The three boys pushed through a gap in the low, thick fronds of lush undergrowth near a row of plantain trees, and Xaphira could see several hunks of the fruit lying upon the ground there, slashed and pierced where they had been violently removed from the trees themselves. The boys' targets, she surmised.

"We were back there, shooting," Adyan began to explain, delivering the words in his usual lazy drawl, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "When Vambran took a shot, we heard a grunt and came to see what happened. We found him right… here," the young man finished, pointing toward the bank of a pond a few paces farther ahead.

Xaphira pushed past the boys and brushed aside damp, clinging foliage. She peered into the moonlit evening, followed closely behind by Dregaul. It was, if possible, even more humid among the lush greenery. She could see a form lying still upon the ground, right near the water's edge. It was a man, very obviously a party guest, judging by the lavish cut and style of his clothing. Then she spotted the fletched end of a crossbow bolt protruding from the man's chest, a dark stain spreading from it into the white linen shirt the man wore.

Damn.

Xaphira had hoped against hope that something else had hurt the man her nephew had found, but it was apparently not meant to be. She stepped closer and knelt down, feeling for any signs of life.

"Is he still alive?" Dregaul asked, looming over Xaphira's left shoulder.

"No," the woman replied miserably, rolling the body over onto its back.

"Who is it?" Adyan asked quietly from behind, cautiously peering between the two adults at the corpse.

Xaphira started to shake her head, for she did not recognize the man's features, but at that moment, a call arose from nearby, in another section of the gardens.

"Rodolpho, where are you?" It was a woman's call, a cheerful, laughing sound. "Rodolpho, you hide too well. Come out now and take me inside where it's cooler for some iced punch."

Dregaul gasped as he heard the mysterious woman's words.

"By Waukeen," he breathed softly. "You've killed Lord Wianar's cousin, you fools," he said, his voice cracking in near-panic as he spun around to stare at the three boys.

Xaphira's heart fell. She was fond of Vambran. She had been almost fourteen when he was born, and she thought of him as a younger brother. In fact, she had practically raised her nephew herself and felt somewhat like his protector.

And now this, she lamented.

The Lord of Arrabar's cousin was dead, by the hand of Xaphira's nephew. However innocently slain, it would be called murder, and Eles Wianar would have his retribution upon the guilty. Upon Vambran.

"Rodolpho! What kind of a rake leaves a lady wandering through his gardens?" The woman called, very clearly closer than she had been previously. "Rodolpho, answer me! This is no longer amusing."

Xaphira could hear the woman's footsteps by then, strolling through the orchard toward them. Farther in the distance, others were also calling for the man, moving across the grounds of the palace.

"What were you thinking?" Dregaul demanded quietly, almost pleading, as though an answer might change the situation. Vambran could only shrug helplessly, miserably.

The other two young men stood aghast, utter despair plain in their widening eyes. Adyan's mouth hung open as he stared back and forth between Dregaul and Vambran, while Horial clutched at his midsection and staggered away a couple of steps, shaking his head in futile denial, looking like he was about to be sick.

"This can't be happening," Dregaul muttered helplessly, his gaze locked on nothing, his stare distant. "The House," he said, his tone forlorn. "The estate. We'll lose it all."

His hands went to his temples, his fingertips first grinding into his skull and running up and through his swept-back, graying hair. The man opened and shut his mouth several times more, unable to find the words he needed.

Xaphira shook her head.

"No," she whispered firmly, trying to reason out some way to extract Vambran from the situation. "It was an accident. We can explain it to Lord Wianar, have him bring priests, fund a resurrection. Surely he will under-"

"Don't be a fool," Dregaul snapped. "You know the game. The family is responsible for killing Lord Wianar's cousin, and now House Matrell is at his mercy. He will crush us. Or worse, manipulate the situation to his advantage, and House Matrell will be his to use as he wishes. All because my foolish nephew," Dregaul said, turning back to Vambran, who stood with tears running down his face, "the son of my dead brother, could not be bothered to consider the consequences of his actions. Your uncle Kovrim should never have given you that wretched weapon, and I should never have allowed you to bring it to the Generon tonight. You cannot fathom the doom you have brought upon us all, most especially upon yourself. And I cannot help you."

He turned away from the rest of them, his shoulders slumped, and he took several paces to distance himself.

Xaphira watched, heartbroken, as Vambran stood silently sobbing, tears running down his face as his hands clenched and unclenched by his sides. She wanted to take hold of him, crush him to her like she had when he was a small child, but she dared not. She could not take his guilt from him, no matter how hard she tried. Or can I?

The idea came so suddenly, it nearly knocked Xaphira flat. If her heart seemed to have been pounding before, at that point it felt as though it would burst from her chest. It was a way to redeem Vambran, a way to allow him to reclaim his life-for he was still merely a child in so many ways, and had so much still to look forward to-but at the same time, it terrified the mercenary officer. The implications…

Xaphira acted before she could think, before she could change her mind.

"Wait," she called to Dregaul.

Xaphira peered through the hedge and could see the woman who had been calling out. She was moving slowly toward them, her head scanning back and forth uncertainly, one hand rapidly airing herself with a fan spread wide. As she peered about, she moved her other hand up and testily brushed aside damp, limp ringlets of hair that had plastered themselves to the sides of her face from the dampness. She had not spotted them. Carefully, silently, Xaphira motioned for her four companions to crouch down, out of sight. She moved close to them.

"There is a way out of this," she said, her voice barely even a whisper. "For you."

Dregaul looked at his sister sharply, his incomprehension clear.

"What are you planning, Xaphira?" he asked, just as softly "What foolishness now?"

Instead of answering her brother, Xaphira slipped off her ornate officer's breastplate and turned to Vambran.

"Give me the crossbow," she said, her hand outstretched.

The boy looked at her, puzzled.

"Now," she hissed, peering up momentarily to see what progress the woman had made.

Rodolpho's huntress was definitely closer, though she had stopped and was turning back as others out playing the hiding game had called to her and were moving to join her. Xaphira nodded in relief and turned her attention back to Vambran.

The boy handed the crossbow to his aunt.

"Now the quiver," Xaphira demanded, reaching for the strap.

Quickly, Vambran shrugged out of the container and passed it across.

"What are you going to do?" Dregaul asked again, reaching out and laying his hand across Xaphira's arm. "Tell me, Xaphira."

"I'm going to give you back some hope," the mercenary officer replied, "and Vambran his life."

"What?" Dregaul blurted in a strangled voice, finally understanding. "You can't! Don't be a-"

"Shh!" Xaphira hissed. "You will ruin it if you don't be still." Then, taking a deep breath, she said, "You know this is right, Dregaul. You know this is the only way to spare the family.