With a flick of her wrist she looped the chain around Daxus's throat. Her hands clenched around the chain and she strained, forearms bulging. Her face turned into an insane mask of fury; her lips curled back in a snarl. Daxus emitted a scraping howl as the links bit sharply into his flesh. His cheeks purpled; a vein throbbed in his temple, and his eyes snapped wide with death-fear.

It was over with startling swiftness. Daxus slumped forward, his head making a loud crack as it hit the floor. "So they will all end," she promised again, recovering her composure, patting a loose curl back into place. She stepped away from the body. "But for the moment this business is done." She took Kadakithis's arm in a firm grip. "Many of you were my friends before I left, and I'm eager to speak and laugh with all of you. This is a celebration, so let's celebrate!" Without giving Shupansea another look. Daphne led her husband into the thick of the crowd.

Chenaya motioned to Dayrne that he should take Daxus away. She didn't miss the shocked expression he wore. Neither of them had considered that Daphne would kill Daxus there. She had taken too much pleasure in tormenting her plaything.

Lowan Vigeles appeared at her elbow. His features were stony. "This was not well done. Daughter," was all he said before he left her to rejoin Rosanda.

Shupansea whirled on her. For an instant Chenaya thought the Beysa would spit. The woman seemed barely in control of herself, unable to find words. Instead, she mounted the stairs and stormed from the hall.

Molin was next in line. "You foolish child!" he started. "You've made her a whore in the eyes of the entire city. Do you know what you've done?"

Chenaya glared at him, recalling with disgust how once she had trusted this man. He alone knew of the gifts Savankala had granted her. With that knowledge, of course, he had made a small fortune by betting on her battles in the arena. She peered at her uncle and felt nothing but anger.

"If you want to talk, Old Weasel," she said low-voiced, "we'd better do it on the terrace away from other ears."

Molin looked as if he'd swallowed bitter wine, then he turned and shoved a path through the guests to the terrace. Chenaya leaned far over the balcony, tempting him to push her. On the docks in the distance she could see the glimmering fires of the poorer Beysib sailors. They, too, celebrated the Winter Bey in their own less lavish way.

"... Stupid, thoughtless action!" Molin Torchholder raged, shaking his fist. "If Shupansea is angry enough to take action where will we be? She has a thousand warriors!"

Chenaya's waist was encircled by numerous chains. She unfastened one of them and draped it around Molin's neck. One end was pronged.

"You ordered the attack on Daphne's caravan. Uncle Molin." She held up a hand before he could protest. "Don't deny it. I know. I saw everything, including your face, in a scrying crystal."

Molin didn't bother to hide his laughter. "You accuse me because of something you saw in a fortune-teller's ball? You're as insane as Daphne!"

"No, Uncle," she answered. "What I saw was real. It was no mere fortune-teller. I promised Daphne the names of her tormentors, and I did what I had to do to get those names. Gods know every one of them deserves to die. Scavengers' Island is filthier and more vile even than Sanctuary." She clasped both ends of the chain around his neck, slid her hands toward his throat. "But when I left here over three months ago it was to find and save any remaining members of the Royal Family. And for better or worse, you're Family. I won't turn you over to Daphne. If we ever do get the chance to strike back against Theron we may need someone with your ability to scheme and plot." She released the chain, smoothed a wrinkle from his tunic. "And if we never get the chance," she smiled darkly, "then, in time, I'll take care of you myself."

Molin drew himself proudly erect. "Don't threaten me, Niece. The gods have made you powerful, but you forget I know your secrets. I know how you can die!" Chenaya grabbed Molin by the front of his robe, ripped the hem of her own gown as she lifted and bent him backward over the balcony, twisted him so he could see the ground far below.

"You know how," she growled, "but not when. Would you drown me. Uncle, throw me in the river? You foolish old man! After I discovered what a snake you are the first thing I learned to do was swim. You have my secrets, but see what good they do you." She set him back on his feet, pleased by the fine, sudden sweat sheen on his brow.

Molin rubbed his back where the stone had bitten into it. "Damn you! Don't you ever get tired of games? Don't you weary of always winning?"

Amazed, she threw back her head and laughed. "Uncle, you're such a delight! The joy isn't in the winning, but in seeing the effect of winning on the loser."

She left him, then. Inside the hall, the noise of conversation had reached a new height. Shupansea had not returned, nor was Kadakithis anywhere in sight. Daphne moved through the crowd, smiling and tinkling with laughter with Dayrne as her escort. Lowan and Rosanda stood alone in a corner in private dialogue.

"Is it true you were undefeated in the Rankan Games?"

Chenaya looked disdainfully at the little man who had dared to brush her elbow. He offered her a goblet of wine which she refused, and he repeated his question.

"Your name is Terryle, isn't it?" she asked innocently. "The tax collector?"

His face lit up, and he made a slight bow. "My fame precedes me!"

Chenaya wrinkled her nose and imitated his tone. "Is it true you're the most detested man in Sanctuary?" His brows shot up. She walked away before any more could come of the conversation. She saw the man Lastel coming her way.

Strange, she thought. None of this is as I thought it would be. She'd won, but there was a bitter taste in her mouth. She recalled something she'd said to Daphne: Even winning can cost a dear price.

Without a word to anyone she mounted the steps, nodded goodnight to Lu-Broca and left the Palace. A few guests mingled in Vashanka's Square on the Palace grounds, but she avoided them. Just outside the Processional Gate four of her gladiators waited with her palanquin. Too late, she realized she'd left a fine cloak inside. No matter, she would send for it tomorrow. Right now, she wanted to get home, change into leathers and take a walk with Reyk. The falcon was the only company she wanted.

The palanquin began to move. Chenaya sighed, pulled the curtains closed and hugged herself against the cold.

I

It was an uncommon meeting of Stepsons, recent and previous. It took place one night at winter's edge, outside the weed-grown garden of a smallish house on the riverside, a house in which the outer dimensions and the inner ones did not well agree. Ischade was its owner. And this meeting was on a midnight when She was occupied with another visitor in the inside of this outwardly-small house . and a bay horse waited sleepily at the front.

"Stilcho," the Stepson-ghost whispered; and Stilcho, fugitive from his bed within the house (rejected lately, solitary within the witch's abode) stirred in his dejected posture and lifted his head from his cloaked arms and opened his eyes, only one of which existed.

Janni hovered by the back step, in one of his less palatable manifestations, adrip with gore, rib-bone showing through shreds of skin. Stilcho gathered himself to his feet, wrapped his cloak about him and put a little distance between them-he was no ghost, himself, but he was dead: so he understood ghosts all too well and knew an agitated one when he saw it, both in this world and the next.