She chose a black and gold Safnite gown, a light breastplate, and greaves. She had Lize trim her hair back up to her ears and chose a simple circlet for her crown. Then she went to the Red Hall.

As far as Anne knew, the Red Hall never had been used to receive ambassadors. Her father hadn't used it for anything; it was in the oldest part of the castle and not very large. The king had preferred the more imposing chambers to overawe those who came before him.

But that lack of use had made it the perfect place for children to play. Her sister Fastia had held pretend-court there, throwing lavish banquets of cakes and wine or whatever they could pilfer or beg from the kitchens. In those days, more often than not, Anne had pretended to be a knight, since being a princess was-well, what she was. Austra had been her man-at-arms, and they had defended their queen from countless invasions and depredations.

Anne felt comfortable there. It also suited the image of the warrior-queen she had adopted to meet in less formal places, more face to face.

Today the hall seemed a bit large, however, because the number in the Virgenyan delegation was exactly three. The leader she recognized as a frequent visitor to her father's court, the baron of Ifwitch, Ambrose Hynde. The black hair she remembered was grayer now, and his squarish face more lined. She reckoned he was about fifty. He had a vaguely apologetic look in his eyes that worried her. Behind him stood two other men. One was her cousin Edward Dare, the prince of Tremor, a man of some sixty years. His silver hair had been cropped till he was nearly bald, and he had a severe, hawklike look about his face.

The third man, by contrast, was unknown to her and younger, probably no more than thirty. She noticed his eyes first, because something seemed odd about them. After a moment she understood that it was that one was green and the other brown. His face was friendly and intelligent, boyish, really. He had auburn hair and a small mustache and goatee that were redder.

He smiled, and she realized her gaze must have lingered on him while she sorted out his eyes. She frowned and looked away. They were announced by her herald, each in turn kissing her outstretched hand. The phay-eyed man turned out to be the Thames Dorrel, the earl of Cape Chavel.

"Such a large delegation," she said when the immediate formalities were done. "It's good to know our cousin Charles takes our troubles seriously."

"She goes right for it, doesn't she?" Cape Chavel said.

"I haven't spoken to you," Anne snapped. "I'm speaking to the baron."

"Majesty," the baron said, "I understand how this looks, but it wasn't meant as an insult."

"Well, I can't imagine what an intended insult must be like, then. But that's not really the point, Baron. The point is that Virgenya and her monarch are subject to the will of their empress. I requested knights and men in arms, not a delegation, and so I can only imagine you've been sent to tell me that Virgenya is in open revolution."

"That we are not, Majesty," the baron replied.

"Then you've brought the men with you?"

"They will come, madame," he said.

"I rather need them now, not after the ravens are picking our bones."

"It is a long march from Virgenya," Baron Ifwitch said. "And there was difficulty in the levy. Monsters have been swarming out of the Mountains of the Hare, terrorizing the countryside. And since your actions against the Church-"

"What of the Church's actions toward me? Or the good people of Virgenya?"

"Loyalty to z'Irbina has lately become a fashion in Virgenya, Majesty, especially among the nobility. No one actually refused to send men, but they have found ways to…delay."

"You're saying that the trouble isn't that my dear cousin is insubordinate but that he cannot command his own nobles?"

"There is some truth in that, yes."

"I see."

"I'm not sure you do, Majesty. The political situation in Virgenya is very complicated at the moment."

"Too complicated for me to sort out, you mean?"

"Nothing of the kind, Majesty. I will be happy to explain it to you."

Anne sat back in her chair. "You will, but not now. Do you have any other bad news for me?"

"No, madame."

"Very well. Have a rest. I would be pleased if you would meet me at my table tonight."

"We would be honored, Majesty."

"Good."

The two older men turned to go, but the younger stood his ground.

"What?" she asked.

"Is that leave to speak, Majesty?"

Despite herself, she smiled a bit. "I suppose it is. Go ahead."

"You asked if we had more bad news. I do not. But I hope you will think I have brought a little good news."

"Delightful if true," Anne said. "Please say on."

Ifwitch took a step toward the earl. "Tam, you shouldn't-"

"Really, Ifwitch, I would like to hear this rumored good news."

He bowed and didn't say anything else.

"It's true, some nobles don't know where their duties lie. I am not one of them. Majesty, I've brought my bodyguard with me, five hundred and fifty of the best horsemen you will ever see. They-and I-are yours."

"King Charles has released you to me?" She asked.

None of them spoke, although Ifwitch reddened.

"I see," she replied. "He hasn't."

"Charles needs the nobles he trusts in Virgenya," the earl said. "It's really that simple. He knows I would never ride against him. But as I am loyal to him, so I am to the empress he serves, so I have come directly to petition you."

"I didn't think I would hear much pleasing today," Anne said. "I was wrong. I accept your loyalty."

She shot her gaze back at the other two men. "It is a thing in short supply these days."

WITCHLIGHTS LED the way as Stephen, Zemle, Adhrekh, and twenty Aitivar descended into the roots of the mountain. The ethereal globes of iridescence flitted about, casting the otherwise bleak gray walls in shades of gold, silver, ruby, emerald, and sapphire. Stephen had never seen witchlights before entering the Witchhorn, but Aspar had spoken of them as a fixture of Sefry rewns.

Oddly enough, the Aitivar didn't seem to know anything about them other than what anyone could observe. Were they alive? Creations of shinecraft or some natural product of the tenebres?

No one knew, and no book Stephen could find answered the question. But they were useful, and they were pretty, which was more than could be said about most things.

They were particularly useful just now, as the path they walked was barely a kingsyard wide, bounded on the right hand by the stone of the great central subterrain of the caverns and on the left by the crevasse through which the underground river Nemeneth sought its way through stone and earth to feed deeper streams and eventually, perhaps, the Welph, which flowed in turn to the Warlock and thence to the Lier Sea at Eslen. He could hear the rushing of the Nemeneth, but it was too far below him for the witchlights to reveal.

"Are you sure you're ready?" Zemle asked him.

"I'm sure I'm not," he replied. "I wasn't ready to walk the first faneway I walked. Then I nearly died-maybe did die-just setting foot on another sedos. But Virgenya Dare wasn't ready, either. She just did it. And I'm not going to wait until the Vhelny or whatever it is that's stalking me has its chance."

"Then the journal talks about the faneway?"

"Yes. I was reading an early part, when she was a girl, and the Skasloi took her into the mountains. This mountain. She felt the faneway below her. Years later she came back and walked it."

"So she tells where it is."

"Yes. I know where I'm going, if that's what you're asking."