It all fit together. And an aura of guilt seemed to hover like a dull stinking cloud of marsh-gas around Husathirn Mueri even as he sat here.

But Taniane couldn’t simply go on a fact-finding expedition in his mind with her second sight. It would be a scandalous intrusion. It was beyond all propriety. She’d have to make a formal charge first, and call him to trial, for that. And if in fact he was innocent, she would have gained nothing for herself except an unalterable enemy, who happened to be one of the shrewdest and most powerful men in the city. That wasn’t a risk worth taking.

Was it ever in my mind without my consciously knowing it, she wondered, to have Kundalimon done away with? And did I somehow convey that to Husathirn Mueri without fully realizing what I was asking?

No. No. No.

She hadn’t ever meant the boy any harm. She wanted only to protect the children of the city against the madness of the hjjk-teachings that he was spreading. She was certain of that. To have ordered the death of her daughter’s first and only lover — no, that had never been in her mind at all.

Where was Nialli now? No one had seen her since her disappearance from the stadium.

“You still suspect me?” Husathirn Mueri asked.

Taniane stared stonily at him. “I suspect everyone, except perhaps my mate and my daughter.”

“What assurance can I give you, lady, that I had no part in the boy’s death?”

Shrugging, she said, “Let it pass. But it was that underling of yours, that guard-captain, I think, who took it upon himself to have Kundalimon killed, or to kill him himself.”

“Very likely so, I agree.”

“How do we account for the killing of Curabayn Bangkea, though?”

Husathirn Mueri spread his hands wide. “I have no idea. Some rowdies at the games, maybe, catching him in a dark corner. With an old score that needed settling. He was captain of the guards, after all. He threw his weight around freely. He must have had enemies.”

“But on the very same day of Kundalimon’s murder—”

“A coincidence that only the gods could explain. Certainly I can’t, lady. But the investigation will continue until we have the answer, if it takes a hundred years. Both deaths will be resolved. I promise you that.”

“In a hundred years nothing of this will matter. What matters now is that an ambassador from the Queen of Queens has been murdered while in our city. While in the midst of treaty negotiations.”

“And that troubles you, does it?’

“I don’t want us getting embroiled in a war with the hjjks until we’re ready for such a thing. Yissou only knows what goes on in the minds of hjjks, but if I were the Queen I’d regard killing Her ambassador as a very serious provocation indeed. An act of war, in fact. And we’re very far from being ready to fight them.”

“I agree,” said Husathirn Mueri. “But this isn’t any such provocation of that sort. Consider, lady.” He ticked off the points on his fingers. “One: His embassy was finished. He had presented his message; that was all he was sent here to do. He wasn’t a negotiator, just a messenger, and not even a very competent messenger. Two: He was a citizen of this very city, returning after a long absence brought about by his having been kidnapped. He wasn’t the Queen’s subject in any way. She had him only because Her people stole him from us. What claim could she have to him? Three: There’s no sort of contact between Dawinno and the Nest, and therefore no reason to think they’ll ever find out what became of him, assuming they care in the slightest. When we make our response to their treaty proposal, if we do, we’re not obliged to say anything about where Kundalimon might happen to be at the moment. Or perhaps we won’t reply to them at all. Four—”

“No!” Taniane snapped. “In Yissou’s name, no more hypotheses! Doesn’t your mind ever stop ticking, Husathirn Mueri?”

“Only when I sleep, perhaps.”

“Then go to your bed, and I’ll go to mine. You’ve convinced me. The killing of that boy isn’t going to bring the hjjks down upon us. But there’s a gaping wound in our commonwealth all the same, which can be healed only by finding these murderers.”

“The one who killed Kundalimon, I do believe, is already dead himself.”

“Then there’s still at least one killer loose among us. I give you the job of finding him, Husathirn Mueri.”

“I’ll spare no effort, lady. You can count on that.”

He bowed and left. She looked after him until he turned the corner of the hallway and was gone.

The day was over at last. Home, now. Hresh was already there, waiting for her. The news of Kundalimon’s death had affected him more than she would have expected. Rarely had she seen him so distraught. And then, Nialli Apuilana — the girl had to be found, she had to be comforted—

A very long day indeed.

This is the deep tropical wilderness, where the air clings to your throat with every breath, and the ground is soft and resilient, like a moist sponge, beneath your feet. Nialli Apuilana has no idea how far she’s come from the city in her flight. She has no clear idea of anything. Her mind is choked and congested by grief. No thoughts pass through it.

Where thought had been, there is only second sight now, operating in some automatic way, carrying information about her surroundings to her in dim pulsing pulsations. She is aware of the city far behind her, crouching on its hills like a huge many-tentacled monster made of stone and brick, sending out waves of cold baleful menace. She is aware of the swamps through which she is running, rich with hidden life both great and small. She is aware of the vastness of the continent that stretches before her. But nothing is clear, nothing is coherent. The only reality is the journey itself, the mad roaring need to run, and run, and run, and run.

A night and a day and a night and nearly another day have passed since she fled from Dawinno. She had ridden a xlendi part of the way, driving it furiously into the southern lakelands; but somewhere late on that first day she had paused to sip water at a stream, and the xlendi had wandered off, and she has gone on foot ever since. She scarcely ever stops, except to sleep, a few hours at a time. Whenever she does halt she collapses into a darkness that is the next thing to death, and when after a time it lifts from her she gets up and begins running once more, without goal, without direction. A fever is on her, so that she seems to be on fire everywhere, but it gives her strength. She is a molten thing, cutting a blazing path through this unknown domain. She eats fruits that she snatches from bushes as she runs. She stoops to pluck fungi with shining yellow caps from the ground, and crams them into her mouth without pausing. When thirst overcomes her she drinks any water she finds, fresh or still. Nothing matters. Flight is all.

Her body has long since slipped into that strange crystalline realm that lies beyond fatigue. She no longer feels the throbbings of her weary legs, no longer records the protests of her lungs or the pains that shoot upward through her back. She moves at a graceful lope, running swiftly in a kind of mindless serenity.

She must not allow her mind to regain awareness.

If it does, she will hear the lethal words again. Found in an alleyway. Dead. Strangled.

The vision of Kundalimon’s slender body will come to her, twisted, rumpled, staring sightlessly toward the gray sky. His hands outstretched. His lips slightly apart.

Found in an alleyway.

Her lover. Kundalimon. Dead. Gone forever.

They would have gone north to the Queen together. Together they would have descended hand in hand into the Nest of Nests, down into that warm sweet-smelling mysterious realm beneath those distant plains. The song of Nest-bond would have engulfed their spirits. The pull of Queen-love would have dissolved all disharmonies in their souls. Dear ones would have come up to embrace them: Nest-thinkers, Egg-makers, Life-kindlers, Militaries, every caste gathering round to welcome the newcomers to their true home.