Lord of Starfire
                         Prologue
             2141, Age of Stars, Late Summer
    "I won."
    "You did not!" The voice came from a frowning, 
sweating little churni girl, her cheeks probably flushed 
with exertion, though it didn't show under her dark skin. 
She twitched a rope in her hand, making it slide across 
the death force ground like a snake. "You jumped over the 
rope five times, because you're five. I jumped over it 
three times, because I'm three. You think you won just 
because you're older!"
    "I did win," insisted her opponent, a death Elwen boy 
little taller than she, scrubbing at the sweat on his 
forehead and in his dark hair. "Give me the rope, Misha."
    Instead of doing so, the little girl hit him and fled, 
crying, to the other side of the courtyard. Elshar sighed, 
but it hadn't really hurt, so he didn't call the Watcher. 
Instead, he wandered to one side of the small courtyard 
and sat down.
    Other children ran and rolled past him, tossing balls, 
running races, or playing the rope game he just had. 
Elshar tried to keep his eyes open, but they insisted on 
falling closed. He hadn't slept earlier, and even though 
they were supposed to play during this time, he was really 
tired. Maybe if he just put his head on his knees, it 
would look like he was thinking...?
    "Elshar!" The Watcher's voice cracked, as it always 
did when someone did something they weren't supposed to. 
"Elshar Deathwield! Play with the other children!"
    Obediently, Elshar stood up, though he kept yawning, 
and tottered out into the courtyard again.
    He saw Misha. She had stopped crying, but she was 
climbing one of the walls, so he didn't try to talk to 
her. He knew how hard it was to climb the walls.
    For a moment he watched her, wondering why she was so 
much prettier than he was. Everyone said so. Was it 
because she had silver hair, and he black? It couldn't be 
their eyes. They both had green eyes, Deathwield eyes- the 
color of nobility.
    Even as Elshar sounded it out in his mind, proud of 
himself for remembering what it meant, the Watcher's voice 
jumped from the wall again like a cricket. "Elshar! Play 
with the other children!"
    "All right, all right," said Elshar, and ran into the 
middle of a ball game. They let him in, but went right on 
playing, and because most of them were taller than he was, 
he had to jump to get the ball. That was all right, 
though. It gave him more exercise, and maybe the Watcher 
wouldn't yell at him any more.
    At last he got the ball, and ran toward the far end of 
the courtyard, while the others chased him like wolves. 
Maybe if he saw Misha, he would throw the ball to her, so 
that she could be part of the game.
    He saw her, but she was standing on top of the wall, 
trying to look like the Watcher, so he didn't talk to her 
again. Instead he rolled on the ground, almost hitting the 
wall with his shoulder, and then bounced back to his feet 
and ran the other way. Some of the others laughed at him, 
and others called that it wasn't fair, but they all turned 
around and started chasing him again.
    The Watcher didn't shout at him again, but she kept 
shouting at other children who weren't doing what she 
wanted them to do. Elshar hoped she wouldn't tell his 
mother what he'd done. His mother loved his baby sister 
Kuzov more than she loved him, but she still watched him. 
She wouldn't be too happy if he'd been in trouble.
    At last someone else got the ball, but hit Elshar so 
hard he decided he didn't want to play with them anymore. 
As he wandered toward the edge of the courtyard again, 
looking for someone to play with, he heard people 
laughing, and the Watcher yelling. Curious, he stepped 
back and looked up.
    Misha was walking along the edge of the wall with her 
arms spread, only barely keeping her balance. The Watcher 
stood about five feet from her, looking angry, but not 
daring to come closer in case she made Misha fall.
    Then Misha stopped and turned around to bow to the 
audience- and lost her balance for real. The Watcher ran 
toward her, but the wall was high and the girl fell too 
fast. The laughter changed to screams.
    Elshar stared with his mouth open. Then he knew what 
was happening.
    Misha would hit the ground, and then she would die, 
just like Caleth when she had the vomiting sickness last 
winter. Elshar remembered that Caleth had been gray rather 
than black when they took him to see her, and her eyes had 
stared into space. There was nothing left in them.
    It couldn't happen to Misha. It couldn't!
    He had to catch her. He began to run towards the wall. 
But he knew even as he took the first steps that he was 
too far away. Just like the Watcher.
    He had to catch her! He had to.
    And as he thought those words, he felt something hiss 
up in him, like that snake that lived in the Big Garden. 
Something inside him slid around like the snake, and then 
slithered out.
    Misha stopped falling, until she was almost floating, 
like a bubble. An awed Elshar watched her settle to the 
ground; then he ran over to help her. The air had a 
strange smell, he noticed, but he couldn't be bothered 
about that right now.
    Misha hugged him and started crying. A dark shape 
dropped beside them. Elshar was frightened until he saw it 
was the Watcher.
    She looked at him for a very long time. Then her eyes 
widened, and she nodded.
    Elshar found himself even more frightened, though he 
didn't know why. All the Watcher had done was look at him.
    "Are you all right, girl?" the Watcher asked Misha in 
a soft voice. When the little girl nodded, the Watcher 
reached out and gently took her from Elshar's arms. "Then 
start playing again."
    Misha trotted away, still looking scared. The Watcher 
kept looking at Elshar, until he felt so uncomfortable 
that he dared to ask her a question. "Can I go back and 
play now, Watcher? Misha might not be all right yet."
    The woman waved her hand. "Oh, she's all right. You're 
the one I want to talk to. Come." She stood and extended 
her hand to the little boy. Though troubled somewhat, he 
took it. They started toward the door on the far side of 
the courtyard.
    Trotting to keep up with the Watcher, Elshar looked up 
at her anxiously. "Am I sick, Watcher? Is that why you 
looked at me like that?"
    "No." The Watcher kept quiet for a moment. "I want to 
talk to you because you saved Misha."
    "I didn't save her," Elshar said. "You did." He 
thought for a moment. "Didn't you?"
    The Watcher stopped walking, then knelt down before 
him and put one hand on his shoulder. "No, you saved her. 
You have-" She chewed her lip like Mother did when she was 
worried about something. "Do you know what magic is, that 
you have it?"
    Elshar nodded, then shook his head. The Watcher 
frowned at him. "Well, have you or haven't you?" she asked 
threateningly.
    "I've heard of it, but I can't have any," said Elshar 
calmly. "My mother and father told me. It's why they love 
my sister Kuzov more than me."
    "Explain," said the Watcher, just like she did in 
lessons when she thought your answer needed more than 
"yes" or "no."
    "My father's a mage," said Elshar, proud of himself 
for remembering this fact. "My mother's not, really, or 
else she doesn't have very much magic. If the father's the 
mage, then it's his daughter who has the magic. I can't 
have magic. My sister Kuzov has it."
    The Watcher looked even more worried. She was 
certainly looking at him very strangely. Elshar hung his 
head and shuffled his feet, wishing he could go back and 
play with the other children.
    "If you have no magic," said the Watcher at last, "how 
did you save Misha?"
    Elshar shrugged. "I don't know. I just knew I had to 
catch Misha, and then something started slithering around 
inside me, like the snake in the Big Garden. Then she 
stopped falling. I thought you did it."
    The Watcher stood up and grabbed his hand again. 
"Come. There is someone you must see."
    Elshar followed her, but he shivered. Something had 
changed, but he didn't know what it was.




                        Chapter 1
                    Something Special
    "Mother! Mother!" Elshar looked around, saw no one, 
and kept yelling. "Something happened today! The Watcher 
said I have to tell you about it."
    "Oh, Elshar." His mother sounded tired, he thought as 
he made his way to the back room, following the sound of 
her voice. "Did you get in more trouble today? I can't 
deal with it. I'm busy with Kuzov."
    You're always busy with Kuzov, Elshar thought, but 
only to himself. When he said things like that aloud, he 
got spanked. "I'm not in trouble," he told his mother, who 
was standing behind a door, so that he still couldn't see 
her. "But something exciting happened today, and the 
Watcher said-"
    "Yes, that you have to tell me about it. I heard you 
the first time." His mother sounded really impatient. At 
last the door swung inwards. "Will you come in here and 
talk to me? I can't leave Kuzov."
    Elshar stepped into the room and tried not to frown 
when he saw the broken wooden toys on the floor. Kuzov 
could walk now, and she was always into his things. But 
his parents wouldn't let him yell at her about it. They 
thought it might hurt her for some reason. Elshar didn't 
think so, but he really got hurt when he tried to do 
something else, so he kept silent.
    Kuzov was bouncing on the edge of his parents' bed, 
waving her arms and laughing at his mother. Elshar tried 
not to be jealous when he saw his mother smiling happily 
back at her. Being jealous was wrong. But if he had 
laughed at either of his parents when he was as young as 
Kuzov, they hit him to stop it.
    He did have to say Kuzov was pretty, prettier than 
him, he supposed. She had white hair, which adults said 
was stunning against her black skin, and green eyes lit 
with the sparkle and life of her magic. Elshar wasn't 
quite sure what that meant, except that she was prettier 
than he was.
    His mother's smile faded as she turned to face him, 
pulling Kuzov into her lap. Elshar often wondered what it 
must be like to be there, safe and warm. He started 
talking. "Misha climbed up on the wall, Mother, and-"
    "Now, Elshar," his mother said, one hand raised. "You 
know it's not nice to tell on people."
    "I'm not telling, Mother. The Watcher said I had to 
tell you that so you would understand."
    "Oh." His mother looked surprised, and she let her 
hand drop until she was holding Kuzov again. "Well, then, 
get on with it."
    "Yes, Mother." Elshar hurried on, feeling the thing in 
him- it wasn't magic, was it?- slide around. For some 
reason, he didn't want it coming out again. "Misha climbed 
up on the wall, and then she fell. The Watcher couldn't 
grab her; she was too far away. Misha kept falling and 
falling, and then I saved her."
    "How?" His mother was frowning at him. "I'm glad you 
caught her, since she would have died, but how? If you 
caught her, she would still be hurt, and so would you."
    "Well." Elshar looked at the ground. He didn't think 
his mother would believe this part, but the Watcher said 
he had to tell her. "I felt something wake up in me and  
reach out towards her. Then she stopped falling. The 
Watcher says it was- magic."
    "Magic!" His mother started laughing, and somehow the 
laughter hurt worse than any spanking she had ever given 
him. "Elshar, you know it wasn't magic. The Watcher must 
have saved her and then told you you did so you could feel 
heroic."
    Elshar didn't know why, but that really hurt. "Mother, 
really, I did. I-"
    "Are you lying to me, young man?" His mother's voice 
was as soft as the snake in the Big Garden's hiss. "You 
know I don't tolerate lies."
    Elshar knew what tolerate meant. If his parents didn't 
tolerate something he said or did, he got hit or yelled at 
or had to give one of his toys to Kuzov and watch her 
break it. "I'm not lying, Mother. Really, I'm not. I told 
the Watcher I couldn't have magic, since it's the 
daughters who have magic when the fathers are mages. But 
she told me there was nothing else it could be, and that I 
was 'something special.'"
    "Young man, you're lying." His mother looked 
frightened for a moment, then went back to looking angry. 
"You must be lying." She stood up and drew back her hand. 
She was going to hit him.
    Elshar clenched his hands into fists, like his father 
did when he was angry. And Elshar was angry. He wasn't 
lying. He was telling the truth. His mother had no reason 
to hit him! None-
    A soundless sigh seemed to travel through the room. 
Silently, a screen of light grew up between Elshar and his 
mother. His mother gaped at it, but Elshar knew what it 
was.
    His magic. The thought that followed next was totally 
strange, but he could tell it was true. He could fight 
back, now. He had a- a weapon as good as the sword his 
mother practiced with, or his father's magic, or his 
sister's.
    "So." His mother's voice was angry, but she looked 
frightened again. "Your sister cares enough for you to 
stop me from hitting you. I think you should thank her for 
being so loving and caring." She held Kuzov out toward the 
barrier of light, as if thinking it would disappear.
    Elshar looked at her and shook his head. "It isn't 
Kuzov's magic, Mother. It's mine." His happiness was going 
away, replaced by fear and confusion. He had always 
thought his parents wanted him to have magic, so why were 
they so furious and upset when he did finally have it?
    His mother shook her head suddenly and strode from the 
room. Elshar let his light die as he stared unhappily 
after her.
    He could only hope his father would take the news more 
calmly.
----------------------------------------------------------
    He didn't see his mother or Kuzov for the rest of the 
day, which didn't surprise him. One corner of him that 
seemed to have come awake at the same time as the magic 
whispered that she was afraid of him and staying far away 
to protect his baby sister, but he held to the hope that 
she was merely trying to deal with the fact of her son 
having magic.
    Elshar spent the afternoon moodily playing with his 
toys, the ones Kuzov hadn't broken. His father had carved 
his favorite toy, a little wooden deathtrotter whose legs 
actually moved. After galloping it around the room sixteen 
times, however, Elshar began to feel bored.
    He put the toys away, because leaving a room messy was 
wrong, and went outside to find his father.
    The halls of Aprim, the ka'cheer of Deathwield Klaina, 
stretched more ways than Elshar could count, but he knew 
the way to the stables, where his father would likely be 
working. His magic let him heal deathtrotters and judge 
when a foal had really strong magic. Maybe he would 
believe Elshar about having magic; maybe he could see it 
in death Elwens as well as trotters.
    Those sha'sheerini, or servants, who passed him smiled 
or stopped to look after him, but did no more. Elshar 
understood. Only those children who had magic needed to be 
bowed to.
    For some reason, he didn't tell them about his magic. 
They might think he was lying, but they would still have 
to bow to him- but he didn't want them to. It seemed wrong 
for some reason, but he didn't know why. He was still 
thinking about it when he emerged from the lightless halls 
and into the courtyard where the stables stood.
    He trotted across the death force flags purposefully, 
ignoring the laughter from some of the older young nobles 
exercising their trotters here at the sight of such strong 
determination in a child. He did stop to look at the 
trotters, though. They were so- what was the word he 
wanted, magnificent?- with black coats, white manes, black 
tails, and red eyes, and they stood taller than even his 
father. They would canter towards him, then turn away at 
the last moment, hooves skimming past his head so that he 
could feel the wind. But he wasn't afraid; death Elwens 
couldn't be afraid of trotters. He would have one of his 
own someday.
    He daydreamed about that as he at last headed for the 
stables. It would be a mare- no, a stallion- no, a colt, 
like him. He would understand everything, and he would 
never think Elshar was lying, and he would carry him so 
fast that the lightning couldn't catch them. And he would 
talk to Elshar in that special way that wasn't really in 
heart or in mind or in ears, but something like a mix of 
all three.
    "Elshar. What are you doing here?"
    The daydream's bubble popped as Elshar saw his father. 
Coyngar Deathwield held a trotter mare's hoof in one hand 
and a pick that he had been using to remove pebbles caught 
in a delicate part of the hoof in the other. The mare 
craned her neck around to look at Elshar, rustling the 
straw she stood in. Red eyes made him feel like he'd done 
something wrong, but he answered right away. Father got 
angry when he didn't.
    "Something important happened today. I have to tell 
you about it. Mother doesn't believe me."
    His father sighed, picked a last pebble free, and let 
the hoof fall. "All right, Elshar, but make it quick, 
please. There's a mare who had a baby in a very hard way, 
and she's very sick. I have to attend to her soon."
    Elshar spoke as quickly as he could; he didn't want 
the mare to die and leave her baby all alone. "I saved a 
girl named Misha today with what the Watcher calls magic, 
but Mother doesn't believe me. She says I can't have 
magic. She even thought it was Kuzov who saved me when she 
wanted to hit me."
    By now, Coyngar was paying very close attention to 
him, but he was frowning. "You defied your mother?"
    Defy was another word Elshar knew his parents' meaning 
of, and he knew it was wrong. "No, Father, not really. She 
just thought I was lying, and I got so angry-"
    "You must not get angry. You know that." His father 
regarded him like the Watcher had when he had put a spider 
in Misha's hair. "Haven't they been teaching you about 
that in school?"
    "Yes, Father. Strong emotions are our bane." He didn't 
really know what the word bane meant, but he thought he 
wouldn't like to find out. His father relaxed, though, and 
looked at him with what could be called curiosity.
    "You have magic." He said it slowly, as if the words 
tasted bad. "I can't believe it."
    "Father, I know Mother doesn't have magic, and that 
means I can't. But I do!" Elshar stared at him, wishing 
with all his heart that his father believed him. "I really 
do. Can I show you?"
    "All right. Let's pretend I believe you. What can you 
do with this magic?"
    "Make walls of light, and stop people from falling," 
said Elshar promptly.
    His father shook his head slowly. "Young man, I'm 
sorry, but you must be lying. Nobody can do both of those 
things. It has to be one or the other."
    "But why?" Elshar wanted to know. "It's magic. Magic 
can do anything it wants."
    "No, son, there are laws and rules. Nobody knows more 
than a few of them, that's all." His father stared at him 
for a moment more, as if Elshar might suddenly break into 
a thousand puzzle pieces that would have to be put back 
together again. "I suppose I can at least use my own magic 
to see whether you have some."
    Elshar knew he was wriggling like one of the puppies 
the Watcher let him hold sometimes, but he couldn't help 
it. "Yes, yes, please! Will you just look? If I was lying, 
you can punish me." He spoke the words without stopping, 
though the dark corner of his mind said that maybe it 
would be better to be punished than to have magic. He 
ignored the little voice. It sounded as clumsy as the 
words Kuzov was just learning to use.
    "Look very hard," his father said, reaching out to lay 
a hand on his forehead, "and you might be able to see what  
I see." He had the sound in his voice adults got when they 
knew you wouldn't be able to do something.
    Elshar squinted and decided he would look very, very 
hard. He had to prove to his father that he could do this. 
Maybe his parents would love him, then.
    His father closed his eyes and hummed for a moment 
beneath his breath. Something seemed to quiver out of him 
and into Elshar, a note that made his bones tingle so that 
he almost giggled. Swallowing hard, he tried to keep quiet 
and look.
    And then he saw- light. It was as bright as lightning, 
sitting there and glowing calmly, like a fire water 
couldn't put out. It seemed to be grinning at him, and 
Elshar did laugh this time. If that was his magic, he 
couldn't be afraid of it. It felt like he did when he had 
played a joke so good he didn't care how badly he was 
punished.
    The light faded at the same time as his father's music 
did. Coyngar opened his eyes, looked at his son with a 
very strange expression, and said words that Elshar didn't 
really understand until he was older.
    "Elshar we named you, Starfire in the Primal Tongue. I 
never thought the name so well chosen. You shine like one 
of our creators. Your Gift is more powerful than any I 
have ever seen."
    Elshar wasn't sure who was getting a gift, or who the 
creators were, but he did know one thing. "That means I 
have magic?" he asked hopefully, ignoring the dark little 
voice that said that would be uncomfortable.
    "Yes, it means you have magic." His father looked at 
him a moment more, then turned away. "I have to finish the 
mare first, son, and then I'll take you back to your 
mother and tell her. Falaga has got to understand the 
truth of this."
    Falaga, Elshar knew, was his mother, one of the names 
he was not supposed to call her. He settled down to wait, 
happy again and hoping. Maybe his mother would hold him in 
her lap now, and sing him the happy songs she sang Kuzov, 
and even love him.
    After all, he had magic, didn't he?
----------------------------------------------------------
    Later that night, with one ear pressed to the wall 
separating his bedroom and his parents', Elshar listened 
to them argue.
    "For the stars' sakes, Falaga, I saw it myself! I tell 
you, the boy has a Gift. I can't tell you where it came 
from, unless your parents were better mages than they let 
on. Denying it won't make it go away. If he's strong 
enough to hold you off, there's no telling what he could 
become." There was excitement and happiness in his 
father's voice that made Elshar wish he could be out 
there, watching his father smile at him.
    "That's what frightens me, Coyngar." His mother's 
voice was very soft, as it had been all through the 
evening meal. "We know what Kuzov is capable of, and where 
her magic came from. But Elshar is a complete and total 
unknown. If we don't know what he can do, how can we 
control him?"
    "Maybe we should think about teaching him, instead of 
controlling him." Coyngar sounded upset, which made Elshar 
happy. He knew what control was. The Lady or Lord did it 
to the Klaina, and the bigger children to the smaller 
ones. It was not something he wanted to happen to him.
    "He's too dangerous." From the screechy note in his 
mother's voice, Elshar thought she was about to start 
crying. "Don't you see, Coyngar? Maybe we should have a 
Closing performed by the Lady-"
    "No!" Coyngar's voice was as loud as thunder, making 
Elshar jump back from the wall in surprise. "I understand 
you're ashamed of having borne a son before a daughter, 
Falaga, but I swear there are times when your shame 
extends to obsession. Why can you not accept that Elshar 
is now as you've always wished he could be, and rejoice in 
that fact?"
    "Because you know that inheritance goes to magically 
gifted children. We've agreed since Kuzov's birth that she 
would get everything. Why should we have to split it up 
among two children?"
    There was a long quiet, so long that Elshar wondered 
if his father had gone to sleep or maybe had decided not 
to fight with Mother anymore. Then his voice came, and it 
seemed cold and cruel, like the voices of some adults when 
they spoke to servants. "Listen to me, Falaga, and listen 
well. I've always disagreed with the way you raised the 
boy, but you insisted his rearing be left to you, in the 
tradition of your family. I see now I should never have 
agreed to that. You don't love him at all, do you? You can 
only see that he's male, and doesn't have magic, and now 
that he does have magic, all that matters to you is that 
people might think something's wrong with you."
    "That's not it at all!" His mother sounded really 
angry now. "I do love him, Coyngar- just not as much as 
Kuzov. Is it not excusable for a mother to treasure her 
magically gifted daughter more than a son whose only gift 
is getting into trouble?"
    "No."
    "Listen to me! I came here from my family, taking your 
standards as my own. I endured shame until Kuzov's birth, 
because a child born with noble eyes but no magic is 
almost worse than a child with mixed eyes. I was just 
adjusting to the fact that I had produced one Gifted 
child, and now you tell me Elshar is Gifted too, for no 
reason whatsoever. Am I supposed to be happy that I'm a 
freak, and may have given my son dangerous and 
uncontrollable powers?"
    "Your spiel would be more convincing if I had the 
feeling you actually cared about the boy, and not just 
yourself." There came the sound of sharp footsteps, and 
then a door slamming. Elshar heard his mother breathing 
for a moment, then moving toward his door.
    He ran over and jumped into bed, curling up and 
shutting his eyes tight. He didn't understand everything 
he'd heard, but he knew now his mother really loved Kuzov 
more. He didn't want her finding extra excuses to punish 
him.
    He heard the door open, and his mother looking in. 
When she spoke, it was in a weary voice, as if shouting at 
Father had tired her out.
    "Elshar. I know you're awake. I heard you run across 
the floor. Will you sit up and talk to me?"
    Elshar slowly sat up. If she knew he was awake, there 
was no point in pretending, and Mother really got upset 
over things that didn't have a point.
    His mother looked different than he had ever seen her. 
The skin around her brown eyes looked silver and puffed, 
as if she had cried for a long time. Her white hair, which 
Kuzov had too, coiled and flowed around her shoulders like 
a basket of snakes, instead of lying down neatly and being 
nice to look at.
    "I do love you, dear one," she said quietly, without 
moving any nearer to the bed, "but I had to give my love 
to Kuzov. I had to. Do you understand? And now my love's 
used up, and there's nothing left to give."
    Elshar understood about used up things- he had seen 
the wells go dry last summer- but he didn't think she was 
telling the truth, though his ears didn't buzz as they did 
when someone lied. "How can love be used up, Mother? It's 
not real, not like water. You can always find some more 
and give it to other people."
    "No, Elshar. I'm one of those unlucky people who have 
a finite amount of love."
    Elshar lowered his eyes to the ground, something 
burning inside him. He didn't really believe her, again, 
but he nodded anyway.
    Suddenly his mother rushed across the room and hugged 
him, She hadn't done that in a long time, Elshar thought 
in surprise. When he wanted to hug her, she had always 
told him she was too busy, or else had been holding Kuzov.
    "Forgive me, darling," she sobbed into his shoulder, 
just like he was adult and she was little. "I love you, I 
do- or else I think so. Stars, I hope so. You are worthy 
of being loved, stars know. But-" Tears stopped the rest 
of her words.
    Elshar learned something that night, something he 
never forgot. There were things in life other than love, 
and though love was wonderful, he would have to find those 
other things and use them to live.
    His mother didn't love him.
----------------------------------------------------------
    Breakfast the next morning was quiet, with his father 
scowling into the distance, his mother staring at her 
hands or the food and not eating, and Elshar doing his 
best to escape attention. Only Kuzov seemed happy, 
laughing and bouncing up and down so that her glass of 
milk rattled. That was the only way, Elshar thought, that 
he was better than her; she still drank milk, while he was 
old enough to eat life-force like the adults.
    Yet even the sweet golden taste of his meal couldn't 
cheer him up today. When he at last said farewell to his 
parents and slipped out of his chair, they only nodded.
    Elshar began to feel guilty for the first time as he 
went out into the halls. Did he really have magic? The 
Watcher might not be right, after all. He knew his parents 
had always wanted him to have magic, so perhaps they were 
making it up, pretending to believe him, and hoping for 
the best.
    But then, what had that light been?
    Elshar was still thinking when someone ran out of a 
side tunnel and grabbed his arm. He opened his mouth to 
scream before he saw it was the Watcher, and changed it to 
a gasp instead. "Hello, Watcher," he said.
    The woman's silver eyes stared into his, so fierce 
that he looked away. They made him worry he'd done 
something really wrong, even though he knew he hadn't. At 
least, he didn't think he had.
    At last she spoke, in the way Mother did when she was 
angry even with Kuzov. "Did you tell your parents about 
your magic?"
    "Yes, Watcher." Elshar felt even more guilty. "Mother 
didn't believe me, even though Father said I had magic. 
They fought last night, and then I learned my mother 
doesn't love me."
    The Watcher stared at him for a moment. Elshar thought 
she was going to laugh, but instead she threw her arms 
around him in a hug and started to cry.
    Elshar, not knowing what was happening, made himself 
still and quiet as possible. Was the Watcher going to 
punish him? She always told the children that they made 
her weep when she had to punish them.
    But the Watcher was saying something that sounded 
like, "You poor little boy. I never knew-" And then she 
couldn't talk anymore, because she was crying again. 
Elshar shook his head, not understanding. This news of his 
magic certainly made people react very strangely.
    Suddenly the Watcher stopped crying and stood up. 
"Wait here," she told him. "I'll be right back." She ran 
away down the hall, to the rooms Elshar and his parents 
shared.
    Elshar wished she wouldn't hurt them, but she had told 
him to wait, so he would stay. He stood for a long time 
before she came hurrying back, took his hand, and started 
him for the courtyard.
    Elshar didn't think she would like him to ask what had 
happened, but that didn't mean he couldn't think about it.
----------------------------------------------------------
    The other children acted strange, too. Misha was 
there, but she didn't want to play with Elshar. "You saved 
me from falling," she told him with eyes that looked like 
she was afraid of him, even though she was his friend. 
"Thank you, but I have to play with other people."
    Children he had never talked to before, because they 
had magic and he didn't, came over to tell him they wanted 
to play with him. Elshar wondered if they could see the 
magic shining in him like his father could. Did it really 
look like starfire? Elshar looked at the stars in the sky 
over him as he wandered to a ball game. They were brighter 
than his magic, he decided at last.
    The ball game was very fast, and it hurt when they hit 
him and tried to take the ball away from him, but Elshar 
liked it. At least someone wanted to play with him.
    About halfway through the playtime, though, something 
really strange happened. One girl fell down and hurt her 
ankle, so the Watcher picked her up and carried her to the 
healers. While she was gone, Misha and a group of girls 
she had been talking with came over and stood around 
Elshar in a circle.
    They began to sing, but it was not a song he knew, 
like the lullabies Mother sang to Kuzov, or the hymns the 
adults sometimes sang to the stars or the Forces of Death. 
It was a new song, one Elshar thought they had made up 
just to tease him.

    "El-shar, El-shar, El-shar who isn't El-shar,
    He has some magic and he doesn't want to share.
    He's nasty and he's mean and he brags a lot,
    And he thinks he can get away with a lot!"

    "That's not true!" Elshar shouted. "You're lying!"
    They ignored him, but the circle did break apart 
because the Watcher came back just then. She looked at the 
girls as if she thought they had been misbehaving, but she 
hadn't really heard them singing, so she couldn't punish 
them.
    Then the girls started playing a game like the ball 
games, except that they used a rock. Every few minutes, 
one of them would turn around and throw the rock at 
Elshar. The first time, he wasn't expecting it, and it hit 
him on the head. He felt blood running, and reached up. 
When his fingers came back, they were silver.
    The Watcher started shouting, but she couldn't climb 
down the wall before the girls threw the rock again, and 
she couldn't use magic to punish them, so they ignored 
her. Elshar felt more blood when they hit him on the arm, 
and then the leg. He began to be afraid, and he thought 
about using his magic. But then they would be telling the 
truth in that song; he would be acting mean.
    He tried to ignore them, but the rock came and hit him 
again. When he tried to run, they came and stood in a 
circle around him, and counted while one girl held a stone 
and got ready to throw it.
    Elshar thought she was going to throw the stone at his 
eye, and he knew it would hurt. He was frightened, but he 
couldn't move. All he could do was stare at the rock-
    And all of a sudden he got angry. They couldn't treat 
him this way! It wasn't right!
    For the first time, he yelled at his magic to come as 
the older children did at their trotters. It wasn't a call 
the others could hear; they couldn't feel it getting warm 
in the air all around him, or smell the very small, sugar- 
sweet smell.
    Warm. Yes. A good idea.
    The arm of the girl holding the rock suddenly began to 
glow a dull red. Then fire started. The girl shrieked and 
dropped the stone, and tried to blow out the fire.
    "Do you promise not to hurt me anymore?" Elshar 
yelled, trying to make himself heard over both the roar of 
the flames and her screams.
    "Yes! Yes! I promise!"
    The fire stopped. Elshar didn't remember stopping it, 
and for a moment he thought the Watcher had. But when he 
looked up, she was just climbing down the wall. She hadn't 
had time to think about anything else.
    The circle of girls stared at him for a moment, then 
ran away like scared sheep. Elshar suddenly knew he was 
laughing. It didn't feel normal or good, like ordinary 
laughter, but he kept doing it because he couldn't seem to 
stop.
    The Watcher reached him. Elshar thought she was going 
to punish him, but she knelt down and reached out to put a 
hand on his forehead. She looked worried.
    "What's the matter?" Elshar asked, the laughter 
finally stopping so he could talk.
    "You have never used that much magic before," said the 
Watcher softly, looking at him hard. "You could get sick 
from it. Babies do, the first time they use their magic to 
cry real loud or give themselves milk. But I've never 
heard of an older child like you not having magic from 
birth. I'm not sure what the fever could do."
    "Fever?" said Elshar. "I don't have a fever!"
    And that was the last thing he remembered for a long 
time, other than darkness.
----------------------------------------------------------
    He opened his eyes and stared up at a patch of light 
for a long time before he realized it was really his 
mother's white hair. "Falaga?" he murmured, the name he 
wasn't supposed to call her, but he couldn't help it. He 
was sick, he thought. Maybe they wouldn't punish him.
    "Shhh, darling." She stroked his forehead, and her 
hand felt cool, like water on a hot summer day. "I'm here. 
I'll always be here."
    "Where's-" Elshar tried to say, but he choked instead. 
She lifted a cup and gave him a drink of water out of it; 
it seemed to disappear the moment it touched his burning 
throat. He tried to talk again. "Where's Kuzov?"
    His mother looked sad for a moment, then strong and 
brave, like his father when he was going to heal a 
maddened stallion. "At home, darling. I came to see you by 
myself. Kuzov's very noisy, and the healers say you need 
lots of rest, water, and quiet."
    It was the first time he had ever heard her call Kuzov 
noisy. Maybe she loves her a little less, he thought 
hopefully, and now she can love me more.
    "Then I want to go back to sleep. But where's Father?" 
This time he remembered the right name, but his mother 
only smiled a little and reached out to stroke his 
forehead again.
    "Healing trotters, my son. He'll be here in a little 
while. He sat with you the first two days, but then he had 
to go back to work."
    Two days? He had been sick two days? Elshar was 
impressed. He thought about getting back and telling 
everyone, and what they would say-
    But no. They had thrown rocks at him, and they hated 
him, and he had set fire to someone's arm. He couldn't go 
back there again, could he?
    "No." His mother had read his thoughts. "You can't go 
back, Elshar. I'm sorry." She sounded both sad and happy.
    "Do you believe that I have magic now?" Elshar asked. 
Maybe she did, maybe she did, his thoughts said. "I set 
someone's arm on fire. I didn't mean to, really, but I did 
it. That must mean I have magic, right?"
    "Yes, darling." His mother gave him a very strange and 
silly little smile. "You have very strong magic, and that 
can be dangerous."
    "Why?"
    "Because you can do things that lots of other people 
can't." She looked at him for a minute. "Other people 
could fly, or set someone's arm on fire like you did. But 
you can do both."
    "I can fly?"
    "Not yet, darling, not yet." His mother looked over 
and said something to someone Elshar couldn't see, then 
looked back at him. "I have to leave now, darling. The 
healers say you need to go back to sleep."
    "But I'm awake! I want to stay awake and talk to you!"
    "Not right now, Elshar, you're too sick." His mother 
leaned down to kiss his forehead, and her lips felt as 
cool as her hand. "Good-bye, darling, I love you. I'll 
come back to see you in a little while."
    Elshar wanted her to come back, but just then a young 
healer gave him a cup of water sweetened with honey. It 
tasted so good he drank it all, and then fell asleep.
----------------------------------------------------------
    There were other memories, too, of talking to his 
father, and once of seeing Kuzov. She started to reach for 
his cup of water, but one of the healers picked her up and 
took her away. She started crying, and Elshar agreed with 
his mother. She was noisy.
    The rest of the time he had dreams, or lay there and 
listened to his magic. It seemed to sing to him, though 
other people couldn't hear the singing, and it told him 
things. Elshar knew he couldn't fly, even though he wanted 
to, but he could call lightning and fire and wind. If he 
listened long enough, he might even be able to make it 
rain. In the worst times, when his own fire seemed to be 
in his head, and the healers wouldn't give him any water, 
the thought of a cool rainstorm was as delicious as food.
    They wouldn't give him any of that, either. They 
talked about the "nature-magic balance" and "pathways to 
heart and mind" and other things he didn't really 
understand. He did understand what they meant, though: 
they wouldn't give him food.
    Once someone left a pear near him, though he didn't 
know if that was accident or purpose. He got it after a 
lot of stretching, but he ate only one or two bites before 
they took it away again. They scolded him and gave him the 
drugged water that put him to sleep, but Elshar couldn't 
understand why they were so upset. After all, it wasn't a 
real pear; it was just life-force someone had made into a 
pear. He ate life-force all the time. What was wrong with 
it?
    Finally, he woke up and found one of the healers, a 
woman in a blue robe with white hair like Mother's and 
blue-gold eyes, standing there with her hand out. She 
spoke to him in a soft and serious voice, just as if he 
was an adult.
    "Can you stand up? Good," she added as Elshar stood up 
for the first time in a long time, making the bed sway. 
"Can you take my hand?"
    "I don't think I should," said Elshar doubtfully, 
looking at her cool black fingers. "My hand's hot. I might 
burn you, or give the fever to you."
    The healer smiled as if he had said something funny. 
"You don't have a fever, Elshar, not any more. Come, take 
my hand and walk with me."
    He reached out, but he did it slowly, sure she was 
going to pull away at any minute. But she didn't, and he 
found himself walking down a hall beside her. She walked 
slowly so he could keep up, because he had shorter legs, 
but it was normal.
    He came back to his parents' rooms quickly. They 
looked different, but he couldn't say how or why. Probably 
just because he hadn't seen them in a long time.
    He knocked on the door while the healer stood by, 
watching him. Kuzov opened the door; she could just reach 
the handle. She looked up at him for a moment, fingers in 
her mouth, then started to shut the door.
    The healer reached over and put a foot in the door 
before she could. Tears filled her eyes, and she ran 
howling for her mother.
    Elshar stared after her, a little confused. He had 
known Kuzov was spoiled, but he hadn't realized she was 
that spoiled. Would she cry every time someone denied her 
something?
    The healer knelt down and hugged him farewell. "Take 
care of yourself, Elshar," she whispered, the kind of 
thing adults were always saying. But then she said 
something he had only heard the Watcher say. "Remember 
that you're Elshar Deathwield, and important. Remember 
that your importance could be greater than you know."
    Elshar nodded, a little uncertainly, and watched the 
healer go. Then he turned and stepped into the main room.
    Like most rooms in Aprim, even the place where most of 
the family's business was conducted had little furniture, 
only a few small dark tables and two uncomfortable chairs 
usually reserved for guests. The only light came from the 
constant, mysterious golden flickers in the black death 
force walls. Right now, though, there was a lamp of cold 
green fire burning on one of the tables, and his mother 
was sitting in one of the chairs, holding Kuzov in her lap 
and smiling.
    Elshar stopped to look at her. It was a strange smile, 
he decided at last. His mother didn't look truly happy to 
see him. She seemed to think he had done something wrong.
    "Mother?" he asked. "I didn't mean to make Kuzov cry. 
All the healer did was open the door a little, and she 
started-"
    "I saw what happened, Elshar." His mother sounded 
stern, as she usually did. Elshar lowered his eyes to the 
floor, as he was supposed to do, and tried to tell himself 
that maybe he really had done something wrong. His mother 
couldn't pretend nothing had ever happened. Could she?
    "You probably thought you weren't going to be punished 
for setting Limeteca's arm on fire," Falaga continued, 
walking toward him. "Well, young man, what you did was 
wrong. No matter how badly someone is hurting you, you 
shouldn't use magic on them."
    "But, Mother, she might have killed me!" Elshar had to 
blink, to keep from crying. He wouldn't be a baby like 
Kuzov. "She was jealous of my magic. They all were. Don't 
you care about that at all?"
    "I never asked to have a son with magic." From her 
voice, Elshar knew her lips were white, and that was a bad 
sign. "Think about others instead of yourself for once, 
Elshar. You might have killed Limeteca. Is that any better 
than being killed yourself?"
    She was right. She must be right, because she was his 
mother. But-
    Suddenly Elshar didn't care anymore. If Mother was 
going to punish him anyway, he might as well talk about 
his thoughts.
    "I wish you could think it was, Mother," he said, 
looking up at her. It was the first time he had either met 
her eyes or talked back when she was upset with him, and 
she seemed so surprised that he was able to go on talking. 
"There are other children in my class who don't have 
magic, and their mothers still love them. But you don't 
even try. You never have. Why?"
    She reached out and grabbed his arm, hard enough to 
hurt. Elshar winced, but he kept looking at her, kept 
waiting for an answer.
    For a long moment they stood looking at each other, 
brown eyes and green fighting a silent battle. Then his 
mother choked and released his arm, turning away as she 
began to sob.
    Elshar did not follow her, but went down the hall to 
his room. He felt lonely, which was strange, but also 
proud of himself for the first time in his life. He was 
important- the Watcher and the healer had both said so- 
but now he knew it was the truth.
    Whatever his mother did to him, it could not change 
what he was.
    He locked the door, sat down on the bed, and stared 
into space, wondering at what else he had learned today. 
His mother might be his mother, but that didn't mean she 
was always right.
    Maybe not everyone else was always right either. Maybe 
not even the Watcher or the healers.
    He lay down, still staring at the ceiling, and 
thinking until sleep came to get him.
----------------------------------------------------------
    When he woke up, his father was home. He could tell 
because he could hear his parents arguing. He slipped out 
of the bed, walking very quietly so they wouldn't hear 
him, and put his ear to the wall.
    "I tell you, Coyngar, he's no normal child." His 
mother's voice was very thin, like Kuzov's when she was 
really hungry or frightened. "The way he looked at me 
today, it was as if he could see my soul. Those eyes don't 
see things the way a child's do. And the things he says- 
he defies me and breaks my heart at the same time. What 
are we going to do with him?"
    "I don't know." Coyngar sounded angry, but also very 
tired. Elshar wondered if one of the trotters had kicked 
him hard enough to hurt. "But remember, Falaga, you asked 
to rear him freely, and that's what I gave you leave to 
do. Any defiance that remains is your own fault, of your 
own teaching."
    "I want to be proud of him, but- I can't, Coyngar. How 
will my friends react when they find out?"
    "With jealousy, perhaps."
    "I'm serious about this, Coyngar. Their children's 
magic all follows normal inheritance patterns. Elshar is 
an unknown-"
    "You've said that before, Falaga. Either make a new 
point or drop the discussion. Elshar is as he is, and 
we're unlikely to change him. If you think you can, you're 
sadly mistaken."
    "But aren't you even the slightest bit worried about 
him?"
    "I am, more than you, or so I think." There came a 
sound like Elshar's father sitting down in one of the 
chairs that stood in the bedroom. "But I'm proud of him 
also. Whatever he becomes, it will be good. Perhaps as 
high as the Lordship someday, who knows?"
    "That's blasphemy, Coyngar!"
    "Against what?" Elshar's father asked with mild 
interest. "It might well be truth. Lady Ashina has no 
children of her own, magically Gifted or otherwise. It has 
never been done before, but the laws of our Klaina made 
provision for adoption of a child strong in magic long 
ago. Simply because those laws might now have to be 
implemented-"
    "Elshar couldn't rule the Klaina! He doesn't have the 
right temperament for it. You've seen the way his magic 
comes out, in strong bursts of emotion-"
    "I think you misjudge him, Falaga, seeing only the 
child he is now and that you think he will be forever. If 
you think he is not like other children, then how can you 
think that he will not change in some way?"
    "He frightens me." Elshar's mother said that so softly 
that Elshar wasn't certain he heard it. He felt sad for a 
moment, and then he felt- well, he wasn't certain what he 
felt. He felt sorry for his mother, because he wasn't 
going to give up his magic just so that she could be 
happy.
    His father might have said something back, but 
Elshar's concentration was broken by a tap on the door. He 
rushed over and jumped into bed before he realized the 
stranger wasn't knocking on his door, but on the outside 
one. He stood up and tiptoed back to the wall, hoping he 
could listen without being caught. Not many people came to 
their rooms at night, except if a mare foaled suddenly. 
And the colt or filly being born might be Elshar's!
    But he recognized the scent, and he walked back to 
bed, disappointed. It was just the Watcher, probably come 
to explain why he couldn't be with the other children any 
more. He could hear his parents saying the silly things 
adults always said to each other when they were surprised; 
for some reason, they never wanted to be surprised, even 
when the other people knew they were.
    But then more people walked in. He knew because he 
heard other footsteps and strange, loud voices. Then his 
mother's voice, with that shrill note in it, told the 
strangers that she didn't want them to wake her children 
up, and the conversation dropped too low to hear again.
    Elshar went to sleep, finally, though his magic was 
singing to him again, as was his wish to know who these 
strangers were. Both things would just have to wait for 
morning, he guessed.
----------------------------------------------------------
    When he woke up the next morning, he knew something 
was wrong. He didn't know how he knew, because there were 
no strange noises or smells of blood or crying, even from 
Kuzov. But he lay still and tried not to make any sounds, 
because they might be heard by someone he didn't want them 
to be heard by. Beyond that, his magic told him nothing.
    But when he had stayed still for a long time, and 
nothing had happened, he got up and tiptoed to the door. 
Maybe he could go out and see what had happened if he 
tried as hard as he could not to make noise.
    He found the first wrong thing when he touched the 
doorknob. Something like a little yellow snake was 
suddenly there, coiling and hissing at him when he tried 
to open the door. He jumped back, frightened, and the 
snake vanished.
    He knew what it was, though he had never seen one 
before. In class the other dance, they had studied wards. 
Wards were magical, and they were like locks, only better, 
because they would attack people to keep them out of 
places.
    But why would someone want to lock him in his own 
room? It didn't make sense.
    He frowned at the door for a while, but it did nothing 
else. His magic whispered to him that the ward was the 
only thing there, and maybe it was a test, some special 
kind of test. He had never done very well on tests in 
school, because he hadn't had magic, but maybe he could do 
well on this test.
    He called to his magic, and it came. It tickled him 
until he giggled, running beneath his skin as if he 
suddenly had no blood but only magic instead. At the 
giggle, he thought the magic would retreat, but instead it 
grew stronger and reached out toward the ward.
    The little yellow snake appeared again, and then 
disappeared. The door stood there, and it was normal. 
Something was still wrong, but Elshar could get out of his 
room and go get something to eat. His stomach kept 
growling so loudly he thought it would wake up his 
parents, so he walked silently past their room.
    But they were already awake, and sitting around the 
table. His mother had Kuzov on her lap and the strange 
smile on her face again. It seemed even thinner this 
morning, as if it would suddenly break and send pieces 
flying all over the place.
    His father was frowning, and his face didn't relax 
when he saw Elshar. Beside him sat the Watcher, who nodded 
at Elshar as she would to an adult, watching him as 
closely as the healers had when he had the fever. Elshar 
might have been thrilled at her manners, but he took a few 
steps back when he saw the three other people on the other 
side of the Watcher.
    They were guards; he knew that because they had swords 
strapped to their belts, and he could smell steel hidden 
in other places among their black leather wrappings. They 
also had pure eyes, like the Watcher's, but their eyes 
were not green, which would have meant nobility. They 
looked even more dangerous than the Watcher at her worst. 
They all scowled at him as if he had taken their favorite 
toys and broken them apart while they watched.
    Elshar knew, somehow, that he couldn't just turn 
around and leave. His magic told him that wouldn't work. 
So he faced them and lifted his chin with the defiance 
that was somehow both right and wrong.
    They all looked at him for so long that Elshar started 
thinking about just asking for something to eat. Then 
Coyngar murmured some words Elshar couldn't understand, 
and waved his hand.
    Light filled the room, light that made Elshar blink 
his eyes in pain. It took him a moment to realize it was 
shining through his skin. His father was letting the 
others see his magic, too.
    The guards moved for the first time, looking at each 
other like the girls did when they were discussing some 
secret thing and nodding. They knew something now, Elshar 
thought, that they hadn't known before. But he wasn't sure 
what.
    The light died. Coyngar winced and put his head on the 
table, ignoring Falaga as she gently stroked his hair.
    "Boy." It was one of the guards who spoke, his voice 
the sound of steel scraping across rock. It was sharp and 
hard and made Elshar want to run. "You will come with us. 
Someone very important wants to see you."
    Elshar's stomach uttered a very loud growl, and he 
patted it in promise. "Could I get something to eat 
first?" he asked.
    "This person cannot be kept waiting," the guard said, 
kneeling down as if he thought that would make him less 
frightening. It didn't; it just brought his scowling face 
a foot or two closer to Elshar.
    "Then can I get some food to eat on the way, please? 
My stomach might growl, and that would be very 
embarrassing." He got the words out without his voice 
trembling, but he didn't know how.
    The guard looked at him as if he thought he was 
tricking him, then nodded slowly. "All right, you can get 
something to eat. But it had better not take very long." 
He sounded like the Watcher, like someone used to seeing 
other people do what he said.
    Elshar hurried over to the cabinet where Mother kept 
the frozen life-force and removed a chunk he could hold in 
both hands. Munching, he walked back to the guard, and 
said, "I'm ready. Who are we going to see?"
    "Someone who is very interested in you," the guard 
said, standing up again and motioning Elshar to walk 
before him. "You see, you might be important to her in the 
days to come."
    "But who?"
    "Lady Ashina."




                        Chapter 2
                         The Lady
    Elshar found he could hardly eat, despite his hunger, 
as the guards took him down a hall he did not know. Lady 
Ashina was fierce and strong and terrible, and even his 
father was afraid of her. He was just five. If he tried to 
run away when she wanted to kill him, the guards would 
catch him and torture him to death.
    But why would she want to see him if she was just 
going to kill him?
    He held onto his life-force, and even managed to 
swallow a few bites, before he decided he couldn't eat 
after all. Maybe his magic was dangerous, just like Mother 
had said. Maybe it was so dangerous Lady Ashina had 
decided to kill him to protect the whole Klaina.
    They came to a door like no other he had ever seen 
before, made of death force but with a round golden plate 
in the center, carved with a snarling lioness's head. One 
of the guards reached up and knocked at the door as if he 
was afraid, or as if it was one of the Forces of Death in 
the room, and not Lady Ashina after all.
    A cold voice came from the room beyond. "Enter." As 
she spoke, the plate melted away into the walls, and the 
doors opened; the plate was the only thing holding them 
shut. The guards shoved the wide-eyed, shaking Elshar 
ahead of them, but all he really wanted to do was run.
    Lady Ashina's room wasn't dark; in the five corners of 
it squatted five radiant lamps that cast no heat. They 
burned with cold fire, and didn't flicker like candles 
did. They had no wood or oil that Elshar could see. Two 
were blue, two were black, and the one behind the Lady's 
throne, whose shadows he could just see, was green. 
    The Lady's throne was very strange. It looked like a 
wave of dark stone coming up from the floor, but it split 
apart into two posts. Hung from those, so that the Lady 
only just sat on the chair, was a hammock. In it was the 
Lady herself.
    Elshar knew you weren't supposed to look at the Lady 
or the Heir unless she told you to, so he kept his eyes on 
the floor. It was an interesting floor, carved with 
dragons that turned into roses that turned into lions that 
turned into dragons again, but he didn't want to see it. 
He wanted to see the floor of his room, and wake up all 
over again, with the guards gone.
    "Bow." The voice was bright, Elshar thought as he 
dropped into the bow of minor nobility to major nobility 
or the Lady, but as cold as ice. Still, he knelt, with one 
hand on his heart, one hand on his forehead, and one knee 
on the floor. It "pledged heart and mind to the defense of 
the Klaina," the Watcher had told him.
    "You have manners for one so young." The voice sounded 
as if it had a smile in it, but Elshar knew it couldn't; 
the Lady never smiled. When the girls in his class wanted 
to play at being her, they went around without smiling or 
laughing for days. "Tell me your name and your lineage, 
little one."
    "Elshar Deathwield, son of Coyngar Deathwield and 
Falaga Deathbring, brother of Kuzov, Lady," Elshar said 
without pausing for breath. Everybody kept asking for his 
lineage, including every older noble child who strolled 
through the courtyard, and so he could say it quickly by 
now.
    "Deathbring, Deathbring." The Lady repeated the name 
of his mother's Klaina as if she was thinking about 
something. "Strange. Coyngar is so low in rank that I 
thought it permissible to arrange a marriage for him that 
linked him to a Klaina lower in the Order. But it seems I 
was wrong." Suddenly she was talking to him again. "Why do 
you have magic, boy?"
    "I don't know," Elshar said on the heels of her 
question. You had to answer right away, or the Lady might 
take offense. "My father is a mage. My mother isn't. She's 
worried about my magic. He's not. I don't know, Lady."
    "Strange," said the Lady again. Suddenly she stood up. 
"You may rise now, Elshar, and look at me."
    Elshar stood up and looked up at her, though he was 
confused. The Lady never told anyone to look at her except 
the people she was going to kill, but it didn't seem like 
she wanted to kill him so far-
    Suddenly he screamed. Green eyes had met green, and 
the Lady had thrown something into his head that burned 
like the fever. He managed to dodge it somehow, but he 
didn't know how, because he hadn't moved his body. It was 
more like he had moved his mind.
    He called for his magic, and it came. He put it in the 
middle of his mind, where it could watch for the next 
thing Lady Ashina threw. She had to throw something else, 
he knew. She was staring at him too intently.
    And then she did throw something else, but it didn't 
burn. Instead, it seeped like water through his mind, 
making him sleepy and calming him down. He didn't have to 
be afraid of the Lady, the voice of the thing said to him. 
All she wanted to do was take away his magic, and leave 
him exactly the way he was before.
    No! Elshar woke up suddenly, growling like one of the 
lions on the Lady's floor. It was his magic! His! No one 
was going to take it away, not even the Lady!
    He jumped up and down and tugged, but only in his 
mind. The cold thing hadn't thought he would defy it, and 
it walked backward a few steps before it started 
slithering forward again. All he needed to do, it 
whispered, was relax and let it take the pain away. It 
could. And it could let him go back to the courtyard 
again, away from all the hatred. It could let him be just 
an ordinary boy again.
    Yes, and then Mother wouldn't love me any more and 
would spank me again, Elshar answered stubbornly. She 
would think I was lying all along. Father would be upset, 
and he'd probably start yelling at me too. And Kuzov would 
get all the attention again. I'm getting some attention 
right now, even if it isn't much.
    The cold thing pulled at his magic, and in his head a 
voice that was angry like Misha's when she sang the song 
said, Give- it- to- me.
    My magic; it's mine, Elshar chanted silently, and held 
on.
    It let him go so suddenly that he squeaked with 
surprise, and fell on the floor. Then he looked up at the 
Lady, afraid that he was going to get in trouble for 
moving without her permission.
    But the Lady was smiling at him, a strange thing to 
see under those cold green eyes, framed by that even 
colder gray hair. She knelt down and hugged him. Elshar 
stood still, not knowing what to do. The Watcher had never 
said what to do if the Lady hugged you.
    "Thank you." The Lady's voice sounded full of tears. 
"Thank you for being so Gifted. In being so, you have 
given me the best gift I could ever receive."
    There was that talk about Gifts again, Elshar thought. 
It had something to do with magic, but what? "You're 
welcome," he said, because he had to respond to the Lady 
right away. Then he dared to ask a question. "Please, my  
lady, what did I do?"
    Instead of answering him or scolding him, the Lady 
stood up and said words to the guards, words he did not 
know. They all immediately fell down and performed the 
guard bow, with their foreheads on the floor and their 
hands behind their backs. Elshar always thought it looked 
as if they were prisoners.
    "And bring the child's parents to me," Lady Ashina 
added.
    "As you will, Lady," they said in what sounded like 
one voice, and jumped up and ran back out the doors, which 
closed behind them.
    Elshar was just thinking about leaving when his 
stomach rumbled. Wishing he hadn't dropped the life-force 
along the way, he started to tiptoe away from the Lady, 
hoping she hadn't heard.
    But a hand fell on his shoulder, and a friendly voice 
said, "Are you hungry? I have some life-force left from 
breakfast I couldn't quite finish myself. And there's some 
summerwine."
    Not believing this, Elshar turned to look at the Lady. 
It was her voice, for sure, and warm for once. In fact, 
she was smiling at him like he was her son.
    "I'd like something to eat, Lady," he said cautiously, 
wondering if this was a trick. Would she give him poisoned 
food instead of torturing him to death? "But it's your 
food-"
    "Nonsense." The Lady waved her hand in the air, 
throwing something away. "I told you, I couldn't eat it 
all. And the summerwine tastes fine, but a little rich for 
me, Elshar."
    Somehow, her saying his name like that convinced him. 
His mother didn't really say his name; she called him some 
names when she was angry with him. And his father didn't 
talk to him much at all. The Lady treated him like an 
adult, as the Watcher and the healers had.
    "I've only had summerwine once," he said, trotting 
behind her as she headed toward a small table behind the 
throne. "It was really good. Are you sure you don't mind 
me drinking it, Lady?"
    "In private, Elshar, call me Ashina," the Lady said 
over her shoulder as she filled a glass with the sweet 
golden drink and held it out to him. "The other gets 
tiresome."
    Elshar nodded as he took the glass. "Thank you. I know 
what you mean. My mother keeps calling me darling, like 
she doesn't want to say my real name for some reason."
    The Lady- Ashina- watched him with a smile for a 
moment as he gulped down the summerwine. It tasted exactly 
the way Elshar remembered it, like honey and berries and 
sunlight all mixed together, and he licked his lips and 
tilted the glass many times until he was sure he got every 
last drop. When he was done with that, Ashina gave him a 
small tray with life-force on it. Elshar ate that, too, 
and was just finishing the last bite when the guards 
returned with his parents.
    To Elshar's surprise, they looked frightened. Had the 
guards told them he was dead? But no, they didn't look 
better when he ran out from behind the throne and toward 
them. He wanted to hug them, but one of the guards stepped 
in front of him. It wasn't dangerous, the way he stepped, 
just firm. He seemed to think Elshar's parents might hurt 
Elshar or get him dirty if they got too close.
    "Sorry, Elshar," said the guard. It was the one who 
had told him the Lady wanted to see him; he didn't sound 
fierce any more, just friendly. "Your parents did 
something wrong, and the Lady has to judge them."
    Elshar stiffened in fear. The Lady would force them to 
answer the questions she asked them with the truth. If 
they didn't give her the truth, she would use her magic to 
hurt them.
    He ran back to the Lady, who was sitting down in the 
throne. "Please don't!" he begged. "They didn't do 
anything wrong. And Kuzov's just a baby. She'll be alone 
if you kill them."
    "I'm not going to kill them, Elshar." The Lady put one 
hand on his shoulder, as if to tell him she was telling 
the truth. "I simply have a few questions that must have 
answers, if I am to make the decision I must."
    Elshar nodded, because there wasn't much he could do 
about it, and sat down beside the throne. The Lady kept 
her hand on his shoulder, and it felt warm, but her voice 
was as cold as ice again. "Is it true you have beaten your 
son?"
    "Only spanked him when he warrants it, Lady," said his 
mother, with her eyes on the floor. Elshar wondered if she 
thought the dragons, roses, and lions interesting. "It is 
the custom of my family for the women to raise the 
children until they are seven years old, and I have tried 
to raise Elshar as best I could. But I bore a magically 
Gifted daughter recently, and she, of course, needs more 
loving care than a son who is halfway to six years old."
    The Lady made a little sound, as if she had seen an 
insect on the floor. "And when you found your son was 
Gifted as well? You still threatened him?"
    "He can't be Gifted, Lady." Strangely, it was his 
father who spoke, even though he had believed him at 
first, Elshar thought. "I am a mage, but my wife is not-"
    "So the boy tells me," the Lady interrupted. "I am not 
interested in your theories of what happened, but in the 
truth. You thought your son was lying, attempted to beat 
him, and left him in the care of the healers as much as 
possible. Anything to avoid believing that he was Gifted. 
Is this true?"
    "Yes, Lady." Coyngar looked like he was about to cry. 
"I am sorry that it is true, but it is."
    The Lady looked at Elshar for a moment. He looked 
back, worried. It was good that someone believed him, but 
what if she killed his parents for not believing him? That 
would be just as bad.
    "Any child Gifted after her or his birth is likely to 
be a strong talent, and yet you did nothing to call 
attention to this fact," said the Lady. "If his teacher 
had not thought fetching my guards worthwhile, I would 
know nothing of him still. Why is that?"
    "I am ashamed, Lady." His mother sounded as if she 
really didn't want to say this, but she had to, because it 
was the truth. "No son of a male mage is supposed to be 
Gifted, just as no daughter of a female mage is supposed 
to be. What if there is something wrong with me? What if I 
have given him dangerous, uncontrollable, freakish 
powers?" By now, she was crying, and so was his father. 
Elshar stared at them, worried. He didn't like it when 
Kuzov cried, and this was even worse.
    "According to the Watcher, you have given your son 
none of the love and care even children born unGifted 
deserve. Why is that?"
    "I have my job," said Coyngar, unwillingly. "And my 
wife could never forgive herself for bearing a son first, 
or Elshar for being male. And of course, for the last nine 
months she has had our daughter to care for."
    "And you think these are excuses?" The Lady didn't 
sound like she believed them, even though what they were 
saying had to be the truth.
    "Not excuses, Lady, but reasons." Father was the only 
one speaking now; Mother was crying so hard that she 
seemed ready to break. "We did what we did, and it is 
done. Do what you will with us."
    The Lady was quiet for a long time; when Elshar 
sneaked a look at her, she looked like she was thinking. 
Then she stood up, clapped her hands twice, and said 
things in those words he didn't know, in a voice that made 
Elshar shiver all over.
    His mother stopped crying when the Lady started 
speaking, but she seemed surprised, as if the Lady had 
told her something strange. Then she howled, "No!" and 
suddenly ran out from between the guards.
    Toward Elshar.
    He was not sure why that frightened him, but it did. 
He sat back, then jumped down and ran toward the wall. 
Maybe if he got behind the Lady's throne, his mother 
wouldn't dare follow him.
    But she turned around the throne, frowning so hard she 
looked like a guard. Elshar knew he could hurt her to make 
her stop, but he didn't want to. He called his magic 
anyway, because it might hurt more if he didn't stop her. 
At least, he thought so.
    His mother came toward him a step at a time. She kept 
frowning, even though she tried to talk in a sweet voice, 
too. "Darling, come here. That nasty Lady wants to hurt 
you. She wants to take you away from us."
    Elshar stared. His ears had buzzed when his mother 
said the Lady wanted to hurt him, meaning she lied. But it 
was true that Ashina wanted to take him away.
    Why, though? Mother and Father were Mother and Father. 
Who would he live with if she took him away? And did he 
really want to leave them, or even Kuzov?
    He was still thinking when his mother grabbed him 
suddenly. Elshar wanted to use fire on her, but he didn't 
know how to burn her now without burning himself, too. And 
so he kept quiet, telling himself to be what the Watcher 
always wanted the children to be, patient.
    His mother dragged him along the floor and past the 
throne, to where they could see the Lady and the guards 
and Father again. Death-force was warm, but not soft, and 
his knees scraped up. Elshar winced, but kept quiet. He 
had a better chance of breaking free, the dark voice in 
his mind told him, if she didn't remember he was there. 
She would if he yelled.
    "We will take our son," Mother said in a voice that 
shook like Misha on top of the wall, "and go back home. We 
will not beat him again, and we will raise him gently in 
the use of his Gift. But not even you, Lady Ashina, have 
the right or power to take a child from his mother."
    "You do not seem to care for him," the Lady said, very 
calmly, like Mother when she watched Kuzov. "Why do you 
want him now?"
    "I will decide when he leaves my care! No one else!" 
Mother's hand kept getting tighter and tighter, but Elshar 
didn't care. He had a plan now, or he thought so, and he 
needed to keep quiet to make it work.
    "You are still selfish, Falaga." That was Father, his 
green eyes painful. "Elshar will have a better home with 
the Lady than he ever could with us. She will bring him up 
in the proper use of his Gift as well as proper behavior. 
You can visit him in a few years, when both of you might 
have become adults. Falaga. Let him go." His father kept 
talking as if Mother were a nervous trotter about to kick 
him in the head.
    Mother just stood there, looking at all the guards, 
who didn't move toward her for some reason. Elshar thought 
for a minute they might be afraid of hurting him, but that 
was nonsense. Even if he lived with the Lady, they didn't 
have any reason to care about him.
    Father kept talking, but Elshar didn't listen to him. 
Mother did, and so she paid no attention to Elshar. Elshar 
moved a little, just to make sure. Mother still didn't 
notice.
    Now. 
    He kicked, like he did when one of the older children 
tried to hit him a little too hard in the ball games, and 
hit Mother in the leg. She howled and dropped him. He ran 
to the throne and crawled under the hammock. She was too 
big to follow him, even if she wanted to.
    At once, the guards ran forward and grabbed Mother. 
Lady Ashina came forward, clapped her hands again, and 
said some more cold words in that strange language. Elshar 
closed his eyes, so he wouldn't have to watch if they 
punished Mother.
    But nothing happened, except that the guards took 
Mother and Father out of the room. The Lady Ashina walked 
around the room for a while, talking to herself, too 
softly for Elshar to hear. At last she came over and knelt 
down by the throne, holding out her hand.
    "You can come out now, Elshar." Her voice was very 
soft and friendly, but Elshar didn't know whether to trust 
her. He looked at her and, when she didn't stop smiling, 
decided he could ask a question.
    "Would you really take me away from my mother and 
father?" He saw her stop smiling and look angry, and 
hunched against the back of the throne. But she started 
talking, and he knew she wasn't angry at him.
    "Yes, Elshar. Perhaps I could forgive them not 
believing you at first, or telling me how strong your 
magic was. Even I found it a little hard to believe until 
I tested you. But I cannot forgive them ignoring you and 
not caring about you. You deserve more than that. You 
deserve love."
    "That's what Mother told me," said Elshar, interested. 
"But she told me she had a little amount of love, and she 
had given most of it to Kuzov, so she didn't have much 
left for me."
    "That's a very odd thing to say, and not true at all," 
said Ashina firmly. "She could have loved you if she had 
tried. But she didn't want to."
    "Why not?"
    "She was lazy."
    Elshar thought about that. He knew lazy people; there 
was one boy in his class, Agar, who always seemed to be 
either eating or sleeping and never wanted to play or 
learn lessons or even use his magic. But it seemed strange 
that his mother was like that. She actually used her 
magic, and she slept only a little every night.
    Ashina reached toward him suddenly, pulled him out 
before he could crouch back, and swept him into her arms, 
tickling him. Elshar laughed, squirming until she set him 
down and smiled at him. "That's better. I was beginning to 
think you were the kind of child who never laughed, but 
just went around like this all the time." She pulled a 
frown that looked so ugly and funny Elshar laughed again. 
    She smiled at him, letting the frown go away, and 
stood up. "Even better. Let's get you to your new room." 
She held out her hand for his.
    Elshar stared at her. Even though Mother had said 
Ashina wanted to take him away from her and Father, he 
hadn't thought it was true. "But, Ashina, I should get 
back to my room. My parents must be worried by now."
    The Lady looked sad now, even though she was still 
smiling. "I told the truth, Elshar. You don't ever have to 
go back to them if you don't want to. You shouldn't have 
had to stay there as long as you have. They can take care 
of Kuzov, and I'll take care of you."
    "But-" Elshar didn't understand. "If I live with you, 
who will be my mother?"
    "I will, if you let me." The Lady knelt again, and she 
opened her arms. She didn't look terrible at all then, but 
real and warm and loving, like the mothers Elshar had seen 
come to the courtyard with treats for their children. She 
looked like Mother should have looked, he thought.
    A sadness he did not understand bloomed like a flower 
in him and then died. He ran to her and hugged her, 
feeling her hug him back, and kiss his cheek lightly. He 
didn't know he was crying until he felt the tears rolling 
down his cheeks and plopping onto her leather. 
Embarrassed, he tried to wipe them away, but she stopped 
him by squeezing his hand.
    "No, Elshar, you can cry if you want to. I'm not going 
to tell you not to cry, like they probably did."
    For some reason, he cried even harder when she said 
that, even though Mother and Father had never told him not 
to cry. It was just something he had learned.
    He barely felt the Lady pick him up or walk with him 
toward one of the doors on the other side of the throne 
room. He held onto her neck, even though he knew she 
wouldn't drop him, and kept crying.
    "There, Elshar," she whispered, reminding him again 
that Mother had not used his name, even when she came for 
him. "I'm here."
    For the first time in his life, he believed an adult 
who said that.
----------------------------------------------------------
    His new room was a small room, dark except for one of 
those cold lamps, this one green too. But instead of just 
death force for a floor, it had dark green cloth that he 
wished he could sleep on instead of the bed, and even the 
walls had cloth on them. The cloth had stitched pictures. 
There was one of a unicorn dancing beneath stars while a 
waterfall fell in the background, and one of some very 
strange golden cats running along a hill. There was a 
fireplace in one corner, something he had only read about 
in books. He couldn't wait to see how a real fire would 
look.
    "Rest for a little while," Ashina whispered, and 
closed the door. He knew she hadn't locked it, because 
that wasn't the kind of thing she would do. Already, he 
thought he trusted her more than his own parents.
    Elshar didn't rest, though, not right away. He shifted 
the pictures around a little, to make sure there were no 
secret passages behind them, and looked up the fireplace. 
The chimney was too narrow for him to climb up, so he 
decided to wait and see if he would be able to climb up it 
one day.
    The bed was as big as two of his old one, and covered 
with soft cloth. It even had curtains, though Elshar 
didn't know why. Did it rain indoors in this part of the 
ka'cheer?
    There was another door in one corner of the room. He 
couldn't open it, but it was made of something that was as 
clear as water, and he could look out into a garden. He 
looked at the flowers for a few minutes before he saw the 
snake and knew it was the Big Garden. He stared for a long 
time. He had his own way to get into the Big Garden? He 
had never been there except when the Watcher decided the 
class had been good about learning its lessons, and that 
had only been once or twice.
    He went back and jumped on the bed for a while, but he 
bumped his head on the ceiling the curtains were hung from 
and decided to stop. Ashina didn't open the door and tell 
him to stop, which his parents would have done. He just 
stopped by himself, laid his head on the pillow, and 
decided he would sleep after all.
    He woke up knowing there was someone in the room. He 
sat up, yawning and rubbing his eyes, to see a strange 
woman on the other side of the room, carefully putting a 
tray of food on a table he hadn't noticed.
    "Hello," he said, being polite, even though the woman 
had a white tunic and leggings on. The Watcher kept 
telling them in class that death Elwens in white clothes 
were sha'sheerini, and shouldn't be treated politely, or 
they might get notions. Elshar didn't know what she meant, 
but he thought it was strange to be polite to some people 
and rude to others, so he was polite to every sha'sheerin.  
    The woman turned around and looked at him. Yes, she 
was a sha'sheerin, because her eyes were green and gold, 
like sunlight in the Garden outside. Elshar didn't think 
that was ugly, like everyone else seemed to; he thought it 
was pretty. "What's your name?" he asked, before she could 
say anything. "Mine's Elshar."
    The woman looked at him closely for a moment, then 
smiled, twirling one chestnut curl around a finger. She 
didn't look very much like an adult, so she couldn't be 
thousands of years old, like Mother and Father and the 
Lady. She must be just a few hundred. "Starfire," she 
said, in a voice like a bell. "Yes, I think you fit your 
name. Mine is Belenda."
    "What's that mean?" Elshar wanted to know. If 
everyone's name meant something, his wouldn't be as 
special, but it would be more interesting.
    "You probably don't want to know," said the woman, and 
Elshar thought for a moment that she must be embarrassed 
about the meaning of her name. Then he realized she was 
saying he couldn't be interested.
    "Why wouldn't I be interested?" he asked, upset that 
she could think wrong things about him.
    "My, my," Belenda murmured. "The Lady is going to have 
a little whirlwind on her hands." She kept talking, so he 
couldn't ask her what she meant, because it wasn't polite 
to interrupt people. "My name means purity."
    "But I like that," said Elshar, surprised. "Why don't 
you want to tell people?"
    Belenda looked sad for a moment. She wished she didn't 
have to say something, he thought. "I'll tell you when 
you're older," she said instead, as adults always did when 
they thought he wouldn't understand. She turned back to 
the tray. "Now, I brought you summerwine, milk, strawberry 
juice, and life-force."
    "But how am I ever going to drink and eat all that?" 
Elshar could see five cups on the tray, a plate to hold 
the life-force, and a towel to clean up after himself 
with. "Don't you want some?"
    Belenda turned around and stared at him for so long 
that he wondered if he had done something wrong. Then she 
said in a voice that sounded very thin, "You would 
actually give me something?"
    "Yes." Elshar was puzzled. Why did people keep acting 
as if everything he did was a surprise? "The Lady would 
probably be upset if I left any of it, but I really can't 
drink all of that. I just told you that," he added. Maybe 
she was deaf, like Lady Makira, who visited his mother 
sometimes and needed to be shouted at.
    "I'll take some summerwine, if you really think I 
should," said Belenda, her hands flying over the tray.
    "Of course." Elshar hopped off the bed and ran across 
the room. "Just leave some for me."
    A little later, the sha'sheerin looked down at him and 
shook her head. "What am I going to do with you?" she 
said. She sounded sad.
    "Why do you have to do anything with me?" Elshar 
immediately felt worried. Maybe he wasn't going to be 
happy here after all.
    "There are things you have to understand, Elshar."
    Elshar swallowed. Now that an adult was going to tell 
him something, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. 
Belenda looked stern. "I thought I had to wait until I was 
older. I'm not that much older now than I was when you 
told me I had to wait." He had to say that, just in case 
she'd forgotten. He had to remind adults of things like 
that sometimes.
    "You can hear this now," said Belenda, in a voice that 
said he shouldn't argue. She dropped to one knee so he 
could see her gold-green eyes. "Do you know what an 
akla'shoon is?"
    "Yes, but I can't explain it," said Elshar promptly.
    Now Belenda looked confused. That was the first time 
he ever saw an adult look confused. "Why not?"
    "Because an akla'shoon- I understand it." Elshar shook 
his head, now confused himself. Surely Belenda already 
knew what an akla'shoon was? "It's like trying to talk 
about magic to Agar."
    "Who's Agar?" Belenda had a strange look on her face, 
but Elshar kept talking.
    "This lazy boy in my class. He knows the word magic, 
but he doesn't know what it means. I try to tell him, and 
he looks at me with this look-" Elshar tried to imitate it 
"-and asks me why he would want to do that. It doesn't 
have any reason. Agar is very big on things that have 
reasons."
    Belenda laughed suddenly. "I'm thinking my Lady made a 
good choice," she said, which made no sense at all. "Now, 
Elshar, just try to tell me what an akla'shoon is. I have 
to make sure you understand."
    Elshar decided to try. He really thought she didn't 
know and wanted to find out, but he wouldn't let the 
secret out. "An akla'shoon is someone who follows a noble 
around, and helps them, and guards them."
    "Oh, come on. You can do better than that."
    "Maybe, but it doesn't work," said Elshar. "I'm trying 
to do the best I can. If you want to explain it, then you 
can."
    Why didn't Belenda stop smiling? "All right, Elshar. I 
know what an akla'shoon is. Now I'm going to tell you two 
things you probably don't know." Suddenly she wasn't 
smiling anymore, and Elshar found that he missed it. "The 
first is that akla'shoon means 'faithful shadow,' and we 
have to live up to our names."
    "We?" This kept getting more and more interesting. 
Elshar had never seen a young akla'shoon, but he was sure 
he could be a good one. "When does my training start?" he 
wanted to know.
    Belenda stared at him for a long time. Then she shook 
her head. "That's the second thing I have to tell you, 
Elshar. You're not an akla'shoon; I am." She stopped like 
he was supposed to say something, but when he didn't, she 
went on. "Your akla'shoon."
    "That can't be right," said Elshar, when he stopped 
being surprised. "I'm not a high noble. Only high nobles 
have akla'shooni."
    Why did Belenda keep smiling sadly like that? Had he 
said something funny? "You are a high noble now, Elshar. 
Don't you know what it means that the Lady took you away 
from your parents?"
    "I thought it meant she took me away from my parents."
    "It does, but it also means she's adopted you, in a 
way. You're like her son now, and since she's a high 
noble, the highest in the Klaina, so are you. In fact, 
you're second only to her."
    None of this really made sense to Elshar. "But why 
would she adopt me? She has children of her own. She 
doesn't need me."
    "Yes, she does. She doesn't have children of her own, 
Elshar. She got married, but her husband died three days 
after the wedding, and she actually loved him-" there was 
wonder in Belenda's voice "-so she never took another. 
There's no Heir, and so there can't be any children."
    Elshar swallowed and tried to be calm. "She wouldn't 
make me Heir, would she?"
    Belenda blinked at him, waking up. "You don't want to 
be Heir?"
    Elshar shook his head. "Why would I want to? They 
never get to have any fun. They have to stand around and 
smile all the time, like the Lady, and they can't run with 
the other children and play. They have to be polite to 
people all the time, and tell people to bow, and know 
everything about them, and-"
    "My Lady chose well indeed," Belenda murmured.
    "See, that's another thing. I couldn't be Lady. I'm a 
boy, not a girl."
    "There can be Lords of Klainae too, Elshar. Lady 
Ashina's father was Lord of Deathwield before he died and 
she became Lady."
    "That means the Lady would have to die before I could 
become Lord," Elshar went on. "You don't want her to do 
that, do you?"
    "No." Belenda sighed, like she was sad and happy at 
the same time. "But enough of this. Another child might 
still be born with magic stronger than yours, and then she 
or he would become Heir. There are other things you need 
to know, and you don't need to worry about being Heir for 
a long, long time."
    "What other things?"
    "I'm one of them." Belenda kept her voice cold as ice, 
like the Lady's, but Elshar thought she was worried 
underneath. "You can't treat me like you do now, Elshar. 
I'm an akla'shoon, and you're a high noble. Compared to 
you, I'm a piece of furniture. You have to treat me like 
that. Don't look at me when we're out in public, and don't 
have people bow to me, and don't speak to me unless you 
want me to do something."
    "That's stupid," said Elshar very calmly. "I won't do 
it. You're my friend, Belenda."
    That got him a frightened glance. "Don't say that!" 
Belenda hissed. "I've already told you more than I should. 
You're supposed to know this already. If the Lady finds 
out I told you, she'll take me away and give you another 
akla'shoon."
    Elshar frowned. "This isn't fair. Mother and Father 
treated me the same way, like I was dirt or something, and 
my sister Kuzov was a present the stars had given them. 
I'm not a present from the stars, and I won't treat you 
like dirt."
    "Elshar." Belenda looked worried. "If you become Lord 
someday- and even if you don't- you have to have some idea 
of common courtesies."
    "What courtesies do you mean?"
    "Being polite."
    "But that's not being polite to you, if I treated you 
like that," Elshar pointed out. "Do you really want me to 
treat you like that?"
    "No," Belenda sighed.
    "Then I won't," said Elshar. "If Lady Ashina asks me 
to, she'll have to give me a better reason. And if she 
doesn't, she'll have to find her Heir someplace else."
    "You are a stubborn child!"
    "Well, it's true," said Elshar, not understanding why 
she didn't understand. "If she doesn't have me as Heir, 
she'll have to have someone else. And I won't be Heir if 
she makes me treat you like that."
    Belenda hugged him suddenly. Elshar hugged her back. 
He was going to treat his akla'shoon politely.
    "I love you already, Elshar," she whispered to him. "I 
only hope this stubbornness doesn't hurt you someday."