Showing a natural talent for healing, she entered the healer cadres, took her training, and rose quickly through the ranks. Recently she had been promoted to the rank of premier healer. Not only was she now in charge of all the Minion healers-both male and female-but she was the first female to have ever held so lofty a station. Many males in the warrior ranks still outranked her, but given her great talent, coupled with her frequent inclination to speak her mind, they genuinely respected her.

Thousands of Minion healers served under her now, and it was quite impossible for her to know them all. Most she recognized only by the sign of their craft-a pure white feather emblazoned upon the chest of their black leather body armor. But they all knew her.

As the new premier healer, she had accompanied her fellow troops to Eutracia from Parthalon, when Tristan led the Minion forces into battle against Nicholas' hatchlings. Brin fought in that battle. Duvessa had first noticed him when his wounded wing had caught her attention. Already a fighter of some note, he was several years her junior, but he looked older. After seeing each other for a time, they married in accordance with the new freedoms granted by the prince. But their happiness was not to last.

Brin had been killed while helping his troops fight off Wulfgar's demonslaver fleet. His body had been lost at sea and was never returned to Duvessa for the traditional immolation. There had been no offspring.

Her grief at the loss of her husband was immense-at first far more than she thought she could bear. But as premier healer she had an important job to do, and there was no time for self-pity.

There had been many wounded to tend to as a result of Tristan's struggles with his half brother, and she had thrown herself into her work with abandon. By the nature of her position in the Minion hierarchy, she soon came to know Tristan, Shailiha, Celeste, Wigg, and Faegan. She had also met Adrian and Abbey, and she thought very highly of them. It was when she had joined this inner circle that she had first come to Traax's attention.

She was taken with him immediately, and he was equally interested. After the traditionally brief Minion mourning period, they began to see each other, and then finally took to sharing a bed. She knew that Traax had departed with Wigg and Tristan, and she worried about him. Although it was not uncommon for a Minion female to lose several mates during the course of her lifetime, she had no desire to experience this herself.

As she walked through the shadowy palace, she saw many red-robed Acolytes of the Redoubt. As she passed, they exchanged courteous bows with her.

During the course of the night she had seen many of the acolytes deftly employ the craft to help relieve the suffering. She still knew little about them, but she had to admit that their abilities were impressive. Sometimes she had witnessed her healers and the endowed acolytes standing shoulder to shoulder at the tables, working together. Seeing this had made her proud. Together they had finally been able to stem the massive tide of suffering. But none of them knew what terrible, unseen enemy had caused all of this, or what the future might bring.

Turning a corner and starting down another hall, she heard Faegan's voice. A door stood slightly ajar, and a soft shaft of light poured from its opening. She walked over and knocked softly. The wizard bid her enter; she swung the door wider and walked in.

Faegan was addressing a roomful of people. His black robe was stained with blood, and he looked beyond exhaustion. The Paragon hung from a gold chain around his neck. As always, he sat in his wooden chair on wheels. Nicodemus, a dark blue cat with a silver collar, lay patiently in his master's lap. On a nearby table sat the ancient violin that Faegan often played.

A fire danced merrily in the hearth, its inviting warmth belying the horrors of the grisly world that lay just outside the door. A small table at the back of the room was laden with wine, bread, and cheese-no doubt supplied by the ever-industrious gnomes, Duvessa thought.

Princess Shailiha, Celeste, and Abbey sat on a sofa along one wall. Still clad in their bloodstained dresses, they all looked exhausted. Duvessa could see that though they had tried to wash the blood from their hands, it still showed beneath their nails and in the folds of their skin. Caprice-Shailiha's giant butterfly-sat perched upon a bookcase, slowly opening and closing her yellow and violet wings. Adrian, Ox, and Geldon sat at a table nearby.

As Duvessa entered and crossed the room to pour herself a welcome goblet of wine, Faegan stopped speaking and looked at her, obviously eager to hear her report.

A dense stillness crept over the chamber as the Minion premier healer went to a chair and sat down heavily, goblet in hand. It was only after taking the weight off her feet that she fully realized just how exhausted she was. She took a long draft of the rich red wine, then removed her bloody smock and dropped it to the floor.

"How goes it outside?" Faegan asked.

"It has slowed," Duvessa answered. "Most of the major cutting has been done, and the acolytes are enacting spells of accelerated healing and pain relief over as many of the victims as they can. The Minion healers are doing all they can to help. Just the same, the loss of life has been great."

Leaning forward on her elbows, she looked straight at the wizard. She wanted answers-just as everyone else here did.

Taking a deep breath, Faegan returned her gaze. She was one of the most handsome Minion women he had ever seen. Like Traax, she had green eyes. Her thick, dark hair was tied into a pair of braids that fell down behind her. The single, stark white feather stood out proudly on the chest of her black body armor. Her strong, sensual face stared back at him with candor, and for the hundredth time he wondered whether there was anything in the world that truly frightened her. A fitting mate for Traax, he thought.

Duvessa turned to Adrian. "Thank you for all that you and your sisters did," she said with genuine admiration. "Before we came to Eutracia, all we Minions ever saw of the craft was what the Coven allowed us to see. I used to distrust all magic, as most of my people do. Tonight I saw it used for good, and it was a welcome change."

"Thank you," Adrian said. "We did all that we could."

The acolyte had gentle brown eyes and curly, sand-colored hair. Her dark red robe, tied around the middle with a black tasseled cord, looked worn and stained. Several times that evening she and Duvessa had stood side by side, using all their gifts to try to save the same victim. Sometimes they had succeeded; sometimes they had not. Whatever had been the individual outcome, a mutual sense of respect had grown up between the two healers. Though Adrian's healing gifts were enhanced by her facility with the craft, she and her sisters still wrestled with their new lives in Tammerland, the palace, and the Redoubt. This uncertainty put her on an even footing with Duvessa.

Across the room, Shailiha looked over at Celeste, who nodded back at her. Both Wigg's daughter and the princess were eager to know where Tristan and Wigg had gone.

Her gaze hardening with determination, Shailiha folded her arms and stared at Faegan. "We all want some answers, and we want them now," she demanded. "In the space of a single night, not only have hundreds of severely burned and maimed victims come crashing through the palace gates, but both Tristan and Wigg have disappeared along with Traax and an entire phalanx of warriors!

"Where did you send them? What is it that has so suddenly attacked us?" She sat back, a look of determined expectation on her face.

Faegan knew that there would be no use in putting off the inevitable. Taking a breath, he looked down at his hands. Shailiha wasn't sure she had ever seen the old wizard so upset.