The gravity was low enough and Venera still strong enough that she could probably make it to the window in one leap. Then she could scale the stonework by the tips of her fingers if she had to and make it to the roof in under a minute. Not, however, faster than the soldiers could climb a flight of stairs to retrieve her.

Margit was watching her calculate her options. The botanist laughed as the door opened behind Venera and a large, heavily armored soldier entered.

"I'm not going to hurt you,” said Margit. Something glittered in her hand as she approached Venera. “I just want to guarantee your compliance from now on."

"The way you tried with Moss?” Venera nodded at the syringe Margit held. “Is that the same stuff you used on him?"

"It is. His outcome was an accident,” said the botanist as the soldier stepped forward and grabbed Venera's wrists from behind. “I'll be more careful with you."

His outcome was an accident. Venera was familiar with that sort of logic, she often blamed others for the things she did to them. For some reason, the argument didn't work this time.

Margit had to round a large couch as she approached Venera. She took a step to do so, and Venera made fists, bent her forearms forward, and then raised her arms in an egg-shaped curve that Chaison had once showed her. The startled soldier clung tightly to her wrists but suddenly found himself pulled forward and off balance as Venera lifted his hands over her head. And then she turned and her hands were over his as he lost his grip, and she pushed down and he thumped onto his knees.

She kicked him in the face. His helmet ricocheted across the room as Margit shouted, and Venera hopped the couch, snatching up the open wine bottle and swinging it at the botanist's head.

Margit slashed out with the syringe, nicking Venera's sleeve. They circled for a second and then Venera grabbed for her wrist and they tumbled onto the floor.

The wine bottle skittered away, gouting red. Venera pulled Margit's arm up and bit her wrist. As the botanist let go Venera made a grab for the syringe. Margit in turn lunged for the bottle.

"I was just going to kill you,” hissed Venera. She landed on Margit's back as the botanist closed her fingers on the bottle. “I've changed my mind!” She jammed the needle into Margit's shoulder and pushed the plunger.

Margit shrieked and rolled away. Venera let her. The botanist had let go of the wine bottle, and Venera took it and upended it over the wooden cabinet.

Cursing and holding her shoulder, Margit ran over to the soldier, who was sitting up. When she saw Venera reach for one of the lit candles she screamed “No!” and backpedaled.

It was too late, as Venera touched the candle flame to the wine-soaked cabinet and the whole thing caught. In the orange light of the fire, Venera ran through a nearby arch. She wanted to know whether that cabinet was all there was to Margit's power.

"Ah…” She stood in a large private pharmacy—dozens of shelves covered in glass bottles of all sizes and colors hung above long work tables crowded with beakers, petri dishes, and test tubes. Venera joyfully swept her arm across a table and tossed the candle into the cascading glasswork as Margit clawed at her from behind.

There was fire behind them, now fire ahead and smoke wafting up to the ceiling as Margit pushed and kicked at Venera and tried to get past her. When the soldier finally appeared out of the smoke, Venera stood over the botanist, her nose bleeding but a grin of utter savagery on her face. She brandished a long knife she'd found on the table.

"Back away or I'll cut her throat!” Venera's backdrop was flames. The soldier backed away.

Shouts of alarm and clanging bells were waking the house. Venera dragged Margit out of the inferno and threw her to the floor in front of the smoldering cabinet.

"Ten days.” She pointed to the door. “You have ten days to convince your people to save you. I have no doubt that Sacrus has the antidote to your poison, but you'll have to go to them on bended knee to get it. For your sake I hope they're in a forgiving mood."

People were crowding in the doorway—men and women carrying buckets of sand and water, all shouting at once and all clattering to a halt at the sight of Venera standing over the all-powerful botanist.

"You are no longer the botanist of Liris!” Venera raised her arm, summoning everything she had learned from her father about how to intimidate a crowd. “Let no one here ever grant entry to this woman again! Run! Run home to Sacrus and beg for your life. This place is closed to you."

Margit staggered to her feet, clutching her shoulder. “I'll kill you!” she hissed.

"Only if you've a mind to do it,” said Venera. “Now go!"

The botanist ran for the door, pushing aside the stunned firefighters.

"Get with it!” Venera yelled at them. “Before the whole house goes up!"

She walked through them, and as more came up the stairs, she politely eased to the side to let them pass. She reached the main floor of Liris to find all the lights lit and a confused mob swirling around the strangely decorated desks and counters.

"What's happened?” Odess emerged from the rush of faces. The rest of the trade delegation was behind him.

"I've deposed the botanist,” said Venera. They gaped at her. She sighed. “It wasn't that hard,” she said.

"But—but how?” They crowded around her.

"But why?" Eilen had grabbed her arm.

Venera looked up at her. Suddenly she felt tears in her eyes.

"My… my husband,” she whispered through a suddenly tight throat. “My husband is dead."

For a while there was silence, it seemed, though Venera knew abstractly that everyone was shouting, that the news of Margit's sudden departure was spreading like fire through Liris. Eilen and the others were speaking to her, but she couldn't understand anything they said.

Strangely calm, she looked through the rushing people at the one other person who seemed still. He was giving orders at the foot of the stairs to Margit's chambers, putting out his arm to prevent people without firefighting tools from going up, pointing out where to get sand or buckets to those just arriving. His face was impassive, but his gestures were quick and focused.

"What are we going to do?” Odess was literally wringing his hands, something Venera had never actually seen someone do. “Without the botanist, what will happen to the trees? Will Sacrus forgive us for what you did? We could all be killed. Who is going to lead us now?"

Eilen turned to Odess, shaking his shoulder crossly. “Why shouldn't it be Venera?"

"V-Venera?” He looked terrified.

She laughed. “I'm leaving. Right now. Besides, you already have your new botanist.” She pointed. “He's been here all along."

Moss looked up from where he was directing the firefighting. He saw Venera, and the perpetually desperate expression around his eyes softened a bit. She walked over to him.

As shouts came down the stairs saying that the fire was under control, she laid a hand on the former envoy's arm and smiled at him. “Moss,” she said, “I don't want you to be sad anymore."

"I-I'll t-try,” he said.

Satisfied, she turned away from the people of Liris. Venera traced the steps Margit had taken only minutes before, pausing only to arm herself in Liris's barracks. She walked up the broad stone steps over which towered row after row of portraits—centuries of botanists, masons, doctors, and scholars, all of whom had been born here, lived here, and died here leaving legacies that might have been known only to a handful of people, but were meaningful nonetheless. She trod carefully patched steps whose outlines were known intimately by those who tended them, past arches and doors that figured as clearly as heroes out of myth in the dreams and ambitions of the people who lived under them—people to whom they were the very world itself.