"And if I wish to return with them?"

Berimund opened his mouth, closed it, and seemed to think for a moment.

"My father told me to intercept your embassy and bring you to him on his terms. If there is no longer an embassy-if you no longer wish to meet with him-then I will take you to the border. He did not expressly tell me to take you prisoner."

"But you imagine that was his intent? That if I do go, I will be hostage?"

Berimund sighed and looked away. "One might imagine that, yes."

Muriele took a long breath, remembering the endless days in the Wolfcoat Tower, where Robert had kept her.

"You have some honor, Prince Berimund," she allowed. "If I go with you, I would ask for your protection."

He paused at that, seemed to study something in his head, then nodded." You have it, lady, if that's really what you want."

"It is."

"Very well. Your knight may keep his harness, for now, if I have his word he will not attack unprovoked."

He eyed Neil, who looked to her. She nodded.

"I so swear by the saints my people swear by," the knight said.

"Thank you," Berimund said. He turned to Aradal. "Take the rest of these men back to the border. They are not to be harmed or disarmed."

He nodded at Muriele. "When you are ready, lady, we will ride on to Kaithbaurg."

Muriele felt her hair stir. The wind from the storm had reached them.

CAZIO DID NOT have pleasant memories of Castle Dunmrogh. A stone's throw from it he had watched helplessly as men and women were nailed to posts and disemboweled, and those doing it had meant to hang him. If it hadn't been for Anne and her strange powers, he probably would have died there. He very nearly had, anyway.

Even without that recollection to color things, he still wouldn't have been happy. What was Anne up to? Was she being honest with him-did she really need him here-or was this punishment for opposing her?

He remembered Anne stepping into the clearing that night, regal and powerful.

Terrifying, actually. And since then he had many times felt that power and terror. It was hard to think of her as the nymph he had met swimming in a pool back in Vitellio.

Maybe she wasn't. Maybe that Anne was gone.

And maybe he didn't care to serve the new Anne anymore.

He sighed, gazing up the hill at the gray walls and three-towered keep.

"What do I know about running a castle, anyway?" he murmured in his native tongue.

"We're here to help you with that, sir," Captain Esley replied in the same language.

Cazio turned to the fellow, the leader of the men Anne had put under his charge. He was short, with a steel-streaked black beard and hairy caterpillar eyebrows shadowing dark eyes.

"A nineday on the road and you don't bother to tell me you speak my language?"

"I don't speak it so well," Esley said. "But I fought for the Meddisso of Curhavia when I was a young man and remember some."

"Listen, if you heard me say anything uncomplimentary about the queen-"

"I wouldn't have been listening to anything like that."

"Good. Good man. Viro deno."

Esley smiled, then jerked his chin toward the castle. "Looks in pretty good shape. Unless the Church sends half a legif to fight us, we ought to be able to hold, depending on the local forces."

"So we'll go introduce ourselves, I suppose," Cazio said.

"I'm sure they remember you, sir."

They didn't, or at least the outer gate guards didn't, so they sent for a member of the household to examine the royal letter before letting him across the moat with a hundred fifty men. Cazio didn't blame them.

After the wait stretched into almost a bell, Cazio rested himself in the shade of a pear tree and closed his eyes.

He woke with Esley tapping his shoulder. "Someone's finally come, sir."

"Ah," Cazio replied, raising himself up against the trunk of the tree. "Who have we here?"

It was an older man in an embroidered saffron doublet and red hose. He had a tuft of gray beard on his chin and a well-weathered face. He wore a floppy little hat the same color as his hose.

"I am Cladhen MaypCladhen de Planth Alnhir, steward of the house of Dunmrogh," he said. "Whom do I have the honor of addressing?"

"Cazio Pachiomadio da Chiovattio the very damn tired of waiting," he replied.

"I am sorry for that," the man said. "I was not presentable when you arrived, and I thought I should muster the men. Considering all the trouble we had here last year, I don't like to take chances. May I see the letter, please?"

Cazio handed it over, and the steward examined it for a moment.

"This all looks good," he said. "I'm happy Her Majesty saw fit to reinforce us. There are all sorts of rumors about armies marching, although it's been mercifully quiet here." He handed the letter back. "Well, if you'll just follow me, we'll find you some quarters and you can start getting to know the place. I'm happy to pass on the responsibility."

"Why?"

The steward paused, seemingly confused by the question.

"I…I'm just not cut out for it, I suppose. I'm really more of a scholar. Not much of a politician or a soldier. But Her Majesty purged most everyone else because they were involved in that business in the forest."

He gestured. "Walk with me?"

"What about my men?"

"Yes, of course. We're only half-garrisoned; plenty of room inside."

They followed him into the outer yard, a pleasant green lawn that obviously hadn't seen any fighting in a long time. The flagstone path led to a rather long drawbridge whose lifting cables were affixed to the top of the inner wall some thirty feet up. The bridge did not also function as a door, as in some castles he had seen; the door was to the right of the bridge and was in fact a heavy-looking portcullis banded with iron.

Cazio looked down into the green water of the moat as they thumped hollowly across the span, wondering if there were any dragons or nymphs swimming in its depths.

As he stepped on stone again, he heard a peculiar sound, the hum of something going taut. Then, suddenly, Anne's soldiers were shouting.

He spun quickly, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. He saw that the bridge was lifting, stranding most of the men on the other side of the moat. Those still on the bridge were tumbling toward him or pitching off into the moat. Red-feathered shafts were hurling into them, and cries of surprise became screams of pain.

Cazio drew Acredo but felt something suddenly close about his neck and cut off his wind. He lifted a hand, but it was seized, as was his sword arm. As black spots began dancing in front of his eyes, he felt his weapon stripped from his grasp.

He tried to turn but found himself in the firm grip of three grim-looking men, all Mamres monks. One had some sort of rope snare tightened around Cazio's neck. He couldn't even shout as they dragged him, struggling, toward the portcullis. He saw Captain Esley hollering, running toward him with drawn broadsword, and then the poor fellow was headless.

About then the sun went out.

He came back to his senses, and the only thing he saw at first was a long rectangle of grayish brightness and a thousand tiny lazily drifting motes. It didn't make sense at first, but then he gathered that the rectangle was light on a stone floor, thrown there by a shaft spearing through a window some four pareci above. He blinked, looking away from the light, but it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. He tried to remember. He'd been ambushed…

"Oh, I think he's with us," someone said. The language was Vitellian, but crefo was pronounced more like "crewo," the telltale of the aristocratic accent from z'Irbina.