“Wait, Gilda. She won’t—”

The nurse was already scuttling away. Before she reached the door, however, Tobeszijian caught her around the middle and picked her up, carrying her back, kicking and weeping like a child.

“It missed us both,” he said, putting the old crone down and patting her shoulder. “She won’t harm us. She won’t. You’ve helped her so bravely, Gilda.  You must help her still.”

The old woman managed to stop her weeping and wiped her face with her apron.

“Forgive me, sire. There is nothing to be done.”

He paced back and forth at the foot of the bed. “If I could reach the eld folk,” he said aloud. But even as he spoke, he knew it was futile. He had the Ring to help him escape and return, but despite that he knew not where to go. The eld folk never stayed in a place long. And Nereisse had already said a sorcerelle could not help her.

Still, he would not give up. “The bathing tub,” he said in sudden inspiration.

“Have the servants fill it with water. Cold water.”

Gilda gasped. “You’ll kill her.”

“She’s burning up. We must do something. Gilda, get the tub. Call the pages to help—” He broke off, only then realizing what he’d said.

The old woman pressed a corner of her embroidered apron to her mouth and wept, rocking herself back and forth.

In the bed, Nereisse moaned and tossed, mumbling incoherently in the eld tongue.

He felt tears falling down his cheeks. He could not let her leave him.  Instinctively he knew it would take too long for him to go downstairs and find his way to the kitchens, or wherever water was brought from. He hurried to the window and pulled aside the heavy draperies. Immediately cold drafts raced through the room, and when he pushed open the window, brutally cold air poured in. Tobeszijian leaned out, scooping armfuls of snow into the hem of his cloak, and came back inside, slamming the window shut behind him. He carried the snow to the bed and started packing handfuls of it around Nereisse.  She opened her eyes and sighed. “Tobeszijian.”

Grateful that she was lucid again, he dropped the snow and gripped her hands, kissing them. “Yes, beloved. I am here.”

Grief filled her eyes. “Sorry,” she whispered. “All my fault.” He stroked her hot cheek. “What could be your fault? Muncel’s ambition and those accursed reformers—” “No, listen to me,” she said urgently. “I was casting with sight, parting the veils of seeing. I was lonely, missing you, missing my own people. It’s forbidden, but I wanted to come to you across the—” “Hush,” he said, hiding a shudder of worry. “Never mind now. Come spring I will take you home, and you will see all your family. You will feast and laugh and not feel lonely.”

“The evil ones who have joined Muncel saw me,” she said, looking past him.  Terror filled her face. “I was not careful enough, and they saw me. They heard me. And I heard them. Muncel has made a pact with the Nonkind. This I saw. He has allowed Believers into the kingdom—” “Gently,” Tobeszijian said, his alarm growing. The snow was melting on her skin, darkening her sleeping shift with moisture. She began to shiver, and he drew the furs over her. “It’s all right now. I will deal with Muncel.” “No, Tobeszijian, no! Nothing is all right. The Nonkind walk among us, by his invitation. They plan to kill you.”

His mouth set itself in a grim line. “They will not.”

“I wanted to warn you, fearing you would come to harm in the hunt, but they saw me. They would not have struck so quickly, so boldly if not for me.” “Take not their guilt onto yourself,” he said. “It is Muncel who is to blame, not you.”

“Had you not wed me, the people of Nether would have loved you,” she said, weeping. “They would never have given their hearts to Muncel.” He pressed his hand against her lips, silencing her, and shook his head. Never had he regretted taking her as his wife. He loved her still as he had the first day he saw her dancing in the woods with her companions. She had been singing, wearing a chain of flowers in her hair, which had flowed unbound over her shoulders. Her song was like magic, so pure of note and expressive that he had felt enspelled by it. His gaze would not leave her. And although she had laughed and run, vanishing into the trees, he had pursued her, seeking her among the eldin until she was found. She was a highborn princess in her own right. Had he not been king of Nether, had he not been half eld himself, her parents would have never let her wed him.

“You must guard the children,” she said, bringing him back from his thoughts.  “Never leave them for a moment. They are in great danger now. They have too much eldin blood for safety. While Faldain is the rightful heir to the throne, Muncel will never leave him be. Even Thiatereika is not safe, for her claim follows Faldain’s.”

“We are all safe,” he said to her, wishing she would stop talking as though he and she were already dead. “Do not worry. I will not let Muncel get away with this. That, I swear to you.”

“Swear you will protect the children first,” she insisted, her blue-gray eyes searching his. “Swear!”

“By my word and my heart, I will see them safely guarded,” he promised. “Now you

must sleep a little. As soon as you are better we—”

“Do not wait for me, my love,” she said urgently. “Flee with them now. Take them

to my ... The forest will guard them.... The forest is friend to them. I can’t

...”

She fell silent then, her eyes closing in exhaustion. Tobeszijian bent over her, kissing her brow. He hoped she would sleep. She must. And he had to find a way to make her better.

“Sire,” Gilda said softly, “shall I have Suchin bring the children?” She gestured as she spoke, and Tobeszijian saw that Suchin had slid open one of the doors to the queen’s ornate chambers and was standing there, looking afraid and worried.

“No,” Tobeszijian said. “We’ll let my lady rest. She seems easier now. The snow has helped her.”

“Shall I get more?” Gilda asked.

He nodded and glanced down at Nereisse, who lay quiet and still. Too still. He did not hear her struggling breathing now. He stared at her, and knew, with a stab of awful certainty.

Swiftly he bent over her, but she lay silent. Her eyes were shut; her head had fallen slightly to one side. In his grasp, her hand had already grown cold.  “No,” he said. “Nereisse? No!”

Gilda turned from the window and came hurrying back. One look and she quickly retreated, drawing the circle on her breast. “Oh, your majesty,” she whispered.  “No!” Tobeszijian said angrily. He shook Nereisse hard until her head bounced on the pillow. “Nereisse! Nereisse!”

His cry came straight from his wounded heart. She could not answer him, could not smile into his eyes with that little crinkle of her eyelids reserved for him alone. She could not sing to him. She could not laugh and skip across the gardens with the children bounding after her. She could not ride in her troika, bundled in furs, her eyes shining in the starlight and her breath a mist about her delicate nostrils. She could not kiss him and give him the joy of her slender body. She was gone, his Nereisse. Gone forever.  He leaned over her then and wept hard, clutching her to his chest.  It was as though darkness surrounded him. He knew nothing except the weight of her in his arms, and yet already she felt foreign against his chest. For what remained was not his Nereisse, not the quickness and delight of her. All he held was an empty shell, so beautiful yet as worthless to him now as dust. He would gladly see every trace of her beauty gone if only the heart and soul would return to her.

But it could not.

She was dead, and he had lost her forever.

Gilda crept about the chamber quietly, her sniffles muffled, her movements slow.  She opened chests and withdrew items, coming back to the bed and gently placing her hand on Tobeszijian’s shoulder.

“Let me care for her now, sire,” Gilda said softly. “Let me make her ready.” He could not think, could barely hear. Her words made no sense, yet he responded to her soft voice and touch as he had when he was a child in her care.  She took Nereisse from his arms and laid his lady on her pillows. Placing a pristine white linen handkerchief over Nereisse’s face, Gilda began dressing her in an exquisitely embroidered court gown.

Tobeszijian stood there in a daze, and a dim corner of his mind recognized it as Nereisse’s coronation gown. His eyes burned with fresh tears, and he buried his face in his hands. His mind filled with the memory of how lovely and radiant she had looked that day, her face so piquant and solemn beneath the flashing jewels in her heavy crown. The people had cheered her then, but not warmly. He realized now that he had been so filled with love for her, so certain of her charm and intelligence and value, that he’d never paid attention to the people’s lack of enthusiasm. He had believed they would come to know her as he did, and that they would overlook her eldin blood and see only the goodness of her heart.  He clenched his fists against his temples, raging at his stupidity. He had been so blind, so foolish. He had brought Nereisse to this harm. He had taken her from the protection of her own people and brought her here among the bigoted, small-minded humans that were his own subjects. He had made his enemies her enemies, and now they had struck her down.

Her ... and their children.

For the first time in several minutes he recalled his children’s existence.  Perhaps some extra sense was trying to warn him, for at that moment he heard a scream in the distance. It was thin at first, then rose to sharp intensity.  He turned around with an oath, and Gilda froze by the bed, where she was carefully folding Nereisse’s hands together across the jeweled bodice of the gown.

The scream came again, a piercing shriek that only a terrified child could make.  The grief that fogged him fell away, and he knew that voice as surely as his own. “Thia!” he said.

From the doorway, old Suchin, who was supposed to be watching the royal children, gasped aloud. He turned and ran, while Gilda called out something that Tobeszijian never heard.

He told himself he should have sent for the children the first instant he entered the palace. Now they were in danger, and his heart went wild. He had lost Nereisse. He would not lose his son and daughter as well.  Drawing his sword, he ran from the room.

Running from the queen’s chambers down the corridor, Tobeszijian passed a series of brightly colored doors. Overtaking Suchin, who was hobbling more than running, Tobeszijian returned to the staircase and charged up another flight of stairs. As he came to the top of the landing and stepped into a smaller, less ornate corridor, he saw a hirelance in helmet and mail struggling with a child he held in his arms. Tobeszijian saw only Thiatereika’s tangled curls and kicking legs, but he saw enough.

With a shout of rage, he brandished Mirengard and ran at the abductor, just as a nearby door opened and a second hirelance emerged with Faldain.  Tobeszijian never slowed his charge. His shout had already warned the man holding Thiatereika, but she was kicking and flailing with all her might, screaming at the top of her lungs, and this hampered her captor. He managed only to turn partway around by the time Tobeszijian reached him.  Tobeszijian swung his sword. The great length of steel whistled through the air, and caught the man’s upper back. Normally he would have aimed for the hirelance’s head, but it would have been too dangerous a blow with Thiatereika clutched tight in the man’s arms. Instead, Tobeszijian aimed his sword lower, so that the blade bit deep into the hirelance’s back. It cut through his hauberk as if it were cloth and sent tiny links of chain mail flying. The man screamed and dropped Thiatereika as he stumbled sideways. Mirengard had severed his spine, and the man’s arms and legs no longer worked. Shrieking, he flopped to the floor, blood streaming from his wound.

Thiatereika darted away from him. With her hands outstretched and her face bright red from screaming, she came straight at her father.  Tobeszijian sidestepped her and spun to meet the second hirelance’s charge.  The man had already dropped Faldain on the floor out of his way, and the toddler was wailing lustily.

“My papa!” Thiatereika clutched Tobeszijian around the leg, hampering him.  He parried weakly, and Mirengard was nearly driven right into his face by the other man’s blow.

Ducking awkwardly, Tobeszijian scrambled back, disengaging his sword, and parried again—one-handed this time, while with his left he gripped Thiatereika by the back of her gown and lifted her off the floor.

“Climb on my back,” he said through gritted teeth, again managing to parry the hirelance’s charging attack with one hand. Mirengard was heavy and hard to manage this way. He knew he had only seconds before the hirelance would break through his weak defense. “Hurry, sweet. Play monkey on my back and hold on hard.”

Thiatereika grinned at him and climbed him like a tree, swarming across his shoulders and fastening herself to his back. It was a game they often played, with him rolling on the floor like a child himself. Now, she wrapped her little arms around his neck from behind, almost choking him, and sang out, “I’m a monkey from Saelutia!”

Praying she could hang on, Tobeszijian skidded to his knees to duck another blow from the hirelance, and got both of his hands on his hilt. He swung with all the considerable strength and power at his disposal, his muscles flexing beneath his mail. The hirelance swung down his sword to parry the blow aimed at his knees, but Tobeszijian’s strength broke the parry and drew blood from the man’s legs.  Yelling and cursing, the hirelance stumbled back, and Tobeszijian gained his feet to charge, swinging the mighty Mirengard again and again.  In two more blows, the hirelance’s sword shattered. He stared at it and threw it down before he turned to run.

Tobeszijian swung a final time. The hirelance’s head went tumbling, slinging blood and gobbets of flesh across the sunny yellow walls. His body crumbled in its tracks, with a great spurt of blood gushing forth from the neck.  Breathing hard, Tobeszijian lowered his blood-splattered sword and pulled in air to the depths of his lungs, then turned around. It had grown deathly silent in the corridor.

He saw his young son standing frozen in the doorway of the nursery. Faldain’s thumb was in his mouth, and his pale gray eyes stared solemnly at the corpses.  He was too young to understand or to be afraid, but Tobeszijian wiped his sword on a corner of his cloak, sheathed it, and hurried to scoop Faldain into his arms. The boy broke into a wide grin and planted a messy smack on Tobeszijian’s cheek.

“Pa!” he said proudly.

Tobeszijian touched his son’s black curls, and felt himself undone by the sweet innocence in Faldain’s face. He pressed his face against Faldain’s tender one, breathing in softness and the smell of little boy. And he thought of Nereisse, lying dead in her chamber, never to kiss this child again, never to soothe him when he cried, or to help him grow up brave and strong in his father’s footsteps. Faldain would never know how wonderful she was, or how beautiful. He would never witness her courage or her grace.

Tears burned Tobeszijian’s eyes, and he sent up a prayer of thanksgiving that his children had been spared.

“Suchin,” he said hoarsely to the servant cowering on the stairs, “get their outdoor clothes. Dress them for a journey.”

Still looking frightened, the old man scuttled into the room and began searching through the brightly painted chests and cupboards for small cloaks and smaller boots.

Tobeszijian set both children on the floor. Thiatereika tossed her head, sending her golden curls bouncing on her shoulders, and ran to help Suchin. “I know where everything is,” she announced.

Faldain wrapped himself around Tobeszijian’s leg and would not turn it loose.  When Suchin knelt beside the little prince and tried to pry his hands away so he could put gloves on the boy’s hands and boots on his small feet, Faldain let out a mighty screech of rage and clung even harder.

Thiatereika, looking adorable in a cloak of blue velvet trimmed with ermine, her hair now tied back with a ribbon, and dainty fur-lined boots on her feet, went running off into the playroom.

“Thia,” Tobeszijian called after her. “Stay here.”

“I want my Su-Su,” she said stubbornly.

He had no idea what she was talking about, and let her go. Suchin was still on his knees, struggling to exchange Faldain’s slippers for boots. The boy was resisting, kicking his feet and turning red-faced with anger.  “No!” he shouted.

Tobeszijian was a man who waged wars, decreed policy, feasted, and hunted. He played with his children more than did many men or kings, but until now he’d had no idea what was entailed in putting clothing on a squirming, rebellious child.  To his eyes, it looked as difficult as bridling a wild horse.  “In Thod’s name, hurry, man,” he said impatiently to Suchin. “They’ll need a change of clothing as well.”

“Aye, sire,” Suchin said breathlessly as he succeeded in getting the second boot on. Faldain rolled onto his stomach and began crawling away as fast as he could.  Tobeszijian let Suchin chase the child and instead went to one of the cupboards and opened it. He pulled out items of clothing at random, surprised at how small they were, and how finely made. Frowning, Tobeszijian looked in vain for sturdy clothing suitable for travel. Had they no hardspun, no leggings, no —

“Here, sire,” Suchin said, reappearing with two cups of eldin silver and necklaces of ribbon twisted with gold wire from which pendants of bard crystal hung.

Tobeszijian’s frown deepened. “We cannot be hampered by frippery. Sturdy clothing, man! Quickly!”

“They have none, sire.” Suchin pressed the cups into Tobeszijian’s hands. “But these the queen held important. I’ll be quick.”

Faldain headed off into the playroom in search of Thiatereika, calling “Ei, ei, ei!” as loud as he could.

Tobeszijian stared, marveling at how quickly they seemed to forget the danger they’d just survived.

The cups he held were of excellent crafting, engraved with flowers and the faces of animals, but they were of no use to him. He tossed them on the floor while Suchin stuffed items into a small cloak that he twisted into an ill-made bundle.  Thiatereika appeared in the doorway, her eyes enormous. “My papa!” she called, whimpering. She was clutching a dirty rag doll to her chest. “Su-Su is scared.  My papa, come!”

Suchin hurried over to her, slipping one of the bard crystal pendants over her head and tucking it beneath her cloak. She twisted away from him and stamped her foot.

“My papa!” she shouted. “Come!”

Tobeszijian went to her and put his large hand on her curls. “Hush, sweet. We’re going in just a moment.”

She shied away from his hand and began to cry, pointing at the other room.  Puzzled by what could upset her in there when the dead men in the hallway had not made her blink, Tobeszijian looked inside the playroom.  He saw smoke curling out through the front grille of the yellow and blue tiled stove standing in one corner. The nursery was normally a sunny place, with walls painted in shades of yellow, green, and pink. Painted vines and animals and cherubs adorned the ceiling and climbed down the corners of the walls.  Strangely, the air felt icy cold, as though all the windows had been thrown open and the fire in the stove had gone out. But even if the latter had happened, the stove should have continued to radiate stored heat for a long time.  The smoke was still pouring out, curling straight down to the floor and toward the doorway, where Tobeszijian stood, staring at it. It flowed around his ankles, and he felt immediately chilled to the bone. He stepped back quickly, and realized then that it wasn’t smoke at all, but instead a black mist that roiled and curled and seemed to be searching for something.  He saw it pause at the doorway near him. Tendrils of the stuff curled up as though exploring, then flowed on through the room in a straight line, aiming itself at the corridor where the corpses lay.

Wide-eyed, Tobeszijian stared at it, suddenly breathing harder than when he’d been fighting. There was more of the mist now, filling the doorway and curling around his ankles again. He retreated a second time, then glimpsed Faldain standing inside the center of the playroom next to the mist. Sucking his thumb, the child stared solemnly at the murky flow of evil.

Tobeszijian’s heart lurched in his chest. Pushing Thiatereika back against the wall, he waded through the mist, wincing as his feet seemed to freeze inside his boots. He grabbed Faldain up and carried him out of the playroom. By the time he’d stepped out of the mist again he was shuddering violently, and gritted his teeth to keep from moaning at the pain.

Suchin wailed his prayers and backed against the tall, square bed that the children shared. He drew a circle on his chest with a shaking hand.  The mist flowed through the bedchamber, curling away from where the silver cups lay on the floor. For Tobeszijian, this confirmed the mist’s evil. Nonkind could not cross running water. It could not touch salt or eldin silver, the purest grade possible. He wondered who was directing the mist, and why. Was it Bork, the Believer out in the guardhouse? Or were other Gantese agents lurking in the many passages of the palace?

Dry-mouthed, Tobeszijian realized he could not tarry here much longer. Clearly something out there sensed that Nereisse was dead. She must have been protecting the household, holding these forces back with the last remnants of her waning strength.

Premonition crawled across the back of Tobeszijian’s neck, making him shiver. He gestured at Suchin, then caught sight of the bundle in the servant’s hands and realized it would not do.

He went to Thiatereika and stripped off her cloak. “That bundle, quickly!” he said.

With a puzzled look, Suchin opened it. Tobeszijian pulled out a gown lined with the softest belly fur of snow-hare. He yanked it down over Thiatereika’s head, pulling her arms through the sleeves while she protested in a muffled voice.  When her head popped through the neck, she was scowling.

“I can put on my clothes by myself!” she declared.

Not paying attention, Tobeszijian crammed another gown on over her clothing. It was a tight fit, and she fussed about it until Tobeszijian snapped his fingers at her in admonition. He tied her cloak back on and drew up her hood firmly to conceal both her hair and her pointed ears. Her face was streaked with tears, and her eyes looked tired and puffy. Already this morning she’d been through too much. His heart ached with the knowledge that he must submit her to a great deal more.

By now Suchin had succeeded in wrestling an extra pair of hosen and another tunic onto Faldain, who was fighting him about the boots again. Tobeszijian helped the old man, holding Faldain still so Suchin could finish dressing him.  Suchin slipped the second bard crystal necklace around Faldain’s chubby neck and tucked it inside his tunics.

“For luck, little prince,” the old man whispered.

“I’m hot, my papa,” Thiatereika declared. She waved her rag doll. “Su-Su is hot too. I don’t want to wear this—” Tobeszijian scooped her into his arms along with Faldain, settling a child on each hip, and headed out, with Suchin crowding his heels.  The mist filled the entire corridor in front of the nursery.

Suchin whimpered with fear. “There is no way to avoid wading through it, sire.” “Wait,” Tobeszijian commanded. Juggling children, he drew his sword and plunged the tip of Mirengard into the black mist. The blade glowed white and silver. The mist parted, curling swiftly away from the steel. Quickly, Tobeszijian walked through.

Behind him, Suchin cried out and stumbled, then barreled past Tobeszijian. “The evil is with us,” Suchin wailed, running toward the stairs. “The evil is here!” Thiatereika began to whimper, and Tobeszijian glared at the old man. “Be quiet, you fool!” he said.

Suchin fell as silent as if he’d been strangled.

The mist as yet seemed to have taken no notice of the living. It headed for the two corpses lying on the bloody carpet and began to twist and coil about them.  When a column of roiling darkness started rising from the back of the nearest body, Tobeszijian’s eyes widened in horror.

He could feel the tingle on his skin and the crawly, itching sensation that told him magic was being used. Yet darkness was not supposed to be able to enter the palace like this. There were safeguards and spell locks designed to protect it.  But Nereisse was dead, and the Chalice was gone. What remained to power the spell locks?

He was thinking like a fool, refusing to accept what was being demonstrated before him. He remembered his promise to himself that Muncel would not get away with this. And now in his heart he made it a vow. Muncel would not win.  Tobeszijian swore it on the hilt of his sword, on the heads of his frightened children, and on the memory of his dead wife.

When the corpse that still had its head twitched and began to climb to its feet, Thiatereika screamed, and Suchin wailed.

Tobeszijian turned around and headed down the stairs, his children in his arms.

He was not going to waste time fighting Nonkind.

The war had begun. He had lost the first skirmish, but Tobeszijian had never lost a war yet and did not intend to now.

“Hush, my children,” he murmured to Faldain and Thiatereika. “You must be brave now. You must not cry.”

They clung to him in fear, knowing instinctively that everything around them was wrong. Until today he had never heard Thiatereika cry except in temper. His children had known no unkindness, no fear, no distress. And he hated Muncel for ending their innocence so cruelly.

Suchin trotted at his heels, glancing back apprehensively over his shoulder as though he expected the animated corpse to come after them at any minute. “Sire,” he said worriedly, his old voice shaking. “Sire, what is to become of us?” At the bottom of the stairs, Tobeszijian stopped and juggled Faldain in his arms so he could put a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Suchin, you have been a true and faithful servant,” he said, gazing down into the old man’s tear-shiny eyes.  “I free you from service, you and Gilda both. I ask only one last favor of you.”

Suchin bowed his head, weeping openly now. “Anything, sire.” Tobeszijian swallowed hard to clear the lump from his throat. “Bury my sweet lady in the grove that she loved so well. Make it a simple resting place, hidden. The eldin will find her when they come, but tell no one else where she lies.”

Suchin nodded, still weeping and unable to look up.

Tobeszijian gripped his shoulder harder until the old man raised his eyes.  “Thank you,” Tobeszijian said, taking the children’s bundle from the servant’s arms. “Farewell.”

He strode away, and Suchin came scurrying after him like a dog that will not be parted from its master. “Wait, sire!” he called. “Will you not come back to us?  Is the kingdom truly fallen?”

Tobeszijian’s mouth set itself in a grim line. “I go to fight for it,” he said.  “How it shall come out, I will know not until I can learn who still calls me liege.”

Hoisting Thiatereika and Faldain higher in his arms, he strode out, passing the door to his dead wife’s chamber with only the slightest falter in his step.  Forgive me, my lady, for leaving you like this, he thought, and glanced back at Suchin. “Don’t let the Nonkind take her,” he said.

“No, sire,” Suchin said in a small, frightened voice. He stared at Tobeszijian helplessly. “After we do as you have commanded, where will we go? What will become of us? Will you come back?”

Tobeszijian realized the old man thought he was running away, fleeing to save himself. Anger and hurt pierced Tobeszijian, and he whirled around. “Nether is mine!” he said, his voice ringing out loudly. “I do not desert my kingdom; this, I do swear.”