"Surehand is just ahead," he said. "Do you think you're up to meeting with him?"

I nodded. "Of course," I said. "It was just a mo- mentary lapse."

Tilting my glass then, I drank the rest of the champagne with one large gulp. A waiter passed close by and I grabbed another glass from him. How I wished it were something stronger.

"You don't suppose Surehand has a supply of Taengele lying about, do you?" I asked.

Caimbeui gave a little frown. I returned it and he knew better than to go over that old ground with me. Oh, I knew that particular demon was never far away, but I didn't succumb to it anymore.

"I'm certain there is little that Lugh denies him- self," Caimbeui said. "But we haven't time to indulge that particular vice of yours right now."

I downed the second glass and got a small headache from the bubbles.

"Very well," I said, giving him a grand wave of my hand. "Lead on, MacDuff."

He rolled his eyes, but said nothing as he took my hand and led me to the small circle where Lugh Surehand stood.

"May I present Aina Sluage, Lugh," said Caim- beui.

I extended my hand and Lugh Surehand brought it UP to his Ups and kissed it. He was much taller than I. with a slender build. His hair was dark red, almost 189

the color of newly turned maple leaves in fall. His eyes were green as summer grass.

I thought he might have looked quite at home in Elizabethan times with his goatee and the rakish scar, he sported on his neck. I knew from Caimbeui that it was an old injury, one that ran across and down his neck and across his shoulder.

There was an aura of command about him, though I thought he might have toned it down somewhat to accommodate the temperaments of the other Elders. I suspected that Aithne, Ehran, and the others would never tolerate the idea that they were being led by anyone.

"Ah, so you are Aina," he said. "I have heard so many things about you. How is that we have not met over the years?"

I smiled very slowly at him. "My misfortune, no doubt," I said. "I have always been cursed with bad luck."

"No, madam, the ill fortune was mine," he mur- mured. He had not yet released my hand.

So that was how it was to be. All so very polite and civilized, until, of course, the knives came out.

"Would you like a tour of the grounds?" Surehand asked.

"Delighted," I said. "I understand they are most impressive."

I let him pull me to his side and tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow. "I am curious," he said as he led me away from the small circle of people and down toward his great house. "I understand you knew Goya. I have always been a great admirer of his work. Tell me, was he mad there at the end?"

I glanced over my shoulder at Caimbeui, but he was already engaged in conversation with a pretty young woman to whom we'd just been introduced, the Countess Teargan. She was Surehand's constant companion, and even Caimbeui was unable to ascer- tain the nature of their relationship.

"I suppose all humans go mad upon realizing that they will die soon," I said. "Isn't that their great misfortune?"

Surehand glanced at me, his face shrewd for a moment before the pleasant mask slipped back into place.

"I don't believe you find it to be," he said. "I've always found that peculiar about you. You seem to despise your immortal state."

"Despise is a bit strong," I said lightly. "I find the proposition a bit strange. It occurs to me that we few have had so much time, yet we have not done any great good with it. And often we have done such harm in the name of ourselves."

"Perhaps we are beyond such notions as good or bad," he said. We were crossing the broad expanse of green lawn. Lawn that should have been brown this time of year.

"But isn't that the very problem?" I asked. "So you concern yourself with loftier matters than

ours-is that it?" he asked. I could hear the edge in his voice. "No," I said. "I

only know that my choices are those I can live with day to day."

We reached the foot of the wide steps leading up to a terrace outside the house. In the dim light, it looked gray-white and unreal. As though it were some creation conjured up to amaze.

"Yet you come here to ask for my help," he said as he led me up the steps. It was getting colder, and I shivered. He pulled off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. It smelled of orris root, tobacco, and musk.

"Yes," I said. "I have news that I believe must be told not only to the Elders, but to the world at large."

Pushing open the wide glass doors, Surehand ges- tured for me to enter the house. Inside it was dark and shadowy. I banged my knee on something and gave a little yelp. Instantly, the room was bathed in golden light.

"It's that damn ottoman," he said. "I keep telling the maids not to leave it here, but they never listen. Are you all right?"

I flopped down on the ottoman and pulled my skirt up to look at the damage. It was minor, but I could tell there would be a bruise the next day.

"It's nothing," I said as I smoothed my skirt back down. "Is it safe to talk here?"

"Yes," he replied. "The house and grounds are swept on a regular basis for any sort of bugging- magical or otherwise. I'm curious, though. You are here with Harlequin. Surely you know he is at odds with Ehran."

"I know," I said. "But his relationship with you is still intact. And I have much more severe problems among the Elders of this Tir myself. Aithne and Alachia, for example. From whom I suspect you have received much of your information about me."

He dropped into a chair opposite me and looked me over.

"You are both not at all what they described and quite like their descriptions," he said after a mo- ment. "But I'm not so foolish as to acquire all my information from only two sources-and those with grudges, no less."

"And what have you found?" I asked. My ego speaking, no doubt.

Surehand settled into his chair, then propped his feet next to me on the ottoman.

"You have stayed out of political dealings for most of this cycle. You disapprove of the way we've been handling matters thus far; According to Aithne, who rarely allows any mention of your name, you are worse than any nightmare."

That stung, coming from someone else. So he hated me enough still to try and sabotage me at every turn. Well, perhaps it was no more than I de- served.

"Ah," I said. "Aithne always did have a way with words."

, Lugh Surehand laughed. It was deep and rusty, as though he didn't use it often.

"Alachia underestimates you," he said. "She said you had little wit."

I shrugged. "Alachia underestimates anyone who doesn't automatically worship her-or those who cannot be led around by portions of their anatomy."

"I know little of the animosity between the three of you. Aithne refuses to speak of it, and Alachia holds it out like a trinket, then snatches it away when one gets too close."

I smoothed the velvet of my gown across my knees. In the warm light it took on a deep silver cast. Anything to distract me from memories of the past.

"Do you know the story of Scheherazade?" I asked.

For a moment, Surehand looked startled, but I knew he would quickly replace that with his usual bland expression. I wasn't disappointed. And it oc- curred to me that for all his show of calmness and balance, he was really quite formidable. After all, he had managed to remain High Prince since the found- ing of Tir Taimgire. With all the political intrigue so rife among the Elders, he should have been ousted long ago. But here he was in complete control of the Tir.

"She was married to a sultan. He killed every other wife he took after only one night with her," began Surehand. "On the first night of Scheherazade's marriage to him, she refused to lay with him, in- sisting instead that she would tell him a story. Each night continued after the first the same way. She kept him spellbound with her wit and stories. It con- tinued thus for a thousand nights.