co ornament

12

MEDDLERS

There was no rest period that day. All of the servants watched Aly as if she were god-touched. Her own pack, when it met in her workroom, had that same look of awe mingled with fear. Aly was glad when callers descended on Balitang House. At least none of them stared.

For once the young nobles talked quietly about things other than themselves, though the young men were careful to tell Sarai she might count on them, just in case. They did not say in case of what. The only man of Sarai's circle not present was Zaimid. Sarai made the mistake of asking Ferdy where the Carthaki was.

“Caring for rioters over on Soursop Lane,” the young count informed her with contempt. “The Watch had taken care of them as they should be cared for, and off goes our healer to tend the wounded. I'll be glad when we see the last of that sanctimonious face!”

“At least he helps,” retorted Sarai. “At least he's doing something for people, instead of living off them and ignoring them when they need him.”

“Lady Sarai, helping troublemakers only encourages them,” Ferdy said gently. “Look at Topabaw. He got slack. Now we've had a prison break, attacks on the fortresses, and uprisings all over the Isles. It's time we had new blood to set the realm to rights.”

Chenaol touched Aly as she watched the young nobles. “Vitorcine Townsend, Lady Isalena's maid, wants you,” the cook whispered in Aly's ear. “She looks like she's in love. You'll find her in my rooms.”

Aly raised an eyebrow and went in search of the housekeeper's private sitting room. Chenaol was right. Vitorcine looked as if she had shed years of her age or a great burden. Aly lowered herself into a chair. “You heard the news of Topabaw, then?” she asked Vitorcine.

The young woman nodded. “There's more. Grosbeak! Grosbeak is gone! I report to him as I run errands for my lady, and I was late, close to the noon bell. His shop is locked up, doors and shutters! I . . .” She looked down, blushing, then met Aly's gaze. “I picked the lock. The books, papers, all of it was gone. And everything was a mess, as if he'd packed in a hurry. So I took a chance and went to his home.” In response to a question Aly hadn't asked, she rushed to say, “I tracked him there once, just . . . just in case.”

Aly tapped her chin, fascinated. She hadn't thought Vitorcine had that kind of gumption. Perhaps she could find something better suited to her talents than simply reporting on the activities of the Obemaeks. Aly had decoded the information Vitorcine had brought, to discover correspondence about the things she already knew, that Lord and Lady Obemaek belonged to the luarin conspiracy.

“What did you find at Grosbeak's home?” she asked.

“Gone, him and his family,” Vitorcine said eagerly, giddy at being free of Grosbeak and his master. “And they must have taken only what they could carry. The smith who lives next door said they went around dawn.” She reached out and gripped Aly's hands. “Please, will you not free me of my vow? The Obemaeks are so good to me. I hate watching them!”

Aly looked at her meaningfully, as a mother might look at a daughter who had not thought a problem through. “If Topabaw kept records, his successor may yet come back to you,” she reminded Vitorcine. When the maid's face fell, Aly patted her hands. “But there. Why borrow trouble? For the time being, do not fret over thoughts of spies.”

 

That night, when the raka leaders met, all of them, even Ochobu and Dove, stared at Aly when she entered the room. She expected it. They had built Topabaw up into something more than human for years. Learning he was now an Example must have made them feel as if the earth had turned sideways. She helped herself to mango nectar. “I said it could be done. Remember, I'm an outsider. He'd been in power for so long that the people who live here forgot the man was human, and the regents more human still. Humans get jealous. That we can use, whether it is between Topabaw and the regents . . .” She paused and looked them over. “Or between Imajane and Rubinyan.”

They were startled, as they'd been when Aly had suggested that Topabaw was vulnerable. This time, however, instead of denying that such a thing could be done, the conspirators appeared thoughtful. Aly let them turn it over in their minds, then asked Quedanga, “You'll make sure people know we created this, yes? That it is no coincidence that so soon after our return, the regents turned on their spymaster?”

Quedanga opened her mouth and drew in air, but nothing came out. She gulped from her cup and tried again. “Are you certain you are not an aspect of our Bright One? Because you begin to worry me in the same way.”

“No, just a loyal servant,” Aly reassured her, stroking her Trick-and-Secret beads. They hummed softly against her collarbone. “Things will be a mess in the spy service for now,” she told the others. “Rubinyan put his private spymaster, a man named Sevmire Ambau, in charge. He was born on the Jimajen estates, got recruited as a spy at the university in Carthak, and came home to do intelligence for the army. That was when he came to Rubinyan's attention. He's worked for the prince for years, watching the king, Topabaw, even his brother. Sevmire's competent, but he was never a part of Topabaw's organization. He'll be scrambling to find and decode Topabaw's files. He'll try to grip Topabaw's spies, which will be like trying to get control of a runaway team of hurroks.” Hurroks were the kudarung's less likeable, clawed and fanged kinfolk. “Some of you know people who worked for Topabaw. This is a good time to suggest to them that the new man is green. He's never had a network bigger than a few islands, or more than a hundred people, to run. He'll get into trouble fast. The more commotion we can stir up throughout the Isles before he can learn his job, the more overwhelmed he will be.”

Ulasim stroked his small beard. “I can think of a few . . . possibilities.”

Aly looked at him, then at their two mages. “Should something happen—should they fear the worst—Their Highnesses might well start calling in their best generals and mages. It would be nice if some, if not all, of them were unable to respond.”

Ulasim chuckled. “We were at this before you came, Bright Eyes. Our plans in those areas already move forward.”

Aly smiled back. “Then I won't worry, unless you tell me to.”

The meeting went on as the raka discussed all they had learned that day. When they finished, Aly went to her workroom and shut the door. She lay on the cool wooden floor with relief. A muffled squeak made her sit up quickly as Trick and Secret dropped away from her neck. Only when they were free did she lie flat again. The two darkings trickled up her shoulders and onto her chest. If Aly tucked her hands behind her head, she could just manage to see them, ink against shadows in the dark.

“I take it you are not offering yourselves as a new, more fashionable breast band?” she asked softly.

“What is—” began Secret, and halted. Aly suspected that Trick had explained in that manner the darkings had, because Secret then said, “Oh. No.”

“Bean get bored in eating room,” Trick announced. “Bean explore in Gray Palace. Bean follow Sevmire to new workplace. Bean sitting under Sevmire desk now.”

“Ah,” Aly said. “Very good. What has Bean to say?”

The venturesome Bean confirmed what Aly had suspected: Sevmire could not find many of Topabaw's files. He knew his predecessor's code, but translations took time. Then Trick relayed something that made Aly pop up so fast the darkings tumbled into her lap. Sevmire was issuing writs for his people to kill Topabaw's principal agents throughout the Isles, and to take their places.

“Never blame an enemy for his stupidity,” Da and Grandfather had often told her. Aly didn't blame Sevmire at all. She would have kissed him, if she kissed stupid men. Sevmire was doing to his agents what Rubinyan had done to him. He was placing them in jobs much too large for them.

 

The next afternoon the nobles came to call, more composed than they had been the day before. With Sarai's friends and their parents came Baron Engan and the priestess Imgehai Qeshi. They disappeared into the study with Nuritin, Winnamine, and Dove.

Once again Aly used her spyhole to watch the young nobility. Ferdy Tomang had thought to buy his way back into Sarai's good graces with an offering of an armful of blue-violet flowers. She simply thanked him and handed them off to a footman to put in a vase. It was only when he proposed a riding party the next day that she smiled at him. Then her smile faded. “Not if Winna and Aunt Nuritin have anything to say about it.”

“Mother is talking to them,” Ferdy assured her, unaware that his mother might go aside with Sarai's female relatives for more serious purposes. “She says the sooner we show people we're back to our daily lives, knowing the regents are in control, the sooner people will feel better. And maybe we'll even get Zaimid to come. If he doesn't have another emergency. I told him, you'd think we don't have healers in Rajmuat, but he only says this is the kind of healing he won't be able to do once he's the imperial physician.”

“Ferdy, what do you mean?” demanded one of Sarai's female friends. “Zaimid left again today?”

“He got word of sickness over in the Honeypot and ditched us on our way here,” complained Ferdy. “He said he'd come by and pay his compliments if he had time.”

Sarai tossed her head. “Well, I'm not one to get worked up over a man who finds some Honeypot kennel more attractive than me.

Her friends laughed. Aly didn't. She knew that trick. Sarai was hurt that Zaimid had been absent two days in a row, and was going to show she didn't care. She flirted outrageously with all her young men, leaving even her female friends tapping their toes.

Feeling sorry for Sarai—Aly knew what it was like to miss one particular man—Aly turned away. She had a table full of reports to read, and the darkings' news to hear. Perhaps she could find some crows to talk with later.

The next day Winnamine reluctantly agreed to a riding party, but no farther away than the closest park, which had only simple horse trails and no room to gallop. At least Ferdy had been right about one thing, Aly thought as she and Dove watched the young nobles ride off. The prospect of riding—or the lack of emergencies—had even brought Zaimid back to Balitang House.

If the Carthaki's presence sweetened Sarai's mood, it was not evident when she came home. She slammed into the family sitting room. Dove and Nuritin were there, fanning themselves as they discussed preparations for Matfrid Fonfala's birthday party and for the king's birthday celebrations. Aly, passing in the hall with a load of Dove's gowns to be pressed, heard Sarai's outraged shout after the door slammed: “Five times! Five times they stopped us, and asked us—us!—our business, even after we told them who we were, and they poked in our saddlebags!” Aly leaned against the wall to eavesdrop as Sarai continued, “And then they did it to us again, on our way back! The same soldiers! ‘Am I a Tomang or not?' Ferdy asked them, and they said it didn't matter who he was, it was the regents' orders!”

Nuritin's brittle voice cut the air. “Sarai! You forget yourself! Are you a lady or a shrieking Dockmarket trollop?”

“Neither, apparently, according to the regents!” Sarai replied, her voice a little quieter. “And it's sad when people who are related to the royal family aren't allowed to express opinions! In Tortall the monarchs must listen to the Councils of Lords and of Commoners. In Carthak the emperor has created an assembly of nobles. Landholders matter there, but not here. We are just going to rot from within.”

The family was at supper when a Crown messenger arrived. Word spread through the house that Princess Imajane had requested Duchess Balitang's company the next morning when Elsren went to join the king. Winnamine accepted, puzzled. “Unless she wants to press her case to have you join her ladies-in-waiting,” she remarked to Sarai as the ladies, children, and maids whiled the stormy evening away in their sitting room. Elsren squeaked each time lightning flashed and thunder boomed, and Petranne giggled.

“If she does,” Winnamine continued, nudging Petranne and Elsren with a slippered toe, “I shall tell her I cannot allow you to join her at present, for the sake of the family's honor. You're not fit to serve in polite company anymore, Sarai.”

“Because I'm not blind and complacent?” demanded Sarai bitterly. “Because I get angry when common people are treated badly and no one of our class tries to help? Or because I resent being pushed around by a bully in armor? A girl wanted to give me a flower on our way back, and a soldier shoved her away. He knocked her down! Zaimid cared for her—while Ferdy and the others looked on—but still, Winna, how can we stay in such a place? No one can live a decent life here anymore. Look what happened to Topabaw. He gave a lifetime of service, and they made an Example of him.”

Definitely not fit for polite society,” Nuritin commented, her voice dry as she pushed a needle through silk.

The duchess, accompanied by Pembery and Yoyox, who looked most respectable in a footman's livery, joined Elsren and his escorts from the King's Guard on their morning ride to the palace. A squad of household men-at-arms fell in step behind the guards, the duchess's protection when she chose to return.

Dove waved goodbye until the house gate closed behind them, then turned to Ulasim. “I think I'll go visit Herbrand Edgecliff,” she told Ulasim firmly. Looking at Aly, she added, “I had better request an escort of men-at-arms before it's forced on me.”

Ulasim smiled at her as he might at a favorite niece. “If Lady Nuritin says you may,” he replied. Dove scowled at him, for the moment an ordinary girl deprived of an amusement, then flounced into the library. She knew that Nuritin would not allow her out of the house with a hundred guards, not so soon after the prison break.

Aly watched her go. “You might want to put watchers on all the tunnels out of the grounds,” she suggested.

“I shall,” Ulasim answered, “but Lady Dove is too wise to try it. Lady Sarai I would have to shackle to a post. Lucky for us that it takes until noon for Lady Sarai to wake up all the way.” He rested a hand on Aly's shoulder. “I received a communication this morning. It sits on your desk.”

Aly, curious, went to see what had come. She found a grubby note, written by Nawat.

I am busy but I did good on Tongkang. Now I am at Imahyn. There is war smoke almost everywhere we fly over. Our cousins the raka are mobbing the soldiers everywhere. The sparkly is for you.

Aly looked. Beside the note was a small, many-colored piece of glittering rock. She held it in her hand as she reread the note, then kissed the paper and tucked it into her sash. She kept the stone in hand as she began to read her usual stack of reports.

The duchess returned at noon. She found Nuritin, her daughters, their maids, Petranne, and Rihani in the courtyard, mending clothes or reading. All but Nuritin rose as Winnamine hurried toward them. Her face was bone white.

“Aunt, Sarai, Dove, let's go to our sitting room. We will have lunch there, Boulaj, if you will tell Chenaol and the maids.” Rihani was already taking Petranne inside, though she had to stop so the girl could give her mother a kiss. At a nod from Nuritin, Dorilize gathered all of her things and left. Boulaj, too, went to execute her orders. Only Aly remained.

“Are you still the god's messenger?” Winnamine asked.

Aly was worried. The duchess was trembling from top to toe. “I have always been, Your Grace,” she replied, though she knew Winnamine thought she was Mithros's messenger, not Kyprioth's.

“Then come with me,” said the duchess. She looked around the pool courtyard, distracted, then strode into the house, Aly trotting to keep up.

Once inside the ladies' sitting room, they spoke of Lord Matfrid's birthday. It was simply a way to pass time. The day was already so hot that the duchess closed and locked the shutters to provide shadowy coolness. No one touched their food, though they continued to talk as the maids left. The duchess locked the door behind them.

“Why does she remain?” demanded Nuritin, pointing a bony finger at Aly.

“It's a long story, Aunt,” said Winnamine, taking a seat. She began to twist her handkerchief in her hands. “I haven't time to tell it at present. Just accept that I trust Aly as if she were family.”

“Goddess bless, Winna, what did Imajane say to you?” demanded Sarai, resting a hand on her stepmother's arm. “You're shaking!”

The others waited, their eyes on the duchess.

“I met with the regents.” Winnamine spoke slowly. “In their personal quarters . . .” She looked up at them and took a deep breath. “They have noticed—they've been told—how much attention you girls receive from people in the street,” she said. “How they like to do things for you. They believe it is because you are half raka and yet close to the throne. They have made us a proposal. I said we need time to think. We have until the king's birthday.” She turned to Sarai. “The regents propose a marriage between you and Dunevon,” she explained. “The contracts are to be signed quickly, ‘to give the people confidence in the Crown,' Rubinyan told me. I pro-tested; I reminded them you were cousins. They reminded me you were second cousins, which is not as serious. There are precedents, in Carthaki, even in Kyprin history. The royal line of Siraj came from marriages between siblings or half siblings. They would ask you to move to the palace when the contract is signed, to convince the people of their sincerity. But they say it would bring peace and hope to the raka. And, when Dunevon comes of age, the Copper Isles would have a queen again.”

Nuritin struggled with a lifetime of caution and lost. “Are they mad?”

“They are worried,” said Winnamine, without taking her eyes from her stepdaughter. “The country must seem unstable, between the rebellions on the other islands and the escape from Kanodang. I think they want more support in case Nomru rebels. They know they will have serious problems if he does so, but if they can set your marriage against that, they might be able to preserve order.”

“You approve?” Sarai asked, her voice tiny.

“I understand their reasons. I did not say I approve.” Winnamine grasped Sarai's arm. “I can advise you, but the choice must be yours,” she told Sarai earnestly. “Marriage to a child is no guarantee of stability. It does not comfort me that Imajane refers to him as ‘the brat.' Rubinyan is an honorable man, and he loved your father. That does not mean he would hesitate to take the throne himself, if he thought the nation required a strong adult king.”

“I cannot imagine that Imajane has ever forgotten that under the old laws of the country, she would have inherited when Hazarin died,” Nuritin added. “She would have her own reasons to advise Rubinyan that the country would be stronger with them on the throne.”

“Don't give them an answer yet,” Dove advised. “Let them think you're considering it, but you can't decide. Find reasons to put them off until after the king's birthday—that's two weeks from now. They offer the Crown like a bauble—play with it, and with them.”

“Buy time,” Nuritin advised, nodding. “Dove is right. Promise nothing.”

“Things change so fast,” Dove went on. “Look at just this last week. And Sarai, once they get you in the Gray Palace, you won't ever be able to escape.”

“But you all think I should do it,” whispered Sarai.

“We didn't say that,” Winnamine told her. “We present our ideas, and you consider them. You make the choice.” She looked up at Aly, eyes pleading. “What do you say?”

Aly admired the regents' boldness. There were so many different ways this plan could be changed. It gave them a hundred options, some of which might even work. At the very least, if Sarai accepted, the people might well think it was a sign that a raka queen would reign again. Plenty of queens had seized power from much younger kings, and not just in the Isles or Carthak.

“I can say nothing, Your Grace,” Aly remarked slowly. “I have no guidance in this.”

“What?” demanded Nuritin with a frown.

“We'll explain later,” Dove said hurriedly. “Sarai, think. We can use this. There are so many ways to manage it. All you have to do is pretend.”

Sarai got to her feet. “I need time,” she said quietly, not looking at them. “At least give me until after Grandfather's birthday to give you my decision. And ask them to wait until after the king's birthday for a reply, please.” She looked at the duchess. “You must see that I can't possibly answer, not right away. Who would have imagined they'd make such an offer? I'll tell you by the end of the week.”

Everyone nodded.

“After we come home from Grandfather's,” Sarai told them. “I promise I won't discuss it with anyone but you.” She left the room.

 

The raka conspirators were not happy when Aly and Dove told them of the regents' latest move. Even Ulasim lost his temper and shouted that the raka would fight in the streets before they allowed such a thing. It took Dove and Aly hours to calm them down. It was not official, the girls reminded the conspirators. It might never be official. All anyone could do until she reached her decision was to keep the rebellion going forward. They were due to leave for the three-day celebration of Matfrid's sixtieth birthday. Sarai wouldn't voice a decision until they returned.

“Things could change,” Dove and Aly said over and over. “Things are changing already.”

Two days later word came of a fresh uprising on Ikang Isle. The Crown sent a division of soldiers to crush it. Nawat wrote that he would go there with his crows and see what they might do. To Aly he sent a griffin feather. She kept it on her desk. She also reminded herself to tell the truth in her workroom, in case one feather had the same effect as an entire griffin, in whose vicinity no one could lie.

That night Aly was just going to sleep when a familiar, glowing shape knelt beside her pallet. Junai and Dove slept on, oblivious to Kyprioth's blaze in this form.

“I have an idea,” he told Aly, “something to distract my brother and sister for a time. They really shouldn't have left their sun shield and moon shield in the Divine Realms, where some dishonest person might stumble across them.”

“Perhaps they thought the Divine Realms wouldn't have that many dishonest people running about,” Aly said with a yawn. It seemed Dove and Junai couldn't hear her, either. If they could, Junai would have been on her feet with weapons in her hands. “Except for you, of course.”

“You wrong me,” Kyprioth said in hurt tones, pressing a bright hand to the glowing area that was roughly the spot where a heart might be. “I am crushed. You think me no more than a low creature, and I a god. See what you get for your Midwinter's present from me! Besides, they would know I'd been there. I did, however, find myself a most enterprising young thief among the horse nomads east of Port Udayapur. He'll collect the shields if I guide him. There's an elemental who owes my beloved brother an ill turn or two. She will hide them well.”

Aly yawned again. “Is this going to be a legend, or a hero tale, or something?”

“It's a diversion,” said Kyprioth. “My brother and sister are about to return from the other side of the world. This will keep them busy for a time, though not forever. Tell Sarai that I have said she will never marry any Rittevon or Jimajen.”

“If I get the chance,” Aly said. “She's always with her friends, or her maids, or the family. And I think she ought to at least pretend she'll do it for the moment. . . .”

Kyprioth vanished.

“I've known mayflies better able to pay attention,” Aly mumbled as her eyes closed.

 

The next morning the servants packed for the three-day cele-bration of Matfrid Fonfala's birthday, at his estates on the other side of the harbor's southern ridge. All of the Balitangs were going, which meant trunk after trunk went into the wagons.

Boulaj nearly went mad as Sarai dithered over what she would take. “She gets fussier every day,” Boulaj confided, packing nearly everything Sarai owned. “And when she doesn't keep changing her mind about what to bring, she broods. I'm always relieved when her friends come—let them put up with her moods for an afternoon!”

Aly was preoccupied with a series of reports she had gotten about troop and ship numbers around the capital. She only nodded in response to Boulaj's complaint.

Dove shook her head. “It's this marriage thing,” she told Boulaj. “She doesn't seem to realize that it's not real until the vows have been made. I keep telling her, there's no reason why she can't say yes and hold them off until something happens, but she's not listening to me.” She smiled wryly. “Not a very good omen of my influence with her as a counselor when the time comes.”

All three of them knew what “the time” was.

“She'll calm down,” Aly murmured. “She's not a fool.”

The afternoon was perfect for riding, the recent heat broken in a storm that had lasted all night. For once the air was warm and only slightly humid. The sole blot on the ride was the soldiers at various checkpoints who searched their wagons three times before they had left the city. Sarai was rude, despite warnings from Winnamine and Dove. It took a flat order from Fesgao to silence her.

Sarai remained quiet all the way to the Fonfala estate. There they caught up to another party, including Ferdy and Zaimid Hetnim, who charmed her out of her gloom. At supper, when the political situation came up, Zaimid found a way to distract Sarai from the conversation. He had her laughing by the time the second course was served.

“If he'll wait till I'm older, I'll marry him,” Dove told Aly as she brushed her hair before bedtime. “We could use allies in Carthak, especially the emperor's personal physician.”

Aly frowned. “Do you know, I think you're right,” she said, considering it. “It won't do for Sarai—her husband should be from the Isles, and the queen can't live in another country. But I wouldn't sneeze at a Carthaki alliance.”

The next day the celebration began at noon. Fonfala servants directed their guests to the areas of the estate they would most enjoy. For the younger family members, the Fonfalas had decorated the old nursery with enough toys to tempt the most fretful child. The doors at the side of the formal sitting room were open and tables were set on the veranda, perfect for the older adults. The library was available for the more studiously inclined. Dove settled in there with a chessboard and Baron Engan, though by midafternoon she had a score of other opponents, including her aunt Nuritin. Aly thought it funny that Dove had as many chess opponents as Sarai did dance partners.

Winnamine, her brothers and sisters from the family holdings on Malubesang, and Sarai and her companions went riding. They took their lunch together in a grassy clearing beside a small waterfall. Afterward they had an archery contest and a riding contest. Everyone changed clothes for supper, then again for the dancing. After she had set the last hairpin in Sarai's braided and curled hair, Boulaj came to Aly. She was sweating.

“Rihani, Dorilize, and Pembery are ill. So am I,” she told Aly, sitting on Dove's bed. “I'm afraid the chicken sambal may have been off.”

Aly had not had the popular dish at the servants' supper. She had tried sambal once and avoided the spicy dish on principle ever since. She had gotten accustomed to Kyprin spices, she liked to say, but never that accustomed. She told Boulaj, “I keep saying that stuff will kill you.”

Boulaj gave her a tight smile. “No, but at least this time it makes it difficult to stray far from the privy. I should have listened to Lady Sarai—she said she thought it tasted odd. Can you look after Her Grace, Lady Nuritin, and Lady Sarai as well as Lady Dove? Our ladies are all dressed. We could manage that much, at least.”

Aly smiled. “Go to bed. I think I can tend our ladies on my own for one night. It's not like they come rushing in to fix their clothes over and over.” The Balitang ladies were the most self-sufficient noblewomen Aly had ever met.

“Gods bless you,” said Boulaj gratefully. “Excuse me.” She left.

Aly escorted the ladies to the ballroom. Dove headed for a chair next to Nuritin and Baron Engan and was welcomed into their conversation. Sarai and her female friends sat with the young men. Winnamine found a chair with the mothers.

Aly strolled into the gallery where the servants could observe their masters. Once she had explained the absence of Pembery, Dorilize, and Boulaj, she took up a position by the carved screen through which she could see the ballroom. For the first time in months she felt a pang of envy as she watched Sarai, glorious in a white lawn kirtle and doubled silk ivory gown, come down the lines of dancers with a different young man for every dance. Once that might have been Aly herself.

But the colors would have been different, she told herself firmly. Less . . . insipid.

She knew that was jealousy whispering in her ear. She couldn't help it, any more than she could help thinking how she and Nawat would look, properly dressed, going through the steps. Nawat danced beautifully, she had found out at Midwinter at Tanair.

A pang shot through her; her eyes burned slightly. First I start missing his kisses, then I miss him at a party where we wouldn't be allowed to dance anyway. What's wrong with me? she asked herself. She did not try to answer. Instead she tried to pick out who among the young noblemen might be a good partner, if she were allowed to dance. The only one she liked was Zaimid. He was handsome, graceful, clever, and he had a good heart. But he lacks something, Aly decided. Directness, perhaps. An odd sense of humor. He would never send a girl a shiny rock or a griffin feather as a token.

She was getting up to check her ladies again when brightness—the white-hot blaze of godhood—struck her eyes. She clapped her hands to them and retreated, then did complex things with her Sight, making herself better able to see through that fire. Had Kyprioth returned?

“Aly?” asked a Fonfala maid. “Are you all right?”

“Dust in my eye,” Aly replied, blinking. “Yes, that's better.” She looked up.

The source of the fire was just vanishing through the door to the hall outside. Aly slid between the other servants and stepped outside. An old brown-skinned woman in a black and orange headcloth and sarong hobbled away from Aly, a tray in her bony hands, godhood shimmering around her. Aly called, “Grandmother, wait.”

The old woman glanced at her. She grinned, the essence of mischief in her expression. Then she turned the corner, moving more quickly than Aly would have expected of someone of her age.

“Uh-oh,” Trick whispered. “Gods not good. Gods sly.”

“I know,” Aly replied softly. “But we need to know what brings a god here.” She followed, tracking the old goddess by her glowing footprints.

She had a very bad feeling about this. Might this be the Great Mother Goddess, who had returned to the Isles in her aspect as the Crone? Aly prayed it was not as she went on into the gardens. If the Goddess had come, she would uncover Kyprioth's plans. The war between the Great Gods would start with Kyprioth still unprepared.

Finally Aly saw her quarry on a bench near the estate's temple. Aly adjusted her Sight to allow for the dark as the woman shook off her headcloth. Only gray stubble covered her head. There was a scarred socket where one of her eyes had been. When she grinned, Aly saw gaps in her teeth.

“Bad. Wily. Careful.” That was Secret, quavering from Aly's shoulder.

The goddess squinted at Aly. “Ah,” she said in a cheerful voice. “You've little tattlers on your shoulders. How sweet. They will be silent for the time being.” She pointed: white light swarmed over Aly. Trick and Secret immediately went still. Worried, Aly touched them. Their bodies in her necklace were warm, but she felt no heads.

“They're alive,” the goddess assured her. “I just don't want them meddling.”

And I don't need you meddling, Aly thought, though she said “Good evening” politely. From long acquaintance with her mother and her Aunt Daine, she knew it was wisest to be polite to strange gods. “I never thought the Fonfalas were so remarkable that they might draw a god to their house.”

“But I like playing servant, dearie, just like you,” the goddess told her. “People think you're furniture. They hardly notice. You can have all kinds of fun without them realizing who's doing it, but you already know that. I love to see their little lives collapse in flames. It's even more amusing when they start blaming each other as things go wrong.”

Goose bumps crept over Aly. There was something familiar about this goddess. “Are you a raka god?” she asked, still cautious.

“Gracious, no. Don't they have enough troubles with my cousin mucking about? Just be thankful his sister the Jaguar Goddess is locked up, and all the others are small gods,” the goddess told Aly. She snatched at the air, grabbed a firefly, then popped it into her mouth. “Mmm, I like these. I wonder if I could get some at home.”

Aly remembered where she'd heard of a goddess much like this one. Daine had told her about the Carthakis' quirky patron goddess. “You're the Graveyard Hag.”

The goddess beamed at her, revealing all of seven teeth. “Aren't you the clever boots,” she said with pleasure. “I'd heard that you were, but ‘Count on it,' I told Gainel—that's the Dream King to you, dearie. ‘Count on it,' I told him, ‘they're always said to be quick, but it turns out to be all smoke.' No,” she cautioned as Aly took a step back. “Don't run off. That wouldn't be polite, and I'm not done with you.”

Aly could not move her foot—either foot, for that matter. Or her hips. Or her arms. She tried to open her mouth to scream and failed.

The goddess nodded. “Every bit as clever as my cousin says. Mind, I don't want to ruin Kyprioth's game. I just want to tweak it a little. Besides, I'm doing a favor for one of my own lads. Such a good one, he is. He built me a shrine—paid for it with his own money, too! One good turn deserves another, and he's in love.”

Aly released the breath she'd meant to use to scream through her nose. Suddenly her mouth could move again. She could talk, but she also knew better than to try to call out. “May I ask questions?” she inquired. “Since I'm going to be here for a time?”

The Hag chuckled. “Oh, you are a treat. Well brought-up, even with a mother who's a violent bumpkin.”

Aly ignored the insult. Her mother had been called worse things. “This worshipper must be very devoted, to bring you all the way here. Surely it would be easier to favor him at home. Unless you have other business?” She kept her voice light and sweet.

“It's more personal satisfaction than business,” replied the Hag. “Normally I could give duckmole's dung about the Isles, but Kyprioth is annoying even for a god. He gloats. He's been saying we lesser tricksters couldn't fool Mithros and the Goddess . . . as if we don't know what we're doing. He deserves a lesson.” She seized another firefly. “And I can do my worshipper a favor while I'm at it.”

Aly raised an eyebrow.

The Hag grinned. “Besides, I owe Kyprioth. He's gotten the better of me twice. I mean to repay him.”

Aly picked through the Hag's words. Aunt Daine said gods talk in riddles, she grumbled to herself.

The Hag replied aloud. “Naturally,” she said with glee. “You mortals are so adorable with your faces all screwed up when you're trying to think.”

Carthaki, Aly thought, shooting a glare at the Hag. A worshipper from there . . . “Zaimid Hetnim?” she asked.

The Hag chortled. “Bright girl.” She stood, dusting off her hands. “By the time you can free yourself, my boy will have his heart's desire, Kyprioth will have his comeuppance, and you will have some work to do.” Wriggling her fingers in a mockery of a wave, she vanished.

Aly didn't like it, but there was nothing she could do. The Graveyard Hag had sealed her lips. Her mind raced frantically. Stupid! she told herself over and over. Stupid, over-confident, blind . . . Why did I not see it coming with Sarai and Zaimid? Sarai's not good at hiding how she feels. I've been trained to spot intrigue in every form! But no, I was smug about Topabaw and creating more spies. And while I was being so festering clever, a girl in love cooked something up right under my nose!

She berated herself without mercy, remembering clues that should have been obvious, including Sarai's conviction that nothing in the Isles would ever change for the better. She remembered how quiet Sarai had been after Imajane's offer of marriage to the boy king. Despite everything her advisors told her, Sarai had appeared convinced that she would have to marry her royal cousin.

At last the spell that locked Aly into place began to thaw, like ice on a sunlit pond. It faded bit by bit, driving Aly half insane as she waited. Somewhere, she knew, the Graveyard Hag was enjoying her frustration. At last she was free.

“This bad?” asked Trick, once he and Secret were also able to move again. They settled back into their bead necklace shapes, with the two connecting medallions that were their heads on each of Aly's shoulders.

“It's not good,” Aly told the darkings. “And I am an idiot.” She didn't even bother with the servants' gallery, but ran into the ballroom itself. When she stumbled to a halt at the room's center, everyone turned to stare. Aly ignored them, scanning every face in the room. Sarai and Zaimid were not there.

She ran into the servants' gallery. Zaimid's attendant was gone. She told herself not to panic yet, then bolted outside. As the Fonfalas' daughter, the duchess had been given her own pavilion separate from the main house, where she and her stepdaughters slept with their attendants. Petranne and Elsren shared the nursery in the main house with the other children. Aly knew that Boulaj, Pembery, and Dorilize would be in the household infirmary, wherever that was.

She raced to the duchess's pavilion. Inside, a lamp was provided for the Balitang ladies' return. In the flickering light it cast, Aly could see that Sarai's trunk—the one into which the vexed Boulaj had simply thrown all her mistress's personal items as Sarai kept changing her mind—was gone. Moreover, there was a folded and sealed document on the duchess's bed. Aly went to look at it. The note was addressed, in Sarai's curling writing, to Winna and Dove.

Aly was sitting on the pavilion steps when the duchess arrived. “Aly, what's going on?” she asked, her sweet, deep voice concerned. “Papa said you burst into the ballroom looking as if the dead marched on your spine. . . .”

Aly held out the letter Sarai had left.

“Oh, no,” said Winnamine. She hurried into the pavilion without taking the letter. Aly stayed where she was.

Soon more footsteps slapped the flagstone path. This time it was Dove. “Aly, have you seen Sarai? Ferdy Tomang is searching all through the main house, and he's saying he'll kill Zaimid or Druce or Vedec if they've sneaked away with her—” She cut herself off abruptly. “Aly?”

Winnamine walked onto the steps and sat next to Aly. “She left a letter for us,” she told Dove, and broke the seal. Using the light from the torches that marked the pavilion's entrance, she read the letter to the girls in a leaden voice.

“Dearest Winna and Dove,

“I can only beg your forgiveness a thousand times for running away like this.”

Dove sat in the walkway with a thump, ignoring the damage to her clothes.

“I am so very sorry. By the time you read this Zaimid and I will be sailing for Carthak. There is a ship waiting for us at Moriji Cove.”

The cove lay five miles downhill from the estate. It was a favored raka smuggling port because it was not readily visible.

The duchess continued.

“I can no longer watch as good people are taxed into poverty, jailed, beaten, or killed. It makes me sick, the never-ending executions, the despair, and the fear. Neither will I marry a boy thirteen years younger than me, to be a puppet for the regents. I know you cannot fight them and win, and once they have won, I would not give a copper's chance in a volcano for Dunevon or for me to live to old age.

“Please tell Dorilize, Pembery, Boulaj, Rihani, and Junai that I am sorry I made them sick. The herbs will wear off by dawn. I knew they would stop me.

“I would have done none of this if I were not truly, deeply in love. Zaimid is kind and gentle. When people are hurt, he helps them. We can't bear to be parted. And neither of us can stand to see more people hurt where we can do so little. With him I can have the life I want, raising horses and our children, and helping him to build hospitals when he takes his post as the emperor's healer. Like me, he begs your forgiveness for our stealing away. I will write more when we are settled. Please try to understand, I did not do this on impulse. I have known I loved him for some weeks. The thought of marrying a child cousin was bad in itself, but it was so much worse when I compared it to marriage with Zaimid.

“I love both you so much, and Elsren and Petranne, too. I hope that you will wish me well. Zaimid has already said that our first boy will be named Mequen.

“Your devoted Sarai”