“But, your highness—”

“Not now!” Gavril turned away from Lord Renald and stared at Dain. “I must speak

to you in private.” Dain frowned. “Perhaps after—”

“At once! It cannot be delayed.”

“Yes, very well,” Dain said.

By this time, Noncire and his attendant priests were riding into the courtyard, followed by a stream of church soldiers. The latter should have remained in the stableyard, but no one appeared to be directing them properly. Sir Bosquecel was busy ordering Thirst knights to disperse into the outermost bailey. The result was milling confusion, added to by the crowd of gawking villagers.  It was almost impossible to hear or speak over the general din. With a glance at the exasperated Lord Renald, Dain led the way inside. He and Gavril were followed by their protectors, and Lord Renald with his man brought up the rear.  Halfway up the stairs, Gavril paused and gave Lord Renald a cold look indeed.

“Forgive me, sir, but why do you accompany us?” he inquired.  Lord Renald’s face turned pink, but he met Gavril’s gaze without flinching. “I must give your highness the king’s orders.”

“And I told you I would not hear that message now.”

“Then I shall wait outside Faldain’s wardroom until it pleases your highness to receive me.”

Gavril’s face grew stony. “When I am ready to receive you, I shall send for you.

At present you are dismissed.”

Lord Renald’s flush darkened to crimson. Although his eyes were blazing, he kept his temper at having been treated like a mere lackey. He bowed, then turned on his heel and went back downstairs without another word.  Gavril sighed. “These provincial lords are so tiresome.” Dain felt angry on Renald’s behalf. Although he knew it was probably best to hold his tongue, he could not help but say, “Your highness should not chastise him for trying to obey his orders.” Gavril, however, was gazing about the corridor they now walked along, and appeared not to be listening. “I see you’ve adopted the kingly privilege of two protectors for yourself. Is it not best to see yourself crowned first?” Dain met Gavril’s eyes. They were bright and vivid, even here in the shadowy corridor. There was an air of suppressed excitement about him, a fevered impatience, that made Dain uneasy.

“It’s just,” Gavril went on, “that I feel myself outnumbered.” As Dain unlocked the wardroom door, he reminded himself to post a guard here as long as Gavril’s men were running loose about the place. He glanced at Sir Terent, who had held up well during the ceremony, but now looked paler than he should have.

“Go and rest,” Dain said.

Sir Terent frowned immediately. “I’m fine, sire. Fit as can be.” “I shall wish you to stand duty with me later,” Dain said. “Rest now, and let Sir Polquin serve in your place.”

Sir Polquin grinned. With a deeper frown, Sir Terent bowed and left.  Dain pushed open the door to the wardroom, wincing as it creaked rustily. Light and fresh air poured in through the open window.

Gavril looked around at the cluttered space, and sneered. “It appears to be a shrine to Lord Odfrey.”

“There hasn’t been time to put things in new order,” Dain said, then refused to defend himself further. “Please be seated. I’ll send a servant to fetch your highness some wine, if—” “Wine?” Gavril interrupted with a grin. “Not that sour vinegar Thirst is so famous for?”

“Indeed not,” Dain said, grinning back. For an instant he and Gavril were in perfect accord. “Rest assured, there will be changes made at Thirst.” “Clearly you are already busy.” Gavril glanced at Lord Kress. “Protector, would you step outside?”

Kress bowed at once, but hesitated, then looked at Sir Polquin, who bristled instantly.

“Our conversation must be completely private,” Gavril said to Dain in appeal.

“You understand.”

Dain frowned, suspecting that Gavril had some question about Tanengard he wanted no one to overhear. Dain thought it best to humor him, lest the prince change his mind about staying and drag Pheresa back into the cold wilderness once again.

“If you please, Sir Polquin,” Dain said. “Perhaps you and Lord Kress would care to stroll in the corridor.”

Sir Polquin looked like he’d eaten sour grapes. He scowled and hesitated, obviously reluctant to leave, but with more meekness than Dain expected he walked out with Kress, slamming the door behind them.  “Now,” Gavril said as though in relief, “we can speak plainly.”

“What about?”

“This foreign physician of yours,” Gavril said.

Dain blinked. The topic of Sulein surely did not merit such privacy. “Is he not able to sustain his place among the guardians?”

“He seems to be doing adequately. My concern lies with his trustworthiness. Will he harm her?”

“No.”

Gavril nodded and began to pace back and forth. “In all frankness, I dislike his presence. The guardians sustain her life with a weaving of faith, but Sulein believes not in Writ. He is using power of a different sort. It could taint the entire proceedings. I think Noncire should take his place.” “Noncire!” Dain said in amazement.

Gavril’s gaze, as cold and alert as a lyng’s, met his. “You object?” “Nay, I do not object,” Dain said, thinking rapidly. “But—but I did not know him capable—” “He is a cardinal, Dain. Of course he’s capable!”

Stung, Dain said, “Very well. But at his age, is he strong enough?” “I know not,” Gavril admitted with a sigh. “Of late his judgment seems to be faltering. He and I disagree more and more.”

“Better leave Sulein in place,” Dain said, “and save the cardinal in case another guardian falls.”

“Aye, your advice is sound,” Gavril agreed.

This strange conversation made Dain uneasy and suspicious. “And now, your highness, what is it you really want to discuss with me? Tanengard?” Gavril stopped pacing and whirled around. “Do not mock me! Thod curse your bones, I would have it still if not for you.”

“The king forbade you its use,” Dain said coldly. “Not I.” “You—” Gavril stopped and appeared to struggle with himself. “Nay, there is another matter I would discuss with you.”

“Then discuss it,” Dain said impatiently. “I have much to do.”

“This Sulein,” Gavril said. “Can he peer into the minds of men?”

“No,” Dain replied without thinking. “Why?”

“What is it called, this looking that the pagans do?”

Dain felt astonishment. To his knowledge, Gavril had never before shown any curiosity about the special abilities belonging to some eldin and Netheran priests. “It’s called parting the veils of seeing, but—” “Can you do it?”

“Nay. Women with eld blood and many sorcerelles have this gift. For men it often comes harder, if at all. Why—” “Strange, these different terms for similar things,” Gavril mused. “Noncire calls it faith with sight, but it must be the same thing. Don’t you agree?” Dain was starting to think that Gavril’s wits were wandering. He could make little sense of this conversation that went first in one direction, then in another. It was unlike Gavril to act this way.

“I wish I could see into the future,” Gavril said with a sigh. “In my nightly prayers, I ask Tomias for his benevolence on my plans, but prayers are not always answered. Did you know that I used to believe with all my heart and soul that I would find the Chalice?”

Dain’s frown deepened. He eyed the door. “I know that you wanted to find it while you were here as a foster.”

“No one searched harder than did I,” Gavril said sadly. “No one prayed for the honor of its discovery more than I. And all the time, you were here with me.  You, who have known since infancy where to find it.” Alarm spread through Dain. He moved around the end of the desk, heading for the door, but Gavril crashed into him and hit him hard across his temple with the hilt of his poniard.

Dain’s head rang. He saw the world tilt, fade, and tilt again. Blinking, he came to and found himself down on one knee, rigid with the determination not to faint. His head throbbed like a drumbeat.

Gavril stood over him, twisting his fingers into the cloth at Dain’s shoulder.  “How you must have laughed at me this past year, watching me struggle with my faith and effort, while you knew the secret all the time.” The room spun again, making Dain feel dizzy and sick. He squinted, desperate to make Gavril understand. “No,” he struggled to say. His voice croaked like a stranger’s. “Don’t know.”

“You told my father you could find it. You pledged your word of honor to bring its cure to Pheresa.”

“Eldin can cure her,” Dain said, wincing as Gavril’s grip tightened on his shoulder, twisting a fold of the cloth across his windpipe. He coughed for air and reached for his dagger, but it was gone from his belt. “Chalice—” Gavril rapped his skull again with the hilt of the poniard, and Dain dipped into a place of darkness, only to be shaken out of it by Gavril. Pain throbbed in his head. He smelled blood and could feel it streaking down the side of his face.  In a dim corner of his scattered wits, he felt anger at himself for having been caught off guard like this. He shouldn’t have trusted Gavril for an instant.  “Listen to me!” Gavril was saying, shaking him again. “I will give you one chance. Tell me where the Chalice is hidden. Show me where the Chalice is hidden, and I will not deliver you into Muncel’s hands.” Dain blinked slowly, feeling his brain turning like thick treacle. “Muncel?” he echoed.

“A message from Nether reached me this morning,” Gavril said impatiently. “I have been asked by a man named Pernal to hand you over as an unlawful pretender to Nether’s throne. Your secret is out, Dain. They know you are here and not in Savroix.”