"It has to be a… special mirror?"

"In most cases and for most mirror-scrying, yes." Chaven looked at her in surprise. "You have heard something of this?"

"No, no." Opal shook her head. "Please go on. No, wait. Let me quickly look in on the boy." She got up and left the room, leaving Chert and Chaven to sip their tea. The blueroot had helped a little: Chert no longer felt as though he might fall onto his face at any moment.

Opal returned and Chaven took a breath. "As I said, I will not bore you with too much mirror-lore, which is complicated and full of disputation-just learning and understanding some of the disagreements between the Phelsaians and the Captrosophist Order in Tessis could take years. And of course the Trigonate church has considered the whole science blasphe mous for centuries. In bad times, men have burned for mirrors." As he said this, Chaven faltered a little. "Perhaps now I know why."

"What has your friend-your once-friend, I suppose-done to you, then?" Chert asked. "You said he stole something of yours. Was it a mirror?"

"Ah, you see where I am going," Chaven said almost gratefully. "Yes, it was a very powerful, very old mirror. One that I think was made carefully in ancient days to see, and even talk, between worlds."

"Where did you get it?"

Chaven's look became even stranger, a mixture of shame and a sort of furtive, almost criminal, hunger. "I… I don't know. There, I have said it. / do not know. I have traveled much, and I suppose I brought it back from one of my journeys, but with all the gods as my witnesses, I cannot say for sure."

"But if it is such a powerful thing…" Chert began.

"I know! Do not task me with it. I told you I was ashamed. I do not know how it came to me, but I had it, and I used it. And I… reached out and… and touched something on the other side."

It was the tortured expression on the physician's face as much as his words that made the hairs prickle on the back of Chert's neck. He almost thought he could sense movement in the room, as though the flames of the two lamps danced and flickered in an unfelt wind.

"Touched something…?" asked Opal, and her earlier interest seemed to have vanished into fear and distaste.

"Yes, but what it was… what it is… I cannot say. It is…" He shook his head and seemed almost ready to weep. "No. There are some things I cannot talk about. It is a thing beautiful and terrifying beyond all descrip¬tion, and it is mine alone-my discovery!" His voice grew harsh and he seemed to pull deeper into himself, as though prepared to strike or flee. "You cannot understand."

"But what use is such a thing to Okros-or to Hendon Tolly, for that matter?" Chert thought they seemed to have tunneled a bit far from the seam of the matter.

"I don't know," said Chaven wretchedly. "I don't even know what it is, myself! But I… woke it. And it has great power. Every time I touched it

I felt things that no man can ever have felt beore…" He let out a great, gasping sob. "1 woke it! And now I have let Okros steal it! And 1 can never touch it again…!"

The sounds he was making began to alarm Chert, but to his relief Opal got up and went to the weeping physician, patting his hand and stroking his shoulder as though he were a child-as though he were not twice her size "There, now. All will be well.You'll see."

"No, it won't. Not as long… not as long…" Another spell of sobbing look him and he did not speak for a long time. Chert found the man's weakness excruciatingly difficult to witness.

"Is there anything… would you…? Perhaps some more tea?" Opal asked at last.

"No. No, thank you." Chaven tried to smile, but he sagged like a pen¬nant on a windless day. "There is no cure for a shame like mine, not even your excellent tea."

"What shame?" Opal scowled. "You had something stolen from you. That isn't your fault!"

"Ah, but it meaning so much to me-that is my fault, without doubt. It has seized me-rooted itself in me like mistletoe on an oak. No, I could never be such a noble tree as Skyfather Perin's oak." He laughed brokenly. "It does not matter. I told no one. I made it my secret mistress, that mirror and what it contains, and I went to it afire with shame and joy. I spoke to no one because I was afraid I would have to give it up. Now it is too late. It's gone."

"Then it will be good for you," said Chert. "If it is an illness, as you say, then you can be cured now."

"You don't understand!" Chaven turned to him, eyes wide and face pale. "Even if I survive its loss, it is a terrible, powerful thing. You do not think Hendon Tolly and that bastard traitor Okros stole it for no reason, do you? They want its power! And what they will do with it, the gods only know. In fact, it could be only the gods can help us." He dropped his head, folded his bandaged hands on his chest-he was praying, Chert realized. "All-seeing Kupilas, lift me in your hands of bronze and ivory, preserve me from my folly. Holy Trigon, generous brothers, watch over us all…!" His voice dropped to a mumble.

"Doctor… Chaven," Opal said at last, "do you… can you do things… with any mirror?"

Chert gaped at her in astonishment-what was she talking about? — but

Chaven stirred and looked up, hollow-eyed but,i little more composed "I'm sorry, Mistress. What do you mean?"

"Could you help our Flint? Help him to find his wits again?"

"Opal, what is this nonsense?" Chert stood, feeling bone-weary in every part of his body. "Can't you see that the man is ready to drop?"

"It's true I am too tired to be of any use just now," said Chaven, "but it is also true that after abusing your hospitality in many ways, there are things I could… explore. But we have no mirror."

"We have mine." Opal revealed the small face-glass she had been hold ing in her palm. She had received it as a wedding present from Chert's sis¬ters, and now she held it out to Chaven, proud and anxious as a small child. "Could you use it to help our boy?"

He held it briefly, then passed it back. "Any mirror has uses to one who has been trained, Mistress. I will see what can be done in the morning." A strange light seemed to come into his eyes. "It is possible I could learn something of what Okros does as well." He passed a hand over his face. "But now I am so tired…!"

"Lie down then," said Opal. "Sleep. In the morning you can help him." She giggled, which alarmed Chert as much as Chaven's blubbering. "You can try, I mean."

The physician had already staggered to his pallet in the corner of the sit¬ting room- He stretched out, face-first, and appeared to tumble into sleep like a man stepping off a cliff. Chert, overwhelmed, could only follow Opal into the darkness of their own bedchamber.

Sister Utta had just finished lighting the last candle, and was whispering the Hours of Refusal prayer when she noticed the girl.

She almost lost the flow of what she was saying, but she had been prac¬ticing the rituals of Zoria for most of her life; her tongue kept forming the near-silent words even as she observed the child who stood patiently in the alcove, hooded against the cold.

"Just as you would give your virtue to no man, so I shall hold mine sacred to you."

How long has the child been standing there?

"Just as you would not turn your tongue to false praise, I will speak only words acceptable to you.

"Just as you did walk naked into darkness to return to your lather's house, so I will undertake my journey without fear, as long as I am true to you."

All. I know her now. It's young Eilis, the duchess Merolanna's maid. She is pale. It will he a long time until the spring sun, if the weather keeps up.

"And just as you returned at last to the bounty of your father's house, so will I, with your help and companionship, find my way to the blessed domain of the gods."

She kissed the palm of her hand and looked up briefly to the high win¬dow, its light dulled today by the cloudy weather. The face of her gloriously forgiving mistress looked down on her, reminding her that Zoria's mercy was without end, but Sister Utta still could not help feeling as though she had somehow failed the goddess.