Summer Sky
                         Prologue
            458, Age of the Swan, Early Summer
    Asoron flinched as yet another cry resounded from the 
chamber behind him. He knew what was happening, knew and 
refused to admit it.
    He turned to pace in a circle again, then stopped 
himself by force of will. The paving stones might wear if 
he took one more turn. He had been at this for nearly 
eight hours.
    Besides, the guards in the corridor outside must be 
exchanging pitying glances.
    He ran a hand distractedly through his hair, and felt 
his fingers bump against a circlet of rough metal, almost 
forgotten. He pulled it off and turned it slowly over and 
over in his hands. The silver flashed and gleamed as it 
caught the light, and so did the emeralds that served as 
the eyes of the carved river dolphins, the symbol of House 
Herves.
    He was King of Carmai, the one human nation of 
Arcadia, and he was a half-Elwen, the son of the land 
Elwen who had brought peace to Caladariz during the War of 
Acceptance by marrying a human woman. On him depended all 
the hopes from keeping the hostilities, not only between 
Elwens and humans but among all the diverse peoples of the 
Lake Province, from breaking out again.
    How small a thing it seemed now!
    Asoron's hand clenched on the coronet until the 
projecting flippers of the dolphins cut into it. He didn't 
care. He bowed his head and muttered half-incoherent 
prayers to the gods, as the screams sounded again and 
again. He had become so used to them that he almost didn't 
notice when the screams stopped.
    Then he heard the door open, and turned anxiously 
around. Looking at him from the doorway was a slender land 
Elwen woman, her face haggard and her dark eyes deep with 
shock. Her pale golden hair fell over a small, squirming 
bundle that she cradled in her arms.
    Asoron walked cautiously over to her, his fear muted 
by wonder. "This- is my heir?" he asked.
    Falimya Achenra nodded, and managed a smile so wan it 
looked almost ghastly. "Yes- my lord," she said, and held 
out the baby to him. Asoron caught a glimpse of eyes as 
blue as the sky from which the sun shone in summer, a 
glimpse of hair that mingled Elwen flame and human gold-
    And then he could no longer be distracted.
    "Where is she?" he demanded. "Where is Elishennrina?" 
    Falimya closed her eyes and swayed as if she were 
about to fall, this time handing his heir to him more 
insistently. He took the baby girl, cradling her close, 
but waited for news of his wife before he began to coo and 
fuss over her.
    Falimya recovered herself after a moment, and looked 
directly at him. She looked as if she were about to speak, 
but did not. Instead, she bowed her head and shook it 
slowly.
    "No." His voice was no more than a whisper. "No. You 
cannot mean that."
    "I do." Her voice seemed to thin with every word she 
spoke; she was very near exhaustion. "I tried everything I 
could, my lord, everything I knew. There were tricks I 
have not used since I learned them and spells not 
performed for a thousand years in that chamber. But it was 
no use."
    "You cannot possibly mean it." He was holding the 
child close, he noted dimly, as if to shield her from 
Falimya's next words. 
    They came anyway. "Elishennrina Herves, Queen of 
Carmai, is dead."
    The world went mad for a moment. Asoron wanted to drop 
the child and run. He wanted to weep onto Falimya's 
shoulder; she had been his friend since childhood, and his 
wife's special confidant, and he knew her grief must be as 
deep as his. He wanted to step inside the chamber, take 
the jeweled dagger that Eli wore always at her belt, and 
drive it into his own heart.
    Instead, he found himself bending over his daughter to 
bestow a father's kiss on her head and speak with soft 
fervor.
    "Her name is Kalimarina Hervesheir, and from this day 
forward I name her my lawful daughter and heir to all my 
possessions, my title and lands-"
    A terrible shriek resounded from the corridor outside, 
where the guards stood. Whoever made it died quickly, 
unlike his poor Eli, but it was unmistakably a death cry.
    It seemed to fill Falimya and transform itself into 
power. She took a step forward, raising her hands. Asoron 
stepped behind her with no compunctions whatsoever. She 
was a mage, and could defend herself better than he could 
at the moment, burdened as he was with the child and his 
own grief.
    There came the sound of a key in the lock, and then 
the door creaked slowly open. From the hall, it let in the 
light and shadows of a single lamp, the smell of blood, 
and silence. There was no sign of what had killed the 
guards or opened the door.
    Asoron sniffed deeply, but could catch no scent of 
anyone. Only the blood, so thick and hot and sweet it 
smelled like black roses.
    Falimya turned in a slow circle, her hands still up, 
her eyes narrowed. Asoron took some comfort in the glint 
of rage in those eyes. Enraged, she could call upon the 
natural powers of her people, which, added to her own 
gifts, would make her impossible to defeat.
    But still nothing happened. The shifting shadows 
danced, the blood in the corridor outside flowed and 
settled, the key set in the lock gleamed slightly and 
stayed still. The guards' bodies burst into silver flames 
as the stars reclaimed them, but that was the most active 
thing anyone or anything did for long moments.
    Asoron bent his head over his daughter. Anyone trying 
to harm him would find a berserk fighter, protecting two 
lives, willing to lay down the one if it would save the 
other.
    But something was nagging him.
    Why was nothing at all in the room with them, not even 
a wrong scent of some kind which would indicate an 
invisible attacker? Could someone have killed the guards 
as a warning? And why? Why do that and then depart again, 
rather than taking the chance to strike at the king and 
his weary protectoress?
    Perhaps it was those suspicions, perhaps a keen eye, 
but he saw the attack coming. He whirled away at the same 
moment Falimya shrieked.
    "Asoron!"
    A blade brushed coldly across his back, raising a 
trickle of blood. Gasping with the pain and with anger, 
the King of Carmai turned to face the attacker.
    It was a slender, short Elwen with dark hair and eyes, 
dark silver skin, and an expression of determined purpose 
on his face. Asoron felt his anger turn sluggish with 
fear, and fought to resurrect it. Just because he faced a 
shadowed Elwen- an Elwen who could turn invisible in 
shadows, an Elwen who had walked right past him because 
his scent was of black roses- was no reason to despair.
    He might even be able to talk him out of this. The 
curalli of Caladariz were traders, not fighters, and for 
the most part accepted Carmai's neutrality.
    "Why are you doing this?" He sincerely hoped he didn't 
sound desperate.
    The shadowed Elwen looked straight at him for the 
first time. He spoke in a musical voice laden with iced 
honey and darkness and, strangely enough, sorrow. "You 
know, King Asoron. This child must not be-"
    It was at that moment that Falimya, succumbing to the 
hereditary hatred of her kind for the curalli, screamed 
and struck.
    Fire lashed from her hands, turning the curalli into a 
torch where he stood. The assassin's mouth twisted in a 
soundless shout of pain, but he made no attempt to put out 
the fire. He knew it wouldn't work.
    Nor did he show any particular regret in dying. He 
gazed at Asoron with that feyness that humans found so 
disturbing and which made even half-Elwens shiver, and 
smiled. 
    It was as if he were happy to be dying, happy to be 
gone from this world, this life.
    When the flames faded, Asoron turned to Falimya, 
holding his daughter out to her like a sword hilt-first.
    "I don't care how long it takes." His voice shook. 
"Find someone who can protect her."
    Then he left the room, without a look back.




                        Chapter 1
                           Zar
            478, Age of the Swan, Early Summer
    "He is free who does not have to worry about what 
tomorrow will bring."
    -Elven Proverb.

    "That dagger cannot possibly be worth four silvers. 
You have got to be joking."
    The merchant drew himself up straight and glared at 
this irritating customer. His eyes flashed red, a trick 
which caused some people to back down, but it didn't seem 
to be working in this case. "Are you implying, master, 
that I sell inferior merchandise? That I would not know a 
good dagger from a bad one?"
    "Not at all," the customer replied, ignoring the 
insulting title. "But the smiths who sell you this stuff 
may not be as good as you think."
    Zar Feathermaster smiled to himself as he watched the 
merchant's face turn an interesting shade of silver. Land 
Elwens were so much fun to play with. They took life so 
seriously that they wouldn't recognize levity if it put an 
arrow through their backs.
    The merchant closed his eyes as he fought for control. 
Zar was not fooled. His hands remained clenched on the 
counter of his simple wooden stall so hard that the 
daggers, short swords, and knives resting on their 
cushions trembled. His teeth, too, ground with a noise 
that was fairly audible several feet away, and caused some 
of the other people in Neoljir Market to look over at them 
curiously.
    But when the land Elwen opened his eyes again, he 
looked halfway calm. "You may be right about that. I find 
a piece of inferior craftsmanship on occasion. But not 
this dagger," he stubbornly resumed, holding up the 
silver-chased blade Zar had been examining.
    The young falcon Elwen leaned back against air and 
cocked his head. His wings were twitching under his tunic, 
and he stilled them. Like the lashing tail of a cat, they 
could betray his mood.
    "I think so," he said. "Look at the way the blade 
joins the hilt. It looks like it's about to crack in half 
any time."
    The merchant bent close to look at the blade. Zar 
maintained a solemn expression on his face all the while. 
The blade was almost perfect, of course, but this way he 
could lower the price by a whole silver or more.
    And it was so much fun.
    The merchant smirked and then shook his head. Zar knew 
the game was almost up, and he would have to make his move 
soon. This one was tougher than his usual prey.
    "No crack," the merchant proclaimed. "She's a thing of 
beauty. If you don't want her, I know others who will." He 
turned to put the dagger away.
    Zar smiled, feeling his eyes sparkle. He waited a 
moment, and the land Elwen spun back around, dagger held 
out, to capture the attention of the errant customer who 
would now be begging for the blade-
    Only to see Zar walking away, waving a negligent hand. 
"I'll leave it to them, then," he called over his 
shoulder.
    Several people had continued glancing at them after 
the merchant regained his composure, and so they were in a 
prime position to see the land Elwen holding the dagger 
out, staring after the falcon Elwen, who was walking just 
fast enough to give the impression that there was an odor 
he wanted to get away from. In other words, they were in a 
prime position to see the land Elwen make a fool of 
himself.
    Laughter, everything from the flat tones of humans to 
the silvery snickers of curalli, broke out behind him, and 
the weapons-seller shouted something incoherent. Zar 
shrugged cheerfully, sharing the grins of some of those 
who had turned around to look. It wasn't his fault that 
the land Elwen had both lost his custom and set himself up 
to be tricked. 
    That was the way life worked, sometimes.
    Zar, feeling as pleased with himself as if he had 
eaten his fill without having to share the kill with 
anyone, nonetheless kept an eye out for the heavy wagons 
that crossed the Market and any marching Kingsworn. This 
was Neoljir- the real Neoljir- capital of the Kingdom of 
Carmai- the real Kingdom of Carmai. Few niceties of rank 
were respected here, and people who hated each other 
traded in an uneasy peace, if at all.
    "Coming through!"
    Zar flattened himself against the stone wall of a 
bakery, one of the few permanent buildings here, as a 
great cart rumbled past. It stood twice as high as he did, 
and was pulled by a team of six graybrutes. It was 
impossible to see inside, due to both the height of the 
cart's sides and the Kingsworn land Elwens who closely 
surrounded it, but it smelled of cheese and spices. 
Delicacies for the Princess's birthday celebration, Zar 
guessed.
    The Kingsworn gave him suspicious looks. Zar shrugged 
and yawned in their faces. They looked at everyone who was 
obviously a stranger that way. He'd gotten used to it.
    When the cart was past, he resumed his stroll around 
the Market. It was possible that he might find something 
interesting here. Remotely possible.
    All around him bustled possibilities that he wasn't 
interested in. Land Elwens like the one he had duped sold 
weapons, or fine hunting hawks, or musical instruments, or 
illustrated books. Land Elwens lived well in Caladariz, he 
had noted. Curalli proffered more ordinary items: food, 
skinning knives, boots, thin, cheap bracelets of twisted 
copper or bronze, and small jewels. There were uniels 
offering healing herbs or reading lessons, humans 
repairing pots and gossiping with sharp bobs of their 
heads like birds, farmers of all races selling dried fruit 
or harvested earlyfruit, and still more.
    There were also thieves, and Zar kept a sharp eye on 
his purse. It was thin enough as it was.
    He had no silver to buy anything except absolute 
necessities, and yet he found himself lingering by the 
cages of hawks and falcons. Understanding warred with 
anger in him. He understood that if he were to free them, 
they would be bewildered, never having been taught to hunt 
on their own. 
    But it made him angry that land Elwens had taken them 
from the wild and trained them in the first place, perhaps 
even interfered with them magically. That should never 
have been allowed to happen.
    "Master? May I help you?"
    The proprietor, surprisingly, was not a land Elwen, 
but a moon Elwen woman, a nuna. Mild silver eyes looked at 
him from beneath a mane of pale silver hair, and she 
gestured toward the cages when he seemed not to grasp her 
question.
    "Are you interested in a bird? I have many here, 
everything from kestrels to merlins." She paused, as if to 
see if this would elicit his interest, and went on when it 
didn't. "Even the larger falcons, if you are an 
experienced falconer. Jers, peregrines-"
    That was the wrong thing to say. Zar looked at her, 
his face expressionless, but she took a step backwards 
nonetheless. Zar fought the temptation to smile. She had 
seen that his eyes, normally a pale gray, were the same 
dark color now as those of a peregrine.
    "Ah- perhaps you would not be interested, after all," 
whispered the merchant.
    "Not unless you would be interested in letting these 
birds go," said Zar, making a circling motion that 
included all the cages.
    Oddly enough, the words seemed to give her spine. She 
stood straight up and met him glance for glance, 
acknowledging what he was but not giving into it. "These 
birds are my livelihood, my lord. Many of them were not 
even caught in the wild, but bred from my own birds. I 
assure you I have not used magic on them, or done any of 
the sorts of things you and your kind find objectionable." 
Her eyes lingered on his hair, which resembled feathers 
more than it did hair, proving she had figured out exactly 
what he was. "But I will not let them go."
    Zar inclined his head slightly. "Then you'll not mind 
if I speak to them, to find out if they really have not 
been mistreated."
    "Any contact you make with their minds will reassure 
you that I'm telling the truth," the nuna said proudly, 
lifting her head and shaking her hair back.
    Zar shook his head and opened a cage casually, 
ignoring her protest. "Falconspeech is not mere contact 
with a bird's mind, my lady."
    The falcon inside was a peregrine, dark-eyed, with 
gray-white feathers. It looked up at him mistrustfully for 
a moment, beak open in a silent hiss, but did not bate or 
try to bite him. Indeed, after a moment of Zar silently 
encouraging it, it stepped onto his wrist.
    The firm pressure of the talons made him wince and 
wish he had worn a glove, but it was not hard enough to 
break the skin or even cause much pain. The falcon's eyes 
fastened curiously to his, and he spoke to it in the 
silent "speech" that was more a meeting of different self- 
concepts and worlds than anything else.
    The falcon- not it, her- cocked her head as Zar told 
her what he was and exactly what he wanted to find out. 
She understood the first part well enough, but not the 
second. Zar found himself smiling a little, and nodding to 
the nuna, who stood with her anxiety barely hidden behind 
a mask of pride. At the nod, she relaxed and stood 
casually, though she still watched.
    The falcon at last understood what he was talking 
about, and flashed an indignant denial. All she could ever 
remember was fair and just treatment, soaring the skies 
after prey, and learning to kill in a manner that was 
fairly like a wild falcon's. She had not been taken from 
the nest or exposed to any terror.
    Zar pulled his mind gently free at last and bowed his 
head gravely to the peregrine. She dipped hers back. The 
nuna held up her hand and whistled softly at the same 
moment, and the peregrine turned and flew to her wrist, 
glancing back at Zar with arrogant confidence.
    "I can't believe that she didn't try to get away from 
you," the nuna said.
    "Why should she? She knew I wouldn't hurt her, and she 
has good food here, and a valued partner to hunt with." He 
said that on purpose, and saw the wonder in her eyes turn 
to doubt.
    "She is happy with me? Truly?" The moon Elwen looked 
down at the bird, who was no longer paying any attention, 
but had spread her wings to take in some of the sun.
    Zar didn't answer the question directly. "Falcons have 
much more intelligence than you give them credit for," he 
said, with a slight shrug that almost jerked his wings out 
of his tunic.
    "I might want to reconsider selling her, then," the 
moon Elwen woman murmured, shifting her hand so that the 
falcon's feet loosened and she could be put back in the 
cage.
    Zar shrugged again, but was inwardly satisfied. The 
falcon was happy here, and she might not be so with a new 
master. If the nuna decided to keep her, or at least 
thought very carefully about the kind of person she would 
be willing to let her go to, all to the good.
    "I'm sorry," the woman said suddenly, clearly 
embarrassed. "All this talk about falcons, and I never 
even asked your name. Mine is Helira Swanmoon."
    Zar sighed. She would find out sooner or later; if she 
knew anything at all about his people, she would recognize 
the truth in his name. He had long since given up hope 
that the ways of his people, the duazadi, were so 
mysterious that no one would know anything of his 
humiliation.
    He ought to be used to this by now, in fact, but he 
wasn't.
    "Zar Feathermaster."
    He watched closely, and saw it, though she hid it 
better than many would have. Her nostrils flared wide for 
a moment, as did her eyes, and he could see that she 
struggled not to take a step back from him. Her face did 
not pale- but then again, the red-banded white skin of a 
nuna would not show much in the way of blood fading from 
it. She clenched her hands in front of her and tilted her 
head stiffly.
    "I see." Two words, bitten off before emotion could 
form, but he heard all the unspoken accusation in them. 
How could you stand here talking to me like this, when you 
are what you are? she should have been shouting.
    He had wanted to give up on trying to convince them 
otherwise, too, but he always tried.
    "It's not like that," he said. His voice roughened 
despite his effort to keep it smooth. "Not all of us are 
like that. Just because-"
    Helira flinched, turning her head away. "Just go. I 
need customers here." Bitten-off words, again, but this 
time the disgust was plain.
    Zar bowed, but she did not see it. She stood with her 
eyes averted, as from a human corpse crawling with worms, 
until he took his leave. He thought he heard the peregrine 
call a soft farewell after him.
    The old, familiar resentment burned in him as he made 
his way through the Market to the edge of town. It had 
stopped being anger about a thousand years ago. Why did no 
one ever give him a chance? Why did they judge him solely 
on the basis of a name?
    Because of what that name means, came the answer. It 
was the same every single time, just like the revulsed 
reactions of those who knew what it meant. He knew what 
that name meant when he took it. He had no one to blame 
for this but himself, if he didn't like it.
    That did nothing to sweeten his temper, but he did not 
let it out. He forced the anger down inside himself and 
chained it so securely that it had no chance of breaking 
free. In the early years, he had raged every time he got a 
chance, but now he knew it did no good. Two thousand 
years' passage did bring wisdom.
    On the other hand, if this was wisdom, he dreaded to 
think about how wise he would be in twenty-seven more 
millennia, at the end of his life.
    He moved blindly toward the gate, ignoring the glares 
of those he bumped into and dodging the carts and the 
Kingsworn by reflex. Those who might have taken offense at 
this blind disregard of their existence took one look at 
him and swallowed their words. He could feel their 
irritation change to uncomfortable pity.
    He hated that, too. But again, it was an inevitable 
consequence of the life he had chosen.
    The gates of Neoljir loomed ahead, the only metallic 
constructions in a city of stone. The land Elwens had 
built Neoljir, but it was evident only in the fanciful 
carvings on almost all the buildings and the dream-like 
shapes of their own dwellings. Humans did not like to be 
surrounded by metal.
    Zar concentrated on those gates, and on what he could 
see beyond them- green farmlands and meadows and forests, 
the rush of the Neoljir River, and, most of all, free, 
unfettered sky- and felt his mood beginning to lift. It 
always did, and the bouts of self-pity had gotten shorter 
and shorter as the years went by. That was the one good 
thing about it.
    Perhaps the return of his attention to the world about 
him was the only thing that saved him, because he heard 
the gate-guards talking before they saw him. He heard 
mention of his name, halted behind the corner of a last 
house that stood between him and the gates, and listened.
    "...calling himself that, anyway," someone who sounded 
as if he might be half-Elwen was saying. "Don't know that 
I believe it, but that's what he gives his name as."
    "It doesn't matter what name he goes by," said a full 
land Elwen, in those unmistakable tones of silvery 
arrogance. "We'll catch him."
    "I want him unharmed," said a land Elwen woman with 
quiet firmness. "He hasn't done anything wrong. We merely 
want to speak with him."
    Zar couldn't resist a peek around the corner at that, 
to confirm that what he felt was truth. Sure enough, the 
male land Elwen, the gate-guard, and the half-Elwen who 
seemed to be the woman's escort were exchanging doubtful 
looks. The woman shook her head, once, and ignored them.
    Zar ducked back before they could see him. Now this 
makes a pretty picture, he thought wryly. Do I trust her 
promise of safe conduct, or not?
    Even a hundred years ago, he might have done so. But 
that was before he learned that the harm people did didn't 
always fall on the great and powerful. People could be 
persuaded to take an interest in one as lowly as he was, 
and that guard sounded like he might be one of those 
people.
    He had other ways out of the city, luckily.
    There was no one on the street, he reassured himself 
with a quick glance up and down. He might as well do it 
now, and get it over with, before someone could start a 
search of the city, or come along the street, or something 
else equally annoying.
    He concentrated. It was an incredible effort for the 
first few moments, forcing himself to think of one single 
thing so completely that he ignored the world around him. 
But then it slipped ahead, like wind through the feathers, 
becoming quicker and quicker every moment.
    By the time the land Elwen woman and her escort 
rounded the corner of the building on their way back into 
the city proper, no Zar Feathermaster remained. Instead, a 
peregrine falcon sat on the edge of the roof, casually 
buffing a feather with his beak. He watched the two with 
eyes that never blinked, but they didn't glance up.
    Someone might, though. And though peregrines 
occasionally nested in cities, someone might think that 
was a damn funny perch for a peregrine to hunt from...
    Zar spread his wings and sprang up and out. This was 
as different from the short hop he had taken from the 
ground to the roof as his present form was different from 
his Elwen form. The sky surrounded him, the wind caught 
him and bore him over the city wall (and over the 
oblivious guard's head), and he looked down on a world 
seen anew.
    That was the only way he could describe it. The ground 
rapidly falling away below him glowed with a myriad of 
subtle shades of green that grass never possessed when 
looked at through Elwen eyes. The Neoljir River flung 
shining droplets, so swift was its course, droplets he 
could see one by one or all at once. The lightness of his 
body, the presence of his tail, and the effortless 
strength of his wingbeats combined to make a new and very 
different reality.
    He soared in circles for a while, the wind and the 
flight restoring him to good humor. He wondered idly what 
they would think when they discovered no falcon Elwen, 
named Zar or otherwise, in the city. He wished he could 
see the looks on their faces.
    They would figure it out eventually, of course, but 
they couldn't shoot or stop birds from flying out of the 
city, either. If nothing else, he could fly so high they 
wouldn't see him, though only for a little while, or he 
would hole up in the city somewhere until they got tired 
of searching.
    This mess was no more than an inconvenience, and he 
had plenty of those.
    Hunger bled into him at some point, and he searched 
until he found a rock on a small island in the River that 
commanded a decent view. He sat there like a falcon carved 
of stone, waiting patiently for prey to venture into the 
open.
    Finally, something did. A crow flapped heavily, 
looking gorged, from a stand of trees and toward the 
River, looking for water or something to complement its 
meal.
    Zar could feel his wings twitch, but he did not yet 
dive. The crow would have time to return to cover, still, 
if he swooped before it got close enough. He had to wait 
until it reached the riverbank, where the short grass and 
open water would favor his fast and powerful flight.
    The crow circled, croaking, over the River for a 
moment, then returned to the bank. It seemed to have found 
something else to attract its attention- a small dead 
animal, perhaps- and was paying no attention to Zar.
    Now.
    The feeling and knowledge surged through every muscle 
of his body, propelling him into the air. Almost silently, 
he flew out over the crow and struck downwards.
    The sound of wind in his wings, or perhaps his 
flickering shadow, warned it. It made one circle, then 
turned and fled out over the River.
    Zar altered his swoop slightly, snapping his wings 
open briefly to regain height, and again hurtled like a 
falling stone towards the crow. He had chosen well. There 
was no cover, absolutely none, unless the crow was 
desperate enough to duck beneath the surface of the water.
    Or to do what it did next.
    A small ship was flowing steadily downstream with the 
current, its sails furled for the moment, as the sailors 
prepared for the final stop at Neoljir's wharves. They 
paid no attention to the birds, and the crow turned toward 
them. It swooped dizzily among the "trees" of the masts, 
seeking some spot where it would be safe from the terrible 
enemy relentlessly closing in.
    Zar cried out in anger, the sharp, ringing cry of a 
falcon, and now the ship's crew did turn to look up. They 
watched in amazement as a peregrine danced among their 
masts like a mad thing, stubbornly clinging to his prey's 
trail, talons balled to strike.
    The crow had tried to land on a rope, but it was too 
heavy, and the rope moved under it. Cawing, it took off 
again.
    Directly below him.
    Elwen emotion, and even hunger, faded from his mind 
entirely. Instinct took over for the moment, and he 
dropped, wings half-flared, talons extended.
    He struck the crow a solid knock on the back of the 
head, and it staggered in midair. It dropped a little 
closer to the water, but kept on flying.
    No matter. He circled once, hounding it, staying 
close, and then struck again, this time for good. His 
talons locked deeply into the feathers of the crow's 
sides, digging into wetness and warm, shifting muscle. He 
squeezed, hard, and felt the life of his prey begin to 
fade.
    Of course, binding to it like that sent them both 
tumbling towards the water.
    Zar grimly beat the air with his wings, gaining some 
height but not enough. Luckily, the ship's speed was 
already carrying it past the island. With luck...
    He flapped hard, pulling against the dead weight, and 
landed at the edge of the water, on a projecting toe of 
grass. He shook his head, lifted his tail clear of the 
River, checked to make sure his prey was still with him, 
and called in triumph, mantling.
    He could hear applause and approving murmurs from the 
ship's crew. It had been a spectacular chase, and they had 
watched it was as much appreciation as if he had been 
killing at their command.
    Zar waited until he was sure the ship was safely past, 
then mantled again and lowered his head to feed. He had 
never liked having people watch him eat, as if it would 
diminish him in some way.
    He ate as much of the crow as he could, by which time 
other scavengers were already creeping close. He gave them 
all a scornful glance and took to the air with a rush of 
wings and blood from his feet that made them momentarily 
leap back. He landed on the rock again to clean himself 
and consider the kill.
    Not one of his cleaner ones, certainly, considering 
the amount of blood on his feet. But a good one. And it 
had provided a good show...
    He paused with his beak in his primary feathers as he 
realized what he had done.
    Given the ship's crew every reason to speak about a 
falcon chasing a crow, a falcon who would not give up and 
had enough sense to realize that the crew was so 
distracted by the chase they wouldn't shoot him. Who had 
flown as if to avoid any arrows that might be loosed at 
him.
    The land Elwens would hear of it, if they had any ears 
on the commerce side of the city at all.
    He cried softly and launched himself from the rock 
once more. It was his turn to fly slowly and heavily, this 
time to the edge of the water, where he changed back into 
an Elwen- a dizzying experience, with the world falling 
away and growing bigger at once, and the clarity fading- 
and knelt to wash the blood from his hands.
    What was done was done, of course. Still...
    "How could I be so stupid?" he said aloud, startling 
one of the rat-like creatures who had come sniffing to the 
falcon's kill. It cocked its head at him in some 
startlement, then apparently decided he was harmless and 
went back to feeding.
    Zar talked to it for want of a better audience. "I was 
so hungry I didn't even think to hunt farther from the 
city, where I wouldn't be noticed, where seeing a falcon 
kill a crow is, if not commonplace, at least not 
noteworthy. Oh, no! I had to give them every reason to 
look for me near Neoljir." He shook his head in disgust 
and scrubbed at a particularly stubborn spot of blood with 
a handful of grass. "Anyone with half a brain would think 
I wanted to be caught."
    The little creature paid him no attention, having 
stuffed itself and now trotting away with a bit of meat. 
Towards some hidden den, no doubt. Zar only wished he had 
one.
    Unfortunately, disappearing from Neoljir would not be 
as easy as turning into a falcon and flying away from the 
city. He had a room rented in one of the few inns that 
would put up any traveler, of any race, and there remained 
his pack and the few other things he considered needful. 
Altogether, that was more mass than he could transform, 
along with himself, into the falcon's feathers.
    Oh, he could still fly, he told himself as he spread 
his wings. But a flying Elwen was as sure as starfire to 
be noticed.
    He remained for a long hour on the island, thinking, 
his wings spread to dry from the brief soaking they'd 
taken in the edges of the River. Even when they were dry, 
he stayed there, simply because he enjoyed the warmth and 
did not feel like returning to the city at the moment.
    A trumpet-blast startled him from his trance, and 
reminded him that the city's gates would close soon. 
Already, sunset colors stained the sky to the west. Zar 
shook his head sharply, trying to shock some sense back 
into himself, and changed into a falcon for the flight 
back.
    Once again, he glided over the walls without anyone 
noticing, or seeming curious or interested. He landed 
lightly behind the inn he had chosen, the Phoenix's Pyre. 
It was large, and the courtyard in the back, which 
contained the well and was thus perfectly legitimate, was 
shielded from the street. The innkeeper understood about 
guests who needed their privacy, mostly because he did 
himself.
    Zar changed back again, and winced as his stomach 
growled. Shifting took a lot of energy, which was why he 
didn't usually do it except in an emergency, or when he 
was hungry and didn't feel like "Elwen" food. Now he would 
have to eat again.
    As if in response to his stomach, the rear door of the 
inn opened, and one of the servers at the inn stepped 
outside, carrying a water bucket. She stopped when she saw 
him, and scowled.
    "What are you doing here?"
    "I rented a room here," Zar said, a little startled by 
her rudeness. He knew Sashala didn't like him, but she had 
never been openly rude before. "Remember?" he felt 
compelled to add lightly. From the hostile set of her 
face, he wasn't certain she did.
    "There were people," said Sashala ominously, balancing 
the bucket so that she could lift one hand warningly. She 
appeared to be a young and fairly pretty land Elwen woman, 
if no great beauty, but appearances could be deceiving. 
"They came by looking for you." She paused, and smiled for 
the first time at his dismayed expression. "Asking after 
you, actually," she added, and the smile faded. "Do you 
know how little Master Jenneth can afford to have them 
doing that?"
    "They were from the Palace, then?" Jenneth wouldn't 
have been afraid of any questioners, and someone from the 
Palace was the only person he would have reason even to be 
wary of. If only because someone would notice the missing 
body, Zar thought with a faint smile.
    Sashala evidently mistook his smile for disbelief. She 
lifted her nose and sniffed disdainfully. "You can think 
what you want, but they were looking for you. Asked for 
you by name, wanted to know when you would be back, what 
you were like, what room you had taken, and all that. 
Master Jenneth almost lost his temper."
    Zar whistled under his breath. "All right, then," he 
said, barely stifling a sigh. "I'll find him and tell him 
I'm leaving tonight." Tonight, the clouds would take the 
moons; he could see it in the darkness edging the sunset. 
There should be sufficient darkness for him to leave- and 
if not, he could use his magic to create a distraction of 
some kind.
    "Good." Sashala smiled again, and went to the well, 
absently flattening herself against air to avoid touching 
him. Zar grumbled under his breath about nothing in 
particular, and went in.
    The Phoenix's Pyre had originally been two buildings, 
and signs of the wall that had been knocked down to 
connect the two were still there. Master Jenneth believed 
in making his inn comfortable, not immaculate. Zar thought 
the buildings had probably both been warehouses, because 
the innkeeper had created a very large, three-story common 
room with the removal of the wall. Almost every inch of it 
was filled with tables, the great hearths, or the long 
counter that stretched around the room and bent with the 
walls. A staircase led up to the second floor, where the 
rooms were.
    Zar wound his way between tables where people were 
already eating and talking quietly. No one paid much 
attention to him. Intense focus on someone was uncommon in 
the Phoenix's Pyre, because Master Jenneth tended to 
discourage it.
    Jenneth himself was taking his turn behind the bar, 
handing out drinks and listening to the servers detail  
the customers they thought might be spies of the Palace or 
people looking to stir up trouble. His face was smooth, as 
it almost always was, the only visible clue that he was 
not the land Elwen he pretended to be. No land Elwen 
controlled his emotions that well.
    He glanced up quickly at Zar's approach, and smiled 
thinly. Interrupting one of the servers in mid-breath, he 
gestured him away.
    The man bowed stiffly, shot Zar a curious glance, and 
walked away to take the orders of a new pair of customers. 
    Jenneth turned to Zar. Both his hair and his eyes were 
extraordinarily dark, which was unfortunate. Zar felt as 
if he were about to be drilled into the ground every time 
those eyes turned on him. "So. Sashala told you about the 
inquiries?"
    "Yes." Zar reached for his pouch. "Here are the 
silvers I owe you. I'll be leaving tonight-"
    Jenneth's hand shot out, catching and imprisoning his 
arm. Zar shuddered, but held still. He was afraid, of 
course, but what reasonable person wouldn't be?
    "You can pay me in better ways than the silver. Tell 
me why they were looking for you." He smiled more widely 
as Zar hesitated, though he never showed his teeth. "The 
Phoenix's Pyre has been a sanctuary to you in times of 
trouble. Would you want to see it destroyed?"
    "You would just start again somewhere else," Zar said, 
in the same flippant tone he had used to Sashala. Never 
show fear. The falcon attacks the bird who flies away from 
the flock in a panic, and other predators will, as well. 
"The Phoenix's Pyre will always exist. Something like it, 
anyway."
    "But I have it good right here." Jenneth hardly 
appeared to apply pressure to his grip on Zar's arm, but 
the falcon Elwen ground his teeth to avoid shouting out in 
pain. "I don't want to move."
    "I don't know," Zar ground out from between his teeth.
    The dark eyes, more piercing than any peregrine's, 
stared at him. "What?"
    "I don't know why they want me." Zar kept his voice 
low with an effort. Jenneth was incredibly strong. Of 
course. "I heard a land Elwen woman and a half-Elwen 
telling a gate-guard my name, and to watch for me. They 
seem to want me alive. I flew over the walls as a falcon 
to avoid them, and flew back in the same way, and I am 
stars-damned hungry, and that's all I know."
    Jenneth let him go so suddenly that it was a moment 
before returning blood renewed the pain. Zar gritted his 
teeth and handed the two silvers over. Jenneth accepted 
them, watching him all the while as if he were some 
fascinating puzzle.
    "You don't know, do you?"
    Zar shook his head. "If I had, I wouldn't have 
returned, or I would have gone to the Palace and demanded 
to know why. But I don't even know whether it's a good or 
bad thing that I'm supposed to have done. It seemed best 
to be cautious."
    "And if these questioners return?" Jenneth lifted an 
elegant eyebrow. "Particularly if they pay me good money 
to tell them where you are?"
    "I don't think they'll return tonight," said Zar, with 
all the certainty he could muster. He had to convince 
Jenneth. The innkeeper was perfectly capable of killing 
him right there if he so desired. "The preparations for 
the Princess's celebration will occupy them. And by 
tomorrow, neither you nor anyone else in Neoljir will know 
where I've gone."
    Jenneth laughed, a deeply musical sound. "True spoken. 
And I won't say you're not a bold one, Zar." He smiled yet 
again. "Just so long as you're not too bold."
    He turned away to fetch Zar a glass of the wine he 
knew the falcon Elwen liked. The duazad closed his eyes 
and allowed himself a brief tremble of reaction. Then he 
opened them quickly again, to watch the land Elwen who was 
not a land Elwen.
    Darkness Elwen.
    Soul-eater.
    Jenneth turned back with an amused smile on his face, 
as if he could feel what Zar was feeling, just like a true 
land Elwen. He held a glass of the golden wine that was 
the special brew of Cytheria, Zar's own home province. 
"Enjoy," he said lightly.
    Zar took the drink and retired to a quiet corner, 
where he was even more unlikely to attract attention than 
just by being in the Phoenix's Pyre. He spent a long 
moment studying the crowd before he drank, to see if there 
were any land Elwens there taking an undue interest in 
him.
    Nothing. Everyone kept his eyes steadfastly fixed on 
his plate or on his neighbor's conversation. 
    Satisfied, Zar took a sip of the wine, and smiled at 
its powerful, sweet taste. He forgot every time exactly 
how much it tasted like the liquid equivalent of sunlight.
    And how much it reminded him of the sunlight falling 
long and lazy across the green forests of Cytheria, seen 
from above, a mosaic of gold and emerald...
    He had to close his eyes and put the cup down for a 
moment as a sharp pain entered his head and obscured his 
vision with silver for several long, pounding moments. By 
the time he opened his eyes again, the server had brought 
the meal he had ordered every night he had been at the 
inn- barely roasted venison and the kind of thick bread 
that was popular around the wharves- and beat a hasty 
retreat.
    Zar shrugged as he began to eat, working his jaws 
carefully around the bread, so thick and tough was it. 
Those of Jenneth's servants who didn't dislike him were 
afraid of him. Some people were like that. He had never 
been able to figure out why.
    He had barely finished the bread when a server brought 
him another plate. He looked up in surprise, then saw it 
was a new girl and sighed in irritation.
    "I didn't order this," he began, trying to figure out 
some way to get rid of the food without causing a scene.
    "I know," said a familiar voice. The serving girl 
lowered the plate, which she had held half in front of her 
face, as if to shield it, and looked at him directly. He 
checked an exclamation at seeing the spirit of a true land 
Elwen in her dark eyes, and one who had a weight of some 
years. "I wanted to find you, Zar Feathermaster. We have 
some things to discuss."
    It was the woman from the gate, curse every trick the 
stars ever played. Zar sat still and gazed at her, letting 
his eyes reveal nothing of the tension in his wings.
    The woman smiled, a smile that had real humor in it, 
and sat down at his table, exactly as if she had been 
invited. Again, no one looked around, and Zar silently 
cursed Jenneth's custom that his servers were perfectly 
free to form liaisons with any of the guests. No one would 
think it strange, and that meant no one would move to help 
him.
    Well, he had escaped from situations stickier than 
this before. He started to stand.
    The woman's hand shot out, locking on his arm. Zar 
stared at her.
    "All I need do is use some magic," he said, keeping 
his voice low and casual, to make it seem as if he were 
gently rebuffing some sort of offer. "You won't be able to 
stop me."
    "There are twenty Kingsworn around this inn," said the 
woman. Her smile grew wider, but it was without malice. 
She seemed delighted with every resistance he put up. "All 
with arrows. And full quivers. Do you think you could 
outfly twenty arrows at once?"
    All right. Perhaps those other situations hadn't been 
quite this sticky. 
    Zar sat down with a thump. At once, she took her hand 
from his arm and leaned forward expectantly.
    "What do you want with me?" he asked in a voice that 
held anger no matter how hard he tried to stop it. 
    "It's no trouble," said the woman soothingly, 
mistaking the source of his anger. "You have committed no 
crime- that we know of," she added, shooting him a 
doubtful smile. "There is something you can do for us, 
though, and once I can explain it to you in private, I 
think you'll find our offer most agreeable."
    "You misunderstand, my lady-" Zar paused. "I don't 
believe you gave me your name."
    He was watching her face rather closely, and so he 
knew he saw it. Doubt shone in her eyes again, as if she 
had forgotten her name, or did not know it. But no lie 
buzzed in his ears when she did offer it.
    "Falimya Achenra."
    "Rezt!" he blurted, ignoring the disapproving rise of 
her eyebrows. "You're the counselor to King Asoron, aren't 
you?"
    "Yes." Falimya folded her hands atop each other 
complacently. "You see that I am in a position to make the 
offer as attractive as possible."
    "As I said, you misunderstand." At last, his voice was 
back to its normal calm level.
    "About what?" Falimya smiled again. Zar resisted the 
temptation to toss his wine at her, just to get that 
stupid smile off her face. "We have you surrounded, and 
you are listening to me. I don't see what's so hard about 
that."
    "I will not do what you want."
    Falimya considered him closely. "You don't even know 
what it is."
    "No. And I don't care." A shudder ran through his 
wings, but he resisted the temptation to spring into the 
air. "I have business of my own, travels of my own. A life 
of my own. I have better things to do than what you should 
be doing yourself."
    A moment later, he leaped to his feet with a startled 
oath. He knew he had seen that, too. For an instant, 
something else had looked out of her eyes, snarling at him 
with as much fear as anger. And he was sure he had seen a 
very personal hatred.
    Then it was gone, and Falimya rose to her feet. 
    "Not so easily, Zar Feathermaster. You are in Carmai, 
and you are under the Crown's jurisdiction. You are 
obliged to at least come to the Palace and see what the 
King wants."
    "What can he want that you can't tell me about in 
public?" 
    "There are matters of state, Zar, that-"
    "Please don't use my name. It makes it sound unclean."
    Her eyes shone with the dark force of rage, but her 
voice rose only an octave or so. "Master Feathermaster, 
then." She paused to survey his angry flush with a smile 
of pity, then dropped her voice to a whisper again. "Is 
there no title I can use that will please you?"
    Zar hated being needled when he was in no position to 
return the barbs. "You don't understand. You could offer 
me gold and silver and all the jewels in the King's 
treasury. You could offer me Neoljir itself or anything I 
want. You'd cage me, as much as if I were a captive 
falcon, and that can't be."
    "That much is true," Falimya admitted freely. "This 
task will necessitate your staying in Neoljir. But surely 
you can stand to have your horizons shrunk by that much, 
if you can get a good life out of it?"
    "I have-"
    "Listen." The mask of pleasantness dropped from 
Falimya's face, and she looked, for a moment, as dangerous 
as Jenneth. "I made an extensive check into the state of 
your finances, Master Zar. I know you don't have enough 
silver left to feed a starving cow. You also carry 
everything you own in the world on your back. You should 
be grateful for this."
    Zar's heart froze, and he glanced at the bar out of 
the corner of his eye. Sure enough, Jenneth was watching 
them with a relaxed smile. When he noticed Zar watching 
him back, he lifted a glass of wine in a salute, and 
turned to listen to one of the servers' reports.
    The bastard. He had sold Zar out already, and Zar had 
walked into the trap like an eyas flying straight into the 
falconer's hand.
    "I know other things, too." Falimya was back to the 
smile now, but she didn't look as sure as she had before. 
"You are a wanderer from place to place. You like sunlight 
wine." She gestured to the glass on the table. "And you 
are a mage."
    Zar felt the tight knot that had formed in his stomach 
without his even realizing it ease a little. She didn't 
know everything, then. Of course, he hadn't told Jenneth 
everything, but there were other sources she could have 
gone to if she were really curious about him.
    That realization restored a little of his confidence. 
He looked at her and shook his head slowly. "And why does 
any of this qualify me for whatever task you have in 
mind?"
    Falimya relaxed fully and looked like a fisherman 
finally pulling his prey in. Zar shrugged mentally. It 
wasn't his fault that she didn't know he would be a slave 
under no conditions.
    "Falcon Elwens can teach their magic to others, can 
they not? Even if the pupil has no mage-Gift herself, or 
even if she is an elf, or other race that has no innate 
magic?"
    Zar's heart sped, and he could only hope this cold 
bitch would pay no attention to the sound. If she knew 
that about duazadi, she could know- or find out- other 
things, after all.
    He nodded slowly.
    "That forms part of the task," said Falimya in a voice 
of thick satisfaction. "But, as I said, we can talk about 
this later." She started towards the door of the Pyre, 
apparently with every confidence that he would follow. 
Jenneth smirked at Zar and waved a hand in farewell.
    Now.
    Zar concentrated for the briefest moment of time, then 
waved a hand. A gust of wind boiled out of nowhere, 
howling in fury, and slammed Falimya against the wall. She 
slid to the floor with a gasp of pain that muffled any 
cracking sounds there might have been, her head lolling on 
her neck.
    Everyone started to his feet, and everyone yelled at 
once. Ignoring a person's business was one thing, but 
seeing the King's counselor hurt right in front of you was 
something else.
    The confusion was just what he needed. Zar snatched 
one more bite of the meat and bread, then slipped into his 
falcon form and sprang immediately aloft. He became aware 
the moment he was airborne that he was dangerously near 
exhaustion.
    But he made it to the rafters, and that was all he 
needed. Compared to his Elwen body, his falcon body wasn't 
large at all, and he could hide comfortably behind one of 
the supports.
    He listened to the chaos raging below him, and watched 
as much of it as he could without sticking his head out 
far enough to be seen. Several land Elwens surrounded 
Falimya, not all of them in the livery of the Kingsworn, 
and darted nervous glances up and around- especially up. 
Others were calling for a healer, or asking Jenneth what 
was going on, or getting the starhell out of there while 
they still had time.
    Zar looked longingly out the door every time it 
opened, but he knew he had no chance. Even if he made it 
down to that level and out the door without any of the 
Kingsworn noticing and shooting him, he couldn't fly far 
under his own power before he simply collapsed. Then he 
would turn back into an Elwen in the middle of the street, 
where someone might kill him before the Kingsworn could 
find him.
    Not good.
    On the other hand, given that the other land Elwens 
had expressions of rage on their faces, perhaps having 
someone find him before they did wasn't so bad after all.
    Either way, he couldn't stay here. Already, he could 
feel the panic building up in him, the feeling that he was 
in a cage and would soon be taken and tamed and enslaved 
to another's will. The land Elwens of the north had never 
taken slaves, even when their southern cousins still did, 
but they might make an exception-
    He couldn't even think about it. The thought was too 
awful.
    "I'm all right!"
    That was Falimya's voice, arrogant and irritated. She 
stood up, one hand pressed to her side. Zar studied her 
walk closely. She didn't seem to have anything broken. 
Despite himself, he was glad. He had never killed an Elwen 
and didn't want to start now.
    "Zar." Falimya had her eyes on the rafters as she 
spoke, and pitched her voice to carry, though it was calm. 
"We still will not hurt you. But you have committed a 
crime now-"
    So what else is new?
    "-and if you continue to hide, we will declare you a 
fugitive and outlaw. Do you know what that means?"
    Zar struggled to keep himself from bating in sheer 
outrage. He did. But such an extreme punishment, where 
every Elwen's hand would be turned against him and anyone 
who met him could kill him, was saved for rapists and 
murderers, not people who used their magic in a reasonable 
defense of their freedom.
    "Come down," said Falimya, "and I swear to you that 
you shall be treated fairly." She looked at his plate, and 
shook her head. "You haven't eaten much, and this Shifting 
takes energy. I'd prefer that you come to us before you 
fall down."
    Damn her, anyway.
    Zar knew she was right, though. Already he could 
barely keep his perch, and a long fall, unbroken most 
likely, could snap his wings and severely damage his head.
    But giving in to them...
    "Treated fairly," Falimya repeated, her eyes scanning 
the rafters keenly. "I swear it by my blood, and by the 
wind you hold dear."
    Does that include not being chained?
    "Zar." There was still no sign that her patience was 
at an end; now she was shaking her head sadly. "I meant 
what I said about just treatment, even though the king may 
take a dim view of someone hurting me and getting away 
with it. If you don't come down, I may not be able to 
convince him to let you live, or even convince these fine 
fellows here-" she nodded to the Kingsworn, who stared 
fixedly upward "-not to shoot."
    His mind had run in circles for what felt like an hour 
now, and he had no solution. The falcon had been netted, 
the clever mind trapped by its own cleverness in Shifting 
and flying up into the rafters.
    He would have to let them take him, galling as that 
was.
    But this did not solve his problems. He did not have 
the strength to fly to the ground without falling halfway 
through it. He could change into an Elwen and simply drop, 
with his wings spread wide to catch air and soften the 
fall, but the Shifting might exhaust him enough to kill 
him.
    "Zar." Falimya's voice had changed yet again. Now she 
sounded sympathetic. "I understand your reluctance, and I 
promise I will do whatever I can to help. But only if you 
come with us of your own free will."
    Zar decided he had to risk it. He had only once before 
exhausted himself to this level, and the sign that he had 
to stay in one form had been a mind-numbing headache that 
he did not feel now. He could risk it, if he didn't do 
anything after that but eat and rest.
    He changed back again, and jumped from the rafter 
before it could crack, or even creak, under his weight. He 
could see the Kingsworn still staring at him with murder 
written in their eyes as he drifted down. He ignored them. 
Let the fools hate what they could not understand.
    He landed just beside Falimya, and swayed on his feet. 
At once, she pushed him back into the chair he had risen 
from and gave him back the plate of venison, as well as 
the extra plate of bread she had brought.
    "You have to eat before we can go any further. I 
understand." Triumph rang in her voice and shone in her 
eyes.
    Zar eyed her with dislike, but fell on the food. He 
ate all he could and asked for more with his mouth full. 
It was brought by a land Elwen who glared at him 
meaningfully, touching his bow like a promise.
    Zar shrugged. He didn't have time to worry about what 
enemies he might have made with his little stunt. The 
headache had come, and he had to finish the food and 
convince Falimya that he was not the man she wanted before 
the pain sent him to sleep.
    He swallowed the last bite of bread and looked up, 
feeling slightly better, though the words were still 
forced out around the pain. "I can't come with you to the 
palace. I won't be of any use to you."
    Falimya sighed and gestured. Two of the Kingsworn 
stepped forward at once, grinning, a length of chain and 
two of rope in their hands. Others who looked as if they 
might have liked the honor subsided with groans, but 
watched him with avid eyes.
    Zar threw an accusing glance at the councillor. "You 
said just treatment."
    "This is just," she replied. "It is how we treat all 
criminals whose crimes are not too terrible."
    Zar grimaced, but rose and turned to offer his wings 
and wrists to be bound, more because he didn't have the 
strength to resist than out of respect for the law. The 
Kingsworn lingered almost lovingly over the knots they 
tied, making them as tight as possible, until there was no 
way he could move his wings. His wrists they were only a 
bit gentler with, probably because chain didn't tie as 
easily as rope. They left a tiny bit of chain free, which 
Falimya promptly took up.
    "Come along, then," she said, and started for the door 
a second time.
    Zar followed her, burning in silent humiliation. A 
falcon on jesses, for the stars' sake! A falcon on jesses.
    The headache receded somewhat as they neared the door, 
and he realized with some surprise that he wasn't going to 
faint or fall asleep after all. He must not be as badly 
exhausted as he had thought.
    That gave him an idea.
    "Your pardon, Councillor," he said in a loud voice 
that caused Falimya to stop and everyone to look at the 
pair of them. "But there is a matter of one dishonor that 
I can repay."
    The land Elwen woman looked at him in confusion, 
clearly not understanding. "And what do you want me to do 
about it?"
    Zar flexed his hands. They did not move far, 
constrained as they were by the smooth loops of chain. 
"Unbind my wrists and give me a knife."
    Instantly the Kingsworn were on guard, arrows nocked 
and pointing at him, swords drawn. Zar gave them a patient 
look and spoke as slowly as he could. "Do I look like a 
warrior, you idiots? I wouldn't know how to strike with a 
blade, first off. And my wings are bound. I'm not going 
anywhere." When they stood watching him, he groaned and 
forced the words up from deep in his chest. He would have 
to abide by them, and that he didn't like. "I give you my 
sworn word."
    "The sworn word of a criminal?" asked the young archer 
who had brought him the food. "What kind of promise is 
that? I would sooner trust a viaquia not to take slaves."
    Laughter made Zar have to struggle to calm his temper 
and chain his anger again. "I will swear by anything but 
the stars," he said. "Anything you choose. But this I must 
do." He looked at Falimya and held her eyes for a long 
moment before he spoke. "Since I cannot redress one 
dishonor, give me leave to redress another."
    She turned pale, though he was not quite sure why. It 
was another of those affects he had on people.
    After a moment, she turned to the Kingsworn with a 
sharp nod. "Do as he says."
    "But, my lady!" protested the archer. "How can we 
trust him? He could take the knife and fight us after all, 
or try to kill you, or try to kill himself-"
    "All of those courses would result in death, and I 
assure you I love life too much to do that," said Zar 
dryly. The ache in his head returned a little at the mere 
thought of using magic, but this was something he had to 
do. What he had in place of honor demanded it. "If you 
won't trust me to honor my given word, and to go on 
living, you might as well kill me right now. Those are the 
two things I can always be counted upon to do."
    The archer still scowled, but two other Kingsworn 
stepped forward and unwound the chain from his wrists. 
Falimya let the leash go willingly, shaking her hand as if 
it burned her. Zar noted that tiny detail and filed it 
away in his brain. Such things could be useful.
    The Kingsworn who had untied his left hand handed him 
a silver-chased blade and stepped back, his blue eyes 
watchful. Zar gave him a humorless smile and used the 
knife to make a tiny cut along his left wrist. Hot silver 
blood ran out, and he clapped his other hand over the 
wound, still holding the knife.
    When he looked up, everyone in the inn was staring at 
him curiously.
    Including Jenneth.
    Good.
    Zar turned fully to face the darkness Elwen, feeling 
his wings lash against the firm bindings. This kind of 
thing should really be done with wings spread, so said the 
old laws, but in Zar's opinion, that was only to make the 
mage look more impressive. He forced himself to relax and 
concentrate on Jenneth.
    His blood abruptly grew so hot that it seared the palm 
he held over it like a burning brand, and then silver fire 
danced along his fingers. He lifted his right hand to show 
that fire, his words falling calm and bright into the 
pervasive silence.
    "I curse you with blood, Jenneth Blackstorm. By wind 
and fire I curse you. May you be as helpless as the crow 
before the talons of the falcon when your time comes. May 
you die, not in battle, but of a knife in the back. May 
all you care for desert you. May-"
    That was as far as he got before the startled 
Kingsworn tore the knife from him, bound his wrists, and 
gagged him, but it was far enough. Farther than he'd 
expected to get, actually. Only the first words of any 
curse needed to be pronounced in order for the curse to be 
effective. Any details that the accuser happened to add on 
were just fun.
    Zar craned his neck to see the expression on Jenneth's 
face as they dragged him out of the inn. He couldn't be 
sure, but he thought Jenneth Blackstorm looked frightened, 
for once in his life.
    He should be.
    Zar walked tamely between the land Elwens, who kept 
giving him nervous glances, to his vast amusement. Falimya 
did not hold the leash this time, but walked beside him, 
looking as if she would like to pull the secrets of falcon 
Elwen magic from his head without his teaching.
    "Will that curse come true?" she asked at last, and 
when he made a muffled sound, gestured. "Oh, remove that 
stupid gag."
    Zar made a great show of licking his lips and 
swallowing when the gag was taken away, stretching it 
until he saw Falimya's eyes light with anger. "Yes," he 
said in a normal voice. "Everything I detailed. And 
everything I did not detail will happen in some way. He'll 
be hounded by ill-defined bad luck until he dies, if 
nothing else."
    "Your way of taking vengeance?"
    Zar shrugged. He couldn't deny that he was feeling 
pleased with himself, even though the cursing had brought 
the headache back to the forefront of his brain. "If you 
want to look at it that way. I've never been a great one 
for vengeance. It seems so silly and pointless to me. What 
are the dead or dishonored going to do, drink the blood 
you spill?"
    The young archer, who was walking ahead of him, jumped 
as if stung and whirled to face him. "Don't ever speak of 
the dead like that?"
    Zar held his eyes solemnly. "Why? Someone preying on 
your mind?"
    The land Elwen checked a snappy response, cocking his 
head proudly instead. The starlight from overhead shone in 
his golden eyes, lending them some of an unblooded young 
falcon's gleam. "Yes. But someday, I will put her to rest, 
never fear."
    "Not by killing, I hope."
    The young man snarled at him and turned away. Zar 
shrugged resignedly as they stuffed the gag back into his 
mouth. He spoke what he thought and said what he meant, 
and somehow that earned him more enemies than if he said 
some of the more sarcastic things that came to mind.
    Earned him enemies, and made him no friends.
    Zar stared up at the stars as he thought about that. 
He had no friends staring at the stars and thinking about 
him, falcon Elwen or falcon, land Elwen or human. There 
would be no one here to pull his tail feathers out of the 
fire. He would have to rescue himself if it was going to 
be done at all.
    It had never troubled him, and it did not now. But he 
wondered, for the first time, why it did not trouble him.
    They were almost to the Palace, which brooded over the 
city like a peregrine over her egg, when Falimya made a 
sharp noise. The escort of Kingsworn pulled up and gave 
her puzzled glances.
    The land Elwen woman paid no attention to them. Her 
eyes seemed turned inward as she lifted a hand and pointed 
down an alley filled with the shadowy, shifting lights of 
torches.
    "There." Even her voice sound sepulchral, fit for the 
unnatural creature she had suddenly become. "There. I feel 
the presence of great magic there."
    Zar saw something move in the shadows, and then step 
forward without any further hesitation. He made another 
sound against the gag as he recognized Helira, the falcon- 
seller in the Market. On one wrist dozed the peregrine, 
hooded and jessed, and on the other wrist something he 
couldn't see very well was coiled.
    "What do you want?" Falimya sounded more than weary. 
"If it's to interfere on his behalf, don't bother. He 
won't be killed or mistreated, and we have to-"
    "Not that," said the moon Elwen harshly. She looked at 
Zar with so fixed an expression of disgust that he felt 
his last fading hope that she might have come to vouch for 
his character die. "I have something for him, something I 
have never been able to give away or sell. It always came 
back to me somehow. This time, I think I have finally made 
the right choice."
    She unwound the other thing from her wrist, moving her 
left hand slowly and carefully so as not to disturb the 
peregrine. It looked to be a whip with a single long tail, 
its handle decorated with an unfamiliar, patterned red- 
and-golden material.
    "A weapon?" Falimya asked. "We can't allow-"
    "No." The nuna's smile looked like a talon-scratch. 
"Only something he deserves." She stepped forward and 
bound the whip to his belt. Zar had to stand there and let 
her do it.
    Mocking silver eyes met his. "Don't touch the handle 
near the whip," she whispered.
    Zar blinked.
    "You heard me." He saw nothing in her eyes or voice 
that might have conveyed a secret message, and after a 
moment she turned and stepped back into the shadows.
    Falimya moved them on at once, but Zar twisted his 
head to look back. He thought he could see Helira standing 
still in the alley, caressing the peregrine, her lips set 
in a smile of cold satisfaction.
    He looked down at the whip on his belt and shook his 
head. Why were these things always happening to him?
    "Move on, you!" The golden-eyed archer had taken the 
leash when Zar wasn't looking, and now jerked on it 
sharply, making him stumble. 
    Zar regained his feet at last, and gave the archer a 
glare dark enough to make him surrender the leash to 
someone else.
    Thus, surrounded by people whom he had no reason to 
trust and who did not trust him, Zar Feathermaster came to 
the Palace of Neoljir.




                        Chapter 2
                    In Neoljir Palace
    "The greatest deception within a king's court is the 
king himself."
    -Terling Wolfgarth, First King of Terling.

    The first impression Zar had of the palace was that it 
was grand. And yet, looking closely at the halls through 
which they passed, all built of snowy white stone 
delicately veined with gold and blue, at the mirrors 
flashing back the starlight, at the thick carpets that 
depicted scenes of battles and hunts in much the same way 
that tapestries did, he found himself wondering. Almost no 
one was in sight. And the doors they passed all had a very 
faint patina of dust on them, obscuring the shine of the 
metal or the rare wood. Was every corridor as deserted as 
this?
    He closed his eyes, trusting his guards to guide him, 
and risked using magic. Carefully, in case he stumbled 
into magical traps set up to protect against this very 
thing, he focused his farsight on the doors and the rooms 
that lay beyond.
    What he found only puzzled him all the more. The 
furniture that swam into being in his mind, with that odd 
sharpness that told him it was a real vision and not 
something conjured up by his imagination, looked as dusty 
as the doors. Spiders had hung their webs in corners of 
the ceilings, and generations of them had lived and died 
there. Tapestries that made his inner eyes blink with the 
realization of their worth looked rat-eaten at the 
corners, their matchless perfection ruined by long 
neglect. He didn't see anyone in any of the rooms, either 
sleeping or awake. There was not even a lingering sense of 
presence. This wing of the palace had been abandoned for 
years, apparently.
    He tried to focus on one door they passed, and found 
himself abruptly breaking out in a sweat. He doubled over, 
sick and shaking, and vomited the whole of the meal he had 
eaten at the Phoenix's Pyre, and the gag, all over the 
floor.
    The archer swore sharply and came forward to kick him, 
but Falimya stepped in between them. "Unharmed, remember?" 
she reminded the archer sharply.
    "Look at the carpet, my lady," the young land Elwen 
said, trying to see over her head to Zar, who had just 
regained his balance. "Even the dogs know better than to 
ruin the King's carpets like that, and this lout-" He lost 
the words then, foaming at the mouth almost with his 
eagerness to punish the falcon Elwen.
    "Nonsense, as usual, Hermanth," said Falimya crisply. 
"For all you know, it was your presence that so sickened 
him."
    Zar felt like laughing, but no one else had, and he 
didn't think it would be wise. Instead, he shook his head. 
"No, my lady. It came from that room, over there." 
Pointing at the dust-smoothed door took all of his effort. 
He could barely even look straight at it. He was afraid 
the foulness might reach out and grab him again if he did 
that.
    Come to think of it, he could feel something watching 
him alertly, with a mixture of caution and hunger, waiting 
for him to try something like that.
    Two of the Kingsworn exchanged startled glances, and 
one of them said, "But that's impossible."
    Zar looked pointedly at them, and then at the mess on 
the floor. "Well, something caused that mess, and it sure 
as starfire wasn't the fact that I want to be out of here 
so badly that I'll do anything but break my word." He was 
rewarded with their scowls, and gave them one of his half- 
smiles. "Something in that room gave me a weak stomach. 
Open the door, if you like, and we'll see what you find 
there."
    Falimya had been struggling for some moments through 
the staring Kingsworn to reach his side, and now she 
hissed sharply in his ear, "You don't understand. The King 
ordered that room shut up long ago. It goes against the 
deepest orders he ever gave to open it."
    "Is that because they were five deaths in it?" Zar 
asked quietly.
    Falimya shook her head. "No. Why do you ask?" she 
asked, seeming curious. "And why that specific number?"
    "It felt like it." Zar looked over his shoulder at the 
door, nervously this time. He no longer wanted to open it. 
The eyes were still there, not yet closed. No wonder no 
one lived in this wing of the palace. He shuddered despite 
himself.
    "Come," said Falimya with abrupt briskness. "The King 
has been waiting for our return. He'll want to speak to 
you as soon as he can, I'm sure."
    They turned at last out of that haunted corridor, and 
the feeling of eyes went with the corner. At once, the 
hall widened and became much brighter-lit. The carpet 
under their feet was now a soft pale color, one minute 
seeming to have a touch of cerulean, the next of green or 
aqua or gold. Zar eyed it in admiration. He had heard of 
such carpets, woven out of magic more than any cloth, and 
it said something about Asoron's concern for both wealth 
and beauty that he had one.
    Now there were people, too: Kingsworn dressed in 
livery who chuckled and stared as they went past; land 
Elwens dressed like servants who carried themselves as 
anything but; salt Elwens who would look up from a 
discussion of dragonslaying or the finer points of 
knighthood to regard him sternly. Zar returned their gazes 
defiantly. He was no more dishonored than they were.
    Well, he didn't think so.
    The corridor turned into such a branching mess of 
halls and wide rooms that Zar gave up on trying to 
memorize their route in. His headache had returned once 
more, and now his vision swam and his feet dragged. He 
badly needed sleep. The one other time he had been 
compelled to use this much magic, he had slept for two 
days straight.
    Sleep didn't seem to be an option now, though. Falimya 
led them without stopping to great doors, both carved of 
wood. Zar focused enough to see that the predominant 
figure in the many designs covering each was the figure of 
a river dolphin.
    The Councillor spoke quietly to one of the Kingsworn 
who stood at each side of the doors. The woman nodded and 
slipped between the doors with so little noise that Zar 
could not figure out how she'd done it, until he saw that 
the doors stood slightly ajar. He wondered why that was.
    And then he didn't, because he staggered on his own, 
without any tricks of Hermanth's. He heard the startled 
oaths of the Kingsworn, the sound of steel scraping free, 
but he couldn't care. The exhaustion of overuse beckoned 
him with a soft, warm darkness that was too overwhelming 
to ignore.
    Dimly, he heard Falimya's voice, ordering all those 
clustered about him to stand aside. Then he felt a pair of 
cool hands on his forehead, and heard a murmured phrase 
that, even to his well-traveled ears, sounded like 
nonsense.
    A jolt seemed to travel all through him, and he was 
standing again without any memory of how he had gotten to 
his feet. He shook himself, cautiously, stretching his 
arms as much as he could with his wrists still bound. He 
felt as refreshed as if he had spent at least three hours 
asleep after a clean kill.
    Falimya smiled at him, but there was steel, not 
kindness, in her eyes. "Feel better? It wouldn't do to 
have you falling asleep before the King."
    "What did you do?"
    "Didn't I mention it?" Falimya seemed perfectly casual 
as she watched the door, waiting for the messenger she had 
sent to return. "I'm a mage, too." She shot him an amused 
glance when he blinked and shook his head. "I have the 
gifts of my people, and several others as well. I can't do 
all that much, but enough to ensure that I won't have to 
defend myself with a sword, ever."
    Zar gave her a half-smile, recognizing the threat in 
her words. Now he felt on familiar ground. He had been 
threatened before. "I don't use a sword, my lady."
    She stared at him, brows drawing down, but at that 
moment the Kingsworn slipped back between the doors and to 
her place, nodding to Falimya. The Councillor nodded back 
and led Zar through the doors with all due ceremony. Two 
Kingsworn, Hermanth and the blue-eyed one who had lent Zar 
the knife, followed them through; the rest dispersed.
    The room inside was pleasant as well as grand, meant 
to relax and impress the visitor at the same time. But Zar 
had been in too many places like this to properly 
appreciate the effect. He saw only that the ceiling was 
high and that he could fly if he needed to; he paid no 
attention to the pretty mosaic of the stars that glittered 
there. Nor did he show much interest in the carpet, or the 
wealth it represented. It cradled his feet, and that was 
enough.
    Asoron did not have a throne, but simply a large 
chair, and the dais it sat on had only two steps, rather 
than the customary four or six. He looked utterly at ease 
there, lounging rather than sitting strictly upright, 
studying Zar with all the insolence that a protracted 
examination can hold.
    Well, Zar admitted grudgingly, it's not as if he has a 
great deal to fear, surrounded by Kingsworn and all. There 
were at least seven guards arrayed around the chair, all 
of them human, and land Elwen Kingsworn in the background. 
And Zar had seen the faint outlines of doors in the room, 
where more could hide.
    Since he had nothing better to do, Zar looked at 
Asoron in turn as Falimya dragged him nearer. The half- 
Elwen stood about as tall as he himself did, six feet or 
near that. His hair glittered red beneath a silver-and- 
emerald coronet that looked like the real thing. His eyes, 
of a color between blue and green, revealed nothing but 
curiosity and a certain arrogant confidence.
    Zar had seen other men like him, and had found none of 
them particularly awesome opponents. All that had changed 
was that this man had him at a disadvantage, and was 
protected by people who had no real reason to keep Zar 
alive if he tried to harm Asoron.
    Force was out, then, and magic, too. If Falimya had 
granted the gift of increased vigor, doubtless she could 
withdraw it, too, and he would be as helpless as a 
hatchling in their clutches.
    Guile it would have to be.
    They halted at the foot of the dais, where the King of 
Carmai could look straight down at him- an experience Zar 
did not enjoy. He forced himself to stand there and look 
at nothing, as if he were here of his own free will and 
perfectly content to stand there until the King deigned to 
notice him.
    Because neither of these two things were true, it was 
difficult.
    Asoron smiled slightly, and motioned Falimya to climb 
the dais. She did, moving with the ease of long 
familiarity, which almost hid the hitch of extreme age, 
and took her place behind the throne. Asoron said 
something to her that Zar doubted even the human guards 
could hear. Falimya started to shake her head, then 
frowned and nodded slowly when the half-Elwen continued to 
stare at her.
    "Unbind him," she commanded Hermanth and the blue-eyed 
land Elwen.
    Zar again felt the exchange of doubtful glances, but 
they did. Hermanth pulled the chain from his wrists with a 
long snap that told Zar he would have silver burns on his 
hands in the morning. He brought his arms around in front 
of him, chafing his wrists, and flexed his wings.
    No weapons were pointed at him, at least overtly. 
Asoron was trying to show that he had the power to let Zar 
go free and not worry about it.
    Zar had already known that, too, and it did not 
disconcert him. He would have to fly by the wind that the 
King of Carmai blew, for now. He focused his gaze on 
Asoron's face and waited.
    "You are the falcon Elwen known as Zar Feathermaster?" 
Asoron's voice was intriguing, almost as intriguing as a 
full Elwen's, deep like a human's but full of silvery 
music. Zar, judging him on the basis of that voice alone, 
would have called him a good man.
    But then, jumping to conclusions was a hasty and 
irritating habit, one he had tried to get rid of.
    "I am, my lord, but I still hope there's been some 
mistake." This was the only chance he might have to plead 
his case, since Falimya didn't seem inclined to listen to 
anything he said. "I have done nothing to upset the crown 
of Carmai, and I was planning on leaving Neoljir soon. Why 
would you-"
    A knife pressed into his ribs. The blue-eyed Kingsworn 
looked at him and shook his head, once. "I wouldn't," he 
said softly. "We're trained to kill anyone who insults the 
King."
    "I wasn't insulting him. I was telling the truth. I 
can't think of any reason why he would want me in his 
custody or his service."
    "Remove the knife, Kefremmen," said King Asoron, 
waving a hand. Kefremmen did it with what Zar thought was 
relief. "And as for you, Zar, you are right. I wish you to 
enter my service."
    "What a novel idea," Zar said before he could stop 
himself. This time the knife was from the opposite side, 
and he knew it was Hermanth. He did not deign to look at 
the archer, though, still focusing on the King of Carmai. 
This was the man who held the power, and the man he had to 
convince.
    "And why is that?" Asoron appeared to be having much 
the same reaction to him that Falimya had apparently had. 
There was a slow smile spreading over his face, as if he 
found Zar amusing despite himself.
    "No one has ever asked for my service before."
    "And why? Falimya tells me that you keep your sworn 
word and are quite a competent mage. I can think of 
several leaders I know who would be glad to have an Elwen 
like that on their sides."
    Zar made a polite bow, ignoring the warning scrape of 
the knife over his ribs. "For future reference, my lord: 
Flattery does not work on me."
    Asoron thumped one arm on the arm of his chair, 
causing Zar to look up at him. "That's why!" the King of 
Carmai exclaimed, looking pleased. "That's what everyone 
can't stand about you. You're so damn self-possessed that 
you look like the most arrogant bastard I've ever known." 
A pause, and then a sigh. "Hermanth, please put the knife 
away."
    The knife went away, and Zar breathed a bit more 
easily. He did not turn to face the hatred burning in 
Hermanth's golden eyes.
    "So," Asoron said, sitting back with a smile more 
pleased and amused than ever. "You are not a swordsman, 
then? No skill with the blade?"
    "None, my lord." Some things it didn't matter if they 
knew about him, so long as he could move them away from 
the more dangerous lines of questioning.
    "How do you defend yourself, then?"
    Zar thought this was getting tedious, but he really 
had no choice except to answer. With all those arrows that 
could be nocked at a moment's notice, he wasn't going 
anywhere. "With magic, my lord. I would not call myself a 
mage like Her Ladyship Falimya-" he saw her mind twisting 
itself in knots over why he would give her that overly 
courteous title "-because my magic is only the power of my 
people. But it serves to save my life. On most occasions."
    The King sighed and shifted position yet again, this 
time to an even more comfortable lounging posture. "What 
will it take to reassure you that we have nothing against 
you?"
    "My freedom."
    Asoron threw up his hands, then turned and said 
something quietly to Falimya. She looked unhappy for a 
moment, then nodded. Her reply carried to Zar's ears. "It 
might be for the best, my lord."
    Asoron turned back and nodded at Zar. "You have our 
permission to wait in one of the antechambers until we may 
speak with you privately. It will take me some moments to 
clear the court." His smile returned, but Zar did not like 
it nearly as much as the ones before. It looked arrogant. 
"And, my good Zar, no doubt you will feel much freer to 
speak without anyone around."
    It was all but a threat. Zar growled under his breath, 
but nodded obediently and turned toward the faint line of 
the nearest door.
    Hermanth had begun jogging from foot to foot the 
moment Asoron announced his plan, and now he burst out 
with, "My lord, is this wise? He is a known criminal, who 
tried to hurt the Councillor. Should he be left alone as 
if he were a trusted servant?"
    Too late, Falimya hissed at Hermanth to shut up. 
Asoron had heard, and was turning towards Zar with eyes so 
mild that the falcon Elwen tensed.
    "You hurt the Councillor?" 
    Zar didn't care how reasonable these people thought 
they were being. There was no such thing as a reasonable 
person who would come after a duazad for no apparent 
reason, march him chained to the palace, and then try to 
cajole and bully him into agreeing to serve. He glared at 
the King, and did not reply.
    Falimya stepped hastily into the gaping silence. "My 
lord, he must have thought he was in danger. He had no 
idea at that time that he was not being picked up as the 
mistaken man in a crime. He used wind to slam me against 
the wall. But it's nothing. I'll visit the healers if you 
like, but don't punish him."
    Zar eyed her mistrustfully. She seemed a little too 
frantic in pleading the case of a person she didn't know.
    Asoron stared at the woman, then nodded slightly. "You 
have always been my wisest adviser, Falimya. I would be a 
fool not to listen to you now." He turned to Zar. "Go into 
the anteroom. Do not attempt to leave it. There are areas 
of the palace nearby that can hurt those not keyed to 
them."
    Hermanth scowled sullenly as he watched Zar walk away. 
The falcon Elwen did not oblige him by returning the 
scowl, keeping his face as bland as gull meat.
    Once the door to a small chamber- richly decorated 
with mosaics and carpet, as usual- closed behind him, he 
allowed himself to spit out a curse. He stood in the 
middle of beauty, and he was what he had not been for well 
over a thousand years, a prisoner. And all due to his own 
stupidity and trust.
    A single chair stood in the corner and he took it, 
spreading his wings and shaking his feathers rapidly, in 
an attempt to get the ruffled ones to lie down.
    His mind was working as furiously as his emotions. 
There was some way out of this, if he only looked hard 
enough; there always was. He could perform spectacularly 
badly at whatever job the King wanted him to do, or break 
his ban on killing Elwens if had to. He only had to be 
careful that he didn't maneuver himself into a position 
where they would extract promises from him not to do that.
    A bit mollified, he assuaged his boredom by drawing 
the whip Helira had given him from his belt. It tumbled 
through his fingers so easily that he raised a brow as he 
picked it up again. Not leather, then, but something 
softer, more silky.
    And warm, he thought as he touched the patterned 
handle, although he carefully kept his hand away from the 
place where thong joined shaft. It felt more like the 
warmth of a living being than anything else, and must come 
from magic. Whoever had bought this- or had it stolen- 
must have paid a pretty sum.
    Zar was just bending his head to examine the red-and- 
gold diamond pattern more closely when he heard a click 
from across the room. He jerked his head up, staring.
    A door he hadn't realized was there slowly opened, and 
brilliant light streamed into the antechamber from it. A 
figure he couldn't see well stood silhouetted against it, 
and he could almost smell her startlement.
    "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't think anyone was here."
    "I didn't know that door was, either." Zar eyed it, 
but he had given them his word not to escape. And given 
that this woman knew the secret ways through walls and 
such, she must be a member of the royal family. She 
probably wouldn't let him pass.
    "Who are you?" the young woman asked, stepping out of 
the light so that he could see her better. She had an 
expression of curiosity so lively that Zar almost smiled, 
until he saw the red in her long, mostly golden hair, and 
her eyes, the shade of the summer sky, and realized who 
she must be.
    "You're the Princess, aren't you?" he asked slowly. 
"Asoron's daughter."
    "That's funny," she said, after a minute. "I've never 
heard anyone call my father anything but 'Your Majesty' 
and 'my lord.'" Her face seemed friendly enough, but her 
voice held a note of warning.
    Zar shrugged. "To his face, yes. They probably call 
him other things in private."
    The Princess's eyes went as wide as a young girl's. 
"Has Father brought you in to report on some intrigue?" 
she asked in breathless excitement. "I almost never get to 
hear anything. Do you know what's happening between Lord 
Corraebno and His Excellency Selbyicinday?"
    Zar shook his head, a little bewildered by the names. 
Caladariz seemed to have a vogue for long ones. "I've 
never even heard those names. I've heard yours, I know, 
but I've forgotten it."
    There was a flash of outraged pride across her mildly 
pretty features- though she had that glittering hair and 
those blue eyes, she did have features that looked more 
human than land Elwen- and she lifted her head. "I'll have 
you know that I'm Kalimarina Hervesheir, scion of House 
Herves, Lady of Neoljir, heir to the throne of Carmai." 
She tossed her head so that her hair shone like flame.