Barrick, Barrick…! She tried to imagine him free and alive, perhaps leading a group of survivors toward Settesyard. Her beloved other half- surely she would know if someone she had known and loved like a part of herself were dead! "What of the city and Southmarch Castle itself?" she asked. "Does it still stand? And how did you discover all this so quickly?"

"From the boats that fish in Brain's Bay and supply the castle goods from the south, many of which belong to me," said Dan-Mozan, smiling. "And of course, my captains also hear much in port from the river-men Coming down from the other parts of the March Kingdoms. Even in time of war, people must send their wool and beer to market. Yes, Southmarch Clastle still stands, but the city on its shore has fallen. The countryside is emptied all around. The place is full of demons."

It all suddenly seemed so bleak, so hopeless. Briony clenched her jaw. She would not cry in front of these older men, would not be reassured or coddled. It was her kingdom-her father's, yes, but Olin was a prisoner in Hierosol. Southmarch needed her, and it especially needed her to be strong. "My father, the king-have you heard anything of him?"

The merchant nodded soberly. "Nothing that suggests he is not safe, I lighness, or that anything has changed, but I hear rumors that Drakava's grip on Hierosol is not as strong as it might be. And there are other tales, mere whispers, that the autarch is readying a great fleet-that he might wish Hierosol for himself."

"What?" Shaso sat up, almost spilling his cup of gawa. Clearly this was new to him. "The autarch surely cannot be ready for that-he has only just pacified his own vassals in Xand-surely half his army must be garrisoned in Mihan, Marash, and our own miserable country. How could he move so soon against Hierosol and its mighty walls?"

Dan-Mozan shook his head. "I cannot answer you, my lord. All I can tell you is what I hear, and the whisper is that Sulepis has been assembling a fleet with great speed, as though something has happened which has pushed forward his plans." He turned to Briony, almost apologetically. "We all know that the Xixians have desired greater conquest on Eion, and that taking Hierosol would let them control all the Osteian Sea and the south¬ern oceans on either side."

Briony waved away all this detail, angry and intent. "The autarch plans to attack Hierosol? Where my father is?"

"Rumors, only," said Dan-Mozan. "Do not let yourself be too alarmed, Princess. It is probably only these uncertain times, which tend to set tongues wagging even when there is nothing useful to say"

"We must go and get my father," she told Shaso. "If we take ship now we could be there before spring!"

He scowled and shook his head. "You will forgive me for being blunt, Highness, but that is foolishness. What could we do there? Join him in

captivity, that is all. No, in fact you would be married by force to Drakava and I would go to the gibbet. There are many in Hierosol who wish me dead, not least of which is my onetime pupil, Dawet."

"But if the autarch is coming…!"

"If the autarch is coming to Eion, then we have many problems, and your father is only one of them."

"Please, please, honored guests!" Effir dan-Mozan lifted his hands and clapped. "Have more gawa, and we have some very nice almond pastries as well. Do not let yourself be frightened, Princess. These are the merest whis¬pers, as I said, and likely not true."

"I'm not frightened. I'm angry." But she fell into an unhappy silence as Dan-Mozan's nephew Talibo returned and served more food and hot drinks. Briony looked at her hands, which she was having trouble keeping decorously still: if the youth was staring at her again, she was not going to give him the satisfaction of noticing.

Shaso, though, watched with a calculating eye as the young man went out again. "Do you think your nephew might have some spare garments he could lend us?" Shaso asked suddenly.

"Garments?" Dan-Mozan raised an eyebrow.

"Rough ones, not fine cloth. Suitable for some hard labor."

"I do not understand."

"He looks as though clothing of his might fit the princess. We can roll up the cuffs and sleeves." He turned to Briony. "We will put that anger of yours to some good work this afternoon."

"But surely you will come," Puzzle said. "I asked for you, Matty-I told them you were a poet, a very gifted poet."

Ordinarily, the chance to perform at table for the masters of Southmarch would have been the first and last thing solicited in Matt Tinwright's nightly prayers (if he had been the sort of person to pray) but for some rea¬son, he was not so certain he wanted to be known by the Tollys and their friends at court, both old and new. The past tennight things had seemed to change, as though the dark clouds that these days always clung to the city across the bay had drifted over the castle as well.

Perhaps I am too sensitive, he told himself. My poet's nature. The Tollys have done nothing but good in an ill time, surely. Still, he had begun to hear tales

from the kitchen workers and sonic of the other servitors with whom lie shared quarters in the back of the residence that made him uneasy-tales of people disappearing and others being badly beaten or even executed for minor mistakes. One of the kitchen potboys had seen a young page's fin¬gers cut off at the table by Tolly's lieutenant Berkan Hood for spilling a cup of wine, and Tinwright knew it was true because he had seen the poor lad being tended in a bed with a bandage over his bloody stumps.

"I… I am not certain I am ready to perform for them myself," he told I'uzzle. "But I will help you. A new song, perhaps?"

"Aye, truly? Something I could dedicate to Lord Tolly…?" As Puzzle paused to consider this and its possible results, Tinwright noticed move¬ment on the wall of the Inner Keep where it passed around Wolfstooth Spire, a short arrow's flight from the residence garden where he and Puz¬zle had met to share some cooking wine that Puzzle had filched from the lesser buttery. For a moment he thought it was a phantom, a transparent thing of dark mists, but then he realized that the woman walking atop the wall was wearing veils and a net shawl over her black dress and he knew at once who it was.

"We will talk later, yes?" he said to Puzzle, giving the jester a clap on the back that almost knocked the old man over. "There is something I need to do."

Tinwright ran across the garden, dodging wandering sheep and goats as though in some village festival game. He knew Puzzle must be staring at his sudden retreat as though he were mad, but if this was madness it was the sweetest kind, the sort that a man could catch and never wish to lose.

He slowed near the armory and wiped the perspiration from his fore¬head with a sleeve, then straightened his breeches and hose. It was strange: he felt almost a little shamefaced, as though he were betraying his patroness Briony Eddon, but he shrugged the feeling away. Just because he did not wish to recite his poems before the whole of the Tolly contingent did not mean that he had no ambitions whatsoever.

He walked around the base of Wolfstooth Spire and made his way up its outer staircase, so that when he reached the wall he should seem to be en¬countering her by accident. He was gratified to see she had not continued on, which would have necessitated him trying to hide the fact of walking swiftly after her to catch up. She was leaning on the high top of the outer wall, peering out through a crenellation across the Outer Keep, her weeds fluttering about her.

When he thought he was close enough to be heard above the fluting of

the wind, he cleared his throat. "Oh! Your pardon, Lady. I did not know anyone else was walking on the walls. It is something 1 like to do- to dunk, to feel the air." He hoped that sounded sufficiently poetic. The truth was, it was cold and damp here at the edge of the Inner Keep with the bay churning just below them. Were it not for her, he would much rather be under roof and by a fire, with a cup full of something to warm his guts.