Riding Mazeward on a horse suddenly and unreasonably skittish, he cursed himselffor a fool. No proof that it was Kama-what he'd seen could have been someapparition, even the witch, Roxane, in disguise. He'd touched nothing; only seensomething he thought was Kama-there were undeads in Sanctuary who resembled theforms they'd had in life, and some of those were Roxane's slaves. Though if anysuch had happened to Kama, he told himself, Strat would have sent word to him.At least, the Strat he used to know would have. Right then, Critias could countthe things he knew for certain on the fingers of one hand.

But he knew he was going to the vampire woman's house to find his partner. Itwas just a matter of time; Kama's allegations were already eating at his soul.He had to leam the truth.

Kadakithis's palace was full of fish-eyed Beysibs: Beysib men with more jewelryon their persons than Rankan women from uptown or Ilsigi whores; Beysib womenfemale shock troops with bared and painted breasts and poison snakes wound abouttheir necks or arms-who seemed never to blink and gave Tempus gooseflesh.

Kadakithis wanted to introduce Tempus and Jihan to his Beysib flounder,Shupansea; before Tempus could protest, in the prince/governor's velvet-hungchamber, that he needed no more women in his life, the Rankan prince had calledthe woman forth.

Jihan, beside him, took Tempus's arm and squeezed, sensing what passed on firstglance between her beloved Riddler and the lady ruler of the Beysib people.

For Tempus, noises lessened, the world grew dim, and in his heart a passionrose, while in his head a voice he'd not heard clear for years urged: Take her.For Me. Ravage the slut upon this spot/

The woman's fish-eyes widened; a snake slithered on her arm. Her breasts werefair and gilded; they stared at him with come-hither charms and it was onlyJihan who restrained him, prince or no, from doing what Vashanka wanted then andthere.

What Vashanka wanted? Tempus, who never backed away from any fight, took threeretreating steps as Jihan whispered, "Riddler, my lord? What is it? Has shewitched you? I will tear her legs off one by-"

"No, Jihan," he muttered through clenched teeth in Nisi, a tongue neither princenor consort understood. He shook Jihan's grasp from his arm and rubbed thedepressions her fingers had made: the Froth Daughter's strength nearly equaledhis own. But neither of them was a match for Vashanka who, Tempus was nowcertain, in some way had come again. He was here- more infantile, moretempestuous than ever, but here.

And what that meant to a man who'd forsaken the Pillager and taken up with Enlilto balance a curse no longer so sure upon his head Tempus couldn't say. Butthere was no doubt in him that soon he'd take some woman-this one if Vashankahad His way of it-and consecrate whatever wench into the service of the god.

He just stepped forward, on his best behavior where the prince could see, onepalm sweating on the hilt of the sharkskin-pommeled sword, and took her hand."My lady, Shupansea, men call me Tempus-"

She interrupted: "The Riddler. We have heard tales of thee."

And then from behind a curtain came Isambard, acolyte and priestly apprentice toMolin Torchholder, running without regard to his priestly dignity, calling out:"Quickly! My lady! My lord! There are dead snakes in the palace! There are moresnakes than there ought to be! And in the children's rooms, where Nikodemos is... he's cut one of the sacred snake's heads off!"

Isambard skidded to a stop an arm's length from Tempus's chest and lapsed intopanicked silence until his master entered the chamber. Molin Torchholder, evermindful of his position and demeanor, did not immediately clarify his acolyte'sexclamations but appraised the assembly as if they, not he, were the breathlessintruders.

"Ah, Tempus. Back in town at last?" Sanctuary's hierarch inquired, his voicecarefully modulated to conceal the manifold anxieties which that man'sunexpected presence caused him.

"That I am." Tempus detested priests, especially this one. And so he grinnedonce more, thinking that Brachis, when he arrived with Theron's sailing party,would put this foul, dark-skinned priest in his proper place. "Well, Torch, yourminion seemed to have a problem moments ago. Surely you've got it as well?" Hissword was out by then, and Jihan's also.

Kadakithis was scratching his golden curls, his handsome but vacant faceinquiring: "What's this, Molin? Dead snakes? Is your state-cult out of handagain? I told you Nikodemos was no fit guardian for those children. I-"

The Beysib monarch interjected smoothly: "Let me see these dead snakes, priest.And mind you, I'm never sure that these troubles aren't made by the Rankans whoannounce them."

By then Tempus and Jihan were running down the hall, toward secret passagesTempus knew like the back of his sword-hand or Jihan's female mysteries, whichled to the lower chambers where, near the dungeons, Niko and the children-whomsome said were more than that-were being kept.

Ischade's Foalside house was more home than haunt, less forbidding than Roxane'sto the south, but hardly an inviting place to visit.

Unless, of course, one was Straton, her lover whom she'd guided to de factopower in Sanctuary's factionalized streets, or an undead such as Janni orStilcho (both of whom had once been Stepsons), or a mageling such as Haught, wholearned what he could from the witches and sought to wake the power in hisNisibisi blood.

Strat had been with Ischade hardly long enough for a candle to bum low whenHaught, whom Straton hated, came gusting in the door.

The place was softly lit and full of colors; precious gems and silks and metalsstrewed the floor.

Straton was, by then, the finest thing she had, though-a human man, with all hisprowess, not an animated corpse or witchling.

She could love him, could Ischade, with a finer passion than the rest. But shecould feel in him a struggle, one that made shoulders sweat and muscles twitch.She'd known that, hold him though she would, the day must come when holdingStraton would be hard.

His narrow Rankan eyes were haunted, deep-set, his jaw squared with indecisionlately when he came. And now, rolling off her at the sight of Haught, a hated,half-understood rival, a symptom of all about Ischade Strat couldn't justify orwish away, he reached for a robe she'd found him, shrugged it on and, with justhis swordbelt, stalked outside.

"When you're done with... it, him, whatever... I'll be seeing to my horse."

Strat still grieved for his lost bay warhorse; its death was something she couldand would undo, if only she thought Stra-ton could handle the revelation thatdeath was no barrier to Ischade.

Oh, he'd seen Janni, seen Niko embrace an undead partner. And Strat had notreacted well.

"What is it, Haught?" she asked, impatient. She didn't like the hubris growingin this Nisi child. He was difficult, growing stronger, growing bold. And shewanted to get back to Straton, who served her ends, who worked her will andexcused her wiles and helped her hold her interests in the town. Ischade'sinterests were important. And they were too tied up with Strat now to let Haughtget in the way.

So she thought to dance around the Nisi ex-slave, freed by her but not free ofher. She'd only started her mesmerizing when a sanguine hand reached out andgrasped her wrist.

Impertinent. This one soon would need an object lesson. She swallowed his willwith a stare and let him see he couldn't even blink without her say-so. Shewhispered, "Yes? Your business, please."