"Khiron," Anatol said, his voice growing stronger as the thing remained standing quietly. "The master Maxian directs that you should unload all of the wagons and put the crates inside the big house, in the atrium."

The thing stood quietly, staring down at the Walach boy. Anatol gulped again and began to slide slowly backward, angling for the edge of the house and his confederates. Muscles and veins moved under the skin of the thing, squirming like worms crawling under a gelid surface of translucent wax. Anatol blinked, preparing to bolt if the thing moved toward him.

Khiron smiled, face sliding into a ghastly rictus. Long yellow teeth, sharp and pointed like needles, were exposed. A tongue darted, a black point that vanished, leaving only a memory of its presence on the mind of the viewer. The thing turned toward the house, the break between stillness and motion undetectable.

"I will place the crates and boxes in the atrium." The thing's voice was hollow, a drywell lined with fragments of bone and dust. "I will empty the wagons."

Anatol and the other Walach boys were long gone, a cloud of white dust drifting in the air of the villa yard. Khiron's face collapsed back into its usual blank state as it unhitched the back of the first wagon. Four wooden crates- each the length of a an- laywithin, filled with books and scrolls. Khiron grasped the first with its fists. Wood squeaked in protest as the long black nails ground into the pine planks. Khiron lifted the crate out of the back of the wagon and carried it inside, resting on one shoulder.

On the second floor of the big house, the little black cat peered down between the crossbars of the railing that lined the balcony. Its yellow eyes followed the passage of the corpse-man as it passed below and into the house. When it was gone, the cat turned, tail in the air, and padded away into the dim hallway that ran the length of the upper floor.

"Do you feel it?" Maxian lay on the ground, his face pressed against the earth, his eyes closed. Krista stood over him, her arms crossed over her chest. Her face was pinched in worry, and she could feel a cold, uncomfortable eddy in the air. "Can you hear it breathing?"

They stood in a grotto, as the Prince had promised. It was lined by mossy boulders and floored with thick soft grass and dusted with tiny blue flowers. Water trickled over rocks somewhere nearby, but Krista could not make out where the stream was. Dim green gloom crouched under the overhanging trees and puddled underneath the walls of stone. The way into it had wound down through hidden passages in the brush and brambles, over smooth rocks and past sharp-edged cliffs. It lay, she guessed, at the center of the bowl on the mountaintop, the uttermost secret within the wilderness of rock and thorn. Pollen drifted in the air, catching the last light of afternoon, sparkling in slowly falling clouds. The blue sky seemed far above, distant beyond the tops of the boulders.

The Prince had seemed giddy, almost drunk, since they had climbed that last little way down the rocks into the grassy sward. He had run out into the center and whirled around, his arms spread wide. Krista had crouched, nervous, at the edge of the open space. Her arms were covered with goose bumps. This place made her uneasy. Maxian had been laughing and talking to himself the whole time. It set her nerves on edge, hearing him chatter like a little boy.

"Listen!" Maxian looked up, his eyes crinkled up in a grin. "Put your hand on the ground."

Krista, swallowing nervously, knelt on the grass and placed her palms on the thick loam. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Grass twisted under her hands, and she felt the crumbly soil. She closed her eyes.

First there was nothing, only the cool feel of the ground. Then there was something, a hum or a trembling sensation. Then she felt it, deep and distant, muted by unimaginable distance. A slow, heavy surge, a throbbing, the beat of a vast drum. Breath hissed between her clenched teeth, and she jerked her hand away as if burned by a hot skillet.

The mountain had a heartbeat, as slow and regular as a sleeping child. She looked up. The Prince was standing, his face filled from within with joy. It seemed that years of care had dropped away from him.

"Can't you feel it? The power in the earth? It burns like a star, like the sun."

Krista shook her head. She felt nothing but growing fear and a trickle of cold along her back.

"Don't you feel the air?" Maxian was grinning fit to burst. "This place is free of the curse, held in balance by this power in the mountain. I can rest here. I can work here." He rubbed his hands together in delight. "This is what I was missing all along- a sanctuary!"

Krista summoned a smile and accepted his embrace, though she felt cold even in the warmth of his arms. When he spun her around, picking her up off of the ground, her eyes were bleak.

Song rose from the dining hall, echoing off firelit walls and round columns in the garden. Alexandros was singing, standing by the fire with his hand on the back of a couch covered with a blue-and-red quilt. He had a strong voice, and it carried well, filled with longing and a hint of glory won. Gaius and Maxian were reclining on couches under the sloped roof that ran around the inner garden of the house. The remains of a hearty dinner were strewn about, and the Walach boys were curled up under the table, snoring softly, their bellies full of roasted pork and grape leaves stuffed with raisins and nutmeats. A round yellow moon had risen and it peered over the peak of the house. It was bright enough to send the stars hurrying before it.

White-armed Hera smiled, and smiling, took the cup.

Alexandros' voice rose, ringing through the empty halls and rooms of the house.

Dripping nectar sweet, from the mixing bowl she poured it round.

Krista moved quietly in the room that the Prince had chosen for them, her slim white hands gathering up clothes and a comb from the side table.

Laughter broke from the happy gods, watching the god of fire breathing hard.

She twisted the bundle into a carrying roll and bound it round with a long length of cloth.

From that hour and all day long they feasted, and no god hungered or lacked a share.

The straw hat hung down her back, held by the twisted leather plait. She turned at the door, frowning, a wicker basket tucked under one arm.

Gorgeous Apollo struck his lyre, calling the Muses singing, their voice and voice in choir, their vibrant music ringing.

Alexandros' voice faded as she slipped down the hallway, calling softly into each room. She was beginning to sweat, fearing that the Prince or one of the men would come upstairs at any moment.

Sun's fiery light set, each immortal going to rest in his own house, those splendid high halls Hephaestus built in craft and cunning.

There was a clattering sound, and Krista froze, sliding to the nearest wall, her heart hammering. Her hand was tight on a thin knife of iron. Something darted past her feet, small and black as night, skittering on the smooth tile with tiny claws.

So went Olympian Zeus, lord of lightnings, to his bed. There, welcome sleep lay for him.

Krista sprinted down the hallway, her soft-bottomed shoes flashing on the tile, and scooped up the little black cat with a swift jerk. The cat squeaked plaintively as Krista stuffed it headfirst into the wicker basket. She came to a halt- barelydaring to breathe- at the top of the stairs down to the garden. She could see Alexandros still standing in the garden, his voice raised to the open sky. Maxian was draining a cup of good red wine. She turned away, her face composed and still.