She couldn't feel the other wall; the passage had evidently widened. Hezhi stepped over a few more feet, puzzled.

Her legs zipped out from under her as if she had been pushed. She fell roughly to the damp floor, flailing ineffectually with her arm. A shriek turned into painfully exhaled air as the wind was slapped out of her, and before she could even comprehend that and the agony that accompanied it, she was sliding.

Then falling. She fell for what seemed a very long time before the rush of air was replaced by a stinging explosion that seemed to burn half of her body, to push the little ghost in her up into the high air, to leave her leaden corpse as food for whatever lived in such deep, underground pools. And she was in a pool. The water was as warm as bathwater, and it stank of rot. Her three layers of skirt held air and kept her buoyed up for a moment— long enough for her struggling lungs to steal new breath from the fetid atmosphere. She had not yet recovered her senses, however, when the hated garments began to fill with water, to drag her down. It would have been terrifying, the speed with which her own clothes became a powerful hand, tugging her beneath the water, were she not already shocked beyond such simple terror.

She was not so shocked or stupid that she did not kick the skirts off. Her slim, hipless, ten-year-old body shimmied easily out of them, though they grasped once more at her ankles as they sank into the deeps.

Hezhi could not really swim, but she could tread water. She was thankful that she wasn't wearing the heavy brocaded vest— that was back with her shoes. Her linen shirt did not add much to her weight.

Of course, even that weight would soon be more than enough. Hezhi was tired and numb already.

That was when she realized, for the first time, that death was not an option she would willingly take. It would have been simple, easy. The water, despite its stink, was really not unpleasant. It almost seemed to enfold her like comforting arms, like a blanket. In fact, she realized, this water must be the River, the life giver, the ancestor of the royal line. Her own ancestor. Didn't the River have her best interests at heart, know well her deep misery, her lonely days? So easy to go down into his belly, return to his seed. Then maybe she would be with D'en again.

But no, she wanted to live, even if she hated her life. It was a curious thing, a revelation. Even standing on the red-shingled roof of the Great Hall, staring down longingly at the neatly paved courtyard had never brought such a flash of insight. When she was on the brink of taking her own life, she always pulled back. She dared the roof only because she needed to know that there was at least one important choice she could make for herself. It was control she wanted, not death. Threatened with a death beyond her own hands, that distinction was more than plain, even to a ten-year-old.

I want to live, she thought, but I shall not.

That was when Tsem called for her. Tsem, her bodyguard, whom she had tricked, whom she believed too stupid to follow her.

"Tsem!" she shrieked, with what air she could bring into her voice. "I've fallen! I'm drowning."

A faint yellow glow appeared, high above her. The glow brightened along a sharp black line, like the sun rising in the east.

The line, she realized, was the edge of whatever precipice she had fallen from.

The glow suddenly had a center, the bright, glaring light of a lamp. Behind it, faintly, she could make out Tsem's rough features.

"Mistress?" he barked, his voice thick with concern. "I see you, Mistress. Come to the wall: Cling there while I come down for you."

In the faint light, she could see what wall Tsem meant. She had fallen over the edge of what must be the stairwell she had been descending. The pool drowning her was a half-submerged hall; the stairs surely continued down to its floor, which must be another ten feet or so below her. How stupid she had been! If she could only get to the wall, she could make her way to where the stair entered the water and scramble back up on it.

Except that she was so tired. And what was Tsem doing? The light remained where it was.

Hezhi managed to get to the wall. It was slick, very slick, and she could find little purchase on it. Kicking for all that she was worth, she tried to use her hands to push herself along it, vowing that someone would teach her to swim, if she survived this.

At nearly the end of her strength, Hezhi heard a thunderous splash, and the surface of the water broke into a billion shards of pale lamplight. Before she could even gasp, arms like the stone columns that held up the Great Hall wrapped around her, tilting her back so that her face was well out of the water. Beneath her, she could feel powerful muscles churning, pushing them along. It was like being borne on a cyclone or a waterspout, like being the mistress of a storm.

By the time they reached the edge of the stair, Tsem was shuddering with effort. His breath came in great, labored gasps as he threw her up onto the mud and then flopped out onto the slope himself. Hezhi listened to him wheeze like an old dog, felt the burning in her own lungs.

"Am I so heavy, Tsem?" she asked, concerned for her loyal guard.

"No, Mistress," he replied, his voice coming between gulps at first, but then waxing stronger. "No, indeed, you weigh nothing. It is Tsem who is heavy. My kind were not meant to swim, I think."

"You have no kind, Tsem," Hezhi said, not realizing until several years later what a hurtful thing that was to speak.

Tsem was silent for a moment, then he laughed, a single harsh grunt. "True enough, Mistress. My mother, though—she was not designed to swim. Giants stay far and away from the water. And my father was Human, like you, little one—and probably no better at swimming than you are." He paused and then added, "He had a lot more sense, though."

With that he scooped her up, and Hezhi found herself lifted onto Tsem's massive shoulders. He crawled up the slope on all fours, until they reached the place where the lantern still burned patiently; Hezhi could now see that it rested on a landing, five paces of level stone just where the stairs entered at the top of the room. What ancient prince had built it thus, so that he could preen and pose at the top before descending to greet his guests?

Tsem set Hezhi down by the light and began to inspect her for wounds, his thick fingers very gentle.

He was a big man, though in age no more than seventeen years. He stood a head and a half taller than any other man she knew, and his shoulders were so broad she could scarce touch both with arms spread wide. Thick boned, he was, with muscles braided like ropes and cables beneath his pale skin. His legs were short, in proportion to his body, his arms long. His jaw was both massive and receding, and when he smiled his teeth were enormous ivory cubes, like the bone dice some of the soldiers gambled with. He had been trained since birth to be what he was, a guard for the royal line. His mother, now -nata, had been one of her father's elite, a full-blooded Giant and terrible to see in her armor. Tsem was less large—much more manlike than the full-blooded Giants—but he was much smarter. Her father had predicted this when he ordered the mating.

The two of them made an odd pair, the half Giant and the child. Hezhi had limbs like willow switches, her little brown face delicate, nearly heart-shaped, an elegant setting for the black opals of her eyes. Tsem could lift her with one fist if he wanted to. Instead, he prodded her long bones gently.

"You don't seem badly hurt," he said at last. "We should have Qey have a look at you, however. She knows much more of this than I."

"No, Tsem, I'm fine."