Tsem nodded. "We have had this conversation, Princess, and I cannot answer you. I would if I could. I do love you."

Hezhi turned toward him, startled. His face was folded in pain, his eyes glittering like something glass and jagged.

"You can't tell me?" Hezhi asked. Tsem nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, but his lips worked soundlessly. He shuddered, and his eyes trembled up beneath his thick lids. He began to shake.

"No! Tsem!" Hezhi ran to him and threw her arms about his waist. She could not reach all the way around. His huge body was convulsing, shaking. As she held him, though, the shuddering quieted and finally subsided. She hugged him tighter, until two platter-sized hands reached down and gently disengaged her.

"I didn't know, Tsem. I'm sorry."

"It is something they do to us, when we are very young," Tsem said. His voice sounded tired, strained. "The priests—when we are chosen to work and live in the royal rooms. Me, Qey, everyone. So we can't talk about it. Do you understand?"

"I understand. I know what a Forbidding is."

Tsem acknowledged that. "I would talk to you if I could, Princess."

"I know. Come on, let us go to the library."

Her concern for Tsem ebbed as they strode on; not because she did not care for the half Giant, but because her anger began to wax. What was being hidden from her, from her siblings, her cousins? She knew no more than D'en had, and D'en was gone.

Light burst upon them again as they crossed the Ibex Courtyard, and with the real illumination came a sudden, hidden one. Hezhi grinned fiercely, her anger fitted neatly into place with purpose.

"It isn't architecture I should be studying," she whispered, not to Tsem but to herself. "It's us. The Blood Royal. This has to do with us." So simple, so obvious. Find the missing royalty, find D'en. Find herself. "That's what I should be studying," she whispered.

But how? She had no idea where to begin. In her meandering so far, she had encountered nothing like what she sought. Ghan was right, absolutely right. One could wander in the library for a generation and not know what one searched for; not with her limited skills and knowledge.

She was still sorting through that when she reached the library. As always, Tsem made his way to the hallway left of the door and sat down to wait for her. Hezhi entered, uncertain where to begin, but eager enough.

She entered and knew something was wrong. Ghan glanced up immediately from his work, met her gaze with his for the first time since that day she had entered the library. He frowned slightly and stood, holding a book with a burgundy binding. Her heart stood cold in her chest as the old man beckoned her over to him.

She went, her face burning fiercely.

"You remember what I said?" Ghan said, his voice a faint sound, a dry page turning.

"It was already torn," Hezhi said, hoping to sound confident and failing utterly.

"I told you also I would teach you not to lie," Ghan said, mildly. "How did you know what I would accuse you of?"

How had Ghan even known she had that book? It was impossible. Impossible, unless… It seemed to Hezhi that there was some way it was possible, but she was too frightened to think, and Ghan was still standing there, demanding something.

"Well?" he asked.

"I… I fell asleep. It tore then."

Ghan nodded. "I warned you."

"Please…" she began, not knowing exactly how to plead with him, what she could offer. The expression on Ghan's face stopped her, however.

"There is no bargaining with me, Princess. I am the master in this room, subject only to the word of your father. And your father will not speak for you."

"I may come here no longer?" I will not cry, Hezhi thought, and suddenly felt confident that she would not, not until later.

"Oh, no, Princess. You will come here. You will come here every day, and you will do as I say." He handed her a piece of rolled paper. Ch'ange paper, the kind royal business was transacted on.

"Your father was kind enough to sign this, Princess."

"What is it?" Her head was swimming, her knees seemed wobbly, unsound, and she feared she would collapse.

"It is a contract. You are indebted to the Royal Library. During the daylight hours, you will be as my servant, doing what chores I see fit. You may not complain, and you must comply or be bound by your hair to the shaming post in the Grand Courtyard. Do you understand this?"

"Servant?" Hezhi blurted. "I cannot be a servant. I am a princess!"

"Which means nothing to me. Not with this paper in my hands. Even the emperor, your father, serves the River, and you serve him, as does all of the royal family. And he has commanded that you serve me." He proffered Hezhi the document.

She took it with trembling fingers, but she could not read it. She could not concentrate. But there was her father's signature, his seal. It was real.

"I…" she began.

"The first thing I tell you is to be silent. You speak only when I request it."

"Yes, Ghan," she acknowledged, lowering her eyes by way of answer.

"Now. Today I will show you how to mend books. I have many for you to mend. After that, I believe…" He shot his gaze about the room almost hungrily. "Have you improved your command of the old script? You may speak."

"I have tried…" She trailed off. She could not possibly read the old script as well as Ghan would want her to.

Ghan glared. "There is much indexing to be done. Do you know what indexing is?"

"No, Ghan."

"So ignorant." He sighed. "But it cannot be helped, I suppose."

"If I…"

"I didn't ask you to speak!" Ghan hissed, his face contorted.

"Your pardon, I—"

"Silence!"

But I am a princess, Hezhi thought, but succeeded in not retorting.

"Follow me. Do not stop to tear any books."

Ghan took her to a small table. There were sheets of white paper, a bowl of paste, heavy boards for pressing.

"Tears are simple," Ghan began. "Even the simple can fix them. I will show you that first, then the binding."

Hezhi nodded. Dully, she watched his smooth brown fingers deftly work with the paper.

"Use just enough glue. Just enough, and no more."

A sudden suspicion filled Hezhi. An image, even, of her sleeping, of Ghan standing over her, of him reaching down, tearing the book himself, then quietly leaving her there, still asleep. So that he could do this, humiliate her, punish her for invading his precious library.

Ghan's finger was a handspan from her nose, wagging angrily.

"You aren't paying attention," he accused. He looked angry.

Yes, I am, Hezhi thought. I certainly am.

VI

A Gift of Blood

"Please." Perkar groaned. "I'm leaving. Please, Goddess, give me your blessing."

The stream flowed on, caressing only his ankles, and them only indifferently, with no more feeling than it would a stick or a rock.

"Please," he repeated. As the sun moved on and on across the sky.

At last, near sundown, the water swirled. She was there, watching him.

"I am not for you, Perkar," she told him.

"It matters not," he answered. Her beauty would kill him, he thought. It was so terrible, so wonderful. Even in his dreams it could not be idealized, could not become greater; even in dreams it only faded.

She shook leaves from her hair. A wet, ebony tendril of it strayed down over her right eye.

"You have no right," she said. "You have no right to add to my sorrow. You are a beast like all other beasts."

"Yet you love me."

Her face twisted into a little smile, evil at the edges. "You don't know what I feel, Perkar. I am not a beast—or I am many. When I think of myself this way—in this form, in the form of this poor little creature whose blood was loosed in me—when I think of myself this way, I have some love for you. But it is my kind of love, nothing you would recognize." She shook her head, her most Human expression. "Go away, live and die, forget me."