Under Sea's Shadow

Christie Golden

Under Sea’s Shadow
Copyright © 2007 by Christie Golden

Prologue

Alone in its dark ocean, the Sea Dancer’s Lorekeeper drifted and despaired.

Here in this sacred place, floating outside the confines of linear, structured, finite time, the Lorekeeper remembered everything that had happened before and knew with a terrible certainty what was to come. Knew, and would have wept if it could, adding its salty tears to the warm ocean that enveloped it.

A few more months, and it could have insisted on entering this incarnation. For even though the Shadow would subsequently have erased it and everything in this world, all then would have been well. A few more cycles of the moon, and the Lorekeeper would have been turned by the powerful force of muscles contracting and squeezing, have traveled down the canal and emerged covered in blood and screaming its presence in this world. What matter if it was to be erased then? At least then, it would have been. But it was still too young, too unformed, to exist in the world of searing light and shocking cold that it knew awaited it.

With eyes that did not see, it beheld; with a brain not fully formed, it understood. The being that was to have been its mother in this lifetime, the lovely, intelligent daughter of royalty too fragile to bear the burden of watching everything disappear, was quite mad. Her mother, the last queen of the world, spoke quietly to her, and the Lorekeeper that was yet an unborn fetus still connected to its parent by a cord that would not be broken, would never be broken, only erased, understood what was happening.

The Shadow had come, and before it had a chance to be born, the Lorekeeper would be obliterated.

Anguish filled it. Love shuddered through its still-pliable bones, grief raced along the forming pathways of blood and nerves. It would never now have the chance to behold that one person, closer than any other, of whom it was a part. Never have a chance to look her—for in this place before its birth the Lorekeeper knew that the Sea Dancer would be a woman—in the eyes and tell her what she needed to know. Never have the chance to love her, to support her, to be all that the Lorekeeper was meant to be to the Dancer.

For if it could not be born, it could not be reborn.

When the Dancers entered this cycle for the fifth and final time, to defeat the Shadow or be defeated by it forever, one of them would not have her Lorekeeper.

And thus the Sea Dancer, mistress of the magics of rain and river, spring and sea and snowflake, would have no soul.

The baby inside the womb of the princess kicked violently, needing to give vent to its impotent rage as it sensed the end of all things. Its mother laughed and put a comforting hand upon her swollen belly, and began to hum a sweet song with words that made no sense.

It was coming. The Lorekeeper, who had seen its approach three times before, sensed it even in the womb. Soon, now. Soon. Another Lorekeeper was nearby, it could tell; the Lorekeeper of the Flame Dancer. His grief and fear cried out to the unborn Lorekeeper, who floated in the dark sea and despaired. The song sung by the mad princess filled the Lorekeeper’s mind.

I’m so sorry. You will have to do the best you can without me.

And then the Shadow came.

Chapter One

Horsemistress Liadan was on a scouting mission. Normally, the tall, freckled leader of the equestrian women warriors known as the Aofaban would give such a humble duty as this one to an akha, a woman early in her training. But the day was warm, clear and mild, rare in Reshan, a land of clouds and frequent rain; things were quiet, and Liadan relished the time alone.

She crouched low over her mare as the horse surged forward, all smooth movement and gathered muscle. The wind coming off the ocean was comfortably cool even on such a fair day, and Tali’s cream-colored mane brushed her rider’s face. Tali’s body was a striking gold color, as were all the horses in the Aofaban. “The Golden Tide” was what their enemies called them, as the expertly trained horses and their skilled riders swept across a battlefield.

Liadan was looking for signs that the FinFolk had trespassed on the land. Well, that was the excuse, anyway. And she was not one to shirk her duty even on such a beautiful day. As Tali galloped easily along the beach, Liadan’s gaze swept the shoreline, thinking about the two races that shared the ocean. The Fialaban could pass for human, and attractive humans at that, if the one Liadan had once known was any example. Queen Riona’s husband, Farron, once prince of his own realm beneath the waves, could have been mistaken for an exceptionally beautiful human man-if it had not for the blue tinge to his skin, large, slightly slanted eyes, and the blue-black hue of his hair. Such could never be said of the FinFolk.

They were utterly hideous-fish with legs and arms, fish that reeked from the thick ooze that covered their scaly bodies, fish who had made it more than one’s life was worth to venture too far out into the ocean even in a boat. Small vessels were at the most risk of being capsized by a webbed hand reaching up from the depths. Recently, even larger vessels were apparently coming under attack; scouts reported broken timbers washing up on the beach.

Sometimes, the things did venture on land, near the smaller fishermen’s homes. They left a telltale trail of their vile-smelling ooze behind. Liadan hoped she would not happen upon an eerily empty stone house, the floors covered with reeking slime. But she saw nothing except for driftwood, seaweed and the gleam of white shells as Tali’s hooves covered the soft sand.

Her mind went back to the handsomer of the two races. It was more than a decade ago that Riona’s husband had left her to return to the ocean, and with him went his daughters-two living, one stillborn. Gold, Silver and Copper he had named them, for the hues of their fine, infant’s hair. Riona had never fully recovered from the loss of both husband and children in a single night. Liadan was a practical, grounded woman, and did not think overmuch about the eventual fates of the two girls who had lived, Silver and Copper. But she knew Riona did. And sometimes, as now, Liadan too gazed out over the ocean, which hid so much and revealed so very little, and wondered if the two children lived, or if, half human as they were, they had drowned when the salty waves closed over their silver and copper-colored heads.

As if the very sea and sky sensed her change in mood, the wind shifted. With startling speed clouds started moving in, and the warm sun was obscured. Liadan drew Tali to a walk and looked out over the ocean, once blue, now a cold gray.

“The rain should start….”

There was bright flash of lightning, followed by the booming roll of thunder, and hard drops stung her skin.

“…right about now,” Liadan sighed. The waves of the ocean, which had been gentle just a few moments ago, were now high and white-capped. Dangerous. Almost…angry. And the wind as it rushed over the water seemed to be making a strange sound-“howl” was too harsh a word for it. It was almost like…singing…

The first time she saw it, Liadan thought it was just her imagination, sparked by her melancholy thoughts. But then she glimpsed it again and swore underneath her breath.

Someone was out there.

No one swam of their own volition any more. The waters were too cold for most of the year, and now, thanks to the FinFolk, to swim in these waters would be to invite attack.

Liadan swung from Tali’s back and ran to where she’d glimpsed the pale shape in the dark water. She was dressed in standard riding gear, sodden now from the sudden storm—a cloak, linen tunic and breeches, boots, a tabard bearing the insignia of the Aofaban—and peeled off what she could before plunging in.

The fierce waves buffeted her, as if mocking any rescue attempt. Bone-numbing cold assaulted her and the salt stung her eyes, but she struck out toward where she had last seen the small shape, swimming strongly. Liadan came up gasping for air, coughing salty water and struggling to stay afloat in the surging tide, and looked around. She saw nothing. Kicking vigorously, she dove back down into the dark, churning water.

There….

The child was naked, her long red hair drifting behind her like a cloud, and she was heading for shore with a strength and speed that belied her size. By the time a chilled Liadan slogged out of the water, so cold she could barely feel her limbs, the girl stood on the wet sand, hair plastered to her skull and halfway down her back. She turned to Liadan. The Horsemistress gaped at the preternaturally wise sea-green eyes, the long, red hair, the dusting of freckles over an upturned, unnaturally solemn oval face. A shiver went through Liadan that had nothing to do with cold.

“My father bids me return,” said the girl who only be the lost princess Copper, in a soft, musical voice, “though I am sad to leave my home.”

Ilta Lukkari was exhausted.

She had been on the run for weeks now, traveling by night and sleeping by day. Not even sleeping, really; it couldn’t truly be called “sleep” when she woke a dozen times a night, heart hammering, fearful that the earth itself would be turned against her.

Ilta was a Lorekeeper, a holder of the knowledge of what had happened in times before. But not just any Lorekeeper—she was the Stone Dancer’s Lorekeeper, a part of a sacred trinity that comprised Lorekeeper, Companion and Dancer, three parts of a whole.

But Ilta was not with her Dancer. She was severed from him, set apart, and the agony of that had not diminished with the passing of the days. Spring rain beat down upon her body, tapping in a steady rhythm that made her want to scream with each tiny droplet.

How could he not understand? They had loved one another in every incarnation. Even the last one, in which, out of love and a desire not to see the Stone Dancer suffer, Ilta had murdered the young woman Jareth had been. Even in this one, where Ilta had slain Jareth’s wife, daughter and son in order to keep the Dancer’s attention fully on his Lorekeeper, where it belonged. But Jareth did not see that.

Ilta stumbled to a stop, too heartsick to continue, put her young man’s face in her large hands. Warm tears mixed with warm raindrops as she sobbed.

The world would look upon her and not see her. They would see the body she had wrested from her twin brother, Altan. For Ilta had died in the womb she shared with Altan, and there, in the place out of time, fully sentient, she had forced her soul into the body of her twin brother. Altan had come into the world with two souls in his body, though he had not known it until it was too late; until Ilta, with aid from the Emperor, had been strong enough to commandeer his form and either destroy Altan or force him into hiding so deep she could not detect him.

She hated this male body. She was a woman, deeply feminine, and for a brief time, the Emperor had made it so that Ilta had seen what her body would have been like.

Then everything had fallen apart. The Emperor’s plan to permanently detain Kevla, the Flame Dancer, and give Jareth to Ilta forever had crumbled to icy pieces. Now Ilta was trapped in Altan’s body, unable to contact the Emperor, unable to be with Jareth, who despised her, unable to even look in the reflection of a calm pond and see her true self looking back at her.

She got control of herself and forced herself to move onward, wiping her face in an instinctive and yet futile gesture as the rain continued. The sodden earth seemed to suck at her feet, her footprints filling with water as she strode toward a grouping of boulders that might offer some shelter for the day.

Why hadn’t the Emperor contacted her? Ilta was not naïve enough to imagine that the Emperor had any regard or affection for her as herself, but she knew she had been useful to him. She still could be, and she could not conceive that he would leave any tool to stop the Dancers unused.

At first, she had been skeptical, when he began speaking with her by means of the flickering lights in the night sky. He knew, as she knew, that the Dancers had a vital task—to fight the Shadow that would one day descend upon their world. If they won that epic battle, then this world and two others would be allowed to continue. If the Dancers failed in that fight, three worlds would be erased as if they had never been. One day, Ilta knew with a bitterness that she could almost taste, Jareth would be approached by other Dancers, and he would leave to join that battle. He would leave to face death, and there was no guarantee that he would emerge the victor in that battle. Ilta couldn’t bear the thought. And when the Emperor spoke to her, saying that he had discovered a way to stop the Dancers from fighting the Shadow without risking harm to the world, she had listened with deep mistrust.

But what he said made sense. And more important, it presented an opportunity that she had never dreamed of.

She could keep Jareth Vasalen, the Stone Dancer, with her for the rest of their lives.

And that had been worth murdering three people, worth deceiving her beloved, worth subduing her twin. Worth anything Ilta could think of. She had expected Jareth to be furious when he learned the truth, of course, at least until he understood why it had to be done.. But he hadn’t even tried to listen to her. Instead, Jareth had called her insane when he learned she had been responsible for the deaths of his family. He had accused her of going mad with guilt at the murder she had committed as the fourth cycle ended.

But she was not mad. No, not she. She was sane and she knew it.

Ilta frowned as the thought flitted across her mind. Would she know it? What if Jareth was right?

How would a madwoman know she was mad?

The rain slowed, ceased. She had almost reached the boulders, and it did indeed look as though there were crevices in them in which she might safely rest. So engrossed was she at pushing toward shelter that she almost missed the lights dancing in the clearing sky. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw them. Looking up, her heart swelled with joy. She lifted her arms and, carried away by relief, cried aloud, “I’m here, I’m here!”

Ilta, my dear girl, came the suave voice in her mind.

Fresh tears sprung to her blue eyes and this time she let them course freely down her face.

I feared you had deserted me.

Oh no, I would not leave you. Do not think that for a moment. I was…delayed in contacting you. A vital tool was damaged, but has since been repaired. Now, I am able to again speak with my favorite ally.

Help me, Emperor. I’m afraid Jareth is still looking for me. And if he finds me, I think he will kill me, even if Kevla and their Companions try to stop him.

He won’t find you, the Emperor soothed.

And…our bargain? You will hold to that?

I keep my promises to my good allies. I will give you the Stone Dancer, and that female body you so desire to enjoy him with.

A warm weakness flooded Ilta. These two things and she would be happy for the rest of her life.

Now?

Not yet. You will be safer traveling alone as a man. You are stronger and will appear less vulnerable to anyone who might try to harm you. I want you to head west,. The land will stop at a vast body of water, so large that you cannot see where it ends. There are towns along the coast. At the first such town, you will be met by another of my servants. He will see to it that you are safe and prepared for the next assignment I will give you.

And then you’ll change me? Ilta queried excitedly. I won’t have to stay in Altan’s body any more?

Of course, Ilta. I will change your body if you will do what I require of you.

Kevla leaned against the warm bulk of her companion, the Dragon, and smiled softly as she watched Jareth Vasalen. A short distance away, still visible by the warm light cast by the fire, he knelt beside a tree that was stunted and all but dead. Gently placing his hands on it, he closed his eyes. Kevla’s smile widened as the living thing responded, straightening, its branches stretching and producing tiny green buds that grew before her eyes, unfurling into bright green leaves. For so long, Jareth’s abilities as the Stone Dancer had been denied him. Now every time he placed his hand gently upon a damaged tree and helped it grow strong, as he did now, or knelt on a patch of farmland and brought forth green shoots, or stroked a bird’s feathered back as it brought him news, she felt a surge of joy for him.

He did not censor the delight each of these small tasks brought him. He seemed to thaw, as the world around them thawed, from the unnatural winter that had all but smothered both the Stone Dancer and the earth he so loved.

Things had been awkward at first, and there were still a few uncomfortable moments between them. But with each day that passed, Jareth seemed to heal more from the wounds of the tragedy that had befallen him.

While Kevla understood what it was like to lose a loved one, and she had had her share of lies and deceptions perpetrated upon her, she had never been a victim of betrayal to the extent that Jareth had been. She gave him room to be alone and be quiet when he needed solitude, and tried to be a good traveling companion when she sensed he needed company and conversation.

Jareth rose and nodded, pleased with the tree’s response to his ministrations, and returned to sit beside the fire. He leaned forward and tested the goose roasting on a spit, then turned to her with an expectant look on his face.

Kevla tensed. This was the moment each night that she both dreaded and anticipated-where she and the Stone Dancer would join hands, and see if they could sense anything about the young woman they so urgently sought. Kevla enjoyed the feeling of his strong hands closing on hers…and that was why she dreaded this moment. It was also why she looked forward to it.

It was a vision of this girl, obtained in such a manner, which had set them on their current path southwestward in search of her. They had had only the one glimpse of the Sea Dancer: A girl with long red hair and pale skin, standing beside a body of water so vast they could not see where it ended. This Dancer was a girl of both sorrow and wildness, and her Companion animal was a horse with a strangely changeable face.

Now Jareth sat beside Kevla and they raised their hands to one another, palm to palm, fingers entwining. Kevla closed her eyes and forced herself to concentrate.

At first, nothing. Then…

A strange bright light. White, intense, pure, almost painful. Jareth’s fingers tightened on hers and she knew he felt it as well. The light subsided and she relaxed slightly. Faces she did not know; faces that seemed first kind, then cruel, male, then female. At one point it seemed that one head bore two faces—

A sword stroke, swift and sure, clove the double-faced head in two. The image turned into a string of letters in an unknown language, soaring upward like sparks from a fire.

The vision faded to darkness. Kevla opened her eyes and stared at Jareth. He looked completely confused.

“That made…no sense whatsoever.”

Kevla had a theory, but was hesitant to speak it immediately. She disentangled her hands from his and leaned back against the dragon, looking down.

“Did you have any luck earlier?” Jareth asked. “Scrying in the fire to see her?”

“No luck there, either.”

“Well, we’ll keep trying. At least we know we’re heading in the right direction. We know we’ll find her in the west.”

“We would make better time if you’d agree to accept the Dragon’s offer.” It was an old argument, and Kevla didn’t expect Jareth to change his mind. But she had to ask. While he was becoming a better traveling companion with each passing day, Jareth had refused to budge on one topic: He would not ride the Dragon. Nor would the blue Tiger, the Companion of the element of earth, deign to be carried in the Dragon’s huge talons.

As she expected, Jareth folded his arms across his chest and glared at her. The Tiger, while she did not emulate the gesture, bore a similar expression.

“I won’t leave the ground,” Jareth stated flatly.

“Neither will I,” the Tiger replied in a rumbling voice. “It is not natural for me or the Stone Dancer to leave solid soil. We dislike it.”

Kevla and the Dragon explained glances. Kevla sighed in resignation. “Was she always this stubborn?” Kevla asked her Companion.

The Dragon glanced at the Tiger. “Yes,” he said. “Earth can dig its heels in sometimes.”

Kevla took a deep breath. “I do have a theory. About the vision. There was a moment where there were two faces on the same head-one male, one female. I…wondered if it might refer to Ilta.”

Jareth stiffened. “To what end? We already know to be wary of her. And if she’s smart, she’ll stay well out of my way.”

“What would you do if you found her?”

He sighed. “I don’t know, Kevla. I honestly don’t. But I don’t like the idea that Ilta is still out there. She’s dangerous. She’s…she’s sick. And she can still do great damage if she chooses.”

That much at least was true. Ilta was a dangerous…woman? Man? “I still find it difficult to think of her as a woman, after knowing Altan for so long.”

“She’s not Altan,” Jareth snapped, his eyes flashing. That was a sore spot, Kevla knew; Jareth had loved Altan like a little brother, and the fact that the boy was now gone and his body inhabited by Ilta still caused Jareth great pain.

Kevla did not rise to the bait. “I know that, Jareth,” she said quietly.

She felt the Dragon against whom she was leaning heave a sigh. At the edge of the firelight, Jareth’s companion, the great blue Tiger, paused in her grooming to regard her Dancer.

Jareth glowered at the fire for a moment, then his features softened. When he lifted his head to look at Kevla, his face was open and unguarded.

“I’m sorry, Kevla. I shouldn’t take it out on you. You had nothing to do with any of this.”

The flame made his blond hair look like a crown of fire, and the expression in his eyes caused Kevla’s heart to jump a little.

“Wounds like that don’t heal overnight, Jareth,” she reassured him, hoping her voice didn’t tremble.

“A fact I know you know,” he said softly. “I wonder if being a Dancer means you have to suffer. It certainly seems like it.”

Kevla wondered that too. Were they like swords, the Dancers, pounded by hammers of fate and fires of tragedy into the shining metal that could defeat the Shadow? Her own pain, while it had been mitigated and altered since it had first lacerated her heart, had been so deep it went to the bone. She had wanted to die then; had indeed embarked upon a mission with death as its goal. Instead, she had been reborn into who she was truly meant to be. And if she was forced to continue without her Lorekeeper, her beloved brother, in the flesh, she knew he would always be with her in spirit. Jareth had no such comfort.

Silence stretched between them for a while, broken only by the sound of the wind rustling the trees and the occasional sizzle as melting goose fat dripped into the fire.

“Jareth,” Kevla asked at last, “you don’t have to speak of this if you don’t want to, but…I am curious. What do your people believe happens when you die?”

He went still for a moment, and then she saw him deliberately force his shoulders to relax. Poking at the goose, he replied, “There is a place called the Summer Realm. The Lamali believe that this is where we go when we die. Summer is always at its height in this place, and there are plenty of good things to eat and drink. And of course, all those whom we love who have passed on are there as well.” He paused, staring into the fire. “I do not know if I still believe this any more. But it is a comforting thought.”

He looked at her. “How about you? What do the Arukani believe happens?”

“My people are taught to believe that once you are dead, you are gone. But I know this to not be true.”

Jareth held her gaze and smiled softly, sweetly. “Your Lorekeeper. Even though he’s dead, he’s with you.”

She nodded. “I feel him inside me,” she said, her hand going to her heart. “I know his spirit is still with me, guiding me, protecting me. I don’t know if this is because he was my Lorekeeper, and therefore my soul, but…I would like to think that there is more that awaits us than turning to dust by fire when we die.”

“And your brother, Jashemi—you lost him too, didn’t you?”

Kevla tensed. She had never intended to lie to Jareth about the fact that her half-brother and her Lorekeeper were both the same man. He knew a little bit about how her Lorekeeper had died; knew that somehow it was because Kevla had expressed her love for him. But he did not know the details, and she knew for certain that he was ignorant of the fact that Kevla had-unknowingly-made love to her own half-brother.

She was aware that she had led Jareth to believe that she had a brother named Jashemi, and that her Lorekeeper had been her lover. And once the deception, begun perhaps without conscious decision, had taken root, Kevla found it difficult to correct the misunderstanding. In fact, she did not want to. Jareth was a compassionate and understanding man, but he was righteous in his own way, and somehow Kevla did not think he would forgive her transgression.

Besides, she thought with a sinking feeling, why does he need to know? I will never take another man as a lover again. There is no need for anyone to know what I have done. Enough that he knows that my Lorekeeper was my lover; enough that he knows I had a brother I loved. Only I need to know the truth.

She realized he was awaiting a response and stammered, “Yes, I lost Jashemi too.”

Even as the words left her lips, she felt the Dragon’s disapproval. It is easier to keep one’s story straight if one tells the truth each time, he sent to her mentally.

I know, Kevla said, but I do not wish to expose this part of my life, not to him, not to anyone. How does it affect our quest to find the other Dancers and defeat the Shadow?

It doesn’t, not directly, the Dragon agreed. But all the Dancers must trust one another with their lives. If he discovers you have been misleading him, he could lose that trust in you.

Suddenly irritated, Kevla thought back, Who I have shared my body with and why is surely only the business of myself and my lover. And as I will never take another lover, I have only myself to be honest with.

The Dragon said nothing in words, but she felt the wave of his displeasure wash over her.

“Tell me about him, if it doesn’t pain you,” Jareth said.

“Which one?” asked Kevla, knowing that she was now guilty of knowingly perpetrating the deception and not liking how it made her feel.

“Jashemi. Or your Lorekeeper. Whichever one you like.”

“It is easier to talk about my brother,” Kevla said. Which was true; it was easier to think of him as her brother. For that was how he lingered in her thoughts now. She loved him deeply and with her whole heart, but as a beloved brother, not as a man who had once aroused her passion.

So she spoke of her introduction to the House of Four Waters, and seeing an intelligent-looking boy at dinner one night while she served. She did not mention that he had recognized the relationship between them at once, though she did not know until after he had died.

“He wanted to be a brother in truth, although acknowledging our relationship was forbidden to him. I was Bai-sha, illegitimate, though my father has told me he loved my mother and would have married her, had he had the choice.”

Jareth shook his head. “I’ve no wish to show your culture disrespect, Kevla, but there is no such stigma attached to children here in Lamal who are born out of wedlock. Women pick their own mates, and the men can refuse legal bonds. I did until I met Taya.”

A smile curved his lips. For the first time since she had known him, Kevla realized that Jareth was thinking of his wife without pain. The thought gladdened her.

“Did you have any children with anyone other than her?”

“It’s possible,” he said off-handedly, not realizing how shocking such an attitude seemed to her. “The women who came to me might well have been thinking that a child fathered by the Spring-bringer could be a special one. But if I do have any other children, I do not know about them.” And now his face did grow sad as he added, “That would be a comfort, if I did.”

The sorrow transferred itself to Kevla. She knew that she would never be able to have a child. Whenever the power of fire rushed through her, she felt it in every part of her body. Even if she were able to conceive, something she doubted, she would slay the little life in her womb when next she summoned the power of the Flame Dancer.

“Ah, now, see, I have made you sad,” Jareth said, concern in his voice. “I’m sorry. You’ve helped me through enough of my problems already, Kevla. I shouldn’t foist any more upon those slender shoulders.”

She forced a smile. “These shoulders will bear what they have to,” she assured him, “and they have already borne much. It is not your sorrows that upset me, Jareth.”

He looked at her for a moment longer, then did something quite unexpected. Jareth rose from the fire and went to sit beside her as she leaned against the Dragon’s side. She looked at him with surprise, then her eyes widened as he took her hand in his.

Kevla was no delicate flower of a woman. Strong and tall, her hands were thick with calluses from years of servitude. And yet, as Jareth placed her palm on his and covered it with his other hand, she thought it seemed small and very feminine.

“You are a strong woman, Kevla-sha-Tahmu,” he said quietly, gazing into her eyes. She wanted badly to avert her gaze, but couldn’t. “And I seem to keep taking advantage of that strength. When you found me…how I behaved, what I said…I am ashamed to think that I could ever have been so broken. But I am healing. I follow you, Flame Dancer, where you will lead, because you understand better than I how this is to all unfold. But perhaps, from time to time, you will permit me to ease some of your burdens as you have eased mine.”

And then, to her shock, he lifted her rough hand to his lips and kissed it. She stared at him, dumbfounded, as he smiled, squeezed her hand one last time, and let it go. Her brown eyes followed him as he rose and strode back to the fire. She couldn’t speak, wouldn’t know what to say if she could find her voice.

“Excellent!” he exclaimed, all his attention on their dinner. “I believe we are ready to eat.”

The back of her hand burned from the kiss, as if he were the Dancer of Fire and not she. She got to her feet on unsteady legs and went to cut herself some roasted meat.

She felt Jareth’s eyes on her all evening, his unsettling gaze broken only when the great blue Tiger yawned, stretched and ambled up to them to butt her head against his shoulder. Then he turned his attention to his Companion, and Kevla saw fully the extent of warmth and gentleness of which Jareth was capable.

And it alarmed her.

Suddenly the delicious flesh of the goose sat heavy in her stomach. She had no appetite and stared at the meat in her hands.

“Kevla? What’s wrong? Did I overcook it again?”

She shook her head. Her hair, long and black and unbraided, fell over her face like a curtain, and she was glad of it. She did not want him to see her.

“No,” she said. “It’s fine. I’m just not hungry. Here, you finish it.” She rose and handed him the meat, rinsed her hands and dried them on her rhia, and without another word went to lie down beside the Dragon. She squeezed her eyes shut, but she was not at all sleepy. Her heart raced within her chest. She heard the Tiger and Jareth speaking quietly, heard the sound of insects in the spring night, the crackling of the fire.

You can’t have him, Kevla, she told herself sternly. You can’t ever have anyone. Be a Dancer. That is surely enough for this lifetime.

“She knows,” Jareth said quietly, keeping his voice too soft to be heard by the woman lying next to the great Dragon. “She knows and she doesn’t want me.”

The Tiger sighed. “You make a great assumption,” she said, her voice also surprisingly soft for such a huge creature. “Perhaps the meat was bad.”

“It tasted fine.”

“I love you like my own cub, Stone Dancer, but you do not have the most discriminating palate.”

Jareth laughed, amusement startling him. It was true; over the last year he had had eaten things in order to survive that would have turned a dog’s stomach. He took another bite of the goose, considered, and concluded that even the most fastidious eater would have enjoyed the meal. No, it wasn’t the goose. It was him.

Why had he gone to her like that, kissing her hand? It was not appropriate behavior. But the desire had struck him, and he had obeyed it. Sometimes, he could have sworn she shared the attraction he was beginning to feel toward her. Other times, like tonight, she pulled back from him so violently it was like a slap from the Tiger’s heavy paw.

“It could be nothing,” he said. “I could be fooling myself. And there’s still Taya.”

Jareth had loved his wife with all his heart, and exotic and beautiful as Kevla was, if Taya still lived, he would not have given the Arukani Dancer a second glance.

Liar, sent the Tiger, but affectionately, and again Jareth smiled.

Well, he was a man. He would have looked twice at Kevla. Any man who appreciated women would. But Kevla would not have tempted him from Taya’s side, and all Taya would have needed to do to redirect Jareth’s attention back to her was run her little fingers along his arm.

I miss her, he thought to the Tiger. I miss her, and Annu and Parvan and…and Altan.

I know, dear one, replied the Tiger. And the mighty cat said no more. She simply curled in on her Dancer and offered her soft, furry side as his pillow.

Jareth did miss Taya, but he knew now—knew in his heart as well as his head—that she was lost to him forever. Only in the Summer Realm, if there truly was such a place, would he see his family again. And Kevla had touched his heart with her kindness, and aroused his admiration with her courage and intelligence. Aroused more than that, if he was being honest with himself. His mind went back to the one time he had held her in his arms and kissed her. It was when, after winter had tormented the land for over a year, he had finally been able to call spring. The power of the awakening land had rushed through both him and Kevla, who had joined her Fire abilities to his Earth skills. Before he realized what was happening, he had pulled Kevla to him and kissed her passionately.

And she had responded. But after only a brief moment of the nearly overwhelming pleasure of the embrace, she had pulled away. Embarrassed, Jareth had blamed his behavior on the power of the awakening land, and she had hastened to agree.

But it wasn’t just that, and he knew it. He had been flooded with the sensations emitted by the return of spring, true, but he had also wanted to hold Kevla, to kiss her. To do more than kiss her. But she did not want him. Her behavior tonight made that abundantly clear. The problem was, they were stuck with one another. They would be together from now until they had defeated-or been defeated by-the Shadow. And above and beyond any physical and emotional desires Jareth harbored for his fellow Dancer, he liked her.

Jareth cursed himself and shifted to a more comfortable position, but it was of little use. It would be some while before sleep found him, as long as the Flame Dancer’s. face kept appearing behind his closed lids

Chapter Two

As the days of travel turned into weeks, Kevla enjoyed witnessing the ripening of the land. She had never seen such bounty in the desert country of Arukan, where she had been born and had until recently spent her entire life. Jareth seemed pleased with the verdency around them, but not surprised.

A rhythm soon became established. Sometimes, Kevla and the Dragon flew ahead to scout an area; sometimes the four traveled together overland. Either way, all shared the evening meal and prepared for the next day ahead.

They stopped at villages they encountered along the way, which made for a pleasant change in the routine. Jareth would make sure that what crops and fruit trees were being cultivated were healthy, and Kevla would heat up the stones in the stonesteaming huts so the villagers could enjoy them. It was a skill that had been very useful to her when she had first come to Lamal, when the land had been in the grip of a seemingly endless winter. Now, while her efforts were still appreciated, it was not quite the gift it had been then.

Most Lamali they encountered knew who they were, for nearly all the villages had men whom Kevla and Jareth had freed from the Ice Maiden’s clutch. Kevla was often overwhelmed by the respect and gratitude the villagers and townsfolk lavished upon them. For a woman who had been raised as an invisible servant, the adulation was difficult to handle. Jareth, who had been used to such honors since his youth, was more comfortable with it than she.

Mindful of the vision they had had, they would ask after Ilta, in Altan’s form, every time. Kevla was not sure what she wanted the answer to be. Jareth was right-Ilta was dangerous and unpredictable-but Kevla did not want the Stone Dancer to find his Lorekeeper again just yet. She was not convinced he would be able to refrain from attacking Ilta.

They also made other inquiries. Were there any Lorekeepers in the village? These people, who each held a memory of the times that had gone before, of other incarnations of the Dancers, were always a joy to connect with. Although only one Lorekeeper was the Dancer’s soul-as Jashemi was Kevlas, and Ilta was Jareths-these other Lorekeepers also held vital pieces of the puzzle. Had anyone seen signs of encroaching marauders from the south, where the Emperor’s land was? Occasionally, they did find a Lorekeeper, who always regarded Jareth as a liberator…which, for them, he had indeed been. And Kevla always let out a sigh of relief when the answer to her inquiry was no, there seemed to be no trouble to the south.

“My people throw marked bones when they want to understand something,” Jareth said one night as they feasted on bread, cheese, fruit and honeywine foisted upon them by the headman of the last village they visited. He passed her a winesack and she took a sip of the sweet liquid. “I wonder if we should ask for such a reading at the next village.”

He was growing more anxious at the unclear nature of their quest, and Kevla had to admit, so was she. Soon they would be leaving Jareth’s homeland of Lamal behind and venturing into territory about which they knew nothing. The visions were more frustrating than helpful.

“I do not mean to show disrespect to your tradition,” rumbled the Dragon, “but surely the Dancers, the Lorekeepers and the Companions would be more informed than anyone else.”

Jareth regarded the Dragon. For so long, these two had been in conflict, but now they got along well enough. Most of the time, anyway.

“I would agree with you, except for the fact that we’ve been able to learn absolutely nothing of any use each time we join our powers,” Jareth replied. “It seems foolish not to get help where we can.”

The Dragon blinked his enormous golden eyes. “Be aware that any wisewoman you consult is going to want to please you, Stone Dancer. If she has no true message from her marked bones, she may be inclined to deliver a false one.”

The rebuke obviously stung. “My people are not liars,” Jareth said in a cool, dangerous voice.

“I am not suggesting they are,” replied the Dragon, completely unrattled by Jareth’s simmering anger.

“But—“

“Jareth,” said Kevla, her tongue made bold by the power of the honeywine, “you are baiting him and you know it. Your seers might not lie, but they might present nothing as something. Our own powers are the surest ones we have. My visions and those of-of my Lorekeeper led the Dragon and me to you. We must trust that the guidance will continue. No doubt the images we are getting, while they seem mysterious now, will soon be made clear.”

Jareth looked annoyed, but he said nothing more. He stabbed at the fire with a stick for a while in brooding silence, then said, “You are probably right. I just-I just don’t want to make a mistake. This is too important.”

“I know. At least we’re heading in the right direction. Let me try again to see her. You should try, too.”

Jareth nodded, but he did not look particularly happy. Kevla took a deep breath and gazed into the crackling fire, calming her thoughts and letting her vision go soft.

“Show me the Sea Dancer,” she murmured.

The fire did not change. There was no vision of a large-eyed, sharp-featured girl with long hair. Kevla shook her head. Distance was not a factor with the visions; she had been able to speak with her father from time to time, and Tahmu-kha-Rakyn was in Arukan, far to the south.

“She is the element of water. Maybe she doesn’t like to sit beside a fire,” Kevla joked feebly. “Did you have any luck?”

Jareth shook his head. “According to the earth, she’s not on the soil at all. Anywhere.” He looked vaguely troubled; Kevla suspected that he was wondering if, once again, his abilities were failing him. Suddenly his eyes widened.

“Of course…I should have figured it out right away!” He looked both pleased and annoyed with himself.

“What?” Kevla asked.

“The Sea Dancer might be on an island!”

“What’s an island?”

Jareth stared at her for an instant, then said, “Oh, of course, I’m sorry…your people have no large bodies of water. An island is a small piece of land completely surrounded by water. I…the last time, I lived on an island.”

It was always hard for him to talk about his previous incarnation as a Dancer. In that lifetime, Jareth had been a woman, little more than a girl, and his Lorekeeper, an older man, had slain him out of a misguided sense of love. Kevla nodded her understanding. He didn’t need to go into any more detail.

“And if she’s on an island,” Jareth continued, “her own element separates her from us. It’s no wonder I can’t sense her.”

The Dragon nodded. “That makes sense. Very good reasoning, Stone Dancer.”

Jareth tried and failed not to look pleased with himself. He turned and regarded Kevla. The moment she both wanted and dreaded had again arrived. As she did every night, she calmed her thoughts and tried to force back the memory of those strong hands pulling her to him, sliding up her back in a passionate caress.

She extended her hands and hoped he would not notice how they trembled. He took them, his large fingers closing gently over hers, and for a moment her control wavered.

Then the vision slammed down on them with such force she almost forgot whose hands she held.

A long, rolling stretch of sand, spiked here and there with tall, hardy grasses. A sound-a distant roaring noise that grew loud, then abated, with a rhythm as regular as breath. Water, cresting into white waves that crashed upon the shore, then withdrew.

Along the shore were small houses…villagers, taking their boats out to fish-

Another image, a great vessel, bigger than any Kevla had ever seen. Huge sails caught the wind and swelled like a woman about to give birth. With shocking speed, the ship sailed out into the ocean.

She could not see who was aboard the vessel, but she could sense their thoughts; sense whom they served-

“The Emperor,” said Jareth. His hands had tightened painfully on hers and she winced.

“Jareth…you’re hurting me….”

He immediately released her. “I’m sorry.”

Kevla struggled for breath. “Dragon, the Emperor controls the shoreline.”

“I know,” the Dragon said. “I shared your vision.”

His lands seem to be everywhere! Kevla thought.

That’s why they call it an empire, the Dragon thought back dryly.

“What do we do?” Jareth asked.

Despite the direness of the situation, Kevla felt a bubble of mirth. She and the Dragon exchanged glances.

“Why,” she said, smiling, “we fly.”

Jareth swore, and Kevla’s smile grew. He threw up his arms in exasperation. “Very well. It seems we must. At least I will enjoy one more night on safe, solid ground.”

They broke camp at dawn the next morning. Jareth seemed resigned but put-upon, as if riding on Dragon-back was a great sacrifice for him. Kevla loved the sensation, but she knew that it was more than a little alarming to those who had never experienced it before. So she resisted the urge to tease him when he climbed rather ungracefully aboard the mighty creature, settling himself in the space between the huge ridges that ran the length of the Dragon’s scaly spine. Kevla waited until he seemed secure, then easily climbed to sit in front of him.

“Your turn, old friend,” the Dragon said, his voice a deep rumble of amusement and affection as he extended a huge clawed forepaw and closed it about the blue form of the Tiger. She settled into his grip with as much dignity as she could muster, her tail switching.

The Dragon craned his head on his sinuous neck. “I will fly as high as I may, so as to avoid detection. But we are moving from a land of friends into that of the enemy. We must be careful.” With no further word or warning, he leaped into the air.

Jareth’s arms suddenly shot out to close around Kevla’s waist. She turned to look at him over her shoulder.

“The Dragon will not let you fall,” she assured him.

Color rose in his cheeks. Not for the first time, she realized how easily his fair skin betrayed his feelings. He looked down and removed his arms.

“I was just…helping you make sure of your seat,” he said.

Kevla forced herself not to smile. She was all but one with the Dragon, and had spent many months now aboard his back. Her seat was as secure as if she had been glued to the Dragon. But she said nothing. Jareth’s reaction was completely what she would expect from anyone who had never flown before, and she was sorry that he had withdrawn his grasp.

They climbed higher, and it grew colder and windy. Kevla, of course, did not sense the cold, but she felt movement behind her as Jareth drew his cloak more closely about his frame. The Dragon’s wingbeats were loud, but even above that sound and that of the wind Kevla could hear the Tiger growling. Kevla leaned over and glanced down at where the Tiger was clasped in the Dragon’s claws. She looked quite unhappy.

“Oh, stop complaining,” said the Dragon. “We’ve done this before.”

“We have,” agreed the Tiger, her voice all but lost on the wind, “and it wasn’t pleasant then, either.”

“It is what is necessary,” said the Dragon, and as the Tiger could not disagree with that, she was silent.

The Dragon stretched out and the ride became more horizontal and less vertical. Kevla again looked over her shoulder to regard Jareth.

There was no fear on that handsome face. His blue eyes were wide, but with wonder and delight; his lips curved in a smile. Kevla had braided her hair, for she well knew how the wind would tangle it. But the breeze had its way with Jareth’s golden hair, and it streamed back from his face and gleamed in the sunlight.

Kevla’s heart surged. Not for the first time, Jareth reminded her of the statues in the garden of her childhood home, the House of Four Waters. She had always thought Jashemi a beautiful man, and so he had been; but she had never seen anyone as striking as Jareth. She wondered if it was the pale skin that so captivated her, turning pink and then browner as the sun touched it, or the golden hair. He was exotic and strange to her.

He had been looking ahead and down as the land unfolded beneath them, but sensing her gaze upon him, he met her eyes. His smile grew. They did not speak; they did not have to. His joy in dragon flight was akin to her own, and they were silent in their sharing.

Kevla realized that she was holding his gaze longer than was seemly. She gave him a quick smile and turned away. What was she doing? To think, even momentarily, of him as anything other than a friend and a fellow Dancer would serve only to increase her own sorrow and perhaps mislead him.

She had been enjoying the moment; sharing the delight of dragon flight with him, savoring the feel of him behind her. Now, she found herself wishing that the flight would end quickly.

She distracted herself by looking down. While it would certainly be more than a brief flight, it seemed to her that they were closer than they had thought. At least, the land below her was changing. The northern, forested landscape of Lamal was giving way to the rolling hills she presumed were the Emperor’s lands. They were pretty to her eyes; it was a shame they were under the control of so malicious a man. She closed her eyes, banishing thoughts of Jareth’s pale skin and yellow hair, and extended her mind to sense the Emperor’s presence.

Nothing. He was not here, he was not even active here. Yet there was a faint sensation, like a lingering sour taste in the mouth, that he exerted his control over the people of this place.

She opened her eyes and sighed inwardly. It was going to be a long flight.

Not so long as all that, dear heart, the Dragon sent. We are indeed closer than we expected to be. And Jareth’s willingness to be borne upon my back has saved us yet more time.

Kevla thought about her first such journey to find a Dancer-to find Jareth Vasalen. She and the Dragon had gone a long distance indeed, from Kevla’s country of Arukan at the southernmost end of their world to Jareth’s land of Lamal at the northernmost. And between the Flame Dancer and the Stone Dancer lay the Emperor’s homeland.

Kevla shivered slightly, recalling that long flight and how the Emperor had found her mind with his own. Tried to pry into it, trick her into thinking of Jashemi, her Lorekeeper; how she had fought him with her own element of mental fire.

We do not travel where he is now, only where he has influence.

Of course, Kevla sent. From the north, we have traveled southwest. We have bypassed the Emperor’s homeland.

Yet we should still be cautious.

Kevla craned her neck and turned to face Jareth. The wind caused by the Dragon’s winds was loud, and as she tried to speak, he shook his head. She leaned back and he leaned forward, her lips almost brushing his ear.

“We are not directly over the Emperor’s homeland, but it is best to be cautious,” she said. “Think about things other than our task and your Lorekeeper. Everyday things.”

He nodded and she drew back, facing resolutely forward. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and as she had done before, thought of her life in the House of Four Waters, chopping vegetables, cleaning, preparing ointments to soothe aching joints or speed the healing of a wound. There were times when that life had been difficult, even physically painful. But now, with all that had happened since, Kevla looked back on them almost fondly.

Kevla, open your eyes.

Kevla realized she had been lost in her thoughts for some time. She obeyed the Dragon’s request-and gasped in delight. Before her unfolded a blue-green tapestry that moved and changed even as she watched. It hugged the coastline, crashing upon the shores, then extended as far as the eye could see.

She had never seen such a thing before, but instantly knew what it was.

“It is the sea!” Kevla cried.

Jareth could not seem to avert his gaze from Kevla’s left shoulder. Her red rhia had slipped slightly, sliding down her arm as they flew. Her skin was dark brown, the hue of the earth he so loved, and he knew how smooth that skin would feel against his lips. He wanted to kiss her there, where neck joined shoulder, wanted to breathe in her unique, smoky scent. He had been happily watching the world unfold below him until she had turned to look at him, and then quite abruptly, no wonder he could see from the air could hold his attention as much as Kevla’s shoulder. Some time later, Kevla had told him not to think about being a Dancer, or their quest to find the third member of their company, or of Ilta. So instead he concentrated on Kevla’s shoulder and what he would like to do to it. It was a pleasant thing to concentrate on.

When she cried, “It is the sea!” and pointed down to the seemingly endless body of water below them, he literally started, so transfixed had he been by that loam-hued curve of flesh.

Jareth was accustomed to seeing water in large areas such as lakes, but even he had never imagined something like this.

Does it end? He thought to the Tiger, staring in wonder at the vast expanse of water, the movement of the waves almost hypnotic.

All things end, she sent back to him. The ocean ends where it begins.

Jareth grimaced. He was learning that sometimes the Companions liked to talk in riddles. He found it an annoying trait.

“It will be good to finally get there,” Jareth said to Kevla, leaning forward and speaking in her ear.

“This part of the journey will be over,” Kevla agreed, “but there are still many challenges ahead. We have to find her first. That could take some time. Then we have to convince her to come with us.”

“It took years for Kevla to understand who she was,” the Dragon said, craning his neck to look at them both, his rumbling voice more than loud enough to be heard over the wind of his wingbeats. “And you, Stone Dancer, did not wish to pack your bags immediately upon learning your destiny either, as I recall.”

Jareth felt himself blush. “True,” he admitted. “Still, I’ll feel better when we’re on dry land-the same dry land the Sea Dancer’s on. It’s an island after all. She can’t go too far.”

Steadily the Dragon flew, and the shore was left behind. Below them now was only water, undulating and rippling, catching the color of the sky and the gleam of the sun. As the time passed, Jareth grew somewhat apprehensive. Surely they would have happened upon it by now….

Kevla gasped. “There!” she cried, pointing toward the horizon. “There it is!”

It was a small dark smudge at first, but the island grew larger and more distinct as they drew closer. Kevla was suddenly nervous. How would these people react? When she had first tried to make contact with the Lamali, she had instructed the Dragon to stay away at first, lest he terrify them. But there was no way they could arrive by stealth this time. Two Dancers, a Dragon and a great blue Tiger would be impossible to hide as they descended from the air on an island that, while not small, was nowhere as large as Lamal had been.

All she had known about Jareth before she had arrived in his land was that he was to be found in the north. And try as she and Jareth had, they’d learned very little more about the Sea Dancer. Perhaps now that they were closer to her physically, Kevla could sense more about this girl. It was at least worth a try.

Kevla closed her eyes and extended her senses. Almost at once, an image of the girl they were flying to meet rose in her mind as clearly as if she were standing before Kevla. She was lovely, with her long red hair and pale, freckled skin, but there was a wildness and…an emptiness about her that disturbed Kevla.

I can sense her very strongly!

As can I, said the Dragon, and Kevla picked up on his puzzlement. Usually the bond between Dancers is not quite as powerful this early…but then, this is the final Dance. Things might be different.

Do you know where she is on the island?

Yes, replied the Dragon. Which shall it be, my dear? Land as unobtrusively as possible, or make a grand entrance?

Kevla gnawed her lower lip. Which would be best? As the Dragon approached, Kevla could see some of the details of the land below. She saw small forests, coastlines both sandy and rocky, cultivated lands and small huts. Here and there were larger buildings….

Castle….

The word from the song her friend Mylikki had sung to her rushed into her mind. This was a castle, indeed. Gray stone, turrets, walkways, a courtyard-it was similar to a great House such as the House of Four Waters, but profoundly different, in more ways than how it was constructed. Somehow, Kevla knew this.

Closer the Dragon flew, and now Kevla saw that there was a cluster of people gathered outside the Castle. They seemed to her so tiny from the Dragon’s back, but they numbered in the dozens, perhaps hundreds. Banners fluttered in the breeze, too tiny for Kevla to make out any images on them, but bright and alive with color.

“It looks like a festival,” Jareth said.

Kevla could sense what the Dragon was sensing—that somewhere down in that crowd of people, the Sea Dancer awaited them. Her heart began to race. Yes, she could pick up on it now herself. The Sea Dancer was definitely there. And judging by the fact that those who had gathered below them were now looking up and pointing at them without showing any desire to flee, Kevla was certain that somehow, they were expected.

“Yes,” she said to Jareth, “And I think this festival is for us.” She took a deep breath and tried to steady a voice she realized was shaking. “Let us land, Dragon.”

At once the Dragon obeyed, executing a smooth dive and heading for the center of the circle. The people awaiting them hurried to vacate a space, but even now did not seem unduly alarmed.

Cheers and applause greeted the Dragon’s descent. Kevla looked from face to face. Yes, these people were definitely welcoming them! Perhaps the Sea Dancer had told her people who they were. Kevla knew from past experience that it would take her and Jareth a day or two to learn the language of these people. She was grateful that their Companions, at least, were under no restraint.

The Dragon hovered and gently placed the blue Tiger on the ground. The mighty cat shook herself and stretched, then leisurely ambled some distance away so the Dragon could land. Kevla felt Jareth about to slide off the Dragon’s back. She turned and laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Let them approach us first,” she said.

He nodded at the wisdom of this. Sure enough, once it was clear the Dragon had settled himself, a small group of people moved forward. Many of them were mounted atop creatures Kevla quickly recognized as horses, though the beasts looked very different from the tusked creatures Kevla had grown up with. Her eyes roamed over the group, presumably a welcoming party, and her eyes widened in recognition.

“There she is,” Jareth said, his gaze falling on the same figure.

Indeed, here she was at last, the beautiful girl with long red hair, the girl she and Jareth had seen in their visions. Kevla smiled as her eyes met those of the Sea Dancer, then the smile faded.

There was no answering smile, no sense of pleasurable recognition such as she herself felt. Neither was there any resentment or suspicion, such as Kevla had first encountered with Jareth. Rather, the Sea Dancer merely looked up with a vague, bored curiosity on her angular face. Forcing back her disappointment-what had she been expecting, after all?-Kevla turned her attention to the Sea Dancer’s Companion.

It was the ugliest horse Kevla had ever seen. Black, gangly, its bones so sharp Kevla feared they would pierce its dull pelt, it bore about its too-thin and too-long neck a beautiful golden chain. Each link was inlaid with a tiny gem that glittered as it caught the light. The beautiful adornment seemed to Kevla only to point out the creature’s unattractiveness. The horse caught her eye, tossed its spiky mane and…grinned.

“The poor thing,” she said under her breath. She felt a brush of the Dragon’s thoughts as it indulged itself in a moment of pride.

Yes, he is not the most handsome of the Companions. But don’t misjudge the Kelpie, he thought to her. Ugly as he is, he’s still as powerful as the Tiger or I.

Kevla’s gaze wandered to the others in the company. The most splendidly dressed was a woman in her middle years. She was clad in a red tunic embroidered with gold that reached to about mid-thigh. The tunic was split partway down, and beneath it the woman wore equally elaborate breeches. The tailoring of the outfit enabled her to conveniently sit astride a beautiful horse with a gold pelt and a cream-hued mane and tail. Atop the woman’s brown curls was a golden crown. Her face displayed a regal bearing, and sharply-etched lines on her face despite her comparative youth told Kevla that she had undergone both joy and suffering.

Beside her, on another glorious golden horse, was a woman dressed in plainer garb with leather armor. She sat tall in the saddle, her face freckled from the sun and her lean body sleek with muscle, and her sharp eyes gazed at Kevla intently.

The two men in the group were both on foot. One, a warrior if the armor he wore and the sword strapped to his waist was any indication, was dressed almost identically to the second horsewoman. He had curly black hair and blue eyes, and he regarded Kevla and Jareth with the same sort of wariness the woman in men’s clothing displayed. Finally, Kevla’s gaze settled on the fourth member of this group. Shorter than the other man, his soft physique contrasted sharply with the lean, muscular builds of his companions. He wore flowing blue robes rather than breeches and a tunic, and Kevla saw that his hands were as uncallused as the rest of him. Not a warrior then-a powerful lord, or a scholar, perhaps? His pleasant, upturned face showed no fear, and indeed, he was smiling broadly as he extended his hands to her, Jareth and their Companions.

“Welcome, Flame Dancer and Stone Dancer!” he cried. “Welcome indeed! We have been expecting you.”

Kevla thought she might fall off the Dragon’s back in shock. Not from the fact that she understood the speaker-the Dragon had told her that the Dancers could always comprehend a different language, though it took a little while to learn to speak it-but because these people knew who she and Jareth were. She sagged a little in relief, trying to collect her thoughts. She had thought finding the Sea Dancer immediately a good enough stroke of luck. But to learn that they did not have to convince a skeptical people with a tale that no doubt sounded fantastic, that they were known and welcomed-it was almost too much. She collected herself and told the Dragon, “Thank him for me. Tell him that if he knows who we are, then it is likely he knows that it will take time for us to speak his language.”

The man who addressed them smiled even more widely. “Less time than you think, perhaps,” he said.

Another surprise on this day full of them. This man could understand her words! For a moment she simply stared at him, mouth hanging open. It took her several long seconds to realize that he had spoken in her native tongue, not his own. The man chuckled and repeated his words to Jareth. Again, Kevla understood them, even though he was speaking in Lamali.

“The Namaraban who serve the people of Reshan have many skills,” he said, and this time Kevla knew he was speaking in his own language. “As I said, we were expecting you, and we know more than a little about both of you. Therefore, I was able to learn your tongue, to some small extent. What I do not understand, the Dragon or the Tiger will translate for me. And of course, as you know, soon enough you will be able to speak to us in Reshanic.”

Kevla exchanged a glance with Jareth. He looked as startled as she, and as pleased.

“Permit me to introduce myself and my colleagues,”

the man continued. “I am Bram, the leader of the Namaraban. This is my noble queen, Riona.”

He gestured to the woman with the brown hair and the circlet of gold upon her brow. Queen Riona bowed stiffly, her expression still wary, still evaluating. Bram might welcome them with open arms, but Kevla was not sure the queen of Reshan did.

“This is Horsemistress Liadan,” Bram continued, indicating the strong-looking woman in men’s clothes, “And this is Swordmaster Eion.” The handsome warrior bowed.

Bram then turned to the Sea Dancer with an affectionate, almost paternal smile. The red-haired girl had not taken her gaze from Kevla, nor had she stopped petting her Companion’s neck. “And of course, you probably already know who these two are-the Sea Dancer, Riona’s daughter Copper and her Companion, the Kelpie.”

“We have come far to find you, Sea Dancer,” Jareth said. It was the first time he had spoken since they had arrived. Copper turned to look at Bram, who translated quickly. Copper, then, had not learned Lamali or Arukani.

“Indeed we have,” Kevla said, and introduced herself, Jareth and their Companions. The Dragon had been watching everything with an intent gaze, his golden eyes shrewd, and now he inclined his head with a combination of grace and power. The Blue Tiger twitched an ear.

Kevla slipped easily off the Dragon’s back, hearing Jareth land smoothly beside her. Now that she was on equal footing with these people, she saw that they were taller than she had at first thought. For a moment, Kevla stood awkwardly. What to do now? She was so pleased to have discovered the Sea Dancer she felt like embracing the girl, but Copper’s expression did not invite such familiarity.

Bram broke the silence. “As I said, you were expected, and we have gifts to offer.” He motioned and two blue-robed women stepped forward. Each carried a small wooden chest. At Bram’s gesture, the women eased back the lids. Nestled on a silken pillow inside each chest was a beautiful chain of gold links, identical to that worn by the Kelpie.

“These chains were labors of love, crafted by Namaraban artisans to honor the Companions of the Dancers,” Bram sad. “You see that the Kelpie already wears one.”

The Kelpie, who had been watching them with sharp eyes that missed nothing, grinned even more deeply. He mockingly extended a foreleg and gave an exaggerated “bow”, then shook his head and pranced so that the chain clinked. Copper patted his neck.

The Dragon and the Tiger exchanged glances. “I like not the thought of a noose around my neck,” rumbled the Dragon. It was the first time he had spoken, and the deep resonance of his voice made the crowd murmur.

“And I am no housecat, to wear a jeweled collar,” said the Tiger. Her voice, while not quite as bone-strikingly deep as the Dragon’s, had its own inhuman power and grace.

Bram did not seem at all offended by their responses. “The Kelpie seems to enjoy his,” he said. “Ask him.”

Again, the Dragon and the Tiger regarded one another. Jareth had remained quiet, but Kevla could see his powerful muscles tensing.

“We shall,” said the Tiger. She turned to the Kelpie. “Old friend, you have ever been the most recalcitrant among us. How is it you permit yourself to be so tamed?”

The Kelpie laughed, prancing and bucking in its amusement. The Sea Dancer kept her seat easily, as if the two had done this many times before. Her expression softened at the movement and Kevla saw the beginnings of a smile on her face.

“Tamed? I? You must be exhausted from your travels, Tiger. Do I seem tamed to you? It amuses my Dancer, that is why I permit it.”

It does not seem to do any harm, the Dragon thought to Kevla. The Kelpie seems as wild…and as annoying…as ever. Shall I accept the gift?

Kevla bit back a smile at the terms in which the Dragon described the Kelpie. It seemed to fit the Companion of water admirably.

It is your choice, she responded, but I do think it would look quite handsome on you.

The Dragon had a touch of vanity about him, and at her words, he looked pleased. Kevla saw the Tiger flick her ear and sit up a bit, and assumed that she and Jareth had just had a similar mental conversation.

“Very well,” said the Dragon loftily. “I will permit it.”

The woman bearing the larger chain stepped forward, handing it to Kevla with a bow. Kevla smiled at her as she accepted the gift, but the woman did not return the gesture. Kevla’s smile faded and she felt oddly embarrassed. She covered the emotion by turning to the Dragon and admiring how his rich, red scales set off the gold to perfection as he lowered his head to assist her.

Jareth arranged the chain around the Tiger’s neck as Kevla fastened the clasp of the Dragon’s collar. She turned to look at the Tiger. The gold looked particularly striking against the big cat’s deep blue and black stripes.

“Ah,” said Bram, looking very happy, “The collars were pretty before. But now, adorning the necks of those for whom they were created, they are truly beautiful. I thank you for accepting our gift.”

He bowed deeply and stepped back, indicating that his queen should speak with them. Riona regarded them shrewdly. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word her daughter interrupted her with words that shocked Kevla to the core.

“Who is the young man inside you? He has your eyes.”

Chapter Three

Kevla froze, her eyes wide like a liah’s who sees the simmar’s deadly claws about to descend, yet cannot flee. Her tongue cleaved to her mouth and she searched desperately for words. Somehow, this odd little Dancer, this strange girl, could see her soul.

Could see Jashemi.

“I-I don’t know what you mean.”

Copper didn’t need a translation; Kevla’s shake of the head and expression was more than enough. “Of course you know what I’m talking about.” Copper challenged the lie almost casually. “He’s dead, but he’s not dead. He’s inside you. He looks back out at me and smiles. He loves you very much.” Copper smiled fleetingly, but it did not reach her green eyes, and then it was gone. While Kevla struggled desperately to recover, Copper turned her inquisition upon Jareth.

“And the girl with golden hair-she is not inside you, she lives her own life yet. She is very angry. I think she is insane. Who is she?” Copper shook her head in surprise. “I have never been able to do this before, but I can see these people quite clearly. How fun!”

Jareth’s blue eyes had gone wide. Kevla felt a chill brush over her that had nothing to do with the warm springtime day. Copper was seeing Ilta…was seeing Jareth’s soul as surely as she had seen Kevla’s.

Now Copper turned back to Kevla. “Such a strong resemblance,” she said, her eyes searching Kevla’s but still seeing Jashemi. “He is your brother?”

Kevla’s heart ached with a searing pain she had known only once before. She could see Jareth out of the corner of her eye, saw his expression change as he, too, understood what was happening.

Understood that the strange girl standing before them could see their souls…and understood what that meant. Disbelief showed on his expression for an instant, then horror.

Jareth knew that Kevla had lain with her Lorekeeper. He knew that this man had died, and after a fashion lived inside Kevla as her soul. But now he realized that Jashemi, Kevla’s brother, and her Lorekeeper had been the same man.

Kevla closed her eyes, not wanting to see him any more. Not able to bear the look on his face.

I am so sorry, dear heart, the Dragon sent tenderly.

Say it, Kevla thought, a scorching, sickening shame and regret stabbing her. I should have told him myself. But the Dragon did not. He did not have to.

Kevla felt all eyes staring at her, and although she wanted nothing more than to flee, she knew she could not. Her face burned, her eyes dewed with tears of shame. Drawing upon some hidden reservoir of deep strength inside her, she opened her eyes, straightened, and forced a smile.

Kevla nodded firmly, claiming the truth at last. “Yes. He is my brother.”

“My daughter sometimes speaks out of turn, and it is plain that her…forthrightness…has caused you some distress,” Riona said. “I am sure she is sorry.”

Copper did not look at all apologetic. She continued to look detachedly curious.

“You’re from the mainland,” Copper said. “I have to say, I didn’t believe it really existed. Even though Bram assured me it did.”

Kevla welcomed the distraction. She looked at Copper, puzzled. The Dragon had not flown terribly far once they had reached the beginning of the ocean. Surely the people of Reshan could see the mainland from this island. Kevla looked over her shoulder and her eyes widened. She saw only the stretch of ocean.

“You have traveled far, on an errand that Bram tells me is very urgent…although he has neglected as of yet to explain it to me in much detail,” Riona said. “But I am sure we will have plenty of time in which to discuss it. For now, though, it offends courtesy to have you simply standing about. I hope you will accept our hospitality and stay with us in the castle. Rooms have been prepared for you, and hot water and clean clothes await your pleasure. When you have sufficiently revived yourselves, you will be honored guests in our hall for dinner.”

The plan sounded wonderful to Kevla. She wanted desperately to be alone, to gather her thoughts and see if she could summon the courage to ever look Jareth Vasalen in the face again. She inclined her head.

“Your Majesty’s hospitality is gratefully accepted. Some rest and a bath will be most welcome. May I ask what our Companions will do?”

The queen did not understand, and looked to Bram for aid. Instead, it was Copper’s Companion who responded.

“You will come with me to the Grove,” the Kelpie said. “You will find it pleasant there, and we can tell tales on our Dancers.” He snorted and pranced.

Kevla was about to say that the Dragon would wish to be with her when the Dragon himself replied, “That does sound pleasant, Kelpie.”

“Yes,” said the Tiger. “Let the humans have their conversations. We will have our own, for now.”

For the first time since Copper had revealed Kevla’s dark truth, Jareth turned his gaze from the Flame Dancer to his Companion.

“Are you sure, Tiger?” he asked.

Kevla wanted to ask the same question. She had assumed that the Companions would want to be present during the dinner-at least as much as they could of course; the Dragon was too large to fit into any human habitation. At the very least, she had expected the Tiger to accompany Jareth. But apparently, all three of them were disinclined to do so. The unexpected rebuff stung. How could the Dragon not wish to stay with her, especially now that Jareth had so obviously turned away? But perhaps she was undeserving of any kind of comfort or sympathy—the Dragon had, after all, warned her against taking the path of a lie.

“We thank you for your hospitality, and we are pleased to accept it,” Kevla said, and was surprised at how strong her voice was. Lying, it would appear, fed on itself.

The Dragon gave her a brief, affectionate glance, then gathered himself and leaped into the sky. People spontaneously cheered and applauded at the sight, but Kevla only felt her heart sink still more as she watched him fly away slowly, the Tiger and the Kelpie racing along on the earth.

“I will show you to your rooms,” Copper said, startling her.

“Nay, daughter, you will come with me,” Riona said quickly. “You need to prepare as well. Eion and Liadan will take our guests to their quarters.”

Copper sighed, but nodded. She looked at Kevla searchingly for a moment, said, “I want to find out more about this boy who lives inside you,” then turned and followed her mother.

Eion stepped quickly beside Kevla and graced her with a radiant smile. He bowed politely. “It is an honor to escort such a beautiful and obviously powerful woman,” he said in a voice that was deep and pleasant. She turned to him and forced a smile, noticing that though his curly hair was black as her own, his eyes were as blue as Jareth’s.

Jareth….

She almost physically cringed at the thought of him, and knew by Eion’s solicitous expression that she was not completely able to hide her pain.

“Forgive me, but you do indeed look weary from your travels, Flame Dancer,” he said in that kind voice. He offered an arm, but she shook her head.

“Thank you, sir, but I can walk,” she said, hearing it sound more clipped in her ears than she had intended. She softened the comment with a smile. Those blue eyes looked searchingly into hers, but he made no further comment.

“Then let us walk,” he said, and smiled. Suddenly his black eyebrows shot up in pleased surprise. “Ha! I can understand you now! I guess Bram was right when he said it wouldn’t take long.”

Kevla smiled, wishing she could be as pleased as he was, as she should be, at the swift erosion of the language barrier. She could hear Jareth a few paces behind her, heard the voice of the Horsemistress speaking similar pleasantries, and almost stumbled. Eion’s hand was there, and despite her words, she was grateful for his sudden support.

“Perhaps an arm would be welcome,” Kevla admitted, hating her weakness, hating the mistake that she made. The only light at the end of this dreadfully dark tunnel would be the chance to be alone in her rooms where she could sort out her feelings.

Eion said nothing as she slipped her arm through his. The bicep upon which Kevla’s right hand rested was powerful, the simple white linen sleeve that covered it fine and soft to the touch. A man in his late thirties or early forties, Eion was still handsome, powerful and graceful. If he was an example of the kind of man who fought to defend Reshan, Kevla thought Queen Riona well served.

The crowd of people parted for them, smiling and gawking. Kevla tried to manage pleasant smiles in return, but feared they fell short. Eion led her along the well-worn path to an arched gateway that led into the castle’s courtyard, and Kevla concentrated on the massive building that loomed before them.

“There are walkways all along the outer walls,” Eion told her. “My men patrol there. They’re fine archers as well as excellent swordsmen. We’re going under something called a portcullis. It’s an iron gate that can be raised and lowered. The courtyard is where the Aofaban train.”

“Aofaban?”

“Liadan’s warriors. The mounted unit. My men are called the Eltaban. We’re footsoldiers.”

Kevla nodded politely. “Is this a land torn by war, then?”

“It used to be, but that ended when Riona got the throne. Won it by her own hand. Well, hers and mine and Li’s and those of our soldiers, of course.” He shot her a charming grin. “This was oh, over twenty years ago. Back before she had children.”

“Copper is not her only child?”

Eion frowned a little. “It’s a long story, and one perhaps someone other than I should tell. But yes. There were three daughters, once. The other two are…gone now.”

Gone? What did that mean? Kevla felt a faint prickle of unease as she walked. They made their way across the courtyard toward a corner tower. Eion opened a heavy wooden door and waved Kevla ahead of him. She stared at the cramped, circular stairway.

“We’ll be going up three levels. The view is spectacular.”

Kevla nodded and began to climb the tightly winding stairs.

“So, there is no more need for-for Aofaban and Eltaban, if you are a land at peace?”

“Well, we’re a land at peace, but the sea is another issue altogether.”

“The sea?” She paused in her climbing to stare at him, confused. He threw back his dark head and laughed, the sound echoing.

“Aye, the sea is where the danger comes from. Like I said, it’s a long story. I assume that you have no hostile sea-folk to contend with in your land, Flame Dancer.”

“We have no sea-folk, nor indeed sea, at all.” And now it was Eion’s turn to look stunned.

They had reached the third level, and Kevla gingerly stepped forward into a narrow stone hallway. It was cool in here, but Kevla felt no chill. Her Fire abilities saw to that. But the heavy, encircling stone was oppressive. She had grown up in a large House, also made of stone, but it was airy and simple compared to this building. The door before her was of heavy wood with iron bands running across it horizontally. Kevla looked at it and thought that it, like everything in this castle, was too heavy, too dark.

Eion fished out a skeleton key from a pouch in at his belt and unlocked the door. Kevla heard it groan in protest as he pushed it open.

Inside, it was only slightly more welcoming. There was a bed covered with hangings elevated on a platform. Kevla thought she could see some other material draped on the bed as well. On a heavy wooden sideboard was a ceramic plate of fruit, roasted fowl of some sort, a goblet, two pitchers and a basin. A tiny window that presumably opened onto the promised spectacular view was shuttered and there was a small seat beside it. A copper tub filled with steaming water completed the picture. Beside the tub was a small bowl filled with herbs. A rather nervous and blatantly curious young woman stood quietly beside the tub.

“This is Liura. She will bathe and attend to you.”

“Thank you, but—I have no need of servants, and truly, I would rather have some time to myself.”

A smile tugged at Eion’s lips. “Bram said the strangers who would be coming would be nothing like we had known. He was right.”

Kevla tried to smile warmly at the girl, but despite the gesture the servant looked disappointed. Eion jerked his head in the direction of the door and the girl quietly left.

Eion looked at Kevla with that searching blue gaze again. “As the Flame Dancer wishes.”

“I am Kevla. Please call me that.”

He smiled. “As Kevla wishes, then. I will return in three hours to escort you to dinner. There is a bell by the bed if you require anything else at all.” Eion placed his hand on his heart, bowed and left quietly.

Kevla heaved a deep sigh and removed her rhia. She felt hungry, she felt tired, but more than anything else, she felt soiled. She didn’t have the energy or the will to puzzle over the strange things Eion had said, nor did she have the heart to be glad at how quickly they had found the one they sought. She emptied the small dish of fragrant herbs into the hot tub, stepped into it, and scrubbed her dark skin raw with a rough cloth as the tears slid silently down her face to merge with the scalding, steaming water.

Jareth was certain that Horsemistress Liadan was telling him all sorts of important things about this island, these people and maybe even about the Sea Dancer, but he heard nothing as she spoke in her warm, rich voice.

Her brother. Kevla had lain with her own brother.

In hindsight, it was obvious. How had he not put the pieces together? Kevla never had given a name to her mysterious, beloved Lorekeeper whose life she had taken by an accident she had never described. She had known what conclusion he would draw from her words, and let him continue in ignorance of….

“You look exhausted. Travel by dragon not suit you?”

Jareth dragged his thoughts back to the present, away from the shock of what Kevla had done. He smiled at Liadan, feeling his lips stretch in a grimace, knowing that it probably did nothing but reinforce her concern.

“That’s putting it mildly,” he said. “I prefer riding my Companion, the Tiger. The Dragon is—is Kevla’s.”

Her name stuck in his throat. And to think that only a short while ago, he had been transfixed by the smooth curve of her brown shoulder and long, slender neck. Gods help him…he still was.

He forced his gaze back to Liadan, forced himself to really look at the Horsemistress for the first time. He discovered he liked what he saw. She was older than he, he guessed, but not by much. Her face was freckled from the sun, her hair bleached lighter by the same method. He could not name the color; it was not the coppery hue that had obviously given the Sea Dancer her name, nor the warm light brown of the queen’s tresses. Reddish-brown, he decided. Her masculine breeches outlined the muscles in her buttocks and legs as she led the way up the circular stairs of the tower. Liadan was tall, strong and sinewy, and she walked with a stride that told him she considered herself the equal of any man. And in truth, she seemed to even outrank the Swordmaster who had taken Kevla to her quarters.

Kevla…how could you do such a thing?

Liadan had stopped in front of a large wooden door. Quickly, she unlocked it and pushed it open, revealing a room far more opulent than anything Jareth had ever seen. All this space just for one person? It would easily house a family of ten. He glanced from the large, curtained bed to the sideboard laden with food to the large tub of hot water.

“There are servants to assist you if you’d like. Although somehow I think you’re used to putting on your own clothes.” She turned to look over her shoulder at him and grinned with a boldness that startled him. “Unless there’s female help involved?”

He gaped, then suddenly grinned, enjoying her forwardness. It was a good distraction.

“Not for some time,” he admitted.

Liadan’s smile grew. Her eyes sparkled. Jareth had not initially considered her to be particularly beautiful-not like Kevla was-but the appealing liveliness of her personality shone through when she smiled.

“That’s a waste,” she said, and winked.

To his surprise, Jareth felt himself blush. He had never met a woman like Liadan. Even his beloved Taya had not been quite so forward…until that one magical night when they had first made love, beneath the harvest moon on the good, clean earth. If his wife had lived, she would still be his love; he would not have let his heart open to Kevla, and this ripping, sickening pain would not be gnawing at his soul….

Liadan saw the smile fade from Jareth’s blue eyes, and her own grin ebbed slightly. She spoke again.

“There’s water for bathing, and clean clothing if you’d like to change afterward. You’ll also find something to eat and drink if you’re hungry. There’s plenty of time before the festivities if you want to go to bed for a while.”

The words hung in the air. Jareth wasn’t certain if he understood her correctly. Was she suggesting he get some sleep because he was tired or…was she offering something else? Her eyes, he realized, were a pleasant shade of hazel, and they were fastened on his right now. He felt his body respond to her implication, but almost immediately any desire for this outspoken, attractive woman was quelled as Kevla’s face swam into his mind.

He took a deep breath. He was probably misinterpreting Liadan anyway.

“Thank you,” he said. “I am a bit weary. Some sleep would do me good.”

He thought he saw regret in those hazel eyes, but she nodded as if his answer was exactly what she had expected.

“There’s a bell by the bed—ring it if you need anything. I’ll come fetch you to take you to the feast when it’s time. Is there anything…else…you require?”

Now Jareth was certain of it. Liadan found him attractive, and she apparently seemed to think nothing of taking a man she had just met into her bed…or more to the point, joining him in his. He was surprised and flattered, but was in no mood for company.

“Thank you, no,” he said, then added, “but I look forward to seeing you this evening.”

She grinned. “As do I. Rest well, Jareth Vasalen.” Liadan bowed and strode off. He watched her go, wondering if he had just made a wise decision or a huge mistake. Jareth was no stranger to coupling when there was no love between the participants. As long as both parties understood the nature of the joining, it was pleasant and a good release of tension. He had enjoyed and respected his partners in such a situation and to the best of his knowledge, had done no harm to any of the women. Liadan certainly seemed to know her own mind, and he doubted that a tumble in the comfortable-looking bed would have turned her into a dewy-eyed maiden dreaming of endless love.

But he didn’t want just a tumble in bed. He wanted what he had once had with Taya…what he had let himself daydream about with Kevla. Only now, Kevla had destroyed any chance of that. Jareth had been raised to believe that to be intimate with one’s close kin was wrong. And judging by the fact that she’d lied to him, so had Kevla. And yet-she’d done it. Done it and pretended she hadn’t. He’d thought Kevla better than him in many ways. Admirable. Even tragic, with what had happened to her. He didn’t think so any longer. He wasn’t sure which was worse-that she’d committed the heinous act, or that she’d kept it from him. And to think he’d once thought he was falling in love with her—

Angrily, Jareth tore off his clothes and stepped into the hot tub, his heart aching with longing and pain as he cursed Kevla-sha-Tahmu for coming into his life.

Eion waited for Liadan at the bottom of the turret, lounging against the cold stone wall. He didn’t expect her, but thought he’d give her a few moments just to make sure. Somewhat to his surprise, he heard her light footsteps, and saw the annoyed expression on her face as she descended the stairs.

“Don’t tell me he said no?” Eion had known Liadan for years and recognized the signs that the Horsemistress was attracted to the Stone Dancer.

Liadan frowned. “First one ever,” she said grumpily.

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“I must be getting old.”

“You? Never.” He smiled down at her as they strode out into the courtyard. They had been off-and-on lovers in their youths, and Eion thought that the passing years had only made Liadan more beautiful. The gray threads in her hair and the slight lines on her face made her more herself, somehow, instead of the unformed, unmarked girl she had been. And her skills—in all areas—had only grown, not lessened. Liadan was known for her powerful appetite. Twenty years ago, grinning Eltaban had all but crawled from her war tent; if her quarters were more comfortable now, it was truer than ever that Liadan rode her men harder than her horses.

“We have several hours before the feast, and I do not think we will be needed,” he said. “Perhaps I can…distract you?”

She looked up at him and gave him that old familiar grin. “Why not?” she replied.

Eion smiled in return and offered his arm. As she took it, he was forced to glance away for a moment, fearing that she might accurately read the sudden softening on his face.

Chapter Four

By the time Eion came for her as he had promised, Kevla had had time to compose herself. The stabbing pain in her heart had subsided to a dull ache. She had examined the clothing her hostess had left for her. Someone had a very good eye; the clothing fitted quite well. But as she stood before the full-length mirror examining herself, Kevla shook her head. This tall, elegant woman, dressed in silk and heavy jewelry, was not her. She would have required the assistance of a servant to complete dressing-the bodice laced in the back-and she did not wish to call upon one. So she slipped out of the garment that made her feel so false, went to the brazier that burned in the corner, and wove a fresh, clean red rhia from the flame she summoned.

The lines of her native garment were simple. It did reveal a fair amount of smooth brown skin at neck and arm, but Kevla did not care. This was the clothing of her homeland; this would be the image of the Flame Dancer she would present to the court of this queen.

She had just finished brushing her hair and was debating whether or not to braid it when there came a soft knock on the door.

“Enter,” Kevla called.

Eion poked his dark head in. He was no longer clad in the leather armor he had worn earlier, but had changed to fine silk breeches, a tunic, a beautifully-tooled leather belt and a long, flowing cape that was heavily embroidered and shot through with gold thread. He looked very handsome, she thought. Eion seemed a little disappointed when he asked, “You choose not to wear the garments provided you, then?”

Kevla turned to him and rose, laying the brush down. “No, but it was not that they were not beautiful. They were too much so for a simple woman like myself.”

A smile curved his lips. “Simple women rarely ride the backs of dragons,” he pointed out.

Despite her misery, Kevla could not help but return the smile. “Well,” she said, “this one does.”

“I hope you are hungry,” Eion said, offering his arm. “The royal cook has outdone himself tonight.”

Although she had grown up in the most opulent House in her land, Kevla was not prepared for the pageantry of the castle’s great hall. The cold gray face of the stone walls had been softened by hanging tapestries of all colors. There were so many she found it difficult to concentrate on any single one, but she got the impression that they depicted scenes of hunting, or fighting, or various other activities that the people of Reshan enjoyed. At least, the wealthy people of Reshan. Kevla had not had an innocent childhood; she knew enough to understand that the other side of this coin of luxury was likely poverty and hardship.

Four huge tables stretched the length of the hall. Benches flanked them on either side. At the far end of the room was an alcove with a raised dais. While the large tables were bare, this smaller table was covered with a beautiful white cloth. The benches here were much finer, and there was a single large chair at the head of that table with gold and jewels inlaid in its finely-carved surface.

But what Kevla noticed more than the lovely furnishings and vast size of the room was the sheer volume of people. Servants carrying platters of food brushed past her, their clothes whispering with the movement and the scent of roasted meat teasing her nostrils, but no one was yet seated. They were milling about in a cacophony of voices and a riot of colors. The only color that Kevla did not see was the blue that Bram and his two assistants had worn. Every other hue she had conceived of, and many she had not, was on garish display here. The feast-goers were so heavily laden with bulky jewelry she thought it a marvel that they did not fall over. She was about to move into the hall, but Eion gently halted the movement.

“You must be announced,” he said.

Kevla did not want to draw more attention to herself than was necessary. She still found that she preferred the role of the quiet observer. She wanted to be alone atop the Dragon’s back again, reveling in her connection with the great creature, feeling the wind in her hair.

Ignoring her personal preference, she nodded. As the Dragon had told her before, Flame was the leader. She owed it to the other Dancers and what they were striving for to accept the accolades that were perforce being thrust upon her. The room fell quiet before the booming voice of the herald and all eyes turned upon her.

“Kevla-sha-Tahmu, the Flame Dancer, is welcome in this hall!” the herald cried. The greeting was taken up by the crowd, who applauded. But Kevla felt that they had looked upon her simple garb, assessed her and found her wanting.

It doesn’t matter, she thought. Soon we will be away from here, and all this land’s customs will mean nothing to us.

She smiled and inclined her head, realizing that she was imitating Yeshi, her father’s wife and mistress of the House of Four Waters. While the behavior was necessary, the thought did not comfort her.

“You did well,” Eion said in her ear. She gave him a surprised and grateful glance. He grinned at her, and it was at that moment that Kevla decided she liked the Swordmaster. He looked completely at ease in this environment and navigated the swirl of milling bodies with grace, maneuvering her into the thick of the crowded hall. She followed his lead, and found herself relaxing.

Then the booming voice of the squat, gray-haired herald rang out again.

“Jareth Vasalen, the Stone Dancer, is welcome in these halls!”

Kevla did not want to look at him, for she did not want to meet his gaze, but she knew she had to. She took a deep breath and turned toward the front of the hall.

And her breath caught in her throat.

Unlike her, Jareth had opted to don the clothes of the Reshanaban. He looked like a god. Tall, his shoulder-length fair hair gleaming in the torchlight, his fine features composed, he smiled at the crowd. The clothes that draped his powerful build looked as if they had been tailored for him. He wore his favored colors of green and brown, but these fine silks and linens bore no resemblance to the functional but rough clothing she had seen in Lamal. The green cloak, long and lavish and like Eion’s shot through with gold thread, emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, while the jewel-encrusted belt made his trim waist seem even smaller. The leather boots reached up past his knees and looked soft and supple to the touch.

Kevla realized she was staring and dragged her eyes from Jareth to the woman who stood beside him. The Horsemistress looked nothing like the rough and tumble woman Kevla had met earlier. Her hair was braided in many long ropes which were looped and caught up with jewels. While she had worn masculine garb previously, now a full-length gown of orange-yellow emphasized her slight but still womanly curves. A gold torque gleamed at her throat, and bracelets adorned her wrists.

She had her arm looped through Jareth’s, as Kevla was holding Eion’s, and as Kevla watched her, she whispered something to the Stone Dancer. He listened intently, then grinned and whispered back. As he straightened and looked out over the crowd, his eyes met Kevla’s. The grin ebbed.

Kevla felt as though she had been stabbed in the heart. She looked away quickly. Eion didn’t miss the gesture.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“No,” Kevla lied. “I am simply not used to a crowd such as this, that is all.”

Eion looked at her shrewdly and she sensed he didn’t believe her. Fortunately, he did not press the point. Instead, he began introducing her to various people. Kevla tried to keep track of all the names, but they were all so alien-sounding to her and there were so many that they soon ran together in her head. Rescue came in the form of the loud, booming voice of the herald.

“Bram, Anam of the Namaraban!”

There was silence, and then everyone bowed. Kevla hastened to do likewise. At first, Bram appeared exactly as she had seen him earlier. But then Kevla realized that the blue robe he wore was made from a richer material, and more finely tailored. Gems winked from a belt fastened around his waist. As he had earlier, he commanded attention. He stood for a moment, accepting the adulation, then stepped aside as the herald announced Her Highness, Princess Copper.

By now, of course, Kevla was well aware that people from other lands looked quite different from Arukani. She had almost grown accustomed to the pale skin and yellow hair that was so predominant among Jareth’s people. But this girl was different even from that. There was something…otherworldly about her, mysterious and exotic, that seemed to hold her apart. Kevla had never felt particularly different from other people; she was most definitely human, despite her powers and the knowledge that she was fire made flesh. Jareth, too, struck her as quite human.

But Copper…

Kevla could not help but wonder if the other two would be like this strange girl or like her and Jareth. Copper seemed more like her element of water than an ordinary human woman.

Copper surveyed the crowed disinterestedly, and inclined her head only slightly. The hair that had so obviously given her her name had been brushed so that it gleamed and fell in a waterfall of silk down her back. A simple gold circlet sat atop her brow, and heavy golden earrings fell almost to her shoulders. She did not come escorted, as Kevla and Jareth had; she needed no consort. Again, Kevla thought of the bony, strange horse called the Kelpie that was this Dancer’s Companion animal. Everything was odd about this girl, even her elemental companion.

Following Copper was her mother, Queen Riona. Kevla thought about what Eion had told her about Riona-that she was queen by her own hand and had brought peace to the realm. She did not look like a woman at peace. Kevla recalled Eion’s allusion to the “hostile sea-folk” and that Copper’s sisters were “gone.” She wondered if these burdens were made the queen look so wary and worn, or if there was something else entirely troubling Riona.

“The queen will make her way to the high table,” Eion whispered in her ear. “When she is seated, we may sit as well. I will take you to your place and be beside you during the meal.”

Kevla was grateful for his presence and, emboldened by his kindness, whispered back, “I wish I had changed now, the rhia simply does not do.”

Eion raised an eyebrow. “My lady Kevla,” he said, “you would outshine anyone in this hall even if you wore a pauper’s rags.”

Kevla felt herself blushing. She was even more glad to have Eion as her escort when he led her to a seat on the bench next to Jareth. The Swordmaster sat on Kevla’s right. Jareth was on her left. They were so close on the bench that her hips brushed those of both Jareth and Eion, and she thought she felt Jareth stiffen at the touch. Kevla thought that a stone wall would be warmer.

Queen Riona sat at the throne. Bram was on her right, and Copper on her left. Copper stared at her fellow Dancers, her green eyes flickering from Kevla to Jareth and back again. The queen looked anxious and tired, but put on a charming smile.

“It has been a long time since this table was so honored with guests,” she said graciously. “Kevla, Jareth-I am so pleased you could join us this evening.”

Kevla smiled and said, “You are a gracious hostess, Your Majesty.”

“Indeed,” Jareth said, his deep voice startling Kevla. “It is a beautiful hall.”

It was impossible to speak for the next few minutes as the servers descended in a flurry of activity. While she recognized the fish easily enough, though she was unfamiliar with the variety, most of the food placed on the table was alien to Kevla. The quantity and the ornateness of the preparation, however, were very similar to what she had experienced at feasts in the House of Four Waters. A whole animal of some kind was placed in the center of the table, complete with hooves and tusks. Cheeses, fruits and vegetables, sauces, bowls of various soups…she was almost sated from merely looking at the bounty.

Eion explained that the several pitchers of beaten gold on the table contained a variety of different beverages-a drink made from barley, one made from honey, and the third water to cut the first two with if she chose. Kevla found she liked the tangy barley drink called “beer.”

Eion offered to serve her and she accepted, trusting that he would select wisely. She watched the others eat first, noticing that they used spoons for some food items and simply speared others with their knives. In Arukan, there were few utensils, and they were used only for serving. One ate with one’s hands only.

She found the food heavy and rich, but edible. A few tastes were familiar-salt, vinegar, certain herbs-but most were strange. She preferred the lighter fish to the heavier meats and ate only enough to satisfy courtesy.

“Bram tells me,” Riona said, spooning up soup made with roots and broth, “that my daughter and the two of you share a destiny. Something about saving Reshan from disaster. Is there war coming? Something we must prepare for?”

Kevla was confused. The first words out of Bram’s mouth had proven to her that not only had he known about the Dancers, he had known which two Dancers they were. Which one Copper was. Was Riona testing them?

“Her royal highness, Kevla and Jareth are of a kind indeed,” said Bram. “Their coming was known to the Namaraban. These three and two others are the champions of this world, Your Majesty. We remember them from times before.”

Momentarily forgetting the new distance between them, the two Dancers exchanged pleased glances. Many things suddenly fell into place as Kevla and Jareth simultaneously realized that the Namaraban were Reshan’s Lorekeepers! Bram smiled as he saw the comprehension spread across both pale and dark faces and nodded, confirming it.

“We are the keepers of the lore, of memories and knowledge, and we use that knowledge to guide our land and its ruler in the right directions.”

Lorekeepers. And yet it was obvious that Bram had decided to keep Riona, and perhaps even Copper, ignorant of a great deal. Why had he done so? He must have his reasons. Or perhaps these Lorekeepers simply did not yet know the full story. Kevla had had no hesitation in relying upon the Lorekeepers of Arukan, once they had overcome their fears sufficiently to seek her out and tell her what they knew. If Jashemi still breathed, he would be the one above all others to whom Kevla would listen.

“Kevla’s land and mine both had Lorekeepers,” said Jareth. “In her land, they were persecuted as demons, and so did not dare speak. In mine, they were…enchanted until very recently, and so my people did not have the benefit of their experiences.”

“Enchanted? How?”

Jareth laughed slightly. “That’s a long story. I’ll happily tell it at one point, but I’m more interested to hear about your Lorekeepers right now.”

“Fortunately, we had no such difficulty,” Bram said. “The Namaraban are an honored people. We find those who are so gifted at birth, and rear them ourselves. We…how to put it…recognize them somehow. It’s difficult to explain.”

Kevla recalled how, even before any of them understood the connection, the Lorekeepers of her land always knew their Dancer. She thought of the man in the market when she had first come to the House of Four Waters. He had called out to her, saying he had had visions of her-and had died, burned on a pyre erected right there in the market, for that recognition. She thought of Tiah, of Melaan, of Jashemi, and she gave Bram a sad smile.

“I have seen firsthand how the Lorekeepers know the Dancers,” she said. “It does not surprise me that they might know one another.”

Bram graced her with a warm smile. “There is an entire community of Lorekeepers here, Kevla. We teach exercises to hone the memory and we write down every scrap of information so gleaned, whether or not it seems important to us. We have a vast library that houses information that is centuries old. When Copper was born, as you indicated, I immediately realized who she was. We knew we had to take good care of her.”

Kevla turned to Copper, happy for the girl but not a little envious of the easy journey the Sea Dancer had had to this point. “You are very fortunate, Copper. To have been born into a culture that knew who you were and how to treat you. I knew nothing of either my powers or the Dancers and their task for many long years. Jareth’s powers were respected, but even he did not know his true destiny until we met. I imagine the Namaraban raised you with all kinds of stories of past Dancers.”

It was, for some unfathomable reason, the wrong thing to say. The high table went very still. Riona’s lips thinned and she clutched her spoon. Bram flushed slightly. Liadan muttered something under her breath and even cheerful Eion kept his eyes on his plate. Kevla suddenly recalled Eion’s comment about two sisters of Copper being “gone” and wondered if that had anything to do with the abrupt pall that had settled over the hitherto pleasant evening.

The silence stretched on. Kevla frantically tried to think of something to say.

“Liadan tells me that you led the battle to win the kingdom yourself, Your Majesty.” It was Jareth, and Kevla silently thanked him for changing the topic.

Apparently Riona was glad of it as well, for she replied promptly, looking almost relieved. “Indeed I was the head, but my two strong hands were the Aofaban and the Eltaban. Liadan and Eion know how vital a part in my victory they were. How vital to keeping the peace they still are.”

“Horsemistress and Swordmaster,” Jareth said. “Both useful. But why two units?”

“The Aofaban are all women,” Liadan answered. “We ride the golden horses you saw today. The Eltaban, whom Eion commands, are all men. They go on foot.”

“I do not understand. Why the need to separate?” Kevla asked. In Arukan, of course, women did not fight at all. But there was clearly a division here, though apparently not an inharmonious one.

“It’s practical more than anything,” Eion said. “While Liadan could easily best an untrained man in a fight, she could not defeat me on the ground in hand to hand or even armed combat. Men are simply physically stronger than women. It is a fact; there is no dishonor in it. But on a horse, many of a woman’s physical disadvantages in combat disappear. Therefore, the women ride, the men fight on foot. All needs are met, all who wish to fight for the kingdom of Reshan have an opportunity, and our foes tremble at our approach.”

He grinned at Liadan. “But I confess, I envy you the Golden Tide.” Kevla didn’t miss the brightness in his eyes.

Liadan returned the grin. “Too bad you were born male, then,” she quipped.

“I have never had cause to regret it myself,” Eion said.

“Her Majesty is indeed well and loyally served,” Bram said. “The Aofaban and the Eltaban handle the fighting. The Namaraban handle the spirit, and advise Her Majesty accordingly. All needs are met.”

“Eion mentioned…hostile sea-folk,” Kevla said hesitantly. Her words were directed at the queen, but it was Bram who replied, looking somber.

“We are surrounded by the ocean, and this dictates much of who we are. Our enemies now are the FinFolk and the Fialaban,” Bram said before Riona could answer. “The people of the oceans. They are jealous of us, and attack us.”

“Why?” Kevla asked. “It would seem to me that if they live on the sea and you live on the land, each has what they require. Life in the ocean must be so different from what we know that there can be little competition.”

Liadan looked at her with surprised admiration. “You’re an astute woman,” she said, and for some reason, Kevla felt inordinately pleased. Jareth did not look at her, but attacked his chunk of boar with renewed vigor.

“And innocent,” said Bram, smiling at Kevla. “If you knew these creatures, you would not say such things.”

“Don’t call them creatures,” Copper said in a low voice. “I hate it when people do that. After all, their king is my father.”

Kevla almost dropped her spoon. Copper was only half human? That would explain a great deal. She tried not to stare at the girl.

“We have a truce now,” Riona said quickly. “When King Farron of the Fialaban became my consort and husband, hostilities ceased. Since that time, peace has largely reigned.”

“Largely, but not entirely,” Bram said smoothly. “Copper, you are right and I apologize. I meant to cast no aspersions on your heritage. My comment was directed at the Finfolk, not your father’s people. The Fialaban have indeed stopped attacking the land, but the FinFolk have not.”

“Wait—you are moving too quickly for a simple farmer like me,” Jareth said. “Who are these people? How are they different?”

Eion turned to him. “The Fialaban are much like us, although they live in the ocean, not on the land,” he said. “They are a handsome people, although they are paler, with a blue tint to their skins.”

“And webs,” said Copper, grinning incongruously. She held up her hands and spread her fingers. Kevla could see what she had failed to notice earlier-that Copper had translucent webbing between all four fingers and thumbs. Copper laughed at the expression on Jareth’s and Kevla’s faces, but as before, there was no real humor in the sound.

“And webs,” agreed Eion smoothly. “Over twenty years ago Her Majesty married Prince Farron, who is now King of the realm beneath the waves.”

Kevla glanced at the queen, who gazed back at her with a calm expression. The unasked question hung in the air…if Farron still lived, why was he not here? Could the Fialaban come on land?

“I have a sister, too. Her name is Silver. She’s beautiful-all covered with shiny scales and-“

“Copper!” the queen snapped.

“What?” Copper looked genuinely confused. “She is beautiful. If you would only agree to meet her you’d see for yourself. Why do you not want me to talk about that? Bram said he was sorry a long time ago and he’s more than made up for it.” Copper frowned and sullenly stabbed at the meat on her plate with a fork.

Riona forced a laugh and turned to Kevla and Jareth. “My daughter is…an unusual child. I find it difficult to believe that she and that…horse creature…will defend Reshan one day.”

“More than Reshan, Your Majesty,” Kevla reminded her gently. “As Bram has said, the Dancers-we three here and two more we have yet to find-were born to save the world, not just your land.”

Riona’s eyes widened slightly. She glanced at Bram, then back at Kevla. “How will this be done?”

Kevla opened her mouth to speak, but Bram was quicker. “Each time, it has been different, Majesty. And no one remembers exactly how events unfolded. That is why we must be prepared. Why the Lorekeepers must study, and remember.” He paused and added, “Why we took Copper to live with us at the Grove when she returned from the sea.”

Riona looked suddenly weary. “I was not born to such things, Bram. I was a simple girl and even now am a simple woman, still more comfortable with a sword in my hand than a crown on my head. I have seen some of the things my daughter can do—I know she was born to a great destiny. But it is hard to fathom the end of all things. Even on a day when I have seen a flying lizard and a great cat and the strange people they bear.”

Her eyes searched Kevla’s, then Jareth’s. “You have many questions, I see, and I think tonight’s conversation has done little to answer them-and perhaps raised more. Rest assured I have equally as many questions for you. I hope we can learn from each other. But for tonight, I think sleep will help more than more conversation.”

She rose gracefully, and everyone in the table-indeed in the hall-rose with her. Riona nodded and left, two women who had been standing by so quietly Kevla had not even noticed them gliding like twin shadows behind her.

“You should come to the Grove tomorrow,” said Copper as if awkward subjects had not been left hanging in the air without any explanation or resolution. Her bright green eyes flitted to Kevla and then Jareth. “It’s quite beautiful. I think you especially will like it.” She pointed at Jareth.

“An excellent idea!” Bram smiled fondly at the Dancer. “It would be an honor to have you visit. The Namaraban, as you can imagine, are thrilled at the idea that you have finally come. I hope you will stay here in Reshan for a time? We have waited so very, very long for this day.”

“Our mission is an urgent one,” Jareth said. “You of all people know that. We are three, now, but there are two more we need to find. Time grows short for us and we cannot afford to waste it.”

For a wonderful, glorious moment, Kevla forgot the guilt and shame she felt regarding her feelings for Jareth. All she could think about was that they would be much farther along in their journey if he had just agreed to come with her once she had found him. If anyone had delayed them, it was he. “We cannot afford to waste time” indeed! She felt a very petty and yet very satisfying urge to kick him under the table.

As swiftly as it had come, the feeling fled. Jareth had needed to do what he had done-what they had done together. He had needed to find his Companion, to disenchant the Lorekeepers, to bring spring back to an ensorcelled land. Much good had been done. The time had not been wasted. She sighed, suddenly very tired.

“That is too great a decision to make right now,” she said. “I should like to follow the queen’s wise advice and sleep myself.”

“Of course, you have traveled a great distance and you must be weary,” Eion said immediately, rising. Kevla turned to Copper and smiled. Copper did not smile back, but simply regarded Kevla with that unnerving stare. “Good night, Copper. It-truly, it is wonderful to have found you.”

Copper nodded slightly. “Good night, Kevla. Do not shutter your windows tonight and you will hear the sea sing to you.”

“It-sings?” Kevla was startled.

“Just a figure of speech,” Liadan said.

“No it’s not,” Copper said, quite seriously. Kevla shivered a little, and did not know why. She took Eion’s extended hand and turned to go.

“Kevla, I need to speak with you.”

Jareth’s voice held a note she could not decipher, and right now, she did not want to. She stood with her back toward the table, so did not know if he was looking at her as he spoke. She swallowed hard and managed to say, “Not tonight.”

“All right. But soon. It’s…important.”

She left without replying, moving quickly through the great hallway. Eion stayed silent, uncertain as to the nature of what was causing the division between Stone and Flame Dancers but obviously aware of it. He broke his silence when they reached her room, saying only, very quietly, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Kevla?”

She smiled sadly. “Only if you can turn back time.”

“Alas,” he said, “I can turn back a tide of Finfolk storming our lands, but time is a greater enemy than any I can conquer. Is there some other task you could set me to?”

“No,” Kevla said gently. “You have been more than kind, Eion. Good night.”

He bowed low and left. She closed the door and leaned on it for a long moment. She did not want to talk to Jareth tonight, tomorrow, or ever. She did not want to be alone with him, to heard the cold condemnation in his voice. But sooner or later, she supposed she had to. Kevla went to the small window and opened the shutters as Copper had suggested. As Eion had promised, the view was breathtaking. She looked out onto the dark ocean, silvered by moonlight, and watched waves crest and then break on the rocky shoreline. Fresh, cool air came in and swirled softly about her, stirring her rhia. She heard the soft sound of the ocean, rhythmic and lulling. A figure of speech only, Liadan had reassured her; but Kevla was not so certain.

She did not remove her rhia, nor turn back the thick bedclothes and drift to sleep on a comfortable mattress. Instead, she lay down on the hard stone floor before the hearth, and stared into the dancing firelight until, many hours later, sleep finally claimed her.

Chapter Five

Kevla awoke to a wonderful smell and a soft clinking sound. She blinked slowly for a moment, her mind still foggy with sleep, then recalled her surroundings. She sat up quickly, turning to see the young servant Liura setting the sideboard with plates and bowls. Kevla was a bit uncomfortable with the idea that the serving girl could come and go as she pleased; she would have to speak with Eion to see if there were a way to bolt the door.

“Good morning, Liura.”

The girl jumped as if stung and a spoon went clattering to the floor. “Oh! My lady! I am sorry if I disturbed you. I meant simply to have this prepared and ready for you when you awoke!” The girl’s large brown eyes were wide with apprehension and Kevla hastened to reassure her.

“You were very quiet, Liura. But that delicious smell would have awoken anyone.” She smiled and got to her feet. The girl moved quickly to the side. “What do you have for me?”

“Hard cheese, toasted bread with butter and preserved fruit to spread on it,” Liura said in her soft voice, pointing to each item. “Baked apples are in this bowl, fried eggs are on this tray.” She lifted a cloth from a tray and Kevla saw several eggs, their yolks dark orange. “And herbs have been steeping in this pot. It makes a delicious tea. Her Highness hopes you enjoy it. It’s her favorite herbal blend.”

“Copper had this sent up to me?”

“Yes, my lady. She said that she would come fetch you a bit later, and bring you to the Grove. I trust it is all to your liking?”

Kevla laughed. “Indeed it is, although it is enough for me, Copper, Jareth and you to partake in.”

“Oh! I could never possibly eat with my lady,” Liura replied, flustered. Kevla turned to her and took her hands. Liura was too startled to pull away.

“Liura, listen to me. I do not wish you to violate the customs of your land. But I am not of your land, and I am not a lady. I am merely Kevla. And I think you very much for this-rather lavish meal, but from now on, I will break my fast in my own way when I arise.” At the girl’s crestfallen face, Kevla added, “It pleases me to do so. I find no fault with your care of me.”

Liura nodded. “The bath is drawn already,” she said. “I hope that is acceptable.”

“It is.” Luira had had her world disrupted enough for one day. Later, Kevla would request that the servants did not need to climb so very many steps carrying water just for her bath. “I feel very well tended to, Liura. Thank you.”

“You do not require assistance bathing and dressing?”

Kevla shook her head. “Not at all. You may find this hard to believe, but when I was younger, I was a servant who was not even well regarded enough to attend to my House’s guests.”

The brown eyes went even wider. Kevla had not known such a thing was possible. “My l-you are teasing me,” she said.

“Not at all. So you see, I know how to take care of my own needs.”

Liura curtseyed deeply. “As you wish,” she said, and left. Before she closed the door, she gave Kevla a charming smile. Kevla returned it. Luira was a very sweet girl, eager to please. Kevla understood her better than the girl knew.

She ate a small fraction of the enormous amount of food that had been brought up to her and found it all, like the food as last night’s feast, delicious but heavy. She ended up nibbling on the toast and sipping the tea, which was fragrant and hot. The bath had cooled by the time she shed her rhia and stepped into it, but that was not a problem. With a thought, the water heated up until steam rose gently from its surface.

She washed herself with the cake of soap that was provided, deep in thought. Last night’s conversations had utterly baffled her. She had not known what to expect, of course. Jareth and his land were as far from anything she had known as could be imagined. But Copper was not even truly human. Her Companion was as strange as his Dancer, and the Lorekeepers here seemed to know-well, everything. She thought about Bram’s invitation to linger in Reshan. She thought about the other things she had seen in the vision she and Jareth had shared-the two faces on the same head, the too-bright light, swords and letters and riddles.

And she thought about Jareth Vasalen, and the look on his face when he had learned the truth about her.

The water had grown cold. She did not bother to reheat it, but climbed out and dressed quickly. She had just woven a fresh rhia from the fire and slipped it over her head when there came a soft knock on the door. She remembered that Liura had said Copper would come to take her to the Grove and turned with a pleasant smile.

“Come in,” she called.

The door opened. “Good morning, Kevla,” said Jareth.

“Jareth!” She stared for a moment. “I-wasn’t expecting you.”

He frowned. “That’s obvious,” he said, and she didn’t need to ask to know what he meant. She’d felt the smile bleed from her face, felt her body tense, as soon as she had seen him. “We-need to talk. About a lot of things.”

He was right. But she couldn’t, not yet-

“Have you eaten?” she said, turning to the sideboard. “Copper sent me enough food to feed the Aofaban and their horses.”

“Yes, she sent up food for me too. I didn’t come for breakfast.”

“About Bram’s invitation,” she said, “I think we should accept it.”

Clearly that wasn’t the topic foremost in his thoughts, for he looked confused for a moment. It wasn’t the first in her heart either, but she seized it like a lifeline in order to avoid the real discussion.

“Um…why?”

“Jareth, we came prepared for a long search. My journey to understanding what it meant to be a Dancer took years. Yours took several months. Copper already knows who she is, what her purpose is. She’s found her Companion and her Lorekeepers.”

“Your point?”

“Well…Bram said they had a library. That there is much history written down.”

He frowned. “That’s all very nice, but that’s the past. No one knows what form the Shadow will take each time. Anecdotes of past battles won’t tell us a thing about what you and I and Copper and the other two will face.”

“We don’t know that,” Kevla said. “We won’t know anything until we take some time and explore these records. Also, you know the vision we received the last time we tried to find the Sea Dancer was different from anything we’d seen before.”

She had him there, and he looked wary and curious. “That’s true. So?”

“So,” she continued, “This time, we don’t have to look for the Dancers or the Lorekeepers. We can use that time to our advantage. Maybe this time, we don’t have to spend the time here looking for the Dancer. Maybe there’s something else we need to learn, or to discover while we’re here. We could study, and train-maybe learn what those images in the vision meant. It would be foolish not to take this opportunity to learn things.”

He folded his arms and glared at her. “Like what?”

“Like-whatever is in the records.” She thought about Liadan and Eion. “We could learn to handle weapons. There was a sword in the vision. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” he said, slowly, reluctantly. “But the Shadow is not a man with a sword. It’s magic…which is why the Dancers must stand against it and not ordinary men.”

Kevla thought of the Emperor. She thought of the stream of well-trained warriors pouring over the mountains in Arukan. She and the Dragon had helped turn the tide, but they could not have succeeded alone.

“I’ve stood against the Emperor’s warriors before. This time the Shadow seems to come with a very human army.”

He had no answer to that. “And riding,” Kevla continued. “I know how to ride a horse, but do you?”

Jareth’s frown deepened. “I have no need of letters, and I can ride the Blue Tiger. She’s mount enough for me.”

“She is your Companion. You were born knowing how to ride her. But you may have need of a less ordinary mount from time to time. And letters—“Kevla gasped slightly. “Letters…those were in the vision too. The Namaraban and I could teach you to read and write. We might need to send messages-our powers have been blocked before.”

Her arguments were sound and she knew it, and yet Jareth stubbornly refused to budge. “I don’t like that he wanted to delay us for some reason.”

“Jareth, Bram is a Lorekeeper. He wants only to help us. Lorekeepers exist solely to help the Dancers, why do you-oh.”

Now she understood.

This wasn’t about Bram. Kevla and Jareth had met a treacherous Lorekeeper before, one who had done everything he…she…could to stop him. One who had allied with the Emperor. Ilta had murdered Jareth in the life before this one; and now, she was quite mad. Her presence screamed a warning against blindly trusting Lorekeepers.

But Kevla thought of Jashemi, who had been as true as Ilta was false. She thought of Melaan, who had died for her cause; of the little sa’abah tender, who had aided her without knowing why; even of Tiah, who had feared their connection but ultimately joined Kevla.

She wanted to touch Jareth, to reassure him with the warmth of human flesh on human flesh, but did not dare. Not anymore. Instead, Kevla said, “I know who you are thinking of. But think instead of the selva, Jareth. Think of their loyalty and support. That is what a Lorekeeper is. Ilta…is an aberration.”

Jareth sighed. “Perhaps you are right. I know there’s something called the Grove that Bram and Copper want us to visit. Let’s see what they have to show us. We saw Copper when she was ready for us to come find her. We should try to see if the next Dancer is ready before we commit to staying.”

She knew what he was suggesting, and it was wisdom. But the last thing she thought they both wanted was contact. “You…wish to learn if we can see him or her in a vision.”

He nodded. “If the next Dancer isn’t waiting for us, I see no harm in staying.” He sat down on the stone floor and extended his hands to her. Kevla hesitated, then placed her hands in his. Their fingers automatically entwined, as they had done so often before. Kevla squeezed her eyes shut, trying to open herself to any vision that might come, trying to be impervious to the warm but ultimately false comfort of his hands on hers. Nothing happened. If the next Dancer was awaiting them, he or she gave no sign.

“It looks like we stay, then,” Jareth said. He did not pull his hands back. “But-that’s not the real reason I came to see you. And you know it.”

Kevla took a deep breath and opened her eyes. “Yes. I know. But if you have come here to berate and chastise me, then I would ask that you leave now. There is nothing you can say to me that I have not already told myself.”

Jareth blinked. Obviously, this wasn’t the way he expected the conversation to go.

“Honestly? I don’t know what I’m going to say to you. But before I say anything, I need to listen.”

Now it was Kevla’s turn to be taken by surprise. “There is much to be done now,” she said. “Perhaps we should speak of this later.”

“If we don’t do this now, we’re not going to,” Jareth said urgently.

Her brown eyes searched his blue ones and finally, she nodded. She knew, as obviously Jareth knew, that eventually, the conversation had to happen. But that did not mean she did not quail from it.

“Very well. I will tell you of my brother, my Lorekeeper, my soul. And when I am done, then you may judge me.”

He seemed calmer than she had imagined he would be, and for that she was grateful. Would he understand, once she had told him the truth of what had transpired between her and Jashemi? Or would it mean nothing to him-would he see her as someone to be reviled and rejected? And why, why did it matter so much to her? Even if they were both head over heels in love, they could not consummate it.

Get this over with, she thought fiercely. Get it over with and move forward.

“You know some of the tale already,” she said quietly, looking at their still-clasped hands. “You know that I was the daughter of a halaan; that I solicited customers for her so that we could eat. When I was ten, Tahmu-kha-Rakyn, the khashim of the House of Four Waters, came to take me away. I didn’t know he was my father. I didn’t know that for a long time.”

The telling was both difficult and yet easier than she had expected. The words came effortlessly, as if they had been sitting, waiting to be spoken, for a great while.

“There, I met the young lord-Jashemi-kha-Tahmu. He was the heir to the Clan. It seems impossible that no one else noticed the resemblance between the father and both his children, but it would appear that servants are invisible in Arukan.”

She glanced briefly at Jareth, and saw that his face was open and unguarded. No judgment from him…not yet.

“Jashemi, though, saw at once that we were brother and sister. He wanted to get to know me, and contrived ways for us to be together. At one point, his mother, Yeshi, also realized the truth when she saw us playing in secret. Her anger was dreadful. I was beaten and sent to work in the kitchens, I no longer slept in the house or—“

Even now, her fall from esteemed handmaiden to being treated worse than a five-score still hurt Kevla when she recalled it. Worst had been the interminable days of incomprehension, of not understanding why she had so fallen out of favor. Now that she knew, she felt a sort of sympathy for Yeshi.

“Jashemi and I continued to see each other in secret. We were…drawn to one another. I didn’t understand, but I was not about to question the only good thing in my life. He thought it was the natural desire for siblings to be together. Neither of us knew about the Dancers, or the Lorekeepers, though we both had troubling dreams. I dreamed of the Great Dragon of my people, the lawgiver and judge, breathing fire upon me as my powers began to manifest. Jashemi dreamed of other lives, other people, and of a great and terrible Shadow that erased everything as if it had never been. Neither of us said anything to anyone else. We would be burned as demons if we did.”

Jareth was gazing at her intently, seemingly hanging on every word. She let her eyes settle for a moment on his beautiful face, then glanced back at their joined hands.

“That pull we felt toward one another-I realize now that of course it was the natural drawing of the Lorekeeper to his Dancer. But we misunderstood-we interpreted it as love. When my powers were discovered and I was sentenced to be burned to death, he rescued me-forever cutting himself off from his family, his Clan, his culture. He gave up everything to save me. I had thought he was unattainable because he was the young lord of the Clan. Now, with his name gone from him, he was only Jashemi…only the man I had fallen in love with years ago, sensing the bond between us and thinking it was something other than what it truly was.”

Kevla’s face grew hot and she felt tears well in her eyes and close up her throat. This, she had not expected; she had come to terms with Jashemi’s death and his peculiar new role in her life as her soul and guide. But she had not spoken of this in some time. Tahmu was the only one who knew what had happened between his two children; knew the unspeakable horror that keeping Kevla ignorant of her heritage had caused.

“I did not know he was my blood…but he knew. He knew, and was unable to resist the call of Lorekeeper to Dancer, although it was only at the end-only at the moment when he surrendered utterly to the pleasure of our lovemaking—when it all came clear to him.”

She blinked hard. Jareth said nothing and she did not dare look at him.

“We lay together as man and woman. I do not deny it. And even now, I don’t know if I could have resisted him even if I had known he was my brother. The pull to be together-it was overwhelming. But I wish with all my being I had not done so. For it was I who killed my Lorekeeper. He….”

She turned tear-filled eyes up to Jareth, hoping against hope he would understand what she was feeling. She could not read his expression. Gulping, she continued.

“I killed him, Jareth. I am the Flame Dancer. To lie with him was to bring about his death. There was a moment of pleasure such as I have never known before or since…and when I came back to myself, I was covered in ashes. Covered in his ashes.”

She waited for him to recoil, as he had done when he first learned about her transgression. Instead, his face softened and he squeezed her hands, the pale fingers gently grasping the dark. Say something. Say anything, only speak….

“I was married to a woman I adored with my whole heart,” Jareth said quietly. She looked up at him. His blue eyes met hers evenly. “I know a little something about love, Kevla. To have lived the life you lived, to have only one person reach out to with kindness…you would have been inhuman had you not fallen in love with Jashemi.”

He did not stumble over the name. It came easily to his lips. Kevla felt the faintest spark of hope inside her.

“You were ignorant of your connection-both as brother and sister and as Lorekeeper and Dancer. You needed to connect to one another, as all Dancers and their Lorekeepers must.”

Now his voice had a deep sorrow to it. Kevla knew that he was mourning what could have been between Ilta and himself. It had not had to go the way it did; but Ilta was mad beyond saving, and she had turned Jareth against her forever by her treachery.

“I’m sorry, Jareth,” Kevla said impulsively. “In a way I am the lucky one, to have found and loved my Lorekeeper. Even if I…even if I killed him. He is still with me, still in my heart. He is still my soul. Copper has seen him and I know it to be true.”

His face was very still as he regarded her. Here it comes, Kevla thought, bracing herself. Now he will tell me what he thinks of me.

“Do you love him still, Kevla?

It was not the response she had expected. Caught off-guard, she blurted out the truth. “Of course. He was my Lorekeeper. How can I help but love him?”

She watched the hardness spread across his face and knew that she had said the wrong thing.

“I see.”

She opened her mouth to correct his misunderstanding, then froze. Jareth did not despise her for lying with her brother. He’d listened, and he’d understood. She should have known he would. Now he was asking something else entirely. Something she wanted with her whole heart, but that she could never have. To save him, she would have to hurt him. And herself. So she did not say the words that were in her heart. It was best this way. She thought he would leave then, but he did not. He sat silently, staring at their still-clasped hands.

“There will be no other for you, then? You are certain of this?”

It was not what she wanted to do. But it was what she knew she had to. She had revealed too much to Jareth. If he knew how much she cared…how much she loved him…he would try to convince her that somehow, it would be different between them. Convince her that he would not be reduced to ashes covering her body. And because she did love him so much, she could not permit that.

Too, she had a duty. If a Dancer died, so would the world. She couldn’t afford to take the risk. Far, far too much was at stake.

“There will be no other,” she said, trying to keep her voice cool. She failed.

“Kevla, look at me.”

She clenched her teeth. He will die if you do not do this! she told herself. Better you hurt him now and he lives. Better he think your heart cold than burn like Jashemi did in your fire of passion.

Summoning every ounce of will she possessed, she lifted her eyes to the piercing blue of his gaze.

“What you did wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know Jashemi was your brother, and you didn’t mean to-to harm him. I am coming to care for you, Kevla. Maybe even love you. Tell me there’s a chance. If there is-if you could love me-I swear to you, we will find a way to make this work.”

His hands, resting on hers, squeezed gently. Kevla’s heart slammed against her chest, but she did not move.

“Jareth, please,” she said. “You’re only making this harder.”

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he said. “Tell me I’m a fool, that what I believe is between us is just wishful thinking. I don’t think you can.”

And for a long, awful moment, she couldn’t. She couldn’t look into those eyes and utter the greatest lie she could imagine. Her lips moved, but nothing came out. His face softened, and a tender smile began to curve his lips. Seeing the love on his face jolted Kevla into doing the cruel thing that needed to be done to save him.

“You force me to it. Very well, if you need it said—I don’t love you, Jareth.”

He froze, the smile melting. “I don’t believe you.”

“You should,” Kevla said, removing her hands from his warm grasp. “It’s the truth. Please, Jareth. Don’t make this worse than it has to be. Anything you thought was between us was just my need for a friend. Two Dancers, seeking comfort from each other. Nothing more than that. I’m sorry.”

For the briefest instant, she saw the agony in his gaze, but then a mask settled over his features. The pain that washed over Kevla was almost overwhelming. Somehow, she had not truly expected him to believe her…but he had.

He opened his mouth to speak.

“Oh good, now I don’t have to go track you down too, Jareth,” came a voice. Both Dancers started and turned to the door. Copper stood there, regarding them both. “Are you ready to visit the Grove?”

Chapter Six

Kevla all but leaped to her feet, seizing the opportunity. Her resolve was true, but her feelings for Jareth were intense. She feared that he would manage somehow to convince her to try, to take a chance on what they felt for one another. The less time she spent with him alone, the safer he would be.

“Yes indeed,” Kevla said. “Jareth and I were discussing Bram’s offer to stay for a bit.”

Copper’s normally neutral expression brightened slightly. “That would be fun! I would love to show you my father’s realm. Well…mine, too. Maybe. I’m not sure yet.”

Kevla was again utterly confused by the strange young woman. Jareth had gotten to his feet and they all moved toward the door. She wanted to follow up on this, but Copper had already moved on to another topic.

“What do you think of Anam Bram?”

“I-have only just met him,” Kevla said, following the Sea Dancer down the hall and descending the tightly-twining staircase. “As I said last night, I think you are lucky that the Lorekeepers-the Namaraban-have been available as a resource and support for you. And Bram, I assume, is your Lorekeeper.”

She felt Jareth behind her, heard his booted feet. She wished he’d say something.

“Oh, no. I don’t have a Lorekeeper. Not the way you mean.”

Kevla frown a little as they stepped out into the courtyard and walked its length. “You have not met him or her yet, then.”

“Anam Bram is very confused about that. I don’t think he’s here.”

“Dead then?” Jareth’s voice was blunt.

Copper shrugged her thin shoulders. “Maybe. I don’t know.” She seemed quite unconcerned about it. Suddenly she threw them one of her strange grins. “It confounds Bram no end. It’s one of the main things he’s been researching since I came back to the land.”

“Back?”

“From the sea. My father took us. Silver-my sister-is still in the ocean with him. I was sent back when I was ten. My time here is almost up.”

Despite the strain between them, Kevla could not help but turn to Jareth with a look of utter confusion on her face. The more Copper “explained” the more perplexing and muddled everything became.

They stepped out of the courtyard into the large clearing, where only a day earlier Kevla, Jareth, the Tiger and the Dragon had landed to an enthusiastic welcome. Only a day, and so much had changed.

Bram was awaiting them, sitting astride a calm-looking brown horse. He was again clad in a blue robe, but this one looked more workaday than anything she had yet seen him in. His eyes brightened as he saw them approach.

“Good morning, good morning! I trust you slept well?”

“Very, thank you,” Kevla said. Jareth just nodded. “I am looking forward to seeing where the Lorekeepers live. But there are so many things I am curious about,” Kevla continued.

“Of course. Ask away. But before you begin—your Companions are already in the Grove, but perhaps you would be more comfortable entering in their company. Summon them if you like.”

“I do not ‘summon’ the Tiger,” Jareth said. His voice was cold.

Bram shrugged and smiled good-naturedly. “Ask, or invite, however you choose to phrase it.”

Kevla needed no second urging. She had missed the Dragon’s hulking, comforting presence. It would be good to see him.

Dragon? Kevla sent. Anam Bram wishes to take us to the Grove. Will you come and bear me there?

Of course. It is a pleasant place, but a bit far as humans walk. I am coming.

Jareth turned to Bram. Kevla could see him sizing the Namaraban up, perusing him. “Copper said she’d been back studying with you for ten years. That her father took her. Queen Riona seemed a bit strained last night. Are Kevla and I walking into something we need to know about?”

That was Jareth, Kevla thought. Straight and to the point. Bram winced slightly.

“Copper…has always been torn between the sea and the land. Her father took her the day she was born, and returned her to us ten years later.”

Copper snorted, reminding Kevla uncannily of the Kelpie that was the girl’s Companion. “He only took me because you told him you were going to throw my sisters in the sea and take me away from Mother.”

Bram flushed. “I…” He sighed. “It is true, and I’m not proud of it. But my hands were tied. We have auguers among the Namaraban, and this was what they told us had to be done. I only wanted what was best for the kingdom. For you, Copper, and the destiny you held.”

“I know you’re sorry, and I know that’s what you thought. But I wonder if your auguers would have decided that if Gold and Silver had looked like me.” Copper turned to Kevla and Jareth. “Fialaban and human don’t exactly mix well when it comes to children. Gold was born dead. And Silver-well, she’s beautiful, but she certainly doesn’t look like a human girl. Or a Fialaban for that matter.”

So that was the reason the king dwelt in the sea, and the queen on the land. A rift two decades old, caused by a “seer’s” determination. “Gold and Silver were-malformed?”

Bram nodded. “I delivered all three of them. Gold-could never have survived outside the womb. Her hair and face were beautiful, but the rest of her-the heart breaks to relate it. Silver is more-“he glanced sidelong at Copper, who stared at him as if challenging him to say anything against her sister. “More…piscine than human. Their father named them for the precious metals they reminded him of. I…I turned to the auguers for advice. And I intended to do what they said was necessary.”

Kevla thought sadly of her own people’s folly. “The people of Arukan were told something similar by their seers,” she said. “For millennia, the Great Dragon was unseen by my people, but revered as a god. All sorts of faulty beliefs were attributed to him. We thought he wanted us to expose any child born deformed, or blind or deaf-imperfect in any way. It is only because of his great compassion that they survived. Such words must have hurt your mother greatly, Copper.”

“Mother was going to agree. She believed in the auguers too,” Copper said almost idly. “And after all, she was the one who tricked Father into living on land for so long. It seems fair that I went with him into the sea that night.”

“Tricked him? What do you mean?” Jareth frowned.

“Fialaban have a magical necklace,” Copper said. “If you steal their necklace, they can’t go back to the sea. Mother stole Father’s necklace and hid it, to force him to stay on the land with her. He must have found it at some point, because as I said—on the night I was born, he went back to the ocean with me and Silver.”

Kevla was stunned. No wonder there was tension in the court of Queen Riona. A queen who had forced her lover out of his oceanic realm so that she might have him constantly by her side. An advisor who had insisted on tossing one daughter back to the sea and taking the other away. There was a sort of tug-of-war over Copper that had been going on apparently for the girl’s entire lifetime. She had thought Copper lucky, to escape the pain and suffering that she and Jareth had undergone. Now, Kevla was not at all certain she would have traded places with the strange little Sea Dancer, despite the torments of her own past.

Even as Kevla spoke, she heard the familiar sound of great wings, and smiled slightly as the Dragon landed gracefully. She went to her Companion and stroked his scales, grateful for the distraction. She climbed atop him and hugged him.

Your heart is heavy, the Dragon sent tenderly.

I had to tell him I didn’t love him. He is hurting and angry, and I am sick at the lie. But I know what happened to Jashemi. I cannot permit that to happen to Jareth.

The Dragon said nothing further, and Kevla was uncertain whether he approved or not. It did not matter. It was the only thing she could do.

Copper walked boldly up and patted the Dragon. “Ha! He is warm-almost hot. Kelpie is cool to the touch. He is always cool.”

“How did you meet him?” Jareth asked.

“I heard him calling me. In my head. I was practicing survival training with Liadan. She said that the first thing you need to do is find shelter. I said, I would find water. And so I went to where he was calling me, and up he came.” She turned, smiling. “Just like now.”

Sure enough, both the Tiger and the Kelpie were running swiftly toward their Dancers. The contrast between the graceful, undulating movements of the Blue Tiger and the jerky, capering stride of the Kelpie was striking.

“Yes, my little Dancer, I found you, and I took you away,” laughed the Kelpie, prancing around Copper. She giggled and leaped onto his back. Kevla did not miss the sight of Jareth turning to embrace his Companion, nor of the massive cat rubbing her head against him reassuringly.

“Liadan was horrified,” Bram said wryly. “The Kelpie is a folk tale among our people-or used to be. We believed it to be an evil water spirit, who takes people aboard its back and then returns to the watery pools that are its homes-drowning the rider in the process.”

Kelpie and Copper exchanged glances and both burst out laughing. “As if the Sea Dancer could drown,” Copper said, almost scornfully. The Kelpie suddenly sprang forward. “Come on!” Copper cried. “We’ll race you!”

The Tiger sighed and shook her head. “Kelpie, Kelpie,” she muttered under her breath, and with Jareth atop her she moved in a more sedate but still swift manner after the Kelpie. The Dragon chuckled, a deep rumbling that sounded like the earth shaking, and moved languidly.

Bram, on his more ordinary mount, fell behind. “Wait for me at the gate!” he cried.

The path to the Grove was a clear one and not too dotted with trees, so the Dragon lifted himself up into the air, flying slowly so as not to arrive too far ahead of the others. The Grove was not far as the Dragon flew, and he set down gently in the rolling, flower-starred meadow outside it.

Slowly Kevla slid off the Dragon’s back, staring. Before was a huge ring of ancient trees, growing in a perfect circle. They towered above her, seemingly stretching as if to touch the white clouds that floated past in the blue sky. The path ended at what Bram had so off-handedly referred to as a “gate”, but which was unlike anything she had ever seen. Made of branches that had grown together, it reminded Kevla briefly of the wall of thorny trees through which she and Jareth had had to battle in order to reach the Ice Maiden. She shivered at the recollection. But there was nothing here that felt dangerous or threatening. The branches that were as entwined as joined hands were healthy and whole, and she could even see foliage decorating them. Kevla could tell by the soft orange glow that there were fires and torches on the other side of this natural gate.

“How very beautiful,” came Jareth’s voice.

Kevla started. The Tiger moved as silently as one might expect from a cat, even one as large as she, and Kevla had not heard the beast’s approach. Jareth stepped forward and respectfully placed a hand on the entwined branches. He smiled softly; clearly he sensed the life within.

“Can you open it?” Kevla asked.

“I could,” he replied, “But I don’t think that would be courteous.”

Kevla heard hoofbeats coming along the earthen path and turned to see first Copper, and then Bram. Copper slipped off the Kelpie like the Dancer she was named for while the beast was still in mid-stride. Bram reined in his horse beside the Kelpie, who shied and side-stepped away from the ordinary animal. The Anam dismounted with much less grace than Copper.

“From now on, the Grove is yours to visit as you will,” Bram said, walking up to the gate and placing his hand on it.

There was a straining, whip-like sound and before Kevla’s eyes, the branches that formed the gate disentangled themselves from one another. They snapped back vigorously, swaying from the movement, then finally stilled as if waiting for them to enter. Kevla and Jareth hesitated, but Copper strode forward. This was all familiar to her.

Jareth glanced at Kevla, then they too went inside. Kevla expected their Companions to accompany them, but they remained outside.

“I am too large,” the Dragon said. “I will stay out here. Perhaps you will keep me company, Tiger?”

The Tiger yawned and stretched, revealing sharp white teeth and a pink tongue. “Gladly.”

“I’ll stay too,” said the Kelpie. “It’s boring in there.”

Kevla had always known that in the end, it all fell to the Dancers. Not their Lorekeepers, who could advise and direct them; not their Companions, who could assist with strength and devotion. Still, she felt a pang as she realized how easily the Dragon was stepping back from their profound connection now that three of the Dancers had gathered. She supposed it was to be expected, perhaps even necessary, but she didn’t like it. Especially now that she and Jareth were on such strained terms. She waved a little to the Dragon, then turned to see what the beautiful Grove enclosed.

Kevla felt herself start to smile as she looked around. She wasn’t certain what she had expected-perhaps an austere enclave of intellectuals looking down their noses at the primal, primitive Dancers. Instead, she saw a village much like the one that surrounded the castle. If it weren’t for the fact that everyone she saw was clad in the Namaraban blue-a color forbidden to anyone else-she might have thought she was in any small village. She heard the sound of the smith’s hammer, the gentle whicker of horses, and she smelled baking bread. They had made their own little community here; their numbers were large enough to support it.

But what made this place stand out-what was clearly delighting Jareth, from the expression on his face-was the fact that these people did not seem to have imposed their will upon the land on which they dwelt, but had integrated themselves with it. There were no huts, no stone houses-the dwellings here were worked into a landscape of standing stones and the giant roots of the mammoth trees whose protective trunks and branches encircled it. She heard the liquid song of a bird and the rustle of the wind in the trees.

Kevla decided she liked the Namaraban.

“The trees were first planted a thousand years ago,” said Bram. He stood quietly beside her, exuding pride. “We have nurtured them ever since.”

“The earth is happy here,” Jareth said. “I can feel it. You have been kind to it, and it has responded by blessing those who dwell here.”

“It pleases me that you feel that way, Stone Dancer,” Bram said. “The Grove is, as you now see, a circle of mighty trees that encloses our little Namaraban community. The trees were planted when the first Namaraban arrived a thousand years ago, and we have nurtured the Grove ever since.” He looked about, a smile of fondness and pride curving his full lips. “Other lands have cathedrals or temples. We have the Grove.”

Kevla saw that the area enclosed by the Grove contained many smaller ones. There were clearings, perhaps for rituals, a spring, flat stones and circles of stones, and several of the buildings created by working with the trees and their root systems.

From these buildings now emerged the Namaraban. They stood, keeping a respectful distance, but regarding Jareth and Kevla with a kind of hunger in their eyes. Kevla realized that she was seeing the ultimate development of the Lorekeepers. Honored, cultivated, respected, listened to, the Lorekeepers of Reshan represented the pinnacle which all Lorekeepers could potentially achieve. She realized that she, at least, had made up her mind to stay for a while: simply speaking with these Lorekeepers and reading their documentation would yield important information, she was certain.

“At another time, I will introduce you to the rest of the Namaraban,” said Bram. “But for now, there is a specific place I wish to take you. Please follow me.”

Copper scurried up to him, her face shining. “The cave? Are you finally going to let me see the cave?”

Bram smiled and touched the upturned face gently. “Yes, my dear girl,” he said. “Now that two of your fellows have joined you, I think it’s time.”

Kevla and Jareth glanced at one another. Bram turned to them and explained, “You will be welcome in the Grove and surrounding areas at any time. But the cave is deeply sacred to us. I would ask that you not venture there unescorted.”

Bram led them on a small, winding path that took them out of the settlement, past a circle of standing stones and the spring Kevla had heard earlier, across a flat meadow and over a gently rolling hill. Kevla shook her head as she realized that everything she beheld was protectively enclosed by the ancient ring of sacred trees.

As the path sloped downwards, Kevla saw they were heading toward the base of another hill. Nestled in shadows, the entrance to the cave of which Bram had spoken was hidden from her eyes at first. He paused by a rock, murmured something, and suddenly Kevla could see it: a black smudge against the slightly lighter blackness of the shadowy hill.

“Here is the heart of what it means to be Namaraban,” Bram said in a hushed voice. “Follow me closely. Do not stray.”

Kevla conjured a small ball of fire. Bram glanced at her and smiled. “There is light in the caves at all times, Kevla. You may extinguish your flame.”

For some reason, Kevla felt embarrassed. She closed her palm and the little fire disappeared. She followed Bram and Copper inside the cave. Jareth brought up the rear.

The entrance was narrow and both Kevla and Jareth, who were taller than either Bram or Copper, had to watch their heads. Kevla could see that Bram had spoken the truth and there was light in the chamber up ahead. When they emerged in the chamber, Kevla gasped.

Chapter Seven

The paintings on the cave walls were so realistic that for an instant she had mistaken them for living people. There were five of them; five individuals who looked oddly familiar yet whom she knew she had never seen before.

“This,” said Bram softly, “is the work of the man who founded the Namaraban. He had the gift of seeing into the future. He saw you…all of you…as you were and as you would be, each time.”

Kevla’s hand went to her mouth even as she heard Jareth swear under his breath. Even Copper seemed surprised.

“This is the First World,” Bram continued in that same reverent tone. “This is how the five Dancers appeared the first time they manifested.”

Kevla looked from face to face, searching for herself and not finding it. “Which…which one…I’m sorry, I can’t remember….”

Bram smiled and pointed to the woman with long fair hair in the center of the group of five. “She was the Flame Dancer,” he said, “and this, Jareth, is who you were.”

Kevla could not believe it. The woman whom she had once been was as fair as Jareth, with large blue eyes and a pink, soft mouth. She was older, perhaps in her forties. Kevla looked for something familiar, but could find nothing.

Jareth stared at the short, squat man atop a beautiful black horse. The man had feathers braided into his hair and beard and looked quite fierce. Jareth raised his eyebrows; clearly, he was having the same difficulty identifying with this aspect of himself as Kevla was.

“Ugh…I look old!” Copper stated, and indeed, the woman who had been the first manifestation of the Sea Dancer was elderly, with long, wispy white hair. “I don’t think I like her.”

“You should,” Bram said. “She, and the other four Dancers, saved their world.”

Kevla was too stunned to pay much attention to the other two Dancers. She was reeling from having come face to face, albeit only through a painting on a wall, with who she had once been. Bram let them look their fill in silence, and when he sensed they were ready, he indicated a chamber to their right.

“This is the Second World,” said Bram as they entered the next chamber. “These Dancers were not as successful as the first. This was the first time the Shadow triumphed.”

As she regarded the five images, Kevla again could not tell which one she was. Bram pointed to a man, square of jaw, powerful of build. He was young, in his early twenties, and in those eyes Kevla saw the raw energy of youth. How had that long-ago artist managed to capture them all so vividly?

Jareth’s former incarnation was easier to identify-a tall man with black hair and bristling with weapons, clad in a tabard that sported a stylized Blue Tiger on a white background.

“The Legion,” Jareth said quietly. “I remember the Legion of the Blue Tiger. All of my men perished in that battle…hundreds of them….”

He fell silent. Kevla looked at the others; the thirty-year old, composed woman who was the Wind Dancer, the little slip of a golden-haired girl who was the Sea Dancer. She was young, so young—thirteen, fourteen? And the old man, leaning on a staff—the wisdom and strength of Soul made flesh.

In the third Chamber, they saw again the Dancers who had triumphed. Kevla stared at the little boy she had been—five, six years old…how had he been strong enough to defeat the Shadow?—and felt a hint of amusement at the skinny, scholarly girl that had been Jareth. A tender smile curved Jareth’s lips; was he remembering being that girl, or was he thinking of his own beloved daughter at about that same age?

The fourth chamber was the most difficult for Kevla to view so far. The memory of being stabbed to death in an alleyway was still with her. She gazed at herself, thinking again how odd a thing the spirit was, how strange that she, who felt herself quite definitely female, had more than once been equally at home in a man’s body. Pale skin, almost like Jareth’s, brown hair, hazel eyes, a soft mouth, a thin body that would never have a chance to fill out. Fine clothes, a jeweled dagger, and the pouch full of coins that had led to his-her—murder.

Kevla shuddered, then turned her eyes to the painting of the Stone Dancer. This was almost more shocking than beholding her own image. Jareth in his previous incarnation looked much like she, Kevla, did now. Long, straight black hair, dark skin, dark eyes. The Stone Dancer of the Fourth World was dressed in clothing made from animal hides, adorned with beads and feathers. She wore nothing on her feet. She looked achingly young, Kevla thought. Kevla could not forget how this Dancer had died…murdered as well, but not by a stranger. No…it was Jareth’s own Lorekeeper, the Dancer’s own soul, who had taken the life of this beautiful young woman.

Jareth stared raptly at the girl he had been. He reached up as if to touch the painted face, then paused. The image was a thousand years old; who knew what a touch might do to the paint.

Bram let them look for a time, then said quietly, “Are you ready for the Fifth World?”

Kevla and Jareth exchanged glances. Thus far, despite their connections to these people, they were strangers. Kevla was not certain she was ready to confront what this Lorekeeper of so long ago envisioned her as, but there was little choice.

“I am,” said Copper. “I want to see what I look like.”

She actually pushed past Bram and went into the chamber first. Kevla and Jareth followed.

The moment they stepped into this earthen room, Kevla gasped. She was gazing into her own eyes. The painting had captured her as perfectly as if the artist had painted her from life, his eyes darting from his model to the work of art he was creating.

Her hand went to her throat. And there was Jareth, as proud and yet kind as she knew him to be; Copper, her gaze aloof and cool…and the two they had not yet met.

She stepped forward, hungry to learn more about the Wind Dancer and the Soul Dancer. She knew which was which immediately though she could not explain the knowing. This one…almost as tall as Jareth, but a bit slighter of build, his skin as brown as hers, his hair black as night. He was the Wind Dancer. He wore a beautifully embroidered vest over his bare torso, and billowy breeches adorned his legs. He sported jewelry on each powerful wrist and at his throat was a locket containing…what? Kevla somehow felt certain that the painter had known. He wore a short, neatly trimmed beard and his teeth showed white against the black hair, and his eyes danced. Kevla liked him at once, but at the same time, sensed a certain…arrogance.

Her gaze traveled to the Soul Dancer. The Dragon had told her that while Fire was the leader, the Soul Dancer, the master of Spirit, was the most powerful of all. And yet, this was no strong man, but a boy, barely out of his teens if that. He seemed small compared to the other Dancers, save for Copper. He wore beautiful robes in shades of purple and silver, but he looked somehow lost in them. He seemed…sad and a little bit afraid.

Her heart went out to the boy. It seemed that this Dance was the most difficult of all, and clearly, the sensitive Soul Dancer had suffered more than any of them.

She wanted to take him into her arms and comfort him, tell him that they were coming, that soon, all five would stand together against the shadow. She sensed that somehow, this boy felt terribly alone.

Copper had advanced so that she was only a few inches away from the painting on the wall and was studying the representation of her face with intense scrutiny.

“Is this really how I look?” she asked Bram.

“It is,” Bram told her.

“Huh,” Copper said, and wrinkled her pert little nose. “I’m not sure I like it. Do I really look like that?”

Kevla glanced at the girl, confused by her comments. “Surely you have seen your face in a mirror or lake surface,” she said.

“No, I haven’t,” Copper replied distractedly. “Do I really have that many freckles?”

“Copper cannot see her reflection,” Bram explained. “Instead, she can see…other things.”

Kevla glanced and Jareth. They were both thinking the same thing: that Kevla could see other people in fire’s dancing flames.

“Other people?” Jareth asked.

“Other people,” Copper replied, stepping back. “Other places, things that might happen…surely I am not so scrawny.”

Kevla sighed. Copper was more interested in the painting’s accuracy than in the fact that it had been painted a thousand years ago by a man who had never seen her.

“Tell me more about the artist,” she asked Bram.

The Anam nodded. “He came here from a place far distant and created the Grove for us to live in. He had visions—visions that have proven, over the centuries, to be accurate. As you can see in the fact that he captured your images so precisely. His name was Caldan.’

Jareth inhaled swiftly. “Caldan,” he repeated. Kevla’s eyes had widened at the name for she, too, recognized it.

“The Lorekeeper of Lamal!” she said. “The one who enchanted the selva. Hanru said he had left Lamal, but no one knew his destination. He came here.”

“What?” Bram regarded them insistently and Kelva couldn’t help but smile. For a change, they were the ones imparting information to him.

“Caldan was a Lorekeeper who lived in my native land of Lamal a thousand years ago,” Jareth said. Bram listened raptly. “He foresaw that the Lorekeepers of Lamal would be at risk, and he disguised them from the man who would harm them by turning them into animals. According to Hanru, he had some sort of powerful object, some kind of magic at his disposal. He then left Lamal, but no one there knew his destination. Apparently he came to Reshan.”

“What happened to the magical object he had?” Kevla asked. “Is it still in the Namaraban’s possession?”

Bram looked more than a little bit shaken by the information Jareth had just imparted. “No, we know nothing about such an item. I wish we did…we would have put it to good use. Perhaps this was what helped shield Reshan from the mainland for so long.”

Copper was barely aware of the conversation going on around her. She listened with half an ear, but there was something else calling to her. Something much more intriguing than listening to Bram and the newcomers babble about Lorekeepers and things that had happened a thousand years ago.

Sea Dancer…

The voice was inside her head, but she was not distressed. She sensed that it held no malice toward her. While the others spoke in excited tones, she turned as if pulled and beheld a small opening in the stone. Another chamber? It had to be.

Copper glanced casually over her shoulder. They were still deep in discussion. She moved slowly toward the crack, her heart racing, the back of her neck tingling with apprehension. At any moment she expected to hear Bram cry out, “Where are you going, Copper?”

But he did not. The only thing she heard now was the soft voice, calling her by her title, but not her name.

She had reached it now. She smirked a bit. Jareth, large and muscular as he was, would have had a tough time negotiating it. Even Kevla and Bram would have difficulty, but her smaller size enabled her to slip through easily. She edged along sideways, her back pressed against the cold, wet stone, her hands slightly out in front of her. With each step she extended a foot carefully; she did not want to twist an ankle or become wedged in here. How embarrassing it would be to have to call for help!

She made good progress. The passageway suddenly and quite unexpectedly opened up into a large chamber. There was light here, and Copper felt a sudden stab of disappointment. So much for discovering a new secret chamber; the Namaraban had obviously been here before. The light was blue-green and soft, coming from strange globes set up in the cavern, and hid almost more than it revealed. She blinked, letting her eyes get accustomed to the dim glow. There was something reflecting the light back, and as she stepped forward cautiously Copper saw that there was a pool in the center of the earthen chamber.

A shiver ran down the length of her spine.

Sea Dancer…come forward….

Whoever…whatever…was calling her lay in the depths of this little lake. Copper continued to move forward, ready to bolt should such action be warranted, but she was more curious than apprehensive. She knelt on the hard rock beside the water, noting how still the surface seemed. It would be an excellent scrying pool, she thought, and peered down.

Copper had always been able to see things in mirrors or pools of still water that no one else could. She smiled softly as the images paraded themselves in front of her. This time, she beheld a vast stretch of sand. It reminded her of the beach she was so familiar with, except there was no ocean to be seen. People with dark skin rode strange-looking creatures with large hindquarters, tiny forepaws and fluffy tails. Copper thought it was a market of some sort. It looked colorful and lively and she would have liked to be there.

Then the image changed. The bright colors faded, coalesced, into a single image.

Copper gasped.

For the first time in her young life, Copper gazed at her reflection.

Thanks to the portrait, she knew it to be her own image. She gazed at sharp features, freckles, large green eyes and red hair bound up in a thick braid that now slipped from her shoulders and threatened to disrupt the still surface of the water. She caught the braid before it could do so.

So, this is what it is like to look in a mirror, Copper thought with a brush of awe. This is what everyone else sees every day.

An amusing thought struck her and, giggling, she obeyed it. She made a hideous face, fully expecting to see her reflection imitate her as everyone said it did.

The face did not move, and Copper tasted a hint of fear.

This was her face…her reflection…she knew it. And yet….

“Hello, Sea Dancer,” said Copper’s reflection.

Copper gasped. “Hello,” she said cautiously. “Who are you?”

“My identity is not important. All you need to know is that I am a true friend to you and the other Dancers. My time here is brief. I have come to warn you.”

Copper wished the Kelpie was here with her. He always had a good sense about people. He would be able to tell her if this person who wore her face was a friend, as she claimed, or an enemy.

“Warn me about what?”

“You know you were born to stand against the Shadow.”

“Of course. That’s not much of a warning.”

“That battle, you know you must fight. But there are other enemies that you do not yet know of. Enemies who would see you fail in that goal, or turn your power to their benefit,” her reflection continued. It looks worried…really worried, Copper thought. “The first is a man known as the Emperor. He has already sent an army against Kevla’s people, and he has corrupted Jareth’s own Lorekeeper. His intent is to see to it that the Dancers will never stand against the Shadow.”

A chill swept through Copper. Her reflection was telling her things that she could verify, if she so chose. It seemed confident that Copper would believe it.

“And the second enemy?”

The reflection hesitated. “The revelation will cause you pain. Someone you love and trust is planning to betray you.”

Copper’s green eyes went wide. “Go on,” she said quietly.

Bram was fascinated by Jareth’s recounting of what had happened with the selva. Kevla listened with half an ear as she continued to regard the images of the two Dancers they had yet to meet, searching their painted eyes as if she could somehow glean something about the actual men whose faces they bore.

“Jareth, you must spend some time with the Namaraban and let them set down this story,” Bram said. “Kevla, you as well. This is such a precious opportunity for us. I hope you understand.”

Kevla turned and smiled at Bram. “I would like very much to stay. We had visions that—“

Her eyes widened slightly. The images that had filled her mind when she and Jareth had joined hands such a short time ago now returned. Swirling letters in a language she did not understand, a sword-a sword that clove in two a head that bore two faces. Male and female. She now realized that those two faces were those of Riona and Bram.

Bram frowned slightly. “Yes? Perhaps one of the Namaraban could help you decipher those visions.”

Jareth gazed at her, his eyes narrowing. Kevla composed herself. “Yes, perhaps so. Jareth and I have learned mostly by trial and error. It would be good to learn instead from teachers.”

Bram grinned happily. “This is very exciting. The Namaraban will be thrilled at the chance to spend time with the Dancers. Copper can-where is she, anyway?”

“I’m right here,” Copper said. Kevla turned. She was certain that the girl hadn’t been there a moment ago. “I was curious about that passageway.”

Bram made a tsk-ing sound. “Copper, you must not always go where your curiosity leads you. It could be dangerous.”

Copper turned her oddly composed face on Bram. “Dangerous? How?”

“That’s a narrow passageway. Even the Namaraban don’t go there often. You could have hurt yourself.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“And you are very lucky. Come. The Namaraban are so anxious to meet you, and I think they’ve been very patient so far.”

Anam Bram smiled as he ushered them all before him. Copper dutifully followed, but she was not thinking of the Namaraban, or even the two strange Dancers who had dropped from the sky into her life just yesterday.

The words of her reflection haunted her. She kept her face composed, but she had been shaken to her core. In them midst of her fear and uncertainty, one thing stood out blazingly clear.

Somehow, she would have to find a way back to the cave and speak again with her reflection.

Chapter Eight

“Intriguing,” said the Emperor, but the Advisor knew he meant other words: frustrating, infuriating, irritating. About a foot in front of the Emperor’s face, the Tenacru hovered. It bathed his sharp features in a scarlet radiance.

“I know she is in the West,” the Emperor went on, his fingers dropping beside him to caress the imprisoned ki-lyn. As always, she shrank, quivering, from his touch; as always, he forced his caress upon her.

“She is the Sea Dancer. She is always in the West. But I cannot sense her as I can the others. She is…invisible to me.”

His eyes were distant, unfocused. “Intriguing,” he repeated.

“Your Excellency,” said the Mage in his deep, hollow voice, “give it time. The magic necessary to control the Tenacru has only just begun to flower. Give your powers the chance to blossom, to ripen to fullness.”

The Advisor glared at the Mage, wondering what this mysterious, sinister being knew about flowers and blossoming and ripeness. Things had not been the same since his arrival; his, and that of the Arukani woman Yeshi. The Advisor neither liked nor trusted these two new people with whom he was supposed to be working. He thought longingly of the time when it was just him and the Emperor, when his voice was the one the young leader harkened to.

Yeshi was off doing…something. She had not seen fit to tell the Advisor of her plans. But the Emperor was apparently satisfied, and so the Advisor supposed he must needs be as well. The Mage had repaired the damage done to the shining, crimson object that he referred to as the Tenacru. Now it hovered in the air, bobbing slightly, radiating its blood-hued glow as steadily as if it had never been shattered into dozens of pieces by the charging ki-lyn.

The Advisor was beginning to taste the first bitter tang of worry. Thus far, the Emperor had faced two setbacks from the Dancers. First the troublesome Kevla, the Flame Dancer, had somehow managed to unite a superstitious, tribal people and gotten them to stand against the Emperor’s well-trained army-an army which, incidentally, had greatly outnumbered the Arukani. True, Kevla was possessed of remarkable powers, being a Dancer; and equally true, she had her Dragon Companion with her. But still, the Emperor had smarted from what he perceived as an insult. The Advisor recalled that the woman Yeshi had told the Emperor that she had a personal grudge against Kevla and would do anything she could to destroy the girl. So she was off somewhere, presumably doing precisely that.

Even more frustrating to both the Emperor and his Advisor had been the defeat of the Emperor’s own creation, the Ice Maiden. The Emperor had learned his lesson with Kevla, and when he turned his frightening attentions to the Stone Dancer, he had seen to it that he had not one but two allies-the Maiden and Jareth Vasalen’s own Lorekeeper. Ilta, who was the soul of a woman trapped inside the body of her twin brother Altan, had gone quite mad. The Advisor had watched as the Emperor easily tempted the girl with promises of a body that matched her soul and assurances of Jareth’s love. Yet somehow that masterful plan, too, had been thwarted by the two Dancers.

And now here was this third, this Sea Dancer who for some reason no one understood, the Emperor could not sense. He was now attempting to utilize the magic of the Tenacru to solve the puzzle the Sea Dancer’s elusiveness posed-magic no one save this cryptic Mage fully understood; magic that seemed to the Advisor uncertain and untrustworthy.

Rather like the Mage himself, the Advisor thought.

He glanced over at the ki-lyn. Ever since the Emperor had imprisoned the lovely creature, she had opposed them at every turn. But the Emperor was powerful, and she was largely toothless in her defiance. Sometimes, if they let their guard down, she would act, as she had done earlier with the Tenacru. But most often she crouched trembling at the Emperor’s feet, bound by a seemingly fragile chain, all her ancient, deep, primal power leashed. As she was doing now.

And yet…the Advisor saw how the ki-lyn looked upon the Mage, and he knew that somehow, he and the beast shared the same opinion of this interloper.

The thought disturbed him. Was he going soft? Even as the thought occurred to him he felt the Mage’s eyes upon him. He broke out in a cold sweat as he wondered: Can this being read minds?

The Emperor strode down the labyrinthine twists and turns of the hidden rooms beneath his keep. Few ventured here-not the Advisor, though he kept insisting that he should accompany his lord; not the Mage, who was wise enough not to make such a request but whose yearning to do so was palpable. Yeshi, of course, had not cared about what-who-was imprisoned here. She was consumed by her own motivations, and that was exactly how the Emperor wanted it.

He took the ki-lyn with him everywhere, save this one place. There was danger if he brought the pretty beast here. So when he decided to pay a visit to the most important inhabitant of the dungeon, he had the creature securely bound by both physical and magical means. It always looked at him sadly when he did that, for it knew whom he was about to visit…and why.

The Emperor cursed under his breath. Even now, even though he had set his course in the certain knowledge that it was the right one, the ki-lyn’s silent reproach cut him to the core. He wished he could simply kill her and be done with it, as the Advisor had suggested. But things were always more complex than one might wish.

There were many imprisoned here. He had added to his collection over the years. Some were young, children still; some were in the twilight of their lives. He yet scoured his Empire for more of them, but they were not stupid.

The Lorekeepers of the Empire were now in hiding.

He passed row after row of heavy wooden doors with small windows through which food, drink and the resulting filled chamber pots could be passed. Sometimes, when a Lorekeeper had been…sufficiently convinced to speak, those doors would be opened and the wretch brought forth, blinking, into the light of day. Well, into the light of the Emperor’s quarters. The Emperor enjoyed these times, when the dispirited Lorekeeper, hands and feet manacled, would speak in a monotone some tidbit of importance. The Emperor would listen, and if the news was good or was useful in some fashion-he was wise enough to understand that not all important information was pleasant-he would reward the Lorekeeper who had betrayed the Dancers with good food and drink and a bath. Then they would be returned to their cells, in hopes that they would soon remember something else that would serve the Emperor.

Sometimes, of course, the words were lies. Until the coming of the Mage-who had arrived one night in the snow with the magnificent Tenacru and its staggering powers-the Emperor had been forced to rely upon his own judgment and that of his Advisor in order to determine which Lorekeeper had truly broken faith with the Dancers and which were inventing tales in exchange for an evening’s comforts. Now, though, the glowing red orb would pulsate if a lie was being told, and the foolish prisoner who had thought to trick the Emperor received a beating instead of a bath.

As he passed cell after cell after cell, the Emperor’s excitement grew. He was always excited to see this prisoner, even if the boy never told him anything.

There were guards for each corridor of cells and one at the entrance to the dungeon, but the vital importance of this prisoner necessitated he be assigned his own personal guard. The Emperor felt his heartbeat quicken as that guard bowed to him, then unlocked the heavy door. It swung open with a creak of disuse, and the youth within blinked even as this feeble light struck hazel eyes unaccustomed to brightness.

“Your Excellency,” the boy said, his voice both sad and angry. “How kind of you to pay me a visit.”

“Think nothing of it,” the Emperor said. He nodded to the guard, who closed the door. The absolute darkness was chased away by the light of a single candle. More than once, angry at the prisoner, the Emperor had ordered even that little bastion of light extinguished for days at a time. The boy looked so delicate and frail, and yet he never broke.

And gods knew, the Emperor had used every means short of physical torture to get him to.

They gazed at one another. The Emperor could not hide a grimace of disgust at the rank smell of the tiny room. It was as crude as could be imagined; a chamber pot, a pile of vermin-infested hay, a candle. This prisoner, unlike some of the others, never offered information in exchange for physical comforts. He was pale, almost ghostly beneath the grime; of course, his skin had not felt the kiss of the sun for years now. The Emperor’s eyes bored into the prisoner’s, hoping against hope that today, this moment, might be the moment when he would finally shatter and join the Emperor.

Instead, the young prisoner said in a soft, urgent voice, “How…how is she?”

The Emperor drew back his lips from his teeth in a rictus of a smile.

“Well enough,” he said, knowing exactly of whom the boy spoke. “The ki-lyn continues to be my prisoner, as do you. And, as you know, if you agree to aid me, I will release both of you and embrace you as my friends.”

Even now, even after so many conversations like this one, the pain of knowing that a part of himself was being held prisoner hurt the boy. “This is wrong and I know you know it,” he said quietly. “Why do you persist in this misguided search for a way to avert what we both know must happen?”

The Emperor recoiled. Never before had the prisoner spoken to him so bluntly.

“It is not misguided!” he cried in a voice that was perilously close to a shriek. “I have explained to you time and again….”

They continued to regard one another, neither willing to move an inch from his position. The Emperor felt a wave of helplessness wash over him…an alien sensation. He needed this youth to work with him. He needed the ki-lyn to stop resisting him, stop doing everything she could to thwart him. These two needed to be on his side. How was it they could not see what he was trying to do was reason and not madness?

A terrible thought came to him.

“I can hurt her,” the Emperor said quietly.

The prisoner went, if such a thing was possible, even paler. “You wouldn’t.”

“I know exactly how,” the Emperor continued, pleased that his words had elicited such a reaction.

The youth glanced down, obviously not wanting to reveal more than he already had. He stared at fingers that had long since gone black with grime so deeply embedded that the Emperor doubted that scouring would remove it all.

“I will,” the Emperor continued.

The boy looked up at him, his sweet face composed once again.

“You know how,” he agreed. “And you might want to. But you won’t. You need her and you know it. Just as you need me.”

“I wouldn’t kill her,” the Emperor replied quickly. “But I could cause her great pain.”

The boy smiled. “Just as you have caused me pain?” he challenged quietly. The Emperor’s face grew hot. The boy was right; he had ordered others tortured when it seemed expedient, but never this prisoner, even though he had wanted to, even though his Advisor had suggested such a course of action time and time again. Something always held him back.

He got to his feet. “Simply because I have refrained from doing something in the past out of respect for who you and she are does not mean my indulgence will last forever,” he snapped.

“You’re bluffing.”

Curse him! Why was this boy always so calm? Why did he always have the upper hand? So quiet, so physically fragile, so haunted. And yet their confrontations ended with the Emperor losing his temper and storming out while the boy watched, that damned, knowing smile on his face.

He wanted to order that smile cut off.

But he knew…as the boy knew…that such an order would never come. The Emperor was incapable of seriously harming either the boy or the Dancer’s Companion.

He stared, shaking, at the prisoner, then whirled and seized a ceramic pitcher. Shrieking, he hurled the pitcher against the stone walls. It shattered and the precious water it contained spilled on the floor in a spreading pool.

Without another word, the Emperor stormed out. He said to the guard in a voice loud enough for the prisoner to overhear, “See to it that he does not receive any water for three more days.”

For the first time in years, Yeshi was happy.

Everything had started to slide into a dark, deep pit when her husband had ripped their daughter from her arms to abandon her to death at the Four Waters altar to the Dragon. It was custom, of course, and there was no way Yeshi could have denied the clear imperfections of her unnamed daughter’s face. By law, the little girl had been born to a death sentence.

But knowing that her husband was obeying the law did not prevent the grief-stricken mother from hating him for what he did.

She had crawled out of that pit somehow; to this day, Yeshi did not know how she managed it. But she had left all that was gentle and soft in her in that pit. There, she had divested herself of her love of her son, her enjoyment in the sensual pleasures that had always delighted her. Other blows had awaited her upon emerging from that darkness; the knowledge that Tahmu, her husband, had brought his bai-sha daughter into her household under her very nose; that her own son had befriended this Kevla.

Shattered, betrayed, hatred and a lust for revenge had been all that sustained her. She had plotted to overthrow her husband, but before that sweet plan could be carried out she had been discovered. Her lover had been killed, and she herself had been formally stripped of all rank.

But not of her hatred.

She had gone to the enemy then. First to one of the Emperor’s captains, then on to the Emperor himself. He was young, but not so callow that he did not know an opportunity when it presented itself. Yeshi hated Kevla; the Emperor wanted to see the Dancers halted right where they were. Yeshi did not comprehend his reasons and was certain that although he nodded his head and said he understood, this youth did not comprehend hers.

It didn’t matter. They could be of use to one another.

They had hatched their plans in isolation. He had an advisor, though Yeshi thought little of the man and was pleased that he would not be an integral part of her machinations. No, the Emperor kept his dealings with Yeshi between the two of them-well, the two of them and that strange, pretty creature constantly crouched at his feet. Yeshi disliked it on sight. She sensed its intense desire to thwart her, and Yeshi would no longer be thwarted.

She would ruin Tahmu. She would destroy Kevla. And she would again reach the highest pinnacle her society offered women; perhaps even higher, if she had her way.

The Emperor had given her everything she had requested: men, horses (odd things, in strange colors and lacking the distinctive tusks of good Arukani beasts), supplies, gold with which to purchase items she did not have, services she would require, and the complicity of those she deemed necessary to her plan.

The trek over the mountains had been difficult, but nowhere near as brutal as it had been when she had been forced to walk every step of the way with no food and no water. Now, at least, she had an ornate, padded saddle, plenty of delicacies to tempt her palate, and men and women to serve her every need. She traveled as she ought to-as a respected khashima, with great power and wealth.

The only thing she needed in order to set the plan in motion was a partner. Her spies-the Emperor’s spies, to be exact, but more and more Yeshi was beginning to think of them as hers-had scouted ahead a few weeks before. They came back with reports of a most promising nature, and the names of several who, in their estimations, would not turn unwilling ears to what she had to say.

Yes, Yeshi thought as she entered the land from which she had so ignominiously been exiled; yes, things are about to get better.

Chapter Nine

Kevla was glad that she and Jareth had decided to stay. She was not looking forward to traveling for who knew how long with just the three of them. He had not approached her alone since she had told him the great lie, the lie she’d told to save his life and break her own heart in the process, and it was just as well.

She must have sighed, for the young woman sitting near her said softly, “What troubles my lady Dancer?”

Kevla forced a smile. “Not a thing, Sliah. Only that sometimes I focus so hard I forget to breathe.”

She and the Namaraban woman who had been appointed to assist Kevla when the Anam was unavailable were in what passed for a “chamber” among the Lorekeepers. It was a room formed by the intertwining of huge roots, with a mossy “roof”. Stones that had been smoothed by caring hands served as seats. A curtain of leaves closed over the entrance, and on rare sunny days, what light penetrated within was tinted yellow-green. Rain pattered down, but the little chamber was snug. A little fire burned cheerily in the corner and several candles provided plenty of illumination for Kevla to read. Over the soft sound of the rain-Kevla for some reason thought of Copper’s comment about the ocean “singing” to her-Kevla heard the sounds of metal being worked, even in the rain. The forges were always going. Kevla asked about it once, assuming it was weapons that the Namaraban were working so diligently at turning out.

“Oh no, my lady Dancer,” Sliah had said. “Such mundane and graceless things we leave to the more common smiths. It is jewelry that we Namaraban create. Surely it cannot have escaped your notice that we Reshanaban love our jewelry!” She had extended an arm that was indeed covered with thick golden bracelets, and about her neck was an exquisitely wrought gold torque. Kevla recalled that even the men seemed to enjoy adorning themselves with precious metals.

Sliah chuckled at Kevla’s comment. Kevla found the woman good company. She was a good teacher; Kevla already could read very well and write a passable hand in the elaborate, swirling Namaraban language. “The tales entertain you, then?”

“More than that,” Kevla answered honestly. She found she loved coming here, especially on rainy days-such days seemed decadent to her, water falling so freely from the sky like that—curling up with scrolls that told histories of Dancers past. Who their Lorekeepers were, what memories they had. It was a strange feeling, coming face to face with oneself in such an unusual manner.

“How is Jareth progressing?” she asked, hoping the query sounded casual. Sliah also taught Jareth, whom she tactfullly referred to as “rather set on having his own way.”

Sliah hesitated. “He progresses very well, when he chooses to do so,” she finally said. “He is a very intelligent man and grasps things swiftly. For one who has never learned his letters, already he has a good hand.”

Kevla had expected Jareth would be the one to visit the Grove more than she, as it was so obviously a healthy and harmonious blend of nature and magic. But the Stone Dancer had largely given it a wide berth, although he had agreed to learn to read and write when she had reminded him of the letters they had seen in their vision.

They had seen a sword in their vision too, however, and that was what Jareth pursued. Pursue the sword and, Kevla was beginning to suspect, the woman who taught him how to wield it. Kevla mentally scolded herself. She could not blame Jareth one bit if he sought female companionship elsewhere, after she had gone to such great lengths to tell him she didn’t want him.

Swordsmanship. Kevla grimaced. “I have lost track of time again, lost in these old records,” she told Sliah, getting to her feet and smiling. “Master Eion will not be pleased with me.”

Sliah rose as well, reaching to roll up the parchments and place them in protective treated leather containers. “I have heard he is not so lenient a teacher as I,” Sliah said, smiling at her own daring.

Kevla smiled back. “Like you, Master Eion demands the best from his students. The only difference is whether I receive an ink smudge from using the pen improperly or a bruise from failing to block a blow.”

“Ah,” Sliah said, and dropped a curtsey. “May today be both ink-and bruise-free.”

It wasn’t.

Kevla was beginning to wish she hadn’t argued so strongly in favor of staying.

Surely her body had ached more in the past, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember when. And every time she faltered, just as she had lamented to Sliah, Eion gave her another bruise. Now, as she rubbed her upper arm and glared at him, he laughed.

“Does it please you to beat helpless women?” she snapped.

He saluted her with the wooden sword he used for sparring and replied with mirth in his voice, “Dear lady, if you are helpless, then I should be a happy Swordmaster indeed to have an army of helpless women.”

As always, Eion made her smile when she would much rather be irritated with him. Kevla ducked her head so he wouldn’t see the revealing curve of her lips and continued to rub her smarting arm. He was right to push her has hard as he did, of course. The skills she learned here would come in useful. Even if Kevla never used a sword in combat herself, her new and deeply personal understanding of how to wield one would make her a better general if such fighting needed to be done. The bruises would fade-especially when helped by a certain ointment Liadan had had delivered to her room the first night after Eion began his merciless teachings-as did the hot baths Kevla now began to look forward to each night. She wished that the Reshanaban placed as high a value on massage as the Arukani had; but their warriors were expected not to need such coddling and Kevla had been laughed at by Liadan the first time she had made such a request. Though Liadan had quickly recovered and tried to be courteous, Kevla had felt her face growing hot and did not ask again.

“If it helps the pain any,” Eion said, his voice still cheerful, “you are improving by the day.”

She gave him a dubious look. “If you mean improving my chances of turning my body into one solid bruise, I agree with you.”

He laughed again, that bright sound, and with no warning lunged at her. Without thinking, Kevla brought the wooden blade up to parry the blow and felt a jarring all the way to the bone from the impact. But Eion’s blow had not touched her body.

“See?” Eion sounded as excited as if it were he who had successfully executed the parry. “Not that long ago you were still fumbling with the grip.”

Kevla smiled. His enthusiasm and good nature were contagious. “I suppose you’re right.” And although they had been going at it for some time now, she realized she wasn’t as tired as she had expected to be. The muscles in her arms were getting stronger, as were those in her chest, her back and her legs. It was no wonder that Eion, who looked to be in his mid-forties, was as fit as a man half his age.

He handed her a goblet of watered wine. She drank thirstily, hot even though the day was drizzly and cool. The island seemed perpetually surrounded by mist or rain. She had seen only one or two sunny days the entire time she and Jareth had been here. She was grateful they were practicing under a shelter and not out in the rain. She’d been lucky; Jareth was with Liadan today, and Eion told her that training with the horses necessitated working in the open air. Kevla looked out onto the gray day and wondered how Jareth was faring.

Jareth. She felt the smile, placed there by Eion’s banter and her own sense of accomplishment, bleed from her lips. Horesemistress Liadan seemed to require a great deal of his time; more than she seemed to need to spend with Kevla. Of course, again, Kevla had more skill in an area than Jareth; she already knew how to ride a horse, although neither Dancer had ever had to fight on horseback.

“And there it went,” said Eion, startling her and confusing her. She looked at him, puzzled.

“The sun went behind a cloud,” Eion continued. Kevla was no more enlightened than she had been before.

“It’s been raining all day,” she said.

“Not that sun,” Eion said. He looked her in the eyes and said, “This sun.”

Kevla sighed. The man was too perceptive-either that, or she was simply too obvious. She doubted the second option; she had learned to mask her feelings from earliest childhood. But then again-she had never had to mask such feelings as this.

She regarded him, thinking about certain things he had said or done over the last several days.

“Then I believe we have something in common,” she said, deciding to risk voicing her suspicion.

“What is that, my lady Kevla?”

Kevla smiled sadly. “We both want someone we cannot have,” she said quietly.

Eion’s cheerful visage froze for an instant. Then his face grew solemn. “My lady treads on dangerous ground,” he said.

“Then she is correct,” Kevla said. “Is she not?”

Eion’s blue eyes flashed in anger, but he could not hold it. It was not in his nature. “She is,” he admitted. He gestured to her with the wood sword. “Ready yourself.”

He did not want to talk about it and she appreciated his reticence. She even shared it. But now, at least, they understood one another, and she would not have to keep making up excuses to fend off his solicitous inquiries.

“Kevla?” The voice belonged to Copper. Kevla lowered her weapon and turned to the other Dancer. She stood there, wearing the odd mask of blank tranquility that seemed her constant expression except when she shattered it with often incomprehensible and inappropriate humor. “Would you like to go for a swim?”

The absurdity of the statement made Kevla laugh despite her melancholy mood. Copper stood in the drizzle, her hair plastered to her skull, her cream-colored linen gown clinging to her body, and inquired about a swim. Kevla was no better off.

“I think I am already swimming,” she said.

“No, you are sparring with Eion in the rain,” Copper said, frowning a little.

“Go ahead Kevla,” said Eion. “You’ve lost focus. There’s no point in training you any more today.”

It was a sharper verbal jab than she was used to from him, but she supposed she deserved it. And he was correct. Any more fighting would probably resulting more bruises without compensating learning.

“Very well.” She saluted with the sword. He did the same. He did not meet her eyes as she handed him the training sword and she supposed she couldn’t blame him. “All right, Copper. Let’s go.”

“The beach is close by. It’s a pleasant walk.” Copper strode away from the training area with coltish strides. Kevla followed.

“When it is not raining, I suppose it is.”

Copper turned to regard her. “I thought you came from a land where water was scarce.”

“I did. And therefore I am not used to it. It feels…strange for my skin and clothes to be damp all the time.”

“I see,” Copper said. As she spoke, the needle-fine drizzle slowed and stopped. The clouds quickly began to disperse and Kevla blinked as the sun emerged.

“I have never seen the weather change so quickly!” she said. “It’s almost as if it heard me.”

Copper giggled, a snorting sound that again reminded Kevla of the Kelpie. Her green eyes were bright with mirth.

“You’re welcome,” Copper said, and almost doubled over laughing.

“What in the world is so funny?” Kevla asked. Copper just kept laughing, wiping her eyes and skipping a little in her delight.

Then the realization hit Kevla and her eyes widened. “You…can control the weather?” she asked, disbelieving.

Copper finished laughing and composed herself. She shrugged her slender shoulders. “Not completely, of course. But I can choose when it rains or not. And…I like rain.”

Kevla could not believe what she was hearing, and yet it made a strange kind of sense. Copper was the Sea Dancer, the element of water. Of course she would like rain. Of course she would call it forth to please herself. The magnitude of such power struck Kevla to the bone. Doubtless Copper had been manipulating the weather to some extent for the last decade. What was Reshan like before then? What would happen to it when Copper left?

They walked in silence. The sun on her skin was pleasant, and the sound of the waves, rushing to the shore and then retreating in dance of their own, grew louder. They crested a small hill and there it was-a beautiful shade of aqua, with white crests atop the waves as they surged onto the beach.

“How is it you cannot see the mainland, Copper?” Kevla asked. “It is not that far.”

“Bram says that magic protects our island. It keeps us safe. That’s why I was never really sure it existed. I honestly thought it was just a made-up story.” Kevla smiled a little at the thought of a half-human girl who was the element of water incarnate scoffing at anything being a “made-up story”

Copper paused briefly to kick off her boots, then raced down the sandy hill toward the ocean. As she ran, she quickly divested herself of the linen shift she wore. Kevla glimpsed milky pale skin dotted with freckles before Copper dove like a sea hawk into the ocean.

Kevla followed more sedately, removing her boots but not her rhia. Copper obviously did not care about modesty, but Kevla, a stranger to this land, was a bit shyer. She stepped forward, moving into the water, enjoying the feel of it caress her. It was like and yet unlike the caverns at the House of Four Waters. The water there came from an underground spring, and moved only slightly. This…this was Water at its most powerful.

Copper surfaced near her, smiling, her face alight. Treading water, Kevla smiled back at her, thinking that for the first time, Copper looked simply like a young woman enjoying herself.

“Do you like it?”

“It is unusual, but yes, I think so,” Kevla said. “It is so very strong. Very powerful.”

“Water is a very powerful element,” Copper said, with no trace of arrogance. “It provides life. And it can take it away. There is a whole world underneath here. Would you like to see it?”

“I would, but—“Kevla had been about to say, “I can only hold my breath for so long,” but to her shock Copper seized her hand with a surprisingly strong grip. The next thing Kevla knew, the young Sea Dancer was pulling her down to the heart of her element.

Alarmed, Kevla struggled. Copper’s pale fingers closing over Kevla’s brown wrist were like bands of steel. Kevla stared at her as the girl swam downward with powerful kicks. Copper turned to her, her hair floating behind her in a red wave, her green eyes unreadable. Kevla thought wildly of the legends of the Kelpie-a fey water spirit, who invited people to leap onto its back only to laugh as they drowned….

Precious, shimmery bubbles of air escaped Kevla’s lips as she struggled. She was larger than Copper and strong from hard work in her youth, how was it she could not break free? Why was Copper doing this? Air burned in her lungs. Kevla tried to heat her body so that it was unbearably hot, to force Copper to release her, but apparently when in her element, Copper did not feel Kevla’s Fire heat.

This could not be! Another Dancer was trying to kill her! Kevla held onto air as long as she could, but finally her body betrayed her and the last precious bubbles escaped her lips and her lungs filled with seawater.

And…it was all right.

Kevla stopped struggling and stared at Copper. The girl shifted her grip, entwining her fingers with Kevla’s now instead of clasping her wrist. She squeezed Kevla’s hand and shook it for emphasis. Kevla understood-as long as Copper, the Sea Dancer, was touching her, Water would not harm her.

Copper pointed downward, to shafts of sunlight slicing through the water to dance and sparkle on the ocean floor, to brightly colored fish that darted about, to mysterious plants undulating in the current. Kevla now willingly dove with Copper to explore this place.

Although once she could speak again, Kevla fully intended to give Copper a lecture for frightening her so.

Chapter Ten

Liadan, Jareth decided as he attempted to juggle sword and shield while weighted down with leather armor and simultaneously trying to stay atop his horse, took pleasure in other people’s suffering. She laughed at him when he first tried to ride, teased him when his arms wearied of holding the unfamiliar tools of offense and defense, and came perilously close to insulting his masculinity when his first few blows in practice rounds were clumsy.

She was also, he had decided, a great deal of fun.

Liadan seemed to live a life that existed entirely for pleasure. She drank copiously, ate well, rode hard and fought furiously. She told jokes that sometimes made Jareth blush and then grinned at his discomfiture. He knew that she was devoted to the queen and had fought well and nobly in battle for Riona, but somehow he suspected that Liadan had a trick or two for turning duty into something enjoyable.

She was a little older than he, but not much, and certainly his match in physical stamina, if her energy at the end of a training session was any indication. He enjoyed his time training with Swordmaster Eion as well; he liked Eion and thought that ground fighting was easier to master, but found himself actively looking forward to his time with Liadan.

“On your rear again, Dancer?” she teased him when the horse shied at something and Jareth went toppling to the ground in a tangle of shield, sword, armor and now-bruised flesh.

He got to his feet and glared at her. She laughed brightly. “Maybe I’m expecting too much from you. After all, you’ve never fought in a single battle.”

“Living in a land where war isn’t necessary is hardly something to be ashamed of,” he shot back, reaching down to pick up his wooden sword. The steady drizzle had soaked his shoulder-length blond hair and was now starting to seep down his neck. The droplets dribbling into his eyes kept making him blink and want to wipe his face. He did so now, taking advantage of the fact that he actually had a hand free at the moment.

“Ah, but living a life where there’s no chance of winning glory in battle is something to be ashamed of,” Liadan replied. She watched Jareth for a moment, then, grinning, stepped beside him. “Your fingers are better suited to a scythe than a sword,” she said. “Here. Like this.”

She reached and with her own strong hands wrapped his fingers around the leather-wrapped hilt of the wooden sparring sword. He started at her touch, even though it was brusque and purposeful. Her hands were callused, scarred with innumerable nicks and cuts. He imagined that they had closed on the hilt of a sword more lethal than the one he wielded several thousand times; those hands had dealt death blows. And yet, he suddenly wanted to entwine his fingers with hers, bring them to his lips for a kiss.

She felt it too. A fleeting tremor passed through her and she let her hands linger a bit longer than was absolutely necessary to adjust his grip on the sword. When Liadan drew back, her eyes were brighter than they were before and her face had more color to it.

There was the briefest of pauses, as if each was waiting for the other to do something, then Liadan continued as if nothing had happened. And in truth, Jareth reflected as he did his best to get back on his mount with a modicum of dignity, nothing had.

Liadan was as different from Kevla as any two women could be and still be of the same gender. Kevla was dark, of skin and hair and eye, her movements sultry, though he was certain she did not realize it. Liadan was not as fair as the women of Lamal, but her brown hair was light, her skin freckled and she moved with a bold, quick assurance that Jareth was certain she did realize. Kevla was quiet, Liadan was animated.

Kevla, Jareth thought with a fresh surge of anger, kept secrets. Liadan would probably tell him anything he wanted to know without batting an eye.

He had thought Kevla had felt the same pull he had; that they were walking carefully around a blossoming attraction that neither was really ready to admit. But he’d been quite mistaken. He saw again the cool look in her eyes as she said bluntly that she did not love him. That all she felt for him was friendship and the normal attraction Dancers felt toward one another.

“Have I got dirt on my nose or something?”

Liadan’s quip brought Jareth back to the present moment. She was grinning up at him, her hands on her hips, her eyes crinkled. She was wearing a man’s linen shirt, belted at the waist, and breeches that hugged her legs. The relentless drizzle had soaked her hair as it had his, and her shirt clung to her slender curves. He blushed as he realized that he had been staring, probably for several minutes.

“No,” he said, “there’s no dirt on your nose.”

“Well, there is on yours,” she said, and he blushed deeper as he realized that when he had wiped his face before picking up his sword, he had probably smeared mud all over himself.

“I thought we Reshanaban were pale,” Liadan said, and Jareth gave up as he realized that she had witnessed his blush. Kevla had said something to him once about how Lamali skin gave away emotions easily, and now he was discovering it was true. He would have given much to have Kevla’s dark coloration at this moment.

And, he thought as Liadan continued to regard him with an insolent grin, making no attempt to hide what her soaked and clinging shirt revealed, a cold lake to jump into.

He swung himself off the horse, wincing at how awkward his movements still were. He had thought he would be better at riding than he was, considering how well he rode the blue Tiger. Then again, she was his Companion. They had been together in four other lifetimes.

Liadan stepped up to him and wiped the mud off his face, still smiling. He had expected her touch to be as rough and strong as the rest of her, smearing the mud off with vigor. Instead, her fingers traveled over his cheek in a soft caress. Jareth’s breath caught.

Liadan gazed at him steadily. “You’ve been out here for most of the afternoon,” she said, “and it’s showing no signs of letting up. I imagine you’re a bit chilled by now.”

“And you’re absolutely soaked,” Jareth said. His voice, thank goodness, did not tremble. He kept his blue gaze locked with her hazel one, not daring to glance any lower. Her grin widened. No doubt, she understood exactly what he was attempting to do.

“We could both use a hot bath,” she said.

There had once been a time in Jareth’s life when he would have eagerly accepted this blatant invitation. No doubt there would indeed have been a hot bath, followed by vigorous exercise beneath the covers.

Why couldn’t he accept it now?

He wanted to. Didn’t he? His body’s reaction, even in the cold weather, certainly indicated so. But something inside Jareth drew back at the thought of coupling with this lively, fun, athletic woman.

So instead of drawing her into his arms and kissing her, he smiled and looked away, stepping back a pace and not acknowledging her comment.

“I think I’m making progress,” he said, trying to change the subject.

“You almost made it through an entire training session without falling off the horse,” Liadan said. “That’s a definite improvement.” She studied him for a moment. “In fact…let’s delay that bath. I want to show you something. We’re going to go for a little ride.”

Chilled and confused, Jareth nodded. Liadan mounted and turned her horse and cantered over to one of the akhas. The two women spoke quickly and quietly, and the younger girl nodded. Liadan turned Tali back toward Jareth.

“This is a bit unusual, but then, these are unusual times.” The akha returned, carrying two swords-not the wooden training swords, but the real thing. Jareth turned inquiringly to Liadan. The Horsemistress took one of the swords and gestured to Jareth. The akha approached him and extended her arms, the sword balancing on her palms. Jareth accepted it and strapped it onto his waist, as he had done with the practice sword. The weight of it was similar to that of the wooden sword, but different, somehow.

“We’ve practiced drawing the sword before,” Liadan said. “But watch me again.” Swiftly she reached, grasped the pommel of her sword, and drew it free of the leather scabbard. “You don’t want to lop off your horse’s neck. Do it slowly the first time.”

Jareth obeyed, wondering why she was now permitting him to train with live steel. What did she have in mind? He drew with exaggerated slowness and was glad of it-he did bring the blade close to his mount’s neck. Had he been so careless when the sword was just a hunk of wood?

“Again.”

He obeyed. He drew it several more times until Liadan was satisfied. “Not bad. Let’s go.”

She turned Tali’s head and cantered easily out of the courtyard, moving as easily as if she and the creature were one. Jareth followed, rather more clumsily, the unfamiliar sword at his side banging against his thigh.

Liadan’s demeanor had changed. She was much more serious than she had been before, and Jareth, too, became more alert despite the discomfort of the rain trickling down the back of his neck and his soreness.

They rode for a long time in silence. The rain slowed, stopped and the clouds drifted away. The warmth of the sun felt good, although Jareth’s clothing beneath his leather armor was still soaking wet and chafed. Finally, Jareth could stay quiet no longer. He managed to bring his horse alongside Liadan’s and asked, “Where are you taking me?”

She glanced at him. “The first night you were here, you heard about the FinFolk and the Fialaban.”

“Right,” Jareth said, trying to remember. “The FinFolk are attacking Reshan, and the Fialaban are…the other ones. Copper’s father’s people.”

Liadan nodded. “We got word of an attack last night. Thought you might want to see what we’re up against.”

“Do the Reshanaban ever attack the wrong race of sea-people?”

Liadan laughed. “Believe me, there’s no way you’d confuse the two of them if you saw them. The Fialaban look a lot like us, except…well, bluer, I guess. Skin tones and hair and such. They’re very elegant and civilized. was frankly gorgeous. It was no wonder Ri wanted him so bad.”

Jareth blushed a little at Liadan’s frank talk. “Wanted him enough to trick him into staying, from what I heard.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“From Copper. But she didn’t elaborate.”

“Ah,” Liadan nodded. “You should probably know the whole story then. The Fialaban have a necklace that enables them to come onto the land without being harmed. Riona and Farron had been lovers for a while, but she wanted more. She wanted to keep him-to marry him. So one night when they were together, she stole the necklace and hid it for several years.”

“That seems a bit-selfish.”

Liadan shrugged. “Riona is used to getting what she wants. But Farron had the last laugh. He apparently knew where Riona had hidden the necklace, and when he learned that Bram was planning on tossing Gold’s body and Silver into the ocean and whisking Copper away to be raised as a Namaraban apart from her parents, Farron took the necklace and all three of his daughters-even Gold’s poor corpse—and went back to the sea. Never said goodbye to Ri.”

“Well, he was kept a prisoner.”

Liadan eyed him. “Jareth-Farronknew where Riona had hidden the necklace. No one knows how long he’d known where to find it. He must have stayed voluntarily for at least a while.”

Jareth frowned. He still did not think highly of Riona for tricking Farron the way she had, queen or not.

“The FinFolk, now,” Liadan continued, “are almost like walking fish. They’re covered with scales and ooze a very nasty slime that the Namaraban think protects them from the coldness of the ocean. The only good thing is they can’t live on land for very long, so they don’t really press their attacks inland. It’s the poor souls who work the sea who are most at risk.”

Liadan frowned as she spoke of her enemies. “Over the last couple of decades, they’ve stepped up their attacks. No more using the little coracles that were the traditional vessels for small crofters. They’re too easy for the FinFolk to just reach up and capsize. So we started building bigger boats, and for a while that worked. But about ten years ago they somehow figured out how to attack those too. All we ever find of them are broken timbers, washed onto the shore. No bodies.” She glanced at him, her eyes flashing with anger. “Ever.”

Jareth could think of nothing to say to that, and so said nothing. He could see something up ahead now, what looked like several small stone huts with thatched roofs.

“Brace yourself,” she said as they drew closer.

The stench was awful. Jareth’s stomach churned and he struggled not to vomit. Liadan made a face, but otherwise did not react. Jareth could see that there were several trails of ooze that led from the ocean up to the doors of the huts. Liadan dismounted and drew her sword, indicating that Jareth should do the same. He did and followed her inside.

The slime covered everything, it seemed-floors, tables, chairs-

—and bodies. A whole family had been killed here, it would seem; a man, a woman and three children, a boy, a girl and an infant. Jareth lost his battle against his body and staggered outside, vomiting up the contents of his stomach. His stomach kept heaving. After a few moments, Liadan came out and slapped his shoulder in a comradely fashion.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It affects everyone that way the first time.”

Jareth wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He knew the real reason was not the sight of murdered strangers, tragic though it was, nor the horrendous stench that seemed to penetrate his skin. He had gotten sick because for one terrible moment, he was again entering his own home, filled with snow, to find the dead bodies of his own wife, daughter and infant son.

He drew a ragged breath and spat. As he straightened, Liadan whirled. “Dammit…they weren’t done.”

Five monstrosities were emerging from the ocean. Jareth stared. The things were indeed walking fish, covered with fine scales, their bodies gleaming in the sun from the slime that covered every inch of them. Their eyes were the size of Jareth’s hand, round and dead-looking, and slashes in their necks opened and closed as the things sought to breathe outside of the sea. Long, green-blue hair was plastered to their scaly, humped backs. Webbed hands carried spears that looked decidedly dangerous, and they were running with startling speed toward Jareth and Liadan.

An ululating cry that lifted the hairs on the back of Jareth’s neck rent the air. He realized with surprise that the sound had come from Liadan. She leaped onto Tali’s back and charged them. Recovering quickly, Jareth ran on foot after her.

Liadan’s sword glinted in the air, then descended. One of the FinFolk toppled to the sand, spasming, its head almost severed from its hunching shoulders. One of them charged with its spear, but again Liadan was too fast. She cut the spear in half on the upswing, and cut the enemy in half on the downswing. By this time Jareth had reached her, gripping his sword tightly with both hands as Eion had taught him to do when fighting on the ground. The third creature charged him. Jareth brought the sword up and struck the spear, moving it out of the way sufficiently to get in closer to the awful-smelling thing. He almost gagged again on the stench, but brought the sword up and then down. It struck solidly across the midsection, and bluish-red blood oozed out. The creature dropped the spear and wrapped its webbed hands around Jareth’s neck. Jareth fortunately still wore his armor, including the throat-protecting gorget, and the fish-thing shrieked in annoyance as its grip accomplished nothing. Jareth shoved it back, his hand sliding over the thick ooze, and brought the sword down. This time, the being fell to the sand and did not rise.

He looked up, sword at the ready, to see the other two racing back into the ocean. Liadan followed, swearing violently, splashing into the water up to her knees before turning around, a fierce grin on her face. It faded as she saw Jareth.

“Hey, you all right?” she said, running up to him. “I wasn’t expecting any more of them, or else I wouldn’t have brought you. The sword was just a precaution.”

“I’m fine,” he said, and meant it. He caught his breath and looked at the sword in his hand.

Kevla had been right. They would indeed need to learn how to use the sword. Jareth thought of the innocent fishermen, lying dead in their own homes, and of the ugly things that had attacked and then fled in fear even though they had had the greater numbers.

“Like your first taste of battle then?” Liadan grinned at him. Her color was high and her eyes were bright. Clearly she thrived on this.

“No,” Jareth said honestly. “But…I am glad to have had it.” He thought of the shining sword in his vision. He had now fought in combat. He had learned much, and would keep learning

Jareth looked down at Liadan. “Let’s step up my training.”

Chapter Eleven

Silver propped herself up on her elbow and regarded her sister as she spoke. She listened attentively, but all the while thought: You have changed since the strangers came.

They were well away from land, the two sisters. They had swum together for many hours until Copper had announced she wanted to feel the sun on her skin for a while. They had found a large, flat stone that jutted sufficiently far out of the water for their purposes. Now Copper, pale and pink and naked, lay on the gray rock, her face turned up to the sky, and Silver floated on her back in the water’s arms.

“It is funny to watch Kevla try to fight with the sword and shield,” Copper was saying. “She is bigger than I, and stronger, but she is very clumsy. Which is odd, because really, at other times she is quite graceful.”

“And the male human?” Silver asked. “How does he fare with weapons?”

“A few days ago, he held his own against the FinFolk, Liadan says. She seems very proud of him. And more.” Copper grinned. “He has been targeted by her and everyone but him appears to know it.”

Silver smiled and nodded; Liadan’s appetites had been the subject of many a mirthful conversation between the two sisters. Copper seemed to admire the Horsemistress, almost more than she did her mother. Silver wasn’t surprised. Liadan had a freedom that the queen of the realm did not, and all her choices and actions were her own save those performed in her official capacity. Riona was not allowed that kind of freedom; had not even been permitted to determine the fates of her own daughters.

Sometimes, Silver thought of their mother. She wondered how Riona would react to seeing her silver-scaled daughter again. Would she recoil, as nearly everyone but Copper and their father did? Or would she reach out to Silver as a true daughter of her flesh? What would a queen, a woman, a mother do?

Silver felt melancholy descend upon her as she pondered the question. She knew it would never happen. She would not see her mother, not now, not ever. Silver was of the sea, and Riona was of the land. Copper was yet of both and neither, but every time the sun sank into the ocean, Silver knew her sister was a day closer to making a final, irrevocable decision.

She remembered the day that Copper had left the sea for the first time. Even now, even though Copper returned as often as she could, Silver still felt pain in her heart at the recollection of that awful moment over a decade ago.

Farron had summoned his daughters, looking from one to the other with sorrow, and pronounced what seemed to them at the time a dreadful sentence.

It is time you returned to the land, my sweet Copper, he sent. To save you both and keep you together, I took you from your mother’s arms the night you were born. I would keep you here with me, but that is not the right thing to do. You are half human, and can live on the land as well as the sea. You must taste both worlds if you are to know where you truly belong.

No! both girls had cried, clinging to one another. But Farron was implacable.

Three times seven years you shall live in the sea and on the land, and then you must choose.

Ten and a half years to the day since Copper, along with Silver and Gold, had entered the world, she emerged dripping from the sea. Copper was almost twenty-one, and on that day, she would have to choose-live in the sea for always, or forever upon the land.

Silver later learned that the Kelpie, who used to come join them in their ocean playtime, had posed a similar question. The day Copper had found him, he had craned his neck to look at her. “Where do you belong?” he had asked.

Copper had had no answer for him, and had none still. Silver wondered if the Kelpie still asked, or if he, too, waited upon Copper’s twenty-first birthday for her decision.

“I think there may have been something between Kevla and Jareth…or maybe something that could have been.”

Silver started from her thoughts and returned her attention to the conversation. Back to the two other Dancers, then. Copper looked thoughtful. She reached and splashed in the water with an idle hand.

“The young man inside of her is part of the trouble, I think. Although he is her greatest blessing too.”

Silver smiled fondly at her sister. She did not have Copper’s gifts. She could not have visions, or see thing no one else saw, and this revelation about the “young man inside Kevla” was as startling to her as she knew it must be to others.

“But what about you, my sister?” Silver pressed. “You have told me of the strange being in the waters that wore your face. Have you been able to return to the cavern and speak with her again?”

A shadow settled on Copper’s features and she shook her head. “No,” she said. “It is far too closely watched. The Namaraban are thick as fleas on a dog in the Grove. I’m beginning to wonder if I will ever be able to return.”

“You have tried to contact this…being…by scrying in water elsewhere, yes?”

Copper nodded and sighed. “Every day…more than once a day,” she said. “But apparently it is only in the cave that she will manifest to me. I wonder why?”

Silver shrugged her shoulders. Her scales winked in the light.

“The Namaraban have nurtured magic for a thousand years, so you tell me,” she said. “I am not surprised that in their Grove, their heart, magic is strong.”

Copper heaved an exaggerated sigh and slipped into the water. Silver dove down at once to swim with her sister. She reached for and held the warm hand in hers, aware of the paucity of the webbing between the pink, human looking fingers, seeing Copper’s pale, freckled skin and thinking again of the differences between them.

I miss this, Copper sent to her sister. In the water, breath for speech was impractical. All Fialaban could speak with one another with their thoughts while held in the ocean’s cool arms. Sometimes Kelpie and I run into lakes and rivers. But not so often now. I am needed more and more by everyone, it seems…Mother, the other Dancers, the trainers…. and they all seem to want to keep me as far away from the sea as possible. Even Bram, who really ought to know better.

Silver nodded. I can sense it. She did not give voice to her worst fear-the fear that when sufficient days had rolled past so that Copper must make her decision, she would choose the land.

But for now, Copper was here, and they laughed in one another’s thoughts with closed lips, and darted among the rock formations and swaying multi-colored seaweeds, and playfully hugged the otters who kept trying to crack clam shells while floating on their backs. The time passed so swiftly that Silver was startled to notice that the light passing through the waters had a different hue.

Copper, she sent, you will be missed…and Father will be worried about me.

It was the between times that held the most power for the FinFolk. Dawn and dusk was when they were active, and when they were strongest-or so Farron had warned his daughters. Now, the afternoon gold had turned to a richer, mellower hue, and twilight was upon the world.

Copper made a face. It was clear she was enjoying herself and she had no wish to return to the land, at least not at the moment. But Silver knew that they both had to go back to their respective homes, and soon. As it was, she would be late…if she did not take the shortcut she had often considered.

Her sister knew her thoughts even as they formed. Father says it’s not safe, Copper replied.

If I am late one more time, he may consider forbidding me to see you again.

He would not!

Silver thought of her father’s handsome, grave face that always seemed slightly wreathed in sorrow. He had not said as much, that was certain; but it was clear he worried about his daughter, his heir to the kingdom, growing too fond of Copper and the land.

What if she chooses to stay on the land? he had asked Silver once. Even I do not know what that will mean. She may never be able to swim in the ocean save as a human; she may not be able to sense your thoughts any more.

Land or sea, nothing will ever stop her from being my sister, or your daughter, Silver had retorted with more boldness than she felt. He had been silent then, unable to argue the truth of her statement.

She did not want to give him any excuse to forbid them to be together, not now, not when the time of Copper’s choice was approaching.

Very well. Silver could hear the resignation and sigh in the words as clearly as if Copper had spoken them with lips and breath. I will see you again soon.

The two sisters embraced tightly, then Copper struck out for the surface. Silver permitted herself a few precious heartbeats to watch Copper swimming upward, her legs kicking and arms pulling the water, her red hair flowing out behind her. Above, the paling sunlight called Farron’s youngest daughter upward, away from Silver’s realm.

Silver’s heart hurt. Weighted with her own feelings of resignation, she tucked and dove deeper, down to the cooler, bluer depths, toward home.

Her father would not want her to take the route she had chosen; it passed too near FinFolk territory for him to be comfortable with it. But it was the shortest route back to the palace. Silver feared being forbidden to see her sister more than she feared a chance encounter so, feeling a bit daring and not a little excited, she swam through the kelp forest that served as a barrier between the two races of the ocean.

Silver sensed him before she saw him.

She came to a sudden stop in her easy, swift swimming, her hair floating around her as she glanced around. Her heart raced. What had alerted her…a sound, a flash of silver scale…?

Now she wished she had listened to her father. He had told her not to come here…had warned her that sometimes the FinFolk wandered out of their boundaries into Fialaban waters. But so close to the palace? Silver had not believed him, not until this very moment.

Silver undulated in the waters, waiting, watching.

Show yourself! she cried in her mind.

There…it was there, hiding in the swaying forest of kelp. Was it only one of them after all? Or were there many? Was this a scouting party, to see what sort of defense the palace had against a possible attack? Or worse…the vanguard of such an attack?

The kelp shuddered, and it emerged.

He, Silver corrected at once, for the thing that looked at her with bulging, piscine eyes was most definitely male; the FinFolk apparently did not wear clothing in the water.

She had never seen one of the FinFolk before, though of course she had heard them described. Her fear abated somewhat when she realized that the creature was indeed alone, and if she was interpreting his movements correctly, seemed as frightened as her as she was of him. Silver tried to calm her racing heart as she scrutinized him, her initial fear giving way to curiosity.

The FinFolk male was about her size, perhaps a little slighter in build. Long green-blue hair that resembled seaweed streamed from his round skull and floated around him. His lips were fishlike as well, and a fin protruded from his back. His hands and feet had webbing, as hers did, but his was much more obvious than the subtle webbing of the Fialaban. Gills, large slashes in the saggy flesh that was his neck, opened and closed rapidly, demonstrating his nervousness. His skin was covered with fine silver scales…scales that were almost exactly like her own.

I…have never seen a Fialaban before, he thought to her. You look nothing like I was told you would.

I do not look like the Fialaban, she thought to him before she could censor herself.

He tilted his head, looking curious. The expression somehow made him appear less ugly.

You do not? Are you not Fialaban then?

Silver’s smile faded. Was she? Half-human, half-Fialaban, looking nothing like either and nothing like her sisters.

My name is Silver, she thought. My father is Fialaban, but my mother is…human.

The FinFolk male was so startled he flipped in the water several times. Oddly, despite his appearance, the gesture reminded Silver of the dolphins she and her sister loved to play with. When he moved, he was much more graceful than she had imagined.

Human? How could-oh! I know who you are now…you are the child of their King!

All at once, the apprehension that had ebbed from Silver flowed back with renewed force. The FinFolk male now knew who she was. She realized suddenly how valuable a hostage she could be…or how substantial a bounty her unique, scaly skin could fetch.

Fear spurted through her and she turned to flee, speeding through the water as fast as she could. He was right there behind her though, and, panicked, she could all but feel those cold, webby fingers closing on her leg….

Please don’t go! I only want to talk to you…my name is Shess…you look so much like me, like us….

Sickened by the words, Silver swam with renewed speed. She didn’t want to look like the FinFolk, and now she understood how closely she resembled them. She felt the warmth of tears in her eyes along with the coolness of the ocean water. They were hideous! Disgusting! They hated the Fialaban, they hated the humans, and who could blame them, looking as they did?

Looking as she did…

No. She was not like them. She, like Copper, was the offspring of her handsome, beautiful Fialaban father, he of the smooth light blue skin and indigo hair and wise eyes; of her human mother, straight and tall and proud, queen by her own hand.

She thought of Gold, whom she had never seen but of whom she had been told, a tragic hybrid of human and Fialaban that never could have survived. She thought of Copper, so human-looking whom she sometimes envied and sometime pitied; and she thought of her own silver scales flashing in the sunlight that pierced the ocean’s waves.

No, I am not like the FinFolk…I am not…I cannot be.

Chapter Twelve

Kevla had just started up the path toward the Grove when she heard hoofbeats behind her. Turning, she beheld Queen Riona galloping up to her, mounted atop one of the beautiful golden horses ridden exclusively by the Aofaban.

Kevla had not seen Riona much since the first night. The queen struck her as aloof, and made no attempts to befriend her or Jareth as Eion, Liadan, Bram and even Copper did. In many ways, Riona reminded her of Yeshi, her father’s wife and the khashima of a great house. While Riona seemed to eschew the creature comforts that Yeshi so thrived upon, like the Arukani woman, the Reshanaban queen was a woman in command and well aware of it. Also, she had heard Bram and Copper both speak of Riona’s manipulation of Farron, which did not reflect well upon how the queen went about acquiring what she wanted. Still, she was Copper’s mother, and the ruler of this nation, and Kevla inclined her head respectfully as Riona’s horse cantered to a stop in front of her.

“Flame Dancer,” Riona said. “Are you headed to the Grove again?”

Riona’s dislike of the Grove and its inhabitants laced the words. Kevla nodded. “Indeed, Your Majesty. I go there daily, to be instructed and to read about past Dancers.”

“I see. I trust your needs are being met?”

“Very well, thank you. My servant Liura is wonderful, and when I am at the grove Sliah takes good care of me. The Namaraban are very gracious hosts.”

“I am pleased to hear it, though I confess a bit surprised. The Namaraban are not known for their friendliness.”

“But Lorekeepers are born to help the Dancers. That they do so well is nothing unusual.”

Riona laughed without much humor. The horse she rode pranced agitatedly. Despite her words, Riona did not look pleased.

“It amuses me to think of the Namaraban helping anyone. They wanted to cast Gold and Silver into the sea the night they were born, not allowing Gold a proper burial and not even waiting to see if Silver could survive in the ocean. And they wanted to take Copper to be raised as one of them. I gave birth to three daughters, and they would have given me none of them. That is how they helped their own queen. Did they tell you that, Flame Dancer?”

“Yes,” Kevla replied in an even voice. “I have heard that story from them. And they told me that you deprived your husband of his freedom to force him to stay with you.”

Riona flushed, then went very pale. Kevla braced, expecting a burst of outrage, perhaps even an attack, or a furious denial. Instead, Riona sighed.

“Yes. I made that mistake. And I live with the repercussions of it daily. I have lost husband and daughters both.”

“Copper has returned to you.”

“And you plan to take her away.” There was no mistaking the challenge.

“You know what is at stake here. Would you doom the world just to have your daughter by your side until it ends?”

“I am not the one who will choose,” Riona said, completely unexpectedly. Without waiting for Kevla’s response, she kicked her horse and it leaped forward with a sharp neigh. Kevla watched the queen ride off, completely taken aback by the encounter. She stood there for a long moment, lost in thought. The queen had not answered her, and her comment merely raised more questions. Would she stand in the way when it came time for the Dancers to leave, to find the fourth and fifth of their number?

“Kevla?” It was Sliah’s voice and Kevla started. Sliah smiled warmly at her. “I thought that was you. Is everything all right?”

“I’m not sure,” Kevla answered honestly. “I just spoke with Riona.”

Sliah’s brow furrowed slightly. “Queen Riona can be unsettling. She frightens me a little. All of the Aofaban do. I’m no warrior, just a scholar, and they are all so…boisterous.”

Kevla laughed and reached to squeeze the other woman’s arm affectionately. “That is a very apt word. But tell me what you have found for me today.”

The cloud left Sliah’s face. “Ah, I have found something fascinating. About the youth you were in the Second World. I’m sure you’ll enjoy reading about him!”

As they walked together, Kevla was grateful for the girl. And for the Lorekeepers. Visiting the Namaraban always calmed and cheered her. She felt her spirits lift as she entered the Grove, smiling at the jewel crafters and the exquisite necklaces and bracelets they wrought, and followed her friend to explore the new scroll.

The Emperor stared at the hovering Tenacru, listening to Ilta’s voice.

“She begins to trust me,” Ilta said, smugness in the word.

“Of course,” the Emperor said. “You are very good at making people trust you, Ilta. Whatever form you are wearing. That is why I chose you for this most important task. Do not overplay your part, though.”

“Of course not,” and Ilta sounded affronted. “I await your orders, Your Excellency.”

“For now, just keep getting her to trust you. And report on everything you learn.”

“I shall do so, Your Excellency.”

He waved a hand, ending the conversation. He sank back in his chair, thinking. Why could he not see the Sea Dancer? Was the Tenacru insufficient? Could the Dancers block its powers somehow? The Mage had spoken of other magic, of another tool like the Tenacru. Maybe it was time to shift his focus to finding this tool, rather than seeing the Sea Dancer.

Because if he could find the one, it would perhaps enable him to, finally, behold the other.

The Emperor smiled, pleased with his new plan, and at his feet, the ki-lyn shivered.

It had been a long time since Liadan had been so attracted to a man. She wasn’t sure quite what it was about Jareth that she found so appealing. Certainly he was a fine physical specimen, with that chiseled face, those piercing blue eyes, the thick blond hair and a body that she wished wasn’t currently enveloped in leather armor. But the Reshanaban produced their share of handsome, well-built men…most of whom Liadan had had at one time or another. Look at Eion, for instance-beautiful and a good tumble as well. She watched Jareth as he turned the horse and continued to canter, powerful thighs gripping the beast. He was becoming more at home atop the animal with each passing day.

Was it the fact that he was a Dancer? One of only five elite heroes of their world? Liadan sniffed. Jareth and Kevla had arrived on two amazing creatures, that much was true; Liadan itched to ride either the Dragon or the Tiger, but knew better than to ask. But other than that, she had seen little evidence of these so-called elemental powers. Indeed, the newcomers had seemed…weak to her. Neither had even the most basic training in armed combat-indeed in combat of any kind. Jareth was illiterate and had at first looked like a sack of grain in the saddle, though he learned quickly. He’d almost managed to unhorse her yesterday through what she insisted was a lucky blow but what she knew was not. And he had fought surprisingly well against the FinFolk. He’d asked that they step up their training. She had, and he’d kept up with her.

Maybe that was it. Maybe he was such a good student, learning things so swiftly and well, that it was a joy to teach him.

She eyed him, watching the play of muscle in his arms as he swung at the training dummy, striking it twice as he cantered past. A grin curved her lips.

I wonder if he knows how to swim. They would need a warmer day for that, though. Although the rain held off, there was a chill in the air from the wind blowing off the ocean.

Another thought struck her, and this one she was inclined to follow at once. Liadan usually followed thoughts when they struck her, and more often than not, they paid off. Jareth was doing well under her tutelage; maybe it was time for him to teach her a thing or two. She was curious about those “Dancer” abilities.

Liadan strode toward the riding field and waved. Jareth saw her and without wasted movement slowed the horse to a trot, then a walk. He was on Tali today; no other trained mounts were available. He guided the mare over to Liadan and looked at her inquiringly.

“What next?” he asked. He was breathing a little heavily; those who scoffed and said the horse did all the work when riding had never ridden one through a series of warrior training exercises. Liadan’s own breathing picked up slightly as she regarded him. Why in the world was this one so difficult to entice into her bed?

“Next, we take a little break,” she said, handing up him a waterskin. He drank, then handed it back to her and dismounted. She watched with admiration, noting how fluidly Jareth now got off and on a horse. He gathered the reins and began to walk Tali back to the stable, something they always did at the end of a training session.

“No,” said Liadan. “Leave the weapons and the armor here. The akhas will take care of them for us.”

“Very well,” he said, and shrugged. Although he was obviously puzzled, he obediently dropped sword and shield onto the grass. Liadan helped him with the buckles and tugged the armor and the padding below it off, dropping them on the shield. Divested of the accoutrements of war, Jareth looked at her inquiringly.

“Get back on Tali,” Liadan said, and he obliged. Without any word of warning, she swung herself up behind him. He was startled, she could tell, and she grinned as she slipped her arms around his waist.

“Head northeast to that hill,” she said. “It’s time to take you off the training field and onto a trail.”

“All right,” he said. Was it her imagination or was there a hint of tension in his voice? Liadan wasn’t sure. She didn’t care right now. All she wanted was to get him alone in a beautiful place and get him to tell her about some of his Dancer abilities. And…maybe get him to do something else. For perhaps the first time she regretted her spontaneous nature; if she had thought about this, she could have prepared some wine and cheese for the trip to make it more pleasant. Mentally, she shrugged. Another time…or not.

“Bring her to a canter, she knows the trail,” Liadan instructed as they approached the hill. Nestled up against Jareth, Liadan could feel the subtle movement of his thighs as he squeezed the horse. Trained to respond to slight gestures, Tali eased into the canter smoothly.

“Beautiful up here, isn’t it?” Liadan said after a few moments of a silence that was unbroken save for the sounds of Tali’s hooves and the twittering of birds.

“It is,” was the heartfelt reply. Liadan felt slightly embarrassed. She had been making idle conversation, but as she turned to look at him she saw that Jareth’s eyes were fixed not on her, but at their surroundings. He smiled as he looked out over the trees and fields and hills of the island. From somewhere in the distance came the musical sound of a creek rushing to the sea, swollen from the recent rains. He breathed deeply and she imitated him, inhaling scents of ocean and earth and grass. It was pleasanter than she had expected.

It rattled her somewhat, and she turned her gaze forward. A short walk from here was a meadow with an overlook of the ocean that she knew well. She’d leave Tali tethered at the foot of the little hill; anyone coming up the trail would recognize the beast and not venture further. Liadan had brought many a lover here in the past, and she was hopeful that the echoes of those many trysts might yet linger and help make Jareth more amenable to her advances.

“Slow her down now,” she said as they approached the turnoff. Jareth did so and the horse dropped easily into a walk. Liadan dismounted, took the reins and wound them around a low-slung tree branch. There was plenty of grass within easy reach of the mare, so she could graze while Liadan and Jareth got to know one another a bit better.

“This way,” Liadan said, striding up the trail that took them to the top. Jareth followed. He said nothing, although Liadan knew he was confused. When they cleared the rise, she heard him gasp.

Before them lay the silver ocean, its waves crashing on the wide expanse of sand only to retreat and return again and again. The sun was starting to break through the vast expanse of gray, and the ocean sparkled. The hill upon which they stood was covered in soft, green grass dotted with white flowers that looked like stars come to earth.

“I wanted to show you this place,” Liadan said, “because you are the Earth Dancer.”

“The correct title is Stone Dancer, actually,” Jareth said, “and I’m glad you did. It’s beautiful.”

His words made her smile. She patted the grass, making certain it was dry enough to sit on. She folded her long legs and indicated that he join her. Jareth did so, but only after looking around a moment longer.

“I can best teach you if I understand what exactly it is you do,” Liadan said.

He regarded her with a slight smile. “How does understanding my Dancer abilities help you to teach me how to ride and fight?”

“I won’t know that until I know what they are,” Liadan replied. She knew it was really just an excuse to get him alone in a pretty place, and she suspected that he did too. If so, he didn’t look displeased at having been misled. In fact, he stretched out on the grass, clasping his hands behind his head and gazing up at the sky. Liadan wanted nothing more at that moment than to lean over and kiss him, but she restrained herself.

“What exactly do you know about us?”

Liadan propped herself up on one elbow next to him. “Bram doesn’t tell us much, and frankly, I’m just a soldier and don’t know much about such things. I know what he said at the feast-that you were born to save this world, that you and the Lorekeepers have all lived before—and what I’ve seen with my own two eyes.”

He turned his head to look at her. She felt her pulse jump.

“That’s not much at all,” he said. He reached out a hand and gently touched a small white starflower, long, strong fingers caressing the petals. Liadan expected him to pluck it, but he did not. “We are the elements incarnate,” he said. “Earth, air, fire, water, spirit. Our Companions are an aspect of us, just as our Lorekeepers are.”

Liadan raised an eyebrow. “All of them? There are an awful lot of Namaraban.”

He chuckled. “No, there is one special Lorekeeper who is a part of the Dancer. He or she is the Dancer’s soul. It’s like the Dancer has three faces-the Dancer proper, the Companion animal, and the Lorekeeper.”

“Dancer, Companion, Lorekeeper…mind, body, spirit,” mused Liadan, nodding.

He looked at her sharply. “I never thought about it that way, but you’re right…that’s exactly what it is.”

“So you’re the Dancer, the Tiger is your Companion, but where’s your Lorekeeper?”

She wished the words back when she saw his reaction. The friendly blue eyes turned cold as chips of ice and the muscles in his jaw tightened.

“Let us not speak of her,” he said stiffly.

“Her?” Despite what he had just said Liadan couldn’t stop her exclamation. “Interesting. And Kevla’s is male…it’s that young man that Copper saw inside her when—“

“I said, I don’t want to talk about this,” he snapped. He sat up and for a moment Liadan feared he was going to leap to his feet and leave.

“All right, all right,” she soothed. “Tell me about your abilities then.”

He sat cross-legged on the grass, his nostrils still flaring with anger. Liadan wondered exactly what it was that had upset him so much. It was not just the topic of his own Lorekeeper that had distressed him; it was also that of Kevla’s. What had happened?

Jareth placed both hands on the ground beside him and breathed deeply. The action seemed to calm him somewhat, and the darkness that sat on his brow lifted.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have barked at you like that.”

Liadan grinned and shrugged. “Don’t worry. It takes more than a bit of snapping to unsettle me.”

He smiled a little then. “I’m certain that’s true.”

“So. Your powers.”

Jareth’s gaze fell to where his hands rested upon the grass. “I am Earth,” he said. “It obeys me.”

The blunt statement fascinated Liadan. She sat up. “How?”

“In many ways. I doubt I’ve explored the full depth of it yet myself. I first discovered I had this…this connection when I was a boy, barely thirteen.” He fell silent, as if suddenly realizing how much he was revealing and gave her a sidelong glance.

Liadan smiled as gently as she was capable of doing. “Go on,” she said.

“I felt something calling me, asking me to bring the change. It was winter, and I dug through the snow like a fox after a mouse. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I placed my bare hands on the frozen earth and…spring came.”

Her jaw dropped. “You…turned winter into spring?”

He nodded.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. I did it with all the other seasons as well. I called the animals in winter, when food was scarce. I helped the fruit ripen perfectly, without blemish.”

He fell silent, and she sensed there was something he was not revealing to her. That was all right. Let him say what he felt he could say now; the rest could wait.

“But…At one point, I misused my powers. I was angry, hurt. I had tree roots trip someone, had their branches hold him. It was wrong of me to do that. I hope I never lose control like that again.”

Liadan hugged her knees to her chest. She hadn’t enjoyed a story so much since she was a child. “Show me something,” she urged.

Jareth’s cheeks turned pink. She loved it when he blushed. “The abilities are not for simple displays to entertain,” he said.

She shrugged. “I know that. But…still. I would like to see. The Namaraban keep all the miracles and magic to themselves. We common folk see so little….”

His eyes searched hers, then he nodded. He rose and when to one of the small, stunted trees that clung to the soil. There was no windbreak up here, and anything that grew had to battle the fierce gales that sometimes whipped off the ocean. The trees survived, hardy and gnarled, but they survived. Jareth knelt beside it and put his hands on the twisted roots. He closed his eyes.

“Grow,” he whispered.

Before Liadan’s shocked, disbelieving gaze, the tree began to tremble. With a strange groaning, stretching sound, its roots disengaged, grew longer and healthier, and sought fresh, strong purchase in the soil. The trunk expanded and moved steadily upward. The leaves whispered to her and almost, she thought she could understand their green language. Branches shot out, undulating and writhing as they provided new shade. And then, like the last note of a beautiful song, pink and white apple blossoms appeared, became fruit, and turned red.

Jareth plucked two and tossed her one. Liadan caught it without thinking, staring not at the small round miracle in her hands but at the man who had wrought such a thing. He smiled and winked at her.

Liadan had never been in love, but the feeling that suddenly swept over her was suspiciously like what the bards assured her that tender emotion ought to feel like.

Chapter Thirteen

Kevla stared into the mountain pool, which caught and held the reflection of the sky, the clouds, and a sad young woman. She sighed; did she truly present such a melancholy face to the world?

“Of course not,” said the beloved voice, and suddenly Kevla’s gaze met the reflected one of her brother. “You are most skilled at hiding your emotions. You had to be.”

Her reflection suddenly brightened as Kevla smiled. She turned and hugged him tightly, smelling his dear, familiar scent of spicy oils and warm skin. He returned the embrace, resting his cheek on her hair.

“I’ve missed you,” she said. “I’ve missed this place. There is nothing familiar here in Reshan, not even….”

“Not even Jareth,” Jashemi said, finishing her sentence as he often did, even when he walked the earth as a living man. “You feel he has forsaken you…because of me.”

“Initially, perhaps. But he wanted to understand, to forgive-to find a way to make it work. It is I who have pushed him away. I had to. I cannot be with him the way a man and woman are meant to be. I would destroy him.” She could not bring herself to look at her brother as she spoke. Even now, though she had exchanged the passion she felt for the lover for the warm peace of a brother’s love, the thought of what had happened between them-what she had done to him-still filled her heart with pain.

As ever, he knew what she was thinking, and slipped an affectionate arm around her.

“There will come a day when you will be at peace with what happened between us,” he assured her. “When you truly understand that it was not your fault…that the connection had to be made regardless of the consequences.”

In life and in this form of spirit, Jashemi had been right about so many things. But Kevla could not bring herself to believe that he was right about this, and so remained silent.

He kissed the top of her head. “But I have not come to you today to discuss that. That is the past. I have come about the future.”

Kevla realized with a start that her friend the Dragon was absent. He was always with her; always a part of her as Jashemi was. She looked around, starting to grow frightened.

“Where—“

“You know where he is,” Jashemi said gently. “He is right outside the Grove, with the Kelpie and the Tiger. They are safe there.”

“But…he is not here, he is not with me.” Jashemi did not reply, and Kevla wondered if this new development was a good or a bad thing. Suddenly she missed the Dragon, missed his irritable remarks and dry wit and deep love. Almost as much as she missed Jashemi.

Almost as much as she missed….

“You are in love with him, then.” Jashemi’s voice held no trace of jealousy.

“I am,” she said softly. “I wish this heart of mine did not choose to wander down such paths. First you, and now Jareth. Two men I love so much, neither of whom I can have. I can be with no one…what happened to you proves that.”

“Does it?” Jashemi said mildly, as if they were discussing the weather. “My flesh was consumed by the fire of your passion, my dear one, but-“

The knock on the door made Kevla bolt upright, gasping. It was loud and insistent. She felt sluggish, almost drugged; she had not expected to fall asleep in the middle of the day. But she was so tired after an entire morning of training that her body had seized the chance for rest when Kevla had lain down to close her eyes for just a moment.

“Coming,” she called, and went to the door. She opened it and stared, surprised, at Liadan. She blinked, unable to think of any reason why the Horsemistress would show up at her door.

“Did I have a session this afternoon? I thought—“

Liadan laughed. “No, Kevla, I haven’t come to track you down because you missed a training session with me. I’d send one of my akhas for that.”

Kevla stood in the doorway, her brain still foggy from sleep. After a moment, Liadan said, “May I come in?”

Kevla felt her face grow hot. “Certainly,” she said, stepping aside so that Liadan could enter. She indicated one of the carved wooden chairs. “May I get you something to eat or drink?”

“I’ll have a glass of wine, if you’re having one,” Liadan said, taking the chair Kevla had offered. Kevla had not been going to have any wine, but wordlessly poured two goblets and handed one to Liadan. She took the chair opposite the Horsemistress, sipped the wine, and looked inquiringly at her visitor.

Despite her request, Liadan did not drink at once. She sat holding the goblet in both hands, staring into its ruby depths as if she were Copper scrying in a bowl of water. Kevla patiently waited for the other woman to speak. After a moment, Liadan knocked back half the goblet in one hearty swallow.

“I’m not a delicate woman, and I don’t prance around things,” she said, looking at Kevla.

Kevla smiled. “So I have gathered,” she said. She had found she enjoyed the other woman’s bluntess. After a life lived surrounded by court intrigue, Kevla found Liadan’s personality very refreshing-once her shock had worn off. “I hope you won’t feel it’s necessary to prance around anything with me. Have you given up trying to teach me to fight while riding?”

Liadan threw back her head and uttered one of her hearty laughs. “I’d have said so the moment I determined it,” she replied, still grinning. “No, it’s not about your horsemanship.”

“Then-what?”

Liadan’s hazel eyes met Kevla’s brown ones evenly. “I’ve come about Jareth.”

Kevla inhaled swiftly and almost spilled her wine. Her eyes stung and there was a huge lump in her throat. She could not meet the other woman’s level gaze and stared at the goblet, trying to think of what to say.

“I’m not the most sensitive of women,” Liadan went on, “but I’ve been around long enough to recognize connections between people when I see them. There’s something between you and Jareth…or was, or you would like there to be.”

Unbidden, the thought of their single kiss filled Kevla’s mind. He had summoned spring, after a winter that had threatened to be interminable, and she had joined her powers with his to prevent flooding as the snow suddenly melted at his command. For that moment, she had shared the rush of awakening life that surged through Jareth. Their eyes had met, their desire had been mutual, and he had pulled her into his strong arms and kissed her with an intensity that even now made her heart race.

There had been many nights when Kevla had lain awake wondering what would have happened between them had she not pulled away. But pull away she had, the sudden recollection of what she had done to Jashemi driving physical desire out of her thoughts. The instant he felt her withdraw, Jareth had released her and apologized.

I didn’t want him to stop, she thought. But he had to, or else he would have-

“Kevla?”

Kevla realized she had closed her eyes and tears had escaped from under closed lashes.

“I’m not quite the heartless bitch some like to portray me as,” Liadan said. “Sport’s one thing, but love….” The word seemed to sit oddly in her mouth, and Kevla wondered if she ever had experienced that fierce yet tender emotion. “Love is something else entirely. I won’t try to take him from you if you love him.”

Kevla wiped at her face and regarded Liadan. There was an unease about her that was at odds with her normal confident demeanor. And suddenly she realized what was going on. Liadan wasn’t talking about Kevla, not really.

Sport’s one thing, but love is something else entirely.

Liadan was starting to care for Jareth.

Kevla felt a pang of sympathy for Eion, who had loved Liadan in silence for years and never had the feeling returned. Once, Kevla had trod on that sensitive ground and encouraged Eion to voice his feelings to Liadan.

He had laughed with no humor. “What, and send her running for the hills? Have her laugh at me-or worse, look at me with pity?” He had shaken his dark head, and the look in his blue eyes broke Kevla’s heart. “No. Right now, she thinks of me as a friend, and graces me with her body when the mood strikes her. I’ve accepted that’s all I’m ever going to have from her. And even those crumbs are too precious for me to—“

He’d bitten back the rest of the words, his face flushed with anger or embarrassment, Kevla did not know which. But his attack on her when they resumed training had been particularly rough and Kevla had been hard pressed to defend herself.

And then the wave of her own impending loss hit and Kevla had to fight not to lose her composure. Jareth might have held her in her arms and kissed her passionately once, but it had to end there. He could not join with her in physical union; it would mean his death. Jashemi was holding out false hope. She’d been right to end this now, to let Jareth go into the arms of a woman whose lovemaking would pose no danger.

“You misunderstand,” Kevla said. “I care about Jareth very much, of course I do. We are both Dancers. We-we all have a bond in that way. But no, I am not in love with him.”

She had been able to say it calmly once, to Jareth. To watch the hope die in his eyes. She hadn’t expected to have to say it again, and her body betrayed her. Her eyes stung with tears and her voice cracked slightly.

“I hope defeating this Shadow doesn’t hinge upon how well you lie,” Liadan said wryly.

Kevla rubbed her eyes and smiled with no humor. “I hope not, either. Regardless, my feelings are immaterial. He can never be mine.”

A smile tugged at Liadan’s lips. “What a dramatic phrase. Pray tell, lady, why not?”

Kevla answered a question with a question. “What do you know of our powers?”

“Jareth told me a little,” Liadan said. “He demonstrated some of his earth magic. Impressive stuff. I imagine you can make things burn?”

Kevla tasted bile in her throat. “Yes, I can…burn things. Sometimes without meaning to. Sometimes…sometimes when my emotions are very intense, the fire comes forth from me and I can’t control it. Then…others are in danger. Others…die.”

Please don’t make me say any more, Kevla thought. I don’t want to have to tell you exactly what happened….

It took a second, but then comprehension dawned on Liadan’s sharp-featured face. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open slightly.

“You and someone…when…Kevla, I’m so sorry. I really am.”

The hazel eyes were kinder than Kevla had ever seen them, and suddenly she understood just why Eion was so reluctant to have Liadan gaze at him with pity. It was almost more than Kevla could bear.

“It is part of being the Flame Dancer,” she said, the words coming out more harshly than she had intended. “If I must endure this in order to help save my world, I will.”

She stood, indicating the conversation was over. Liadan emulated her, eyeing her with a new appreciation.

“I misjudged you, Kevla. You really are a warrior.”

From this woman, there could be no higher compliment. Kevla knew this and yet it meant nothing to her. She had not gone chasing her destiny; it had been thrust upon her and had cost her so very much. But to fail in her duty after enduring such pain would be worse, and her words to Liadan had been the truth. She inclined her head in acceptance of the compliment, and watched as Liadan went out the door, closing it behind her.

She will walk out of the castle keep, find Jareth, and take him to her bed, Kevla thought, her heart heavy and painful in her chest. He will kiss her as he kissed me…. and he will do so thinking I do not want him.

The thoughts were overwhelming and she did not dare follow that path of thought. She took a deep breath and washed her face in the basin. She was patting it dry and collecting herself when there came another rap on the door.

Kevla wanted to scream, but instead took a deep, calming breath. She half expected to see Liadan again, but was surprised to instead see Copper.

“Hello,” the Sea Dancer said. “I saw what just happened. In my basin in my room.”

Kevla didn’t know whether to be offended or amused. Copper showed no signs of embarrassment. Kevla groped for words.

“Were you watching me, then?”

“No. The visions just come. But I wanted to know if you would like to go for a ride.”

Suddenly Kevla smiled. Copper was doing what she could to extend a hand in friendship after seeing someone get hurt. The girl’s grasp on human emotions was not the most secure or accurate, but Kevla wanted to encourage it. After all, they were Dancers. They had a bond that no one else had, and they would need to work closely together if they were to defeat the Shadow.

“I would love to go for a ride with you,” Kevla said.

Kevla expected they would ride their Companion animals-or at least, Copper would; the Dragon was so large it was difficult to take him for an amble across the countryside. But to her surprise, they simply went to the stables and took two horses from there. Kevla did not know whether to be relieved or unhappy that they did not run into the Horsemistress. Liadan was quite possibly the last person Kevla wanted to see right now, but if Liadan was at the stables, then she was not in Jareth’s arms. Copper looked at her searchingly as they entered the stables. Knowing what she did, she probably wanted to see how Kevla would react if the Flame Dancer did encounter Liadan. But the incident Kevla feared and dreaded did not occur, and they took their saddled horses and rode off together.

It was one of the rare clear, sunny days that Reshan saw all too seldom. Kevla actually found herself squinting in the sunlight as they rode. As they left the castle and headed down a dirt path into the countryside, Kevla noticed how lush and green everything looked; the rain Copper so loved offered great benefits.

“I am surprised that you did not choose to ride the Kelpie,” Kevla said.

“He likes it in the Grove. As do the other Companions.”

“Yes, apparently,” Kevla said. “But do you not enjoy being with him? He is your Companion, after all. The Dragon and I are-were-inseparable once we found each other.” Until we came here.

“I loved it when we met,” Copper said. “I did recognize him, in a way. And at first, we were as you said. We were together all the time. But I have my duties and studies, and there is really no place for him in such activities. So he waits in the Grove, and I visit him when I go there to study with Bram.”

Kevla shook her head, understanding Copper’s words but not comprehending the emotion-or lack thereof-behind them. The Companion was a part of the Dancer, not a steed or an acquaintance. She and the Dragon had been so very close; sensing one another’s thoughts, sharing everything. He had supported her when she needed unconditional love, and been sharp with her when she needed the prod.

Copper was watching her. “You miss the Dragon,” she said. “Let’s go to the Grove and see him then.”

They turned their horses’ heads around and made for the Grove. Kevla was delighted, and when she saw her friend’s massive red form in the distance her heart surged.

Dragon! I have missed you!

And I you, Flame Dancer. Though the time has passed pleasantly in your absence. It has been good, to be with these old friends again.

I am sure you have all told many humorous tales at our expense, Kevla thought, and smothered a grin.

A few, the Dragon admitted, sounding in her mind very much like his old wry self. Although she passed by her Companion on her way to study in the Grove, he was often asleep, and she was disinclined to awaken him. It was good that he was awake and seemed happy to see her now. She anticipated that the next hour or so would pass pleasantly, she with the Dragon, the Sea Dancer with her Kelpie. But when they arrived at the Grove, the Dragon barely stirred. He opened one golden eye and regarded her, but otherwise made no move to welcome her.

Dragon?

What is it, Flame Dancer? Have you need of me?

Kevla gazed at her friend, confused. Do I require aid of you in order to come see you?

No, but I cannot think why else you would disturb us.

Kevla’s heart jerked. Disturb? Their visit-two Dancers wanting to be with their Companions—was a disturbance? She looked around to see the Blue Tiger curled nose to tail in a patch of warm sunlight, to see the Kelpie bow its head for a brief caress from Copper before folding its legs and resuming its drowse. The Dragon’s eye closed and he again fell asleep. Kevla knew that even now, she could touch his thoughts with hers, but refrained. Her mind went back to the vision she had had earlier, when Jashemi had come to her in her sleeping moments.

You know where he is…He is right outside the Grove, with the Kelpie and the Tiger. They are safe there.

But…he is not here, he is not with me.

Even now, when she stood close enough to touch him should she but extend one arm, he was not with her. Nor was Jareth.

But Copper was. Copper had seen her very soul and all but named him the moment Kevla’s feet had touched Reshanaban soil. Copper had shown her the wonders of her realm of water. She had witnessed the meeting between Liadan and Kevla, had heard Kevla voice a longing that must forever go unrequited. And Copper had come to her afterward, to take her riding into the countryside.

Perhaps this was what was supposed to happen after all. Now that the number of Dancers was growing, now that they were at long last reuniting this final time, perhaps they were supposed to turn to one another instead of the trusted and beloved Lorekeepers and Companions.

Kevla turned to regard the Sea Dancer. She looked at the other girl thoughtfully, as if seeing her for the first time. In a sense, she was. Kevla was looking at this young woman as a friend.

“Let’s go back to that trail,” Kevla said, and Copper grinned.

Chapter Fourteen

Yeshi fanned herself as the litter swayed gently. She had forgotten how hot it was here in Arukan. The Emperor’s lands were much more temperate and she had grown accustomed to the climate.

Do not permit yourself to grow soft with your comforts, she chided herself. That was part of the reason you failed before.

She was harder now than she had been. Pain, loss, and hatred had toughened her spirit as the desert toughened those forced to live out their lives beneath its scorching sun. She thought back to when she was nothing more than a khashim’s wife, when her days were filled with tempting foods, cool water and languid massages with scented oils.

The time I wasted then! If she had known then what she knew now, she would not have had to crawl to the Emperor to reclaim what was rightfully hers. She despised the soft creature she had been, and was fiercely proud of the woman she had become.

The road to her present self had been rocky. She had had a bad moment a few days ago when one of her spies had reported that her daughter-the girl she had so longed to bear, who had been so perfect save for the red blotch on one cheek, whose sacrifice to the Dragon had all but killed her mother-still lived. Meli, Tahmu had named the child; “gift.” For a few horrible seconds, Yeshi had been tempted to abandon the Emperor and his plans, rush to the House of Four Waters, beg forgiveness and try to reunite with her daughter and husband. But that moment of madness had passed, and she emerged emotionally wrung out but with a renewed dedication and clarity. Her path was set and she would not turn from it.

Yeshi frowned to herself as the road turned and her litter shifted. These men were the Emperor’s; they were soldiers, not servants, and they had not been trained in the proper art of litter-bearing. Yeshi was certain she would have bruises from all the sliding about. Perhaps she would order one of the bearers beaten. The thought was pleasing to her.

She went over the plan once again. The Emperor’s spies had been planted in all the Arukani clans which had expressed dissatisfaction with how the country was changing. The Clan of Four Waters, of course, was in the forefront of change. No woman in the household was forced to veil herself at any function. No servants were beaten; their punishments were extra work or loss of privileges. And Tahmu had completely abolished the practice of taking five-scores. Yeshi had even heard that within the household, both men and women were free to decline marriage arrangements if it displeased them.

All this was done in the name of the Great Dragon, who had proved to be at once both more than the legends had claimed and less. He was real. He was a physical being, enormous and red and scaly and powerful, breathing fire and taking wing as easily as a bird. But he was less than what they had thought him, too. He had been their lawgiver, the creator and enforcer of taboos. To discover that the Arukani had been “misinterpreting” the Great Dragon’s law all these years…that he was nothing more than a servant of the Flame Dancer…of Kevla-well. Many who fought for Kevla that day against the intruders in their land had since had time to cool their battlelust and take another look at what their country had become. Many did not like what they saw. If the Great Dragon had stayed, it might be one thing, but he left…left bearing Kevla, left his people behind. Some felt abandoned.

There were many on the list that the Emperor’s spies eventually compiled. So many that Yeshi had started to grin as the Emperor’s eyes flicked over the names. If one did not work out, there would always be another.

The one she was going to meet with today was the one that Yeshi thought would be their best opportunity. A lesser son of a great Clan’s leader, he was estranged from his father. He had taken some men with him, but he did not have enough to challenge the khashim. This boy-for boy he was, barely twenty-despised the “new” Arukan, burned for revenge, and had the bloodline to claim respectability. He was ripe for the plucking, and Yeshi intended to harvest him.

The litter was set down so abruptly that Yeshi’s breath was knocked out of her. Fury rushed through her, but she tamped it down. She would beat bloody one of the bearers by nightfall; it mattered not which one. Catching her breath, she drew aside the curtain that covered the door and extended a hand for assistance. Hard, callused fingers grasped her arm and she was all but hauled to her feet. She made her decision as she looked into the green eyes and pale, ugly face of the man. He’d be the one she’d pick.

She smoothed her rhia and frowned at the wrinkles in it. She had hoped to present a better picture, but this would have to do. Her servants began to set up a small pavilion. Yeshi had insisted on lavish silks and pillows and rugs to make it as opulent-seeming as possible. She would negotiate from a position of power, not as a supplicant. The boy needed her to achieve his goals; she did not want him to realize how badly she needed him.

Yeshi sipped from a waterskin as she watched, her dark eyes missing nothing. She nodded her approval as the trysting place took shape. Pity there was no one in the Emperor’s service who knew how to make eusho; being able to present the young man with the traditional beverage would have been a perfect touch. There were some foods from her homeland, but not many. Goat cheese, olives, paraah and other fruits sat on golden trays. They were accompanied by other, more alien foodstuffs; Yeshi wanted to introduce the boy to the delicacies the Emperor’s power could provide-things unusual and strange and pleasing. The young were easily seduced by such things. Yeshi smiled. The young were easily seduced, period.

Per her instructions, the servants had erected the pavilion in the shade. The coolness and darkness inside would be welcome. Deciding all was satisfactory, Yeshi stepped inside and arranged herself comfortably. He would be here soon.

Her riders had gone ahead to meet him, and after a short time Yeshi’s ears caught the unmistakable sound of broad sa’abah feet slapping against the sand. Her heart sped up. If this failed, if he did not agree to ally with her, they would have to kill him, and that would present problems of its own. She had sent a hostage in exchange of course, but the girl’s fate if the deal went bad did not trouble Yeshi. What troubled her was what would happen if the boy did not return.

Let us hope all goes well, she thought. She almost formed it as a prayer, but then realized that with the Great Dragon being revealed as nothing more than an aide to the hated Kevla, she no longer had a god to pray to.

The silken doorflap was pulled aside. The boy stood in the doorway, backlit by the bright light of midday. Yeshi smiled languidly and waved him in. When the doorflap dropped, she saw that it was indeed he. She appraised him thoughtfully. He was shorter than most men, slender but muscular, with a soft mouth that spoke of indulgence and flashing, angry eyes that spoke of the rashness of youth. It all fit with what she knew of him.

“Raka-kha-Terku, of the Sa’abah Clan,” she said formally. “I give you greetings.”

The boy scowled, his attractive features rendered ugly by the gesture. “I am no longer his son,” he said. “I am my own man.”

“Of course you are,” Yeshi said soothingly. “I would not have wished to meet with one who had no power.”

He brightened so visibly under the compliment that Yeshi felt hope rise inside her. She had never met the boy, to whom she was actually related by marriage. Her only son, Jashemi-kha-Tahmu, had married Terku’s daughter Shali. Rumor had it that Jashemi’s widow was expecting a child-Yeshi’s grandchild. The knowledge meant nothing to her.

What did mean something to her was how arrogant, youthful and malleable Raka was.

“I have heard that you were one of the few who dared stand up to the Great Dragon, when he appeared,” Yeshi continued, pouring a cup of mint tea and handing it to Raka. He accepted the beverage and sat on the silken pillows.

“I did,” he said proudly.

Raka had said that Kevla was in truth a kuli and the Dragon an illusion she had conjured. What Raka did not speak of was what happened next. The Dragon had shamed him, trundling over to the youth and picking him up with his giant claws. Raka had begun to weep and the Dragon had put him back on the earth with a gesture of contempt. Yeshi, disgraced, even her name ripped from her, had hidden in the back of the crowd, but she had seen it all.

That gesture had to have burned in Raka’s young, insulted heart ever since. Doubtless it was what drove him to rebel against his father and the emasculating “new” ways that were starting to spread across Arukan.

“And then I stood up to my father, when he wanted us to abandon our traditions. I still believe that that was not our Dragon. Our Great Dragon would not be so dominated by a woman.”

Yeshi kept her eyes demurely lowered as she sipped her cup of tea. She would have to be careful. Raka would need to think that everything was his own idea.

“I am pleased you agreed to meet with me,” she said quietly.

He looked at her somewhat contemptuously. “You were cast off by your husband for taking a lover and attempting to overthrow him,” he said. “I thought long and hard about meeting with you. What is it you, a disgraced Bai, could possibly offer me?”

“You too are Bai,” she said as gently as possible. “The word means nothing when the so-called disgrace is undeserved. You were wrongly cast aside. So was I.”

He looked at her curiously. “You claim you did not do these things?”

She risked a look at him then. “I do not deny them, but let me ask you this-do you think Tahmu-kha-Rakyn deserves to be khashim of the most powerful Clan in Arukan?”

He frowned, considering. “No. He has betrayed the traditions.”

Yeshi dipped her dark head slightly. “He has. If he is an unworthy leader, how can wanting to depose him be wrong?”

An older man would have laughed at the argument, and in truth, Yeshi knew it was a feeble one. But Raka was young and while he wanted to be wise and clever, he was gullible and eager. He thought in terms of black and white, good and bad, wrong and right. Unlike Tahmu. In truth, Yeshi knew that Tahmu was a very good leader, although she hated him. He understood the power of gray, and was a master of the intricate game of Shamizan because of it. “Between the absolutes of black and white lies true power,” was the game’s motto, and Tahmu knew it in his blood. Oh yes, Tahmu would have laughed at Yeshi’s argument.

But Raka was not Tahmu, and he was not laughing.

“What do you offer?”

She told him.

He grinned.

Chapter Fifteen

When Kevla returned from her ride, she realized that she was smiling. It had been a long time since she had done something so simple yet so enjoyable. Kevla had not gotten close to very many people; her birth as a bai-sha, an illegitimate child, had been a barrier few wished to cross in her homeland. Only Jashemi had done so. Since then, she had been traveling to find the other Dancers. Ironically, she was now as set apart from others as she had ever been in Arukan, except this time it was because she was respected and perhaps feared for her power rather than despised for her low rank.

When she had traveled to the north to find the Stone Dancer, she had befriended a Lamali girl named Mylikki. They had parted when Kevla and Jareth left for Reshan; Mylikki had chosen to stay in her homeland rather than accompany the Dancers, and Kevla couldn’t blame her. Now, Kevla was daring to hope that perhaps she had found a female friend in Copper. Certainly she had enjoyed their time together, and that was a start.

She halted her mount inside the courtyard, where a young woman hurried up to take the reins from her.

“How was your ride, my lady?” the akha inquired politely.

“Lovely,” Kevla replied. She gave the girl a smile and dismounted. She turned and started for the castle entrance, more than ready for a quick bath before dinner to wash away the sweat of the day, when a voice called her name. The smile faded from her lips as she recognized the voice’s owner.

“Kevla!”

Bram hastened up to her, slightly out of breath.

“Yes, Bram? How may I help you?”

“I understand you were at the Grove today,” Bram said, catching his breath. “I am so sorry I missed you. I am surprised that none of the Namaraban came to greet you and offer you our hospitality.”

Kevla was certain there was more behind Bram’s appearance in the courtyard than a courtesy overlooked.

“Please do not worry, Anam. I am sure if I had approached Sliah would have made me most welcome. She always does. Copper and I stopped by only to briefly visit our Companions, then we had other things planned.”

“Really? What sort of other things?

Kevla looked at him. Why should he care? Still, she saw no harm in answering truthfully. “We went for a ride together.”

She felt it almost like a physical tickle at the back of her brain. It was so subtle that at first she thought it was just an errant breeze wafting across the courtyard.

“Good, good! Did the Horsemistress come with you?”

“No, I can ride sufficiently well on my own.” Again, the tickle, and this time she reached up a hand and scratched at the base of her neck. What was it?

“Would you care to join me for some refreshment? It seems silly to simply stand out here the courtyard chatting.”

It was a perfectly reasonable request, and yet Kevla suddenly felt very strongly that she had no desire to spend another moment in this man’s company. But why? She liked Anam Bram, was very fond of Sliah and the Namaraban.

“You must forgive me, but I am tired from my ride and I would like to freshen up a bit before I am summoned to the evening meal. Perhaps we can talk later?”

Then she felt it. Something soft and dark as a shadow brushed her mind, probing and tickling-

And then gone so quickly she wasn’t certain she hadn’t imagined it.

Bram smiled. “Of course. How thoughtless of me. Please excuse me, I was simply eager to speak with you, that’s all. Another time, then.”

He bowed, smiled, turned and ambled away without looking back. Kevla watched him go, one hand pressed to her temple.

She crossed the courtyard as quickly as possible, feeling the coolness of heavy stone as she stepped into the castle. She hurried through the corridors to her room. With shaking hands she opened the door and went inside, closing the door and leaning against it as if her body could provide as much of a barrier as the sturdy wooden bar. She was breathing quickly and her heart was racing. She held up a hand before her eyes and saw that it trembled.

“No,” she said aloud, as if hearing the word spoken would make it more real. She hadn’t imagined it. Bram was better at this sort of mind-trick than the Emperor had been-subtler, smoother, less intrusive—but it was the same thing; an attempt to break into her thoughts, to read her mind.

Don’t jump to conclusions, she cautioned herself. Magic is a tool, just like a sword. Two men may use the same type of weapon, but one may be your ally, the other your enemy. She knew little of magic that was not intrinsic to her skills as a Dancer, and knew that these Lorekeepers, at least, had their own magic. Surely he hadn’t meant any ill.

But he had violated her mind without permission, regardless of his intentions, and Kevla was not going to sit silently by and let a stranger probe her innermost thoughts. A wave of gratitude swept over her as she realized she had been doing nothing but thinking harmless thoughts of her pleasant outing with Copper. She could have been thinking of Jareth, or Jashemi-and she most assuredly did not want the unctuous Bram knowing about those intimate matters.

Jareth. More than anything, she wanted to turn to him, to her fellow Dancer, her friend. He knew so much about what it meant to be a Dancer, to struggle with the burden. But she herself had pushed him away, into the arms of Liadan. She had seen the two of them together, seen how Jareth brightened whenever the Horsemistress was around. And Liadan had all but confessed to falling in love. Kevla would not thrust herself upon them with her suspicions of Bram until she had proof that he meant them harm.

Still…the thought bothered her. The mental probing was so very similar to the Emperor’s probe. Jareth was able to take care of himself; he would understand what was going on if Bram tried the same thing on him. Jareth didn’t need her advice, her protection.

Someone else did.

The bath forgotten, Kevla went to the fireplace and summoned flame. She gazed into it until she found the face she wanted.

“Hello Copper,” she said calmly, smiling.

Copper’s eyes widened, and then she grinned. “Kevla! This is fire magic isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is,” Kevla said. “One of many things I can do. May I…come see you? I have something I must discuss with you.”

“Certainly,” Copper said.

Kevla stepped forward into the huge fireplace and materialized in Copper’s chambers. Again, the girl stared at her, but then Copper began to laugh and clap her hands excitedly.

“This is wondrous!” she said. “Your magic is so exciting! Much better than just having visions.”

Gently Kevla took her hands and stilled them. “You must not be too loud, Copper. No one must know I’m here.”

Copper looked at her curiously. “Why not?”

Kevla sighed and motioned to the chairs. “I have some questions for you, and some things to tell you.”

“Please proceed,” said Copper, obediently taking a seat.

Kevla took a deep breath, wondering how far she should go with her suspicions. She was uncertain as to how much Copper liked and trusted the Anam. Too, Kevla was deeply reluctant to believe ill of the people who were this land’s Lorekeepers. Such a concept was alien to her. She had witnessed poor Ilta’s madness, but Ilta was only one person.

And Anam Bram is one person too, Kevla reminded herself. Better to voice my suspicions and be shamed if they are proved wrong than to not speak and invite danger.

“I just spoke with Anam Bram,” Kevla said. “He caught me as I was leaving the courtyard. He asked me about the time I spent with you.”

Copper’s large green eyes regarded Kevla shrewdly. “Clearly this upset you, but…I don’t know why. There’s nothing wrong with him knowing we went riding together.”

“No, of course not,” Kevla replied, “but…Copper, while we were talking, I felt him…inside my head.”

“Oh,” Copper said. “Yes, he does that. Namaraban magic I think.”

“Really? And you permit it?”

Copper shrugged. She rose, went to a heavy wooden sideboard, and brought back a tray laden with apples and cheese. She cut up the apple as she spoke.

“He’s done it ever since I came back from the ocean,” Copper said. “I’m quite accustomed to it.”

“You don’t think there’s anything…wrong with someone reading your thoughts without your permission?”

Copper handed Kevla a slice of apple topped with cheese. Kevla took the food without thinking, but food was the last thing she wanted right now. Copper bit into the fruit and chewed for a moment.

“No, I don’t. He’s the Anam. Why shouldn’t he know what’s going on in our heads?”

“You think your mother would subject herself to that?”

Copper laughed. “No, Mother hates it when he does that.”

“Well, so do I.”

“Then don’t let him.” Copper took another bite. She had adjusted her position in the chair so that one leg dangled over the chair’s arm. She looked very young. “I love this cheese,” gesturing with it to emphasize her words. “It’s made from goat’s milk, you know.”

“Copper, you must listen to me. There’s a reason I grow upset when someone probes my mind like that.” She took a deep breath. “Not everyone in this world wants the Dancers to succeed. Some want to cause our downfall. We have an enemy. I only know him as the Emperor. He is strong and he has opposed us at every turn.”

Copper looked at her with those fascinating green eyes. There was a sudden alertness in her pose.

“Why does he oppose you? Doesn’t he know that if the Dancers fail, the world will end? Him right along with it, one would think?”

Kevla looked down at the apple and cheese that lay forgotten in her brown palm. She put it back on the tray. “There is so much we don’t know,” she said. “Even with the Lorekeepers to advise us, to tell us about what has gone before, we are floundering in the dark much of the time. I don’t know why the Emperor hates us so, why he wishes us to fail. Maybe he has a reason. Maybe he’s insane. It doesn’t matter.”

She lifted her brown eyes to Copper’s green ones. “What does matter is that he is trying to stop us. In Arukan, he raised a great army to overcome my people. We were isolated, disparate clans. He would have won had we not united, and even then we needed my skills and those of the Dragon to force him to withdraw. So we know he has great physical resources at his disposal. And when I went to find Jareth, he had created a magical obstacle which nearly destroyed Jareth’s land and all the people in it.”

Copper narrowed her eyes. “The girl,” she said. “The girl I saw, connected with Jareth—“

“You have the ability to see our souls, Copper,” Kevla said solemnly. “The youth you see inside me…he is my brother, Jashemi. He was my Lorekeeper in life…the one person closer to me than any other. And he is my soul. The girl, the mad young woman you see connected with Jareth-that’s his Lorekeeper. The Emperor got to her and corrupted her, tried to turn her against the other Dancers with the promise of having Jareth forever.”

Copper shook her head as she finished the bite of apple and cheese. “Another one after him. Does every woman in the world want Jareth?”

The blush that flooded Kevla’s face was so hot it was almost crippling. She could not reply.

“Keep going. I’m curious about this Emperor. Tell me more.” There was something in Copper’s tone of voice that made Kevla forget about her embarrassment and look at the other girl sharply. Copper was trying hard to keep her usual peculiar, languid detachment, but the mention of the Emperor had clearly gotten her attention. Kevla wondered why.

“What bothers me about Bram is that the way he probed my mind today was exactly the way the Emperor did,” Kevla continued. “It felt the same…only more…advanced. As if he could do it better than the Emperor.”

Copper stared at her. All the color had drained from her face and the freckles stood out in stark contrast to the milky hue of her skin. Her eyes were enormous.

“Copper? Are you all right?”

Copper did not answer. She folded her arms over her chest and curled up in the chair, shivering. At once Kevla hastened to her, kneeling beside the chair.

“Copper?”

Copper turned to look at her, and for the first time since Kevla had known her, there was real emotion in that gaze.

“S-someone else told me about the Emperor. Warned me. That same…source also warned me about Bram. And now here you come, and you know about the Emperor too….”

Kevla squeezed the girl’s arm gently, noting how thin and vulnerable it felt beneath her fingers. “Copper, tell me everything you know. Please. This is very, very important.”

Copper swallowed hard. Her eyes searched Kevla’s and then she nodded. “All right. It was when we went into the cave. I sneaked away and looked into a pool in another cavern. I saw…I saw my reflection.”

Kevla looked puzzled. “I thought you never saw your reflection.”

“It was the first time,” Copper replied. “I only knew it was me because I had seen the portrait earlier. It started talking to me. It knew I was the Sea Dancer and said it had come to warn me. It said the same thing you did-that the Emperor sent an army against your people and corrupted Jareth’s Lorekeeper. It said…” She frowned, her brow knitting. “It said his intent is to see to it that the Dancers will never stand against the Shadow.”

Kevla was silent, letting the girl work through all this. It had to be a shock. At last, she said quietly, “Whoever was talking to you is right about the Emperor.”

Copper whimpered, softly, like a frightened puppy. “Then…maybe it was right…about the rest.”

“What else did it say?”

Copper shivered. “It said the Naramaban were posing as our friends, but they meant to do us harm. Especially Bram.”

The words made the hair on the back of Kevla’s neck lift.

“Did it say what kind of harm?”

Copper licked her lips nervously. “It said that the Lorekeepers are the servants of the Dancers, but the Namaraban want to control us, not serve us.” She turned anguished eyes on Kevla. “You’re telling me that it was right about the Emperor. Do…do you think it was right about Bram? About all the Namaraban?”

Kevla didn’t want to believe it any more than Copper obviously did. She felt sick at the thought that she might have been being toyed with by Bram, by Sliah, by all the other Namaraban who had been so kind and welcoming toward her.

But…

“Two faces,” Kevla murmured.

“What?”

Kevla looked up. “Two faces. Jareth and I-when we were trying to find you, we used to link our hands together and we sometimes could see you. And one night we saw other things as well. We saw a light-very bright, almost blindingly white. We saw a sword and letters floating upward.”

“Ah. That’s why you wanted to learn our language and train to fight.”

Kevla nodded. “We also saw faces-faces I now know belonged to your mother, and Bram, and Liadan and Eion. And at one point it looked like a single head bore two faces. When we came here, it was easy to see that there were two factions-Riona and the Namaraban. I thought the vision meant that one meant us harm, and we had to decide which one.” She laughed, shakily. “But it was even simpler than that. Two faces…two-faced.” It seemed so obvious now. How could she have missed it?

“Bram is showing us all one face, a kind and helpful face. But I fear his true face is a dark one. The feeling that I had when he probed my thoughts was the same as what I experienced when the Emperor did so. Horrible as it might be to believe, I think this mysterious friend who uses your own face may indeed be trying to warn us that Bram is in league with the Emperor.”

Copper chewed her lower lip and fidgeted with her hands. At last she said, “I wish I could see it again.”

“It won’t come when you try to scry in water?”

Copper shook her red head. “No. I’ve only ever seen it in the pool.”

“Then let us get back to the pool and see if it will come to you again,” said Kevla.

“I can’t. It’s sacred to the Namaraban. Bram would have been very upset if he thought I’d even been there once.

Kevla sighed and rose, brushing her hair out of her eyes with a shaking hand. She kept her voice steady as she spoke. “So he forbids you access to this pool…the place where you received at least one accurate warning. That is another reason not to trust him.”

“You’re right, Kevla, I have to go back there. I have to talk to it again.”

“I agree. The question is, how do we get you in there?”

Chapter Sixteen

Silver knew that if she were discovered, things could go very badly. At the very least, if her father knew what she was doing, she could be forbidden to leave the palace for who knew how long.

She moved quickly through the water, now and then pausing to flip around to ensure that she was not being followed. Despite the danger, she was smiling in anticipation. Her heart spasmed for an instant when she saw a movement out of the corner of her eye, but it was only a sea otter. She reached out and caught the furry beast and cuddled it for a moment, kissing the top of its head. The sea otters were used to such behavior from the Fialaban. They knew and did not fear them, and frequently Fialaban used the sea otters to fish the way humans used hunting dogs on the land. The otter endured her caressing but darted off quickly once Silver let it go.

She continued on her way, her smile even wider. She reached the rendezvous spot and hid herself deep in the waving kelp.

Her anticipation turned to worry as time passed and he did not show. She wondered if he had lost interest in her, if he had been caught…if she had inadvertently led them both into a trap. When the kelp finally parted and he emerged, his ugly face almost literally split into a grin when he caught sight of her.

I am so sorry I’m late, Shess sent at once. Something came up…I could not leave without arousing suspicion.

I understand, Silver sent. The wave of relief that washed through her upon seeing him left her feeling slightly weak.

After their first meeting, when Silver had fled in disgust and terror, she had found herself thinking about Shess almost constantly. The FinFolk were indeed so very much like her, she had to wonder why. Her curiosity overcame her fear, and the next day she had returned to the kelp forest, hoping wildly that he was as curious as she, and that he would be there.

He had been. It had been strange and uncomfortable, yet exhilarating at the same time. The danger they were both courting from their respective peoples added an edge to the encounter. Repeated exposure to his features lessened the revulsion Silver felt at beholding them. She learned to interpret his expressions, recognized the harsh barking sound as laughter, and found that in the end, she was fascinated by him.

He seemed to feel the same about her. Once, he asked timidly if he could touch her arm and feel the scales. Nervously Silver had agreed. She was surprised at how soft and respectful his hands were as he ran his stubby fingers along her scales. When he invited her to do the same she did so with only a slight hesitation. His scales felt exactly like hers.

You promised last time you would tell me what your people believe about the Fialaban, Silver sent. And why you hate the humans so much.

The Fialaban. Even as she formed the words in her mind, Silver realized that at least when she was with Shess, she did not think of the Fialaban as “her people.” Her father was the king of them, that much was true, but she did not belong to them, any more than Copper truly belonged to the world of the humans. Both she and her sister were set apart. They were unique, and Silver found that she craved knowledge that did not come from her father’s lips about other races. Perhaps if she understood the humans and the FinFolk as well as she did the Fialaban, she would discover something that would help her understand herself.

Shess’s lower lip protruded, a gesture that Silver now knew meant he felt uncomfortable. I didn’t tell you last time because I did not want you to think I was attacking the Fialaban or the humans. You are part of both of them, and I…I like you. I would not want to hurt you.

Silver smiled. I know that. But the world of the humans is denied to me. And I have learned all I can from the Fialaban. I would know what your people think of us.

He cocked his head in that quizzical gesture that made him look more appealing, then nodded. Very well. As long as you understand that I am not your enemy.

Again, Silver smiled. I know you’re not.

It goes back a thousand years, Shess began. We did not exist before then. At least, not as you see us today. Then, Reshan was not the island it is now, and we knew nothing of humans at all. Reshan was part of the ocean floor-our part of it. We lived in peace with the Fialaban…in fact…we were Fialaban.

Silver stared in shock. She had never heard this story. Never even suspected….

You were Fialaban?

Shess nodded his fishy head and repeated what he had sent before. The FinFolk as we are now did not exist.

Silver’s heart thudded almost painfully against her chest. Nothing in Fialaban history indicated that the FinFolk had once been Fialaban. True, no myth or tale had ever adequately explained the FinFolk origins. They just appeared. And she had thought Reshan had always been an island. She went cold inside. She would eventually have to confront her father and demand to be told the truth. Was it possible that Farron simply did not know about this, or was he lying to her? She had not thought lies possible, given the almost entirely mental form of communication used by the Fialaban, but….

Do not tell him! He will know that you have been speaking with one of us. It could mean war between our peoples!

Shess, of course, had read her thoughts. His plea was almost painful as it shot through her mind. She shook her head, her white hair drifting behind her.

Truth could bring about peace between our peoples-all of them, human, FinFolk and Fialaban! Silver insisted. The humans could understand why the FinFolk hate them so much, if they stole their land…the Fialaban might not hate the FinFolk, if they are true kin-

When you are ruler, perhaps you can do something about this, Shess sent. But please…let me tell you what I know. And I beg you, say nothing to your father for now.

Reluctantly, Silver nodded.

We were all Fialaban, Shess continued. Then one day, several ships sailed out from the mainland. They stopped here and…something happened. Not even we, who have kept this story alive for ten centuries, know exactly what transpired. They used magic of some kind.

The Namaraban, Silver thought. Only the Namaraban have magic. Not all humans.

That is a very fine distinction, Shess sent. I do not know that those of my people who harbor hate in their hearts would make it. But I am glad you have told me that not all humans use magic now. But humans used magic then, and suddenly there was a bright light and the ocean was thrown into turmoil. A large chunk of the ocean floor was broken off. This huge, solid piece of rock and earth kept rising and rising until it broke the surface. This became known as Reshan…a floating piece of the ocean floor. This was what the humans claimed for their own.

The story sounded ludicrous. Part of Silver wondered why she was even listening. And yet there was something in this story that felt…right. Something that had the ring of truth, preposterous though it seemed at first. She wondered what the humans had to say about this. She would have to ask Copper about it.

Shess had paused in his relating of the story. He looked sad and hesitant, as if he was uncertain whether he should continue. Silver sensed that he didn’t know if she believed him.

Please, go on, Shess, she encouraged him. I sense there is much more of this story you have yet to share with me.

He nodded sadly. His whole body seemed to droop, but he continued.

The magic didn’t stop with pulling the ocean floor to the surface. It continued…covering the island with grass and trees and other plants, calling forth freshwater springs, even somehow spawning creatures. And the magic…changed those who were caught on this piece of land when it was so brutally hauled forth.

Silver listened to his thoughts in horror, wanting to know what was next, not wanting to discover what dreadful thing happened.

It transformed the Fialaban unfortunate enough to be within its range. It turned them into…into us. Into the FinFolk. Into the twisted, malformed, mutated shapes we have become.

Silver couldn’t believe he was speaking of himself and his people in such a fashion.

Do you think we do not understand how hideous we appear? Silver winced. Anger and pain laced Shess’s thoughts now, and she felt the emotions physically through their mental link. Do you think we do not look upon the Fialaban, and wish that we looked like them again? To know that once we did, that once we were, but through no fault of our own are no longer? Do you not think the scholars and healers among us have not been working furiously since that day, that moment, to find a way to change us back?

Silver held his pain in her heart. The Fialaban who were not caught in this-this magic tide…they did nothing?

She knew the answer before she formed the question. She knew that as far as Shess was concerned, it did not even need to be asked. But Silver needed to ask it. She needed to have the words formed in her mind, to hope, even for the briefest of instants, that her people did not do what she feared they had done…what in her heart she knew they had done.

He did not reply at once. Finally his thoughts, no longer angry but sad and almost sympathetic, brushed hers tenderly.

They fled in horror, Silver.

Silver closed her eyes.

They shunned us immediately. I don’t blame them, at least not at first. No one really understood what was happening. It could have been contagious. The tenor of his thoughts hardened. But as time went on, and it was clear that only those originally-affected continued to be…malformed…they could have tried to help. They could have tried to understand that we were innocent victims of human magic. That we had not chosen to be like this. But the Fialaban did not do so. They continued to avoid us. They felt sorry for us, indeed, but not enough to bring us back into their families, their circles, their lives.

Oddly, Silver’s next thought was of the Flame Dancer Kevla, whom Copper had described. She had been shunned because of something she could not control. Born illegitimate, she had only a life of begging and poverty to look forward too. Except she had a destiny that surpassed that which her people wished to thrust upon her.

We are not so fortunate, Shess sent. Silver nodded sadly. The one thing we did discover as time went on was that the magic that had so dreadfully changed us had gifted us as well. We have certain magic of our own. We were the ones who crafted the shell necklaces that permit your people to travel freely back and forth from the waves.

Silver gaped at him. He smiled a little.

You did not know that? Reeling from the shock, Silver shook her head. I am not surprised. The Fialaban do not want their shameful secret known. The Fialaban have no magic-crafters. They never have. Have you not wondered how your people have magical things, but yet no one who knows how to make them? They have always come to us, silently, stealthily, to get their needs met. I believe it is the only reason they have let the FinFolk survive so long.

Silver felt sick. She stared at him, not wanting to believe him, yet knowing that he spoke the truth. Copper had spoken of the Namaraban and their little enclave they called the Grove. Her sister had mentioned artisans and craftsmen as well as scholars. They made jewelry and beautiful objects. Silver’s scaly fingers reached to touch the shell necklace she wore, a gift from her father on her tenth birthday. She thought about his crown, his scepter, his throne…all objects that had magic woven tightly into them. Woven into them by ugly, stubby, scaly FinFolk hands.

I am a fool! she thought bitterly. I have seen all these things…and I have never questioned, never thought….

She covered her face with her hands. The touch on her shoulder from his soft, webbed hand was gentle and compassionate.

No one does, Silver, came his comforting thoughts. You are not taught to question. The fact that you dared to come back to the kelp forest to see me again sets you apart from all other Fialaban.

There was much, much more than her willingness to meet with a FinFolk that set her apart. She did not form the thoughts as words, but he sensed them immediately anyway.

Unlike any other Fialaban, you understand a little of what the FinFolk have endured, he sent. You are special. You and your sister.

How do the FinFolk endure it? She saw him wince at the raw emotion with which she had imbued the thought. I know that you make raids on the human villages. I think I understand why you want to hurt them-because of what they did to you so long ago. But why do you not attack the Fialaban? I would think you would hate them even more than the land-dwellers. It is possible that those humans who created the island did not know what their magic had done. But the Fialaban knew.

We do not attack the Fialaban because we are still their brothers. The thought was soft and profound. And because we need each other. One day, perhaps, we will find what we are seeking. And in the meantime, there are many who have decided that being FinFolk has certain advantages.

Silver looked at him miserably then. She suddenly felt naked and vulnerable. Everything she had been taught to believe was now suspect. The father she adored was ruler over a race of beings that had been sickeningly quick to turn their back on brethren in need. Her mother was descended from a line that had ripped up the ocean floor and subverted it to their own purposes, without care for what it might do to others.

Silver did not want to own either her Fialaban or her human heritage at this bitter moment. She reached out her hand and grasped that of Shess. Ten scaled fingers intertwined tightly, catching the light that filtered down from the surface.

I want to help, she said. Tell me how I can help.

Chapter Seventeen

The Emperor stared into the pulsing, crimson depths of the Tenacru. The Mage had told him he was getting better at commanding the tool, but he was not so certain. He felt frustrated and a little bit frightened, like something precious was slipping through his fingers even as he tried to tighten his grasp. Which was, of course, exactly what was happening.

He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes, forcing his tense muscles to relax. No, that wasn’t entirely true. Things were in place. They were making progress on tracking down rumors of other powerful tools he could use, to focus and direct his powers as the Tenacru did. Yeshi had reported that she had made contact with Raka, and he was amenable to their proposition. Ilta was also in service to him, executing his plans, ingratiating herself as only she knew how to do. And there were others too, who were in their proper positions, utterly loyal to him, obeying his commands. Things were not spiraling out of control.

And yet…he could not see the girl! Alone of all the Dancers, the Sea Dancer eluded his vision. Why could he not see her? He was neither a fool, nor blind to his own failings; he recognized that this was becoming an obsession with him. But he just wanted to see her. He knew what the other four looked like in their current incarnations. But this one….

Was she fair, or homely? Pale or dark of skin? Her body, was it slender or round? Short or tall? What color was her hair? Cropped or long, curly or—

He pounded his fist on the arm of his chair and uttered a harsh, angry bark. His advisor, pouring over an ancient tome in the corner of the room, looked up at him in surprise. The ki-lyn at his feet started violently, and then shrank back, no doubt expecting one of the blows that descended when the Emperor was in a vile temper.

“My lord,” came the smooth, placating voice of the Mage, “do not distress yourself so.”

“I want to see the Sea Dancer, damn it!” The words exploded from him. “I need to see her…I need to know what she looks like….”

“Why, my lord?”

Why indeed? It was not necessary that he know what she looked like in order for him to achieve his goals. And yet, it was as if he was driven. As if this desire was directing him, as if were not a conscious wish but rather the most basic of necessities, like food or water or sleep.

“I don’t know,” he said softly. “I don’t know….”

He buried his face in his hands for a moment, not wanting to face the shocked gazes that were trained upon him, and wondered if he was going mad.

Bram had never felt happier or more in control. All was going according to plan.

He had worried a bit, at first, that these new Dancers would present a problem. Instead, they were almost easier to deal with than Copper and her Companion. They did not have as mother a queen who was deeply suspicious of him, nor were they odd half-breeds like Copper, who was so difficult to read sometimes. Having had positive experiences with Lorekeepers prior to arriving on Reshan, the Flame Dancer and the Stone Dancer were inclined to trust the Namaraban. Although Bram had to admit, Jareth was the more suspicious of the two. A quick perusal of the Stone Dancer’s unguarded thoughts revealed to Bram that Jareth’s Lorekeeper had betrayed him. Bram cursed the girl; she had made his task more difficult.

The Companions had taken to the chain necklaces about their throats with surprising equanimity. Now they lounged and lolled in the Grove, happy to sleep and lie in the sunshine with the Kelpie like the cat and lizard they were at heart. They were not controlled, of course; no one could control an elemental Companion, not even the Dancers themselves. But they were certainly not the threat they would have been had they been allowed to remain unfettered.

He walked the short distance to where the great creatures lay and perused them as he did at least once each day, to reassure himself that they were still docile. His shrewd gaze traveled over the bony, black body of the Kelpie, who stood sleeping on his feet, his disproportionately large head drooping. The Tiger was on her back, her creamy underbelly exposed as if she were expecting someone to rub it for her. Her paws dangled in the air, but her eyes were shut and her belly rose and fell rhythmically.

The Dragon was curled nose to tail, almost completely motionless. But if Bram looked closely, he could see his mammoth sides rise and fall with slow, even breaths.

He smiled. Perfect.

The magic woven into the necklaces that encircled the great creatures’ necks was powerful but subtle. An outright attempt at controlling the minds of the Companions would have been noticed and resisted immediately and violently. This was not control, it was…suggestion. Even more than the Dancers, the Companions were the elements in a pure and powerful form. Unlike frail humans, the Tiger could not be bought; the Dragon would never betray others for love; the Kelpie would not be swayed by flattery. Humans were easier to manipulate, Dancers or no. They could be lied to, persuaded, bribed, misdirected, intimidated. He knew; he and the other Lorekeepers remembered. Not so the Companions. They were outside such things. Without careful management, such as the calming and soothing energy radiated by the necklaces, the Companions could ruin everything.

He had observed that there was some sort of tension between Jareth and Kevla, and that had pleased him. He had not been quite so pleased to see Liadan target Jareth like a deer she was planning on having for dinner. It would be best for Bram if the Dancers were alone, disconnected from one another and anyone else. Like any predator, Bram preferred his prey isolated and weakened. And now Kevla and Copper were starting to become friends. As he walked back to the Grove, mentally opening the tree-branch gate, he reflected on his brief conversation with Kevla in the courtyard.

Bram wondered if Kevla had sensed his mind-probe. Some could. Try as he had for so many years, even he, with his great skill and talent could not make the thought-reading process imperceptible. Most who noticed, though, commented on it, giving Bram the opportunity to allay their fears. Kevla had said nothing, only looked at him oddly and spoken with a sharper tongue than he was accustomed to hearing from the mild Flame Dancer. Ah, well, if she knew, she knew, it could not be helped. Nor would it change his plans.

He and the Namaraban would continue to offer whatever assistance they could to the Dancers. After all, they were the Dancers, and the Namaraban were the Lorekeepers. They would serve, as always, as helpful allies in this, the final stand against the Shadow. There was nothing insincere in Bram’s fervent desire to aid the Dancers in this last battle. Knowing what he did-and he knew more than most-why would he stand in their way? If the Shadow triumphed, everything would be lost. No indeed, if the Dancers ever challenged him in that respect, his vow of support would be honest.

But…and was it not always so in the delicate game of politics?…it was not if the Namaraban would befriend the Dancers, but how. The Dancers were the most powerful people in existence. Yet they could and would fail if they did not have support. Bram intended to give that support, so that the Dancers would win and their world would be saved.

But what to do with them after this happened?

Such powerful forces were fine, when they had a direction in which to focus their abilities. When the Shadow had fallen before them, and they were lords of this world, then, ah then, Bram and his people would step forward. The masters of knowledge would be more important than the masters of the elements then, with a whole freshly-saved, malleable world upon which to set their imprint. Those who controlled the Dancers controlled the world…controlled the future.

There were only two more Companions left who needed to feel the pleasant weight of the necklace about their throats. There were only two more Dancers left for Bram to locate and safely bring under his wing. Then would come the battle with the Shadow. Bram had not been dishonest when he urged Kevla and Jareth to stay so they could improve their skills; he wanted all the Dancers in top form before that great battle came upon them. But he also wanted the opportunity to examine and analyze them.

He passed a jewel crafter intent on his work and smiled. His people loved adorning themselves. When it was time for the Dancers to leave, they would not think twice about accepting the beautiful torques so lovingly made by the Namaraban crafters. It would be a perfect remembrance of Reshan. As elegant and as subtle as the chains that draped the necks of their beloved Companions, the necklaces Kevla and Jareth would wear would bind them unwittingly to Bram. They would not dream of departing without him.

He would speak with Eion and Liadan about their progress. Neither Swordmaster nor Horsemistress was overly fond of the Anam, but they would give him their honest opinions, he was sure.

Then Anam Bram could decide what the three Dancers would do next.

Kevla did not want to do what she was doing at this moment. She would have given almost anything to avoid this particular task, but she knew it was necessary. Even with the shadow that had fallen between them, she knew Jareth would trust her on this point. He would not trust Copper.

As she sat in front of the fire gazing into its flickering orange and yellow depths, Kevla realized that she was trembling. Angrily she told her body to stop it; her body did not obey.

She had seen Jareth almost every day. Some of their lessons from the Namaraban occurred at the same time, and they shared meals together sitting side by side just as they had at that awful feast they had attended upon their arrival. But they barely spoke a word to each other, and she could not remember the last time she had gazed into those blue eyes for more than a brief moment. There was a distance between them as vast as an ocean, even though physically they might be only a few inches apart.

Now, she would have to bridge that distance. She would have to speak with him alone, look into those blue eyes, and it was the last thing in the world she wanted to do.

She took a deep breath and made her gaze soft. “Show me Jareth,” she said.

It was some time before the fire obliged, but eventually her patience was rewarded. She saw a hand seem to reach toward her, and realized that it was Jareth putting another dried log on the fire. It was heading toward evening on a particularly cold and dreary day, and the warmth would be wanted.

“Jareth,” she said quietly.

The hand was replaced by Jareth’s face as he gazed into the fire. His face was expressionless.

“Kevla. What is it you want?”

A thought struck her and her heart contracted. Her face grew hot. She swallowed and asked in as calm a voice as she could manage, “Are you alone?”

His lips thinned. He replied, “Yes. What is it?”

Even as she felt the wave of relief wash over her Kevla wished desperately that it did not matter. “I need to speak with you.”

“We’re speaking.” His cool voice had an edge to it. He did not wish this conversation any more than she did, but Kevla knew that they had to put their feelings aside for something more important than either of them.

“I need to speak with you in person. May I come through the fire to your chambers?”

He frowned, then nodded. His face disappeared and she assumed he had risen and stepped back. Kevla closed her eyes and forced herself to concentrate on the conversation she intended to have with him. Whether they loved or loathed one another, they had another bond-that of being Dancers, and it was this that needed to be addressed. She stood and took a step forward.

She materialized less than a foot away from him, and as her eyes widened in surprise at his nearness he hastily stepped backward. Kevla forced herself to meet his gaze and not glance down.

“I apologize for the intrusion, but it was necessary that we speak,” she said softly. “Are you certain we won’t be disturbed?”

“I don’t know about your servants, but mine knock,” Jareth replied. He strode to one of two chairs in the room, dropped into it and waved to indicate that she should sit as well.

Kevla felt a sorrow inside her that went beyond her own personal desire. He was stiff and defensive around her. It was as if he stood behind one of the Ice Maiden’s impenetrable walls. She knew this to be deeply wrong. They were Dancers. They needed one another. This gulf would only harm them. If only she knew how to bridge it.

“Well?” Jareth asked. “What was so important that you needed to come here to tell me?”

Kevla took a deep breath and looked at him squarely. “I believe the Dancers are in danger,” she said.

He tensed. “The Emperor? Has he—“

Kevla shook her dark head. “Not the Emperor. Nor Ilta either,” she added, knowing that would be his next query.

“Then…who?”

“Anam Bram.”

“Bram? Are you sure?”

“I felt him try to probe my mind, just like the Emperor had done. Except…Bram was even better at it. I hardly noticed.”

Jareth rubbed his chin. “That’s not good. I have to say, I never cared for Bram. There’s something about him that I find…irritating.”

Kevla permitted herself a smile. Jareth would find Bram irritating, whether the man was ally or enemy. Jareth had little love for writing and history; Bram clearly thrived on it. Jareth was simple and basic in his clothing and physical needs; Bram loved ornate fabric and decoration. The two would never have been friends, even if Bram had been Jareth’s own Lorekeeper. The smile ebbed from Kevla’s face as she thought about how truly antagonistic Bram and the Namaraban were toward the Dancers-the very people they had been born to aid.

“There’s more,” she said. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with Copper. She confided something to me, something you need to know. Do you remember when we were in the caverns, looking at the paintings of all the other Dancers?”

He nodded his golden head. “Of course.”

“Copper slipped off by herself for a bit. She found a pool in another cavern. And when she leaned over to look into it, she saw her own reflection.”

That made him start. “I thought she never saw her reflection, ever,” he said.

“She never had, not until she looked into this pool. And then…that reflection started speaking to her, giving her warnings.”

He bent forward, eyes bright, leaning his elbows on his knees. The hardness and wariness that he had worn like a mask had been abandoned. For this moment, they were on the same side again, working together, sharing information, and Kevla felt gladness rise in her heart. Even if they could not be together, even if he could never love her, at least they had this connection still.

“What kind of warnings?”

“It told her about the Emperor,” Kevla said. “How he had sent an army against Arukan. How he had…about Ilta.” Kevla paused.

Jareth’s face flushed, but he nodded. “Go on.”

“And it told her that the Emperor’s intent is to see to it that the Dancers never stand against the Shadow.”

Jareth exhaled and rubbed his chin, thinking. “Right on all counts. So now Copper knows about the Emperor.”

“There’s more,” Kevla said. “The reflection also warned her not to trust Bram or the Namaraban. It told her that they were only pretending to aid us, that these Lorekeepers don’t want to help and serve us…they want to control us.”

The cold anger that Kevla had seen in Jareth’s eyes more than once before burned there again. She hated that look, but understood it.

“Bastards,” he said. “What else did that reflection tell Copper? Anything we can use?”

Kevla shook her head. “Nothing more than that.”

“Well…anyone who’s against the Emperor is someone I’d be inclined to consider a friend. Unless…this is the Emperor, trying to turn us against our Lorekeepers. He knows what he’s done to us, and would use that as evidence to convince us that this reflection can be trusted.”

“There is one other thing. The vision. Do you remember?”

Jareth frowned, then his eyes widened. “Two faces-oh, how easy and obvious it is now!” He swore. “You say you’ve been spending time with Copper-I’ve been spending time with Liadan.”

Kevla forced her expression to remain neutral, though suddenly her chest ached again. “Yes?” How is it possible to feel such pain and still speak so calmly? she wondered.

“Liadan does not trust Bram farther than she could throw him,” Jareth said. A smile of fond amusement curved his lips. The expression was like a knife to Kevla. “She says that Eion shares her poor opinion of Bram and all the Namaraban.”

“He does,” Kevla said. “I’ve gotten to know him fairly well.” At this, Jareth’s nostril’s flared and his eyes snapped for an instant. He looked angry…jealous. When he spoke, however, his voice was calm.

“I wish we knew more about this talking reflection,” Jareth said. “Very odd and mysterious. Who is this person? Why this form of communication? Why did she or he pick Copper to communicate with instead of you? You’re the leader, surely it would have been better to contact you if the Dancers were in danger.”

Kevla still had not gotten used to thinking of herself as the “leader” of the group. But Jareth tossed the term out casually, as if she were well aware of the fact. She supposed she was; had not the Dragon always said that the Flame Dancer was the leader? She sighed.

“All very good questions,” she said. “Copper wants to have another conversation with this person. She said the only place she has ever been able to see her reflection was in that pool, and that Bram has expressly forbidden her to enter that cavern again.”

“Which means, of course, that we must do so immediately.” Jareth grinned at her, and it was his old friendly grin. For this moment, it seemed, he had forgotten that she had sundered them. Kevla wished she could.

“That is exactly what Copper and I decided as well, but we need your help to get her back in there.”

“Of course. What can I do?”

“Well, this is what I was thinking….”

Chapter Eighteen

“Anam?” The voice belonged to Sliah.

Bram sighed, placed the parchment he was perusing down on the table and weighted it with a heavy stone, and commanded the branches to part. The girl stared in, a look of confusion on her face.

“What is it?” Bram asked.

“It’s Kevla and Jareth,” she said. “They’ve come up to the Grove.”

Bram frowned. While Kevla was a frequent visitor to the Grove, seeming to be becoming rather fond of Sliah, Jareth came with obvious reluctance only to improve his reading and writing. But both of them together? He had thought there was some distance growing between them.

“What do they want?”

“I don’t know. I merely thought you might want to know.”

He hurried the rest of the way to the gates, puffing a little and slightly out of breath from even that modest exertion, and looked down the road.

It was indeed the Flame Dancer and the Stone Dancer. They each carried baskets covered with cloth, and they were laughing and talking to one another. Kevla looked up, saw Bram, and waved.

“Good day to you, Anam!”

“Good day, Flame Dancer!” Bram replied, equally cheery. He was wondering what had happened to put them both in such good moods.

“Have you come to study, Dancers? The knowledge of the Namaraban is yours for the asking, as you know.”

Jareth shook his head. “No, we are not here to work today.” He handed his basket to Kevla, strode up the slight hill to where the three Companions were sleeping, and embraced the Tiger. She sat up, scratched an ear, and butted her head against his chest so hard the Stone Dancer had to take a few steps backward. The big man chuckled and easily climbed atop the big cat’s back.

“Jareth and I were talking,” Kevla said, setting the baskets on the ground, “and we realized we had not done very much to thank you for your aid. The Dancers would be at loose ends without the Lorekeepers, and you are the best-informed and most helpful we have yet encountered. We wanted to let you know how grateful we are.”

She indicated the baskets. “We spoke to the cooks and had them prepare some delicacies for you and the other Namaraban.”

Kevla removed the cloth and Bram saw that the basket was brimming with food-pastries and savories and small jars of who knew what spreads and sauces. He raised an eyebrow. The Namaraban traditionally kept to themselves-raising most of their own food, weaving and crafting their own clothing and of course jewelry. At Kevla’s words the other Namaraban had gasped in startled, pleased surprise. They looked at one another uneasily, then at their leader for his approval.

Bram smiled and nodded, indicating they could partake of the treats. Kevla handed one of the baskets to a little girl, who beamed up at her. The treat-laden basket was almost too heavy for the child, but she clearly didn’t mind.

“And we also wanted to thank you in a more special way,” Jareth added, still astride the Tiger’s back. The Dragon had awoken and lifted his head, gazing down at the growing crowd of Namaraban.

“The Lorekeepers are invaluable, and yet in many ways their task goes without thanks,” Jareth continued. “The Dancers…if we win…get the glory. The Companions-well, they are always admired wherever they go.”

He reached forward and began rubbing the Tiger’s ears affectionately. The great cat yawned, exposing a pink tongue and sharp teeth, closed her eyes and enjoyed the caress. The earth trembled slightly as the Dragon heaved himself up and slowly moved down toward the crowd as well. A slight murmur of apprehension rippled through the assembled Lorekeepers. They were used to seeing the Companions, that much was true, but the three great beasts were usually asleep on the hill. It was one thing to see them harmlessly drowsing, quite another to see the smooth-striding Tiger and the enormous, dramatic-looking Dragon approaching their very gates.

“The Companions are our friends. We ride them without a second thought.” Kevla went to the Dragon and stroked his smooth scales, gazing up at him affectionately. “We have decided that, if they agree…they will let all of you ride them as well.”

Gasps of delight went up from the crowd. Bram looked around and there was not a single face that did not look pleased and perhaps a little bit frightened at the prospect.

He looked back at the Dancers again, his eyes narrowing. Why were they doing this? Was it really just the simple offering it claimed to be? Or was this a trick of some sort? He did not dare try to probe the Dancers’ thoughts; they would be on guard against him, if his previous encounter with Kevla was any indication. Bram would simply have to watch them and see.

“Who would like to go first?” Kevla said. Bram glanced at the Dragon. The huge red creature did not look as pleased as his Dancer at the thought of giving rides. He looked…offended. His golden eyes were shut to slits and smoke curled up from this nostrils, but he made no audible protest. The Tiger too, her blue fur looking rich and soft and comfortable, seemed a trifle annoyed at the request from Jareth.

None of the Namaraban moved, although they seemed eager to take the Dancers up on this once in a lifetime chance. Bram suddenly realized what they were waiting for, and he was pleased.

“Kevla, Jareth…what a gift you give my people! It is of course an honor merely to serve, but this…It will go down in history!”

“How about you first?” said the Dragon. Bram started. The Dragon spoke seldom and Bram had forgotten just how very loud and how deep his voice was. He gazed at Bram now with his penetrating golden gaze and there was a hint of mirth on his scaly face.

“I should go last,” Bram demurred.

“No, I think the Dragon’s right,” said Jareth. He was grinning now, and Bram did not think his amusement stemmed from simple good will.

“But then the honor should not solely be mine,” Bram said. “Surely the Dragon can carry several at one time.”

“We want everyone to enjoy the experience one by one,” said Kevla. “There’s something very special about being atop the Dragon’s back by yourself.”

Bram was confused. He knew that Kevla liked and trusted the Namaraban, and that Jareth, because of his experience with his own Lorekeeper, was more suspicious. Considering how pleased he looked at the prospect, this was probably the Stone Dancer’s idea. Jareth wanted to embarrass him in front of his people. That was what this was all about.

Well, he would not give Jareth that satisfaction. Bram smiled and strode to the Dragon. He made a little bow-enough to be courteous, insufficient to display actual deference to the creature. Bram waited for the Dragon to lower himself so that he could mount. The Dragon continued grinning at him and did not move.

Kevla glared at her Companion. She said nothing, but the Dragon heaved an exaggerated sigh and settled down on his belly, extending a leg. Bram was suddenly very nervous, but refused to show it. Feigning a confidence he was far from feeling, he began to climb atop first the lowered leg, then up to the huge back. He felt clumsy, awkward, and heard a few muffled giggles. His face flamed and he gritted his teeth, determined to go through with this and not give the Dancers the satisfaction of watching him fail.

When he at last sat astride the enormous red back, Bram permitted himself a sigh of satisfaction.

Then the Dragon leaped straight up into the air.

Copper was settled in the cool shade provided by the huge intertwined trees. She had been in position for some time now and was growing impatient.

Had something happened? Had they been discovered? What if Bram-

And then, before Copper’s eyes, the massive tree root pulled itself free from the earth and she sighed in relief. The opening into the grove was small, but then, so was Copper. The Sea Dancer darted forward like a rabbit into the narrow opening. She was forced to edge her way in on hands and knees and frowned, knowing her dress was getting covered with dirt. She dismissed the worry; a dirty dress was nothing if it would get her what she wanted. And so far, the plan was working.

The Grove trees grew thick and impenetrable, forming a natural barrier that embraced and protected the enclosed area more effectively than any human construct. But powerful though the Namaraban were, ultimately the trees answered to the Stone Dancer, and when he asked them to create an opening for Copper, they obeyed.

She was far away from the meadow, where the Dragon had just taken wing with Bram on his back. All eyes would be upon that spectacular sight and for a longing moment Copper wished that she could see it herself. She was angry and frightened at the deception Bram had apparently been perpetrating all her life. Anything that made Bram look silly, and she was certain this would, would make her feel better. But she was here, close to the cave, in an area that was not heavily watched at the best of times and was now all but deserted.

She finally squeezed her way through the living barrier and got to her feet. A quick glance told her that indeed, every Namaraban was in the meadow, waiting for a chance to ride the Dragon and the Tiger.

She sprinted across the soft green grass as fast as she could, her eyes trained on the cave. After what felt like an eternity in the exposed open space, she reached it and was enveloped in its cool embrace. The slapping sound of bare feet on stone echoed in the hollow chambers and she tried to make her steps lighter for fear of discovery, just in case someone was inside.

Hurry…hurry….

Bram held on for dear life, his uncallused hands cramping as he clutched one of the Dragon’s spine ridges. The Dragon was clearly enjoying himself to the fullest, soaring and diving so abruptly that Bram was glad it had been some time since he had eaten. It seemed like the Dragon swooped and wheeled for centuries, but at last, he landed on the ground with a heavy thump. Bram did not want to spend a moment catching his breath, but he had to. He forced himself to be calm and slid off the mammoth beast without stumbling when his feet hit the ground. He was very pleased with himself for this.

“Dragon!” Kevla’s voice was angry. “That was unkind of you. You will be gentler with the others.”

The Dragon looked at Kevla, cocked his head, and emitted a thin stream of smoke from his nostrils.

While he had been atop the Dragon, others had been riding the blue Tiger. Even as he turned, she came charging up, going so swiftly she was all but a blue blur. One child clutched the ruff of fur at the Tiger’s neck, the other clung to her companion. Both children were laughing in delight.

“Thank you, Jareth!” they cried simultaneously, tumbling off the Tiger still laughing. The great beast made a rumbling sound in her throat and dragged a pink tongue across the flushed cheek of the little girl, who squealed happily.

Even though Bram’s ride had been…bumpy, to say the least, there was not a Namaraban present who did not want to have the opportunity to ride atop a Companion. Bram took the waterskin Sliah offered, drinking deeply of the cool liquid. It had come from the pool in the caverns, and it seemed to revive and refresh more than ordinary water. He felt the coolness travel down his throat to his stomach, and calm spread over him. He glanced around, and his wandering gaze met that of the Kelpie.

The ugly, bony beast stood apart from the other Companions. It had watched the goings-on with a mixture of amusement and contempt. Now it stared boldly at Bram, as if daring the Anam to complain about his rough treatment atop the Dragon’s back.

Copper.

Where was Copper?

A chill raced down Anam Bram’s spine as he looked down at the waterskin he held.

Copper’s heart slammed against her chest and even as she focused on the goal of hastening past the five chambers that bore the images of the Dancers on their walls and slipping through the crack into the final, secret chamber, she realized that she had never felt more alert…more alive…in her life.

She was moving more quickly than she had been the last time she was here and was not as careful. The rough stone of the passageway tore at her skin and she hissed in pain but did not slow. Copper emerged into the chamber and beheld the pool, as calm and flat and peaceful now as it had been before.

She rushed toward it, breathing heavily from exertion. She dropped down hard on her hands and knees, her hands splashing the water, hoping to see her reflection for only the second time in her life.

The surface stilled. And it was there.

“Sea Dancer, I am glad you have returned,” said her own voice in her ears.

“I believe you,” Copper said, not wasting a moment on courtesy. “About everything. About the Emperor and the Namaraban. I have taken a great risk to come see you again. Please, what more can you tell me?”

Her face smiled at her. Distracted by the image, she realized that when she smiled, she was pretty.

“I spoke to you earlier about the Emperor,” the reflection said. “I told you he had at his command great magic. There is one who serves him who calls himself the Mage. This being has given the Emperor an object that greatly magnifies his magic and will aid the Emperor in his quest to stop the Dancers. It is a glowing red orb called the Tenacru.”

“The Tenacru,” Copper repeated, searing the term into her brain.

Her reflection nodded. “It is powerful magic indeed, and it has given the Emperor an edge over the Dancers, despite their own inherent magic. But more than one such object exists in this world. The Tenacru has a companion-the Tenachrym. It is identical in every way, save that its color is white. It has been thought lost for centuries, just as the Tenacru had been lost.”

The reflection paused, and Copper had the strange experience of having her own eyes searching hers.

“But it is not lost. Sea Dancer…the Tenachrym is here. In this pool.”

Copper’s pale skin erupted in gooseflesh. Her mind went back to what Kevla had said earlier. Jareth and I-when we were trying to find you, we used to link our hands together and we sometimes could see you. And one night we saw other things as well. We saw a light-very bright, almost blindingly white….

“This object is the source that has given the Namaraban their powers for a thousand years. This is what has allowed them to develop magic, to hone it, to perfect it. And yet, they have forgotten that it lies here. The knowledge of its existence was to be passed from Anam to Anam, but the chain was broken centuries past, when one greedy Anam cherished the secret as his own for too long.”

Although Copper listened raptly, barely breathing, she still had enough presence of mind to strain her ears for any sound of discovery.

The reflection continued. “Like the Tenacru, its mate, it was neither good nor evil, but could be used for any magical purposes. The Emperor uses the Tenacru in a way that could destroy his world. The Namaraban, even though they are ignorant of its existence, use it today for their own reasons. A thousand years ago, when humans first set sail from the land to this place, there was no island of Reshan. There was only the ocean, and those who dwelt there.”

“The Fialaban and the FinFolk,” Copper breathed.

“Yes…and no. But our time is short and that is a tale long in the telling. The Lorekeeper known as Caldan forced the ocean to surrender part of itself, in order to create the island of Reshan. During that upheaval, much was created, and much was destroyed. Reshan was born, a floating piece of earth anchored only by magic. The Tenachrym was lost. But it can never be completely destroyed until the Final Dance, until the Dancers have stood against the Shadow for the last time. It was caught, in this pool, and has lain here ever since.”

Copper’s reflection looked at her imploringly, almost panicked. “Sea Dancer, you must retrieve it and use its powers to help the Dancers stand against both the Emperor and the Shadow.”

“I—“

I do not know what you are playing at, Sea Dancer, came the Kelpie’s familiar voice in her mind. Although if it can bring that pompous Anam down a notch I am all in favor of it. He is coming to you now, by the way. I thought you might like to know.

Copper gasped in horror. She stared at her reflection. Should she try to recover the Tenachrym now or flee?

You do not have much time.

Her decision made, Copper scrambled to her feet. She tripped on her dress and fell hard to her knees, her hands splashing the water again.

Sea Dancer….

Her heart in her mouth, Copper squeezed through the narrow stone opening and fled through the five chambers, half expecting to run into the furious figure of Anam Bram. But luck was with her-she made it out into the sunlight, searingly bright after the muted light in the cave, and raced back across the meadow to the gap in the trees. Even as she threw herself on her hands and knees and used her elbows to propel herself to the other side of the tree-branch fence, she glanced back and saw the blue-robed figure of Bram entering the cave.

She emerged on the other side and leaned against the tree, flushed and shaking.

Bram hurried inside the cave, looking for signs that Copper had been here. He wasn’t sure what they would be-the cold stone would not take a footprint, and the girl wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave anything behind that might announce that she had been here. But he had to check.

The pool had drawn her. He had believed her at the time when she said she not gone all the way into the chamber, but now he was certain she had lied to him. Curse the Sea Dancer, what had she seen in the water?

He paused at the opening to the cavern that housed the pool and frowned at the narrow entrance. He hated having to squeeze through here, but those among the Namaraban who understood such things warned that trying to enlarge the entrance could have serious consequences. Just as he was about to make the effort, he paused. There was something wet on the stone wall. He reached and touched a finger to the wetness and brought it out into the dim light.

Blood.

Bram knelt and peered into the cavern. Beside the pool’s edge, he could clearly make out the pattern of small hands and feet. Hands and feet that could only belong to a girl…hands and feet that had gotten wet by the water in the pool.

She had been here.

As the last Namaraban, an older man who nonetheless grinned from ear to ear at being able to sit astride the Dragon, was helped down from his flight, Kevla dared to hope they had succeeded. Bram had disappeared a while ago, but he had returned eventually and nothing seemed out of the ordinary about him. Certainly he had made no attempt to stop the festivities. Out of the corner of her eye, Kevla caught a flash of white running toward her along the length of the Grove. It was Copper. Kevla sighed in relief, then almost immediately tensed. The girl’s formerly white dress was smudged with dirt and torn in some places. Clearly, gaining entrance to the Grove and then the cavern had been physically more difficult than they had anticipated.

She glanced at Jareth. His eyes followed hers for an instant. Then he nodded briefly, his face revealing nothing. He returned his attention to the Tiger, stroking his Companion affectionately.

“Thank you again,” Bram said. “You have done something very kind today. We will not forget it.”

There was something in the way he said the last words that made a chill run up Kevla’s spine. Was it possible he-

Bram turned and raised his eyebrows in surprise. He was gazing right at Copper, who stood as still as if she were as rooted in place as the trees of the Grove.

“Copper! Goodness, child, what mischief have you been into today?”

Copper went as white as milk. Her freckles stood out starkly against the paleness of her skin. Her green eyes were enormous and Kevla could see the blue vein in her neck throbbing wildly. She sympathized with the girl, but cursed her silently as well; if Copper were not careful she could give them all away.

“Where have you been, to get so torn and muddy?”

He knows, Kevla thought suddenly, not knowing how she knew but absolutely certain of it. He knows something, at least. Those pale blue eyes turned with false benevolence upon her and she immediately thought about the latest parchment she had read, describing the Dancers of the Third World. The intense thought came just in time, for she felt the soft, sickly tendrils of Bram’s mind wrapping insidiously around her thoughts.

“Did you frighten an animal?” Jareth asked. He, too, must have instantly realized how vulnerable Copper’s stunned expression had made them and was attempting to redirect Bram’s scrutiny to himself.

Copper nodded vigorously. “A boar. I startled a boar.”

“Copper, you shouldn’t wander off like that. Look, you’ve hurt yourself!”

Kevla moved swiftly to Copper’s side and looked at the scraped flesh that peeped beneath the rents in the dress. She touched it gently. Copper yelped and pulled away and glared at her.

“That hurt!”

All of Kevla’s irritation vanished. A few moments before Copper had been about to give them away; now, with a completely believable outburst, she had reestablished herself as the odd but childish and ultimately non-threatening girl she had always been. She saw it in Bram’s face, as his false concern slipped to reveal his contempt.

Still…

“Come into the Grove, Copper,” Bram asked, the false care returning. “I’m certain one of our healers can treat that cut for you.”

Copper set her mouth. “I want Kevla to do it. She’s always talking about her healing skill. It’s not that bad…when you don’t poke at it.”

Jareth laughed. “She’ll have to poke it a bit to heal it, Copper.”

“Still…I think it would be interesting.”

Kevla smiled. “I think you’ll live long enough to walk back to the castle and my herbal salves. Bram, you must excuse us. We need to tend to Copper.”

She smiled, hoping it did not appear as false to him as his did to her. They had to get out of here. Fast.

“Certainly. But Sliah also needs to go to the castle to deliver some special herbs for the meal tonight…I am sure you would not mind walking with her? She so enjoys your company.”

Sliah smiled in happy anticipation that seemed genuine. She was indeed carrying a basket of herbs. Despite their façade of Kevla making a healing salve, the Flame Dancer was not familiar with the herbs that this land produced. Nonetheless, she suspected that there was nothing this woman carried that would be necessary for tonight’s feast. But to decline would be for him to suspect them even more.

“Certainly,” Kevla said. “Sliah, you’re welcome to accompany us.”

She met Jareth’s eyes briefly. They could not speak with thoughts to one another, as they could to their Companions, but Kevla did not have to be able to read Jareth’s mind to know what he was thinking. Copper had clearly seen something of great import in the pool, and with Sliah watching them the entire way back, they would not have a chance to discuss whatever it was that the Sea Dancer had learned.

Kevla smiled at Sliah as the four turned to walk back to the castle and said, “Tell me about the herbs you carry.”

Bram watched them go, the smile slipping off his face like a discarded garment. Copper had seen something in the water. Something that made her look very, very frightened of him. He did not know what it had been, but he was certain of one thing.

The Namaraban would have to move quickly.

Chapter Nineteen

For the first time in her life, Copper wished she was nothing more than a simple human girl. The information imparted by the reflection in the pool had shaken her to the core. If only she had had a few extra moments to retrieve the object of which the reflection had spoken…the Tenachrym. For surely, this object and its glowing white luminescence was what Jareth and Kevla had glimpsed in their vision.

But the warning from her Companion, who still did not know all of what was going on, had come just barely in time. And even though she had made good her escape, Copper-and, she assumed Jareth and Kevla-suspected that Bram knew.

Kevla made pleasant conversation with the Namaraban who had been ordered by Bram to see to it that they didn’t speak to one another. Copper was certain that was her real purpose, not to bring herbs to the castle. Copper watched Kevla out of the corner of her eye and envied the way the other woman was able to make those around her feel so at ease. Copper knew that she unsettled people more than she calmed them.

If only she could have told Jareth and Kevla about the Tenachrym! But Sliah’s presence effectively destroyed the opportunity, and Copper’s thoughts turned to the one person in this world to whom she knew she could confide anything. By the time they reached the castle, Copper had decided that she would talk to Silver before sharing the information with the other Dancers.

As they approached the castle, Copper heard the sound of hoofbeats. She glanced up to see a beautiful golden horse cantering in their direction. Copper recognized both horse and rider. Beside her, Kevla’s musical voice faltered and there was silence.

Liadan brought Tali to a smooth halt and grinned at them. “You,” she said, pointing at Jareth, “You and I were supposed to train an hour ago.”

Jareth colored slightly as he looked up at her. Copper looked from him to Kevla, but other than the other woman’s abrupt silence, saw no sign of jealousy. Indeed, Kevla smiled pleasantly at Liadan.

“Hello, Liadan. I’m sorry, it was my fault Jareth was late. We wanted to do something nice for the Namaraban, so we let them ride our Companions.”

Liadan looked annoyed. “Really? I see. Well then, what about doing something nice for the Horsemistress, or the Swordmaster?”

“Well, if you’re nice to me, I might just let you ride the Tiger. You’ll have to be nice to Kevla if you want to ride the Dragon.”

The eyes of the two women met. Copper watched closely. There was no hostility between these two, but there was sorrow and regret.

“I am always nice to Kevla,” Liadan said, “because I have absolutely no desire for an enormous fire-breathing dragon to decide that I would make a tasty morsel.”

She winked at Kevla, and although Copper sensed it was an effort, Kevla smiled back.

Liadan returned her attention to Jareth. “Climb up and let’s be about it.”

Jareth did not look at Kevla. He immediately went to Tali and mounted the horse with a finesse that surprised Copper. The man obviously had learned a great deal under the Horsemistress’s tutelage.

“Kevla, I think Eion is looking for you,” Liadan said. Jareth settled himself behind her, and neither Copper nor Kevla missed his arm going around Liadan’s trim waist. Liadan clucked to her horse and gently maneuvered the obedient animal toward the training area in the castle’s courtyard.

“I would very much like to show you the herb gardens,” said Sliah, smiling. “They are not our gardens of course, but I know the herbs of the land well and could tell you a great deal about them.”

Copper sighed inwardly. There was no way now that Copper and Kevla could exchange even the briefest of words.

Kevla hesitated only for an instant before smiling and saying, “Sliah, thank you. I’d like that. I’m always interested in improving my healing skills and it would be good to know about Reshan’s herbs. But if Liadan is right, then the Swordmaster is looking for me. And besides, I need to tend to Copper’s injuries.”

“That’s all right Kevla,” said Copper. “It’s stopped bleeding now. I think I will go into the ocean for a bit.”

Kevla’s brown eyes widened. “Surely the salt will sting those cuts.”

Copper shrugged. “It never has before.” Without a goodbye or any further explanation, Copper turned and strode briskly in the direction of the ocean. As the soil turned to sand beneath her bare feet, she was unable to contain herself and began running. She wanted to rip off the dirty, bloodied dress, to slip naked into the cool, healing embrace of the ocean, but did not dare. Not yet.

The waves were high today, but Copper paid them no heed. She swam with the skill of one born to the sea, not the land, and there was no surf so high that would give her even a moment’s pause. She dove into the water, feeling it seize her once-white dress with greedy fingers and making it heavy and clinging. Frustrated, frightened, hating this clothing that symbolized her identity as a princess of the land, she struggled out of the garment and watched as it floated away. The water was cool and gentle on her skin, and as she had told Kevla, Copper felt no sting from its salt.

Silver? Silver, my sister, I need to see you.

Copper, I am coming.

Relief washed over Copper and she dove yet more deeply into the depths, feeling the water change from warm to cold. It was several moments before she caught the gleam of filtered sunlight glinting on silvery scales. Love for her beautiful, unusual sister flooded her and she swam forward to clasp Silver in her arms. Silver hugged her back fiercely, having sensed through their mental connection that Copper was in distress.

I am here, dear sister. What troubles you so? sent Silver.

So urgent was her need to share what had happened that Copper did not think in words. Instead she held in her thoughts everything that had transpired. As the mental images flowed from one ocean sister to the other, Silver’s gray eyes widened as she beheld all that Copper had seen. Copper held nothing back-not her fear, not her wonder, not her sense that somehow, some way, despite all their precautions, Bram had known what she had done.

When Copper had finished, Silver simply floated quietly, trying to make sense of everything. When she finally did brush Copper’s mind with her thoughts, it was not what Copper had expected.

The reflection spoke of how the island of Reshan was created, she sent. I can tell you more of this.

Copper stared at her sister. How do you know about this?

Silver smiled a little. I will share that with you after I have told you what I have learned.

Copper listened with her mind, eyes wide, lips parted, as Silver told her of what Caldan-the first Lorekeeper of Reshan, the man who had envisioned all of the Dancers and had their portraits painted in the cave-had done. Spoke the tale with thoughts instead of words, of how Caldan and the first Lorekeepers had forced the ocean floor to obey the command to surrender part of itself, and what that had done to the Fialaban unlucky enough to be caught in the swirl of seemingly all-powerful magic. Copper could not believe it…and yet, she could not disbelieve it either. Too much of what Silver was imparting coincided with what Copper already knew.

Then…the FinFolk are nothing more…and nothing less…than Fialaban, Copper thought.

Silver, her white hair flowing out behind her in the water, nodded solemnly.

From what you have shared with me, sent Silver, I believe that this object that lies in the heart of the cavern pool-this Tenachrym-is what created Reshan a thousand years ago. It is what twisted and deformed the FinFolk.

I am certain it was not Caldan’s intent to do such a thing, Copper thought quickly. Even as that thought formed, so did another-why was she rushing to defend the actions of the first Lorekeeper?

Silver understood both thoughts and smiled. It doesn’t matter if it was or wasn’t, she replied. What’s done is done. The FinFolk were created, and now they share this ocean with us as scorned, frightened beings when they are nothing less than Fialaban.

And with a sudden rush of deep compassion, Copper understood why this was so important to Silver. She, Copper, looked completely human, save for the slight, almost unnoticeable webbing between her fingers. But Silver looked like no one, no thing, anyone had ever seen before. And their sister Gold, dead at birth; according to what her father and mother had told them, she had been a hybrid of ocean and land, unable to live in either.

Both sisters had always wondered why-how-such a thing had occurred. Why Silver had the scales of the FinFolk when her blood was half human and half Fialaban. Why Gold had been born so tragically misshapen that she could not even exist outside the womb. Now, they both understood. The FinFolk, the beings that they had been taught to avoid and to despise, if not to attack out of some sense of superiority, were merely Fialaban who had had a tragedy forced upon them.

How did you learn this? Have you spoken with Father about it?

Silver shook her head and her white hair floated and danced about her face. I have not told Father. He does not want me to.

And again, instead of speaking in words, the two sisters shared the image of the FinFolk named Shess. Copper saw him in her mind’s eye as her sister did, with the softening of affection: saw humor and kindness and pain in a piscine visage that at first glance made her physically recoil.

This…this is not right. We need to tell Father!

Once again, Silver shook her head. I have promised Shess I would not. He says that now is not the time. Copper…you must retrieve this stone, as the reflection told you to do.

Copper nodded her head in agreement. Of course I must. Kevla and Jareth saw it in their vision. That’s one of the things they came here for-to find it. The Dancers will need its magic.

No, sent Silver, startling Copper. Not the Dancers. You have said yourself they cannot use it.

Copper was confused. But the Emperor has the companion item, the-the Tenacru-and he is already using it to stop the Dancers from standing against the Shadow. Surely the Dancers must have this one, and give it to some ally who will use its magic to help us!

Silver regarded her sister evenly. The Tenachrym is the source of power that created Reshan. That created the FinFolk, mutating them from Fialaban into the sad things they are now. Give the Tenachrym to me, my sister. Give it to me and I will use its powers to help the FinFolk. They could recover their forms. This thing made them; this thing could change them back. It is justice, Copper. It is the purest justice I have ever encountered. Please, please, give the Tenachrym to me!

Silver, you do not know how to use this thing either.

No. No…but it should be given back to the FinFolk. They understand magic. They may know how to use it. Copper, please!

A protest started to form in Copper’s mind, but it disappeared almost at once. Silver’s argument made perfect sense. Everything had stemmed from the Lorekeepers harnessing the Tenachrym’s magic to create their own private island. The tool they had used to achieve this staggering feat had vanished from their reckoning, but now it had been remembered, and waited for Copper to pluck it like a ripe fruit. Such power, such magic, sufficient to rip up the ocean floor and turn beautiful beings into twisted, angry creatures-it was waiting for her to decide what to do with it.

She turned helplessly to her sister, who was waiting for her answer.

Silver, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s right.

Yes, you do. Search your heart. And when you do, you will see that giving this precious thing back to those whose lives it destroyed is the right thing to do.

Copper wished she had Silver’s certainty, but even now, her emotions were a whirl of confusion.

I will think on this, my sister. And in the end, I do promise you, I will do what I feel in my heart to be the right thing.

Silver smiled a little, though Copper knew she had wished for a firm yes. But Copper could not give such a thing now. She could only look at her sister and love her.

Chapter Twenty

Thunk.

Despite the hard leather armor and the thick, hot padding Jareth wore beneath it, the air went out of his lungs with a whoosh. The force of Liadan’s blow almost knocked him off the horse. He clung on with grim determination, but in the effort to stay mounted he dropped his wooden sword.

“If this was a real battle, you’d be dead,” Liadan muttered.

Jareth started to sigh, then stopped immediately. The gesture hurt his side too much. He did not reply as he dismounted and retrieved the training sword.

Liadan was right. And she really shouldn’t have been able to get in such a solid blow. He knew how to defend himself better than that; she’d taught him how. He’d even used the skill in actual combat. He’d have blocked her strike easily if he had been concentrating, and by the glare she gave him, he knew she knew it.

His mind was not on training, nor even on the admittedly attractive woman doing the training. He was thinking about the look on Copper’s face-the stunned, shocked expression that he knew meant she had learned something very important from the reflection in the water. And he was thinking about Bram…hearing again his smooth as oil voice, seeing that soft, smiling face that housed ill will. If only there was a way to—

This time, he did end up on the ground. He lay there for a few moments, catching his breath, and Liadan’s shadow fell over him.

“Your mind is not on fighting,” she said. She made no effort to help him up as she usually did when he took a spill. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. He too would be upset with someone so visibly distracted.

Wincing a little, he maneuvered himself into a sitting position, then got to his knees and rose. While he understood the necessity of the armor, he found it made him feel awkward and clumsy. He’d seen both Eion and Liadan fight while wearing more than what he had on presently, and both of them moved as lithely as if they were wearing nothing but light tabards. He wondered if he’d ever be able to feel comfortable in the hot, heavy stuff.

“No, it isn’t,” Jareth replied to Liadan’s statement. “I’m sorry.”

Instead of scowling and reprimanding him, Liadan gave him and odd look he couldn’t decipher. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then stared at the ground and turned away abruptly. Jareth waited for her to speak, and when she didn’t, he wordlessly climbed atop the training horse. The patient animal didn’t bat an eye.

Liadan mounted Tali, and without even using the reins took the horse in a slow canter around the courtyard. Jareth was definitely confused now. He waited atop his own horse for further instructions.

After a few moments, Liadan tossed down her training sword and shield and circled the horse back to him. He looked at her curiously. Her eyes searched his for a long moment and he felt his pulse quicken.

“You’re not an idiot,” she said.

“I’m glad you realize that.”

“But you’ve been acting as if you are.”

His smile faded. “What do you mean?”

She stared at him, then laughed. “We are adults. I’m sure that body of yours isn’t untouched.”

Her frankness made him blush. She saw it and grinned. “I see I’m right.”

He glanced down. He both wanted and feared to hear what she had to say next.

She placed her gloved hand on his thigh. “Jareth…it can’t possibly have escaped your notice that I find you attractive.”

He shook his head, his mouth suddenly dry.

“You’ve said nothing either way,” Liadan continued. “I’m not a patient woman. If you’re not interested in what I have to offer, just say so. And if you are…just say so.”

Now she was waiting for an answer, and he had no idea what to say to her. He knew whom he wanted to be with, but he also knew it wasn’t going to happen. She’d made that brutally clear, even if today they had been united in a common purpose. Even as he thought of the beautiful Arukani woman he felt himself stir.

Jareth refocused his attention on Liadan. She did not possess Kevla’s beauty and grace, but she was certainly an attractive woman. She would be, he was certain, a spectacular bed partner. And…more? There was something in those hazel eyes that spoke of a feeling deeper than simple lust and good humor. She was intelligent, funny, brave, strong, loyal.

And unlike Kevla, Liadan wanted him.

The words formed on his lips before he realized he was going to speak them. “I am interested, Liadan. Very.”

Her lips curved in a grin, and her eyes brightened. “That’s the best news I’ve had all day. For some time, in fact.”

Quickly, assertively, she leaned forward. One hand went to the back of his neck to confidently pull his head down to hers as she turned her face up to him. Their lips met and a shock went through Jareth. This was no sweet, tentative first kiss. Liadan boldly explored Jareth with lips and tongue that were clearly experienced, and after the first instant of surprise Jareth’s body responded eagerly. He wanted to pull her to him, but both hands held weapons. It was she who wrapped an arm around him. Jareth desperately wished that at the very least, he wasn’t wearing armor.

Liadan had initiated the kiss and after a long moment, she was the one who broke it. Liadan pulled away, her eyes sparkling and her lips red and swollen. Jareth suddenly thought he could take her even with the armor.

“Very nice,” she said, her voice husky. “Very nice indeed.” She was trembling a little and her breathing was quick. Jareth smiled. No doubt, Liadan was certain she had things to teach him, and maybe she did. But he imagined there would be a few things she’d learn from him as well.

“Moonrise. Tonight. Where you showed me your earth magic.”

The disappointment was like cold water. “Tonight? Not now?”

She grinned. “Tonight,” she said. “I think anticipation enhances coupling.” Then, oddly, her smile faltered. “And besides, I don’t want you to come up to me tomorrow and say you’ve changed your mind. Think I’ll give you a little time to cool off and to think.”

“I don’t need time,” he said.

She looked at him almost tenderly. “Yes, you do,” she said. “We’re done for the day. Moonrise,” she repeated, squeezed Tali, winked and cantered off.

Jareth watched her go and swore under his breath.

Kevla closed the door and leaned on it heavily, her cheeks burning and her eyes filled with tears.

After the seemingly interminable session with Eion, she had wanted only to return to her room and contact Copper. She had hastened across the courtyard and stopped in mid-stride when she realized that Jareth and Liadan were not done with their training session. Out of the corner of her eye, as she continued to move quickly toward the turret, she had witnessed the two kissing.

Why am surprised? Kevla asked herself angrily. Liadan never lied to me about what she wanted. She told me she would do this. And I told her it was all right.

But over the last day, when she had confided in Jareth what Copper had told her and together they had concocted their plan-she had felt the old connection with the Stone Dancer. They had spoken as they had before, as two people working toward a goal. And it had felt good.

But now Jareth had kissed Liadan-or rather, the Horsemistress had kissed him-in full public view. Kevla realized that she hadn’t really been prepared to see it. She splashed her face with water and patted it dry with a towel, taking deep, calming breaths. She had no claim to Jareth, no bond that went beyond who they were in this lifetime-the bond of the Dancers, trying to stop the end of everything. Indeed, she had done all she could to prevent anything more from happening between them. She just…did not expect to have succeeded quite so well.

She sat down in front of the fire and said quietly, “Show me Copper.” Copper was not startled this time, and indeed, judging from the look on the younger woman’s face, Copper had been expecting precisely such a contact.

“Kevla,” Copper said, her voice a whisper. “Can you come to me? I must speak with you.”

“Of course,” Kevla said, rising and stepping into the fire. Copper was pacing her quarters when she materialized. She had changed from the ripped, blood-stained dress she had worn earlier into a simple green garment. The hue suited her coloring to perfection and with one of those idle, useless thoughts that sometimes float into one’s mind at tense moments, Kevla wondered why the girl did not wear green more often.

Copper whirled when Kevla appeared. “Bram knows,” she said before Kevla could speak. “He knows I was there.”

“I thought as much,” Kevla said. “Were you able to speak with the reflection?”

Copper nodded. “I need to tell Jareth as well. Maybe we can—“

“Jareth is with Liadan.”

“And you were with Eion, but your training session is over. Surely Liadan-oh.”

Kevla could not bring herself to meet Copper’s gaze. “We will tell him later.”

“Yes, of course. Kevla, I—“

Suddenly Kevla was angry. She was tired of feeling sorry for herself, tired of knowing that others were feeling sorry for her too and desperately sick of pity.

“It doesn’t matter, Copper. Compared to what we are fighting for, whatever does or doesn’t happen between me and Jareth is utterly insignificant. Let’s get back to what’s important-what your reflection told you.”

Copper did not shrink back from the anger and pain in Kevla’s voice, merely nodded. “Very well. There…there is so much. I hardly know where to begin.”

Kevla immediately regretted her outburst. She went over to a small table and poured a half glass of wine, cutting it with water, and took it to the girl. It calmed her to take care of another. Copper looked up at her curiously. Kevla only smiled.

“Start at the beginning,” Kevla said gently.

Copper’s fingers curled around the goblet and Kevla saw a brief flash of webbing. Copper sipped it with a deliberation Kevla had never seen from her, and after a long moment, she began to speak.

“We spoke again about the Emperor. He has an ally called the Mage, and this Mage has command over a tool that augments the Emperor’s magic. It’s called the Tenacru. It’s…the way she-the reflection-told me about it is, it’s kind of an orb that glows red.”

Kevla gasped softly. Red…Her mind went back to when she and Jareth, clasping hands, had stepped into the circle of ice and appeared in the Ice Maiden’s realm. The sky had been a strange, blood red hue.

She told Copper of this, who nodded. “Probably the magic of the Tenacru at work, then,” the Sea Dancer said. She took another steadying sip of the watered wine before continuing. “The Tenacru is very powerful, and it is a very bad thing indeed that the Emperor has it at his disposal. But it’s not the only thing like it in this world. There’s another one called the Tenachrym. It’s just like the Tenacru, except its color is white.”

Kevla gasped. “Glowing white-the way the Tenacru glows red…. It sounds like this is what Jareth and I saw in our vision.”

“That’s what I thought too. It was brought here by that Lorekeeper-Caldan.”

Copper lifted her green eyes to Kevla’s brown ones. “What he did with it…Kevla, Reshan is nothing natural. It was made. Caldan fashioned it from a chunk he ripped from the bottom of the sea using the power of the Tenachrym.”

Kevla listened, shocked but somehow not surprised. So much made sense now. She had wondered how Caldan had become so powerful; now she understood. If the Emperor could use the Tenacru to create and breathe life into the Ice Maiden-create, as Kevla now suspected judging from the strange red tint of the sky, an entire little world for her-then Caldan could do what the legends said he had. He could scry and see the faces of all the Dancers, throughout time. He could transform the Lorekeepers of Lamal into magical beasts, ignorant of their identity and the knowledge they harbored and therefore safe. He could summon an island from the ocean’s floor, and his people, all the Lorekeepers of this place, would be enhanced as a whole. She shivered at the thought of that kind of power. Even her Dancer abilities did not seem to her quite so profound.

The second thought she had was one that made her feel ill. If the first Lorekeeper of Reshan had this orb, this Tenachrym, it would have been kept very safe. It would have passed from Caldan to his successor, from that person to…Anam Bram.

“So the Emperor’s mage has the Tenacru…and Bram has the Tenachrym,” she said miserably. “The vision came too late.” The odds were staggering. Even with all five Dancers gathered together, using their abilities in unison, it would be difficult for them to stand against that kind of magic.

“No,” said Copper. “He doesn’t have it. He doesn’t even know it exists.”

Hope blossomed in Kevla so intensely it was painful.

“Kevla…the Tenachrym lies at the bottom of the pool in the cave. It’s the source of all the Namaraban’s magic, but they don’t even know about it. It’s lain there, forgotten, for centuries.”

Copper grimaced and looked down at the goblet she held. “If I had had even a few more moments I could have dived down and gotten it,” Copper said bitterly. “But the Kelpie contacted me to warn me that Bram was on his way. I almost got caught as it was. I didn’t dare stay and try to find the Tenachrym.”

Kevla thought the words sounded like Copper was trying to convince herself, and she shared the girl’s wish that there had been more time when the opportunity had prevented itself. But there had clearly been no alternative, and she said so.

“You did the best you could, Copper,” Kevla reassured her. “If you had lingered and been caught, not only would Bram know that we are against him, he’d also have the Tenachrym. We can’t let him have it. It would be better for it to be destroyed than fall into the hands of someone who is our enemy.”

Copper sighed and rubbed at her eyes. “Perhaps it is best that it lies there undiscovered after all,” she said. “We might not have it-but then Bram wouldn’t have it, either.”

Kevla sat back in the chair and folded her arms, her mind racing as she considered the options. “Bram is not a fool. We are fairly certain that he knows you are drawn to the pool. He might take it into his head to investigate and then he would find the Tenachrym.”

Copper paled. Kevla shared her worry. An item that could do such things in Bram’s pale, pudgy hands-the thought could not be borne. The two women looked at each other.

“We have to go back and get it, don’t we?” Copper said.

Kevla nodded. “I’m afraid so. We can’t risk him getting it. I have not wanted to bring our Companions in on this yet because there was no reason to disturb them. But I think we have to, now.”

Kevla sat forward, looking at Copper intently. “We have no time to waste. We must act as soon as possible.”

The small window in Jareth’s room opened onto the courtyard. The horses upon which he and Liadan had trained earlier that day were in their stables now. The gates were closed against intruders, but Jareth knew that should he but ask, they would be opened for him. Opened, so that he could walk out into the cool, moist night and hike the short distance to where in a brief time a woman would be waiting for him.

He leaned on the window sill, looking down at the empty courtyard, his mind going over what had happened. He imagined he could still smell Liadan’s scent of faint sweat and clean grass; certainly it was not difficult to recall the pressure of her lips on his. He had enjoyed the kiss. He had wanted more. And she was more than willing to give it to him.

Why, then, did he feel so troubled? They were not children. They understood the dance of flirtation and consummation. From what he’d heard, Liadan enjoyed sexual pleasure as much as any man and more than most, and that appetite and skill had made those she had shared her bed with admire and respect her. Jareth had once been married to a woman he had loved with all his heart. Had Taya been with him on this journey, he would not have given Liadan’s flirtatious comments more than passing notice. But Taya was dead; had been gone for over a year now, and while a part of him would always love and miss her, he felt no guilt about the prospect of another relationship. She would have wanted that for him.

Jareth growled and banged his fist down hard on the sill. He flung himself on the bed, fuming. Liadan had set the time for their tryst at moonrise, not before; to give him time to be certain, she had said.

He didn’t want the time. Jareth knew himself better than she did, and he knew full well that he would use the intervening hours not to heighten his anticipation of the coupling to come, but to talk himself out of it.

There was nothing to do to fill the time; he had already bathed and changed into fresh clothing. He decided perhaps a walk would do him good; maybe physical movement would calm him. He leaped off the bed, strode to the door, and was walking down the corridor purposefully within moments.

He fully intended to navigate the maze of the castle and head into the courtyard, where he could watch for the rising moon and make certain the time was right to meet Liadan. Instead his booted feet carried him up the narrow stairs of the tower, and he found himself standing in front of Kevla’s door.

Turn around, Jareth. Turn around, walk into the courtyard, then go see Liadan. You know it’s the best thing for you.

Even as the thoughts rose in his mind, he realized that they were wrong. He didn’t know what the best thing for him was. All he knew was he wanted to be on the other side of that door, taking Kevla into his arms as he had on one unforgettable occasion before.

He leaned against the cold stone wall, thoroughly annoyed with himself. He knew why he had come here. He knew what-who-his heart and body longed for. Kevla had vexed him more than anyone he had ever met when she first entered his life, with her bizarre tale of Dancers and the Shadow and the end of all things. He had grown, almost against his will, to like and respect her, and gradually those feelings had turned to something deeper. He had held her once before, kissed her passionately, felt her respond.

But she’d pushed him away. Then and later. She’d said bluntly that she didn’t love him, didn’t want him. And yet…stubbornly, he refused to believe her.

In the midst of these chaotic thoughts, there was only one certainty. There would be no peace for him, no chance to truly lose himself in Liadan’s arms tonight or any night, if he did not face Kevla. Let her know what was about to happen, and see for himself that it didn’t matter to her. He wiped a hand across his face, took a deep breath to steady himself and knocked on the door.

Kevla stared into the fire. Her thoughts were scattered, and she needed focus. And, she thought, she needed to talk to Jareth. Before she had witnessed the kiss in the courtyard, she would have scried for Jareth’s face in the fire, tried to talk to him. But now, she did not dare.

She stared into the fire, letting her gaze soften, thinking. A face emerged in the flames and she gasped, wondering if she had drifted to sleep beside the fire. Never before had she seen him since his death other than in her dreams.

“Jashemi!”

She smiled happily, her heart swelling with affection as she beheld his face in the flame, colored in shades of red and yellow and black. He smiled as well.

“Flame Dancer. You need to be strong and have faith, now more than ever.”

She was stung. “You think me weak?”

“No. I think you in pain. You are not as alone as you think. For that I am grateful. I would not have my dear sister, my Dancer, walk with an empty heart.”

Kevla felt the heat rise to her face, and it was not from the fire. “You are wrong, Jashemi. Even though I know I have friends, my heart is still empty. It always will be.”

“No, Kevla. There is one who stands more than ready to fill it. He is good. He is kind. And,” Jashemi added casually, “he is here.”

Chapter Twenty-One

The door opened so quickly that Jareth wondered if Kevla had been standing immediately on the other side.

“Jareth…come in.”

She stepped back so that he could enter the room and almost immediately looked away. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Kevla went to the sideboard and poured them something to drink. Even as she handed him the goblet, she did not meet his eyes.

Jareth wanted this done with. “I’ve come here for a specific reason.”

“Of course. I was expecting you.”

He looked at her, puzzled. Until a few moments ago, he himself hadn’t known he was coming to see her. How had she guessed it? Kevla indicated that he take a seat and sat in the chair opposite him.

“You knew I was coming?”

“I—You haven’t heard what Copper saw in the pool.”

Impossibly, he had forgotten this. He felt himself flush. “Yes…I would like to know that.”

He sat and listened with growing fascination, the goblet in his hand forgotten, as Kevla told him a tale that would have seemed impossible to conceive of a year ago. And yet, it all made sense to him. It all tied into Caldan, the Lorekeeper from his own land who had traveled here, to the west, where his descendants would await the coming of the Sea Dancer. The Tenachrym had been used on the Lorekeepers of Lamal, and then again here, to wrest land from the very ocean to host the girl who would one day be born as the element of water incarnate. The thought that such a powerful talisman lay undiscovered was an exciting one, and he agreed that this was the “bright light” they had seen in the vision, and that they needed to recover the Tenachrym as soon as possible.

“We had discussed tomorrow night,” Kevla said. “Although I am worried about Copper. I’m not sure she’s ready to leave-tomorrow or ever.”

“She has to,” Jareth said promptly. “It’s her destiny.”

Kevla’s full lips curved into a smile. “I seem to recall a certain Stone Dancer who was also adamant about not leaving his land,” she said, mirth warming her voice.

Jareth wished Kevla weren’t quite so beautiful. Perhaps resisting her would be a trifle easier. He covered his stare with a rueful chuckle.

“Point taken,” he said. “But I didn’t have the sort of evidence Copper has. The Lamali Lorekeepers, as you may also recall, were not speaking to me at that point. I had no knowledge of the history of the Dancers. I thought my abilities were something altogether different. Copper doesn’t have that excuse. She’s known about her destiny almost since birth, and she has had the advantage of the Namaraban to teach her. She can’t claim ignorance.”

“No,” Kevla agreed. “But she is young, Jareth. I know she and I are close in age, but emotionally, she is still very much a child. She has her family here, divided though it might be, and for some reason her Companion does not seem to be driving her to depart as ours did.”

Jareth thought about that for a moment. “You’re right,” he said. “And since they have been here, our own Companions have expressed no desire to leave either.”

Kevla’s brown eyes widened. “Are you suggesting that our Companions have been enchanted somehow?”

“I don’t know that I’d go that far. The Dragon and the Tiger are very powerful.”

“So are the Namaraban,” Kevla said. “So is the Tenachrym.”

“I agree that the Tenachrym is indeed very powerful,” Jareth said. “But it’s not being used as…whoever designed it intended. If what that mysterious reflection told Copper is true, then it’s lying forgotten at the bottom on that pool. I guess any magic it’s emitting is secondary in its effectiveness.”

“And it’s given generations of Lorekeepers amazing magical abilities,” Kevla replied. “We can’t underestimate them, Jareth. We don’t dare—“

She gasped and her hand went to her mouth.

“What is it?”

“The chains,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “The necklaces they gave as gifts.”

Jareth’s mind went back to the day when they had first arrived on Reshan. “They had anticipated us and crafted them,” he recalled. “I remember the Kelpie was wearing one already.

Kevla’s gaze was distant as she, too, no doubt, was searching her memory of that eventful day. “‘I like not the thought of a noose around my neck,’ the Dragon said. I wish we’d listened.”

“And the Tiger said something about she wasn’t a housecat to wear a jeweled collar,” said Jareth.

“But…the Kelpie seemed unaffected. That was why they agreed to have them put on.”

Jareth said slowly, “Perhaps that’s the magic. Perhaps the chains don’t take over their minds. Maybe they just…soothe them somehow.”

He thought of how docile the mighty blue Tiger had seemed to him every time he visited her in the Grove. True, she was a cat, and cats enjoyed their naps in the sun…but she was a tiger, an elemental Companion, and she had often been more forceful in accepting her duty than Jareth had.

“I blame myself,” Kevla said quietly. “He asked me what I wanted him to do. I told the Dragon that it was his choice…but I thought it would look handsome on him. He can be a bit vain at times. Ai, I should have let him trust his instincts!”

“And I should have seen it before,” Jareth said slowly, filled with self-hatred. “It’s not like the Companions to behave like this. But I didn’t want to see it. I was too wrapped up in—“

Jareth blushed. Kevla looked away and cleared her throat. There was an awkward moment of silence, and Jareth rushed to fill it.

“The longer we wait to act, the more time Bram has to do so,” he said. “I don’t know that we can wait until tomorrow. We might have to make our move tonight.” Jareth realized with shame that a part of him was grateful for a valid reason to avoid seeing Liadan tonight.

“It will be hard to convince Copper to abandon everything she knows.”

“It will be harder if she fails to do so and the Shadow triumphs,” Jareth said, more bluntly than he had intended. “If he gets a hold of the Tenachrym, Bram may well succeed where the Emperor has failed.”

Kevla sighed deeply and looked into the fire with a sorrowful expression. “I feel very much alone in this,” she said quietly. “Copper is not overly keen on joining us. You and I-“She bit her lip quickly, then, still not looking at him, continued. “You and I are not as close as we once were. Our Companions have been lulled so that they do not see what is going on, and the Lorekeepers are intent not upon helping us, but making us their servants. I think that hurts worst of all. The other reasons…I understand. But this is a deliberate betrayal of what and who they were meant to be.”

“My Lorekeeper betrayed me,” Jareth snapped. “I think it’s nothing new.”

Kevla shook her head, still gazing into the fire that leaped and crackled in the hearth, still sad. “It is, though. I know it is. I know what they are supposed to be, how they are supposed to love and support us. Jashemi-Jashemi was not so.”

“No,” Jareth said quietly. “He wasn’t.” He took a deep breath. “Kevla…there’s something I have to ask.”

Kevla gulped. “Jareth—“

“You said you don’t love me. Is that true? Really true?”

Her mouth was dry. “Yes,” she whispered, forcing herself to speak the words. “I don’t love you.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I take Liadan to bed with me.” His voice was harsh. “She’s been after me since I got here, and I’m tired of refusing her.”

Kevla could have sworn her heart physically broke. “Then by all means, stop refusing her.”

“Doesn’t matter to you?”

“Of course not.”

His eyes searched hers, and for a moment she thought he would bridge the gap between them and take her in his arms. If he kissed her, she couldn’t keep up the pretense.

He rose without another word and turned to the door. Kevla buried her face in her hands. She heard his footsteps across the stone floor, heard the door open, and then slam shut.

Kevla buried her face in her hands and started to weep. Only once before had she felt such agony rip through her, when she had realized what had happened to Jashemi. She had deliberately pushed Jareth away, and even though she took comfort in knowing she had spared him, the searing torment of her loss overwhelmed her. Her slender body was racked with sobs and she murmured over and over, “Jareth…Jareth….”

“Gods help me…I cannot leave you.”

Jareth’s voice was raw and broken. Shocked, Kevla whirled. He stood leaning heavily against the door, his large frame bowed with pain, his fists clenched. At her soft cry, he looked up at her, and his gaze pierced her heart.

“I could never leave you. I am like a hound you cannot bid forsake your side. Outside waits a woman who would gladly give what you will not, and my legs are like stone. I cannot move to go to her.”

Kevla sat as if rooted to the chair. All she could do was gaze into his eyes, transfixed, wanting nothing more than go to him. She had tried to push him away, but now he knew her true feelings. She could not deny it…could not deny him…any longer.

Jareth let out an angry roar and Kevla gasped. Before she realized what he was doing, he had closed the distance between the door and the fireplace in three strides.

“Why are you doing this, Kevla? Why do you push me away?”

“Because-because I cannot be with you. I will kill any man I lie with, no matter how much I might want him. How much I love him.”

“You don’t know that. I’m not him.”

“Jareth—“

“Let us end this!” he cried, and shoved his hand into the fire.

Kevla shrieked in horror. The coals were white hot. Jareth would be badly burned. She sprang from the chair, but she was too late. Jareth’s strong fingers had reached deep into the fire and closed upon a coal.

Tears blurred her vision as she dropped to her knees beside him, prying open his fingers, wondering why she was not smelling scorched flesh or—

The coal glowed peacefully in the palm of his outstretched hand, so hot that it seemed to pulsate. There was no mark upon his skin. Kevla stared at it, hardly able to draw breath.

Moments passed, then Jareth spoke. His voice was soft, trembling with deep emotion.

“When we first met…I held a knife to your throat.”

“I…I remember.” He had come out of nowhere, and she had thought him one of the madmen who lurked in the forests.

“Do you remember what you did?”

She kept staring, enraptured, at the glowing coal in his hand. “I-I made the knife in your hand grow hot.”

“It burned the wrappings on my hand completely off,” he said. “Kevla-it did not burn my hand. You did not harm me then. This ember doesn’t harm me now.”

She dragged her gaze from the miraculous sight of fire burning peacefully in his hands and met his eyes, which to her seemed to burn almost as brightly.

“Earth can hold Fire,” he said tenderly. “It’s the only element that can.”

Was it possible? Could it be that Jareth could endure what had been Jashemi’s death? Kevla would not have believed it, and yet…the evidence lay in his palm. Gently Kevla picked up the coal, feeling it as cool and smooth as a polished stone to her touch. She tossed it back into the fire, her fingers caressing Jareth’s hand. There was only the soot from the ember there; his hand was whole.

“You can…we….” She looked up at him in stunned amazement. His eyes searched hers for a moment, than he started to smile. Her heart sped up as she waited for him to close the slight yet enormous distance that separated man from woman, friend from lover. He entwined his fingers with hers and brought them to his lips, then leaned forward and kissed her brow. She closed her eyes at the softness of his lips on her skin and trembled, want and fear vying for dominance within her.

Tears filled her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. He cupped her chin with one hand and wiped the salty droplets away with the other.

“Kevla-sha-Tahmu, Flame Dancer, beloved…Your passion is the purest, most powerful fire this world has ever known. And I wish with all my heart that it had not claimed the life of your Lorekeeper. But while Jashemi was unique in his own way, he came to this world clothed only in human flesh, with only human powers.”

He placed his hands on either side of her face and tilted her head up, forcing her to look at him. She blinked through the tears that still kept coming.

“We are the same,” he whispered urgently in a voice that trembled slightly. “I am a Dancer. If you are Fire incarnate, then I am the Earth incarnate. Earth can hold fire, Kevla. And I can hold you.” He pulled her gently into his embrace, placing her head on his chest and wrapping his arms tightly, possessively, about her while she gave vent to her fear. She wept for some time, grieving for Jashemi, fearing for Jareth, and he simply held her.

Gradually the tears slowed and she stood against him, hearing his heart beating rapidly and feeling the firm solidity of his muscular frame.

Earth can hold Fire. It’s the only element that can.

He knew without knowing how he knew that the words were true. He would come to no harm if she trusted him enough to completely surrender to the need that he saw sparkling in her eyes. But he would need to summon all his Dancer’s abilities, ask the Earth to hold him so that he could withstand the power of her release.

He ached with wanting her, but he held himself back. She would need to come to him, to reach for him, if they were to be to one another all he sensed they could be. So he pressed her head to his breast and caressed her flowing black hair. His fingers traveled beneath the silky mane to touch the back of her neck. Jareth moved his fingers in slow circles against the smooth dark skin, a sudden deep contentment welling inside him. How long had he wanted to do this? To caress that loam-colored skin, so different from his own pale flesh? To run his fingers through the ebon waves of her long, thick hair, to bring it to his lips for a kiss and inhale the sweet smoky scent of her?

Too long. A day would have been too long.

The moments passed in their own time, and Jareth simply held Kevla. At last, he felt her heave a great sigh and she looked up at him. Jareth knew he had been privileged to see that expression on a woman’s face twice in his life, and even as he gazed into Kevla’s dark eyes, he said a sweet, silent farewell to his Taya, knowing that she would bless both him and this exotic Arukani woman who had won his heart with her courage, determination and grace.

Still looking into the deep, sparkling pools that were his beloved’s eyes, Jareth slowly moved his hands to Kevla’s shoulders and slid her rhia down to her slender waist. Kevla’s breathing quickened, but she made no move to stop him. Jareth’s own breath caught in his throat as he gazed at her. He had felt this supple body against his skin once before, when he had desperately needed the warmth of human contact to survive. But he had not beheld her so, and although he had expected to find her beautiful, he was not prepared by how profoundly the sight affected him.

She stood before him as he gazed his fill, and smiled as he lifted his eyes to hers.

“Kevla….”

He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell her he had seen nothing more beautiful in his life. He wanted to tell her how much he admired her, how strong he thought she was, how courageous and kind. Yet all he seemed capable of uttering was her name. Her smile grew and her eyes sparkled; apparently, it was enough.

She leaned forward and tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head so that he, too, was bare to the waist. He closed his eyes and savored the sensation of her fingers lightly caressing and exploring him. He heard her moving and then she was in his arms.

He opened his eyes and gazed down at her, his strong hands sliding up the impossibly silky skin of her back. Her face was turned up to his, her eyes wide, her red lips parted. Jareth swallowed hard and suddenly words came to him.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he said quietly. “It’s going to be soft, it’s going to be slow, and it’s going to be deep. Then I’m going to love you the way I’ve wanted to almost since the day we met. And when we are done, and lying in one another’s arms, we will not be the same.”

Kevla shuddered at his words. Jareth placed his hands on either side of her face, looked into her eyes for a long moment, then bent and kissed her.

The kiss was everything he had promised-soft and slow at first, deepening as he felt her response. Kevla melted against Jareth, wrapping her arms around his neck and opening to him. How had she resisted so long? How had she been able to resist him at all? There was no awkwardness between them, only soft movements and sounds and this growing heat inside her as his lips and tongue caressed hers and his hands roamed almost reverently over her body. She pressed against him, her breasts crushed against the broad expanse of his chest. Was that her heart or his she felt hammering so hard? She could not tell; already they were beginning to merge. Soft and sweet as velvet and honey was his kiss, and she surrendered utterly to the sensations.

His lips slid down her throat and she whimpered slightly, his name escaping her in the softest whisper. Her body cried out for his touch. Desire rose inside her, molten and flowing, and she knew that if he took her right now she would be ready for him. Instead she kept her touch slow and deliberate. The fire inside her was burning hot, but she wanted to stoke it even more.

As his golden head bent lower she tangled her hands in his hair, her heart contracting with love as she watched him kiss her first between her breasts, then teasingly beneath the soft, voluptuous curves. She gasped in delight as his tongue finally found her nipples and danced against the hard peaks.

Dizzy with sensation, she melted against him, surrendering herself. She felt herself being lifted and then lowered gently to the cool stone of her chamber. Through half-shut eyes, she looked up and gloried in the sight and feel of him. Hands moved and unfastened clasps, slid silky fabric off hips, removed and tossed aside boots and breeches until they lay naked beside the firelight. Kevla closed her eyes and let herself sink into the feelings his hands and lips and tongue were rousing within her, and fought back the sudden, unwelcome taint of fear. I have lain with a cherished lover before…and….

Jareth felt the change in her at once. The connection between them, finally reestablished after so many weeks of achingly painful separation, told him that she was holding herself back. Dismay filled him, but only for a moment. He knew the fear she was facing, admired her for even being with him now. But he also knew that until this fear was allayed, she would never be able to truly give herself to him, to trust him with the most intimate part of herself. And they would always have this between them.

He would need to arouse her so powerfully she would forget this fear; need to make love to her with every fiber of his being, every shred of his soul. Jareth put aside thoughts of teasing and technique. Such things were pleasant, but were not what was needed here. He pulled back for a moment and looked at her face. When her eyes fluttered open inquiringly, he smiled tenderly.

“I love you, Kevla. I love you now, I will love you tomorrow, I will love you for the rest of your life. I will never leave you. You are mine, and I am yours. Give yourself entirely to me, my love, so that I may give myself to you.”

He kissed her passionately this time and she arched up into him, reaching to cup his head with her hand as she opened her lips beneath his. The kiss was forceful, wild; turned soft and languid; became a pledge and a promise. When he pulled back to begin kissing and stroking her writhing body, Kevla whimpered. Jareth, too, felt oddly bereft, but the glories of her body and the delight he knew he could give her tempted him away from the full, soft lips he now knew he could kiss forever.

Jareth kissed the tender hollow of her throat with a sort of awe, vaguely aware that the sensation that rushed through him with every beat of his hammering heart was something akin to worship. Down the valley between the hills of her perfect breasts, along her long, lean torso, wetting her flat stomach with tears he had not expected to weep, to the cluster of curls between her strong, smooth thighs he traveled, pouring his need for and devotion to this magnificent woman into every brush of hands and lips, losing himself in loving her.

Kevla was dizzy when Jareth’s lips left hers and she heard herself whimper as if from a great distance. Almost immediately she fell back into that soft, wild place as he kissed down her throat, then lingered on her breasts in sweet torment. She undulated beneath him, her skin so sensitive she felt that she would explode with pleasure at every tender touch.

And then the fear welled inside her, its coldness dampening her fire. Kevla felt herself withdrawing from Jareth’s loving touches. Perhaps this was the way. Perhaps she could be his lover and yet not expose him to the danger that was the ultimate expression of her passion. She could please him, and love him, but-

My sweet Kevla, that is not who you are, came the voice of Jashemi in her head. She could almost feel his heart breaking with compassion. Be who you are, who you were born to be. This is not the same as before. Jareth is not I. I am your soul, but this man…ah, this man is your heart.

He is my heart, thought Kevla. Earth can hold fire-

Even as the liberation of true understanding broke upon her, she felt Jareth press his lips in a deep kiss to the most intimate part of her and she realized how profoundly she was loved. For an instant that was an eternity, Kevla hung suspended between ecstasy such as she had never experienced and the searing joy of release.

Suddenly she cried out, sharply, and felt the heat of the Dragon’s fire wash over and through her. She clutched Jareth’s arms, her nails biting into his flesh, desperate to feel him solid and real in this moment of white-hot abandon. The fire beside her flared to a sheet of flame, its flickering light dancing against her closed lids and its smoke mingling with Jareth’s beloved scent of pine and loam.

“Jareth…!”

As she gasped for breath, she opened her eyes to see him smiling down at her.

“I am here, Kevla…I am here.”

Weeping with relief and still trembling with passion, she pulled him to her. His kurjah brushed up against her sensitive sulim and the pleasure was so sharp, so intense, it was almost pain. Then he was there, sinking slowly inside her with a soft moan that made her heart leap. At last, after far too long, after too much pain and denial of what they meant to one another, they were finally one.

They moved together in an ancient rhythm. Kevla reveled at every thrust, every kiss, every caress. She was filled and fulfilled, cherished and safe and she held nothing back now. And when at last she felt him swell and then empty himself inside her with a short, harsh cry, her own body responded a second time to bless them both with the pure fire of her unbridled passion.

He held her for a long, long time, his skin warm and real and slicked with sweat. Kevla slowly returned to herself, whimpering when he pulled out and shifted to lie beside her, turning to him and kissing him, unwilling to let him go. Jareth pulled her atop him, his warm, strong hands roaming over her body as if he had not just made passionate love to her, as if he were touching her for the first time, still hungry. He looked up at her, eyes glittering in the light of a fire which had now subsided in the wake of their shared passion, and nodded.

Between them hung that which did not wish but both knew must happen. Kevla took a deep breath.

“Jareth, you have to—“

“Kevla, I don’t want to but—“

They grinned and laughed. Jareth squeezed her to him tightly and planted a sound, playful kiss on her cheek.

“My darling Kevla, my beautiful fire maiden…I would like nothing better than to stay here with you all night and well into tomorrow. But I must go to Liadan and tell her what’s going on,” Jareth continued. “Both about what we’re planning and about….”

Before she realized it, he had kissed her again, not playfully this time, but hungrily. She responded, then it was she who pulled back and nodded. “Yes.”

Jareth growled softly in frustration as she slipped off of him and reached for her rhia. He sat up and began to dress. “She asked me to meet her on that little hill not far from the courtyard, where the apple tree is. We won’t be long. I’ll tell her and come right back with her, and we’ll decide what to do from there.”

“I know where that hill is.” It was indeed not far. She wished he did not have to go. But before all else in this world, they were Dancers. And their task was in desperate jeopardy.

He finished dressing and rose, extending a hand to her. She got to her feet. Bringing her hand to his lips, he kissed it gently.

“I love you, Kevla-sha-Tahumu. Know that once this task is done I will hasten back to your side. And then, I will never leave it.”

Her heart surged at his words and tears sprang to her eyes. “I will count the moments.”

They still held hands as she walked him to the door. As he opened the door, she let go reluctantly. She glanced quickly down the hall to make sure they were safe from prying eyes and ears. In a whisper, Kevla said, “While you are gone, I will speak with Copper. We will be ready when you return.”

Jareth nodded, then paused, his eyes roaming hungrily over her for a long moment. Finally, with a muttered curse, he reached for her and pulled her to him.

His kiss was both passionate and fierce, loving and possessive and she returned it with a fiery intensity of her own. Her legs went weak and she clung to him, kept from falling only by the iron band of his powerful arm around her. When he pulled away and steadied her, she felt utterly bereft, but his next words heartened her.

“Kevla, I love you so much…I can’t believe I almost walked away from this….”

She shook her head. “No, beloved, it was I who tried to send you away.”

His arm tightened about her so intensely that she found it hard to draw breath.

“Never again,” Jareth whispered. “Promise me. Let us never walk that close to the edge again.”

“Never again,” she pledged, her throat tight.

His face suddenly, oddly, melted into a grin as he released her.

“The next time we are alone together in private quarters,” he said, “You will not escape so easily, my lady.”

Kevla felt her own lips curve in an answering smile as she replied lightly, “You shall not escape at all, my lord.”

Jareth was suddenly serious as he replied, “Gods, I pray not.” He seemed about to say something more, then simply nodded, touched her cheek one last time, and left.

She watched him stride down the hall, moving with same powerful, lithe movements that distinguished the blue Tiger. He turned the corner and was gone. She sighed, closed the door, then leaned against it for support. Jareth had been right—they were no longer the same.

It was some moments before she had collected herself sufficiently to wash her hands and face and step through the fire to Copper’s room.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The cool night air, moist as always from the mists that drifted in across the ocean, tousled Jareth’s hair and caressed his face with the gentleness of Kevla’s fingers. He sighed as he strode briskly away from the castle grounds and up the twining path. Liadan had taken him here, perching behind him atop Tali and telling him the way.

He was not looking forward to seeing her tonight. He liked her a great deal, and there could be no denying-not to her, not to Kevla, not to himself-that he found her physically desirable as well. But something had always held him back from making the simple gesture that would lead to intimacy. He hadn’t really understood it at the time, and yet, a willing, lovely woman had wanted him, and he had found excuse after excuse to avoid being with her.

She would take it well, he knew. But still, it was not in Jareth’s nature to deliberately hurt anyone, and he knew that at the very least she would be disappointed.

But more important than any relationship that did or did not happen between them was the information he would bring her about Bram. If he knew the Horsemistress at all, and he was fairly certain he did, she would channel any disappointment into an attack. He was grateful for her candor about Bram earlier. It made him know that he could trust her. He was very, very glad Liadan was on their side.

As he walked up the twining path, he let his mind wander to Kevla. He felt suddenly cold inside as he realized how close he had come to abandoning his feelings for her. Something inside him that was wiser than his conscious mind had prodded him to go to Kevla tonight before meeting with Liadan. He had played a trick on her, by pretending to leave, but he had to know her mind. The moment that she bowed her head and sobbed his name, he knew that his heart had been right all along. She did love him, as he did her. The fear Kevla had harbored, that she would destroy him with her passion-she had held that fear tightly, wrapped in shame and longing, until he had dispelled it.

Kevla, Kevla, you have no idea how much I wanted to stay….

The soft whicker of a horse jolted him out of his pleasant reverie. He looked up and there was Tali, her reins tethered to the apple tree he had helped coax to fullness and health in front of Liadan’s startled gaze.

He realized that as edgy as he was about this night’s meeting, he had eaten very little at dinner. His stomach rumbled as he reached and plucked an apple, and he smiled a little. The body would not be denied, no matter what turmoil the heart or mind underwent.

He bit into the crisp fruit. Its flesh and juice were sweet and refreshing. He looked up at the moon as he chewed and frowned a little. The horse was here, so Liadan could not be far. He wondered where she had gone.

The moments ticked past and she did not appear. Jareth went to the horse, stroked its smooth neck and offered it the apple core. Tali lipped it gratefully and crunched.

It was then that Jareth saw something that had escaped his notice earlier. A rolled-up parchment was tied to Tali’s saddle. Jareth grinned sadly. No doubt Liadan had had something mischievously erotic planned for this evening.

Sighing, he reached for the scroll and unrolled it. Even though he despised Bram, he had to admit he was grateful that the Anam and his people had taught him the skill of reading. Jareth held the scroll so that the moon shone down upon the letters and read:

Dear Jareth, I am so pleased you kept our appointment. No doubt you recognize Tali; mount her and she will take you to where I am. I have a surprise planned for you.—Liadan

Jareth grimaced. He wanted this over and done with. To keep playing lovers’ games when there was no hope for love between them sat ill with him, but he had no choice. Tali was smaller than the geldings on which Jareth usually trained, so it was with very little effort that he swung himself up into the saddle.

He felt it hit the instant his foot left the ground.

Where once all had been solid, where he had been in control of his mind, his body and his destiny, the Stone Dancer felt all of that suddenly, violently ripped from him. He knew at once, without knowing how he knew, that until this moment, contact with the earth-with his element-had protected him more than he comprehended.

Tiger! He thought, sending a desperate plea out to the one being who knew him better than he knew himself, but even as he attempted it, he knew the message would never get through. His mind watched in horror as his body settled into the saddle, kicked the startled Tali with more violence than he would ever have used, and turned the mare’s head in a direction he had never been before.

Kevla and Copper had discussed their plan down to the last detail. They had tried to think of everything that possibly could go wrong and prepare for it. There was nothing more to say now, and Kevla watched the candle burn placidly, eating the hours away. And still Jareth had not returned.

“Maybe you were wrong, Kevla,” Copper said with a carelessness that was evidence of how little she understood love. “Maybe he was just leading you on. Perhaps he did pick Liadan after all, once he saw her.”

The thought would have hurt Kevla a few scant hours earlier, but now she shook her dark head confidently.

“No,” she said firmly. “I know Jareth better than that. He does not manipulate or lie. If he wanted Liadan, he would have chosen Liadan. Something…something has gone wrong.”

Finally, she had given voice to her fear. Copper did not naysay her. It would be better, of course, for their plans if Jareth had simply succumbed to Liadan’s charms and squandered a few precious hours in loveplay, but Kevla knew that was not what had happened. Jareth loved her, not Liadan. He would break the news quickly to the Horsemistress, tell her what they planned, and return with Liadan. The entire exchange should not have taken more than an hour.

Copper sighed. “I fear you are right. What do you think has happened?”

“I can’t begin to imagine,” lied Kevla. In truth, her mind was racing with dire scenarios, all of them ending up with Jareth in torment. She forced those thoughts out of her mind. It would not serve her to be distracted by worries that she had no way of proving.

Copper looked at her expectantly, and Kevla made her decision. “He told me where he was meeting Liadan. It’s not far from here.”

“Then let us go.”

They obtained mounts from the stables. The young akha who fetched the horses for them was too well-trained to inquire as to where they might be going this time of night. It was in truth not a far ride at all. Kevla didn’t know what to expect, but her knuckles whitened from the grip she had on her horse’s reins. Copper was silent as they cantered along the trail, the thick night mist wet on their faces.

They turned their mounts and ascended the hill. They saw no one.

“Looks like they’ve gone,” Copper said. “I-I’m sorry Kevla.”

Kevla slipped off her horse, biting her lip nervously. “No,” she said firmly. “Something happened to him.” She summoned a small flame in her hand that would serve as a torch and looked around, searching for-what? Something to tell her what had happened. She saw fresh horse’s hoofprints and the imprint of large boots in the moist soil. They looked to have been made by the boots Kevla had watched Jareth put on not so very long ago. He had come here, then.

“Huh,” Copper said. She too had been looking on the ground and now straightened, holding a piece of parchment. At Kevla’s nod, she unrolled it. By the light of Kevla’s conjured flame, they read the missive. Kevla’s heart sank as she read.

“I…I don’t believe it,” she said.

“Nor should you,” Copper said, startling her. “Liadan has the world’s messiest handwriting. She hates to write. I recognize this hand.” Copper looked at her. “This letter was written by Anam Bram.”

Kevla’s heart contracted. Jareth!

“So…what do we do now?”

Kevla swallowed hard, but though the decision nearly killed her, she knew she could make no other.

“Bram has taken Jareth, and probably Liadan too. We must-we must put our plan into action without him.”

Copper looked suddenly nervous. “Somehow I just thought….” She broke off and stared at the ground.

“You just thought he and I would take care of everything,” Kevla finished for her, gentling her voice so that it did not sound like a rebuke.

Copper nodded her red head. Her hair was unbound and it fell in smooth, silky sheets to hide her expression. Kevla reached and gently tucked a strand behind the girl’s ear.

“I didn’t ask for this either,” Kevla said. “But you and I cannot deny what we are. We have a duty that exceeds our own wants and desires…even exceeds our duties to others. Jareth will understand. We’ll do what we have to do, and then we’ll find him. There is one thing I am certain of, and that is that Jareth is still alive. We would know it if any of us were dead. As the Dragon once said to me, the Shadow comes swiftly, once a champion of the world has fallen.”

Copper perked up a bit at that. “Truly?”

Kevla smiled, though her heart was breaking and she was nearly sick with worry. “Truly. But the fact remains, it has come down to the two of us, Copper. Can you do what we planned?”

Copper searched Kevla’s eyes, her full lips quivering. She swallowed hard and announced, “Yes. I can, and I will.”

Kevla reached and squeezed the other girl’s hand. “Then we must speak with your mother. Now.”

Riona stared out the window, onto the moon-silvered beach below. She did not sleep much, any more.

She had slept the sleep of the innocent when she was younger, unwed and uncrowned and unbowed by responsibility. All she had known was victory or defeat, and her dreams were untroubled. And she had slept sweetly in her husband’s arms after passionate lovemaking, drifting into a dream world that was cool and soft and welcoming, waking to find the one she loved more than life itself holding her.

Over two decades ago she had climbed down from this chamber at night, ran across that very stretch of beach to meet her Fialaban lover. She could still feel the sand cool and soft between her toes. There-there was the rock where she had hidden her clothing. And there was where he would rise from the ocean when he saw her, awaiting him on the soft stretch of sand where they made love, clad only in moonlight.

A breeze blew through the opened window, caressing her body with the same cool touch as his webbed hands. She closed her eyes and saw Farronin her mind’s eye—his skin gleaming with water, his only adornment the shell necklace that permitted him to travel between their two worlds. He needed no other regalia to proclaim him as nobility, indeed prince of the realm beneath the sea. He could have been taken for a human in the moonlight, slender and tall and strong; only the sun would reveal the blue tint to his skin and black hair, and the slightly tilted, elongated eyes.

It had been so easy, to take the necklace. She’d just…grasped it and lifted it over his dark head.

Riona buried her face in her hands.

Why have you done this thing, Riona?

I do not wish you to leave me, Farron. I love you.

I come freely every night, risking capture or death, to be with you.

It is not enough. I would have you with me always.

As long as you hold my necklace, I am yours to command, great queen. What you say, I must do.

The bitter irony was that had known all along where she had hidden the necklace. She knew that now. He had known, and stayed because he had loved her. Until she had agreed to what Bram wanted her to do; until she had forsaken their children.

She had made good decisions in battle, in war. She had not been so wise when it came to her own heart.

Riona heard a gentle tapping on the door of her chambers. Her lady in waiting answered the door. Riona heard the murmur of soft female voices and turned from the window. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw her daughter and the Flame Dancer. With a wave to her servant to indicate that she should withdraw, Riona looked curiously at her two guests.

“The hour is late,” she said bluntly. “What is it you require of me?”

The two young women exchanged glances. Riona realized with an odd combination of feelings that Copper was indeed a young woman, not a child. She was much smaller than Kevla, but they stood side by side with the same straight shoulders, the same quiet but confident bearing.

And to Riona’s surprise, it was Copper who spoke.

“Mother,” she said quietly, “you have never trusted Bram or the Namaraban. And now we bring you good reason not to.”

Riona listened with growing concern as her daughter spoke quietly. Copper spoke of the hidden pool, the reflection in the water and the warning it had given. She spoke of a magical item called the Tenachrym, powerful enough to lift Reshan from the bottom of the sea and to protect it from being glimpsed by the mainland for a thousand years. She spoke of necklaces made by Namaraban craftsmen, given to first her own Companion and then those of the two new Dancers, to “soothe” the mighty creatures. And finally she held out a slightly muddy piece of parchment, ostensibly from Liadan but written in Bram’s elegant script.

“He has Jareth and Liadan. He might already know about the Tenachrym,” Kevla said. “The reflection was right about the Emperor, and this attack on Jareth proves that it was right about Bram as well. If he gets the Tenachrym-I do not yet know the specifics of his plan, but he has proven himself no friend to the Dancers, for all that he is a Lorekeeper. We must act quickly to rescue Jareth and Liadan and stop Bram. He knows we are suspicious of him. How much he knows is the question.”

Riona asked calmly, “How do you know Jareth and Liadan are not dead?”

“Jareth is alive,” Kevla replied. “We would all know it if he were not. I-I cannot say the same for Liadan.”

Riona could not permit herself to think of how close she and the Horsemistress had been all their lives. If Liadan was slain, then she was a casualty of battle, and that was something both Liadan and Riona had accepted as part of their lives since their mid-teens.

She had only one question left. “When Bram speaks, I never know what is lie and what is truth. But is he telling the truth when he says that you and my daughter and Jareth are here to save all of us?”

Kevla nodded. “Yes. And we need your help.”

For the briefest of moments, Riona was shaken to the core. She had always known that Copper was marked for a special destiny. A love child between the land and the sea, she could not be anything but. Yet even in her wildest imaginings, Riona could not have contrived a tale such as this.

She turned her mind back to the matter at hand. Strategizing, planning with trusted allies, and a fight-these were things she understood. But yet-

“This thing you ask of me-it is not something undertaken lightly. The Namaraban are very powerful. Long has there been an uneasy but peaceful relationship between them and the rest of Reshan. If I attack them-if I turn on them as you are asking me to do-nothing will ever be the same. I cannot even begin to guess at the consequences. What you have told me-you must be very, very sure of it.”

Both of them nodded. “You must trust me, Mother,” said Copper.

Riona smiled for a moment. Trust this wild, strange creature who had sprung from her body-who had perplexed and confounded her at every turn. And yet…she did trust her daughter.

“Then you shall have the warriors of the queen of Reshan in this battle, Flame Dancer. Copper, help me with my armor,” she said. “Kevla, rouse Eion and bring him here. We will need to make a plan, and we do not have much time.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

The images were horrific.

Some were memories. Some weren’t. All ripped and tore at Jareth’s heart like a mighty raven feasting on battlefield corpses.

Watching the Legion of the Blue Tiger fall before the onslaught of the Shadow’s army, their white and blue tabards polluted now with the red and brown of blood and mud. Ilta’s face, mutating back and forth between her own and that of the body she had stolen. Standing alone, having failed, waiting grimly to wink out of existence. Taya’s pale, pale face, frozen in the sleep of death. Kevla screaming in fear, tied to a stake, and this time, this time the flames did not respect their Dancer, this time they attacked and burned and blackened and consumed her….

The splash of water brought him into consciousness, but not out of pain. As the liquid dripped from his face, Jareth realized that he had been trussed up like a sheep. He hung suspended from…he could not tell what. He blinked water out of his eyes and as it reached his lips, he realized he was parched and he licked at the droplets.

The voice came out of the darkness.

“You sure know how to show a girl a good time,” said Liadan. Jareth’s heart sank even as her words coaxed forth a smile, unseen in the darkness of…wherever they were. “And you’d better be awake, because that was the last of the water I threw on your face.”

“Liadan,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Her voice was soft, but her words carried. “We can speak, but we must keep our voices low. They come to check in on us from time to time.”

He nodded, then stopped immediately as he realized the futility of the gesture in the darkness and also at the sharp, sudden pain it caused.

“Who did this?” he asked, although he thought he knew.

“Damned blue robes. They must have overheard our conversation, because about eight of them were waiting for me at the hill. How did they get you?”

“Trickery,” he said quietly. “They tied a note to your horse that appeared to be from you. It told me to mount Tali and she would take me to you. Li—I am so sorry you got caught up in this.”

“Eh.” He knew her so well he did not even need to see her slim shoulders shrug. “I’m sorry they used me as bait.”

“I was coming to tell you things we had learned about Bram,” Jareth said. His voice was still rough, but he could speak. What he wouldn’t give for a full waterskin now…and the chance to move his body. The position in which he was tied was excruciating. “And…to tell you that I could not be with you. I’m in love with Kevla, Liadan. I’m sorry.”

Impossibly, she chuckled. “Oh, Jareth. You’ve been calling out her name ever since they brought you in here. I’ve figured that one out.”

Jareth felt himself blush. He did not want to think about Kevla now. His only hope was that when he did not return, she understood what had happened. He didn’t want her to think he had chosen Liadan over her. And even more, he hoped that she, Copper and the queen were putting a plan into action right away, and that they had not decided to wait.

“The note should have alerted you immediately. Why would I want to take you somewhere else when we had a perfectly good rutting spot right there?”

Jareth grinned ruefully. “I did think it was a more romantic gesture than I had expected from you.”

In the darkness, Liadan laughed her deep, throaty chuckle. Jareth was suddenly overwhelmed with affection for her. He was sorry he could not be what she wanted and hoped that she would find it.

“The minute I lifted my foot from the ground, I felt it,” he continued. “They had me right then. They could control my body. I could see what I was doing, but I could not stop it. Then I fell unconscious and woke up here.” He craned his neck upward, and the movement strained his entire body. “Suspended from the ceiling of wherever this is.”

“You get your power from the earth,” Liadan said softly.

“I knew that much,” Jareth said, “but I didn’t really understand how vulnerable I was away from it.”

“But they knew,” Liadan muttered. “And that’s why you’re hanging, rather than tied up on the ground like me.”

“Yes,” Jareth said. “They are Lorekeepers, and the most highly trained, highly educated Lorekeepers in the world, I would imagine. They know more about me-about all the Dancers-than we do ourselves.”

Tiger? he sent, hoping against hope for a response. But there was none. Between his being trussed up and suspended away from his element, and her having the collar about her throat, all communication between the Dancer and his Companion was effectively severed. He and Liadan were completely alone.

He began to twist in his bonds, but they were tied tightly. He had once heard Eion commenting on how those who farmed the ocean knew more about knots than anyone else; now he believed the Swordmaster.

“You said you were tied up too,” Jareth said. “Is there any way you can get to me? Help me untie these knots?”

“No,” Liadan said. “I’m bound hand and foot, curse the wretches. And there are ropes from my hands to my neck. If I struggle too hard I’ll strangle myself. I almost choked myself tossing the water onto you to wake you up.”

For a moment, Jareth permitted himself to be truly horrified at the utter wrongness of what had happened. He, a Dancer, a protector of this world whose destiny was to save it and everyone in it, had been turned on by the single group of people born to support him. They knew his weakness and had calculatedly exploited it. Fury surged through him and he fought the urge to struggle wildly against his bonds, knowing that the more he did so, the more tightly the rope would bite into his flesh.

“Why are they doing this? They must know that if I turn up missing that Kevla would suspect them.”

“I’ve never been able to figure out the blue robes. Your guess is as good as mine.”

Jareth said quietly, “I wonder if they already have the Tenachrym. If they’ve got that kind of power at their disposal….”

“The what?”

“It’s a long story…but it looks like we’re not going anywhere.” He took as deep a breath as he could with the ropes around his chest and slowly, methodically, began to work at the knots while telling Liadan what he, Kevla and Copper had learned.

As he had told Kevla, Eion scorned servants, and it was the Swordmaster himself who stood blinking at her as she stood out in the hallway. Kevla thought Eion looked like a little boy, his dark hair tousled and his face without its rather cocky, cheerful expression. Instead, he looked bemused as he peered at her, his body hidden behind the door.

“Kevla?” he said uncertainly. A grin split his face. “I would dearly love to know why you are here, and I hope it’s for the reason I think it is.”

There was a time when Kevla would have been embarrassed by the comment. There was another time when she would have been offended. Now, she was neither, caught up in the urgency of the situation.

“You need to armor up,” she said without mincing words. “We’re moving against the Namaraban tonight.”

The mischievous smile disappeared. “What’s going on?”

“They’ve kidnapped Jareth and Liadan. Riona asked me to find you.”

Her heart ached for him. She knew his secret, knew that he had loved Liadan for years and feared to speak. Kevla was the only one to whom he had confided, and with Kevla, Eion permitted himself to drop his guard. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then at last he spoke.

“She’s my life, Kevla,” Eion said simply.

And Jareth is mine…. “We will find her,” Kevla assured him with more confidence than she felt. “We’ll find them both.” She prayed that events would not prove her a liar. Impulsively, she placed a hand on his arm and squeezed.

Suddenly Eion was wide awake and deadly serious. “I’ll need some help,” he said. “Give me a moment.”

Kevla agreed, heedless of any sense of propriety. The door closed for a few moments then opened again. Eion was still pulling the tunic over his head. His heavy leather armor stood in a corner of the room. He had told Kevla once that as the Swordmaster, he insisted on having a full set of arms and armor in his quarters at all times.

Thanks to the sound instruction of both Eion and Liadan, Kevla was completely familiar with the buckles and laces on the armor and worked quickly, filling him in on the situation as she did so. The expression on his usually amiable face grew colder by the moment. Kevla looked into his eyes briefly at one point and then away. She loved looking into blue eyes, as their hue was so different from her own, but she was troubled by how easily the blue orbs could turn to chips of ice when their owners grew angry.

“What are my orders, my lady Flame Dancer?”

“Rouse your best men and the top fighters from the Aofaban. Armor them up as discretely as you can,” Kevla said. “We must strike a balance between force and the element of surprise.”

It was a group of about fifteen that quietly made their way to the Grove as the moon was well across the sky. Kevla had never been more nervous in her life. Even when she had approached the Clans of Arukan with the startling revelations about who and what the Great Dragon truly was, even when she had entered into her first battle and sent pulsing balls of fire to destroy living, breathing people, she had not felt this way. Then, she had had her Companion with her. Now, the Dragon drowsed immediately outside the protected Grove, a victim of Namaraban treachery, and she was forced to rely on people who were, for all intents and purposes, strangers to her.

She, Copper, Riona, Eion and some of the best members of both the Aofaban and the Eltaban walked with her. Kevla wished there were some way to quiet the rhythmic thud of the horse’s hooves and the occasional jingle of their tack. Even the leather armor that adorned both male and female warriors made noise as they moved.

She went over the plan in her mind for the dozenth time, trying to find holes in it. There were none, if everything unfolded exactly as they wished it to. She smiled humorlessly; how often did such a thing happen?

There was in truth a great chance of failure if any one thing went wrong, and if that happened, she had no idea what would become of her or any of her comrades in arms. Whatever Bram’s plans were, they did not involve killing the Dancers, or else she was certain Jareth would already be dead. But Kevla did not think Bram would be above murdering the queen in front of her daughter if he felt it would gain him an advantage over Copper.

Everything would hinge on the first thing she did this night, and Kevla knew it. If she succeeded, then the rest of the plan had a good chance of working. If she failed, it would all crumble like a castle made of sand when the tide swept mercilessly over it.

They had sent a scout ahead, a slender, petite woman who moved with shocking silence. She rejoined them now, moving so quietly that when she began to whisper her tidings Kevla jumped.

“They are not on alert, at least not visibly,” the woman said. She had blackened her face with soot and wore dark clothing. Only her eyes gave her away as they glittered in the moonlight. “There are a few lamps lit, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

Kevla suddenly caught the implication of the words. “You have spied on the Namaraban before?” she asked, startled.

The girl threw a quick glance at her queen and bowed slightly. “Her Majesty never has completely trusted the Namaraban,” she said. “I know what this Grove looks like every hour of the day. If they have been alerted to a possible attack, they are hiding it well.”

“Were there any signs of Jareth or Liadan?” asked Eion. His voice was cool and composed. Even Kevla, who knew how desperately worried Eion was, could detect no trace of such emotion in his words.

The scout spoke, “Not clear evidence, but I will report what I saw. There was a lamp lit outside one of the buildings that is usually dark at this hour. It could mean nothing.”

Or it could mean everything, Kevla thought. The scout rolled out a map of the Namaraban encampment. The moonlight was bright enough so that it was easily readable. The scout indicated a small circle with a sooty finger. “That’s the structure with the extra lamp lit,” she said. “It is used for storage, so it is sealed up well.”

Eion nodded. “Anyone stationed outside it?”

The scout shook her head. “No. Which could mean one of three things-either they think it is so safe that Jareth and Liadan don’t need guards, or they are expecting an attack and are trying to appear vulnerable and unaware. Or,” the scout added, flashing a grin that was white against her soot-covered skin, “the building is indeed being used for storage and someone simply left a lamp burning.”

“Let’s assume the second one,” Riona said. “It’s best to be prepared. I trust your eye, Celian, but I trust my knowledge of that man even more.”

The scout bowed. “As Your Majesty wishes.”

Riona squeezed Celian’s bony shoulder. “Wait here and watch,” the queen told her. “Bring in reinforcements if necessary.” She turned to the rest of the small group. She wore no crown atop her curly brown hair, but Kevla thought she looked every inch a queen.

“We know the plan,” she said. “Everyone knows what he or she is supposed to do. I have no doubt but that we will meet resistance. The Namaraban have never seemed to wish to resort to violence, but they will defend themselves. If their magic is as powerful as we suspect, that defense could be lethal. We have two goals, which we all know. If we fall and those goals are met, then glory in battle is ours.”

They all saluted in silence. The queen turned to Kevla. The Flame Dancer hoped that the night was sufficiently dark so that her trembling would not be visible to the others.

“Kevla,” Riona said. “When you are ready, we will follow your lead.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Kevla licked lips that had suddenly gone dry. “Very well,” she said. “First unit, please take your positions.”

It felt both strange and familiar, giving orders again. Three women, all mounted on the glorious golden horses of the Aofaban, nodded and cantered off. Kevla turned and looked at Copper. For a moment, Kevla though the other girl would embrace her, but she just smiled that strange smile and turned to her mother. Despite her seeming lack of emotion, Kevla knew Copper was apprehensive. There had been a time not too long ago when Copper simply would not have cared enough to undertake such a risk. Kevla was proud at how the girl had grown.

In silence, Copper regarded her mother evenly, then inclined her red head. Riona tried hard to cover her worry, but was not as successful as her daughter. Riona had fought battle campaigns before. She’d faced death and lost friends, Kevla knew. But she also knew that the queen of Reshan had never had to face the possibility of Copper dying in a battle her mother led.

Copper turned quickly and hurried off with Eion and several of his men. They would wait in an agreed-upon position until the time was right for Copper to act. Kevla watched the girl go, almost having to run to keep up with the long-legged strides of the Swordmaster and his men. Already they were moving in the position Kevla knew they would take once they were ready to act, with the warriors encircling the Sea Dancer. She looked so delicate, surrounded by the leather-clad figures of the men; delicate and, Kevla thought oddly, very breakable, like a glass figurine.

She shook off the apprehension and turned to face Riona and the remaining warriors. They would be the ones leading the main attack on the encampment. Kevla knew that the queen had wanted to be the one protecting her daughter; knew also that it was wisdom to assign that task to Eion. The Swordmaster’s skill was equal to the queen’s, surpassing it in some areas, and Eion was not so attached to Copper that there was any risk of him losing focus in protecting her.

“I will go on ahead,” Kevla said. “You will follow. Believe me, you will know when to strike.” She smiled a little. “You won’t miss it.”

“May your sword strike true,” Riona said. Kevla knew it was a common blessing before battle, even though in her case her weapon would be fire, not a sword. She nodded, accepting the blessing, then turned and ran as swiftly and quietly as she could toward the Namaraban Grove.

The Companions all slept in the rolling, flower-starred meadow right outside the Grove. Even though Kevla knew that this was originally because Bram wanted the Companions close but not too close, it was a lucky break for her. It would be much harder to break into the Grove had the Companions been inside rather than outside the circle comprised by the huge trees.

Kevla kept her mind filled with anything other than what she intended to do, in case the Dragon awoke before she reached him. She thought of the day when Tahmu had first come for her, of learning how to make eusho and cure an aching stomach, of a thousand and one things that had nothing to do with being a Dancer or the upcoming conflict. The Dragon had helped her to do this; she felt somewhat guilty about turning this skill back upon her friend, but knew that once the Dragon’s mind was his own again he would understand.

She walked up to him as he drowsed, curled nose to tail. Affection surging through her, she pointed a finger at the gorgeous links of gold and gems that encircled his huge, sinuous neck.

Fire sprang lightning-like from her fingertip. Almost instantly, the chain broke and fell harmlessly to the earth even as the Dragon bolted upright.

His love for her, his outrage at what had been done to him, and his willingness to aid her swept over her so powerfully she almost stumbled. There was no need for words between them, just the fiery essence of the thoughts and feelings.

In silence even more alarming than his bellow of rage would have been to Kevla, the Dragon turned to his fellow Companions. He reached out a single enormous claw to the Tiger, hooked it around the necklace, and shattering the chains so that the links and gems went flying. The Tiger sprang to her feet, her mouth opening in a silent roar as she turned to liberate the Kelpie. Even in their righteous fury, the Companions controlled themselves. The Kelpie’s chain slipped off its bony neck, its fragile links unable to resist the Tiger’s paw. It tossed its head, then reared and pawed the air.

Kevla held up her hand and they waited for her signal. It came a moment later; shouts of “Attack!” to the south-east, where the first unit of soldiers had set fire to a tangle of trees. Kevla watched as figures emerged from houses and scurried to where the small orange flame was starting to grow.

The moment had come. Still standing on the ground, Kevla turned to the gates. At the same moment she extended her hands and thought, Burn, the Dragon opened his maw and exhaled a sheet of fire. The entwined, living branches that formed the gates to the sacred Grove of the Namaraban burst into flame.

The trees began to scream.

Kevla cringed against the sound of agony. All trees were living things, of course, and though Jareth had told her they had a sort of sentience all their own, and that he could feel their pain when damaged, Kevla had never been able to sense such things let alone hear them. But these trees were different. They were things of magic, created a thousand years ago by the awesome power of the artifact that now lay at the bottom of the pool, waiting for Copper to retrieve it. They were something more than simple ancient oaks, and as Kevla was forced to burn them, they retaliated by emitting sounds that shuddered along her bones and broke her heart.

The gate was almost completely clear. The Dragon was in the air now, still breathing great gusts of fire, and the Tiger and Kelpie waited for the way to open to them so they could rejoin their Dancers. Kevla kept firing bolts of orange-yellow flame as well. She saw the beautiful gate writhe and blacken as the guardian trees continued to howl their outrage and agony.

When the branches closed on her, each one grasping an arm and pulling, she supposed she should have expected it. Before they could tear her apart like a toy doll, she increased her body heat so intensely that the wooden limbs were reduced to harmless ash, and kept going.

Jareth now knew it was no boast that those who worked the ocean knew how to tie a knot better than anyone else. All his efforts had availed nothing except to tighten the ropes that bound him. He was exhausted, his muscles aflame with agony, and he was furious.

“Dammit. When I get my hands on these bastards I’ll—“

“Quiet!” snapped Liadan. “Listen. Something’s going on.”

Jareth ceased his rant and strained to listen. He heard it now too-faint, but growing louder. Cries of alarm. Hope surged through him, giving him renewed strength.

“I smell smoke,” he said. “Kevla. I knew she’d come for us.” He laughed, suddenly, even the awful pain retreating slightly before his elation.

The smell of smoke increased. Liadan started to cough. “Happy to be rescued, but let’s hope she finds us before the fires do,” the Horsemistress muttered.

The door was flung open and for a moment a figure was silhouetted against an orange-yellow background. Before Jareth realized what was happening, the figure had raced toward him. For an instance, he thought he was going to be released, but instead hands went around his neck. They were not choking him, not hurting him at all. They were trying to fasten something—

A collar-

So that was what they were going to do to him-just like they had done to the Kelpie and the Dragon and his own beloved Tiger—

“No!” Jareth cried, instinctively thrashing away as best he could. An involuntary scream was torn from him as white-hot pain shot through him at the movement. He would not submit! He would not become tamed, to give his free will to Bram and these false Lorekeepers. His mind cried out for the Tiger, even though he knew it was useless.

We are coming, my dear Stone Dancer. Stay strong. Your tormentors will fall beneath my claws.

The way was clear now, and they met little opposition. The Kelpie took off, its bony, ugly frame barely visible in the darkness, sensing where Copper was and galloping to her as fast as its legs would carry it. Kevla ran through the emptying encampment to the small building where the scout had indicated she believed Jareth and Liadan were being held, but the Tiger beat her there by several heartbeats. The great cat roared as she sprang through the open door and onto the blue-robed Namaraban who had had the bad luck to be there at that moment.

Kevla called a ball of fire for light as she raced in through the door. For an awful moment, the world stood perfectly frozen and still. In the dim lighting of the fireball, Kevla thought at first that Jareth was hanging by a hook through his body, and her heart stopped. Then she saw with a flood of relief that he was merely tied and suspended by a rope hanging from the ceiling. The Tiger darted beneath him as Kevla pointed a finger at the rope and sent a concentrated blast of fire toward it. Jareth dropped to the floor, his fall broken by the soft body of his Companion. Kevla pulled a knife from her belt and began to cut him free with one hand, keeping the ball of flame in her other so she could see.

“Kevla!” he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. Tears threatened to blur her vision and she blinked them back angrily. Her throat was tight and she could not speak, but continued cutting the ropes that she now saw had sliced into his flesh. The moment his arms were free he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She clung to him, kissing him back with a depth of emotion she had not suspected she possessed.

“How about a little help over here?” came a gruff female voice.

“Liadan!” Kevla said. “Of course!” Jareth slowly began to disentangle himself from the remains of the rope while Kevla went to the Horsemistress and freed her.

“A torque,” Jareth said, wincing as feeling came back to limbs that had gone numb. The Tiger tried to help, nuzzling him and licking him with her long raspy tongue. “They tried to put a torque on me. Just like on the Companions.”

Kevla froze for a moment, then resumed cutting Liadan’s bonds. “I remember when I came to the grove, they were always working on jewelry,” she said, slightly sick. “They were crafting chains for us, too, then.” Her gaze fell on the body of the Namaraban who had fallen beneath the blue Tiger. One hand still grasped something that glittered in the light of her fire-an elegant, golden torque, with flowing designs. Surely slavery had never been so beautiful.

Liadan got to her feet slowly, staring at the blue Tiger, who gazed back at her, tail lashing and eyes glowing eerily in the faint light.

“I have to go,” Kevla told them. “The Tiger will help you. Subdue as many Namaraban as you can. Try not to kill them-many of these people may not know what Bram was planning. We just have to buy time for Copper to get the Tenachrym.”

“Then what?” Liadan asked.

“I don’t know,” Kevla confessed. “We don’t know what will happen when Copper finds the Tenachrym. If indeed it is still there for her to find.”

Liadan looked surprised, then gave Kevla her familiar grin. “It will be fun to find out,” she said.

Kevla felt herself grinning in return, but she could not linger. She caught Jareth’s gaze one more time, longed to kiss him, and saw in his face the same desire.

“Go,” he said, and Kevla went, reentering a night of fire and screams and chaos.

Copper was gasping for breath, running full out as her guards jogged with single-minded purpose toward the sacred cave. She stumbled over her robe and fell hard on her knees. She had barely gotten to her feet when she was lifted off them and swung over Eion’s broad, armored shoulder. She did not protest, though; every heartbeat mattered now, and if they reached their destination more quickly this way, then she was content to be carried like a sack of grain. She clung to Eion as best he could and she felt him adjust his grasp on her, touching her in places that would be highly inappropriate at any other time but now was a grim necessity.

Bracing her hands on Eion’s back for support, she lifted her head and looked toward the village. The gray haze of smoke was starting to block out the twinkling stars in the night sky. Cries of fear and outrage reached Copper’s ears, but she was unmoved by them. The warriors under her mother’s command would exercise what restraint they could, and as far as she was concerned, the Namaraban had brought this, and worse, upon themselves.

Then she thought of some of the children she had seen here. Did they deserve what was happening here tonight? Copper’s soft mouth frowned. That was not her call, not her decision. She had a specific task tonight, and she would accomplish it.

I am coming to you, came a beloved voice in her mind. I will be waiting for you when you emerge. But first, I must kick a few of these Namaraban for what they have done to me and the other Companions.

Her face split in a grin. She sent back a wave of love to the Kelpie.

A few jolting moments later Eion set her back on her feet with surprising gentleness. They were right at the entrance of the cave.

“Go,” Eion said. “We will guard this entrance with our lives. No one will disrupt you. You have my word.”

She smiled at him fleetingly, then picked up her skirts and ran as fast as she could through the caverns. She ran past the images of the Dancers who had come before, not even noticing them this time, and squeezed through the tight opening into the cavern.

Copper did not slow as she approached the pool. She dove into the still, cool water with the grace and power of a dolphin, her body arrow-straight and plunging directly down.

The dim light from the cavern faded and Copper was swimming downward into darkness. Kicking powerfully, irritated at the drag the sodden garment she wore forced on her progress, she continued to go deep. She trusted whoever it was who had spoken to her through her reflection. And she was the Sea Dancer. Water, even water in which she could see nothing, was her element.

When the darkness began to lighten gradually, she wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her, but within a few heartbeats the light grew stronger. Copper’s spirit surged. She increased her speed, pulling with her arms and plunging ever deeper into the seemingly endless depths of this sacred pool.

The light grew steadily brighter, a cool, clean, pure white light that called to her. She could see the cracks and marks on the rocky walls that surrounded her, could see every wrinkle and whorl on her small hands as they reached out to pull her even more swiftly through the water. The light was as bright as the sun, but as soft as the moon, and although it revealed everything, it did not hurt Copper’s eyes with its radiance.

And then, when she felt she had been swimming downward for hours, she saw it.

It looked like a teardrop-shaped pearl about the size of her fist, radiating that soft, luminous glow. Her heart leaped and she hastened the last few feet to where it was nestled in the heart of the rocky surface. She reached out to grasp it, then pulled her hand back, suddenly hesitant.

Was this glorious object really for her? It had lain here undisturbed for ten centuries, probably peacefully radiating that hypnotic, gentle glow all that time. Should she really take it? What if the reflection was wrong?

She shook her head and her red hair floated around her cloud-like with the gesture. No. The Dancers had been reborn. This was the final Dance, upon which everything rested. They had had a vision about the Tenachrym long before they even knew what it was. The Emperor already had an advantage over them with his possession of the Tenacru. This beautiful, opalescent gem belonged to them.

Her heart slamming against her chest, Copper extended a hand and closed her small fingers around the object.

It felt warm and pleasant as it pressed against her palm. For a moment, she thought she would be unable to pull it free, then, with a small twist, it came loose. It fit her hand perfectly, and she brought it to her face, gazing deep into its heart. A sense of peace swept over her, and she smiled at it.

The water around her shivered. She felt it caress her as it moved of its own accord.

Impossible. This was an enclosed pool, not the restless water of the ocean. How….

Fear knifed through her. She clutched the Tenachrym hard and began to head for the surface as swiftly as possible. Something had been set in motion when she had removed the Tenachrym from where it had peacefully rested for so long. Something Copper didn’t understand, but hoped that Kevla or Jareth or the Companions would.

She knew she was almost as swift as the dolphins whose movements she now emulated, but the ascent seemed to take even longer than the descent. The water of the pool was now definitely moving.

Hurry, hurry, Copper, she told herself. Hurry…something is happening….

There was no darkness in the water, now that she bore the light of the Tenachrym. When she shot to the surface at last, she was almost surprised; she had had no idea how close or far she was to finally emerging.

She swam quickly to the edge of the pool and lithely pulled herself out of the water. Almost immediately, she fell. The very earth beneath her was trembling.

A rough hand seized her by the hair and hauled her to her feet. She heard a sudden crack and pain flashed across her senses. Her cheek burned furiously.

She blinked and stared, horrified, at Bram’s face, contorted in fury.

“You little idiot!” he shrieked. “You don’t understand what you have done! You’ll kill us all!”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Copper stared at Bram. She could feel the earth trembling slightly beneath her feet, a deep shaking that seemed to penetrate her very bones, and wondered if Bram were speaking the truth.

He was panting from exertion as he wiped a trembling hand across his face. “Give that to me,” he demanded.

Copper responded by folding the Tenachrym even closer. Keeping her eyes locked on him, she moved one bare foot back against the slippery surface, retreating. How had he gotten in? Had he managed to kill all those who were standing guard at the entrance to the cave? Somehow she doubted it. There must be another way in. Frightened of the coldness she saw in his eyes, she clutched the precious item, warm and smooth to the touch, and shook her wet head.

“No,” she said. “Maybe this once belonged to the Namaraban, but not any more.”

“You can do nothing with it,” Bram insisted. He took a step toward her. “That is not Dancer magic.”

Suddenly Copper’s fear dissipated. She looked at him with new eyes, eyes that saw not a once-respected teacher and friend and powerful mage, but a pale, soft man who yet was a terrible danger.

“No,” she replied, in a voice suddenly strong with resolution. “It’s not Dancer magic. But it’s not yours any more either.”

Bram’s face turned bright red. “Stupid child!” he spat. “The Tenachrym came to this place with the Lorekeepers! Who has a better claim to it than we?”

“You forfeited that claim when you turned on the Dancers!” Copper shrieked. “This is going somewhere where it can be used as it was meant to be used, where it—“

The earth shook so violently Copper stumbled and the precious item, still wet and slippery, nearly fell out of her grasp. She heard Bram cry out in horror, then grunt in relief when her fumbling fingers caught it just in time. An instant later, Copper opened her mouth in a soundless cry of pain. Bram had probed her thoughts-not delicately, as he had always done before, but violently, assaulting her mind and ripping the information he wanted from it. Copper realized that now, nothing was secret; he knew everything she did-about the reflection, the Tenachrym, the attack-everything.

“The island was raised by this,” Bram said in an unnaturally calm voice. “It will sink back to the bottom of the ocean if you don’t give the Tenachrym to someone who knows how to use it!”

Thoughts and feelings surged through Copper so fast she could not grasp a hold of any of them. Was he right, or was he lying? If she tossed the glowing orb back into the pool, would everything be as it was before? If she gave it to him, would he then-

“No!” cried her own voice, and Copper turned, startled, to see her reflection in the water. “It is too late. Things have been set in motion that cannot be undone. And at all costs, Bram must not be allowed to have the Tenachrym!”

Bram stared at the reflection that was moving and talking on its own. “It…what….”

Copper didn’t know or care what “it” was or wasn’t. All she knew was that she trusted it, she didn’t trust Bram, and Bram was in her way.

“Move aside,” she said coldly.

Bram shook his head. “No. Give that to me.”

Again the earth rumbled and Copper struggled to keep her footing. “You want to control the Dancers!”

To her astonishment, he laughed. “Of course I do! Do you not understand the odds stacked against you? Jareth is a barbarian and Kevla a bastard serving girl! None of you can be trusted with something of this importance. I don’t know how you found out about the torques, but I give you credit for it. Jareth’s should be on him even now. They were not quite ready, but they will have to do.”

Copper gaped. “Torques?”

Bram’s eyes narrowed. “Ah…so you didn’t know. A lucky guess then.”

“You-you made torques for us…just like you made the collars for the Companions!” Copper cried, working it out even as she spoke. “But why now? Why have you not tried it on me before?”

“You were never a threat,” Bram said. “You are a half-formed, stunted thing, Copper. Haven’t you ever wondered about your Lorekeeper? Or why you seem so different from everyone else? Why you never really fit in?”

She stared at him, eyes wide, panting. “I-“The Kelpie’s question floated back to her: Where do you belong?

He moved toward her slowly. “You are incomplete. Unfocused. Without directed will or motivation. Easy to bend to my will with no magic at all. And do you know why?”

He drew closer. “You’ve got no soul, Sea Dancer!”

Copper gasped, shaking her head in mute protest. Bram continued on inexorably. “Your Lorekeeper died in the womb in the Fourth World. It’s never been born here, and never will be. Without the Namaraban, you’d never even be what you are now. Give me the Tenachrym. I’ve no more wish for the end of the world than you do, but the Dancers will not be able to triumph this time, flawed as they are, without my direction. Come, Copper.”

He was almost benevolent now, extending his hand, and smiling. “Give it to me. A soulless thing like you cannot possibly-“

“No.” Directed or not, soulless or not, not knowing where she belonged, Copper knew one thing. Anam Bram could not ever, ever, be allowed to possess the Tenacru.

Something finally snapped inside Bram. His face went almost purple with rage. “Give it to me, damn you!”

He lunged for her, teeth bared, hands like claws. Copper was deadly silent and reacted without thinking.

The water, her element, obeyed her need. It surged up from the pool to tower for the briefest of instants like a wave about to come crashing down on Bram. He ignored it and sprang on Copper. The Sea Dancer’s feet slipped out from under her and she went down hard on her back. She still clutched the Tenachrym to her small breasts, wondering why the force of Bram’s weight slamming onto her had not shattered the object. Panting, Bram sat up, straddling her, and slapped her again, hard. His thick fingers dug into her arms, trying to pry them apart.

Copper expected the wave of water to come crashing over them, drenching them both. An annoyance, surely, but it would not deter Bram from his quest. He had proven he was quite willing to hurt her, but she knew he would not kill her. He needed her alive.

She wished wildly she could make the stones hurl themselves at Bram, as Jareth could have done; could call fire as Kevla did. But she was the Sea Dancer, and all she had was water. It would wet her enemy, but he would be relentless. He would force her arms apart, seize the Tenachrym, and use its power to somehow enslave them all. Copper wept, not from fear or pain, but from sheer anger at the situation.

Water, help me!

The water obeyed.

The wave that hung, poised to strike, did not come crashing upon the two struggling bodies at the pool’s edge. It formed tendrils and began to twine toward Bram, who struggled on, utterly oblivious. Before Copper’s startled gaze, the water-tendrils narrowed still further and forced themselves into Bram’s mouth, nostrils and ears.

Bram’s grip on her arms loosened at once as he clawed at his face. Copper scooted back, one arm firmly clutching the treasure. Bram tried to cry out, but the only sound he emitted was a horrible choking, gurgling noise. The water was merciless. It continued to pour into him, flooding his mouth and lungs and ears.

Copper watched, fascinated.

Bram spasmed, coughing desperately. He expelled a great deal of water, but still the liquid tendrils kept coming. Copper wondered if she could halt what was happening. By the time the thought occurred to her, though, she knew it was too late.

Bram pitched backward. Copper heard his head thud against the stone. The water suddenly lost its ability to hold itself into any kind of form and splashed down harmlessly.

Bram lay completely still. He had drowned on dry land.

Copper was trembling, but she wasn’t sure from what emotion. Was she horrified…or elated? She got to her feet, swaying a little as the earth trembled yet again.

Bram had earned this fate. She had no regrets for what she had done.

Sea Dancer, I await you-hurry! There is not much time!

Copper’s head whipped up as the Kelpie’s urgent voice filled her thoughts.

I am coming, she sent back, her thoughts clear and cool and focused, and raced back the way she had come.

Kevla fell to her knees as the earth shook. The tone of the cries around her had changed in the last few moments. Before, there had been whoops and shouts from the queen’s soldiers, designed to instill terror in their enemy. The Namaraban had responded with cries of alarm and outrage in return. Fighting had ensued; more than Kevla wished now lay dead or injured.

But then the earth itself had begun to shake, and suddenly the shouts and yelling took on a new timbre of fear and bewilderment. Kevla had realized quickly that if the Dancers had ever been in danger from Namaraban spells, such magic would need to be sprung upon them, as it had been with the enchanted necklaces that so tamed the wild Companions-and eventually would have tamed the Dancers—or the trickery that had led to Jareth’s capture. Caught by surprise, the Namaraban had nothing that would stop the Dancers. She saw a few Aofaban and Eltaban running terrified in the wrong directions, or standing still as if turned to stone, but even that would not stop the queen’s warriors from achieving their task.

Kevla herself concentrated on sowing fear and chaos. She had no desire to physically harm these people, so she kept her fireballs small and carefully directed. They exploded close to the Namaraban, not on top of them. This is a different sort of fight than the battle against the Emperor’s forces, she thought. These people have been misled. They are not really the enemy.

There was only one man among them she considered a true foe, and with any luck at all, Copper was well on the way toward capturing the essence of his power.

She heard the Tiger’s roar before she saw the mighty cat. Turning, Kevla beheld Jareth mounted atop his Companion. She raced to meet him even as he reached down to quickly clasp her fiercely.

“Liadan?” Kevla had to shout to be heard atop the screaming, even standing so close to Jareth.

“With the Aofaban. They brought her horse,” Jareth said, and grinned. His face was illuminated by Kevla’s fire. At that moment the earth again shuddered, as if it was in pain. Any mirth bled from Jareth’s face as even his sure-footed mount struggled to stay balanced. Kevla clung to him and managed not to fall.

“Jareth—can you stop it?”

Jareth was the Stone Dancer, the master of Earth magic. If anyone could halt this sudden shaking of the very ground, it was he. To her shock and disappointment, Jareth shook his head.

“No,” he cried. “I’ve tried. This is not a natural occurrence. I’ve no power over this.”

Their eyes met. Kevla opened her mouth to give utterance to her horrible, dawning suspicion when she heard a girlish voice crying her name. She turned, one hand still on Jareth’s arm, and saw Copper and the Kelpie barreling down on them. The Kelpie came to a sudden stop and Copper withdrew something she had wrapped carefully in the skirt of her dress.

The glow was soft and beautiful, and for a moment Kevla forgot about the madness swirling around them. It was as if Copper held the moon in her lap, luminous and soothing. Kevla stepped away from the blue Tiger, her hands reaching out to touch the softly radiating orb.

“Bram is dead,” Copper said abruptly, her voice breaking the subtle spell that had Kevla so enraptured. “I killed him.”

“How?” Jareth demanded. Kevla stared up at the girl. She looked completely calm.

“I drowned him. He tried to take the Tenachrym. He attacked me, and I fought back.” Copper looked down at Kevla. “The earthquakes-Bram said that the island is sinking. I don’t know if I believe him, he could be lying, but—“

“But the Tenachrym’s power is what raised Reshan from the ocean in the first place,” Kevla finished. She stared again at the orb, wondering how something so gentle-seeming could be so powerful…and so deadly.

“That would explain why the earth would not respond to me,” Jareth said. “I knew it was nothing natural…and now we know why.”

“How do we stop it?” Kevla demanded. Copper’s calm gaze wavered. “Copper…the island is sinking! We caused this, we have to stop it!”

“I don’t know!” Copper cried furiously. “I don’t know. I just took it like the reflection told me to, and now….”

“Jareth, is it true? Is Reshan sinking?”

Jareth shook his head, anger and helplessness in his expression. “I can’t tell. I know it is in distress, and I know it’s not natural, whatever’s going on.”

Let me make sure,” Kevla cried. She tore her gaze away from the Tenachrym and called mentally to the Dragon. She cast an anguished glance up at Jareth, who nodded his agreement. Turning from both fellow Dancers, Kevla ran toward a clear space to meet her Companion. When she looked up for him, he was silhouetted against the full moon, graceful and glorious and powerful, then he came swiftly to earth.

It had been a long time since she had sat astride him, but she climbed atop him now without even thinking about it, so deep went their familiar bond. She caressed his smooth scales, a lump rising in her throat as she realized how much she had missed this intimate connection between Dancer and Companion. She sensed his love for her as well, but they both knew they had a task to do.

The great red Dragon sprang into the sky, mighty wings flapping, rising higher and higher. The earth fell away from them, growing smaller. Even the blue Tiger became a small dot.

We need to find out if it is true…if the island is indeed sinking.

Understood, he thought back, and turned smoothly to take them in a flight path that encircled Reshan. Kevla stared down, grateful for the moon’s light that provided surprisingly clear illumination. Even so, the Dragon’s movement prevented her from seeing what she needed-dreaded-to see.

Dragon, can you hover?

He obeyed at once, flapping his wings rapidly and staying as still as he possibly could. Heart racing, Kevla leaned over and gazed down at the shoreline. She found a landmark-a large tumble of stones-and focused on them. At first, she thought perhaps that their theory was wrong, that all she saw was particularly violent waves crashing upon the black, jagged stone.

And then she hissed sharply. The single, jagged rock upon which she had fixed her eyes was now partially obscured.

The ocean was slowly but visibly creeping up the shoreline.

Reshan, stolen from the ocean and its people a thousand years ago, was returning to whence it had come.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Copper stared up at the sky, waiting for Kevla’s return. She clutched the Tenachrym with one hand and the sparse, spiky mane of the Kelpie with the other. Surely it was only a few brief moments since Kevla had left, but to the young Sea Dancer, it felt like an eternity.

The conflict had died down now, as the fires that had been set were starting to die. The Namaraban had been taken by surprise. They had been attacked and demoralized. The only thing that could have caused them to truly rally would have been the appearance of their Anam, and he had seemingly forsaken them. So far, only the three Dancers knew what had become of Bram. Copper’s mind went back to the image of the Anam lying dead in the cavern, water dribbling from his nose and mouth and ears. She still felt no remorse over the act and wondered if that would come later, indeed if it would come at all.

Riona was a good leader as well as a good fighter, and once she had sensed the shift in the tide of battle she had instructed her warriors to begin rendering aid and putting out the fires. And the earthquake, the terrifying rumbling of the place everyone in this Grove called home, had further sent any resistance to the queen’s troops crumbling.

Copper squinted, straining to see the faintest flicker of black against the indigo sky that would tell her the Dragon was descending.

“Are you sure you cannot stop this?” she asked Jareth, already knowing the answer but needing to voice the question nonetheless.

“My magic is natural magic,” Jareth replied. He, too, gazed upwards, his face drawn with concern. “The Tenachrym is something else entirely. The earth will not obey its Dancer on this. If indeed the island is sinking, then we will need to move quickly to save your people.”

Copper was silent for a moment, then said quietly, “I didn’t know this would happen. But…is it really such a bad thing?”

Jareth turned to look at her in shock. “There are thousands of people on this island, Copper. They’re going to drown if we can’t stop this!”

Copper bit her lower lip. Of course, when Jareth put it that way, it did sound bad. But still…She thought about what Silver had told her. She imagined the horror the Fialaban had felt, when their land was suddenly, inexplicably, ripped upward by the same force that twisted them into monsters. They had done nothing to deserve such a fate, and yet it had been forced upon them. Their descendants had been forced to live with the consequences for a thousand years. And now, the island was returning to the ocean. Somehow, it seemed to her to have an odd sense of justice about it.

But in those thousand years, the Reshanaban had grown and thrived on this island. It was their home now, as much as it had once been the home of the Fialaban who were now the FinFolk. She thought about the children she had seen bringing meals to their parents who worked in the fields, of the courageous men and women who fought the incursions of the FinFolk on horseback or on foot. Perhaps Bram had truly deserved what had happened to him…but did the little girl over there, crying as one of the Aofaban tended her burned arm, deserve to drown in terror? Did Liadan?

Her thoughts were broken by a reptilian shadow crossing the moon. A few seconds later, Kevla landed in the clearing outside the Grove, where until tonight all three Companions had drowsed in a spell-induced tranquility.

Both Sea Dancer and Stone Dancer hastened to her on their Companions’ backs. No sooner had they gotten within earshot than Kevla said bluntly, “It’s sinking.”

Before Copper could even form a sentence in response, Jareth had swung himself off the Tiger’s back and strode to her. “You’ve got to stop it.”

Copper looked at Kevla for help, but Kevla’s usually kind face was stern. Jareth’s blond brows had drawn together and he reached up to shake Copper. “Copper!”

“But I…I can’t use the Tenachrym, I’m a Dancer, just like you,” Copper cried. “It raised the island and now it’s returning it to the ocean. There’s nothing we can do!”

Kevla spoke quietly, but her firm voice carried. “Perhaps there is nothing we can do to stop Reshan from sinking. But we can save its people.”

“How?” Copper almost shrieked the word.

“You are the Sea Dancer!” Kevla snapped. “The ocean will obey you.”

Copper stared at her. “I don’t understand!”

The earth shook so hard that even the Companions stumbled. Screams arose again and this time, several buildings collapsed.

“I know you’re torn,” Kevla said, quickly and urgently. “But you don’t have the luxury of time right now. Get to water, immediately. Jareth, see to it that she does-the beach not far from the castle. We’ll meet you there.”

“What does she want me to do?” Copper demanded of Jareth.

“I don’t know,” Jareth said, returning to the Tiger and leaping atop her back. “But I know Kevla. If she has a plan, it’s probably going to work. Come on, Sea Dancer. Time to live up to your name.”

The mighty blue Tiger turned and raced toward the southeast.

“Shall we follow?” said the Kelpie, tossing his ugly head. “Or shall we let them stew a bit?”

Copper sniffed. She suddenly felt much younger than she ever had before-younger, and more helpless. She wanted her mother, for the first time she could recall. She wanted her sweet sister, her wise and kind father, the feel of the ocean water on her bare skin, with the only decision being how late to linger in its cool depths before returning to the castle that had been her home for half her life.

Her green eyes widened. Half her life. Tomorrow was her birthday. Tomorrow was the day she would have to decide-live on the land and forsake the ocean, or embrace the sea and abandon the feel of soft grass between her toes.

The Kelpie pranced, awaiting his Dancer’s reply. For a moment, Copper couldn’t speak. Then, in a thick voice, she said, “We follow.”

She felt a surge of approval and…love…from the Kelpie unlike anything else she had ever sensed from him before. Always he had been a steadfast friend, but his affection for her had been playful, mercurial, as readily shifting as the tides. Kevla had spoken with Copper on more than one occasion about the nature of the bond Kevla and Jareth had with their Companions. Kevla told Copper of the Dragon breathing fire on her, causing her terrible pain, so that she would remember who she was. Copper had been appalled. And then she had been even more confused when Kevla spoke of the great love and trust that was between them, and of the Dragon’s no-nonsense counsel and direction. Copper had not spoken much with Jareth, but she had seen the look on his face tonight as he almost constantly reached to stroke the Tiger’s thick coat, probably unaware that he did so.

She had never felt that kind of a bond with her ugly, beautiful Kelpie, although she remembered feeling a sense of connection, of recognition, when he had first urged her to leap onto his back and taken her into the depths of the lake so long ago. Of course, her relationship with him had been fettered far too early, thanks to the Namaraban and their deceitful, golden chain. Even so, even before that moment that had for years dampened this unique relationship, the Kelpie’s guidance had been different from that of the other Companions, she now realized. He held back. He waited for her to make her own choices, and supported her in her decisions, be they right or wrong.

She wondered if she’d ever made a really right choice before, because the sense of support and warmth that now flowed from him to her was new. Copper suddenly reached forward and clung to the Kelpie’s skinny neck as he raced on long, bony legs to follow Kevla and Jareth to the shore.

They reached it in a very few moments. It had been so long since Copper had ridden the Kelpie that she had forgotten that he was fleeter than an ordinary horse, even the glorious golden steeds the Aofaban rode. She leaped off his back, the Tenachrym safely wrapped in fabric ripped from her dress, and raced into the water. A heartbeat later, she felt the earth shake so violently that she fell to her hands and knees. She heard the rumbling and cracking sounds as all around her trees split and the sand which covered her hands up to her wrists quivered like a beast in pain.

Copper’s eyes widened and she looked up at Jareth, who had also dismounted and run to her. “It…it is hungry,” Copper said in a hoarse whisper. “It has been so quiet…so patient…but now it wants the island back.”

Suddenly the water splashed her violently and she gasped, but it was only the wave caused by the Dragon landing in it. Kevla slogged through the water as quickly as possible to Copper. Jareth quietly repeated what Copper had said.

“There’s nothing we can do,” Copper said, almost numbly.

“Yes there is,” Kevla said. “I’ve been on the Dragon’s back while you two came here. This is the point on Reshan that is closest to the mainland. Copper, the ocean—“

“Is hungry!” Copper cried, suddenly sitting back and hugging herself to stop her abrupt trembling. “Don’t you understand? I am of the ocean, but I cannot fight it!”

“I cannot fight the earth,” Jareth said, “nor would I want to. There are things it knows even better than I.”

Kevla looked at him, and Copper saw the love that passed between them. “Nor do I fight fire,” Kevla said. She knelt beside the girl in the water that now came up to their hips. “Copper, listen to me. The Dancers are the elements made flesh. But we are part of them. Their powers are granted to us so that we can help save this world. We’re not like Bram. We’re not rulers, forcing the elements to do what we want just for our own amusement.”

Something Kevla said stung Jareth, for a shadow fell across his face and he looked away. Copper’s eyes narrowed, but she listened attentively to Kevla.

“Doing that is wrong. It is an abuse of our powers. But you cannot simply throw up your hands and walk away from this. You’re the daughter of the ocean and of the land. If Riona were to die tonight, you would become queen of Reshan. You have a responsibility. We all do, but tonight, it all falls on you.”

Copper looked at her with enormous eyes. Kevla reached and gently squeezed her shoulder.

“The mainland lies in that direction,” Kevla said, pointing. “It’s not close…but it is there. I have seen it tonight-from the air, it is visible.”

“The mainland,” Copper said. “The Tenachrym kept it hidden from our sight.”

Jareth too stepped forward and knelt in the water beside Copper. Copper looked to where Kevla had pointed. She had only the other woman’s assurances and old folktales of the existence of an “island” so big her mind could not even grasp it.

“Even if the FinFolk would let us all sail safely, we do not have enough ships to carry everyone,” Copper murmured.

“Not ships,” said Jareth. “You need to ask the ocean for help. It will obey you-you are the Sea Dancer.”

And suddenly Copper understood what they were saying. She had called water earlier tonight, to a deadly purpose. She had summoned it as a wave, and then shaped it to suit her needs as thin tendrils that eventually drowned Bram.

Copper stared at the water swirling around her. She heard splashes, and then out of the corner of her eye saw two long, spindly equine legs. She felt the Kelpie’s soft nose brush the back of her head and a swell of support and devotion washed over her gently.

Copper closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensation of the water over her hands, her hips. In the cavern, the water had obeyed her need, not her spoken, articulated thoughts. How should she ask? Demand, or command, or cajole? How specific should she be? Should she-

Oh, for pity’s sake, just do it, came the Kelpie’s annoyed thoughts. Copper’s face split into a grin. The bluntness was exactly what she needed to chase away her own fears that might taint what she was about to do. The Kelpie-peculiar, contrary and strange though he might be-was obviously as wise as any of the other Companions.

The Sea Dancer took a deep breath and reached out with her mind to her element.

The need is great, she thought. Thousands will die if I do not help them.

Beside her stood her allies, Kevla and Jareth; strangers to her until so very recently, yet closer than any other people on earth save the two that still awaited their coming. There were no shocked gasps, no exclamations. These two understood the sort of thing Copper could do better than she herself, and they watched in silent appreciation and honoring, not in stunned wonder.

The earth again trembled, a sobering reminder of what was at stake. Still kneeling in the water and sand, Copper said to her friends in a voice that was calm and steady, “Find the Reshanaban. Find them all, even the Namaraban. Bring them here. The island is sinking, and I will not be able hold back the water indefinitely.”

Copper’s concentration was deep, so deep that she barely heard Kevla and Jareth speaking to one another in urgent voices. Faintly, she heard the sound of flapping wings and assumed Kevla had departed. She was unprepared for Jareth suddenly materializing at her shoulder and dropping to his hands and knees beside her.

Copper could not permit herself to be distracted, so she did not look at the other Dancer as he dug his fingers into the sand. He breathed deeply and dropped his head, concentrating as she was concentrating.

She could not help it; still focusing on the water, she asked quietly, “I thought you said that the magic prevented you from keeping the island from sinking.”

“It does,” he answered, his voice deep and resonant. “But it is still earth. It will tear itself apart in its descent if I do not help it hold together. Kevla is helping to gather your people. I will do what I can to keep the earth that is Reshan quiet. You must guide us safely to the bottom of the ocean floor.”

Copper shivered at the words and swallowed hard. She felt her control slip, for just the briefest heartbeat, and the water around her trembled like something alive.

“Then let’s do it,” she said firmly.

Later, she would recall very little of these moments, save that they seemed interminable. She asked the ocean to accept the island gently into it, to stay its greedy waves, to let it sink gently down and return to the ocean floor softly. It obeyed her, for she was of it, and it of her.

The earth beneath her rumbled almost constantly. She could not spare a glance any longer to see how Jareth kept it from breaking apart, only trusted that he did. Sometimes the island would drop suddenly, lurching heavily in its descent, and the water would try to engulf the land. Then Copper summoned everything she had and again, for the hundredth time, the thousandth time, pushed it back.

Once there came a dreadful roaring sound and despite herself Copper’s head whipped around. To her right, where the cliffs jutted out a ways into the ocean, she saw the entire cliff face crumble and slide with sickening slowness into the sea. There were crofters there, she knew; she watched as their little huts were eagerly devoured by the blue-gray waves. She could only hope that they had been safely evacuated.

More than once, she felt the earth heave and buck beneath her like an unruly mount. More than once, Copper’s control over the furious sea slipped, and she knew that an enormous wave had reached a great hand onto the land and grabbed what it could before she forced it to retreat.

The island moved ever downward. The ocean pulled away at Copper’s command, and Reshan lay in an odd hollow of the ocean. The strangeness of the image it presented baffled her. She was used to the ocean at her feet, receeding gently away from the land as the sand and earth moved upward to the hills and valleys and cliffs. Now, it was the sea that sloped upward around still-dry land, forming subtle but steep walls, like a watery hand cupping a stone.

That Copper was not overrun by panicked islanders as she strove to protect them was amazing to her; dimly she knew that Kevla and the Aofaban and Eltaban were responsible for keeping her safe from assault by those too terrified to understand what was really happening.

Down went the island, bucking sometimes, shivering and quaking. And upward soared the walls of water, wanting so badly to crash upon and reclaim this speck of land that had been stolen from its bosom so long ago.

You will have it soon, Copper promised the yearning ocean. Stay back a little longer.

The island met the ocean bed hard. Copper was thrown briefly up into the air and landed face down in the water, so startled she opened her mouth and took in sand and salt water. She spat it out and returned her attention to the water that was still under her control.

For the first time, she permitted herself to fully see what she was doing. She looked up, stunned even though it was her own creation, at the walls of water towering hundreds of feet above her. She could not even see a clear delineation of where ocean ended and sky began. It merged into dark, nighttime shades of black and indigo and blue, but above, the moon glowed.

Copper coughed again, craving clear water to wash out the sand, but that would have to wait. Still keeping a firm grip on her command of the sea, she held up her hands as if forcing the water to part with her slender fingers rather than her will. It began to move, drawing away from the center with such a sound as had never been heard on this world before. Later, Copper wouldn’t even be able to describe it. Like rushing water, only backward…like singing, only in a voice no human ear could understand. It happened slowly but steadily, starting with the water that surrounded her small hands. It pulled back, as if ebbing, but sideways rather than back toward the depths, parting as if for the brow of an invisible ship. The line was perfectly straight, running from Copper’s hands directly to where Kevla had pointed-where the mythic mainland was supposedly located. The channel became wider-the width of her shoulders, then a few more feet, then large enough to let several horses running abreast through, then larger still.

Slowly the channel expanded, moving steadily toward the mainland that was unseen in the darkness, but that Kevla had assured her was there. Copper felt the water obeying her, and smiled through the strain. She pointed to the channel that led away in front of them. Focusing as she had never focused before, Copper climbed atop the Kelpie.

“I am going forward,” she called over her shoulder to Jareth. “I will hold up the walls of water while you take them to safety. Find Kevla. Get them moving.”

Her gaze flickered to the water.

“For I do not know how long I can hold it back.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Kevla let them run.

At least now they were going in the right direction. The Aofaban rode among them, watching carefully to see that no one was trampled. The going was difficult as the Reshanaban flowed into the channel Copper had created, and the initial speed was soon forced to slow to a walk as the moist ocean bed sucked greedily on booted feet.

Even with the Dragon willingly ferrying several at a time across to the mainland, the trip would be long and arduous. Many of those who walked this path were exhausted or injured, elderly or very young. Those who could walk did so, plodding steadily over the soft surface, while the Dragon bore those who could not. There was a brief, failed attempt to get the children to the mainland aboard the backs of the golden Aofaban steeds. But the horses could move no faster than a walk, as their delicate legs sank deep into the muck. Carts got stuck every few feet, and finally Riona had to issue the difficult order that they be left behind. What could not be carried, she said, must needs be abandoned. Time ceased to mean anything as the refugee Reshanaban moved forward.

The only light came from the dim moon, shining in a dark smudge of a night sky that was largely blocked by the upward-flowing, surging waters, and from torches. Mist bathed the Reshanaban as they moved forward over sand and seaweed and shells and stones, fine and cool and dampening, but the torches lit by the Flame Dancer would not be extinguished so easily. The orange-yellow light cast dancing reflections against the wall of water that surrounded them.

Copper began to show the strain, as she bore this burden on shoulders that seemed very narrow to Kevla. The Kelpie moved forward as smoothly as it could, while Kevla and Jareth, riding together atop the Tiger, saw to it that the Sea Dancer had food and drink and respites as needed. But they also mercilessly kept her from falling asleep. A moment’s inattention, and the water would come crashing down on all of them. More than once Jareth met Kevla’s eyes and she read the concern in their blue depths. More than once, the mighty walls of water that surrounded them seemed to Kevla to quiver, as if in a heartbeat they would lose their shape. Copper grew more and more quiet, and the circles underneath her eyes seemed to deepen even as Kevla looked upon them. She was shaking and Kevla feared at any moment, those green eyes would roll back in her head and the girl would slip, unconscious from her mount.

Can you not bear more nor fly faster? Kevla sent to the Dragon, even though she knew the answer.

There are physical laws that even I must obey, Flame Dancer, the Dragon replied in her mind. I bear many more upon my back than I think is safe as it is, and in my claws too. I can fly as fast as I can fly, and no faster.

Of course. I understand. Kevla looked over at Copper, so thin and pale and fragile-seeming, and shook her head in admiration. She is strong, Dragon. I do not know if I could bear such a burden as what she holds now.

Your burdens have been and will be no less than hers. They are simply…different.

Nonetheless…at this moment, I do not envy her.

Liadan’s hazel eyes took in the scene as Tali walked beside Eion. It had been a horrible night, worse than any battlefield she had ever walked away from. Ahead and behind them were Aofaban and Eltaban troops, scattered amongst the populace to offer support, aid, and keep order, should it come to that. Leading them was their princess, Copper, who rode stiff in the saddle on her ugly mount and for whom Liadan was gaining a new respect.

“Tough girl,” she said to Eion. She was in danger herself of slipping from the saddle, and thought conversation might keep her awake.

“She is. But I’m not surprised. When she wanted to, she excelled in sparring.”

Liadan again looked around at the frightened, muddy and sometimes bloody faces. These people had survived the sinking of an island, but what lay ahead of them? She felt a flutter of apprehension and knew what to do to damp it down. Soldiers like her even had a term for it-“battlefield banter.”

“Nah, I taught her everything,” she said, and grinned down at Eion. The two of them had walked across fields that pooled with blood, some of it their own. He’d never failed to grin back at her.

Except now. Eion glanced up at her, then down. “Think what you want.”

Liadan glared at him. “You’re in a fine mood,” she said sarcastically.

He sighed. “Liadan…surely even you can appreciate the enormity of what’s going on.” He glanced around and added softly, “I do not wish to voice my own fears, but neither can I jest at such a time. So, let there be silence between us.”

Liadan snorted. “If anyone has a right to be dour, it’s me. You got to come and ride to the rescue, whereas I was trussed up for hours. Quite painfully, I might add.”

“Don’t you think I know that? When you came out of that hut with those rope burns around your arms, I thought I—“

Eion’s mouth snapped shut with a click that was audible to Liadan even over the sounds of the frightened Reshanaban they were guiding to safety. The Horsemistress turned to regard her longtime friend and sometime lover. He stared straight ahead as he walked beside her, his expression neutral.

“You thought you what?” she asked

He shook his dark head. “Nothing. It…it just angered me that you had been treated so badly.”

“I’ve had a lot worse on the battlefield,” Liadan scoffed. “Remember that time about ten years ago when I got sliced up the midsection? Still got that scar-but you know that. You were the one who carried me off the field when the horse went down, they told me.”

Eion nodded without looking at her. “You were too valuable to lose,” he replied.

The words made sense, and until this moment, until these nights of revelations and horror and shock and terror, Liadan knew she would have taken them at face value and pressed no more. She would have continued blithely chatting with this man whom she thought of-when she thought of him at all-as a colleague and friend.

Tali moved along slowly, her hooves sinking deep into the mire that released its grip only reluctantly. Liadan moved fluidly with her mount, not even thinking about it, her attention focused on Eion. He felt her shrewd gaze, glanced up at her, and then looked straight ahead. His boots, like Tali’s hooves, sank into the wet sludge that had until recently been the bottom of the ocean. Liadan watched the movements of his powerful body as if seeing them for the first time.

“And in our first battle together,” Liadan continued, “when you first joined Riona’s forces and we were all watching you for signs of treachery…you redirected the attention of that fat lordling who had set himself up as king when he would have—“

He whirled on her so suddenly she was actually startled. Even in the dim light of the moon she could see his face was cold and angry-two expressions she had seldom, if ever, seen the good-natured Swordmaster display.

“Do you have a point, Horsemistress?”

Liadan was surprised to find her heart was beating rapidly. She was not sure if it was from startlement, desire, or irritation.

She should be silent. She should back down, not voice what she thought-what now she realized she hoped…but Liadan was never one to choose prudent silence over imprudent speech, and the words spilled out.

“Yes, damn it, I have a point. I think you’re in love with me, Swordmaster. Are you?”

“Why would I be foolish enough to fall in love with you?”

Oddly, the comment stung and Liadan blinked. “What’s wrong with me?” she demanded. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw some of her women exchange amused glances, but she didn’t give a damn about it.

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Eion shot back. He stopped in his tracks and glared up at her, and she halted Tali’s slow movements by subtly adjusting her weight in the mare’s saddle. “Only that you like to tumble in and out of bed with as much commitment as you take your horses out for a canter.”

“Hey!” she cried. “I have a lot of commitment to my horses! I take good care of them, and I took good care of you, too, if I recall correctly.”

There was a small crowd sneaking glances at them now, trying to hide their gawking and largely failing. Eion seemed as immune to their stares as Liadan was. He had moved to Tali’s side now, his black brows, arched and beautiful as raven’s wings, drawn together in a scowl.

“You did, I’d be the last to say you didn’t,” Eion growled. “But it meant nothing to you. I meant what I said, Liadan. You care more for your horses than you do the men you bed. The best we can hope for is an occasional pat, a compliment on a job well done, and a vague promise of another ride later. The Golden Tide at least get a hot meal and a rubdown.”

Liadan shot out a hand, grasped the front of his leather chestpiece, and pulled him upward as she leaned down to kiss him.

For an instant, he resisted. Then she felt his arms go around her to haul her from the saddle and hold her against him as he kissed her passionately, lovingly, and very thoroughly. They had shared this before, of course, many times. But there was something different about the feel of his lips on hers this time. Or was there? Had he always kissed her so, and she simply been too oblivious to understand what he was trying to tell her?

When he pulled away after a long moment, she was gasping for breath and shaking. He pressed his lips hard to her cheek.

“You beautiful, wonderful, gorgeous, passionate idiot,” he whispered brokenly against her ear. “I’ve been in love with you since the first time I laid eyes on you. I’ve never loved anyone else.”

Liadan pulled back, stared at him and then smacked him-lightly, teasingly, but hard enough so that he felt the sting and blinked.

“You said nothing for twenty years!” Liadan cried. “Who’s the idiot?”

Their people were homeless. Their past was lying at the bottom of the ocean, their future uncertain. Liadan knew this. But she also felt a warmth spreading through her such as she had never known, and in the midst of this horror, she had unexpectedly found joy. It had taken the Stone Dancer to open her eyes to the prospect of something more lasting than a quick night’s entertainment, but in the end, it hadn’t been Jareth she’d wanted. It was this man, right here-comrade in arms, fellow soldier, lover, friend. She grinned up at Eion, watched his face brighten with understanding, and kissed him again.

One of the scouts that had gone on ahead returned, running as swiftly as she could through the mire that sucked on her boots with each step. Celian stopped in front of Copper, panting.

“I have walked upon dry ground, Highness,” she said, gulping air as she spoke. “It is not far.”

Kevla glanced at Copper, who perked up somewhat at the words. Before either woman could say anything, Jareth said quickly, “I will go to the back and tell the others. They may be inspired to pick up their pace.”

“We don’t want a panic,” Kevla said. “There could be a rush for the land-people could be trampled.”

“They are bone weary,” Copper said. Kevla wondered if perhaps she was speaking of herself. Her voice was soft and dreamy-sounding. “They could not rush or trample if their lives depended on it. A bit more haste would be welcome. I am…stretched to my limit.”

Jareth nodded. The big cat turned and moved as lithely as possible through the clinging mud. Kevla knew that the admission was a difficult one for Copper. She was proud and independent, like all her people, but Kevla knew that even she could not hold out for much longer. Copper looked up at the sky, which was beginning to grow lighter. Her gaze fell to where the scout had come from.

The mainland. She could see it now, if only a little above the towering walls of water. The idea that an enormous land mass, hundreds of times as big as their island, awaited them was staggering to Copper. The Tenachrym’s magic had kept them hidden from the eyes of those who lived there. What kind of reception would they get? Had she tried to save her people, only to lead them to their deaths?

“Copper!” Jareth’s cry snapped her out of her stunned reverie and redirected her attention back to the water. Just in time, too, she realized with a thrill of horror, for the water shuddered almost gleefully, as if in anticipation of losing this enforced shape and returning to its fluid form.

Kevla reached up and squeezed her hand.

“Just a little longer, Copper. Then you can rest as long as you like.”

Copper looked at her, haggard and much older-looking than her years, and nodded.

It turned out Copper was right. Earlier the people of Reshan might have destroyed one another in their frantic rush to get to safety, but now they simply had no energy to spare. A few ran, mostly the young; most simply quickened their shuffling pace. A few seemed unable to even do that, and Kevla spared a quick glance for Copper.

To her shock, the girl halted her Kelpie, who looked up at her as quizzically as Kevla did. Kevla was even more surprised when Copper dismounted, almost falling as she did so.

“Let them all get past me,” Copper said. “Even you, Kevla. The ocean will not harm me. Get them all to safety.” She turned to her Companion. “My friend, you have borne me all this way. Another favor I must ask of you. Go with my people, and when the last one is safely ashore, let me know. I will let the waters come then.”

The Kelpie pawed the muddy ocean floor, then whickered. “I like this not, but I understand, dear one. Kevla, come. The sooner we get everyone to safety, the sooner my Dancer may take her well-earned rest.”

With one final glance at Copper, who stood swaying and looked almost like one in a trance, Kevla obeyed. She looked up and against the lightening sky she could see the Dragon, coming to bear more to safety.

We are close, Kevla sent. Take as many as you possibly can. Copper cannot last much longer.

She felt his agreement as he landed in the channel. Kevla watched briefly as people scurried atop him with more alacrity than she had yet seen. More people passed her and Copper, and when she looked over her shoulder, she could see no one else.

“It’s clear behind us, Copper,” she said.

Copper sighed and closed her eyes briefly. Kevla’s own widened as the walls of water behind them slowly collapsed. At least Copper now only had to hold up enough water for this last press toward safety. Kevla swallowed. Even though she knew how to swim, having been taught by old Sahlik in the House of Four Waters, the thought of so much water chilled her fire’s spirit.

She turned around, trying not to think of water pressing in on them from three sides now, and hurried forward. She saw Jareth on the Tiger, several small children seated in front of him, hasten past her as fast as the cat’s muddy paws could take them.

Only a little longer….

The path before her sloped upward gradually and Kevla’s heart leaped. Even though the way grew steeper, her steps quickened. If the path led upward…. it led to dry land. While they had been able to see the looming shape of the mainland against the horizon for several hours now, at last she was able to glimpse it, just on the edge of her vision.

Dry land. Fires. Food. Safety.

All around her, the exhaustion seemed to dissipate as the Reshanaban realized what Kevla had seen and hastened. Kevla looked back. There were only a few dozen more it seemed. Midway between his Dancer and Kevla stood the Kelpie, tail swishing, neck craning to see how many were left, how many human feet needed to touch dry soil before his Dancer could rest.

The earth beneath Kevla became more solid, and with a sense of shock she realized that it was now wet soil and not wet sand. She looked back at the last few stragglers.

As they touched the land, Copper released the ocean. Even as the waves lost their shape and became liquid, Copper controlled them, Kevla saw. To simply stop holding them back could have caused a massive wave to wash over shore. Instead, the ocean seemed to melt before Kevla’s eyes, and she recalled the beautiful and terrifying Ice Maiden. The channel that Copper had guarded with the utmost concentration was slowly filled, until at last it was no longer visible.

And neither was the Sea Dancer.

Copper felt as though she had set down an enormous weight. She felt light and free and exhausted as the ocean ceased being something she controlled and once again became a friend, almost a part of her. She surrendered to the buoyancy and she floated dreamily. She was almost asleep when something hard butted her none too gently in the stomach. Her green eyes flew open and she regarded the Kelpie.

It is your twenty-first birthday, Copper, he sent solemnly. You must choose. Now.

Trembling, drained, wanting only sleep and peace, Copper stared at her friend.

Where do you belong?

The question. The question that had haunted her since they had met so long ago. Where did she belong? Right now she felt so at home in the water. She thought of her father, her sister, the new unity that stood to be built between Fialaban and FinFolk, and she ached to be a part of that.

And she thought of her mother, and the frightened people who now could no longer truly call themselves Reshanaban, for there was no Reshan left. She recalled how they had turned to her beseechingly, how they had obeyed and trusted her to keep them safe as she held back the ocean with her innate Dancer’s abilities.

And then she thought of Jareth and Kevla, and even of the despised and unlamented Bram, and she realized that this decision that the Kelpie had presented to her as a “choice” was no such thing.

Where do you belong?

All this time, Copper realized she had thought it referred to the two parts of her heritage; the land and the sea. Now she realized that there was a third choice, one that would be more painful than either, and one that in the end would truly mean to abandon both.

She clung to her friend’s neck, burying her face against the rough fur. She felt him do his best to comfort her, while still demanding an answer to the riddle that now was so plain.

Where do you belong?

Kelpie, she said, in true fashion answering a question with a question, is what Bram said true? Do I really have no soul?

Does it matter? You are still the Sea Dancer. You are still Copper, daughter of Riona and Farron, sister to Silver. You are still who you always have been since the moment you entered this world. And you still must choose. Where do you belong?

Copper kept her eyes squeezed shut. She did not want to answer, did not want to reject the two worlds that had each offered her something unique and precious. How could she not be part of the ocean? How could she not be with her people? But if she loved both the sea realm and the land of her mother…how could she fail to do her best to help save them both?

I belong with the other Dancers, she sent, grieving the thought, anticipating the loss.

It happened almost at once.

She could still breathe underwater, and swim as swiftly as a seal. But it no longer felt like home to her now, and she somehow knew that if she were to fall asleep here, in the depths of the sea, she would eventually drown. The tears that filled her eyes merged with the salty ocean before they could even be properly wept.

Copper released her hold on the Kelpie’s neck and felt him come up beneath her. She settled onto his back, knowing that she lacked the energy to swim to shore herself, even though it was not far. She let his untiring legs propel them both through the ocean that, while still friend, was no longer home. Dazed, sick in her heart, she barely registered it when the Kelpie broke the surface and his long legs ran on earth instead of in the water. Hands, gentle and supportive, reached for her to bear her from the Kelpie’s back onto a makeshift bed of sand and blankets.

As Copper’s eyes closed, she saw her mother looking tenderly down at her.

“I am so proud of you, Sea Dancer,” Riona said. Copper stared at her, at the usage of the title, then her green eyes rolled back into her head and she knew no more.

“Sea Dancer…you have a visitor.” The Kelpie’s bony head butted into Copper and she grunted, coming awake. Bone weary, she opened her eyes and blinked. She was on land, and the Kelpie stood next to her. Feeling almost drunk with exhaustion, she sat up shakigly, then, holding onto her Companion, got to her feet.

A crowd had gathered on the shore-the mainland, she realized-and was lookout out to the ocean. They were shouting and their voices were strained with fear. Some of them had weapons. The Kelpie knelt so she could mount him more easily and from atop his back, Copper could see over the crowd of people.

Copper had never seen the FinFolk, but it could be no one else who now swam in the shallow waters. She blinked. They really were ugly, and there were dozens of them out there. Groggily she realized that her people were preparing for an attack. But the FinFolk were unarmed-what was going on?

“Don’t! Please, everyone, stay your hands!”

After what she had done for them, even now, exhausted and terrified, the people who had once lived on the island of Reshan obeyed her. Even her mother lowered her sword and turned to her daughter, awaiting instructions.

Another figure emerged from the water to walk toward the shore. Copper’s lips curved in a joyful smile. She slipped off the Kelpie and on rather unsteady legs, pushed through the crowd to embrace her sister. Murmurs rippled throughout.

“Silver,” someone said. “The sister,” muttered another.

Silver hurried to meet Copper and they hugged tightly. Silver pulled back slightly, searching Copper’s eyes. Sorrow flitted across her face.

“You…you have chosen. You are not of the sea anymore”

Copper bit her lip and tears welled in her eyes. “I had to,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Silver kissed her sister’s cheek sweetly, her lips cool but loving. “No. Do not be sorry. You know where you belong-what you needed to do. But…will miss you greatly.”

“And I you.”

Silver smiled, then still holding her sister’s hand, turned to the people who stared at her and her comrades. She pitched her voice so that her words would be clearly heard.

“Reshan has sunk back into the ocean from which it was so callously summoned,” Silver said. “I grieve that so many lives were lost, but glad that many more survived. The item you carry, my sister, is what is responsible for both the raising and sinking of Reshan. It is responsible, too, for turning Fialaban into the FinFolk.”

Silver turned back to Copper and squeezed her hand imploringly. “Give it back to us, and complete this circle.”

“I-“Copper looked back at the shoreline, trying to seek out Kevla and Jareth. Jareth was easy to spot, as he towered over most of the Reshanaban, and Kevla was right beside him. Copper’s eyes went to her mother. The queen stared at the daughter she had not seen for over twenty years. Riona opened her mouth to speak, but appeared too overcome with emotion to do so.

Liadan shouldered her way through the crowd and snapped, “Are you mad? That’s a powerful little bauble Copper’s got there. Why should she surrender it to you?”

Silver smiled a little, turning to address Liadan. “You must be Liadan. Your bluntness is legendary, Horsemistress. Copper speaks of you with affection. I am honored to meet you at last. Copper understands why I ask what I do.”

“But the Dancers-surely they would be the best keepers of so powerful a talisman.” It was Riona, her voice sounding strangely cracked, but gradually assuming its customary firm tones.

Silver turned to her, and it took her a moment for her to realize who was speaking. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened, but she did not speak. Finally she said, in a surprisingly calm voice, “Queen Riona, the magic of the Tenachrym was meant to aid the Dancers, but they cannot wield it.”

“This is true,” Kevla said. “Each Dancer controls the ability of the element he or she innately is. We are magic-we do not use it.”

Copper looked from her mother to her sister. “Mother…Silver has befriended the FinFolk. They were wronged by the first Lorekeepers, when we stole their land and turned them into…into what they are today. You loved Father. I think you love him still. How would you feel to see him changed into something like these people?”

People. It would take time for the Reshanaban to get used to thinking of the dwellers in the sea as “people,” Copper thought. But it would happen. Copper’s trust in Silver was absolute. For a moment Riona did not reply, and the tension between the FinFolk and the Reshanaban stretched tight as a bow string.

Finally Riona lowered her eyes. “It would break my heart,” she said, softly and honestly. Something tight and worried released in Copper’s heart.

“Then you understand,” Silver said calmly. “These people are Fialaban, Queen Riona.” She did not use the term “mother,” and judging by Riona’s reaction, the queen had not expected her to. “The Tenachrym made them what they are. With the Tenachrym…perhaps that can be undone. It belongs to them. They were wronged by it a thousand years ago. You owe it to them to make things right.”

Copper looked at her Companion. The Kelpie, standing half in and half out of the water, snorted and pawed at the sand.

“It is magic that does not belong to the Dancers, that is true,” the Kelpie said. “And it could very well undo the magic it wrought so long ago.”

“We would have sensed it at once, had not Bram had us under his spell,” said the Tiger in her rumbling, deep, feminine voice. Copper started; when had the great beast come to stand beside Jareth and Kevla? “Still, as the Horsemistress said, it is a useful bauble. I have no doubt but that the Dancers have challenges ahead of them. Friends of theirs might be able to use the Tenachrym to aid them in such difficulties. And they did see it in a vision. They were supposed to find it here.”

Silver turned to regard the big cat and the Dancers who stood astride her. Before she could speak, Copper said, “Silver is a friend of the Dancers. She is my sister, and I love her with all my heart. She would never wish ill on me or on my mission to save this world from the Shadow. But there are other things that must be put right, and the Tenachrym is the only tool that can do so.”

What the Tiger says is true. Jareth and Kelva had a vision of the Tenachrym. We were supposed to find it and take it.

Yes, Silver agreed, you, sweet sister, were the only one who could have freed it from where it lay. But did you not consider that you, a Dancer, were supposed to free it in order that Reshan might return to the ocean? That things might be corrected, made right? The FinFolk have magic. They make the very necklaces the Fialaban wear so that they can travel between the sea and the land. They will learn how to use it. I believe this with all my heart.

Silver looked back at Jareth. “As the Tenachrym was made to serve the Dancers, so I pledge to use it. If for any reason you ever need it, I will gladly return it to you. And I will keep it safe with my very life. It will not be used for dark purposes again. But I am asking…begging…to use it to help the FinFolk, so that they can again be one with their brethren the Fialaban.”

Kevla glanced at Jareth, only to find him watching her intently. He was waiting for her to speak first.

She made her choice. “The Flame Dancer supports this decision,” Kevla said firmly.

“As does the Stone Dancer,” Jareth said immediately.

Copper’s grinned. Kevla’s face broke into an answering smile. Copper slogged through the water to the Kelpie, reached into his saddlebag and pulled out an object wrapped in torn fabric. As she unwrapped it, she exposed its quiet radiance. It was as if she held moonlight caught in a bottle shaped like a drop of water. With great reverence, she handed it over to Silver.

The other girl took it gently. It illuminated her silvery features, and upon those features Copper saw respect, and wonder. She cradled the Tenachrym as if it were an infant, then turned her beaming face to her sister.

“I swear, I will protect this treasure, my sister. I will keep it safe until the Dancers have need of it. You have my word.”

“That is enough for me,” Copper said. From the shore heard mutters of resentment. All would not be smoothed over in a night, Copper knew. There would be plenty of Reshanaban who still feared and resented the FinFolk, especially now that they were homeless. They would not see the sinking of their island as a correction of an accident that happened a thousand years ago. They would see it as an attack, and behave accordingly. Copper hoped that Riona and Eion and Liadan, who did understand what had happened, would be able to wrest something good out of this.

She hugged her sister tightly, wondering if this was the last time she would ever do so.

Know this: Wherever you belong in the world, you always belong in my heart.

Copper bit back tears. And you in mine. I love you, Silver.

Silver smiled, stroked her sister’s cheek one last time, then turned and slipped beneath the surface. The FinFolk retreated, vanishing easily beneath the gently rolling waves

Copper’s legs gave out and suddenly she was on hands and knees in the water. The Kelpie nudged at her, and she smiled wearily up at him. It was Riona who reached her first, helping her daughter up and bringing her upon the land.

“Guess I’m still tired,” Copper muttered, her eyes closing. She was asleep before she reached the sand.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The next few hours were a jumble of confusion. Most of the refugees from the now sunken isle had simply stumbled to a dry spot of land and collapsed. Others wanted food and water, still others spoke of building a shelter. Some started to keen, their minds, previously focused only on survival, only now appearing to realize that their homes, their possessions, perhaps even loved ones were gone.

The Dragon returned from scouting with two deer in his claws and a report of a spring to the northeast. Kevla started a fire, and with something to do, many of those who were panicking now redirected their energy.

If Copper had not slept during the entire long walk, neither had anyone else except the very young. The Eltaban and the Aofaban took shifts, and when Jareth urged Kevla to take a nap after a few hours, she willingly agreed.

“Provided you sleep too,” she added, curling up on the sand. He smiled and tucked a woven blanket around her.

“Don’t worry, I’m all but dead on my feet,” he assured her. And indeed, at one point when she awoke, she saw him stretched out beside her.

When night came, things seemed a little better. Tomorrow, once everyone was rested and fed, would no doubt come the discussion of what to do, how to proceed, how to pick up the pieces of a life that had been so thoroughly shattered.

Copper still slept on. Riona, Eion and Liadan seemed to have everything under control. Kevla sighed and gazed into the small fire she had lit, letting her eyes go soft.

“Flame Dancer. I am so proud of you.”

Kevla smiled back lovingly at the image of her Lorekeeper, painted in flickering hues of red and orange and black. “Of me? I did very little, Jashemi. Only assisted Copper. She held the ocean back.”

“You did more than you know, my sister. Sometimes a word of support at the right moment is as strong as the arm that wields the blow.”

Kevla heard the truth in the words and nodded. “These people are so wounded,” she said. “It will take a long time for them to recover.”

He sensed, as he often had when he yet lived, what she did not say. “But you cannot be part of that process. Your task lies elsewhere. But you will not be alone, and for that I am so glad.”

She felt the heat rise to her face, and it was not from the fire. “I wish you had had a chance to know Jareth.”

“Through you, I do.”

A hand closed on her shoulder, warm and strong and familiar. She had not heard Jareth approach; perhaps she was too lost in her vision, or perhaps he simply moved as quietly as the great cat that was his companion. The firelight that had a moment ago held Jashemi’s face was now reflected in Jareth’s eyes, and he smiled softly at her. Kevla dragged her gaze away to look at the sleeping forms of the Reshanaban.

“They have each other,” Jareth said quietly. “They will be all right. It is not our duty to look after them any more.”

“Nor Copper’s,” Kevla said.

“Nor hers either,” Jareth agreed. “She has made her choice. It has broken her heart, but she has made it. We are three, now. Come with me, my love.”

He entwined his fingers with hers and gently pulled her to her feet, taking her other hand as he did so. For a moment, they stood silently regarding one another. Then Jareth smiled that soft, sweet smile Kevla loved and led her out of the fire’s circle.

Jareth took her down the beach and up a sandy hill, anchored in place by the roots of stubborn grasses. They walked together in silence for some time, away from those they had so recently protected, onto a small, flat patch of earth dotted with scraggly trees.

Jareth lifted Kevla’s hand to his lips and kissed it before releasing it. He knelt on the earth and placed his hands upon it. Kevla watched, as always enraptured by the way Jareth’s Dancer magic worked as opposed to her own. He closed his eyes and the trees around them began to grow. Their branches reached out for one another and entwined, and within moments Kevla and Jareth were encircled by a living fence.

“The Grove,” Kevla said.

“Similar,” Jareth agreed. “But there is only Earth magic at work here, and I will release them later.” He rose and went to her, his hands closing on her arms, warm and strong. There was no hesitation in Kevla’s heart now as she turned her face up for his kiss, her arms slipping around his neck.

The passion, powerful and ecstatic, was there, but the fear, the anguish-it had vanished, like a nightmare upon awaking to a world that had everything right in it. She moaned softly as he slipped the rhia over her head and began to kiss a trail down her body. She reached with trembling hands to help him undress, wanting to feel his body, strong and steady as stone, pressing against her own.

They took their time, murmuring soft words and caressing until the need to be joined drove everything else out of their thoughts. As before, Kevla’s Fire-born passion blazed, and Jareth held her, and kissed her the scalding hot tears that flowed down her face as her body shook with release.

They drowsed, and loved, and drowsed again throughout that night. Entangled in his arms, Kevla breathed the scents of their lovemaking, musky and sweet and heady, and pressed a sleepy kiss against Jareth’s neck, tasting the salt of his sweat. She had never felt so safe, so sated.

She awoke to the sound of a bird’s call and the cool, crisp scent of dawn. Her heart was full and calm. Jareth’s long, strong body curving into hers at her back, one powerful arm thrown around her. She smiled and snuggled into him, contentment wrapping her like a blanket. As she turned over, wanting to gaze at his beautiful face in the daylight again now that everything had changed so deeply between them, she found him looking at her with an intense expression.

She reached to touch his face. “What is it, my love?” she whispered.

He reached to smooth her dark hair back from her face, still gazing at her with that strange look of mingled joy, awe and disbelief. At her touch and words, Jareth’s face eased into a smile. He took her into his arms and kissed her tenderly. As he drew back, he said, “Do you remember the night that the selva watched over us while we slept?”

“Of course,” Kevla said. “They sent me a dream…a vision. It was that vision that let me heal my feelings for Jashemi.”

“I had a dream as well,” Jareth said. “I dreamed of awaking in the gray light of dawn, with a woman in my arms. I was calm, at peace. Happy. And at that point in my life, that seemed impossible. In my dream, I simply held her. I was unable to move to look at her. All I saw was long black hair covering my arm as it went around her.”

Kevla’s eyes widened as his eyes smiled at her. “Me?” she asked in a whisper.

He nodded, the smile growing. “You,” he said. “When I woke this morning, it was as if I were seeing the dream all over again. And I felt the way I had then.”

Kevla remembered the morning after her powerful vision; remembered when Jareth had come to waken her, he had seemed softer than usual, that there had been a hint of happiness about a man who hitherto struck her as being nothing but a shell for pain and rage and brokenness.

He gathered her to him and held her tightly, pressing his face into her neck, and she clung to him. At last, reluctantly, they drew apart.

“They will be waiting for us,” she said. “There is much yet we need to do to help them.”

He growled playfully and kissed her hard. “I am tempted to say, let them wait, but like as not they will send someone to find us if we do not return.”

Kevla chuckled. As she slipped on her red rhia, she noticed with chagrin that the grass upon which they had slept was burned and blackened, as was the soil beneath it. Jareth followed her dismayed gaze and smiled. He placed his hands on the scorched ground, and closed his eyes briefly. Kevla watched, as always awed by the purity and power of his magic, as the entwined tree branches released and the earth began to heal itself.

“Earth can hold fire,” she said quietly.

He met her eyes and grinned. “I hope it gets to again, soon.” She ducked her head and laughed.

He threw on his own clothes and helped her to her feet. Kevla looked out over the ocean and gasped.

“Jareth! Look, what is that?”

His blue eyes squinted. “It’s a ship,” he said. “But one such as I have never seen. Come on, let’s go join the others.”

They made their way down the hill. Another time, perhaps, they might have been met with knowing grins from their friends and Companions, but now everyone’s attention was focused on the strange vessel that was coming closer and closer.

Kevla knew something about boats; her own people navigated the rivers of Arukan and she had seen the little coracles and rowed boats that the Reshanaban used. She had even been told by Jareth that some larger ships used something called “sails” to catch the wind in order to propel themselves across the lakes of his homeland. Apparently these were similar to the fabric the Arukani strung on their boats, but much larger. She suspected, judging from the patches of white against the blue-gray of the ocean, that this ship was one such.

More and more people joined them on the shoreline. Riona drew up next to her, frowning. And Kevla remembered that there might be danger from the Emperor coming from the sea.

She turned to Jareth. “The Dragon and I will go see who and what this is. If it is a threat to the Reshanaban, we will deal with it.”

She saw admiration and regret both flit over his strong features. “Of course.” He did not protest or demand to accompany her, as another man might; he knew well her own strength and courage, perhaps even better, Kevla admitted, than she did herself.

She ran down the shoreline, her bare feet splashing in the water, to where the Dragon sat. He was staring out to sea along with everyone else, his wings unfurling and flapping. Kevla reached out with her mind and was surprised to sense pleasure and amusement.

Dragon? Do you know what this ship means?

He turned his wedge-shaped head to her and his golden eyes glittered with delight.

Indeed I do, Flame Dancer. Have patience, and you will as well.

Confused but completely at ease, Kevla leaned against her friend. She had missed him so much, and now took a keen delight in the feel of his warm scales against her shoulder. She felt his love and his affection wash over her as together, they watched the ship come closer. She saw the blue Tiger and the Kelpie, along with their respective Dancers, approach them as she and the Dragon stood on the shoreline, feeling the incoming tide caress her bare feet. Jareth placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently, and she smiled up at him for a long moment before returning her gaze to the approaching ship.

It was a beautifully made thing. The wood was carved and polished, inlaid with jewels and metal that winked and gleamed as they caught the early morning sun. The sails were full to bursting with wind, and the ship seemed to move more swiftly than it ought to be able. Unease stirred, raising the hairs at the back of her neck, and Kevla said quietly, “This is no ordinary vessel.”

“Indeed no,” said the Tiger. “But be at ease. All is well and is about to become better.”

“Cryptic beasts,” Copper muttered under her breath, and Kevla smothered a smile. She had often thought the same of her own Companion.

And don’t think I don’t know it, the Dragon sent, amused.

The three Dancers and their Companions walked to join the others as the mighty vessel drew nearer. The water was deep here, and the ship was able to drop anchor fairly close in. A smaller vessel was lowered down by men that Kevla noticed were as dark of skin and hair as herself.

Arukani? she thought for a moment, then realized it could not possibly be so. The Arukani would know nothing about how to build such a ship. They knew only the construction and navigation of the little river boats. Another race of people then; people who looked like her. Her heart fluttered with excitement.

What looked like an enormous wolf-dog covered with a blanket ran to the ship’s prow. And then it leaped off and Kevla gasped.

What she had mistaken for a blanket folded along the animal’s back was a pair of golden wings that now bore it to the shore. Kevla could see it clearly now and marveled at its beauty. The fur that covered its lupine face and neck gave way to golden feathers and powerful wings. It had the claws of the eagle and the hindquarters of the wolf-dog it resembled.

The creature met her eyes and those of the other Dancers with human intelligence in those blue orbs, and Kevla suddenly realized what-who-she was beholding.

“It’s another Companion,” Kevla said. At that moment, a little zephyr brushed her face and whispered in her ear:

The Wind Dancer greets you, dear Flame Dancer.

Kevla gasped in delight, and squeezed Jareth’s hand. The small boat crunched into the sand and was pulled fully ashore by the men rowing it. The Wind Dancer’s Companion hovered for a moment, golden wings flapping gently, then landed on the beach. Despite all that they had seen recently, the Reshanaban drew back slightly from it.

It was as large as a sandcattle calf, Kevla guessed. It initially reminded her of one of the wild dogs of the desert, but had longer, amber-colored fur that looked as if it would be incredibly soft to the touch. Its now neatly folded wings seemed to be made of gold, so brightly did they shine. Its blue eyes were calm and wise. It padded up to the Dancers, and the Companions greeted it with many sounds of pleasure and touching of noses.

It looked at each of the three Dancers and turn, then sat, tucking its bushy tail neatly around its paws.

“Unto the Dancers of Flame, Stone and Sea, I, the Senmurv, Companion to the Dancer of the Wind, give greetings.”

Its voice was soft and pleasing, masculine and more human-sounding than any of the others. It twitched an ear as it spoke.

“His Royal Majesty, Dhan Valan of Kalinestu, greets you and offers you the hospitality of his vessel the Wind Rider. It will bear you to his realm, where you may be treated with all courtesy. But before you embark, my Dancer has sent me with gifts.”

The Senmurv looked over his shoulder at the two men sitting silently in the boat and inclined his head. At once they whipped off the covering with a flourish.

Everyone gasped. In the boat was an anvil and tools, baskets of food and a few finely-crafted swords and bows.

“Dhan Valan knew of the needs of the Sea Dancer’s people and has sent you aid. You will have food, clean water and sweet wine, tools to hunt and protect yourself with and the basics to make shelter and weapons for yourself. Valan would not see the Sea Dancer’s people suffer when he can aid them.”

Cheers went up among the beleaguered Reshanaban. Tears filled Kevla’s eyes, and she saw Copper dismount, stride up to the Senmurv, drop to her knees and hug him tightly. The Senmurv looked surprised and a bit uncomfortable, then laughed and permitted the embrace.

Kevla beckoned quietly to Jareth. He came to her side at once, taking her hand. Quiet pleasure filled her at the ease of their touch now. Still, she was worried.

“We were made welcome before like this when we came to Reshan,” she pointed out. “And the Dragon and Tiger sensed nothing wrong.”

Jareth’s golden brows drew together in a frown. “True,” he said. “But the gifts are not for us, but for the people of Reshan. And there seems little to trap a Dancer in what this Valan offers.” He touched her throat with a finger. “No collars, for us or our companions.”

Kevla had to admit that there seemed nothing devious about Valan’s generosity. Nonetheless, she would be on her guard during this journey.

Over the next few hours, the Senmurv’s promise proved to be more than filled. When the Reshanaban had awoken this morning, they had little more than the clothes on their back and a few items they had manage to take with them. Kevla looked around and realized that by sunset, they would have a working forge, food for several days and the means by which to hunt and plant more. There were hides and woven blankets of bright colors and clothing that reminded Kevla of her home. It would seem that this Valan had thought of everything.

At one point, still worried about this unlooked-for generosity, Kevla asked the Senmurv, “How did he know our need? Where to find us?”

The winged dog that was so much more than that looked up at her. “The wind whispers to him, and he has been trained since childhood in how to listen to it.”

Jareth, walking past with a sack of grain, grunted and nodded. “I used to be able to sense the earth in places other than Lamal. I even knew about Arukan, a little bit.”

Kevla shook her head in wonder. She had been so ignorant of depths of her ability for so long, and envied this Dhan his youthful wisdom. Perhaps her worry was misplaced. She hoped it was. The Dancers had enough to worry about without mistrusting one another.

At last, the vessel was unloaded and the moment for parting had come. Jareth and Kevla said their farewells to the few they had gotten to know well over the last few weeks, especially the Horsemistress and the Swordmaster. Kevla had been one of-well, frankly, many who had inadvertently heard their argument and subsequent confessions of love earlier, so she was only quietly happy rather than surprised when they walked up hand in hand to her.

She embraced Eion first, kissing his cheek gently and smiling into his eyes. “Thank you for all your hard work trying to turn me into a fighter, Eion. If I ever have to swing a sword, thanks to you I won’t lop off my own head.”

Eion laughed. He looked younger, happier now and the cocksure expression he had habitually worn had been replaced by one of genuine delight. “I’ll admit it, you surprised me, Flame Dancer. You were an excellent student. And,” he added in a softer voice, “someone who taught me some things as well.”

Eion turned to Jareth. They embraced, clapping one another on the back, and while Jareth asked one last question about the grip used on a two-handed sword, Kevla turned to Liadan.

The Horsemistress, too, seemed to have been changed by the revelation that she was in love. But Kevla was strangely glad that the older woman had not lost the gleam of humor in her eyes nor her assertive pose.

“You have a good man in Eion,” Kevla said quietly. “I am glad you found one another.”

Liadan flashed her familiar grin. “Me too. And you’ve got a good one in Jareth, Kevla.” The grin widened and Liadan added teasingly, “I think I’ll always wonder how good, though.”

The comment was loud enough to be over heard by Jareth, who shot Liadan a look and then grinned. Kevla flushed and ducked her head. Liadan laughed and pulled the Flame Dancer into a surprisingly gentle hug, then let her go.

Kevla stepped back to let Jareth say goodbye. For a few seconds, both he and Liadan stood looking terribly uncomfortable as the silence stretched between them. Then Liadan sighed, said, “I want the last one before they’re all Kevla’s,” and before anyone realized what she had planned she had wrapped an arm around Jareth’s neck, pulled his head down to her, and kissed him hard.

Jareth was too surprised to resist, and then the kiss was over and Liadan stepped back and winked. Jareth immediately sought Kevla’s gaze, and visibly relaxed when he saw she was grinning. He reached out a hand to her and she clasped it, squeezing it lovingly. There was no jealousy or even discomfort in Kevla’s heart at Liadan’s gesture; it was pure Liadan, and she knew Jareth’s love for her was absolute.

She turned to the Dragon, ready to leave, when she felt a gentle touch on her arm. Kevla turned to regard Queen Riona. “Do not leave yet,” the queen said. “Stand before them a moment. My people would wish to say farewell to their saviors.”

Kevla wondered if the other woman knew just how uncomfortable such a statement made her. Nonetheless, she understood and smiled. Jareth had heard the comment and he nodded briefly. Standing on the shore of the mainland, they turned and waved to the people of Reshan. Kevla saw that now, the only distinction between Reshanaban and Namaraban was the blue robes the latter wore. Otherwise, they mixed together, working side by side, possibly for the first time in centuries. It was a good sight to see.

With a gentleness that doubtless surprised everyone save for Kevla, who knew how tender the Dragon could be at times, the giant red beast took the Tiger and the Kelpie in each foreclaw and deposited them on the deck of the Wind Rider. The Senmurv was already there, speaking quietly to the crew as they readied the ship for departure. Kevla and Jareth settled into one of the small boats and were rowed out to the ship, where they climbed a slippery rope ladder to reach the deck. Kevla thought the ship was the size of a small house, and marveled that it could traverse the sea so easily.

The Kelpie butted its hard, ugly head against her shoulder. “Not very comfortable with this, are you?”

She turned to smile at him. “No,” she said. “But if it sinks, we can always turn to the Dragon.”

He laughed then, a shrill, harsh neighing sound, and Kevla’s smile broadened into a grin. At first she had though the creature unattractive and confusing, with a streak of mean-spiritedness. Now she understood that more than any other Companion she had yet met, it understood the need for play and mischief.

The Senmurv, on the other hand, seemed to her to lean too much in the other direction. It trotted back and forth across the deck, poking its nose here and there, pausing to look back at Copper still lingering on the shore and muttering under its breath. She recalled the image of the Wind Dancer she had seen in the cave; handsome, dark-skinned, laughing but with a touch of arrogance.

“I wonder what he will be like,” she said aloud to Jareth as his arms wrapped lightly around her waist and he kissed her shoulder. “This fourth Dancer.”

“We will find out soon enough,” he said. Together, they looked back at the shore where Copper was saying her goodbyes. Kevla smiled softly as she watched the red-haired Dancer embrace her mother, then Liadan and Eion.

Kevla cocked her head. Over the regular sigh of the waves, she heard something else. Like the ocean, but not quite. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement in the water. What appeared to her first to be a group of dolphins was swimming to the shore. Upon closer inspection, she saw human shapes, darting through the water too swiftly to be merely human. Yet they were not the malformed shapes she had seen a few days ago, not the FinFolk-

“The Fialaban,” she breathed. A few moments later, they were in the shallow water. Their dark heads broke the surface, and Kevla was sure of it now-they were singing. She thought of Copper’s words to her on their first night there, and her skin erupted with gooseflesh.

Good night, Kevla. Do not shutter your windows tonight and you will hear the sea sing to you.

It-sings?

Just a figure of speech, Liadan had said.

No it’s not.

Kevla saw that while humans were colored in shades of brown-even Jareth’s blond hair was simply a very light shade of brown rather than the true yellow of flower petals or gold-these beings used a palette of blues. Their hair was blue-black, their skins had undertones of blue. She wished she could see them better, now that at last she had been given the opportunity to glimpse them.

One of them moved forward, striding ashore. The sun caught the gleam of gold on his head. Kevla gasped. Copper’s swift embrace of the male Fialaban confirmed it.

“It’s her father,” Kevla said to Jareth. “It’s King Farron.”

Jareth’s grip around her waist tightened, and Kevla clasped his arm as they both watched. For a long moment, the king of the ocean and the queen of the land stood staring at one another. Kevla remembered Copper saying, in her oddly detached way, that her parents were still in love with one another, but forever divided because of what Riona had done to their children.

Then Farron took a hesitant step. At the same moment, Riona extended a hand. Then the two were in one another’s arms, clinging to one another, land and sea as united again as they were in the blood of their two daughters. Copper watched her parents, then, before they had left each other’s arms, she turned and dove into the sea, slicing swiftly through the water to the waiting ship.

When she stepped onto the deck, she looked at Kevla and Jareth gravely for a few moments, her green eyes calm. Kevla thought about the mysterious reflection that Copper had seen in the pool; the being that had warned them about Bram and revealed the existence of the Tenachrym. What had it been? Who? Was it the spirit of Copper’s lost sister Gold? A manifestation of the Tenachrym itself? Or some other ally they had yet to meet-or perhaps might never meet? She supposed it didn’t matter if they ever learned its…his? Her?…true identity. Enough that it had aided them.

Copper’s brow furrowed for a moment, and Kevla wondered what was flitting through the girl’s brain now.

Then Copper smiled.

“I know where I belong,” she said.

Epilogue

Silver swam faster than she ever had in her life. The Tenachrym, the hope of all her people, Fialaban and FinFolk alike, was cradled between her breasts, nestled beside her heart. When Copper had given it to her, she had felt a surge of joy and delight, and had seen those emotions reflected in the eyes of the FinFolk who had accompanied her.

But there was one among their number she had not seen, and that had both surprised and dismayed her.

Shess had promised her he would join the group that had volunteered to confront the Reshanaban. But she had looked eagerly for him a few hours ago, and had not seen him among that number. Perhaps something had happened; or perhaps he was simply too frightened to appear. For all his passion about his people, and his sweetness to her, Shess struck her as somewhat shy and a bit of a loner. Both things, she understood more than he knew.

So now that she had precious talisman safely in her grasp, she was returning to where they had first met-the undulating green tendrils of the kelp forest, deep beneath the surface, in this ocean that was home to them both.

He was not there, waiting for her, and she felt a little stab of disappointment. She had promised her father that she would bring the Tenachrym to him, and that he would arrange a meeting between the Fialaban and their long-estranged brethren to determine how best to use the potent magic housed in the seemingly innocuous orb. But she had to let Shess know she had succeeded. He had been the one to inspire her to do this, to find the courage within herself to stand up for a race of beings who were, and were not, her people.

Next to Copper, Shess was the closest person in the world to her. Who knew but that Farron would forbid Silver to touch the Tenachrym ever again, once she had surrendered it? And she wanted Shess to see it, to hold it in those webbed hands, to see his ugly but dear face light up with a smile of delight.

Silver?

Lost in her thoughts, Silver started when she felt the brush of Shess’s mind against hers like a caress.

Shess! You were not among those who saw me retrieve the Tenachrym…I missed you.

I am sorry, and she sensed he was closer. A few heartbeats later and the long kelp fronds parted. His eyes were bright and as she had expected, joy was on his face.

She beamed at him and held out the talisman.

This is it? You’re certain this is the Tenachrym? He stared at it, hesitating to touch it.

I have never been more certain of anything in my life, Silver replied. I must turn it over to Father, who plans to meet with your leader to discuss how best to use it. There is so much we don’t know about it yet. But….

He dragged his gaze from the radiant, droplet-shaped orb to look at her. But you wanted me to see it…to touch it.

Suddenly shy, Silver nodded. Her hair floated out around her like a white cloud.

He reached for it then, holding it gently in his stubby, webbed fingers. She watched him, her face hurting from smiling, but unable to stop.

It is beautiful. It is perfect.

And it will restore your people, Silver thought. I did this for them, Shess. I did it for you. This belongs to you as much as it does to me.

He looked at her searchingly, then, holding the Tenachrym securely in one hand, opened his arms. Pleasure surged through her as she swam over to him. She had never before embraced him, but now she found she wanted to, to hold close this friend who had opened her eyes to the injustice-

The pain was excruciating. She stared down at the water between them, rapidly turning red and opaque from the blood that pumped from the wound in her abdomen. He still held the Tenachrym in one hand, and now she saw the other clutched a knife made from a sharpened shell. In an oddly detached place in her mind, she recalled that such tools were for filleting fish; it had done an excellent job slicing her midsection.

She sensed a great deal of pleasure and satisfaction from the being she had once thought friend. He turned and swam off, clutching the prize he had bought at the cost of murder, seemingly pleased and untroubled by the thought that the heir to the Fialaban throne was starting to drift in a bloody cloud.

Silver’s eyes closed and her thoughts drifted as her life ebbed with each pump of her heart. The last thing she felt was a hurt puzzlement at the betrayal.

Why, Shess? Why….

The only sound besides the crackle of the sullenly burning fire was the drum of the Emperor’s fingers on the tabletop. The Advisor glanced uneasily from his piles of parchment to his lord. The Emperor was gazing into the Tenacru as it hovered a few inches in front of his face.

Behind him, like a hunched and misshapen shadow, stood the Mage. Watching. Always watching. Even if no one could see his eyes. The Advisor wondered what those eyes looked like. In his more mistrustful moments, which were most of the time, he imagined they were either empty sockets or burning coals.

Yeshi had reported that the first wave of attacks had gone well. There were more than they dared hope still left in Arukan who mistrusted this “new” way of thinking, and who despised Tahmu almost as much as his wife did. That was good news, although as always, the Advisor was vexed that the news had come to him second-hand.

He dropped his surreptitious gaze to the beautiful, tragic creature who always huddled at the Emperor’s feet. As if feeling his eyes upon her, the ki-lyn lifted her head. Soft brown eyes blinked once, twice, framed by impossibly long lashes. The Dancer’s Companion could, of course, communicate mentally only with her Dancer. The Advisor knew this. And yet at the same time-perhaps it was his imagination-he could have sworn he felt a voice in the back of his head, uttering only two words with all the poignancy the soul could experience:

Help me.

The Advisor’s eyes widened slightly. At that moment, there came a booming knock on the heavy door.

“Enter,” called the Emperor.

The thing that obeyed the Emperor’s single word was one of the ugliest creatures the Advisor had ever had the misfortune to behold. Part fish, part human, it stood wrapped in a sodden blanket to keep flesh that was clearly better adapted to water moist and supple. It drew back thick lips from pointed teeth in a gesture that was obviously meant as a smile. Then it bowed, and from the folds of its blanket, it produced a glowing white object, the twin in all respects save color to the hovering Tenacru.

The Advisor started so badly that he knocked several of the precious parchments to the rug. He bent to pick them up with hands that trembled. This thing had somehow found the lost Tenachrym! How…when….

For some reason, the Emperor did not appear as pleased as the Advisor had expected. After a quick glance at the white, pulsating orb, the Emperor glared at the fish-man.

“There was no need to murder the girl,” the Emperor said. “I gave you no instructions to do so.”

The fish-man shrugged. “What’s one more?” it said in a strange, blubbering voice. “I got what you wanted. Now it’s your turn to give me what I want.”

The Emperor continued to glower, but his greed overcame his displeasure. He reached and took the Tenachrym and stroked it, like one might pet a kitten. He glanced over his shoulder at the Mage, who nodded. With a slow smile, the Emperor tossed the Tenachrym into the air. It soared upward quickly, then floated to a stop beside its companion, hovering peacefully. The Emperor’s face was now bathed with two colors of light, and he grinned.

From her place at the Emperor’s feet, the ki-lyn watched it all. A tear formed in her eye, rolled down her brown-furred cheek and fell in diamond form unheeded to the carpet. The Advisor realized there was a small pile of the precious jewels at the Emperor’s feet. When had she wept them all? How had no one noticed?

“I failed to stop the Dancers from combining forces…again,” the Emperor said. His hand reached to stroke the ki-lyn, who tensed, but did not shy away. “But I have not lost. Not yet. With the acquisition of this pretty bauble, I have achieved an important victory. I now hold the two greatest objects of power in this world, besides the Dancers themselves. They will not long stand against me.”

“Please…honor your promise,” gurgled the fish-thing.

The Emperor turned to regard his servant and laughed. With a casual wave of a beringed hand, the shape of the hideous creature began to shimmer and twist. As the Advisor watched, stunned, the limbs straightened and twisted, the skin turned the color of pale human flesh and golden hair sprouted from a lovely, feminine face.

“Thank you, Emperor,” Ilta said sweetly, as she modestly closed the blanket around her naked, female form.

Glossary

Arrun Woods: Mylikki’s village

Arukan: the name of Kevla’s country

Arukani: native to Arukan

Bai: Generic term for Bai-khas and Bai-shas Bai-sha: “female without father,” derogatory term for illegitimate girl or woman

Bayinba: Lamali term for “raids”

Blessing cloth: magic fabric woven by the tasskali

Clan of the Four Waters: Kevla’s clan

Gahalgeese: bird of Lamal

halaan: slang for “prostitute”

hamantu: the spirit of stonesteaming, embodied by the steam rising up after water is tossed onto the hot rocks

huskaa: bard or minstrel

huskaa-lal: apprentice huskaa

Kevat-aanta: “Spring-Bringer,” term for Jareth

kha: unit of money, gold

khashim: Lord of the clan; plural khashims

khashima: Lady of the clan

khashimu: the young heir, prince

kirvi: Lamali deer

kyndela: Lamali stringed instrument

kurjah: Arukani term for the male organ

kuli: demon

Lamal: Jareth’s homeland, the farthest land north

liah: gazelle-like creature

Riversong: village in Lamal

rhia: a flowing garment worn in Arukan by both sexes

sa’abah: desert animals, with long, fluffy tails, long legs with broad feet, small “hands,” long ears

Skalka Valley : Jareth’s village

selva: large mythic Lamali creature similar to a deer or caribou; tended by the taaskali

-sha-: “daughter of”

Shamizan: board game with colored glass “stones”

simmar: big cat of the desert

skeltha: literally “long sticks” used by the Lamali as skis

snow walkers: snowshoes

stonesteaming hut: Lamali equivalent of a sauna or sweatlodge

sulim: Arukani term for female genitalia

Summer Realm: Lamali term for the afterlife

Tahmu-kha-Rakyn: Kevla’s father, khashim of the Clan of Four Waters

taaskal: a wizard or enchanter, person of powerful magic, plural taaskali

Two Lakes: village where Taya is from

uhlal: term of respect, “gentleman” or “sir”

uhlala: female term, “Lady” or “Ma’am”

usk: gathered bunch of birth branches used in the stonesteaming hut

Under Sea's Shadow

Christie Golden

Under Sea’s ShadowCopyright © 2007 by Christie Golden

Under Sea’s Shadow
Copyright © 2007 by Christie Golden