“I know where they might be,” he replied with a stupid shrewd smirk.

“Are you in condition to lead us there?”

“I might be able to find it. Then again, I might not.” He jiggled an empty purse. The driver elbowed him and whispered in his ear; the smirk disappeared and the man added, “Most assured-certainly I can, Queen Charis.” Piros jabbed him again.

“Then do it,” commanded Charis. “We are wasting time.”

Piros climbed into the chariot and unwound the reins, snapping them smartly. The horses’ drooping heads lifted. The vinedresser climbed overcarefully into the vehicle, and they were off.

Finding the bridge posed no difficulty, even in the dark, for the road led directly to it. The besotted vinedresser had only to indicate which branch of the road to take when it forked on two occasions. The bridge was not far from the town, and they arrived as the moon rose above the surrounding hills.

There was no one at the bridge, but scattered through the grove a little distance away from the road Charis could see campfires winking through the trees. “There they are,” she said. “Piros, give our guide the price of a jar and let him go.”

Piros dipped into his purse and flipped a coin to the vinedresser, who was wearing the expression of a man who has just been stung by a hornet. “We do you no disservice, vinedresser,” said Charis. “Your help has been rewarded in kind, and the fresh air will clear your head wonderfully. Now go; if you hurry, there may still be time for another jar before the innkeeper closes the shutters.”

The vinedresser lurched from the chariot and, muttering under his breath, hurried away. Piros turned the team and started for the grove. They were soon stopped by armed sentries waiting among the trees.

“Turn back,” one of the sentries told them. “There is nothing to concern you here.”

“It is Piros,” replied the driver, foregoing all protocol. “Oh, and Princess Charis,” he added hastily, “to see her brother the prince and King Belyn of Tairn.”

The sentry approached, saw Charis sitting rigidly in the chariot, bowed, and came around to the back of the vehicle. “Princess, allow me to conduct you to your brother,” he said, offering his arm. Piros made a move to join them. “Take the horses to the teiher line,” the sentry told him, pointing back through the trees. “You will find fodder and water for them there.”

Piros turned the team and drove them through the trees. The sentry said nothing as he guided her into the center of the grove. They passed along a darkened pathway with camp-fires on either side, around which Charis glimpsed faces whose eyes sparkled in the lambent light, watching as she passed. They approached a larger campfire and Charis saw that three huge, round tents had been set up; lampstands within the tents made them seem like great glowing mushrooms sprouting up beneath the sheltering limbs of the trees.

“Prince Kian’s is on the left, Princess Charis,” said the sentry. “King Belyn’s on the right, and in the center is Prince Maildun’s.”

“Thank you,” she said and started toward Kian’s tent. The sentry hung back. “Was there something else?”

The man lowered his eyes, and even in the moonlight Charis could see that he was embarrassed. At first she thought he would not speak, but he looked at her again and said, “I was there-at the watchtower. I saw what you did. We all saw…”

“Anyone else would have done the same.”

The sentry nodded, as much as to say, Oh, yes, and swineherds fly.

“It was kind of you to remember.” She turned back to the tents. “The one on the left, you said?”

He nodded again and led her to it. Two more sentries stood outside the tent and when they saw Charis they suddenly snapped to attention. “The princess to see Prince Kian,” the sentry informed them, as if they had not already guessed.

One of the sentries ducked under the tent flap and a moment later the flap was thrown wide as Kian stepped out. “Charis, what are you doing here? Come in at once.”

Once inside, in the warmth and light of the tent, Charis’ fatigue, held off for so long, suddenly overwhelmed her. She sagged against a tent pole and closed her eyes.

“-foolish thing to do,” Kian was saying. “I told you at the tower that I” He broke off when he saw her. “By Cybel’s horns, Charis, you’re pale as milk. Sit down. Here” He reached for her to help her to a chair.

“No!” Her hand came away from the tent pole and her eyes opened as she slowly straightened. “I can manage.”

Kian watched her with apprehension growing in his dark eyes. “You are in pain, Charis. I will send for a Mage” He made a move toward the tent flap.

“No-no, thank you, Kian. It will pass. Annubi gave me something earlier. It is leaving me now, but I will be all right.”

The prince frowned. “This is not wise at all. You should be home in bed.’”

“Home? What a choice of words, Kian. And where do you suppose my home to be? The bullring?”

“You know what I mean,” He stood with his fists on his hips, then softened and stepped toward her. “Why did you come?”

“Belyn is still awake?”

“Yes, we were together until just a few minutes ago. Do you want me to send for him?”

“We will go to him.”

Leaning on Kian’s arm, Charis managed the few yards between tents. Kian nodded to one of the sentries and they were admitted at once. Just inside the tent stood a carved rosewood screen, candlelight shining through the innumerable perforations like starlight. A nearby censer burned sweet-smelling incense and a layer of blue-tinted smoke hung like a cloud at the top of the tent.

Charis composed herself and straightened as she stepped from behind the screen. Belyn was standing at a small table with a carafe in his hand, pouring wine into a cup. He wore the haggard look of a man tired beyond exhaustion. He glanced up as they entered. “Ah, Kian, will you have” His eyes went to Charis.

“Uncle Belyn,” said Charis.

Recognition spread across the king’s face like sunrise. “Charis! Charis, my soul, let me look at you. It has been a long time. When last I saw you-but look at you!” He replaced the cup and stepped around the table to take her by the arms.

Charis winced. “Uncle Belyn,” she said between clenched teeth, “it is good to see you too.”

He pulled back in alarm and cast a quick glance at Kian. “You are hurt. Sit down at once. Here” He dragged a three-legged camp chair across the carpeted floor. “Sit.”

Charis accepted the chair and lowered herself slowly onto it. “Some wine,” said Belyn. “Get more chairs, Kian.” He stepped to the table to pour two more cups. Charis saw that he had a scar on his temple that ran from his hairline into his scalp; his hair had gone white along the slash mark and one eyelid drooped slightly. He returned as Kian pushed two more chairs together. Belyn handed a cup to each of them saying, “Your brother told me about what you did at the watchtower. I am much impressed-and I am not the only one.”

“I made them pay for their pleasure,” acknowledged Charis. She took a sip of the wine, then several gulps.

“Indeed,” remarked Kian. “Charis, do you know that my men have talked about nothing else since? They Believe you a goddess.”

“Then they should see this goddess now,” scoffed Charis, raising a hand to her battered face. She took another draught of wine and cautiously leaned back in the chair. “A goddess with a broken back perhaps.”

“Say what you like, it is true,” Belyn said. “Talk is spreading among my troops as well and they, as you know, were not even there.” He gulped down his wine and set the cup aside. “Now then, why have you come when you should be home in bed?”

She answered directly. “I want you to give up this stupid war.”

“Give it up?” Belyn raised his eyebrows and looked across to Kian. “But thanks to you we have just gained the first advantage we have enjoyed since Avallach-well, the first in a very long time. Why would we want to give up now?”