CONTENTS

Long ago—so long ago that the details of the conflict are lost and only the merest legends remain—the world of Velgarth was wracked by sorcerous wars. With the population decimated, the land was turned to wasteland and given over to the forest and the magically-engendered creatures those peoples had used to fight those wars, while the people that remained fled to the eastern coastline, for only in those wilderness areas could they hope to resume their shattered lives. In time, it was the eastern edge of the continent that became the site of civilization, and the heartland tftat in turn became the wilderness.

But humans are cesilient creatures, and it was not overlong before the population once again was on the increase, moving westward, building new kingdoms out of the wilds.

One such kingdom was Valdemar. It had been founded by the once-Baron Valdemar and those of his people who had chosen exile with him rather than face the wrath of a selfish and cruel monarch. It lay on the very western-and-northeramost edge of the civilized world, bounded on the north and northwest by wilderness that still contained uncanny creatures, and on the far west by Lake Evendim, an enormous inland sea. Travel beyond Valdemar was perilous and uncertain at the very best of times, and at the worst a traveler could bring weird retribution on innocents when the creatures he encountered back-trailed him to his point of origin.

In part due to the nature of its founders, the monarchs of Valdemar welcomed fugitives and fellow exiles, and the customs and habits of its people had over the years become a polyglot patchwork. In point of fact, the one rule by which the monarchs of Valdemar governed their people was, “There is no ‘one true way.’ “

Governing such an ill-assorted lot of subjects might have been impossible—had it not been for the Heralds of Valdemar.

The Heralds had extraordinary powers, yet never abused those powers; and the reason for their forbearance—in fact for the whole system—was the existence of creatures known as “Companions.”

To one who knew no better, a Companion would seem little more than an extraordinarily graceful white horse. They were far more than that. The first Companions had been sent by some unknown power or powers at the pleading of King Valdemar himself—three of them, at first, who had made bonds with the King, his Heir, and his most trusted friend, who was the Kingdom Herald. So it came to be that the Heralds took on a new importance in Valdemar, and a new role.

It was the Companions who chose new Heralds, forging between themselves and their Chosen a mind-to-mind bond that only death could sever. While no one knew precisely how intelligent they were, it was generally agreed that their capabilities were at least as high as those of their human partners. Companions could (and did) Choose irrespective of age and sex, although they tended to Choose youngsters just entering adolescence, and more boys were Chosen than girls. The one common trait among the Chosen (other than a specific personality type: patient, unselfish, responsible, and capable of heroic devotion to duty) was at least a trace of psychic ability. Contact with a Companion and continued development of the bond enhanced whatever latent paranormal capabilities lay within the Chosen. With time, as these Gifts became better understood, ways were developed to train and use them to the fullest extent of which the individual was capable. Gradually the Gifts displaced in importance whatever knowledge of “true magic” was left in Valdemar, until there was no record of how such magic had ever been learned or used.

Valdemar himself evolved the unique system of government for his land: the Monarch, advised by his Council, made the laws; the Heralds dispensed the laws and saw that they were observed. The Heralds themselves were nearly incapable of becoming corrupted or potential abusers of their temporal power. In all of the history of Valdemar, there was only one Herald who had ever succumbed to that temptation. His motive had been vengeance—he got what he wanted, but his Companion repudiated and abandoned him, and he committed suicide shortly thereafter.

The Chosen were by nature remarkably self-sacrificing— their training only reinforced this. They had to be—there was a better than even chance that a Herald would die in the line of duty. But they were human for all of that; mostly young, mostly living on the edge of danger—so, it was inevitable that outside of their duty they tended to be a bit hedonistic and anything but chaste. They seldom formed any ties beyond that of their brotherhood and the pleasures of the moment—perhaps because the bond of brotherhood was so very strong, and because the Herald-Companion bond left little room for any other permanent ties. For the most part, few of the common or noble folk held this against them—knowing that, no matter how wanton a Herald might be on leave, the moment he donned his snowy uniform he was another creature altogether, for a Herald in Whites was a Herald on duty, and a Herald on duty had no time for anything outside of that duty, least of all the frivolity of his own pleasures. Still, there were those who held other opinions.. ..

Laws laid down by the first King decreed that the Monarch himself must also be a Herald. This ensured that the ruler of Valdemar could never be the kind of tyrant who had caused the founders to flee their own homes.

Second in importance to the Monarch was the Herald known as the “King’s (or Queen’s) Own.” Chosen by a special Companion—one that was always a stallion, and never seemed to age (though it was possible to kill him) —the King’s Own held the special position of confidant and most trusted friend and advisor to the ruler. This guaranteed that the Monarchs of Valdemar would always have at least one person about them who could be trusted and counted on at all times. This tended to make for stable and confident rulers—and thus, a stable and dependable government.

It seemed for generations that King Valdemar had planned his government perfectly. But the best-laid plans can still be circumvented by accident or chance.

In the reign of King Sendar, the kingdom of Karse (that bordered Valdemar to the south-east) hired a nomadic nation of mercenaries to attack Valdemar. In the ensuing war, Sendar was killed, and his daughter, Selenay, assumed the throne, herself having only recently completed her Herald’s training. The Queen’s Own, an aged Herald called Talamir, was frequently confused and embarrassed by having to advise a young, headstrong, and attractive female. As a result, Selenay made an ill-advised marriage, one that nearly cost her both her throne and her life.

The issue of that marriage, the Heir-presumptive, was a female child Selenay called Elspeth. Elspeth came under the influence of a foreigner—the nurse Hulda, whom Selenay’s husband had arranged before he died to be brought from his own land. As a result of Hulda’s manipulations, Elspeth became an intractable, spoiled brat. It became obvious that if things went on as they were tending, the girl would never be Chosen, and thus, could never inherit. This would leave Selenay with three choices; marry again (with the attendant risks) and attempt to produce another, more suitable Heir, or declare someone already Chosen and with the proper bloodline to be Heir. Or, somehow, salvage the Heir-presumptive. Talamir had a plan—one that it seemed had a good chance of success.

At this point Talamir was murdered, throwing the situation into confusion again. His Companion, Rolan, Chose a new Queen’s Own—but instead of picking an adult or someone already a full Herald, he Chose an adolescent girl named Talia.

Talia was of Holderkin—a puritanical Border group which did its best to discourage knowledge of outsiders. Talia had no idea what it meant to have a Herald’s Companion accost her, and then (apparently) carry her off. Among her people, females held very subordinate positions, and nonconformity was punished immediately and harshly. She was ill-prepared for the new world of the Heralds and their Collegium that she had been thrust into. But the one thing she did have experience in was the handling and schooling of children, for she had been the teacher to her Holding’s younger members from the time she was nine.

She managed to salvage the Brat—and succeeded well enough that Elspeth was Chosen herself just before Talia was sent out on her internship assignment.

During that assignment she and Kris, the Herald picked to be her mentor, discovered something frightening and potentially fatal—not only to themselves, but to anyone who happened to be around Talia. Due to the chaos just after her initial training in her Gift, she had never been properly trained. And her Gift was Empathy—both receptive and protective—strong enough to use as a weapon. It wasn’t until it had run completely wild that she and Kris were able to retrain her so that her control became a matter of will instead of instinct.

She still had moments of misgiving about the ethics of her Gift.

She also had moments of misgiving on another subject altogether; another Herald. Dirk was Kris’ best friend and partner—and Talia, after being with him only a handful of times, none intimate, was attracted to him to the point of obsession. There was a precedent for such preoccupation; very rarely, Heralds formed a bond with one another as deep and enduring as the Herald-Companion bond. Such a tie was referred to as a “lifebond.” Kris was certain that this was what Talia was suffering from. Talia wasn’t so sure.

This was just one minor complication for an internship that included battle, plague, intrigue, wildly spreading rumors about her, and a Gift that was a danger to herself and others.

At last the year-and-a-hatf was over, and she was on her way home.

Home—to an uncertain relationship, a touchy adolescent Heir, all the intrigues of the Court—and possibly, an enemy; Lord Orthallen, who just happened to be Kris’ uncle.

One

We could be brother and sister, Kris thought, glancing over at his fellow Herald. Maybe twins—

Talia sat Rolan with careless ease—an ease brought about by the fact that they’d spent most of their waking hours in the saddle during her internship up north. Kris’ seat was just as casual, and for the same reason. After all this time they could easily have eaten, slept—yes, and possibly even made love a-saddle! The first two they had accomplished, and more than once. The third they’d never tried—but Kris had heard rumors of other Heralds who had. It did not sound like something he really was curious enough to attempt.

They figured on making the capital and the Collegium by early evening, so they were both wearing the cleanest and best of their uniforms. Heraldic Whites—those for field duty—were constructed of tough and durable leather, but after eighteen months they only had one set apiece that would pass muster, and they’d been saving them for today.

So we’re presentable. Which isn’t saying much, Kris mourned to himself, surveying the left knee of his breeches with regret. The surface of the leather was worn enough to be slightly nappy—which meant it was inclined to pick up dirt. And dirt showed on Whites—after riding all day they both were slightly gray. Maybe not to the casual eye, but Kris noticed.

Tantris curvetted a little, and Kris suddenly realized that he and Talia’s Rolan were matching their paces.

:On purpose, two-footed brother,: came Tantris’ sending, tinged with a hint of laughter. :Since you two are so terribly shabby, we thought we’d take attention off you. Nobody’s going to notice you when we’re showing off:

:Thanks—I think.:

:By the way, you couldn’t pass for twins; there’s too much red in her hair, and she’s too little. But sibs, yes. Although where you got those blue eyes—:

:Blue eyes run in my family,: Kris replied with feigned indignation. :Both father and mother have them.:

:Then if you were going to be sibs, your mother must have been keeping a Bard in the wardrobe for Talia to have hazel eyes and curly hair.: Tantris pranced and arched his neck, and one of his sapphirine eyes flashed a teasing look up at his Chosen.

Kris stole another glance at his internee, and concluded that Tantris was right. There was too much red in her hair, and it was too curly to have come out of the same batch as his own straight, blue-black locks. And she barely came up to his chin. But they both had fine-boned, vaguely heart-shaped faces—and more than that, they both moved the same way.

:Alberich’s training. And Keren’s.:

:Probably.:

:You’re prettier than she is, though. The which you know.:

Kris was startled into a laugh, which made Talia glance over at him quizzically.

“Might one ask—?”

“Tantris,” he replied, taking a deep breath of the verdant air, and chuckling. “He’s twitting me on my vanity.”

“I wish,” she answered with more than a little wistful-ness, “that just once I could Mindspeak Rolan like that.”

“You ought to be glad you can’t. You’re saved a lot of back-talk.”

“How far are we from home?”

“A little more than an hour.” He took in the greening landscape with every sign of satisfaction, now and again taking deep breaths of the flower-laden air. “A silver for your thoughts.”

“So much?” She chuckled, turning in her saddle to face him. “A copper would be more appropriate.”

“Let me be the judge of that. After all, I’m the one who asked.”

“So you did.”

The rode in tree-shadowed silence for several leagues; Kris was minded to let her answer in her own time. The soft chime of bridle bells and their Companions’ hooves on the hard surface of the Trade Road made a kind of music that was most soothing to listen to.

“Ethics,” she said at last.

“Whoof—that’s dry thinking!”

“I suppose it is—” She plainly let her thoughts turn inward again; her eyes grew vague, and he coughed to recapture her attention.

“You went elsewhere,” he chided gently, when she jumped a little. “Now, you were saying—ethics. Ethics of what?”

“My Gift. Specifically, using it—”

“I thought you’d come to terms with that.”

“In a situation of threat, yes. In a situation where there was no appropriate and just punishment under normal procedures.”

“That—child-raper.”

“Exactly.” She shivered a little. “I thought I’d never feel clean again after touching his mind. But—what could I have done with him? Ordered his execution? That . . .wouldn’t be enough of a punishment for what he did. Imprison him? Not appropriate at all. And much as I would have liked to pull him to bits slowly, Heralds don’t go in for torture.”

“What did you do to him? In detail, I mean. You didn’t want to talk about it before.”

“It was a—kind of twist on a mind-Healing technique; it depended on the fact that I’m a projective Empath. I can’t remember what Devan called it, but you tie a specific thought to another thought or set of feelings that you construct. Then, every time the person thinks that thought, they also get what you want them to know. Like with Vostel—-every time he would decide that he was to blame, he’d get what I put in there.”

“Which was?”

She grinned. “ ‘So next time I won’t be so stupid!’ And when he’d be ready to give up from pain, he’d get, ‘But ft isn’t as bad as yesterday, and it’ll be better tomorrow.’ Not words, actually; it was all feelings.”

“Better, in that case, than words would have been,” Kris mused, shooing a fly away absently.

“So Devan said. Well, I did something like that with— that thing. I took one of the worst sets of his stepdaughter’s memories, and tied that in to all of his own feelings about women. And I kept point-of-view, so that it would appear to him as if he were the victim. You saw what happened.”

Kris shuddered. “He went mad; he just collapsed, foaming at the mouth.”

“No, he didn’t go mad. He locked himself into an endless repetition of what I’d fed him. It’s an appropriate punishment; he’s getting exactly what he put his stepdaughters through. It’s just, at least I think so, because if he ever changes his attitudes he can break free of it. Of course if he does—” she grimaced “—he might find himself dancing on the end of a rope for the murder of his older stepdaughter. The law prevents the execution of a madman; it doesn’t save one who’s regained his sanity. Lastly, what I did should satisfy his stepdaughter, who is, after all, the one we really want to come out of this thing with a whole soul.”

“So where’s the ethical problem?”

“That was a stress-situation, a threat-situation. But—is it ethical to—say—read people during Council sessions and act on my information?”

“Uh—” Kns was unable to think of an answer.

“You see?”

“Let’s go at it from another angle. You know how to read people’s faces and bodies—we’ve all been taught that. Would you hesitate to use that knowledge in Council?”

“Well, no.” She rode silently for a few more moments. “I guess what will have to be the deciding factor is not if I do it but how I use the information.”

“That sounds reasonable to me.”

“Maybe too reasonable,” she replied doubtfully. “It’s awfully easy to rationalize what I want to do—what I have no choice about in some cases. It’s not like thought-sensing; I have to actively shield to keep people out. They go around shoving their feelings up my nose on a regular basis, especially when they’re wrought up.”

Kris shook his head. “All I can say is, do what seems best at the time. Really, that’s all any of us do.”

:-Verily, oh, Wise One.:

Kris ignored his Companion’s taunting comment. He was going to question her further, but broke off when he caught the sound of a horse galloping full out, heading up die road toward them, the hoofbeats having the peculiar ringing of a Companion.

“That—”

“Sounds like a Companion, yes. And in full gallop.” he rose in his stirrups for a better view. “Bright Lady, now what?”

Steed and rider came into sight as they topped the hill.

:That’s Cymry—: Tantris’ ears were pricked forward. :-She’s slim. She must have foaled already.:

“It’s Cymry,” Kris reported.

“Which means Skif—and since I’ll bet she just foaled, it isn’t a pleasure-ride that takes them out here.”

The last time they’d seen the thief-turned-Herald had been a bit over nine months ago, when he’d met with them for their half-term briefing. Cymry had spent the time frolicking with Rolan, and both she and her Chosen had forgotten about the nearly-supernatural fertility of the Grove stallions. The result was foregone—much to Cymry’s chagrin as well as Skif’s.

Talia knew Skif better than Kris did; they’d been very dose as students, close enough that they’d sworn blood-brotherhood. They had been close enough that Talia could read him better at a distance than Kris could.

She shaded her eyes with her hand, then nodded a little . “Well it isn’t a disaster; there’s something serious afoot, but it isn’t an emergency.”

“How can you tell at this distance?”

“Firstly, there’s no emotional-surge. Secondly, if it were serious, he’d be absolutely expressionless. He looks a bit worried, but that could be for Cymry.”

Skif spotted them and waved wildly, as Cymry slowed her headlong pace. They hastened theirs—to the disgruntlement of the pack-mules.

“Havens! Am I ever glad to see you two!” Skif exclaimed as they came into earshot. “Cymry swore you were close, but I was half-afraid I’d have to ride a couple of hours, and I hate to make her leave the little one for that long.”

“You sound like you’ve been waiting for us—Skif, what’s the problem?” Kris asked anxiously. “What are you doing out here?”

“Nothing for you; plenty for her. Mind you, this is strictly under the ivy bush; we don’t want people to know you’ve been warned, Talia. I slipped out on behalf of a lady in distress.”

“Who? Elspeth? Selenay? What—”

“Give me a minute, will you? I’m trying to tell you. Elspeth asked me to intercept you on your way in. It seems the Council is trying to marry her off, and she’s not overly thrilled with the notion. She wants you to know so you’ll have time to muster some good arguments for the Council meeting tomorrow,”

Skif reined Cymry in beside them, and they picked up the pace. “Alessandar has made a formal offer for her for Ancar. Lots of advantages there. Virtually everybody on the Council is for it except Elcarth and Kyril—and Selenay. They’ve been arguing it back and forth for two months, but it’s been serious for about a week, and it looks as if Selenay is gradually being worn down. That’s why Elspeth sent me out to watch for you; I’ve been slipping out for the past three days, hoping to catch you when you came in and warn you what’s up. With you to back her, Selenay’s got full veto—either to table the betrothal until Elspeth’s finished training, or throw the notion out altogether. Elspeth didn’t want any of the more excitable Councillors to know we were warning you, or they might have put more pressure on Selenay to decide before you got here.”

Talia sighed. “So nothing’s been decided; good. I can deal with it easily enough. Can you get on ahead of us? Let Elspeth and Selenay both know we’ll be there by dinner-bell? I can’t do anything now, anyway, but tomorrow we can take care of the whole mess at Council session. If Elspeth wants to see me before then—I’m all hers; she’ll probably find me in my rooms.”

“Your wish is my command,” Skif replied. As all three knew, Skif knew more ways than one in and out of the capital and the Palace grounds. He’d make far better time than they could.

They held their pace to that of the mules as Skif sent Cymry off at a diagonal to the road, raising a cloud of dust behind him. They continued on as if they hadn’t met him; but Kris traded a look of weary amusement with her. They weren’t even officially “home” yet, and already the intrigues had begun.

“Anything else bothering you?”

“To put it bluntly,” she said at last, “Fm nervous about coming back home—as nervy as a cat about to kitten.”

“Whyfor? And why now? The worst is over. You’re a full Herald—the last of your training’s behind you. What’s to be nervous about?”

Talia looked around her; at the fields, the distant hills, at anything but Kris. A warm spring breeze, loaded with flower-scent, teased her hair and blew a lock or two into her eyes so that she looked like a worried foal.

“I’m not sure I ought to discuss it with you,” she said reluctantly.

“If not me, then who?”

She looked at him measuringly. “I don’t know. . . .”

“No,” Kris said, just a little hurt by her reluctance. “You know. You just aren’t sure you can trust me. Even after all we’ve shared together.”

She winced. “Disconcertingly accurate. I thought bluntness was my besetting sin.”

Kris cast his eyes up to the heavens in an exaggerated plea for patience, squinting against the bright sunlight. “I am a Herald. You are a Herald. If there’s one thing you should haver learned by now, it’s that you can always trust another Herald.”

“Even when my suspicions conflict with ties of blood?”

He gave her another measuring look. “Such as?”

“Your uncle, Lord Orthallen.”

He whistled through his teeth, and pursed his lips. “I thought you’d left that a year ago. Just because of that little run-in you had with him over Skif, you see him plotting conspiracy behind every bush! He’s been very good to me, and to half a dozen others I could name you, and he’s been invaluable to Selenay—as he was to her father.”

“I have very good reasons to see him behind every bush!” she replied with some heat. “I think trying to get Skif in trouble was part of a long pattern, that it was just an attempt to isolate me—”

“Why? What could he possibly gain?” Kris was fed up and frustrated because this wasn’t the first time he’d had to defend his uncle. More than one of his fellow Heralds had argued that Orthallen was far too power-hungry to be entirely trustworthy, and Kris had always felt honor-bound to defend him. He’d thought Talia had dismissed her suspicions as irrational months ago. He was highly annoyed to find that she hadn’t.

“I don’t know why—” Talia cried in frustration, clenching her fist on her reins. “I only know that I’ve never trusted him from the moment I first saw him. And now I’ll be co-equal in Council with Kyril and Elcarth, with a full voice in decisions. That could put us in more direct conflict than we’ve ever been before.”

Kris took three deep breaths and attempted to remain calm and rational. “Talia, you may not like him, but you’ve never had any problems in keeping your dislike out of the way of your decision-making that I’ve ever seen—and my uncle is very reasonable. . . .”

“But I can’t read the man; I can’t fathom his motives, and I can’t imagine why he should feel antagonism toward me—but I know he does.”

“I think you’re overreacting,” Kris replied, still keeping a tight rein on his temper. “I told you once before that it isn’t you that’s offended him—assuming that he really is offended—but because he’s probably feeling like a defeated opponent. He expected to take Talamir’s place as Selenay’s closest advisor when Talamir was murdered.”

“And cut out the role of Queen’s Own?” Talia shook her head violently. “Havens, Kris; Orthallen is an intelligent man! He can’t have imagined that was possible! He hasn’t the Gift, for one thing. And I am not overreacting to him.”

“Now, Talia—”

“Don’t patronize me! You’re the one who was telling me to trust my instincts, and now you say my instincts can’t be trusted, because they’re telling me something you don’t want to believe?”

“Because it’s childish and silly.” Kris snorted.

Talia took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Kris, I don’t agree with you, but let’s not fight about it.”

Kris bit back what he wanted to say. At least she wasn’t going to force him to stay on the defensive. “If you want.”

“It—it isn’t what I want. What I want is for you to believe and trust in my judgment. If I can’t have that— well, I just don’t want to fight about it.”

“My uncle,” he said carefully, trying to be absolutely fair to both sides, “is very fond of power. He doesn’t like giving it up. That in itself is probably the reason he’s been displaying antagonism toward Heralds and you in particular. Just be firm and cool and don’t give an inch when you know you’re in the right. He’ll settle down and resign himself; as you said, he’s not stupid. He knows better than to fight when he can’t win. You’ll never be friends, but I doubt that you need to fear him. He may be fond of power, but he has always had the best interests of the Kingdom at the forefront of his concerns.”

“I wish I could feel as confident about that as you do.” She sighed, then shifted in her saddle, as if trying to ease an uncomfortable position.

Kris began to make a retort, then thought better of it, and grinned. At this point a change of subject was called for. “Why don’t you worry about something else—Dirk, for instance?”

“Beast.” She smiled when she saw he was laughing at her.

“So I am. I’m sure he’ll tell me the same. Oh, well, the best thing you can do for that little trouble is to let affairs take their natural course. Soon or late, he’ll come to the point—if I have to push him myself!”

“Callous, too.” She pouted mischievously at him.

“Believe it,” he replied agreeably. “I’m going to enjoy teasing the life out of both of you.”

Talia schooled herself to remain calm. As she had told Skif, there was nothing to be done right now. There were other things she wanted to find out before she took that Council seat in the morning, too—like whether the rumors that she had “misused” her Gift to manipulate others were still active. And who was keeping them active, if they were. At this point, it was a bit too late to try and find out who had originated them.

As they approached the outer city and its swirling crowds, she was made aware of just how much more sensitive her Gift of Empathy had become. The pressure of all those emotions ahead of her was so strong she found it hard to believe that Kris could be unaware of it. She wished, not for the first time, that her Gift included Mindspeech; it would have been comforting to consult with Rolan the way Kris could with Tantris. She’d forgotten what living around so many people was like—and having had her Gift go rogue on her had made her more sensitive than she had been before she left. It wasn’t going to be easy to stay tightly shielded day and night, but her enhanced perception was going to demand just that. She felt a flicker of reassurance from Rolan, and smiled faintly despite her anxiety.

They made their way down the increasingly crowded road into the outer city, outside the ancient defensive walls, which had sprung up over several generations of peace. The inner city held the shops, the better inns, and the homes of the middle class and nobility. The outer was given over to the workshops, markets, rowdier hostels and taverns, and the homes of the laborers and poor.

The crowds of the outer city were noisy and cheerful. As when she had first ridden into the capital, Tatia found herself assaulted on all sides by sight, scent, and sound. Hie myriad odors of cookshops, inns, and food vendors vied with the less savory smells of beasts and trade.

The pressure of all the varied emotions of the people around her threatened to overwhelm her for one brief moment, until she firmed up her shields. No, she thought with resignation, this is not going to be easy.

The road led through a riot of color and motion, and the noise was cacaphonic, confusion without mirroring some of her own confusion within.

The leather-workers kept to a section here, outside the North Gate, and both Tatia and Kris were caught off guard by a puff of acrid, eye-burning fumes that escaped from a vat somewhere nearby. ‘ “Whew!” Kris gasped, laughing at the tears in his eyes and Talia’s, “Now I remember why Dirk and I usually backtracked around to the Haymarket Gate! Oh, well, too late now!”

Hie brief pause they made to clear their vision gave her a chance to finish making her shielding automatic. Back in their Sector—once she’d gotten her shields back— she’d tended to leave them down when it was only the two of them together. Shielding expended energy, and at that point she hadn’t any to spare. Now she put in place the safeguards that would ensure that her shields stayed up even when she was unconscious—and felt a brief surge of gratitude to Kris for having re-taught her the right way to shield.

Kris kept a careful eye on her as they made their way through the crowds. If she were going to break, now would be the time, under the pressure of all these emotions.

:I wasn’t worried.:

:You weren’t, hm? Maybe I should ask her to favor you with one of those emotional backlashes.:

:No, thank you, I had one. Remember? Rolan nearly brained me.: Tantris’ sending took on a serious coloration. :You know, you really shouldn’t tease her about Dirk. Lifebonds aren’t easy to bear when the pair hasn’t acknowledged it.:

Kris looked at his Companion’s back-tilted ears in astonishment. : You’re sure? I mean, she certainly shows every symptom of lifebonding, but—:

:We’re sure.:

:Do you by any chance know when—?: he asked his Companion.

:Dirk was the first Herald she ever saw; Rolan thinks it might have been then.:

:That early? Lord and Lady, that would be one powerful bond. . . .: Kris continued to watch her with a little bemusement as the thought trailed away.

Tradesmen and their patrons screamed cheerfully at one another over the din of vehicles, squalling children, and bawling animals. Yet for all that the populace seemed to ignore the presence of the two Heralds passing through their midst, a path always seemed to clear itself before them, and someone beckoned them on by a smile or a wave of a hat. The Guard at the outer gate saluted them as they passed through; the Guardfolk were no strangers to the comings and goings of Heralds. They rode through the tunnel that passed under the thick, gray-granite walls of the old city, and the din lessened for just a moment. Then they emerged into the narrower ways of the capital itself. It lacked only an hour until the evening meal and the streets were as crowded with people as Kris had ever seen them. It was not quite as noisy here in the old city, but the streets were just as full. After months of small towns and villages, Kris found himself marveling anew at the crush of people, and the closely-built, multi-storied stone houses. For many months, the chime of bells on their Companions’ bridles had been the loudest sound they heard; now that sound was completely engulfed in the babble around them.

Hie streets had been designed in a spiral; no one could move straight to the Palace grounds—as in most older cities that had been built with an eye to defense. Kris led them on a course that wound ever inward. The din died away behind them as they left the streets of shops behind and entered the inner, residential core. The modest houses of the merchant class gradually gave way to the more impressive buildings owned by the wealthy or noble, each set apart from the street by a private wall enclosing the manse and a bit of garden. Eventually they made their way to the inner beige-brick wall surrounding the Palace and the three Collegia—Bardic, Healer’s and Herald’s. The silver-and-blue-clad Palace Guard stationed at the gate halted them for a moment, while she checked them off against a list of those expected to be arriving. Careful records were kept on when a Herald should come in from the field—in the case of those arriving from distant Sectors, this calculation was accurate within a stretch of two or three days; in the case of those arriving from nearby Sectors, expected arrival time was accurate to within hours. This list was posted with the Gate Guard—so when a Herald was overdue, someone knew it, and something could be done to find out why, quickly.

“Herald Dirk in yet?” Kris asked the swarthy Guards-woman casually when she’d finished. . “Just arrived two days ago, Herald,” she replied, consulting the roster. “Guard then notes he asked about you two.”

“Thank you, Guard. Pleasant watch to you.” Kris grinned, urging Tantris through the gate she held open, with Rolan following closely behind.

Kris continued to watch Talia carefully, feeling a surge of gratified pride as he noted her behavior. The past few months had been living hell for her. Control of her Gift had been based entirely on instinct, rather than on proper training—and no one had ever realized this. The rumors that she had used it to manipulate—worse, that she had done so unconsciously—had pushed her off-balance. His own doubts about the truth of those rumors had been easy for her to pick up. And for someone whose Gift was based on emotions, and who was frequently prey to self-doubt, the effect was bound to be catastrophic.

It was at least that. She’d lost all control over her Gift—which unfortunately remained at full strength. She’d lost the ability to shield, and projected wildly. She’d very nearly killed them both on more than one occasion.

We were just lucky that during the worst of it, we were mowed in at that Waystation. It was just the two of us, and we were isolated long enough for her to get back in charge of herself.

And then she’d met the rumors again—this time circulating among the common folk. More than once they’d regarded her with fear and suspicion, yet she had never faltered in the performance of her duties or given any indication to an outsider that she was anything except calm, thoughtful, and controlled. She’d given a months’ long series of performances a trained player couldn’t equal.

It was vital that a Herald maintain emotional stability under all circumstances. This was especially true of the Queen’s Own, who dealt with volatile nobles and the intrigues of the Court on a daily basis. She’d lost that stability, but after working through her trial had managed to get it back, and more.

He managed to catch her eyes, and gave her an encouraging wink; she dropped her solemn face for a moment to wrinkle her nose at him.

They passed the end of the Guard barracks and neared the black iron fence that separated the “public” grounds of the Palace from the “private” grounds and those of the three Collegia. Another Guard stood at the Gate here, but his position was mainly to intercept the newly-Chosen; he waved them on with a grin. From here the granite core of the Palace with its three great brick wings and the separate buildings of the Healer’s and Bardic Collegia was at last clearly visible. Kris sighed happily. No matter where a Herald came from—this place, and the people in it, were his real home.

Tali a felt a surge of warmth and contentment at the sight of the Collegium and the Palace—a feeling of true home coming.

Just as they passed this last gate, she heard a joyful shout, and Dirk and Ahrodie pounded up the brick-paved pathway at a gallop to meet them. Dirk’s straw-blond hair was flying every which way, like a particularly windblown bird’s nest. Kris vaulted off Tantris’ back as Dirk hurled himself from Ahrodie’s; they met in a back-pounding, laughing, bear hug.

Talia remained in the saddle; at the sight of Dirk her heart had contracted painfully, and now it was pounding so hard she felt that it must be clearly audible. Her anxieties concerning Elspeth and the intrigues of the Court receded into the back of her mind.

She was tightly shielded; afraid to let anything leak through.

Dirk’s attention was primarily on her and not on his friend and partner.

Dirk had been watching for them all day—telling himself that it was Kris whose company he had missed. He’d felt like a tight bowstring, without being willing to identify why he’d been so tense. His reaction on finally seeing them had been totally unplanned, giving him release for his pent-up emotion in the exuberant greeting to Kris. Though he seemed to ignore her, he was almost painfully aware of Talia’s presence. She sat so quietly on her own Companion that she might have been a statue, yet he practically counted every breath she took.

He knew that he would remember how she looked right now down to the smallest hair. Every nerve seemed to tingle, and he felt almost as if he were wearing his skin inside out.

When Dirk finally let go of his shoulders, Kris said, with a grin that was bordering on malicious, “You haven’t welcomed Talia, brother. She’s going to think you don’t remember her.”

“Not remember her? Hardly!” Dirk seemed to be having a little trouble breathing. Kris hid another grin.

Talia and Rolan were less than two paces away, and Dirk freed an arm to take Talia’s nearer hand in his own.

Kris thought he’d never seen a human face look so exactly like a stunned ox’s.

* * * *

Talia met the incredible blue of Dirk’s eyes with a shock. It felt very much as if she’d been struck by lightning. She came near to trembling when their hands touched, but managed to hold to her self-control by a thin thread and smiled at him with lips that felt oddly stiff.

“Welcome home, Talia.” That was all he said—which was just as well. The sound of his voice and the feeling of his eyes on her made her long to fling herself at him. She found herself staring at him, unable to respond.

She looked a great deal different than he remembered; leaner, as if she’d been fine-tempered and fine-honed. She was more controlled—certainly more mature. Was there a sadness about her that hadn’t been there before? Was it some pain that had thinned her face?

When he’d taken her hand, it had seemed as if something—he wasn’t sure what—had passed between them; but if she’d felt it, too, she gave no sign.

When she’d smiled at him, and her eyes had warmed with that smile, he’d thought his heart was going to stop.

The dreams he’d had of her all these months, the obsession—he’d figured they’d pop like soap bubbles when confronted with the reality. He’d been wrong. The reality only strengthened the obsession. He held her hand that trembled very slightly in his own, and longed with all his heart for Kris’ silver tongue.

They stood frozen in that position for so long that Kris thought with concealed glee that they were likely to remain there forever unless he broke their concentration.

“Come on, partner.” He slapped Dirk’s back heartily and remounted Tantris.

Dirk jumped in startlement as if someone had blown a trumpet in his ear, then grinned sheepishly.

“If we don’t get moving, we’re going to miss supper— and I can’t tell you how many times I dreamed of one of Mero’s meals on the road!”

“Is that all you missed? Food? I might have known. Poor abused brother, did Talia make you eat your own cooking?”

“Worse—” Kris said, grinning at her, “—she made me eat hers!” He winked at her and punched Dirk’s arm lightly.

When Kris broke the trance he was in, Dirk dropped Talia’s hand as if it had burned him. When Talia turned a gaze full of gratitude on Kris, presumably for the interruption, Dirk felt a surge of something unpleasantly like jealousy at the thanks in her eyes. When Kris included her in the banter, Dirk wished that it had been his idea, not Kris’.

“Beast,” she told Kris, making a face at him.

“Hungry beast.”

“He’s right though, much as I hate to agree with him,” she said softly, turning to Dirk, and he suppressed a shiver—her voice had improved and deepened; it played little arpeggios on his backbone. “If we don’t hurry, you will be too late. It doesn’t matter too much to me—I’m used to sneaking bread and cheese from Mero—but it’s very unkind to keep you standing here. Will you ride up with us?”

He laughed to cover the hesitation in his voice. “You’d have to tie me up to keep me from coming with you.”

He and Kris remounted with a creak of leather, and they rode with Talia between them; that gave Dirk all the excuse he needed to rest his eyes on her. She gazed straight ahead or at Rolan’s ears except when she was answering one or the other of them. Dirk wasn’t sure whether he should be piqued or pleased. She wasn’t favoring either of them with a lot more attention than the other, but he began to wish very strongly that she’d look at him a little more frequently than she was.

A dreadful fear was starting to creep into his heart. She had spent the past year and a half largely in Kris’ company. What if—

He began scrutinizing Kris’ conduct, since Talia’s was giving him no clues. It seemed to confirm his fears. Kris was more at ease with Talia than he’d ever been with any other woman; they laughed and traded jokes as if their friendship had grown through years rather than months.

It was worse when they reached the Field and the tackshed, and Kris offered her an assist down with mock gallantry. She accepted the hand with a teasing haughteur, and dismounted with one fluid motion. Had Kris’ hand lingered in hers a moment or two longer than had been really necessary? Dirk couldn’t be sure. Their behavior wasn’t really loverlike, but it was the closest he’d ever seen Kris come to it.

They unsaddled their Companions and stowed the tack safely away in the proper places after a cursory cleaning. Dirk’s was pretty much clean; but Talia’s and Kris’ needed more work than could be taken care of in an hour—after being in the field for so long, it would all have to have an expert’s touch. Dirk kept Talia in the corner of his eye while she worked, humming under her breath. Kris kept up his chatter, and Dirk made distracted, monosyllabic replies. He wished he could get her alone for just a few minutes.

He had no further chance for observation. Keren, Sherrill, and Jeri appeared like magicians out of the thinnest air, converged on her, and carried her off to her rooms, baggage and all, leaving him alone with Kris.

“Look, I don’t know about you, but I am starved,” Kris said, as Dirk stared mournfully after the foursome,

Talia carrying her harp “My Lady” and the rest sharing her packs. “Let’s get the four-feets turned loose and get that dinner.”

“Well?” Keren asked, her rough voice full of arch significance, when the three women had gotten Talia and her belongings safely into the privacy of her room.

“Well, what?” Talia replied, glancing at the graying Riding Instructor from under demure lashes while she unpacked in her bedroom.

“What? What! Oh, come on, Talia—” Sherrill laughed, “—you know exactly what we mean! How did it go? Your letters weren’t exactly very long or very informative.”

Talia suppressed a smile, and turned her innocent gaze on Keren’s lifemate. “Personal or professional?”

Jeri fingered the hilt of her belt-knife significantly. ‘Talia,” she warned, “If you don’t stop trying our patience, Rolan just may have to find a new Queen’s Own tonight.”

“Oh, well, if you’re going to be that way about it—” Talia backed away, laughing, as Sherrill, hazel eyes narrowed in mock ferocity, curled her long fingers into claws and lunged at her. She dodged aside at the last moment, and the tall brunette landed on her bed instead. “—all right, I yield, I yield! What do you want to know first?”

Sherrill rolled to her feet, laughing. “What do you think? Skif hinted that you and Kris were getting cozy, but he wouldn’t do more than hint.”

“Quite cozy, yes, but nothing much more. Yes, we were sharing blankets, and no, there isn’t anything more between us than a very comfortable friendship.”

“Pity,” Jeri replied merrily, throwing herself onto Talia’s couch in the outer room, then twining a lock of her chestnut hair around one finger. “We were hoping for a passionate romance.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she replied, not sounding sorry at all, “Though if you’re thinking of trying in that direction—”

“Hm?” Jeri did her best not to look too eager, but didn’t succeed very well.

“Well, once he’s managed to shake Nessa loose—”

“Ha!”

“Don’t laugh, we think we know a way. Well, once she’s no longer hot on the hunt, he’s going to be quite unpartnered, and he’s just as—um—pleasant a companion as Varianis claims. Jeri, don’t lick your whiskers so damned obviously, he’s not a bowl of cream!”

Jeri looked chagrined and blushed as scarlet as the couch cushions, as Sherrill and Keren chuckled at her discomfiture. “I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

“You most certainly were. Keep your predatory thoughts to yourself if you don’t want to frighten him off the way Nessa has,” Keren admonished with a wry grin. “As for you, little centaur, he seems to have cured your man-shyness rather handily. I guess I owe Kyril and Elcarth an apology. I thought assigning him to you was insanity. Well, now that our prurience has been satisfied, how did the work go?”

“It’s a very long story, and before I go into it, have you three eaten?”

Three affirmatives caused her to nod. “Well I haven’t yet. You have a choice; you can either wait until I’m done with dinner for the rest of the gossip—”

They groaned hi mock-anguish.

“Or you can check me in and bring me something from the kitchen. If Selenay or Elspeth need me, they’ll send a page for me.”

“I’ll check her in.” Jeri shot out the door and down the spiral staircase.

“I’ll go fetch you a young feast. You look like you’ve lost pounds, and when Mere finds out it’s for you, he’ll probably ransack the entire pantry.” Sherrill vanished after Jeri.

Keren stood away from the wall she’d been leaning against. “Give me a proper greeting, you maddening child.” She smiled, holding out her arms.

“Oh, Keren—” Talia embraced the woman who had been friend, surrogate-mother and sister to her—and more—with heartfelt fervor. “Gods, how I’ve missed you!”

“And I, you. You’ve changed, and for the better.” Keren held her closely, then put her at arm’s length, surveying her with intense scrutiny. “It isn’t often I get to see my hopes fulfilled with such exactitude.”

“Don’t be so silly.” Talia blushed. “You’re seeing what isn’t there.”

“Oh, I think not.” Keren smiled. “The gods know you are the world’s worst judge when it comes to evaluating yourself. Dearling, you’ve become all I hoped you’d be. But—you didn’t have the easy time we thought you would, did you?”

“I—no, I didn’t.” Talia sighed. “I—Keren, my Gift went rogue on me. At full power.”

“Great good gods!” She examined Talia even more carefully, gray eyes boring into Talia’s. “How the hell did that happen? I thought we’d trained—”

“So did everyone.”

“Wait a moment; let me put this together for myself. You finished Ylsa’s class; now let me remember . . .” Keren’s brow creased hi thought. “It does seem to me that she mentioned something about wanting to send you to the Healers for some special training, that she didn’t feel altogether happy about handling an Empath when her own expertise was Thought-sensing.”

Keren turned away from Talia and began pacing, a habit the younger woman was long familiar with, for Keren claimed she couldn’t think unless she was moving.

“Now—I’d assumed she’d taken care of that because you spent so much time with the Healers. But she hadn’t, had she? And then she was murdered—”

“As far as Kris and I could figure, the Heralds assumed that the Healers were giving me Empath training, and the Healers assumed the Heralds had already done so because I seemed to be in full control. But I wasn’t; it was all instinct and guess. And when control went—”

“Gods!” Keren stopped pacing and put both of her hands on Talia’s shoulders. “Little one, are you sure you’re all right now?”

Talia remembered only too vividly the hours of practice Kris had put her through; the painful sessions with the two Companions literally attacking her mentally. “I’m sure. Kris is a Gift-teacher, after all. He took me all the way through the basics, and Rolan and Tantris helped.”

“Oh, really? Well, well—that’s an interesting twist!” Keren raised an eloquent eyebrow. “Companions don’t intervene that directly as a rule.”

“I don’t think they saw any other choice. The first month we were all snowed in at that Waystation—then we found out that those damned rumors had made it up to our Sector and we didn’t dare look for outside help. It would have just confirmed the rumors.”

“True—true. If I were on the Circle, I think I would be inclined to keep all this under the ivy bush. Letting the world know that we blundered that badly with you won’t do a smidgin of good, and would probably do a lot of harm. Selected people, yes; and this should certainly go down in the annals so that we don’t repeat the mistake with the next Empath—but—no, I don’t think this should be generally known.”

“That was basically Kris’ thinking, and I agree. You’re the first person to know besides the two of us. We’ll both be telling Kyril and Elcarth, and I think that’s all.”

“Ye-es,” Keren said slowly. “Yes. Let those two worry about who else should know. Well, what ends well is well, as they say.”

“I am fine,” Talia repeated emphatically. “I have absolute control now, control not even Rolan can shake. In a way, I’m glad it happened; I learned a lot—and it’s made me think about things I never did before.”

“Right, then. Now, let’s take these rags of yours down to the laundry chute—yes, all of them; not even one outfit for tomorrow. After being in the field, they’ll all need refurbishing. Here—” she dug into Talia’s wooden wardrobe, and emerged with a soft, comfortable lounging robe. “Put that on. You won’t be going anywhere tonight, and in the morning Gaytha will have left a pile of new ones at your doorstep—though from the look of you, they’ll be a bit loose, since she’ll have had them made up from the old measurements. We’ve all got a lot of news to catch up on. Oh, and I’ve got a message from Elspeth; Thank the Lady, and I’ll see you in the morning.’ “

“Well, my old and rare, we have got a lot of news to catch up on.” Dirk nodded, his mind so fully occupied with things other than his dinner that be never noticed that he was munching his way through a heap of ustil greens, a vegetable he despised with passion.

Kris noticed, and had a difficult time in keeping a straight face. Fortunately the usual chaos of the Collegium common room at dinner gave him plenty of opportunity to look in other directions when the urge to break into a howl of laughter became too great. It was the height of the dinner hour, and every wooden bench was full of students in Grays and instructors in full Heraldic Whites, all shouting amiably at one another over the din.

“So, how did your stint go? We greatly appreciated that music, by the way, both of us. We’ve got a goodly portion of it memorized by now.”

“Sh—you did? You do? That’s—” Dirk suddenly realized he was beginning to babble, and ended lamely, “—that’s very nice. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Oh, yes; Talia especially. I think she values your present more than anything anyone else sent her. She certainly has been taking very good care of it—but that’s like her. I’m giving her highest marks; she is one damn fine Herald.”

Now Dirk took advantage of the noise and clatter at the tables all about them to cover his own confusion. “Well,” he replied when he finally managed to clear his head a bit of the daze he seemed to be in, “It sounds like you had a more entertaining trainee than I did. And a more interesting round. Mine was so dull and normal Ahrodie and I sleepwalked through most of it.’*

“Lord of Lights—I wish I could claim that! Don’t forget, ‘May your life be interesting* happens to be a very potent curse! Besides, I seem to remember you claiming that young Skif had you worn to a frazzle before the circuit was over.”

“I guess I did,” Dirk chuckled. “Did you know his Cymry dropped a foal, and he blames it all on you two?”

“No doubt, since neither of them have an ounce of shame to spare between them.” Kris ducked as a student burdened with a stack of dirty dishes taller than he was inched past them. “Lord, I hope that youngling’s got one of the Fetching Gifts, or he’s going to lose mat whole stack in a minute—yes, Skif and Cymry deserve what they got. Poor Talia would have been ready to skin both of them given the chance. ...”

“Oh?”

Kris was more and more pleased by Dirk’s reactions, He needed no further urging, and related the tale with relish, stopping short of the fight—which had been caused, in an obscure sort of way, by Dirk—and the swimming match that followed. He insisted then that they ought to take themselves out of the way of those students assigned to clearing tables.

“Fine; my room or yours?” Dirk was doing his damnedest to keep his feelings from showing. Unfortunately, Kris knew him too well; that deadpan dicing face he was putting on only proved he was considerably on edge.

“Good gods, not yours—we’d be lost in there for a week! Mine; and I still have some of that Ehrris-wine, I think. . . .”

The tales continued over the wine and a small fire, both of them lounging at full length in Kris’ old, worn green chairs. And every other sentence Kris spoke seemed to have something to do with Talia. Dirk tried his best to seem interested, but not as obsessed as he actually was. Kris let the shadows hide his faint smile, for he wasn’t fooled a bit.

But not once did Kris let fall the information Dirk really wanted to know—and finally, emboldened by the wine, he came out and asked for it.

“Look, Kris—you’re the soul of chivalry, but we’re blood-brothers, you can tell me safely! Were you, or weren’t you?”

“Were we what?” Kris asked innocently.

“S-sleeping together, you nit!”

“Yes,” Kris answered forthrightly. “What did you expect? We’re neither one of us made of ice.” He figured that it was far better for Dirk to hear the truth—and to hear it in such a way that he took it for the matter-of-fact thing that it was. Talia and Dirk were probably tied neck-and-neck for the position of his “best friend.” And that was all he and Talia meant to each other. He could no more conceive of being in love with her than with the close friend he now faced. He watched Dirk covertly, weighing his reaction. “I—I suppose it was sort of inevitable—”

“Inevitable—something more. Frankly, during that first winter it was too blamed cold to sleep alone.” He launched into the whole tale of their blizzard-ordeal—with editing, He didn’t dare reveal how Talia’s Gift had gotten out of control. Firstly, it wasn’t anything Dirk needed to know about. Secondly, he was fairly certain it was something that should be known by as few as possible. Elcarth and Kyril, certainly—but he was pretty well certain it just wouldn’t be ethical to go around telling anyone else without Talia’s express permission.

He concluded the tale with a certain puzzlement; Dirk seemed to have suddenly gone dumb, and very soon pled exhaustion and left for his own room.

* * * *

Oh, Lord. Of all the damned situations to be in—his very best friend in the entire world with his hooks quite firmly in the first woman Dirk had even wanted to look at in years.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t any damned fair. No woman in her right mind was even going to want to look at him with Kris around. And Kris—

Kris—was he in love with Talia? And if he were . . .

Gods, gods, they certainly belonged together.

No, dammit! Kris could have any female he wanted, Herald or no, without even lifting a finger! By all the gods, Dirk was going to fight him for this one!

Except that he hadn’t the faintest idea how to go about fighting for her. And—Kris was like a brother, more than a brother. This wasn’t any kind of fair to him—

He lay sleepless for hours that night, staring into the darkness, tossing and turning restlessly, and cursing the nightjar that was apparently singing right outside his window. By dawn he was no closer to sorting out his own feelings than he had been when he threw himself down to rest.

Two

“Talia!”

Elspeth greeted Talia’s appearance at breakfast with a squeal, and a hug that threatened to squeeze the last bit of breath out of her. The last year and a half had added inches to the young Heir’s height; she stood a bit taller than Talia now. Time had added a woman’s curves to the wraithlike child as well. Talia wondered, now that she’d seen Elspeth, if her mother truly realized how much growing she’d done in the time Talia had been gone.

The wood-paneled common room was full of youngsters in student Grays, as most of the instructors had eaten earlier. The bench-and-table-filled room buzzed with sleepy murmuring, and smelled of bacon and porridge. Except for the fact that she recognized few of the faces, and the fact that the room was completely full, it all looked the same as it had when Talia was a student; she slid into the warm, friendly atmosphere like a blade into a well-oiled sheath, and felt as if she had never left.

“Bright Lady, catling, you’re going to break all my ribs!” Talia protested, returning the hug with interest. “I got your message from Keren—I take it Skif did tell you I got in last night, didn’t he? I rather expected to find you on my doorstep.”

“I had foal-watch last night.” One of the duties imposed on the students was to camp in Companion’s Field around the time of a foaling, each taking the watch in turn. Companions did not foal with the ease of horses, and if there were complications, seconds could be precious in preserving the life or health of mare and foal.

“Skif told me you were here, and that he’d given you my screech for help—-so I knew I didn’t need to worry anymore, and I certainly didn’t need to disturb your sleep.”

“I heard Cymry dropped. Who else?”

“Zaleka.” Elspeth grinned at Talia’s bewildered look of nonrecognition. “She Chose Arven just after you left. He’s twenty if he’s a day, and when Jillian was here during break between assignments—well, you know Jillian, she’s as bad as Destria. Seems her Companion was like-minded. We haven’t half been giving Arven a hard time over it! Zaleka hasn’t dropped yet, but she’s due any day.”

Talia shook her head, and slipped an arm around the Heir’s shoulders. “You younglings! I don’t know what the world’s coming to these days—”

Elspeth gave a very unladylike snort, narrowed her enormous brown eyes, and tossed her dark hair scornfully. “You don’t cozen me! I’ve heard tales about you and your year-mates that gave me gray hairs! Climbing in and out of windows at the dead of night with not-so-ex-thieves! Spying on the Royal Nursemaid!”

“Catling—” Talia went cold sober. “Elspeth—I’m sorry about Hulda.” She met Elspeth’s scrutiny squarely.

Elspeth grimaced bitterly at the name of the nursemaid who had very nearly managed to turn her into a spoiled, unmanageable monster—and came close to eliminating any chance of her being Chosen.

“Why? You caught her red-handed in conspiracy to keep me from ever getting to be Heir,” she replied with a mixture of amusement and resentment—the amusement at Talia’s reaction, the resentment reserved for Hulda. “Sit, sit, sit! I’m hungry, and I refuse to have to crane my neck up to talk to you.”

“You—you aren’t angry at me?” Talia asked, taking a seat beside Elspeth on the worn wooden bench. “I wanted to tell you I was responsible for her being dismissed, but, frankly, I never had the courage.”

Elspeth smiled a little. “You didn’t have the courage? Thank the Lady for that! I was afraid you were perfect!”

“Hardly,” Talia replied dryly.

“Well, why not tell me your end of it now? I just got it secondhand from Mother and Kyril.”

“Oh, Lord—where do I begin?”

“Mm—chronologically, as you found it out.” Elspeth seized a mug of fruit juice from a server and plumped it down in front of her seatmate.

“Right. It really started for me when I tried to get to know you. Hulda kept blocking me.”

“How?”

“Carrying you off for lessons, saying you were asleep, or studying, or whatever other excuse she could come up with. Catling, I was only about fourteen, and a fairly unaggressive fourteen at that; I wasn’t about to challenge her! But it just happened too consistently not to be on purpose. So I enlisted Skif.”

Elspeth nodded. “Good choice. If there was anybody likely to find out anything, it would be Skif. I know for a fact he still keeps his hand in—”

“Oh? How?”

Elspeth giggled. “Whenever he’s in residence he leaves me sweets hidden in the ‘secret’ drawer of the desk in my room. With notes.”

“Oh, Lord—you haven’t told anybody, have you?”

Elspeth was indignant. “And give him away? Not a chance! Oh, I’ve told Mother in case he ever gets caught— which isn’t likely—but I swore her to secrecy first.”

Talia sighed in relief. “Thanks be to the Lady. If anybody other than Heralds found out... “

Elspeth sobered. “I know. At worst he could be killed before a Guard knew he was a Herald and it was a prank. Believe me, I know. Mother was rather amused— and rather glad, I think. It can’t hurt to have somebody with skills like that in the Heralds. Anyway, you recruited Skif . . .”

“Right; he began sneaking around, and discovered that Hulda, rather than being the subordinate as everyone thought, had taken over control of the nursery and your education. She was drugging old Melidy, who was supposed to be your primary nurse. Well, that seemed wrong to me, but it wasn’t anything I could prove because Melidy had been ill—she’d had a brainstorm. So I had Skif keep watching. That was when he discovered that Hulda was in the pay of someone unknown—paid to ensure that you could never be Chosen, and thus, never become Heir.”

“Bitch.” Elspeth’s eyes were bright with anger. “I take it neither you nor he ever saw who it was?”

Talia shook her head regretfully, and took a sip of fruit juice. “Never. He was always masked, cloaked, and hooded. We told Jadus, Jadus told the Queen—and Hulda vanished.”

“And I only knew that I’d lost the one person at Court I was emotionally dependent on. I’m not surprised you kept quiet.” Elspeth passed Talia a clean plate. “Oh, I might have gotten angry if you’d told me two or three years ago, but not now.”

There was a great deal of cold, undisguised anger in the Heir’s young brown eyes. “I still remember most of that time quite vividly.”

Talia lost the last of her apprehension over the indignation in Elspeth’s voice.

“There’s more to it than just my being resentful, though,” Elspeth continued, “Looking back at it, Talia, I think that woman who called herself my ‘nurse’ would quite cheerfully have strangled me with her own hands if she thought she could have profited and gotten away with it! Yes, and enjoyed every minute of it!”

“Oh, come now—you weren’t that much of a little monster!”

“Here, you’d better start eating or Mero’ll throw fits at us when we get downstairs to clean; he’s fixed all your favorites.” Elspeth took some of the platters being passed from hand to hand, and heaped Talia’s plate with crisp oatcakes and honey, warm bacon, and stir-fried squash, totally oblivious to the incongruity of the Heir to the Throne serving one who was technically an underling. She had indeed come a long way from the Royal Brat who had been so very touchy about her rank. “Talia, I lived with Hulda most of my waking hours. I know for a fact she enjoyed frightening me. Hie bedtime stories she told me would curl the hair of an adult, and I’d bet my life that she got positive pleasure out of my shivers. And I can’t tell you why I feel this way, but I’m certain she was the most coldly self-centered creature I’ve ever met; that nothing mattered to her except her own well-being. She was very good at covering the fact, but—”

“I don’t think I doubt you, catling. One of your Gifts is Mindspeech, after all, and little children sometimes see things we adults miss.”

“You adults? You weren’t all that much older than me! You saw a fair amount yourself, and you’d have seen more if you’d been able to spend more time with me. She was turning me into a little copy of herself, when she wasn’t trying to scare me. Once she’d cut me off from everyone else so that there was no one to turn to as a friend, she kept schooling me in how I shouldn’t trust anyone but her—and how I should fight for every scrap of royal privilege, stopping for no one and nothing on the way. There’s more, something that turned up after you left. When they told me the truth, I got very curious.”

“Which is why I call you ‘catling’—” Talia interrupted with a grin, “—since you’re fully as curious as any cat.”

“Too true. Curiosity sometimes pays, though; I started going through the things she left, and doing a bit of discreet correspondence with my paternal relatives.”

“Does your mother know this?” Talia was a bit surprised.

“It’s with her blessing. By the way, I get the feeling that Uncle-King Faramentha likes me as much as he disliked my father. We’ve gotten into quite a cozy little exchange of letters and family anecdotes. I like him, too—and it’s rather too bad we’re so closely related; he’s got a whole tribe of sons, and I think anybody with a sense of humor like his would be rather nice to get to know. . . .” Elspeth’s voice trailed off wistfully, then she got back to the subject at hand with a little shake of her head. “Anyway, now we’re not altogether certain that the Hulda who left Rethwellan is the same Hulda who arrived here.”

“What?”

“Oh, it’s so much fun to shock you. You look like somebody just hit you in the face with a board!”

“Elspeth, I may kill you myself if you don’t get to the point!

“All right, I’ll be good! It’s rather late in the day to be checking on these things now, but there was a span of about a month after Hulda left the Royal Nursery in Rethwellan to come here where she just seems to have vanished. She wasn’t passed across the Border, and no one remembers her in the inns along the way. Then— poof!—she’s here, bag and baggage. Father wasn’t among the living anymore through his own stupid fault, and she had all the right papers and letters; nobody thought to doubt that she was the ‘Hulda’ he’d sent for. Until now, that is.”

“Bright Lady!” Talia grew as cold as her breakfast, thinking about the multitude of possibilities this opened up. Had the unknown “my lord” she and Skif had seen her conspiring with brought her here? They had no way of knowing if that one had been among those traitors uncovered and executed after Ylsa’s murder, for neither of them had ever seen his face. They thought he had been, for there were no other stirrings of trouble after that, but he might only have gone to ground for an interval. Had even “my lord” guessed that she was not what she seemed? And where had she vanished to after she was unmasked? No one had seen her leave; she had not passed the Border, at least by the roads (and that was an echo of what Elspeth had just detailed), yet she was most assuredly gone before anyone had a chance to detain her. And who—or what—had given her warning that she had been uncovered? A danger that Talia had long thought safely laid to rest had suddenly resurrected itself, the cockatrice new-hatched from the dunghill.

“Mero is going to have my hide,” Elspeth warned, and Talia started guiltily and finished her meal. But she really couldn’t have told what she was eating.

“—and that was the last incident,” Kris finished. “The last couple of weeks were nothing but routine; we finished up, Griffon relieved us, and we headed home.”

He met the measuring gazes of first Elcarth, then Kyril. Both of them were shocked cold sober by his revelation of the way Talia’s Gift had gone rogue—and why. They had evidently assumed this interview was going to be a mere formality. Kris’ tale had come as an unpleasant surprise.

“Why,” Kyril asked, after a pause that was much too long for Kris’ comfort, “didn’t you look for help when this first happened?”

“Largely because by the time I knew something was really wrong, we were snowed into that Waystation, Senior.”

“He’s got you there, brother.” Elcarth favored the silver-haired Seneschal’s Herald with a wry smile.

“By the time we got out, she was well on the way to having her problems solved,” Kris continued doggedly. “She had the basics, had them down firmly. And once we got in with people again, we found that those rumors had preceded us. At that point, I reckoned we’d do irreparable harm by leaving the circuit to look for other help. We’d only have confirmed the rumor that there was something wrong by doing so.”

“Hm. A point,” Kyril acknowledged.

“And at that point, I wasn’t entirely certain that there was anyone capable of training her.”

“Healers—” Elcarth began.

“Don’t have Empathy alone, nor do they use it exactly the way she does—the way she must. She’s actually used it offensively, as I told you. They rarely invoke the use of it outside of Healing sessions; she is going to have to use it so constantly it will be as much a part of her as her eyes and ears. At least,” Kris concluded with an embarrassed smile, “that’s the way I had it figured.”

“I think that in this case you were right, young brother,” Kyril replied after long thought, during which time Kris had plenty of leisure to think about all he’d said, and wonder if he’d managed to convince these two, the most senior Heralds in the Circle.

Kris let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding.

“There was this, too,” he added. “At that point, letting out word that we, and the Collegium, had failed to properly’ train the new Queen’s Own would have been devastating to everyone’s morale.”

“Bright Goddess—you’re right!” EIcarth exclaimed with consternation, his eyebrows rising to meet his gray cap of hair. “For that to become well known would be as damaging to the faith of Heralds as it would to that of nonHeralds. I think, given the circumstances, you both deserve high marks. You, for your good sense and discretion, and your internee for meeting and overcoming trials she should never have had to face.”

“I agree,” Kyril seconded. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Elcarth and I will endeavor to set such safeguards as to ensure this never happens again.”

With a polite farewell, Kris thankfully fled their presence.

In the hour after breakfast, Talia covered a great deal of ground. She first left the Herald’s Collegium and crossed to the separate building that housed Healer’s Collegium and the House of Healing. The sun was up by now, though it hadn’t been when she’d gone to breakfast, and from the cloudless blue of the sky it looked as if it were going to be another flawless spring day. Once within the beige-brick walls, she sought out Healer Devan, to let him know of her return, and to learn from him if there were any Herald-patients in the House of Healing that needed her own special touch.

She found him in the still-room, carefully mixing some sort of decoction. She entered very quietly, not wanting to break his concentration, but somehow he knew she was there anyway.

“Word spreads quickly; I knew you’d gotten back last night,” he said without turning around. “And most welcome you are, too, Talia!”

She chuckled a little. “I should know better than to try and sneak up on someone with the same Gift I have!”

He set his potion down on the table before him, stoppered it with care, and turned to face her. As a smile reached and warmed his hazel eyes, he held out brown-stained hands in greeting.

“Your aura, child, is unmistakable—and right glad I am to feel it again.”

She took both his hands in her own, wrinkling her nose a little at the pungent odors of the still-room. “I hope you’re glad to see me for my own sake, and not because you need me desperately,” she replied.

Much to her relief, he assured her that there were no Heralds at all among his patients at the moment.

“Just wait until the Midsummer storms South, or the pirate-raids West, though!” he told her, his dark eyes rueful. “Rynee will have her Greens by winter; she’s got every intention of going back South to be stationed near her home. You’re back in good time; you’ll be the only trained mind-Healer besides Patris here when she leaves, and it’s possible we may need you for patients other than Heralds.”

Next she returned to the Herald’s Wing for an interview she had not been looking forward to.

She knocked hesitantly on the door to Elcarth’s office; and found that not only was Elcarth there, but that the Seneschal’s Herald was with the Dean.

During the next hour she reported, as dispassionately as she could, all that had happened during her internship. She did not spare herself in the least, admitting fully that she had concealed the fact that she was losing control over her Gift; admitting that she did not confess the fact until forced to by Kris. She told them what Kris had not; that she had nearly killed both of them,

They heard her out in complete silence until she had finished, and sat with her hands clenched in her lap, waiting for their verdict on her.

“What have you concluded from all this?” Elcarth asked unexpectedly.

“That—that no one Herald can stand alone, not even the Queen’s Own,” she replied, after thought. “Perhaps especially the Queen’s Own. What I do reflects on alt Heralds, and more so than any other just because I’m so much in the minds of the people.”

“And of the proper usage of your Gift?” Kyril asked.

“I—I don’t really know, entirely,” she admitted. “There are times when what I need to do is quite clear. But most of the time, it’s so—so nebulous. It’s going to be pretty much a matter of weighing evils and necessity, I guess.”

Elcarth nodded.

“If I have time, I’ll ask advice from the Circle before I do anything irrevocable. But most of the time, I’m afraid I won’t have that luxury. But if I make a mistake . . . well, I’ll accept the consequences, and try and make it right.”

“Well, Herald Talia,” Elcarth said, black eyes bright with what Talia finally realized was pride, “I think you’re ready to get into harness.”

“Then—I passed?”

“What did I tell you?” Kyril shook his head at his colleague. “I knew she wouldn’t believe it until she heard it from our lips.” The iron-haired, granite-faced Herald unbent enough to smile warmly at her. “Yes, Tafia, you did very well; we’re quite pleased with what you and Kris have told us. You took a desperate situation that was not entirely of your own making, and turned it around, by yourselves.”

“And we’re satisfied with what you told us just now,” Elcarth added. “You’ve managed to strike a decent balance in the ethics of having a Gift like yours, I think. So now that you’ve had the sweet compliments, are you ready for the bitter? There’s a Council meeting shortly.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “I’ve been . . . warned.”

“About more than just the meeting, I’ll wager.”

“Senior, that would be compromising my sources—”

“Lord and Lady!” Elcarth’s sharp features twitched as he controlled his urge to laugh. “She sounds like Talamir already!”

Kyril just shook his head ruefully. “That she does, brother. Well enough, Talia—we’ll see you there. You’d best be off; I imagine Selenay is wanting to discuss a few things with you before the Council meeting itself.”

Talia knew a dismissal when she heard one, and took her leave of both of them, with a light foot to match her lightened heart.

“Talia—” Selenay forestalled all formality by embracing her Herald warmly. “—Bright Lady, how I have missed you! Come in here where we can have a little privacy.”

She drew Talia into a granite-walled alcove holding a single polished wooden bench, just off the corridor leading to the Council chamber. As usual, she was dressed as any of her Heralds, with only the thin circlet of royal red-gold that rested on her own golden hair proclaiming her rank.

“Let me get a good look at you. Havens, you look wonderful! But you’ve gotten so thin—”

“Having to eat my own cooking,” Talia replied, “that’s all. I would have tried to see you last night—”

“You wouldn’t have found me,” Selenay said, blue eyes dark with affection. “I was closeted with the Lord Marshal, going over troop deployments on the Border. By the time we were finished, I wouldn’t have been willing to see my resurrected father, I was that weary. All those damn maps! Besides, the first night back from internship is always spent with your closest friends, it’s tradition! How else can you catch up on eighteen months of news?”

“Eighteen months of gossip, you mean.” Talia grinned. “I understand Kris and I caused a little ourselves.”

“From your offhand manner can I deduce that my thoughts of a deathless romance are in vain?” Her eyes danced with amusement and she pouted in feigned disappointment.

Talia shook her head in mock exasperation. “You, too? Bright Havens, is everyone in the Collegium determined to have us mated, whether we will or no?”

“The sole exceptions are Kyril, Elcarth, Skif, Keren, and—of all people—Alberich. They all swore that if you ever lost your heart, it wouldn’t be to Kris’ pretty face.”

“They . . . could be right.”

Selenay noted her Herald’s faintly troubled expression, and deemed it prudent to change the subject. “Well, I’m more than happy to have you at my side again, and I could have used you for the past two months.”

“Two months? Is it anything to do with what Elspeth sent Skif out to us for?”

“Did she? That minx! Probably—she hasn’t been any more pleased over the Council’s actions than I have. I’ve gotten an offer for Elspeth’s hand, from a source that is going to be very difficult for me to refuse.”

“Say on.”

Selenay settled back on the bench, absently caressing the arm of it with one hand. “We received an envoy from King Alessandar two months ago, a formal request that I consider wedding Elspeth to his Ancar. There’s a great deal to be said for the match; Ancar is about Kris’ age, not too great a discrepancy as royal marriages go; he’s said to be quite handsome. This would mean the eventual joining of our Kingdoms, and Alessandar has a strong and well-trained army, much larger than our own. I’d be able to spread the Heralds into his realm, and his army would make Karse think twice about ever invading us again. Three quarters of the Councillors are for it unconditionally, the rest favor the idea, but aren’t trying to shove it down my throat like the others are.”

“Well,” Talia replied slowly, twisting the ring Kris had given her, “you wouldn’t be hesitating over it if you didn’t feel there was something wrong. What is it?”

“Firstly, unless I absolutely have to, I don’t want Elspeth sacrificed in a marriage of state. Frankly, I’d rather see her live unwedded and have the throne go to a collateral line than have her making anything but a match that is at least based on mutual respect and liking.” Selenay played with a lock of hair, twisting it around one of her long, graceful fingers, thereby betraying her anxiety. “Secondly, she’s very young yet; I’m going to insist she finish her training before making a decision. Thirdly, I haven’t seen Ancar since he was a babe in arms; I have no idea what kind of a man he’s grown into, and I want to know that before I even begin to seriously consider the match. To tell the truth, I’m hoping for her to have a love-match, and that with someone who is at least Chosen if not a Herald. I saw for myself the kind of problems that can come when the Queen’s consort is not co-ruler, yet has been trained to the idea of rule. And you know very well that Elspeth’s husband will not share the Throne unless he, too, is Chosen.”

“Good points, all of them—but you have more than that troubling you.” Talia had fallen into reading the Queen’s state of mind as easily as if she’d never been away.

“Now I know why I’ve missed you! You always manage to ask the question that puts everything into perspective!” Selenay smiled again, with delight. “Yes, I do, but it wasn’t the kind of thing I wanted to confess to the Council, or even to Kyril, bless his heart. They’d put it down to a silly woman’s maunderings and mutter about moon-days. What’s bothering me is this: it’s too pat, this offer; it’s too perfect. Too much like the answer to everyone’s prayers. I keep looking for the trap beneath the bait, and wondering why I can’t see it. Perhaps I’m so in the habit of suspicion that I can’t trust even what I know to be honest.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it.” Talia pursed her lips thoughtfully. “There is something out of kilter, or you wouldn’t be so uneasy. You’ve Mindspeech and a touch of Foreseeing, right? I suspect that you’re getting foggy Foresight that something isn’t quite right about the idea, and your uneasiness is being caused by having to fight the Council with no real reasons to give them.”

“Bless you—that’s exactly what it must be! I’ve been feeling for the past two months as if I were trying to bail a leaky boat with my bare hands!”

“So use Elspeth’s youth and the fact that she has to finish her training as an excuse to stall for a while. I’ll back you; when Kyril and Elcarth see that I’m backing you, they’ll follow my lead,” Talia said with more confidence than she actually felt. “Remember, I have a full vote in the Council now. Between the two of us we have the power to veto even the vote of the full Council. All it takes is the Monarch and Queen’s Own to overturn a Council vote. I’ll admit it isn’t politic to do so, but I’ll do it if I have to.”

Selenay sighed with relief. “How have I ever managed all these years without you?”

“Very well, thank you. If I hadn’t been here, I expect you’d have managed to stall them somehow—even if you had to resort to Devan physicking Elspeth into a phony fever to gain time! Now, isn’t it time to make our entrance?”

“Indeed it is.” Selenay smiled, with just a hint of maliciousness. “And this is a moment I have long waited for! There are going to be some cases of chagrin when certain folk realize you are Queen’s Own in truth, vote and all, and that the full Council will be in session from now on!”

They rose together and entered the huge, brass-mounted double doors of the Council chamber.

The other members of the Council had assembled at the table; they stood as one as the Queen entered the room, with Talia in her proper position as Queen’s Own, one step behind her and slightly to her right.

The Council Chamber was not a large room, and had only the horseshoe Council table and the chairs surrounding it as furnishings, all of a dark wood that age and much handling had turned nearly black. Like the rest of the Palace, it was paneled only halfway in wood; the rest of the room, from about chin-height to the ceiling, being the gray stone of the original Palace-keep. A downscaled version of Selenay’s throne was placed at the exact center of the Council table, behind it was the fireplace, and over the fireplace, the arms of the Monarch of Valdemar; a winged, white horse with broken chains about its throat. On the wall over the door, the wall that her throne faced, was an enormous map of Valdemar inscribed on heavy linen and kept constantly up-to-date; it was so large that any member of the Council could read the lettering from his or her seat. The work was exquisite, every road and tiny village carefully delineated. The chair to the immediate right of the Queen’s was Talia’s; to the immediate left was the Seneschal’s. To the left of the Seneschal sat Kyril, to Talia’s right, the Lord Marshal. The rest of the Councillors took whatever seat they chose, without regard for rank.

Talia had never actually used her seat until this moment; by tradition it had to remain vacant until she completed her training and was a full Herald. She had been seated with the rest of the Councillors and had done nothing except voice an occasional opinion when asked, and give her observations to Selenay when the meetings were over. While her new position brought her considerable power, it also carried considerable responsibility.

The Councillors remained standing, some with visible surprise on their faces; evidently word of her return had not spread as quickly through the Court as it had through the Collegium. Selenay took her place before her chair, as did Talia. The Queen inclined her head slightly to either side, then sat, with Talia sitting a fraction of a second later. The Councillors took their own seats when the Queen and Queen’s Own were in their places.

“I should like to open this meeting with a discussion of the marriage envoy from Alessandar,” Selenay said quietly, to the open surprise of several of her Councillors. Talia nodded to herself; by taking the initiative, Selenay started the entire proceedings with herself on the high ground.

One by one each of those seated at the table voiced their own opinions; as Selenay had told Talia, they were uniformly in favor of it, most desiring that the match be made immediately.

Talia began taking stock of the Councillors, watching them with an intensity she had never felt before. She wanted to evaluate them without using her Gift, only her eyes and ears.

First was Lord Gartheser, who spoke for the North— Orthallen’s closest ally, without a doubt. Thin, nervous, and balding, he punctuated his sentences with sharp movements of his hands. Though he never actually looked directly at Orthallen, Talia could tell by the way he oriented himself that his attention was so bound on Orthallen that no one else made any impression on him at all.

“There can be no doubt,” Gartheser said in a rather thin and reedy voice, “that this betrothal would bring us an alliance so strong that no one would ever dare dream of attacking us again. With Alessandar’s army ready to spring to our rescue, not even Karse would care to trifle with us. I venture to predict that even the Border raids would cease, and our Borders would be truly secure for the first time in generations.”

Orthallen nodded, so slightly that Talia would not have noticed the motion if she had not been watching him. And she wasn’t the only one who caught that faint sign of approval. Gartheser had been watching for it, too. Talia saw him nod and smile slightly in response.

Elcarth and Kyril were next; Elcarth perched on the edge of his chair and looking like nothing so much as a gray snow-wren, and Kyril as nearly motionless as an equally gray granite statue.

“I can see no strong objections,” Elcarth said, his head slightly to one side, “But the Heir must be allowed to finish her training and her internship before any such alliance is consummated.”

“And Prince Ancar must be of a suitable temperament,” Kyril added smoothly. “This Kingdom—forgive me, Highness—this Kingdom has had the bitter experience of having a consort who was not suitable. I, for one, have no wish to live through another such experience.”

Lady Wyrist spoke next, who stood for the East; another of Orthallen’s supporters. This plump, fair-haired woman had been a great beauty in her time, and still retained charm and magnetism.

“I am totally in favor—and I do not think this is the time to dally! Let the betrothal be as soon as possible— the wedding, even! Training can wait until after alliances are irrevocable.” She glared at Eicarth and Kyril. “It’s my Border the Karsites come rampaging over whenever they choose. My people have little enough, and the Karsites regularly reive away what little they have! But it is also my Border that would be open to new trade with our two Kingdoms firmly united, and I can see nothing to find fault with.”

White-haired, snowy-bearded Father Aldon, the Lord Patriarch, spoke up wistfully. “As my Lady has said, this alliance promises peace, a peace such as we have not enjoyed for far too long. Karse would be forced to sue for a lasting peace, faced with unity all along two of its borders. Renewing our long friendship with Hardorn can only bring a truer peace than we have ever known. Though the Heir is young, many of our ladies have wedded younger still—”

“Indeed.” Bard Hyron, so fair-haired that his flowing locks were nearly white, was speaker for the Bardic Circle. He echoed Father Aldon’s sentiments. “It is a small sacrifice for the young woman to make, in the interests of how much we would gain.”

Talia noted dubiously that his pale gray eyes practically glowed silver when Orthallen nodded approvingly.

The thin and angular Healer Myrrim, spokeswoman for her Circle, was not so enthralled. To Talia’s relief she actually seemed mildly annoyed by Hyron’s hero worship; and something about Orthallen seemed to be setting her ever so slightly on edge. “You all forget something—though the child has been Chosen, she is not yet a Herald, and the law states clearly that the Monarch must be a Herald, There has never been a reason strong enough to overturn that law before, and I fail to see the need to set such a dangerous precedent now!”

“Exactly,” Kyril murmured.

“The child is just that; a child. Not ready to rule by any stretch of the imagination, with much to learn before she is. Nevertheless, I am—cautiously—in favor of the betrothal. But only if the Heir remains at the Collegium until after her full training is complete.”

Somewhat to Talia’s surprise, Lord Marshal Randon shared Myrim’s mild dislike of Orthallen. Talia wondered, as she listened to that scarred and craggy warrior measuring out his words with the care and deliberation of a merchant measuring out grain, what could have happened while she’d been gone to so change him. For when she’d last sat at the Council board, Randon had been one of Orthallen’s foremost supporters. Now, however, though he favored the betrothal, he stroked his dark beard with something like concealed annoyance, as if it galled him, having to agree with Orthallen’s party.

Horselike Lady Kester, speaker for the West, was short and to the point. “I’m for it,” she said, and sat herself down. Plump and soft-spoken Lord Gildas for the South was equally brief.

“I can see nothing to cause any problems,” said Lady Cathan of the Guilds quietly. She was a quiet, gray, dovelike woman, of an outer softness that masked a stubborn inner core. “And much that would benefit every member of the Kingdom.”

“That, I think, is a good summation,” Lord Palinor, the Seneschal, concluded. “You know my feelings on the matter. Majesty?”

The Queen had held her peace, remaining calm and thoughtful, but totally noncommittal, until everyone had spoken except herself and her Herald.

Now she leaned forward slightly, and addressed them, a hint of command tingeing her voice.

“I have heard you all; you each favor the match, and all of your reasons are good ones. You even urge me to agree to the wedding and see it consummated within the next few months. Very well; I can agree with every one of your arguments, and I am more than willing to return Alessandar’s envoy with word that we will be considering his offer with all due gravity. But one thing I cannot and will not do—I will never agree to anything that will interrupt Elspeth’s training. That, above all other considerations, must be continued! Lady forbid it, but should I die, we cannot risk the throne of Valdemar in the keeping of an untrained Monarch! Therefore I will do no more than indicate to Alessandar that his suit is welcome— and inform him in no uncertain terms that serious negotiations cannot begin until the Heir has passed her internship.”

“Majesty!” Gartheser jumped to his feet as several more Councillors started speaking at once; one or two growing angry. Talia stood then, and rapped the table, and the babble ceased. The argumentive ones stared at her as though they had forgotten her presence.

“My lords, my ladies—forgive me, but any arguments you may have are moot. My vote goes with the Queen’s decision. I have so advised her.”

It was fairly evident from their dumbfounded expressions that they had forgotten that Talia now carried voting rights. If the situation had not been so serious, Talia would have derived a great deal of amusement from some of the dumbfounded expressions—Orthallen’s in particular.

“If that is the advice of the Queen’s Own, then my vote must follow,” Kyril said quickly, although Talia could almost hear him wondering if she really knew what she was doing.

“And mine,” Elcarth seconded, looking and sounding much more confident of Talia’s judgment than Kyril.

There was silence then, a silence so deep one could almost hear the dust motes that danced in the light from the clerestory windows falling to the floor.

“It seems,” said Lord Gartheser, the apparent leader of those dissenting, “that we are outvoted.”

Faint grumbling followed his words.

At the farthest end of the table, a white-haired lord rose; the faint grumbling ceased. This gentleman was the one Talia had been watching so closely, and the only one who had not spoken. Orthallen; Lord of Wyvern’s Reach, and Kris’ uncle. He was the most senior Councillor, for he had served Selenay’s father. He had served Selenay as well, throughout her entire reign. Selenay often called him “Lord Uncle,” and he had been something of a father-figure to Elspeth. He was highly regarded and respected.

But Talia had never been able to warm to him. Part of the reason was because of what he had attempted to do to Skif. While he did not have the authority to remove any Chosen from the Collegium, he had tried to have the boy sent away for two years’ punishment duty with the Army. His ostensible reason was the number of infractions of the Collegium rules Skif had managed to acquire, culminating with catching him red-handed in the office of the Provost-Marshal late one night. Orthallen had claimed Skif was there to alter the Misdemeanor Book. Talia, who had asked him to go there, was the only one who knew he had broken into the office to investigate Hulda’s records. He was going to try to see who, exactly, had sponsored her into the Kingdom, in an attempt to ferret out the identity of her co-conspirator.

Talia had saved her friend at the cost of a lie, saying that she had asked him to find out whether her Holderkin relatives were claiming the Privilege Tax allowed those who had produced a child Chosen,

Since that time she had been subtly, but constantly, at loggerheads with Orthallen; when she first began sitting on the Council it seemed as if he had constantly moved to negate what little authority she had. He had openly belittled so many of her observations (on the grounds of her youth and inexperience) that she had very seldom spoken up when he was present. He always seemed to her to be just a little too careful and controlled. When he smiled, when he frowned, the expression never seemed to go any deeper than the skin.

At first she had chided herself for her negative reaction to him, putting it down to her irrational fear of males; handsome males in particular, for even though past his prime, he was a strikingly handsome man—there was no doubt which side of Kris’ family had blessed him with his own angelic face. And there was no sin in being a trifle cold, emotionally speaking, yet for some reason, she was always reminded of the wyvern that formed his crest when she saw him. Like the wyvern, he seemed to her to be thin-blooded, calculating, and quite ruthless— and hiding it all beneath an attractively bejeweled skin.

But there was more to her mistrust of him now—because she had more than one reason to suspect that he was the source of those rumors about her misusing her Gift, and she was certain that he had started them because he knew how such vile rumors would affect an Empath who was well-known to have a low sense of self-esteem. She was equally certain that he had deliberately planted doubts in Kris’ mind—knowing that she would feel those doubts and respond.

But this time she had cause to be grateful to him; when Orthallen spoke, the rest of the Councillors paid heed, and he spoke now in favor of the Queen’s decision.

“My lords, my ladies—the Queen is entirely correct,” he said, surprising Talia somewhat, for he had been one of those most in favor of marrying Elspeth off with no further ado. “We have only one Heir, and no other candidates in the direct line. We should not take such a risk. The Heir must be trained; I see the wisdom of that, now. I withdraw my earlier plea for an immediate betrothal. Alessandar is a wise monarch, and will surely be more than willing to make preliminary agreements on the strength of a betrothal promised for the future. In such ways, we shall have all the benefits of both plans.”

Talia was not the only member of the Council surprised by Orthallen’s apparent about-face. Hyron stared as if he could not believe what he had heard. The members of his faction and those opposed to him seemed equally taken aback.

The result of this speech was the somewhat reluctant— though unanimous—vote of the Council to deal with the envoy just as Selenay had outlined. The vote was, frankly, little more than a gesture, since together Selenay and Talia could overrule the entire Council. But though the unanimous backing of her stance gave Selenay a position of strong moral advantage, Talia wondered what private conversations would be taking place when the Council session concluded—and who would be involved.

The remaining items on the Council’s agenda were routine and mundane; rescinding tax for several villages hard hit by spring floods, the deployment and provisioning of extra troops at Lake Evendim in the hope of making life difficult enough this year that the pirates and raiders would decide to turn to easier prey, the fining of a merchant-clan that had been involved in the slave-trade. The arguments about just how many troops should be moved to Lake Evendim and who would fund the deployment went on for hours. The Lord Marshal and Lady Kester (who ruled the district of the fisherfolk of the lake) were unyielding in their demands for the extra troops; Lord Gildas and Lady Cathan, whose rich grainlands and merchant-guilds would supply the taxes for the primary support of the effort, were frantic in then-attempts to cut down the numbers.

Talia’s sympathy lay with the fisherfolk, yet she could find it in her heart to feel for those who were being asked to delve into their pockets for the pay and provisioning of extra troops who would mostly remain idle. It seemed that there was no way to compromise, and that the arguments would continue with no conclusion. That would be no solution for the fisherfolk, either!

Finally, as the Lord Marshal thundered out figures concerning the numbers needed to keep watch aiong the winding coastlines, a glimmering of an idea came to her.

“Forgive me,” she spoke into one of the sullen silences “I know little of warfare, but I know something of the fisherfolk. Only the young, healthy, and whole go out on the boats in season; unless my memory is incorrect, the old, the very young, pregnant women, those minding the young children for the rest of the family, and the crippled remain in the temporary work-villages. Am I right?”

“Aye—and that’s what makes these people so damned hard to defend!” the Lord Marshal growled. “There isn’t a one left behind with the ability to take arms!”

“Well, according to your figures, a good third of your troopers would be spending all their time on coastwatch. Since you’re going to have to be feeding that many people anyway, why not provision the dependents instead, and have them doing the watching? Once they’re freed from having to see to their day-to-day food supplies, they’ll have the time for it, and what does a watcher need besides a pair of good eyes and the means to set an alert?”

“You mean use children as coastwatchers?” Gartheser exclaimed. “That—that’s plainly daft!”

“Just you wait one moment, Gartheser,” Myrim interjected. “I fail to see what’s daft about it. It seems rare good sense to me.”

“But—how are they to defend themselves?”

“Against what? Who’s going to see them? They’ll be hidden, man, in blinds, the way coastwatchers are always hidden. And I see the girl’s drift. Puttin’ them up would let us cut down the deployment by a third, just as Gildas and Cathan want,” Lady Kester exclaimed, looking up like an old gray warhorse hearing the bugles. “Ye’d still have to provision the full number, though, ye old tightfists!”

“But they’d not have to pay ‘em,” one of the others chuckled. “But—children?” Hyron said doubtfully. “How can we put children in that kind of vital position? What’s to keep them from running off to play?”

“Border children are not very childlike,” Talia said quietly, looking to Kester, and the Speaker for the West nodded emphatic agreement.

“Silverhair, lad, the only thing keepin’ these children off the boats is size,” Kester snorted, though not unkindly. “They’re not your soft highborns; they’ve been working since their hands were big enough to knot a net.”

“Aye, I must agree.” Lady Wyrist entered this argument for the first time. “I suspect your fisherfolk are not unlike my Holderkin—as Herald Talia can attest, Border-bred children have little time for childish pursuits.”

“All the more chance that they’ll run off, then,” Hyron insisted.

“Not when they’ve seen whole families burned out by the selfsame pirates they’re supposed to be watching for,” said Myrim. “I served out there. I’d trust the sense of any of those ‘children’ before I’d trust the sense of some highborn graybeards I could name.”

“Well said, lady!” Kester applauded, and turned sharp eyes on the Lord Marshal. “Tell ye what else, ye old wardog—an ye can persuade these troopers of yours to turn to and lend a hand to a bit of honest work now and again—”

“Such as?” The Lord Marshal almost cracked a smile. “Taking the landwork; drying the fish and the sponge, mending the nets and lines, packing and crating, readying the longhouses for winter.”

“It might be possible; what were you planning to offer?”

“War-pay; with the landwork off my people’s hands, and knowing their folk on land are safe, we should be able to cover the extra bonus ourselves, and still bring in a proper profit.”

“With careful phrasing, I think I could manage it.”

“Done, then. How say you, Cathan, Gildas?” They were only too happy to agree. The Council adjourned on this most positive note. Selenay and Talia stood as one, and preceded the rest out; Kyril a pace behind them.

“You have been learning, haven’t you?” Kyril said in Talia’s ear.

“Me?”

“Yes, you; and don’t play the innocent,” Elcarth joined his colleague as they stood in a white-clad knot outside the Council Chamber door, waiting for Selenay to finish conferring with the Seneschal on the agenda for the afternoon’s audiences. He pushed a lock of gray hair out of his eyes and smiled. “That was cleverly done, getting the Border Lords on your side.”

“It was the only way to get a compromise going. Cathan and Gildas would have agreed to anything that saved them money. With the Borderers and those two, we had a majority, and everybody benefited.” Talia smiled back. “It was just a matter of invoking Borderer pride, really; we’re proud of how tough we are, even as littles.”

“Lovely. Truly lovely.” Selenay joined them. “All those sessions of dealing with hardheaded Borderers in the middle of feuds taught you more than a little! Now tell me this; what would you have done if you hadn’t absorbed all that fisherfolk lore from Keren, Teren, and Sherrill? Sat dumb?”

“I don’t think so, not when it was obvious that there’d never be agreement.” Talia thought for a moment. “I think ... if one of you hadn’t done so first... I would have suggested an adjournment until we could dig up an expert on the people of the area, preferably a Herald who has done several circuits there.”

“Fine—that’s what I was about to do when you spoke up; we are beginning to think as a team. Now I have a working lunch with Kyril and the Seneschal. I don’t need you for it, so you can go find something to gulp down at the Collegium. At one I have formal audiences, and you have to be there. Those will last about three hours; you’re free then until seven and Court dinner. After dinner, unless something comes up, you’re free again.”

“But Alberich is expecting you at four—” Elcarth grinned at Talia’s groan. “—and Devan at five. Welcome home, Talia!”

“Well,” she said with a sigh, “It’s better than shoveling snow, I guess! But I never thought I’d begin missing field work so soon!”

“Missing field work already?”

Talia turned to find Kris standing behind her, an insolent grin on his face. “I thought you told me you’d never miss field work!”

She grinned back. “I lied.”

“No!” He feigned shock. “Well, what of the Council meeting?”

She wanted to tell him everything—then suddenly, remembered who he was—who his uncle was. Anything she told him would quite likely get back to Orthallen, and Kris would be telling Orthallen in all innocence, never dreaming he was handing the man weapons to use against her by doing so.

“Oh—nothing much,” she said reluctantly. “The betrothal’s being held off until Elspeth’s finished training. Look, Kris, I’m sorry, but I’m rather short on time right now. I’ll tell you later, all right?”

And she fled before he could ask anything more.

Lunch was a few bites snatched on the run between the Palace and her room; audiences required a slightly more formal uniform than the one she’d worn to the Council session. Talia managed to wash, change, and get back in time to discuss the scheduled audiences with the Seneschal. Talia’s role here was as much bodyguard as anything else, although her duties included assessing the emotional state of those coming before the Queen and giving her any information that seemed appropriate.

The audience chamber was long and narrow; the same gray granite and dark wood as the rest of the old Palace. Selenay’s throne was on a raised platform at the far end. Behind the throne the wall had been carved into the Royal arms; there were no curtains for assassins to hide behind. The Queen’s Own spent the entire time positioned behind the throne to the Queen’s right, from which position the Queen could hear her least whisper. Petitioners had to travel the length of the chamber, giving Talia ample time to “read” their emotional state if she thought it necessary to do so.

The audiences were quite unexciting; petitioners ranged from a smallholder seeking permission to establish a Dyer’s Guildhouse on his property to two noblemen who had called challenge on each other and were now trying desperately to find a way out of the situation without either of them losing face. Not once did she deem the situation grave enough to warrant “reading” any of them.

When the audience session concluded, Talia sprinted back to her room to change into something old and worn for her weapons drill with Alberich.

Walking into the salle was like walking into the past; nothing had changed, not the worn, backless benches against the wall, not the clutter of equipment and towels on and beneath the benches, not the light coming from the windows. Not even Alberich had changed so much as a hair; he still wore the same old leathers, or clothing like enough to have been the same. His scar-seamed face still looked as incapable of humor as the walls of the Palace; his long black hair held neither more nor less gray than it had the last time Talia had seen him.

Elspeth was already there, going full out against Jeri under Alberich’s critical eye. Talia held her breath in surprise; Elspeth was, (to her judgment, at least) Jeri’s equal. The young weapons instructor was not holding anything back, and more than once only saved herself from a “kill” by frantically wrenching her body out of the way of the wooden blade. Both of them were sodden with sweat when Alberich finally called a halt.

“You do well, children; both of you,” Alberich nodded as he spoke. Both Elspeth and Jeri began walking slowly in little circles to keep their muscles from stiffening, while drying their faces with old towels. “Jeri, it is more work you need on your defense; working with the students has made you sloppy. Elspeth, if it was that you were not far busier than any student should be, I would make you Jeri’s assistant.”

Elspeth raised her head, and Talia could see she was flushed with the praise, her eyes glowing.

“However, you are very far from perfect. Your left side is too weak and you are vulnerable there. From now on you are to work left-handed, using your right only when I tell you, to keep from losing your edge. Enough for today, off to the bath with you—it is like your Companions you smell!”

He turned to Talia, who bit her lip, then said, “I have the feeling I’m in trouble.”

“In trouble? It is possible—” Alberich scowled; then unexpectedly smiled. “No fear, little Talia; it is that I am well aware how few were the chances for you to keep in practice. Today we will start slowly, and I will determine just how much you have lost. Tomorrow you will be in trouble.”

Talia was thanking the gods an hour later that Kris had insisted they both keep in fighting trim as much as possible, Alberich was reasonably pleased that she had lost so little edge, and kept his cutting remarks to a minimum. Nor was she the recipient of more than one or two bruising thwacks from his practice blade when she’d done something exceptionally stupid. On the whole, she felt as if she’d gotten off very lightly.

Another run, this time to wash and change yet again, and she was back at Healer’s Collegium, going over the past eighteen months with Devan and Rynee. Both were blessedly succinct; there had not been any truly major mental traumas for Rynee to deal with among the Heraldic Circle. As a result, Talia was able to flee to Companion’s Field just as the warning bell for supper sounded at the Herald’s Collegium.

Rolan was waiting at the fence, and she pulled herself onto his back without bothering with going for a saddle,

“I think,” she told him, as he walked off into a quiet copse, “that I may die of exhaustion. This is worse than when I was a student.”

He lipped her booted foot affectionately; Talia picked up a projection of reassurance and something to do with time.

“You think I’ll get used to it in a few days? Lord, I hope so! Still—” She thought hard, trying to remember just what the Queen’s schedule was like. “Hm. Council sessions aren’t more than three times a week. Audiences, though, they’re every day. Alberich will torture me every day, too. But I could reschedule, say, Devan before breakfast and just after lunch—save weapons drill for just before dinner, so I’m only changing twice a day. You, my darling, whenever I can squeeze a free moment.”

Rolan made a sound very like laughing.

“True, with the tight bond we have, I don’t have to be with you physically, do I? What did you think of the audiences?”

To Talia’s delight, he hung his head and did a credible imitation of a human snore.

“You, too? Lord and Lady, they’re as bad as State banquets! Why did I ever think being a Herald would be exciting?”

Rolan snorted, and projected the memory of their flight across country to get help for the plague-stricken village of Waymeet, following that with the fight with the raiders that had attacked and fired Hevenbeck.

“You’re right; I think I can live with boredom. What do you think of how Elspeth’s coming along?”

To her surprise, Rolan was faintly worried, but could give her no clear idea why he felt that way.

“Is it important enough to trance down to where you can give me a clearer idea?”

He shook his head, mane brushing her face a little.

“Well, in that case, we’ll let it go. It’s probably just the usual rebelliousness—and I can’t say as I blame her. Her schedule is as bad as mine. I don’t like it, and I can’t fault her if she doesn’t either.”

Talia dismounted beside a tiny, spring-fed poof, and sat in the grass, watching the sun set, and emptying her mind. Rolan stood beside her, both of them content with a quiet moment in which to simply be together.

“Well, I’m into it at last,” she said, half to herself. “I thought I’d never make it, sometimes. . . .”

This had been the first day she had truly been Queen’s Own—with all the duties and all the rights; from the right to overrule the Council to the right to overrule Selenay (though that was one she hadn’t exercised, and still wasn’t sure she had the nerve for!); from her duty to ease the fears of her fellows in the Circle to the duty to see to the Heir’s well-being.

It was a frightening moment in a way, and a sobering one. On reflection, it almost seemed as if the Queen’s Own best served the interests of Queen and country by not being too forward; by saving her votes for the truly critical issues and keeping her influence mostly to the quiet word in the Queen’s ear. That suited Talia; she hadn’t much enjoyed having all eyes on her this afternoon—especially not Orthallen’s. But Selenay had been more at ease just because Talia was there; there had been no mistaking that. In the long run, that was what the job was all about—giving the Monarch one completely honest and completely trustworthy friend. . . .

The dying sun splashed scarlet and gold on the bottoms of the few clouds that hung in the west, while the sky above them deepened from blue to purple, and the Hounds, the two stars that chased the sun, shone in unwinking splendor. The tops of the clouds took on the purple of the sky as the sun dropped below the horizon, and the purple tinge soaked through them like water being taken into a sponge. The light faded, and everything began to lose color, fading into cool blues. Little frogs began to sing in the pool at Talia’s feet; night-blooming jacinth flowers opened somewhere near her, and the cooling breeze picked up the perfume and carried it to her.

And just when she was feeling totally disinclined to move, a mosquito bit her.

“Ouch! Damn!” She slapped at the offending insect, then laughed. “The gods remind me of my duty. Back to work for me, love. Enjoy your evening.”

Prologue

One

Two