Mikhail raised an eyebrow. "Have I ever told you how glad I am not to have your power?"

"I can't imagine why anyone would covet it." Tris called a bright ball of mage fire to his hand to illuminate the room, which blended some of Isencroft's traditional furnishings with artwork and fabrics from Margolan. Rich Noorish carpets covered the floors, and heavy tapestries covered the walls, scenes of love stories from the old ballads.

"Considering what Carroway says you let him spend, he did a nice job. Just don't let the Oracle at the Mother's temple know about those shrines!" Mikhail teased. In a corner, a small shrine to Chenne, the warrior aspect of the Goddess, shared space with a shrine to Athira, the Lover/Whore, with a row of candles and statues to each aspect of the Lady.

Tris shrugged. "It's all one Goddess. I've never quite figured out what the fuss was about. Father wasn't exactly observant, if you recall."

"Ah, but the 'faithful' don't see it that way," Mikhail said. He grew serious. "Out in the countryside, all people care about is getting enough rain for the crops and keeping the plague away. They'll pray to whichever Aspect seems most likely to make that happen. But here in the city—well, you know how some of the folks can be. They don't care what you actually do as long as you put on the right show when people are looking. And they don't like 'foreign' Aspects."

"Kiara knows all about being careful," Tris replied, extinguishing the handfire and closing the door to the queen's suite. "She's already juggled public profession to Chenne and private devotion to Athira with her mother. And she was raised from birth to be the bride of the Margolan heir," he said with a hint of irony, "so she was well-schooled in observance to the Mother and Childe." That long-ago betrothal contract originally paired Kiara with Jared, the eldest and the heir to the throne. Kiara loathed Jared as much as Tris did, and her attempt to escape that betrothal contract had put her on the road to the Library at Westmarch, where she and Tris had met and their fates had intertwined.

Mikhail cleared his throat. "I wouldn't bring that up in public if I were you. From what Carroway says, the court wags are already having a field day with you stealing Jared's bride-to-be."

Tris shrugged. "Father married the daughter of a sorceress. Eventually, mother won over the nobles who counted. Some of the court would gossip even if I married the Goddess Herself!"

Tris fingered the silver amulet at his throat, a birthday gift from Kiara. He longed for her company more than ever.

Mikhail sensed the shift in his mood. "You're worried about bringing her here, aren't you?"

Tris sighed. "Back when we first met him, Jonmarc made the comment that 'friends and lovers are just hostages to fate, waiting to be taken.'"

Mikhail laughed. "And you can see how well he followed his own advice, falling head over heels for Carina!"

"He's still right. People who want to get to me will try to hurt her—or our children—to do it. And right now, there seem to be an awful lot of people who have it in for me. Jared didn't give a damn about anyone. He wasn't vulnerable. "

"Don't underestimate Kiara. I've seen her fight—she's almost as good as Jonmarc. She's not one of those helpless noble maidens. You said yourself that she ran Isencroft from behind the throne when her father was ill. She couldn't be better prepared."

"You know the pressure to produce an heir. She's hardly going to be swinging into an East-mark kick when she's big with a baby. The politics at court can be as vicious as a battlefield. We haven't sniffed out all of the nobles loyal to Jared. She's going to be vulnerable and I'll be down on the southern plains tied up in a siege."

Mikhail laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm staying behind to help out with that, remember? Kiara won't be alone. She'll have Harrtuck and Zachar. Carroway and his bards know all the gossip. They'll help where they can. And you know the castle ghosts and your dogs will keep an eye on her."

"It will be good for Shekerishet to have a queen once more." The voice came from behind him. He turned. The ghost of Comar Hassad, one of his father's men-at-arms slain in the coup, was just visible at the shadow's edge. "We're sworn to her protection, as we are to yours. Although," the spirit said with chagrin, "our ability to intervene is limited. I am sorry about your injury, my Lord."

"If it hadn't been for a ghost's warning, I might be one of you now. It was enough."

Hassad's ghost nodded. "Perhaps we serve best by being the eyes and ears of the palace. Not all those within Shekerishet are loyal. They serve only themselves."

"You'll look after Kiara, when I go to war?" Tris asked.

"She'll bear the heir to the throne. We're oath-bound to protect both of them." Hassad paused. "Some of us can make ourselves seen to her. Seanna has been a handmaid to Mar-golan's queens for two hundred years. She can't wait to meet your bride. And Ula has watched over the babes in the royal nursery for just as long, so she's quite excited—it's been a long time since there's been a little one for her to fuss over."

Tris chuckled. "I remember Ula-. Father didn't believe I could see her, but I think Mother understood. Ula would stand at the foot of my bed, and sometimes, if I listened very hard, I could hear her humming. When I was very little, I wasn't afraid when Ula was there. And when I was older, Ula would wake me by jerking back the covers if Jared was coming so Kait and I could hide."

Hassad smiled. "Ula died in the Great Plague. She was a nursemaid to King Hotten's children. When his youngest took sick, Ula wouldn't leave him. She caught the plague from him. They died together, and the king buried Ula next to his son so they would always be together. Ever since then, she has watched over the heirs."

Coalan stuck his head into the room. "The generals are ready."

"Ban asked me to.. .accompany.. .you to your meeting," Mikhail said.

"Not taking any chances, are you?"

"None of us are," Mikhail replied.

De spite Mikhail's company, two human guards joined them as they made their way down to the chamber where the generals waited. As they walked, Tris readied himself for the encounter. The pain medicine had begun to wear off, and his shoulder throbbed.

Meeting with the council of generals was one of the duties of kingship Tris liked least. Of all his counselors, the generals were consistently the most negative and the least cooperative. As Tris and his escort reached the war room, Mikhail stepped forward and opened the door. The vayasb moru bowed as Tris passed by.

"I'll wait for you," Mikhail said, closing the door behind Tris.

"Your Majesty!" General Senne greeted him, and the others rose and bowed. Tris had the strong feeling his arrival had interrupted an argument, and the set to Soterius's jaw supported his intuition. Senne pulled back the chair at the head of the table for Tris, who hoped he didn't look as much in need of a seat as he felt. The six men were solicitous with expressions of concern. Tris noted that only one man remained on the fringe, less talkative than usual. Tov Harrtuck, Captain of the Guard, looked both conflicted and crestfallen.

"By your leave, Sire." Harrtuck moved around the table toward Tris. The stocky man always looked like he had just come from a hard workout in the salle. Today, his dark hair was askew and even his usually well-trimmed beard seemed disheveled-. Harrtuck sank to one knee and offered his sheathed sword on his outstretched hands. "I failed to protect you," Harrtuck said in a gravelly voice. "I offer you my sword and my commission."

Ban Soterius looked ready to burst with anger. General Senne and General Palinn appeared uncomfortable. Tris glanced toward Tarq and Rallan. Both sat comfortably, and while their faces were impassive, the confidence of their posture told Tris all he needed to know.