His smile faded quickly. Tzigone, the friend who needed him most, would not be so easily rescued.

Never had Tzigone been so weary. Gasping for breath, she sank to the ground, not caring about the sodden moss, not feeling the chill.

They had come again, the dark fairies. This time they had pulled from her the memory of the first few years of her life, after her mother had been captured and she had been a child alone. For years Tzigone had sought to recover these memories, thinking to find in them the key to who she was. Now she was grateful for the darkness that had shrouded them for so long.

Tzigone flopped onto her back, willing herself to breathe slowly and deeply. She had run for what might have been hours, fleeing from one terrifying memory only to find herself enmeshed in another. She might be running still, but her Unseelie tormenters had released her. If they ran her until her heart burst, they would have no more pleasure from her.

Seeking rest and escape, she traveled deep into her memory-past the traumas of a street child, past the time spent as daughter of a fugitive wizard. The secrets of her own life had been bared. If there was answer for her, a way out of this endless prison, it was not in her lifetime, but her mother's...

It was twilight, Keturah's favorite time, and the three young wizards with her seemed as happy as she to be out under the open sky. The four of them stood on the flat roof of the guesthouse, watching as the setting sun turned the storm clouds over Lake Halruaa into a dragon's hoard of shining gold and ruby and amethyst. Behind them loomed Keturah's tower, its green-veined marble gleaming in the fading light.

Keturah watched as the apprentices practiced a simple spell of summoning. Earlier that day, she had taught them to call the bats that emerged with the coming of night-tiny, chameleon bats that changed color as they wheeled against the sunset clouds.

The youngest apprentice, a girl not yet in adolescent bloom, had donned gloves of bright pink silk. A bat landed on her hand, hanging from her finger like an endearingly ugly fuchsia blossom. The girl's laughter was happy and excited-childhood's magic blended with that of her emerging Art. Keturah chuckled in sympathy.

A bell tolled from the garden below, indicating a visitor too important to ignore. Keturah signaled the students to continue and headed for the stairs to answer the summons.

Her visitor was an elf, an exceedingly well-favored male with coppery skin and a strikingly handsome face. But for his traditional white garments and the bright blue, green, and yellow enameling on his medallion, he might have been mistaken for either a warrior or a professional male courtier. Keturah knew him by name and by sight, as did most of Halarahh society. King Zalathorm might be reclusive, but the same could not be said of his queen. Fiordella enjoyed grand fetes and festivals, and she was frequently seen in the company of Zephyr, her favorite counselor.

Keturah put the gossip firmly out of mind and exchanged the expected pleasantries. As soon as she could do so without offending proprieties, she asked what service she could render her queen.

"No more than is required of all wizards," Zephyr observed sternly. "You will follow Halruaa's laws."

Keturah blinked. "How have I failed?"

"You are not yet wed."

"That is so," she said cautiously, "but I am young, and in no great hurry."

"You are six and twenty," he pointed out "Wizards are required to marry before the age of five and twenty."

"I have never heard of that law," she protested.

"Most wizards are early wed, so it is seldom necessary to evoke this law. But a law it is, my lady, and you cannot flout it."

"I suppose not," she said, and sighed. "I will consult a matchmaker before moondark."

"There is no need. The match has already been made."

Keturah's heart seemed to take flight, only to reach the end of its tether and thump painfully back into place. "It is the woman's prerogative to initiate the match!"

"There are exceptions," he pointed out. "From time to time, it is determined that one wizard's lineage is exceptionally well suited to that of another."

"Determined? By whom?"

"The match was submitted to the Council of Elders and approved."

Ordinarily, suggested matches could be appealed, but if matters had gone that far, there was no undoing them.

"Who was chosen for me?" she said resignedly.

"Dhamari Exchelsor."

Disbelief swept through her like an icy wind. "That is not possible! He was my apprentice. It would be unseemly."

"He left your tower nearly a year ago," the elven jordain pointed out. "His current master deems him ready to test for the rank of journeyman wizard, generalist school. His specialty is the crafting of potions. He will not require your tutelage in the Art of evocation."

Keturah took a long, steadying breath. "When two wizards matched for marriage are already acquainted, it is custom to consider the nature of their feelings. Never did anything pass between us that should lead to marriage!"

"He has already agreed. The match is made and approved. It is done but for the wedding feast, which I understand is set for this very night." The jordain cocked his head and considered the clatter approaching Keturah's gate. "That would be the Exchelsor family. As mistress of this tower, should you not greet them?"

Moving in a daze, Keturah went out into the courtyard. Dhamari Exchelsor entered the garden, his expression strangely shy. Keturah took a small amount of comfort from this. If she was to be overwhelmed by events far above her control, at least she was not alone.

Dhamari was closely followed by his family and their retinue. They had a priest of Mystra in tow and servants bearing trays upon which were arranged the traditional marriage items: a silver chalice, a scroll, a small, jeweled knife. One of the servants held a robe of crimson silk that was richly embroidered and encrusted with gems. This she held out to Keturah, clucking indignantly over the woman's simple tunic and bare legs.

"Now?" Keturah murmured, sending a look of appeal toward the queen's counselor.

Zephyr shrugged. "Why wait? The matter is settled."

Moving like one in a dream, Keturah allowed the servant to help her into the robe, to tie the marriage cord around her waist.

She echoed the spells of binding and drank from the chalice when it was given her. When they handed her the ceremonial knife and pushed back the sleeve of her robe to bare her wrist, she stood for a moment studying the pulsing life beneath her skin.

As if he feared what she might do, the priest quickly took back the knife and handed it to Dhamari. He nicked Keturah's wrist, then his own. They pressed them together, a symbol of bloodlines mixed.

When at last the ceremony was over, the Exchelsor clan erupted into loud celebration. Dhamari winced and sent Keturah a shy, rueful smile.

"You look as overwhelmed as I feel, my lady. If you desire a few moments' privacy to catch your breath, I will try to keep the revelers away."

She nodded, grateful for his understanding, and slipped off in search of a quiet corner of the garden.

Dhamari watched her go, then sought out the queen's jordain. He found the elf lingering by the front gate, watching the celebration with narrowed eyes.

"The thing is done and well done," he said.

"Is it?" Zephyr countered. "You came here well before the appointed hour, before Keturah learned the reason for this match. By law, she must be told."

"She will be, when the time is right. Leave it in my hands."

When the jordain hesitated, Dhamari pressed a small, coin-filled bag into his hand. "Our lady has no need of wealth. She is enriched by your faithful service," he said meaningfully.