he?”

“His father keeps a small cottage.”  She glowered at the floor bitterly.  “It is for his mistresses.  I am not supposed to know about it.  But Pordos has used it before.”

“Where?” Fredríck asked again tersely.

“Glory Falls.  Down the river.  It is a place called Falls’ Touch.”

“I know it.”  The First flicked his wrist at his second in command, and they hurried from the room.

“Don’t hurt him,” Betucé screamed after them.  “Don’t hurt him!”

“Bring him alive, Lieutenants,” Enré called.  “If you can.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” the Second called back. 

The First was already exiting the palace and headed for the horse his squire held for him.  He threw himself onto the horse’s back, and whirled around on the Second, who was mounting his own.  “Three men,” he growled.  “No more.”  As the Second was barking orders to guards, the First turned to his squire.  “Tell Captain Bartolemeo to call back Rizen’s troops and Timbron’s.”

“What if the Princess is lying?” the Second shouted over the commotion in the bailey. 

“She isn’t.”  With no further words, he kicked his horse, and they flew through the gates, which nearly did not open fast enough. 

The Second shouted back his final orders to his guards, and followed.  Three of his private guard leapt onto their horses, and raced after them. 

An hour’s ride away, practically under the nose of the palace guard, Fredríck thought angrily.  The arrogance of Pordos made him sick.  And how Dafoe had convinced the Prince’s beast of a mother to come to Enré and tell them where he was hiding he would never know.  Jepón was right, and he made a mental note to have the Second find out why Lady Dafoe always seemed to be just on the outside of every political scene.  She seemed such an unassuming old woman.  Why should she always pop up in the most unlikely of places?  No matter.  It was a thing to investigate another day.

The entire ride, his heart pounded.  He could feel his horse lathering, but he got no complaint from the tough old mare.  She was a Shogan, and lived for these flights.  He gave her rein, and she fixed her own speed.  He took her across the river bridge, and let her tear down the river bank toward Glory Falls.  It was where he had first been stationed as a soldier, and where he had received his first command, protecting the locals from bandits more than anything.  There was no one who knew the area better than he.  After a while, he could hear the four horses behind him, but they had no chance to catch up.  By the time the river turned to rapids, and he found himself chasing the old ivies of years ago, the Second and his men had fallen a great deal behind.  He lead his mare down the sharp hill, trusting her sure footing to keep them from tumbling along the ivies and being crushed in the rocks of the river. 

Down the steep hill, where the river exploded onto rocks in a gorgeous fall, he found the cottage.  Falls’ Touch.  His mare skidded to a stop on the sand, and he slid off of her.  There was never a need to tie a Shogan mare like her.  She knew what was expected of her.  She would wait for him, catching her breath and sipping at the river, until he needed her again.

Fredríck pulled his sword.  The Falls’ Touch cottage was larger than he remembered it.  There were several buildings now, where there had been only one hidden below the hill.  He did not like seeing so many perfect hiding places in the area.  He preferred to face his enemies, not have them spring upon him from behind.  Still, he did not wait for his men to catch up.  “Pordos,” he called.  “We know you are here.  Come out.”

There was a movement in the main house, and he headed for it.  The glory vines were thick, though there were no blooms to be found here.  He stepped lightly, listening as well as he could with the water crashing around him. 

“Pordos, face me!  Whatever you hoped to gain by killing Trindd is lost.  Enré will never put you on the throne.  But he may spare your life if you give yourself to us now.”

A peal of laughter rang out, and echoed around the buildings, disorienting the First for an instant.  He looked around him quickly.  When he turned back to the house, there was the Prince, wearing black from shoulder to boot, with his rapier drawn.  Fredríck took in a breath. 

“Are you alone, Lieutenant?” the man laughed.  “Really?  You’ve come to arrest me, then?”

“I have.”  He took a step forward, raising his sword.  “Lay down your weapon.”

“You’ve come to arrest me,” the man spat, and the laughter suddenly turned to fury.  “In my own nation, you’ve come to arrest me!”

“It is not your nation, Pordos.”

“It is mine.  It is my birthright.”

Fredríck shook his head, inching closer very slowly.  “It was Eron’s birthright, Pordos.  Or Ever’s.  Or Kie’s.  Why aren’t they here to claim it?”

The barrel-chested man gave something of a bark.  “Why?  Because they were weak.  Just as Enré has proven himself to be.  The nation needs me, Lieutenant.”

“Lower your weapon.”

“You never liked me, did you, Peasant?”

“Lower your weapon, Pordos.”

“It is Prince Pordos, commoner,” he roared.  “And you cannot arrest a prince!”

“Watch me.”  Fredríck charged him, crossing the last remaining steps between them with alarming speed.  He thrust his rapier at the man’s sword arm, still determined to follow Enré’s orders to bring the Prince back alive if possible. 

Pordos lifted his sword to deflect the attack.  He took a step back, eyes flashing. 

The ground was not level, and Fredríck found himself lunging uphill at the man.  He sidestepped, so that they were on equal footing.  The Prince was no taller, but had at least thirty pounds on the Lieutenant, all muscle as far as the soldier could tell.  He could not fight this man as he did against Jepón, who was lean and tall and exact.  The Prince was unpredictable, and used his weight.

They traded attacks, each testing his opponent.  Fredríck lunged low, attempting to get under Pordos’s bulk, and felt the sand beneath him failing.  He straightened, parrying an attack by the Prince to his belly.  He took a step forward with his back foot, gaining a few inches of distance on his opponent.  But Pordos countered by throwing his body at the Lieutenant, forcing a retreat that threw him off balance.  Their swords clattered together, jarring their hands, and superficial cuts were beginning to form. 

“The problem,” Pordos panted viciously, “is with men like you.  You peasants can pretend to be noblemen.  The Felsian horse thieves can pretend to be civilized Tridencians.  But in the end, we all know what you really are.”

“What am I?” the Lieutenant growled, taking another cut at the man’s arm.

This time, his blade made contact.  Pordos sucked in his breath, and stumbled back.  “Weak!  You’re all weak!” he screamed.

“You’re the one bleeding,” Fredríck reminded him.  “You killed Eron and Ever.  Didn’t you?  And Jerome Kie too.  And now Trindd.”

“They were weak!”  He dove at the First, in a clumsy thrust to his chest.  Fredríck deflected it easily, and dropped into a defensive stance to rest an instant.

“And Malona?  Were you having her poisoned?”

Pordos’s eyes widened suddenly.  “Malona?  The queen?  Poisoned?”

Fredríck frowned deeply at the man’s surprise.  “You knew nothing of that?”

The Prince did not respond, but beat Fredríck’s blade to the side and threw his left fist into the man’s face. 

Fredríck flew backward, reeling.  His vision blurred for just an instant, but it was enough to leave him open to an attack by the large man’s weapon.  He felt the tip pierce his belly before he could get his own blade up to block it.  The huge fist came at him again, but this time, he grabbed Pordos’s arm and plunged his sword forward as the man charged him. 

It was not so clean as Jepón would have liked, he noted, as he watched the Prince shove himself off of the Lieutenant’s blade.  The wound at the center of his chest gushed with blood, and it took only a second for the blood to reach Pordos’s throat.  He sputtered with shock, and attempted to lift his sword once more, but dropped it to the sand instead.  He stumbled backward, and stared at the Lieutenant before dropping to the ground himself.  He coughed and wheezed for air.

Fredríck sighed.  “You should have given up, Pordos.  You could have lived a good life as the nephew of the King.”

All at once, Fredríck felt a strange sensation fill him.  He looked down, not at Pordos now, but at his own chest, to find a bloody blade protruding from it.  As he fell, the pain erupted in him.

The man behind him snickered.  He placed his boot on Fredríck’s back and extracted his sword from his chest. 

“Kenton,” a throat filled with blood bubbled.  “Kenton, please.”

The knight wiped his blade on the Lieutenant’s arm, then looked down at Pordos. 

“Kenton.  The doctor.  In the town at the river.  Get me to him.”

But the knight instead perched on his heels next to his companion.  A look of fascination came over his gray eyes, and a cruel smile twisted his lips. 

“Kenton.  Please!”  Pordos choked on his blood, and did what he could to spit it from his mouth.  “A doctor!”

Still, Kenton stared down at the man.  He shook his head.  “No,” he whispered. 

A look of realization came over Pordos’s face then.  “Kenton?”

The knight’s eyes scanned his body, and fell on his wound.  “They all bleed the same,” he murmured to himself.  “The whores and the kings.  They all die begging.”

Pordos’s face froze with its expression of horror staring up at his companion.

Kenton laughed to himself in satisfaction.  He took hold of Pordos’s sword and money pouch, and slipped away as he heard the sound of horses racing toward them. 

The Second bolted off his horse, and tore across the grassy sand to the figures lying motionless on the ground.  “Fredríck!” he screamed.  He felt a chill as he saw the expression of loathing and horror on the dead Prince’s face.  He dropped to his knees beside his commander, turning the man over.  He had obviously been surprised from behind.  He shouted to his men to search the area for Kenton deVenoré.  “Fredríck!”

A soft murmur pulled his ear toward the First’s lips.  “He did kill the Princes,” Fredríck whispered.  “And Kie.  And Trindd.  But not Malona.  Promise me you will warn the Princess...that there is another traitor among us.  Someone killed Malona, and whoever it is still walks free.”

“What are you saying about Malona?  I can’t understand you, Freddy.  Nevermind.  We’ll get you back, Fredríck; Anwar can heal you, and you can tell us then.”

“Promise me you will protect them.”

Tears burned at the warrior’s eyes, and he nodded.  “Of course I will, Fredríck.”

Fredríck smiled quietly.  “I know you will,” he said hoarsely.  He nodded faintly, and closed his eyes.  His last few breaths were jagged wheezes, but the smile remained. 

The look on the Second’s face was all Enré needed.  “Both of them?” he asked sadly.

“The Prince and the First,” the commander choked.  “The First finished the Prince, and Venoré killed Fredríck.  From behind,” he added with a snarl.

“Where is the knight?”

“Gone, your Grace.  I suspect we won’t see him again.  He is smart enough to know when to disappear.”

Enré nodded quietly.  “I see.  Still, alert every Captain in the nation to keep his eyes open.  Should he ever resurface, I want him dead.”

“We’ll have better luck alerting whorehouses,” the Second spat.

Enré reached a hand up and took hold of his Lieutenant’s arm.  “I know Fredríck was a friend.  I’m sorry.”

“He was your friend too, your Grace.  His dying words exacted a promise from me to protect you and your daughter.”

The King smiled to himself.  “He knows better than to think you wouldn’t.”

“I said so.”

He nodded again.  “I will feel his death as I did those of my sons.  Get rest, Lieutenant.  I name my heir tonight, and you are to be present.”

“Yes, sir.  Shall I break the news to Princess Betucé?”

“No.  That is my responsibility, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, your Grace.”  The Second gave a small bow, and began the slow, painful walk down the stairs to his quarters.

HEIR AND CHAMPION

Terrance scanned the room full of nobles, feeling his chest tightening.  He could hear their mumblings and their musings, and no one was yet sure what to expect.  He hoped the King would not keep them waiting all evening.  There were too many Mages flitting about for him to use his magic in any significant way.  They seemed not to notice anything unusual about him, but he dared not take the chance. 

At last, the challengers filed in.  Each kneeled at the foot of the throne.  Lady Kazandra, Lady Elsee, and the Second Lieutenant followed.  Then came King Enré, with High Princess Antonia on his arm.  He lead her to the throne, where she bowed to him gracefully, kissed his hand, and took her seat beside him.  He looked down at the challengers still kneeling before him.  Terrance desperately wanted to get inside someone’s head, but forced the desire back. 

“My friends, there has been tragic news this day.”

Terrance, along with everyone else, stared breathlessly at the King.  What was this?

“My nephew, Pordos, Prince of Tridencia, Lord and would-be Duc of Divari, son of my sister Betucé and the Duc of Divari, has died.”

Gasps filled the room.  Ladies clutched their kerchiefs, and men frowned deeply.  “What happened?” several called out.

“It seems that the traitor knight Sir Kenton deVenoré has killed both Prince Pordos and the First Lieutenant Fredríck Insha.”

Terrance glanced at Kazandra, whose eyes closed.  The Second stared forward without emotion, without seeing anything.

“There has been a bounty placed upon Lord deVenoré’s head, and he has been stripped of his titles and privileges, and his land will revert to his mother, upon whose death may it be claimed by his estranged brother Lord Terrance.  We will proceed with Burnings for the Prince and Lieutenant within the week.”  Enré slipped into the royal plural, which he did only very rarely.  “We will make more announcements later regarding Burning feasts.  This tragic news reminds us of the importance of naming an heir to the throne to succeed us.”

Everyone was silent.  The Second set his jaw, and it appeared to Terrance that he was having difficulty with his emotions.

Now that he had everyone’s attention, Enré dropped the formal plural.  “I have not yet finished grieving my dear Queen, nor even my sons.  Now I join my sister and her husband in mourning their only son.  I am reminded all too often of the mortality of my family.  I must name my heir now.  And it is from among those present today that I choose tonight.  Let every bard sing of these men before me, and of Duc Trindd as well.  They have all shown great strength, courage, wit and loyalty during these trials.  Every man will return home having brought glory to his family and region.”

Terrance found himself breathing shallowly.  The fate of the nation, and his personal happiness awaited Enré’s decision.   

“It has been a very long day, and I will not delay us longer.  My heir, for whom we are all here.”

He stood, and lifted his hand.

Antonia rose to his side, and placed her palm in his.

“My daughter, High Princess Antonia, daughter of my Queen Malona.  I leave my throne to you and you alone.”

The heads of the challengers all shot up, and the mouths of the witnesses dropped in unison.  Terrance’s gaze flashed to Lady Kazandra, who was gasping violently.  Tears were filling her dark eyes. 

Marlin stood shakily.  “Antonia?  She is your heir?  A woman?”

Enré glowered down at him.  “You will kneel to your High Princess now, for she will be your Queen one day,” he barked.

Duc Marlin lowered his eyes, then his body.

The whispers around the room ceased immediately at the King’s voice.  As if they were all one large creature, the crowd slowly lowered itself in a collective bow.

Antonia smiled brightly.  “Arise, friends,” she called.  “I intend to choose a husband tonight.  But it is my father’s wish and my birthright that I myself retain the power of the throne.  My husband is to be my companion, my advisor, and my Prince, one day King.  But he will be my equal, and not my superior, in all things.  The line of succession runs through me now.”

King Enré stared down the crowd, daring with his eyes anyone to protest or question.

The Princess reached down for Derík Shogan’s hand.  He alone had left his head lowered throughout the shock.  “I choose for my husband Derík Shogan.  He has proven himself to be the true Champion of Tridencia proper and Felsi.  Rise and take the ring I give you, Lord Shogan.”

Derík stood in one fluid motion.  He allowed the woman to place a ring on his finger. 

“It is a ring that was once worn by my brother Eron.  The ring that signifies the heir to the throne.  Mine matches exactly, symbolizing our equal standing.”

Enré smiled at Derík.  “Good luck to you, son,” he teased quietly.  “My people, I give you your future Queen and King!”

The room burst into applause and laughter.  The excitement was palpable.  Terrance felt his shoulders lowering with relief.  He saw Kazandra weeping, and made his way to her as the crowd pulsed with energy.  “You’ve done it,” he whispered to her, nearly touching his lips to her ear.  “She’s all yours.  Forever.”

The woman sobbed with relief, and Terrance laughed.

All of the sudden, Lady Elsee stood and raised her hands, palms toward the crowd.  A great explosion crackled from her hands, and the guests were all blown backward.  Everyone was forced to the ground.  Terrance watched in horror as the woman approached Derík.  Her body shivered, and her dress slipped from her and slithered away like a mass of snakes.  The rest of them stared at her with alarm, as a strong, beautiful naked body was revealed underneath.  But as she stepped toward Derík, a transformation was taking place.  From the base of her spine flowed a tail, slender and scaled, which ranged from blue-green at its base to purple and finally blood red at its tip.  Her legs slowly merged with this tail, until the lower half of her body was all snake. 

Everyone in the room moved away from the creature, except for Derík, Rizen and the Second, who placed themselves between her and the King and Princess.  Screams let loose from the crowd.

Elsee smiled wickedly, revealing her fangs.  As her magical disguise faded, all could see her eyes change shape.  They were like those a snake possessed, but fiery orange.  “If he is the best among your people,” she hissed, in a voice that seemed to remain strangely human, “then he belongs to me.”

Derík’s eyes were wide, but he stood his ground.  “Who are you?”

The creature gave a toothy smile.  “Just a lonely female out hunting for a male.  Pordos proved unimpressive as a mate.  That a male from your species should be necessary for me to breed the Prophecy for my people is simply ridiculous.  Fate’s cruel trick; that I shall have to contaminate my son’s blood with yours in order to make him strong makes no sense, but here we are.”

Derík’s hand went up as she continued to approach.  “Stay back!”

“I’m going to give you something no man has ever had.  A chance to mate with a Survivor.”

“Why are you-”

Elsee flew at him, teeth bared.  Derík’s sword raised, and it immediately turned to snaky tendrils in his hand.  He dropped it with a gasp at his feet and watched it slither away.  The creature sprang at him, her teeth intended for his throat.  Screams filled the room, and Derík gave a cry.

Then, silence.

Elsee felt her teeth hit a magical barrier.  One fang chipped and flew to the ground.  Blood flowed from her own lips instead of Derík’s throat, and she jumped back to see what had happened to keep her from marking this man.

Everyone in the great hall seemed frozen in a state of panic.  She looked around wildly until her eyes fell on the only movement in the room. 

A gray man stood glowering at her from across the banquet hall.  He wore fine clothes, but no jewels, and he appeared to be ill.  His glare was steady on her, and the eyes were aflame with loathing.

“Who are you?”

Terrance gave a small smile that did not reach his eyes.  “Go back where you came from or I will destroy you now.”

She watched him for a moment, assessing his strength.  “Your power is volatile.  Natural and wild.  It’s been you all this time.  The power I sensed at the feast, during the storm.  It’s you.  Terrance deVenoré, is it not?”

“Go now.”

She stepped toward him cautiously.  “I have never felt such power in one of your species before.”

“I will destroy you.”

She stopped.  “Yes,” she breathed.  “I almost believe you could.”  A smile lit her face, and she wiped the blood from her lip with the back of her hand.  “It isn’t often that I see my own blood.”  Then her eyes narrowed.  “What is this man to you?  Why do you protect him?”

“He will be Prince of my people.”

Elsee continued to smile.  “But he isn’t the strongest.  Not by far.  You are.  All this time, it never occurred to me that the strongest would never compete.”

“Don’t take another step toward him.”

“Him?  No, dear, not him.  I see my mistake now.  You are meant to be the father of the Promised One.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My people were exiled from our home by the Vicious Enemy.  We were at war with them for hundreds of years, maybe thousands, and they exiled us from our land.  We live now in forests, in the jungles you call Egaal, awaiting the promised child who will bring us home.  The Prophecy is clear.  The child is to be a hybrid, borne of a Survivor and a male of your species.  I’ve come seeking the Promised Hybrid’s father.  And I see you are here before me now.  We are meant to mate.”

Terrance’s lip curled.  “You’re mistaken.  I can promise you that I was not meant to mate with someone of your kind.”

The creature snarled at him.  “Enough of this,” she spat.  “I have just hours left before this cycle ends.  I will not wait another seven years to mate!”  She started for him, with terrifying speed.

Terrance fought the instinct to back away.  He raised his hands, and sent his power to rail into her, knocking her backward.  The Elsee creature shrieked in anger, and picked herself up.  She hissed viciously, throwing herself at him.

Before she could reach him, he blew her back again, and found his way into her mind.  Visions came to him, of snakes and snake people, of terrible battles, and sexual encounters.  He whispered fiercely in her mind, “What do snakes fear?”  A vision of another creature came to him.  This one was also scaled, but it stood on legs instead of crawled across the ground.  Wings sprouted from its back, and it was spewing fire from its mouth.  It was massive, horrifying.

A dragon.  Terrance wrapped his fingers around the vision and pulled it from her mind into the room.  For an instant, the thing frightened even him.  But he added heat to the fire the illusion breathed, and Elsee screamed. 

“What are you doing?” she shrieked, covering her face with her arms. 

“Getting into your head, witch,” he responded.  “You will leave us alone.”

She shook her head frantically.  “It isn’t real!  No one can control Dragons!”

His voice was firm and steady.  “I do.  You have just one last chance to leave before I finish you.”

She stared at the beast for one last moment, then turned to him.  Fear was etched across her face, but she gave him an odd smile.  “I don’t need you.  I know where your brother is.  I will take him.  Surely your power runs through your family.  I will take him before he has the chance to use his power against me.  Then I will kill him immediately after I’ve used him.  He will not have the chance to be a threat.”

“Go now.  Do what you will to my brother.  But never return here.”

Elsee glowered at him.  She took one last terrified glance at the dragon, and raised her palms again.  Without another word, she disappeared from sight.

Quickly, Terrance dropped the illusion.  Sweat was trickling down his neck.  His hands trembled horribly.  He gathered the last of his strength to reach into the minds of those around him.  He concealed from them what had occurred, praying to the gods that the Mages would be unable to detect him in spite of the massive amount of power he had used, then dropped limply to the ground at Kazandra’s feet.

*****

Kazandra blinked her eyes.  It was as though she had just awoken, but she was still seated at the announcement of the heir.  The excitement had been too much for her.  She was dizzy.  She looked up just in time to see Lord Terrance collapse beside her.  “Oh!  Terrance!  What is it?  Are you all right?”

Those around them were laughing and talking excitedly, and most were headed into the great hall for the promised feast.  Some were lamenting the loss of Fredríck Insha, and speculating on what it would mean for the safety of the nation.  But no one took notice of Kaza and the gray man crumbled on the floor beside her.

“Terrance?” she said again fearfully.

“I’m all right,” he breathed. 

She reached down to help him stand.  “What is it?”

He shook his head, and sat hard on the chair Lady Elsee had been in only moments ago.  “I’m fine.”

She stared at him.  “No.  You’re not, are you?”

Terrance lifted his gray eyes to meet her dark ones.  “No, my Lady.  I’m not.  You will have the best of our arrangement with Antonia and Derík.  For within just a few months, not a year, I think, you will be made a very wealthy widow.”

Kaza’s lips parted.  “Terrance, no!  You can’t mean that!”

“I do.  But swear to me that you will not tell anyone, not Antonia, not Enré, and certainly not Derík.  Swear to me.”

She watched him attempt to catch his breath.  His gray skin glistened with sweat, and he trembled badly.  “But why?”

“Derík must not know.  Do you swear to me?  As your future husband, it is all I will ever require of you.”

She nodded slowly.  Her dark eyes shone with pity.  “Then I swear.  I will tell no one.”

He let his hand close over hers.  “Thank you, my Lady.”

The room was emptying.  Enré had lead the crowd to the banquet hall, where they could hear shouting, laughing and the commotion of the meal being served.  Even the other challengers seemed relieved that it was all over, even though the result had been unfavorable. 

Kazandra frowned at him.  “Can you walk?”

He nodded.  “Of course.  Go.  I’m right behind you.”

The woman looked at his eyes for just a moment more, then left the hall with the others.  She arrived just in time to see Enré and Derík speaking quickly between them, then the new Prince lifted the goblet he held.  All those around him stopped speaking.  Kaza was impressed with the presence he commanded, and it was clear that Enré was as well. 

“Good people, there is a matter left unfinished.  I have spoken to our Second Lieutenant, and to our King and Princess.  The position of First Lieutenant is tragically vacant this evening, and it must be filled.  It is my great honor to offer the position to one who has proven his loyalty and expertise time and again.  He was my greatest rival, and I hope that he will be my greatest ally.  Duc Rizen, will you take the office of First Lieutenant?”

Rizen’s face broke into shock.  “Me?” he asked gruffly.

“Who better, General?” Derík responded, lifting his hand to his opponent.

Rizen stared at him, then glanced at Enré, who nodded.  He took Derík’s offered wrist.  “It would be my honor to serve you.  Your Grace.”

Derík smiled.  “Let there be no more interruptions of the feast!”

Enré laughed, and turned to Kaza, who had approached him.  “He sounds as though he were born a Prince.”

“Perhaps not, but he is ready for it, your Majesty.”

“I think so too.  And you, my dear?  Are you ready for your coming wedding?”

She smiled shakily.  “I suppose I shall have to be,” she responded.

He took his seat at the great table, signaling to the rest of the crowd that they may be seated, and she sat beside him.  Antonia sat on the other side, and Enré took both of their hands in his.  “I know these marriages will not be easy.  But in this way, I have not separated my daughter from her true lover, have I?  Not if Derík and Lord Terrance are to be the husbands?”

Kazandra’s mouth dropped.  “Your Grace!” she stammered.

Antonia’s free hand flew to her lips.  “Father!”

He laughed quietly.  “I am not entirely blind, my daughters.”

Kaza’s tears spilled over at last.  She pulled the King’s hand to her lips and kissed it.  “You’ve never called me that before,” she wept.

Antonia closed her eyes.

“And I won’t again so that anyone else might hear.  You both understand the danger of anyone knowing that Antonia and Derík are not...not...”

“Yes, Father.  We know.  And there will be an heir.  I promise you that.  For all you’ve done for us, we owe you that.”

He nodded with a sigh.  “I’m sorry that it must be that way.  But trust me when I say that it is far easier to breed an heir than to choose one.”  He squeezed their hands as the meal was served.  “We will not speak of this again, my daughters,” he warned.  Then he lifted himself and his glass, and began toasting to the late First Lieutenant. 

Kazandra looked past her tears into the Princess’s eyes.  They smiled at each other happily.  Having their scheme come together was gratifying.  Having King Enré’s blessing was completely unexpected.

*****

Antonia sat impatiently as the woman braided her hair.  She groaned.  “When I decided it was lovely to wear these dreadful things, was I mad?”

Kazandra looked up and laughed.  “I thought you were.”

The girl helping the Princess into her corset held back a smile, but it did not escape notice. 

“Ah.  You see?  Balley agrees.  A waste of time.”  Kazandra frowned at her needlepoint.  Oh, how she hated needlepoint.  Nearly as much as she hated corsets.  The fact that a needlepoint patch in her husband’s colors was a traditional wedding gift was beginning to mean very little as she pricked her fingers time and again.  Appropriately, the colors of House Venoré were blue and black, much like the colors of her bruised fingers. 

“Time!” Antonia huffed.  “Time?  Who cares about time?  I can’t breathe in!”

Kazandra frowned down at her work.  Crooked, as always.  “I’ve been dressed for an hour.  Time becomes important when you can’t breathe in for an hour.”

Balley put her fingers over her mouth, and giggled. 

“You think it’s funny because you don’t have to wear them,” Antonia accused. 

The girl quieted, and busied herself by buttoning her mistress’s skirt.

“And why should any of us?” Kaza demanded irritably, sucking on a sore thumb.

Tuluthsa ceased her braiding and stared.  “Lady Kaza, you are just scandalous.”

“Lady Luthsa, you’re polite enough for both of us.”

Tuluthsa, the daughter of the late Jerome Kie, had recently moved into the palace to be the new Lady-in-Waiting to Antonia, to replace Lady Elsee who had suddenly gone missing after Pordos’s death and the naming of an heir.  No one knew where she had gone, and Antonia claimed not to care.  Flighty Tuluthsa was far preferable.  She smiled prettily at Kazandra.  “Thank you,” she responded.

Antonia sighed.  “Are you nearly finished with my hair?”

“Nearly.”

Balley poured tea for them, and offered the Princess cheese. 

“Balley,” she murmured, “I’m far too nervous to chew.”

Tuluthsa frowned at this.  “I could have the cook make a broth,” she offered.

“No, but thank you,” Antonia chuckled.  “If you’re finished, Kaza and I must go down to the garden.  Thank you for your help, girls.  I will see you at the ceremony.”

Correctly recognizing this as a dismissal, Balley stepped toward the door.  Seeing that the youngest of the ladies was not following her, she turned.  “Lady Tuluthsa, if you would like, I can point out the eligible bachelors among the guests, as you wanted me to.”

The girl stood with a blush.  “Yes, thank you!”  She kissed Antonia quickly.  “You’re beautiful, dear!” she cried, and bounded happily after the maid.

The ladies laughed, and Kaza dropped her needlepoint.  She reached for Antonia’s hands.  “You are beautiful, dear,” she whispered.

“As are you, my Love.”

“We marry this day.”

“We do.  I am glad Elsee disappeared when she did.  She would have been expected to marry with us.  Perhaps that’s why she left.  In any case, I’m pleased it will only be us.”

“And those men,” Kaza reminded her with a smile.  “Shall I make them disappear too?”

“I would that you could, Love.  But I like them.  Terrance is...odd.”  She shrugged helplessly, and laughed.  “To be quite honest, he gives me chills, Kaz.  But Derík is a good man, and they are glad that we are together so that they might be too.  I think we may even grow to be friends with them.”

Kazandra smirked.  “Derík maybe.”  Then her expression softened, and she reached down to touch her lover’s soft cheek.  “We should go meet them now.  They’ll be waiting.”  She looked forlornly at the abandoned needlepoint.  “Do you think Terrance would accept a promise that I will not ever be with another man as a substitute for a wedding gift?”

“Yes.”  Antonia lifted herself from her chair, and followed the woman from the room and down the stairs.  She watched Kaza’s skirts dance across the floor, and wondered how she would feel when watching her dancing at the wedding with her new husband.  The thought of that man holding her lover brought a chill to her spine, but she sighed and wiped it from her mind.  “Think of Yan or Marlin, Grusso or Rizen,” she chided herself quietly.  At least this man would loathe to dance with Kaza as much as Antonia hated to watch it.

The men were indeed waiting for them in the garden.  They stood to receive the ladies.  Antonia drew in her breath.  While she was not attracted to Derík, she was still impressed by his radiance.  Even Terrance looked less sickly and more stately than usual.  She smiled at them.  “Good day, gentlemen,” she teased, as if nothing in the world were unique about the day.

They bowed in unison.  “Princess.  Lady Kazandra.”  Derík returned the smile with a sensual mouth and a sweet accent.  Terrance, she noticed, was not watching the ladies, but his companion.  “We have much to discuss, and little time in which to do it.  The ceremony starts in an hour, and they will be looking for us.”

Kazandra giggled girlishly.  “Jepón is likely glad we are out of his way for now.”

“Likely.”

Terrance cleared his throat, and tore his eyes from Derík.  “Ladies, we must discuss a contract among us.”

Derík smiled fondly at him.  “Must everything be a contract with you?”

His gray friend cocked his head and smiled.  “It’s what I’m good at, Derík.  Surely you’re glad I’m good at something.”

The Felsian gestured with his hand that Terrance should continue.

“We must discuss what is expected among us.  For now, we will not talk about political roles.  Only private ones.”

Kazandra laughed again, quieter now.  “Do not sneak into my bed, and I shall not kill you with your own dagger.  I should think that is enough to discuss.”

Terrance’s lip curled.  “You have nothing to worry about, my Lady,” he sneered.  “No mistake.”

Antonia smiled.  “In public, we must be seen as a true husband and wife.  All of us,” she added, sending a playful glare at Kazandra.

“I will be the most devoted of wives,” her friend promised her, “to the most loyal of husbands.”

It was Derík’s turn to laugh.  “I certainly hope he will not be all that faithful.”

Terrance snickered.  “Agreed, Princess.  Before the eyes of even the servants, we must appear to be husband and wife.”

“I’m just grateful you agreed to live at the palace,” Kaza said quietly.  Her eyes were low, but her soft voice was directed to her fiancé. 

He nodded.  “Derík and I are used to being apart, because of my travel, but you and Antonia never have been.  My estate runs itself.  I prefer to live with Derík when I can.  It was no sacrifice on my part.”

She sighed up at him finally.  “Still, I am grateful.”

“I do have a favor to ask of you.  It is about your brother.”

Kaza’s eyebrows raised.  “Felíz?”

Terrance rolled his gray eyes.  “Have you another?” he snapped impatiently.  “He is determined to have something of an army of physicians, is he not?”

“He is.  That is, his wife has designed it so.”

“Then perhaps my request is better begged of Lady Daena.  There is a young woman I would like to see instated as an aide to a nurse or a doctor.  A former chambermaid who goes by the pet name Mouse.  Can this be done?”

Antonia watched Kaza as she shrugged.  “I see no reason why not.  I will speak to my brother’s wife after the ceremony.  Her nursemaid duties may begin with looking after the Lady herself until they find the position for her.  This Mouse of yours will need only report to Lady Daena in the morning.”

Terrance bowed slightly at the neck.  “Thank you.  It is the only thing I wanted.”

Kaza returned the nod.  “Then I am happy to do it.”

Antonia watched as the two of them shared what must have been the first true smile between them. 

Then it was gone.  “But I will kill you should you ever change your mind about crawling into my bed.”

Terrance nodded.  “Death would be welcome if I ever became so mad and confused as that.”

They all laughed together. 

Antonia took Kaza’s hand.  “So there won’t be a contract among us.  Only an understanding.  Only respect.  Only friendship.”

Derík nodded.  “Agreed.”

Terrance reached into his pocket and pulled out two loose necklaces.  “From us,” he said simply.  He handed one to each of them.  Antonia’s was alive with perfect green and copper gemstones.  They matched her hair and eyes beautifully.  Kazandra’s was a silver chain, with a single, gorgeous black stone hanging from it. 

“They’re lovely,” Antonia said.  She looked up then.  “And worth a fortune.”

Terrance shrugged.  “There is no gift I can give you that compares to being given Derík for the rest of my life.”  Antonia thought he heard a catch in the man’s voice, but his face registered no emotion.  “I consider him your gift to me.”

Kazandra smiled, her pale skin flushing a pretty deep red.  “Good.  Because my attempt at your needlepoint was a disaster.”

The gray man grinned at her.  “The fact that you even tried to do a wedding needlepoint honors me enough.  I have no need for the actual item itself.”

Antonia lifted Derík’s from the fold of her skirt.  “Your colors, husband, and mine.  You can see the shield-”

“With your father’s crest and my own blended,” Derík breathed.  His face beamed happily.  “Tridencia and Felsi.  The horse and the moon glory.”

Pleased with his response, Antonia inclined her head slightly.  “I’m glad you like it.”

“It will be the shield we live under for our reign.  I adore it.”  Then he looked up.  “And from me, I give you what is most precious to me.  A mare named Winter is in the stables right now, nursing twin foals.  Two fillies, sired by a dear friend of mine, the most wonderful Shogan stallion I have ever known.  The one I was forced to watch Burned just a week ago.”

“It is a gift that honors us greatly.  We will love them in memory of your Burned friend.”

Antonia received a great smile for her words.

Terrance cleared his throat.  “We run out of time.  I believe we’ve reached an arrangement.  You two will mutually respect each other, advise each other, and rule together when the time comes.  Lady Kazandra and I will refrain from killing one another.  It sounds like the best of plans.”

The three others smiled.  “Then let’s go be married,” Kazandra cried.

Antonia followed the three of them slowly, watching as Kaza took the arm of each man and led them out of the garden toward the great hall.  She watched them as they walked with confidence toward their wedding.  Four conspirators, four lovers, four friends.  Derík and Terrance would become her brothers, and Kazandra would always be her lover.  Terrance was right.  It was the best of plans.

*****

When the last of their company joined the table, the tea poured itself. 

“Tell us your assessment, Doctor,” Dafoe of Talloh commanded.  Her voice was pleasant, but hopeful.

The physician watched the tea pour into his cup, and almost wished the old lady would not use her powers for such things.  It gave him the odd feeling of being in a dream.  Knowing he was the only one in attendance without the power to perform such tricks, he shrugged it from his mind, and forced himself to look at her instead of the floating kettle.

“You were right.  Lord Terrance, now Lord deVenoré, since his brother is stripped of titles, allowed me to examine him without question.  As would be expected, he considers his abnormality to be a sign of illness.”

“And I am sure you encouraged this line of thought,” a deep voice accused.

The doctor looked at the other man across from him.  The head servant of Tridencia’s royal palace.  He would never understand why Jepón felt satisfied in that role, considering his powers.  With a thought, he could engulf the entire palace in flames, and reduce the whole city to ashes.  Yet the royal family had no knowledge of his abilities.

“While it may not be an illness,” the doctor said firmly, “it is indeed dangerous to him.  I did not lie to him, if that is what you would have preferred.”

Jepón sniffed, but did not respond.

The third, ever silent physically, whispered in their minds, giving the doctor a startle.  How long does he have? the voice hissed inside him.

“Not long.  Months, even a few years maybe, but I doubt it.  It will consume him soon.”

Dafoe sighed, distraught.  “What can you do for my nephew, Anwar?”

Hearing the sadness in her voice pained his heart.  “Very little, my Lady.  He suffers more than any I have ever seen.”

“Then he is the most powerful of any of us,” Jepón cried hungrily.

Dafoe whirled on him.  “Do not forget, friend, that he is my niece’s son before your pupil!  Most important is to ease his suffering!”

“Should that not be his own decision?” the man shot back.

“It may not be any of ours,” Anwar interrupted sharply.  “The man is dying.  And I don’t know that there is anything I can do for him.  My Lady,” for he refused to address Jepón, “you know I will do what I can.  And when the time comes, I will see to it he goes peacefully.  I don’t yet know how I will do it, but I will ease his pain at the end.”

The silent one’s eyes glowed brightly in his shadow, and they could all sense his frustration.  He spoke again, in their minds.  Men are such fragile things, he spat mercilessly.

The other two bowed their heads, but Anwar stared evenly into the eyes.  “Strange that you feel that way, since you more than all of us know he could one day be more powerful even than you!”

Dafoe and Jepón exchanged glances, and held their breath.

But the third simply laughed.  You speak as though you believe you understand the first thing about this power.

Anwar glowered.  “I understand that you are far more interested in this man-”  He let the word man fall hard.  “-than you have been in any other mortal.  I think you fear he could be your master!”

Dafoe’s eyes closed, and Jepón began to cackle, until they both realized that the third did not intend to destroy the man for his insolence. 

Instead, he spoke words in their minds they had never thought to hear.  Not my master, physician, the third hissed.  My equal.

Jepón dropped his tea.  Dafoe’s eyes shot open.  Anwar cleared his throat.  “Truly?” he breathed.  “He is so powerful as that, you think?”

The third’s eyes softened.  Perhaps.  In my long life, I have never sensed the presence of one with so much potential.  It has been ages since my kind expelled from our moons those who call themselves Survivors, because their violent and treacherous natures could not be overcome.  We have watched them to see that they do not rise enough in power to return.  Never have I seen any among your people live through an encounter with one of them, until this one managed to defeat a Survivor witch all on his own.

“But yet he’s dying!” Dafoe cried.

“Is there anything that can be done?” Jepón despaired.

The Dragon hissed, and for the first time in Anwar’s presence, he spoke aloud.  It was a reptilian sound, with a soft echo, and power loomed behind it.  “That will depend entirely on the man himself,” he said.  “Train him.  I will return before you have finished.”  He nodded his magnificent head at Anwar, who stood in awe of him, his earlier defiance forgotten.  “You will come with me as we seek one who can heal him.”

Anwar nodded mutely.

With a wordless, hawk-like cry, the Dragon changed his shape before their eyes, from the massive, unimaginably beautiful creature, to his chosen human form. 

The two vanished from the parlor, leaving Dafoe and Jepón alone to decide the future of Terrance deVenoré.

Author M.E. Corey Brown graduated from the University of Mary Washington in Fredericksburg, VA, in 2003.  While there, she was introduced to the thrilling sport of fencing, the imaginative world of fantasy role-playing games, and the good, clean debauchery of Renaissance festivals. 

She now lives in beautiful Greenville, SC, with her loving husband Daniel, her amazing daughter Danielle, and her maniacal cat Puck. 