By the time the Rankan entourage reached the palace gates, Molin Torchholder hadalready arrived, Kama in tow.

In the palace temple's quiet, he was giving grateful thanks for the storm whichhad come to quench the fires (that, unattended by gods, threatened to bum thewhole town down) while, at the casement, Kama stared out over smoking rooftopstoward uptown, where the pillar of fire spat and wriggled.

She had sidled into the alcove, away from priestly ritual, and she couldn't havesaid whether it was the cold storm winds with their blinding sheets of rain sofierce that she could see it bounce knee-high when it struck the palace roof, orthe demonic twistings of the fiery cone which resisted quenching that made herhair stand on end.

She was more conscious of Molin than she should have been. Perhaps that was thereason for the superstitious chill she felt: she was about to be indicted forattempted assassination and what-have-you, and she was worried about what thepriest really felt in his heart-about how she looked and whether he believed herand what he thought of her... about whether anyone of her lineage ought to bethinking infatuated thoughts about anyone of his.

It wouldn't work; he was a worse choice for her than Critias. But, like Critias,it was impossible to convince Molin of that.

It was nothing he'd said-it was everything he did, the way their bodies reactedwhen their flesh touched. And it frightened Kama beyond measure: she'd need allher wits now just to stay alive. Her father would take Crit's word over herswithout hesitation; oath-bond and honor outweighted any claim she had on theRiddler.

If she'd been born a manchild, it might have been otherwise. But things were asthey were, and Torchholder was her only hope.

He'd said so. He knew it for a fact. She didn't like feeling weak, beingperceived as vulnerable. And yet, she admitted, she'd spread her legs on thegod's altar for the man now coming up behind her, who slid his arm round hershivering shoulders and kissed her ear.

"It's wonderful, the timely workings of the gods," he said in an intimateundertone. "And it's a good omen-our good omen. You must... Kama, you'reshaking."

"I'm cold, wet, and bedraggled," she protested as he turned her gently to facehim. Then she added: "While you were communing with the Stormgod, my father andTheron's party came through the palace gates. My time is at hand, Molin. Don'thold out false hope to me, or gods' gifts. The gods of the armies won't overlookthe fact that I'm a woman-they never have."

"Thanks to all the Weather Gods that you are," said the priest feelingly and,after peering into her eyes for an uncomfortably long instant, pulled heragainst him. "I'll take care of you, as I have taken care of this town and itsgods and even Kadakithis. Put your faith in me."

Had anyone else said that to her, she would have laughed. But from Molin itsounded believable. Or she wanted so to believe it that she didn't care how itsounded.

They were standing thus, arms locked about one another, when a commotion of feetand then a discreet "Hrrmph" sounded.

Both turned, but it was Kama who whooped a short bark of disbelieving laughterbefore she thought to choke it off: Before them were Jihan and Randal, theTysian Hazard, arms around each other.

Or, more exactly, Jihan's arms were around Randal's slight and battered frame.She was holding the mage easily, so that his feet hardly touched the floor. Hisglazed eyes roamed a little but he was conscious-his quizzical, all-sufferinglooking confirmed it.

Jihan's eyes were full of red flames and Kama heard Molin exclaim under hisbreath, "The storm-of course, it's brought her powers back."

"Powers?" Kama whispered through unmoving lips. "Were they gone? Back fromwhere?" and Molin answered, just as low, "Never mind. I'll tell you later,beloved."

Then he said, in his most ringing priestly voice, "Jihan, my lady, what bringsyou to the Stormgod's sanctuary? Are the children well? Is something amiss withNiko?"

"Priest," Jihan stamped her foot, "isn't it obvious? Randal and I are in loveand we wish to be married by the tenets of your... faith... god, whatever. Now!"

Randal hiccoughed in surprise and his eyes widened. Kama would have been moreconcerned with the exhausted little wizard if she wasn't still reeling fromshock: Beloved, Molin had called her.

Randal raised a feeble hand to his brow and Kama wondered whether the casualtywas capable of standing under his own power, let alone making any decision aboutmarriage.

So she said, "Randal? Seh, Witchy-Ears, are you awake? My father isn't going tolike you marrying his girl ranger, not considering the use he tends to make ofher. I'd-"

Jihan's free hand outstretched, pointing, and Kama's flesh began to chill.

Molin stepped in front of Kama. "Jihan, Kama meant no slight. She's in direstraits herself. With our help. Froth Daughter, you shall be able to wed yourchosen mage before..." He craned his neck to peer out the window, where no suncould be seen, just the demonic pillar of fire and the lightning ofStormbringer. "... before sundown, if that's your desire, and I will wed mine.If you aid me, my gratitude and that of my tutelary god will be inscribed in theheavens forever and-"

"You're marrying a mage?" Jihan's winglike brows knitted, but her pointingfinger, with its deadly cold, wavered, and her hand came to rest on her own hip.

"Not a mage. Kama, here. I can divest myself of Rosanda easily enough: she'sabandoned me. But I'll need your help in securing Tempus's permission... he'syour guardian as well as Kama's."

"Guardian?" Both women snapped in unison as two feminine spines stiffened andtwo wily women considered alternatives.

"Someone," Torchholder intoned through the objections of the two women, "mustset the seal on the betrothal pacts," thinking that he'd found a way to freeTempus from Jinan and, for that boon alone, Tempus owed him any favor he caredto ask.

And for Kama's hand, Kama's freedom, and Kama's honor, he'd be glad to calltheir debt even. But for Kama's willing love he needed more. Standing behindher, his arms circling her in the proper pose of the protective husband, hewhispered: "Trust me in this; accept a formal betrothal. I am sacerdote ofMother Bey, Vashanka, and Stonnbringer. It will take a month to untanglethe necessary rituals. It will take longer-if you desire."

The tension along her spine eased. She let her breath out with a careful sigh.

Once more, Molin Torchholder gave fervid thanks to the Stormgod, who had seenfit to visit rain upon this paltry thieves' world in all His bounty, to quenchthe fires of chaos, and even to restore Jihan's powers.

Over Kama's head, as he looked out the window, it seemed to him that even thedemonic pillar of fire was shrinking under the onslaught of the god's blessedrain.

Tempus was still trying to explain to Theron, who'd come down here to theempire's nether-parts because of that black, ominous rain falling in the capitalof Ranke, Abarsis's visit, and because it was the tendency of omens to make orbreak a regent's rule, that the plague had been specious (a handy way to keepBrachis under wraps) and the storm merely natural; that the fires and thelooting were simply consequences of the demonic pillar of flame, which hadmuch to do with Nikodemos and nothing at all to do with Theron's arrival;and that "No one will construe it otherwise, my friend, unless we showweakness," when they came upon Molin Torchholder in Ka-dakithis's palace hall.