"Brother," Lowan Vigeles spoke from the threshold, "you are in my house, andyou'll speak civilly to my daughter. And you'd best release her arm before shebreaks yours."

Molin gave them both a frosty stare, but he abandoned his grip. Chenaya flasheda false smile and moved to one of many chests pushed against the walls. Therehad been no time to unpack, but she knew the right one and opened it. She pulledout a bundle of garments, finely sewn fighting leathers, and began to dress.

"Brother," Molin began again in a more moderate tone. "Niece. I beg you to trustmy judgment in these matters. You're very new to the ways of Sanctuary." Hefolded his arms and made a show of pacing about the room. "Your news of theEmperor's murder is terrible, indeed."

"The entire royal family," Lowan Vigeles reminded, "at least those withinTheron's reach. Chenaya and I barely escaped, and they may hunt us here. Youtoo. Brother."

Molin frowned; then the frown vanished. "That's why we need the Beysib. Theywill protect Kadakithis. They are completely loyal to Shupansea, and she seemsto dote on the Prince these days."

Chenaya shot her father a look; a barely perceptible nod of his head silencedher. "What about the 3rd Commando?" Lowan insisted carefully. "They placedTheron on Ranke's throne, and they know Kadakithis is the legitimate claimant tothat throne. Did Theron truly exile them, or are they here to commit anothermurder?"

Molin frowned again and rubbed his hands. "I know nothing about them, exceptthat they were originally formed by Tempus Thales when he served the Emperor."

Chenaya stomped into a boot. "Tempus!" she spat. "That butcher!"

Molin Torchholder raised an eyebrow. "How many have you slain in the arena sinceI've been gone, child? For Tempus Thales, death is a matter of war or duty." Helooked down his nose at her. "For you, it is a game."

"A game that fattened your own purse," she shot back. "Do you think I don't knowabout the bets you placed on me?"

He chose to ignore that and turned to her father, extending his hands. "Lowan,trust me. Kadakithis mustn't leam about his brother's death. You know what ayoung, idealistic fool he is. He would ride straight to Ranke to claim histhrone, and Theron would cut him down like late wheat." He turned to Chenayanow, genuine pleading in his voice. "Better to keep him here, safe in Sanctuary,until we can formulate a plan that will give him his birthright."

With every word that fled his mouth, Chenaya remembered the small green serpentthe beynit her uncle called it-that wound about the Beysa's wrist. Molin was asnake; she knew that from long experience. He did not hiss so horribly,and he concealed his fangs, but nonetheless, she felt him trying to tightenhis coils about her.

"Uncle," she breathed, struggling with the other boot, "you make a big mistaketo assume me such a fool. I know my Little Prince far better than you will everknow him. I did not go to the palace to tell him of events in the capital, butto see a friend I've missed." She stood up and began to buckle the straps thatwere more decoration to her costume than utilitarian. "And to get a feel for thegrounds and the palace itself. I plan to spend some time there. Your preciousBeysib will not be the only protection Kadakithis has to count on." She took asword from the chest, a beautifully Grafted weapon, gold-hiked with tangs carvedlike the wings of a great bird and a pommel stone gripped in a bird's talons.She fastened its belt so it rode low on her hip. Lastly, she donned a manica, asleeve of leather and metal rings favored by arena fighters; a strap across herchest held it in place. "Theron will never reach him; I promise you that."

"My niece is confused about her sex," Molin sneered. "Can a common gladiatorguard the Prince better than the garrison? Or the Hell-Hounds? Or our Beysiballies?"

She shook back her long blonde curls and set a circlet of gold on her brow tohold the hair from her face. Mounted on the circlet so it rode the center of herforehead was a golden sunburst, the symbol of the god Savankala. "I am no commongladiator," she reminded him coldly, "as you well know, old weasel."

Much as she regretted ever telling him, Molin was the only man to share thesecret of her dream and the rewards given to her by the chief of the Rankanpantheon. Himself. But she was very young then, only fourteen, and could beforgiven the foolish confidence. He was a Rankan priest; who better to tellabout the dream and Savankala's visitation and the three wishes he grantedher? Moi . had tested her; he knew the truth of her dream.

She ran her hands teasingly over her breasts, reminding him of the first ofthose wishes. "Did I not grow into a beauty. Uncle? Truly, Savankala has blessedme."

She saw her father frown. To him, her words were mere boastfulness. Though hedisapproved, he was used to such from her. He leaned his bulk against thedoorjamb. "You're going out?" he said, indicating her dress.

"It's nearly dark," she answered. "I'm goings to the temple. Then, there's a lotto leam about this city." She turned that mocking smile on Molin. "Wasn't ityou. Uncle, who told me nighttime is best for prying secrets?"

"Certainly not!" he snapped indignantly. "And if you go out dressed like thatyou'll find nothing but trouble. Some of the elements in this town would killjust for those clothes, let alone that fancy sword or that circlet."

She went back to the open chest, produced two sheathed daggers, and thrust themthrough the ornamental straps on her thigh. "I won't be alone," she announced."I'm taking Reyk."

"Who's Reyk?" Molin asked Lowan Vigeles. "One of those giants you brought withyou?"

Lowan just shook his head. "Take care, child," he told his daughter. "The streetis a very different kind of arena."

Chenaya lifted a hooded cloak from her chest and shut the lid. As she passedfrom the room, she raised on tiptoe to peck her father's cheek. She gave nothingto Molin Torch-holder but her back.

It wasn't sand beneath her boots, nor was there any crowd to cheer her on, yetit was an arena. She could feel the prey waiting, watching from the shadowedcrannies and gloom-filled alleyways. She could hear the breathing, see the dullgleam of eyes in the dark places.

It was an arena, yes. But here, the foe did not rush to engage, no clamor ofsteel on steel to thrill the spectators. Here, the foe skulked, crouched,crawled in places it thought she couldn't see: tiny thieves with tiny heartsempty of courage, tiny cutthroats with more blade than backbone. She laughedsoftly to herself, jingling her purse to encourage them, taunting them as shewould not a more honorable foe in the games.

They watched her, and she watched them watching. Perhaps, she thought, ;// throwback my hood and reveal my sex.... Yet she did not. There was much she had to dothis night and much to leam.

The Avenue of Temples was dark and deserted. She located the Temple of theRankan Gods easily, a grand structure that loomed above all others. Two brightflaming braziers illumined the huge doors at its entrance. However, hammer asshe might with the iron ring, no one within answered. She cursed, m the capitalthe temples neverclosed. She slammed the ring one last time and turned away.

"Father of us all," she prayed tight-lipped as she descended the temple stairs,"speak to me as you did that night long ago." But the gods were silent as thecity streets.

She paused to get her bearings, and realized the high wall on her right must bepart of the Governor's compound. The park on her left, then, would be thePromise of Heaven, or so she had heard it called earlier as she rode past it toher home. There, men who could not afford a higher class of prostitute haggledfor sexual favors from half-starved amateurs. She shrugged, passed the park by,following the Governor's wall until she came to another street she recognizedfrom her day's tour, the Processional.