"May I ask how you got up to the crow's nest?"

"I climbed up the masts. I had to take off my shoes, but it was little different from climbing trees in the forest at home." She frowned. "The captain's shouting did distract me, however."

"I imagine he was a bit concerned," Sacha said solemnly.

"Well, he should have waited until I reached the top before he shouted."

"I'm sure you told him that."

She nodded. "But he was too angry to listen." She looked intently at Sacha. "Is our escort at the inn?"

"No, our party arrives tomorrow. I came on ahead." A young groom jumped down from the back of the carriage and opened the door. "I thought you'd appreciate a few days of rest before we started overland. It's a four-day journey."

"I did nothing but rest on board the ship. I tried to help the sailors, but they wouldn't let me." If the fate she suspected did await her at Belajo, she was not eager to make haste on the journey. "May we have supper at that cafe?" She tilted her head to indicate a cafe bearing a sign with a painting of a mermaid curled up on a rock. "I've never eaten in a cafe, Sacha. Could we please?"

He nodded indulgently. "A cafe, yes. But not one on the waterfront."

Her face fell in disappointment. "Why not? Sailors are most interesting. They tell such grand and glorious tales."

Sacha handed her into the carriage. "More glorious than truthful."

"I'd like to see for myself." She leaned forward, her face glowing with eagerness. "Someday I'd like to take a journey to the east and follow the route of Marco Polo. Wouldn't that be a great adventure?"

Sacha's expression softened as he looked at her. "A very great adventure." He followed her into the carriage and seated himself across from her. "But you won't find any Marco Polos at the Mermaid Cafe, and sailors' haunts are notoriously disreputable."

"What difference does that make? You'd be with me." She wrinkled her nose ruefully. "If you fear for my virtue, I assure you no one will pay the least notice of me. I'm too small. The sailors on the ship treated me as if I were a demented infant. "She leaned back on the cushioned seats as the carriage started the bouncing journey over the cobblestones.”When the man my father has chosen as my bridegroom sees me, he will very likely back out of the arrangement." She grinned as a sudden thought came to her. "What a splendid idea. If I make myself even uglier, it may be years before he can make another match."

Sacha's lids half veiled his eyes. "You have no desire for marriage?"

"Why should I?" she said. "The convent was bad enough, but at least the sisters were kind. A husband…" She abruptly looked out the window. "I do not like the thought of it."

"Not every man is like your father," he said gently.

"No, but they all seek to use women for their own purposes." She straightened her shoulders and smiled with an effort. "I do not wish to speak of it. Tell me what you have been doing this long time I've been away. I received only a few letters from my mother since I left Tamrovia, and each was heavy with lectures on learning meekness and obedience. You've not wed?"

"Sweet Mary, no," Sacha said in horror.

"How have you escaped that fate? You must be all of thirty."

"By staying away from court and letting every woman there forget I exist." He frowned. "And thirty is far from ancient."

She chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "But we've already discussed how puny you are."

"And how impudent you are." He smiled. "I'm glad the nuns didn't crush the spirit out of you."

His narrowed gaze on her face held surprising keenness, and Tess realized that her first impression had been wrong. Sacha had changed.

When she had left Tamrovia, he had been softer, lazier, even a bit foppish. Now, in spite of the languid airs he assumed, she could sense an indefinable toughness, a greater confidence, as if the softness had been honed away by the experiences of the last years. "You didn't answer me. What have you been doing?"

The sharpness of his regard was hooded again as his lids veiled his eyes. "Oh, this and that. Traveling. Acquiring new skills."

"What new skills?"

He leaned back on the cushions. "You're a curious puss. Perhaps I should ask the same of you. What did you learn in your convent?"

"That I never wanted to return to one."

He chuckled. "What else?"

"Sewing, weaving, candle making. Nothing of real importance. Well, except scripture, of course." She tilted her head and studied him shrewdly. "Why don't you want to answer me?"

"All in good time." He glanced out the window. "We're about to reach the inn. I've arranged for the innkeeper's daughter to act as your maid, and your boxes should arrive—"

"Why did you arrange for a servant? You didn't know Pauline wouldn't be with me."

He hesitated before he smiled teasingly. "Perhaps I thought you needed the help of a younger, more vigorous woman. Our winsome Pauline must be all of two and thirty by now." He sighed morosely. "Even more ancient than my humble self."

She laughed. "Her husband wishes she were a little less vigorous. Married a little over five years to her and he appears worn and weary."

"Pauline was never one to accept anything but the most enthusiastic cooperation… even if she had to force the pace."

The carriage came to a stop, and instantly the footman opened the door. Sacha sprang to the ground and helped Tess out. "Go into the inn. The innkeeper will show you to your chamber. I'll stay here until the second coach arrives and send up your boxes."

"Surely, the innkeeper could—"

But Sacha was already striding across the flagstones toward the stable, and after hesitating a moment, Tess turned and entered the inn.

"All is well?" Galen asked as Sacha entered the stable.

Sacha waited just inside the door until his eyes adjusted to the dimness. The stable was empty except for Galen, who was kneeling beside his stallion in one of the stalls to the left of the door.

The sheikh's coat had been cast aside, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled past his elbow. A huge kettle of water boiled over a small fire at the back of the stable, and the air was filled with the scent of herbs mingled with hay and manure.

"No," Sacha said shortly. "All is not well. I feel like a Judas."

"There's no reason for you to feel a traitor." Galen carefully wrapped a warm, damp cloth around his stallion's delicate left front ankle. "The poison is drawing well. He should be ready to travel in a day or so."

"Why don't you let Said do that?"

"Because Selik belongs to me, and I take care of my own." He lifted his head and met Sacha's gaze, saying with soft emphasis, "Everything I own."

Sacha knew this was true, and it was the only fact that made this situation tolerable. "She's little more than a child, dammit."

"Old enough. I've waited a long time."

"I know, but—"

"I won't use force."

But he would still have his way. Sacha had learned during these last six years how strong Galen's will could be. "I like the imp. I've always liked her. She doesn't deserve to be used."

"Unless she chooses to let herself be used." Galen rose to his feet and patted the black's nose. "And we're all pawns in the scheme of things."