"Yes, of course. I beg you to forget it."

He lowered his face to Hanna's hair. "I'd offer you birthday cake," he said. "But it looks like we'll have to wait until tomorrow."

That night the stars were cold and brittle, and the full moon seemed very far away. Fire bundled herself up so that she was twice as wide around as usual.

On the roof she found Brigan standing contentedly hatless in a draft. She blew warm air into her mittened hands. "Are you immune to winter, then, Lord Prince?"

He led her to a place protected from the wind by a broad chimney. He encouraged her to lean back against the chimney. When she did, she was surprised, for it was lovely and warm, like leaning against Small. Her guard faded into the background. The tinkling sound of the drawbridge bells whispered over the rumble of the falls. She closed her eyes.

"Lady Fire," Brigan's voice said. "Musa told me about Mila. Would you care to tell me about my sister?"

Fire's eyes flashed open. There he was at the railing, his eyes on the city, his breath shooting out like steam. "Hmm," she said, too astonished to build a proper defence. "And what would you like to know about her?"

"Whether or not she's pregnant, of course."

"Why should she be pregnant?"

He turned then to look at her, and their eyes met. Fire had a feeling her unreadable face was not as successfully unreadable as his. "Because outside of her work," he said dryly, "she's overly fond of a gamble. And she's thinner, and tonight she ate little, and turned green at the sight of the carrot cake, which I assure you is something I've never seen her do once in my life. Either she's pregnant or she's dying." His eyes turned back to the city and his voice went smooth. "And don't tell me the father of these babies, because then I'd be tempted to harm him, and that would be inconvenient, don't you think, what with Brocker expected, and all these people about who adore him?"

If he'd deciphered this much, then there was no point in pretense. She said mildly, "Nor would it set an example for Hanna."

"Humph." He leaned his mouth on his fist. His breath steamed out in every direction. "I take it they don't know about each other yet? And I take it I'm to keep all of it secret. Is Mila as unhappy as she looks?"

"Mila is devastated," Fire said softly.

"I could kill him for that."

"I believe she's too angry, or too despairing, to think straight. She won't take his money. So I'm taking it myself, and I'll hold it for her, and hope she changes her mind."

"She may keep her job if she wants it; I won't force her out of it.

We'll work something out." He shot her a wry glance. "Don't tell Garan." And then, grimly: "Ah, Lady. It's a mean time to be welcoming babies to the world."

Babies, Fire thought to herself. Babies to the world. She sent it out into the air: Welcome to you, babies. And found, with great frustration, that she was crying. It seemed a symptom of her friends' pregnancies that Fire should not be able to stop crying.

Brigan was transformed from hard to soft, his hands scrambling through pockets for a handkerchief that wasn't there. He came to her. "Lady, what is it? Please tell me."

"I've missed you," she blubbered, "these past two months."

He took her hands. "Please tell me what's wrong."

And then, because he was holding her hands, she told him all of it, quite simply: how desperately she wanted children, and why she'd decided she mustn't have them, and how out of fear of changing her mind, she'd arranged quietly, with Clara and Musa's help, to take the medicines that would make it forever impossible. And she hadn't recovered, not nearly, for her heart was small and shivering, and it seemed that she couldn't stop crying.

He listened, quietly, growing more and more amazed; and when she finished he was silent for some time. He considered her mittens with something of a helpless expression. He said, "I was insufferable to you the night we met. I've never forgiven myself."

It was the last thing Fire had expected him to say. She looked into his eyes, which were pale as the moon.

"I'm so sorry for your sadness," he said. "I don't know what to tell you. You must live where many people are having babies, and adopt them all. We must keep Archer around – he's quite a useful chap, really, isn't he?"

At that she smiled, almost laughed. "You've made me feel better. I thank you."

He gave her her hands back then, carefully, as if he were afraid they might drop to the roof and shatter. He smiled at her softly.

"You never used to look at me straight, but now you do," she said, because she remembered it, and was curious.

He shrugged. "You weren't real to me then."

She wrinkled her forehead. "What does that mean?"

"Well, you used to overwhelm me. But now I've got used to you."

She blinked, surprised into silence by her own foolish pleasure at his words; and then laughed at herself for being pleased with the suggestion that she was ordinary.

The next morning Fire walked to Nash's office with Musa, Mila, and Neel to meet the royal siblings and Archer.

The gala was only weeks away and the extent of Fire's involvement in the assassination plan was a matter of ongoing debate. To Fire's mind it was simple. She should be the assassin in all three cases because she was far more likely than anyone else to be able to lure each victim to a solitary and unguarded place, and she might also manage to learn a great deal from them before killing them.

But when she stated her case Garan argued that Fire was no sword fighter, and if any of the three proved to be strong-minded she would end up on someone's blade. And Clara did not want the assassin to be a person with no killing experience. "You'll hesitate," Clara said today. "When you see what it really means to stick a knife in someone's chest, you won't be able to do it."

Fire knew herself to be more experienced than anyone in this room save Archer realised. "It's true I won't want to do it," she responded calmly, "but when I have to, I will do it."

Archer was fuming darkly in a corner. Fire ignored him, for she knew the futility of appealing to him – especially these days, when his attitude toward her ranged from high dudgeon to shame, because her sympathies and her time were tied up with Mila, and he sensed it, and resented it, and knew it was his own fault.

"We can't send a novice to kill three of our most fearsome enemies," Clara said again.

For the first time since the topic had been broached, Brigan was present in person to convey his opinion. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, arms crossed. "But it's obvious she must be involved," he said. "I don't think Gentian'll give her much resistance, and Gunner's clever, but ultimately he's led by his father. Murgda may prove difficult, but we're desperate to learn what she knows – where Mydogg's hiding his army, in particular – and Lady Fire is the person most qualified for that job. And," he said, raising his eyebrows to stop Clara's objections, "the lady knows what she's capable of. If she says she'll go through with it, she will."

Archer wheeled on Brigan then, snarling, for his mood had found what it was looking for: an outlet that was not Fire. "Shut up, Archer," Clara said blandly, cutting him off before he even began.

"It's too dangerous," Nash said from his desk, where he sat gazing worriedly at Fire. "You're the swordsman, Brigan. You should do it."

Brigan nodded. "All right, well, what if the lady and I did it together? She to get them to a private place and question them, and I to kill them, and protect her."

"Except that I'll find it much harder to trick them into trusting me if you're there," Fire said.