Mon wanted to insist: It is a true dream. But he had seen at council before how Father resisted when men tried to press their case by saying the same thing again and again. If they had new evidence, fine, let them speak and Father would hear; but if they were merely insisting on the same old story, Father merely believed them less and less the more they pushed. So Mon held his tongue and merely continued to look his father in the eye, unabashed.

He heard bGo's soft murmur as he spoke to his otherself: "I know what the gossips will be chatting about for the next week."

"The boy has courage," Bego answered softly.

"So do you," said bGo.

In the silence, Aronha stood from the table, but instead of asking Mon for the king's ear, he walked around behind the chairs to stand behind his father. It was a privilege that only the king's heir had, to speak to the king privately in front of his other counselors without giving offense-for it was not presumption for the heir to display a special privacy with the king.

Father listened to Aronha, then nodded. "This can be said aloud," he said, granting permission.

Aronha returned to his seat. "I know my brother," he said. "He does not lie."

"Of course not," said Monush, and Husu echoed him.

"More than that," said Aronha. "Mon never claims to know what he doesn't know. When he's unsure, he says so. And when he's sure, he's always right."

Mon felt a thrill run through him, to hear such words from his brother's mouth. Aronha wasn't just standing up for him-he was asserting something so outrageous that Mon was frightened for him. How could he make such a claim?

"Bego and I have noticed it," said Aronha. "Why else do you suppose Bego risked his own place at the king's table in order to introduce Mon's words? I don't think Mon realizes it himself. Most of the time he is uncertain of himself. He can be persuaded easily; he never argues. But when he truly knows a thing, he never backs down, never, no matter how much we argue. And when he digs in his heels like that, Bego and I both know well, he's never been wrong. Not once. I would stake my honor and the lives of good men on the truth of what he says today. Even though I think the dream was not his own, if he says it's a true dream and the people are the Zenifi, then I know that it's the truth as surely as if I saw old Zenif with my own eyes."

"Why do you think the dream is not his own?" asked Father, suddenly wary.

"Because he never said it was," said Aronha. "If it was, he would have said it. He didn't, so it wasn't."

"Whose dream was it?" demanded the king.

"The daughter of Toeledwa," said Mon immediately.

There was an immediate uproar at the table, partly because Mon had dared to mention the name of the dead queen at a celebratory occasion, but mostly because he had brought the counsel of a woman to the king's table.

"We would not have heard that voice here!" cried one of the old captains.

Father raised his hands and everyone fell silent. "You're right, we would not have heard that voice here. But my son believes that the message of that voice needed to be heard, and so he dared to bring it; and Ha-Aron has declared his belief in it. So now the only question before this council is: What shall we do, now that we know the Zenifi are calling to us for help?"

The discussion immediately passed beyond any realm where Mon would be consulted, and he sat down, listening. He scarcely trusted himself to look at anyone, for fear he would break discipline and show a smile of such relief, such gratification that everyone would know that he was still only a child, the second son.

Husu opposed sending any sky people to, risk their lives rescuing the Zenifi; in vain did Monush argue that the first generation, the one that had rejected all human association with angels, was surely dead by now. As they discussed the issue, with other counselors chiming in with their own points, Mon risked a glance at his brother. To his chagrin, Aronha was looking right at him, grinning. Mon ducked his head to hide his own grin, but he was happier at this moment than he had ever been before in his life.

He turned then, to glance at Bego, but it was bGo who whispered to him. "What if a hundred die, for this dream of Edhadeya's?"

The words struck Mon through the heart. He hadn't thought of that. To send an army so far into Elemaki territory, up the endless narrow canyons where ambush was possible anywhere-it was dangerous, it was foolhardy, yet the war council was arguing, not about whether to risk it, but whom to take on the raid.

"Don't ruin the boy's triumph," murmured Bego. "Nobody's making the soldiers go. He told the truth and he did it boldly. Honor to him." Bego raised his glass of mulled wine.

Mon knew to raise his own glass of twice-cut wine. "It was your voice opened the door, Ro-Bego."

Bego sipped his wine, frowning. "None of your middlebeing titles for me, boy." bGo grinned-a rare expression for him-and said, "My otherself is beside himself with pleasure; you must excuse him, it always makes him surly."

Father proposed the compromise. "Let Husu's spies guard Mon-ush's human soldiers until they find a way past the outposts of the Elemaki. From what we understand, there's chaos among the kingdoms in the land of Nafai these days, and it may be far safer than usual to get in. Then, when Monush passes within the guarded borders, the spies hold back and wait for them to emerge again."

"How long?" asked Husu.

"Eighty days," said Monush.

"It's the wet season in high country," said Husu. "Are we to freeze or starve? What is the plan?"

"Keep five men there for ten days," said the king. "Then another five, and another, for ten days each."

Monush raised his left hand in agreement. Husu raised his left wing, but muttered nonetheless, "To bring back worthless bigots, yes, I'm sure that's worth the trouble."

Mon was surprised that Husu was allowed to speak so boldly.

"I understand the anger the sky people feel toward the Zenifi," said Father. "That's why I take no offense at the mockery in your acceptance of my proposal."

Husu bowed his head. "My king is kinder than his servant deserves."

"That's the truth," muttered bGo. "Someday Husu will go too far and the rest of us will pay for it."

The rest of "us"? He must mean the sky people as a whole, thought Mon. It was a disturbing thought, that somehow the sky people would all be held responsible for Husu's audacity. "That wouldn't be fair," said Mon. bGo chuckled softly. "Listen to him, Bego. He says it isn't fair- as if that means it couldn't happen."

"In the secret heart of every human man," whispered Bego, "the sky people are nothing more than impertinent beasts."

"That's not true," said Mon. "You're wrong!"

Bego looked at him, bemused.

"I'm a human, aren't I?" demanded Mon. "And in my heart the angels are the most beautiful and glorious people."

Mon had not been shouting, but the intensity in his voice had stilled all other voices. In the sudden silence, he realized that everyone had heard him. He looked at his Father's surprised expression and blushed.

"It seems to me," said Father, "that some of the council have forgotten that only those with the king's ear can speak here."

Mon rose to his feet, hot with shame. "Forgive me, sir."

Father smiled. "I believe it was Aronha who said that when you dug in your heels, you were always right." He turned to Aronha. "Do you stand by that?"

A bit uncertain, Aronha looked his father in the eye and said, "Yes, sir."

"Then I believe it is the opinion of this council that the angels are indeed the most beautiful and glorious people." And Father raised his glass to Husu.

Husu stood, bowed, and lifted his glass in response. Both drank.