"Just in time," Aradal said, pointing up.

Neil looked and saw the first stars appearing in the rose sky.

"That's our destination?"

"The Wexrohzen. I promise you, you'll find no better bread, butter, pork, or ale in the world than right there." He slapped his rotund belly. "And I've looked."

"Not even in Kaithbaurg?"

"Fancier. Not better. Too many dumplings."

"This hardly seems the place for the queen," Neil said, lowering his voice. "Too busy, too crowded."

"William stayed several times," Aradal said. "Muriele was with him at least once, and I don't think she complained."

Neil felt a hand settle on his shoulder.

"It's perfectly fine," Muriele told him.

"Majesty…"

"As I told Geoffrysen, we're in the archgreft's care now."

"Yes, Majesty."

And so they entered the Wexrohzen, and the music dropped away as every head in the hall turned toward them.

Aradal raised his voice. "Welcome, all, Her Majesty Queen Muriele."

To Neil's surprise, a great shout went up, and flagons were raised as the crowd answered with a welcome.

Aradal patted his shoulder and leaned close to his ear. "They don't, after all, know who will win the war," he said.

"I suppose they don't," Neil replied, but he already was frowning as some commotion seemed to be moving toward them, and space suddenly was cleared on the dance floor.

And in that space stepped a man with close-cropped red hair and a sharp beard. He wore a sable tunic displaying a lion, three roses, a sword and helm.

The hairs on Neil's neck pricked up, because he knew the man.

The fellow lifted his chin and addressed Muriele.

"Your Majesty, I am Sir Alareik Wishilm af Gothfera, and your knight and I have unfinished business."

ANNE FOUND Cazio in the hen yard of the monastery, thrusting and stamping on the packed, swept earth. The chickens at the edge of the yard clucked protests but kept a respectable distance.

He hadn't noticed her yet, and Anne waited a moment, watching his graceful movements. If she hadn't seen him kill so many people with those deft, clever movements of his feet, she might think he was practicing some sort of dance.

She remembered the first time she had seen that dance, when two armed and armored knights had attacked her. Against such machines of war, Cazio had stood little chance, yet he'd put himself between her and them, anyway, and since then he'd never stopped.

But it hadn't just been her, had it? Austra had been there, too.

The color of the sunlight seemed to change, becoming less like gold and more like brass.

He is Austra's love, but he is my man, she thought.

"Cazio," she said.

He stopped in midaction, turned, and saluted her with his sword.

"Majesty," he said.

For a moment she felt breathless and silly. Her attempt to seduce him flashed vividly in her mind's eye.

She cleared her throat. "I'm told it requires three days to walk the faneway of Mamres, and as you know, I am pressed to return to Eslen."

He nodded, an odd look on his face, but didn't answer. She felt a flash of pique. Surely he understood what she was getting at. Did she have to make everything clear?

Apparently.

"You need to start walking the faneway today," she said. "Within the hour."

Cazio sheathed his sword.

"I don't want to," he said. "I'm sorry."

But he didn't sound apologetic.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You said I could walk it if I wished," he replied. "I don't wish."

Now she thought she understood his tone. "You're angry?"

He paused, then stared her in the eye. "I'm offended," he replied. "When has my sword failed you? When have I not defeated your enemies with my own strength and skill?"

"You would have failed yesterday if I hadn't helped you."

You will fail when he comes. You will die; I have seen you dead. But she couldn't say that.

He flushed brightly. "Maybe so," he admitted. Then: "Probably. But I am a dessrator, Majesty. I am not a killer or a mere swordsman but an artist. Would you give a singer a different voice? A painter a different pair of eyes?"

"If they could make better work, yes."

"But it wouldn't be theirs, would it?"

"Cazio, with the skills you already have and the blessing of Saint Mamres, you could be invincible."

"I have beaten such invincible men. Their physical abilities made them foolish."

"But you are not so foolish."

"I think if I had that power I might become so."

"Cazio…"

"Majesty, whatever gifts this faneway can give me, I do not want and I do not need."

"But I want them, Cazio. I want them for you. I'm sorry if I've offended your pride. You are certainly the greatest swordsman I have ever known. I only want you to be the best swordsman you can be. How else can you guard me against the things that are to come? How else can you survive them?"

"The way I always have. With my blade and my wits."

"That is no longer good enough," she said softly.

"If you wish another bodyguard-"

Something had been welling up in her throughout the whole conversation, something hard in her belly and throat. She felt deeply shaken by something, frustrated by Cazio's inability to listen. Now she suddenly convulsed and felt tears on her face.

"Cazio," she managed. "Do not be so selfish. I need you. I need you with the blessing of Mamres. Would it be so bad to be lustrated by a saint? How is that wrong?"

He stepped toward her. "Don't cry," he said.

"I'm angry," she snapped. "Sometimes I cry when I'm angry. Do not mistake these tears. I'm offering you something, something-you aren't afraid, are you?"

"Afraid?"

"Of the faneway. Afraid you might die?"

One of his eyebrows lifted. "You're calling me a coward?"

"Ten of my Craftsmen are walking it as we speak. Three of them are already dead."

"That's terrible."

"They just weren't worthy, Cazio. You are. By the saints, if anyone was ever worthy of the blessing of Mamres, it is you."

"Who has died, Majesty?"

"I told you. Some of my Craftsmen."

"Which ones? What were their names?"

It hit her like a punch in the gut, pushing the anger out of her. Her knees went weak, and she felt as if there were no longer anything in her at all. She put her hand against the wall, but it would not support her, and the next thing she knew, she was on the ground.

What was happening to her?

But then Cazio had her cradled in his arms. He smelled both clean and sweaty, which seemed odd.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"No," she managed. "I should know, shouldn't I? I should know who died. I don't understand what's wrong with me, Cazio."

"There's a lot going on," Cazio said. "A lot to worry about."

"I feel-I'm sorry I asked you to walk the faneway, Cazio. I'm sorry. I couldn't bear to lose you."

"I want you to understand-" he began.

Something suddenly tumbled into place, and Anne nearly gasped with understanding.

"No, hush," she said, knowing what she needed to do. "We won't talk of this again." She tapped his shoulder. "You can put me down now," she said. "I'm fine. Pack your things. We'll leave for Eslen by noon. Time for me to really act like a queen."

Cazio cast a look back over his shoulder at the monastery. Besides the Craftsmen still walking the fanes, they had left it invested with nearly two hundred men. The Church was sure to attempt to take it back.

He glanced at Anne. Her face was composed and freshly powdered. He had no idea what she was thinking.

He wasn't sure what he was thinking. First the sudden kiss, then her request that he make himself unnatural.