Skif forbore to comment that he already knew that, and simply asked, “Is Keren done yet?”

“I’ll go see,” Elspeth ran off.

“Positive you can’t see anything? Too tight? Too loose?” he asked Talia, making a few final adjustments to her blindfold.

“Black as a mousehole at midnight,” she assured him, “And it’s fine—it isn’t going to slip any, I don’t think, and it isn’t uncomfortable.”

“Keren says she’s ready when you are,” Elspeth called from beyond the screen of trees in Companion’s Field where Keren stood.

“You ready?”

‟Any time.”

Skif led Talia carefully around the trees to where Keren stood, hands on her hips and a half-smile curving her lips.

“I took you at your word, little centaur; it’s good and complicated,” she said as they approached her. “Nobody’s ever tried this sort of thing before to my knowledge; it should be interesting.”

“Nobody seems to have this kind of Companion-bond either except me,” Talia replied, “And I want to see how much of it is really there and how much is imagination.”

“Well, this should do the trick. If you’re really seeing through Rolan’s eyes, you won’t take a single misstep. If you’re only imagining it, there’s no way you’ll be able to negotiate this maze.”

The red and gold leaves had been carefully cleaned from the ground for at least a hundred feet in all directions in front of where Keren was standing, and laid out on the grass was a carefully plotted maze, the boundaries of its corridors marked by a line of paint on the grass. The corridors were only about two feet wide at the most, and it would take careful watching to avoid stepping on the paint. The maze itself was, as Keren had indicated, very complicated, and since the corridors were not demarcated by anything but the paint on the grass, there would be no way the blindfolded Talia would be able to tell where they were by feel.

Rolan stood beside Keren, on a little rise of ground that gave him a good view of the entire maze. According to Talia’s plan, he would be her eyes for this task. If the bond between them were as deep and strong as she thought, she would be able to traverse the maze with relative ease.

While Keren, Skif, and Elspeth watched in fascination, she set out to make the attempt.

Halfway through, she hesitated for a long moment.

“She’s going to end up in a dead end,” Skif whispered to Keren.

“No, she’s not—wait and see. There’s more than one way you can get through this, and I think she just chose the shorter route.”

Finally Talia stopped and turned blindly back to her audience.

“Well?” she asked.

“Take the blindfold off and see for yourself.”

She had threaded the maze so successfully that there wasn’t even a smear of paint on her boots. ‟It worked—” she said, a little awed, “it really worked!”

“I must admit that this is one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen,” Keren said, picking her way across the grass followed by Rolan and the other two. “I thought Dantris and I were tight-bonded, but I don’t think we could have managed this. Why did you stop halfway through?”

“Rolan was arguing with me—I wanted to go the way I finally did, and he wanted me to take the ‛T’ path.”

“Either would have gotten you out; the one you wanted was the shorter, though. Ready for the second test?”

“I think so. Rolan seems to be.”

“All right then—off with you, despoiler of gardens!” Keren slapped Rolan lightly on the rump; he snorted at her, and trotted off. Skif followed beside him.

Keren had a single die, which she threw for a set of twenty passes, as Talia carefully noted down the number of pips. Skif, with Rolan, had a set of six cards, one for each face of the die. Rolan was to indicate which face was up for each pass Keren made—for this time, he would be using Talia’s eyes. This didn’t take long; both of them were soon back, and Skif’s and Talia’s lists compared.

‟Incredible—not even one wrong! We’re going to have to tell Kyril about this; I don’t doubt he’ll want to give you even more tests together,” Keren said with amazement.

“He’s welcome if he wants to,” Talia replied. “I just wanted to be sure that I was right about the bond. Now that we’re done, I’ll tell you what else I was testing. I was shielded the entire time for both tests.”

“You’re joking, surely!” Skif’s mouth fell open.

“I was never more serious. You realize what this means, don’t you? Not only is our bond one of the strongest I know of, but if I can’t shield him out, nobody can block him away from me, either.”

“That could be mighty useful, someday,” Keren put in. “It means that even if you were unconscious, you could be reached through Rolan. We’ll definitely have to tell Kyril about this now.”

“Go right ahead. It’s hardly something that needs to be kept secret.”

“Talia, do you think I’ll have a friend like Rolan someday?” Elspeth asked wistfully.

Talia gathered the child to her and hugged her shoulders. “Catling,” she whispered, “Never doubt it for a minute. In fact, your Companion-friend may very well be even better than Rolan, and that’s a promise.”

Rolan did not respond to this with his usual snort of human-like derision. Instead, he nuzzled the child gently, almost as if to confirm Talia’s promise.

A few evenings later Talia decided to determine exactly what the physical limit of the range of her Gift was.

She did not bother to light a candle in her room, but simply relaxed on her bed in the growing dusk, isolating and calming any disturbing influences in herself until she was no longer aware of her body except as a kind of anchor from which to move outward. She extended her sense of empathy slowly, reaching first beyond her room, then beyond the Collegium, then beyond the Palace and grounds. There were vague pockets in the Palace of ambition and unease, but nothing and no one strong enough to hold her there.

She brushed lightly past them, venturing beyond, out into the city itself. Emotions appeared as vivid colors to her; they were like mists to move through for the most part, with none of the negative sort being strong enough to stay her passage. Once or twice she stopped long enough to intervene; in a tavern brawl, and in the nightmares of a young soldier. Then she passed on.

She ranged out farther now, following the Northern road, moving from contact to contact with those dwelling or camped beside it as if she were following beacons along the wayside. They were like little lanterns along the darkened road, providing mostly guidepoints for her—or perhaps like stepping-stones across a brook since she needed them to move onward. The contacts here were fewer than in any other direction as the Northern road led through some of the most sparsely populated districts in the Kingdom. As Talia’s consciousness flowed along this route, she remembered that this was the route Ylsa had been sent out on earlier in the week.

Suddenly, as if merely being reminded of Ylsa’s existence were impetus enough, she found herself being pulled Northward, caught by a force too strong and too urgent to resist.

There was growing unease and apprehension as she was pulled along—and growing fear as well. She found herself unable to break the contact or to slow herself and became even more alarmed because of this. She was in a near panic when she was suddenly pulled into what had drawn her.

She found herself there. Looking out of another’s eyes. Ylsa’s eyes.

Ambushed!

Too many—there were too many of them to fight off. Felara lashed out with wicked hooves and laid about her with her teeth, trying to make a path for escape, but their attackers were canny and managed to keep them surrounded. She clamped her legs tightly around Felara’s chest to stay with her, knowing she was as good as dead if she was thrown.

She drew her longsword and cut at them, but for every one she laid low, two sprang up to replace him. The sword was not really meant for fighting a-horseback, and before she’d managed to strike more than half-a-dozen blows, it was carried out of her hands by a falling foe, and she was forced to draw her dagger instead. Then, in a well-coordinated move, they all drew back as a horn sounded.

Terrible pain lanced through her shoulder and momentarily filmed her eyes. She looked down stupidly to see a feathered shaft sprouting from her upper chest.

Felara screamed in agony as a second shaft pierced the Companion’s flank. Damn the moon! They were illuminated clearly by it—clearly enough to make good targets for the archers that must be hidden underneath the trees. Their attackers fell back a little more—and more shafts hummed out of the darkness—

Felara cried once again, and collapsed, trapping her beneath her Companion’s bulk. And she couldn’t think or move, for the loss and the agony of Felara’s death were all too much a part of her.

The archers’ work done, the swordsmen closed anew. She saw the blade catch the moonlight, and arc down, and knew it for the one that would kill her—

Dozens of images flashed and vanished. One stayed. Arrows—ringed with black. Five of them. Hollow black-ringed arrows—

Then unbearable pain, followed by a terrifying silence and darkness, more terrible than the pain—she was trapped in the darkness, unable to escape. There was nothing to hold to, nothing to anchor to—then abruptly, there was something in the darkness with her.

It was Rolan—

And she took hold of him in panic fear and pulled—

Talia shrieked with a mortal pain not her own—and found herself sitting bolt upright in her bed. For one moment she sat, blinking and confused, and not at all sure that it all hadn’t been a far too realistic nightmare.

Then the Death Bell tolled.

‟No—oh no, no, no—” She began to sob brokenly in reaction—when a thought stilled her own tears as surely as if they’d been shut off.

Keren.

Keren, who was bound to Ylsa as strongly as to her Companion or her brother—who depended on those bonds. Who, Talia knew, made a habit of communicating with her lover every night she was gone if Ylsa was within range. Who must have felt Ylsa’s death—if she hadn’t been mentally searching for her at the time of the ambush, she would know it by the Herald’s bond. And who, prostrated by grief and the shock of Ylsa’s death, which she had experienced no less than Talia, might very well lose her hold on responsibility and duty long enough to succeed in death-willing herself.

Talia was still dressed except for boots. She ran for the Herald’s quarters without stopping to put them on. She’d never been in Keren’s rooms before, but there was no mistaking the fiery beacon of pain and loss that led her onward. She followed it unerringly.

The door was already open when she arrived; Keren’s twin slumped next to her, his eyes dazed, his expression vacant. Keren was sitting frozen in her chair; she’d evidently been trying to reach Ylsa when Ylsa was struck down. She was totally locked away within herself. Her face was an expressionless mask, and only the wild eyes showed that she was alive. The look in those eyes was that of a creature wounded and near death, and not very human anymore.

Talia touched Keren’s hand hesitantly; there was no response. With a tiny cry of dismay, she took both Keren’s cold hands in her own, and strove to reach her with her mind.

She was dragged into a whirling maelstrom of pain. There was nothing to hold on to. There was only unbearable loneliness and loss. Caught within that whirlpool was Keren’s twin—and now, Talia as well.

Again she reached blindly in panic for a mental anchor—and again, there was Rolan, a steady pillar to hold to. She reached for him; was caught and held firm. Now, no longer frightened, no longer at the mercy of the pain-storm, she could think of the others.

Keren could not be reached, but perhaps her brother could be freed. She reached for the “Teren-spark,” caught it, and held it long enough to try to pull both of them out.

With a convulsive lurch, Talia broke contact.

She found herself on the other side of the room, half-supported by Teren, half-supporting him herself.

“What happened?” she gasped.

“She cried out—I heard her, and found her like that. When I tried to get her to wake, when I touched her, she pulled me in with her—” Teren shook his head, trying to clear it. “Talia, I can’t reach her at all. We’ve got to do something! You can reach her, can’t you?”

“I tried; I can’t come near. It’s—too strong, too closed in. I can’t catch hold of her, and she’s destroying herself with her own grief. Somehow—” Talia tried to shake off the effects of her contact with that mindless chaos and loss. “Somehow I’ve got to find something to make her turn it outward instead of in—”

Talia’s chaotic thoughts steadied, found a focus, and held. With one of the intuitive leaps perhaps only she was capable of, she thought of Sherrill—

Sherrill, daring to follow Keren into the river. Follow Keren, that was the key; and now Talia could remember how Sherrill had always seemed to hover at the edge of wherever it was that Keren or Ylsa or both were. And how there had always been a kind of smothered longing in her eyes. Remembered how Sherrill had always kept from intruding too closely on them, perhaps fearing that her own presence might spoil something—

Sherrill, who came from the same people as Keren and Teren; from among folk who did not hold that love between those of the same sex was anathema as was so often the case elsewhere.

Sherrill, who had as many lovers as she wished, yet stayed with none.

“Teren, think hard—is Sherrill back from her internship yet?” Talia asked him urgently.

“I don’t—I think so—” He was still a little dazed.

‟Get her, then. Now! She’ll know who the Bell is for—tell her Keren needs her!”

He did not pause to question her, impelled by the urgency in her voice. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted out the door; Talia returned to Keren’s side and strove to touch her without being pulled in a second time.

Finally the sound she’d been hoping for reached her ears; the sound of two pairs of feet running up the corridor.

Sherrill led Teren by a good margin, and she plainly had only one goal in her mind—Keren.

Talia relinquished her place as Sherrill seized Keren’s hands in her own and knelt by her side; sobbing heartbrokenly, calling Keren’s name.

The sound of her weeping penetrated Keren’s blankness as nothing Talia had tried had done. Her voice, or perhaps the unconcealed love in that voice, and the pain that equaled Keren’s own, broke the hold Keren’s grief had held over her.

Keren’s face stirred, came to life again—her eyes went to the woman kneeling beside her.

“Sherrill—?” Keren whispered hoarsely.

Something else came forward from the back of her mind, and Talia remembered one thing more—Ylsa, saying “sometimes persistent inability can mask ability”—and Sherrill’s own disclaimer of any but the most rudimentary abilities at thought-reading.

Before the wave of their combined grief, and her need to find and give comfort, Sherrill’s mental walls collapsed.

Teren and Talia removed themselves and shut the door, giving them privacy to vent their sorrows. But not alone anymore, and not facing their grief unsupported.

Talia leaned up against the corridor walls, wanting to dissolve helplessly into tears herself.

Talia? Teren touched her elbow lightly.

‟Coddess—oh, Teren, I saw her die! I saw Ylsa die! It was horrible—” Tears were coursing down her face, and yet this wasn’t the kind of weeping that brought any relief. Other Heralds were beginning to gather around her; she hadn’t had any time to reshield and their raw emotions melded painfully with her own. It felt as if she were being smothered or torn into dozens of little pieces and scattered on the wind.

Herald Kyril, a tall man considerably older than Teren, and accompanied by the Queen, pushed his way to Talia’s side and caught hold of one of her hands. With that contact, he managed to shield her mind from the others. It gave her some respite, though the relief was only partial. He could not shield her from her own memories.

“Majesty!” he exclaimed. “This is the other presence I sensed!”

Selenay exercised her royal prerogatives and ordered the corridor cleared.

‟Kyril—” she said when only Talia remained. ‟It is possible that she may have the answer—her Gift is empathy, to be as one with the person she touches.”

Talia nodded to confirm what Selenay said, her face wet, her throat too choked to speak.

“My lady—” the iron-haired Herald had something about him that commanded her instant attention, ‟—you may be the key to a terrible dilemma. I hear the thoughts of others, it is true, but only as words. Ylsa cast a message to me with her last breath, but it means nothing to me, nothing! But if you can recall her thoughts, you who shared her mind—you alone know the meaning behind those words on the wind. Can you tell us what she meant?”

Those final images sprang all too readily to mind, invoking the rest of the experience. “The arrows—” she gasped, feeling Ylsa’s death-throes in every cell of her own body, ‟—the black-ringed arrows she carried are metal; hollow. What you want is inside them.”

‟‘In the shaft’—of course!” Selenay breathed. “She meant the arrow-shaft!”

Talia closed her hands over her aching temples; she wished passionately that she could somehow hide in the darkness behind her eyes.

“Kyril, are Kris and Dirk in residence?” Selenay demanded.

“Yes, Majesty.”

“Then we have a chance to snatch what Ylsa won for us before anyone has an opportunity to find it. Talia, I must ask still more of you. Come with me—Kyril, find Kris and Dirk and bring them with you.”

Selenay half-ran down the hall; Talia was forced to ignore her pounding head and urge her trembling legs into a sprint to keep up with her. They left the Collegium area entirely, and entered the portion of the Palace reserved for the Royal Family—a portion of the area dating right back to Valdemar and the Founding.

The Queen opened the door on a room scarcely larger than a closet; round, and with a round table in the center. It was lit by one lantern, heavily shaded, suspended from the ceiling above the exact center of the table. Beneath it, resting on a padded base, was a sphere of crystal. The table itself was surrounded by padded benches with backs to them. As the door closed behind them, the “dead” feeling to the room showed that it was so well-insulated against outside noise that a small riot could take place outside the door without the occupants of the room being aware of it. It was no longer possible to hear even the grim tolling of the Death Bell.

Talia sank onto one of the benches, holding her furiously aching temples and closing her eyes against the light. Her respite was short-lived. The door opened again; Talia raised aching lids to see that Kyril had brought two more Heralds with him, both dressed in clothing that showed every evidence of being thrown on with extreme haste.

With a pang, Talia recognized Dirk and had no difficulty in identifying the angelically-beautiful Kris. They took the bench to her left, Kris sitting closest to her. Kyril sat to her immediate right, and Selenay next to him.

“Talia,” Kyril said, “I want you to retrace where you sent your mind tonight. I think perhaps there will be enough emotional residue for you to find it again. This is not going to be easy for you; it will require every last bit of your strength, and I think I can predict that what you will find there may be even more distressing than what you already know. I’ll try and cushion the effects for you, but since your Gift is tied up with emotions and feelings, it’s bound to be painful. Kris will be following you with his sight. Put your hand in his, and don’t let go until we tell you to. Dirk will be linked with him, and the Queen will be shielding all four of us from the outside world and the thoughts of others and keeping distractions from us,” As he spoke, Kyril took Talia’s unresisting right hand into his own.

She had no energy to spare to reply; she simply leaned back into the padded support of the bench back and put herself back into the interrupted trance. The pain of her head interfered with that. There was a whisper, and a hand rested for a brief moment on the one resting in Kris’—‟Selenay” her mind recognized absently—and the pain receded. She retraced her movements now with a kind of double inner vision, seeing the swirls of emotion she had followed, and Seeing the actual landmarks with Kris’ Gift as well. Darkness did not hamper his sight in the least, for everything seemed to be illuminated from within, living things the most.

Time lost meaning. Then as she began to recognize things she had passed, she began to dread what she would find at the end of the journey.

Finding the site of the ambush again was probably the worst experience she had ever had in her life.

Ylsa’s body had been searched—with complete and callous thoroughness. She was only grateful that it was not Keren who was linked in with her, to see the bestial things they’d done to her lifemate. She wanted to retch; started to feel her grasp on the place slip, then felt someone else’s strength supporting her. She held to her task until she began to lose herself as her strength faded. She couldn’t feel her own body anymore, even remotely. A luminous mist began to obscure her inner vision. She knew she should have been frightened, for she had gone beyond the limits of her own abilities and energies and was in grave danger of being lost, but she could not even summon up enough force to be afraid.

Then, for the third time, she felt Rolan with her, adding his energy to her own, and she held on for far longer than she would have thought anyone would have been able to bear. Then she heard Kris’ voice say, “Got it,” and felt him loose her hand.

“Your part’s over, Talia,” Kyril murmured.

She fled back to herself in a rush, and with a tiny sob of release she buried her head in her arms on the table and let the true tears of mourning flow at last. She wept in silence, only the shaking of her shoulders betraying her. The attention of the others was directed elsewhere now, and she felt free to let her grief loose.

Something clattered down onto the table with a faint metallic clash. The sound was repeated four more times.

Dirk’s voice, harsh with fatigue, said, “That’s the lot.”

There was a stirring to her right, a sound of metal grating on metal, and the whisper of paper.

There was utter silence; then the Queen sighed. Her bench grated a little on the floor as she stood. “This is the proof I needed,” she said grimly, “I must summon the Council. There will be necks in the noose after this night’s work; high-born necks.”

There was a whisper of cooler air from the door, and she was gone.

Talia felt Kyril rise beside her. “My place is at the Council board to represent the Circle,” he said, then hesitated.

“Go, Kyril,” Kris replied in answer to his hesitation. “We’ll see to her.”

He sighed with relief, obviously having been torn between his responsibilities to Talia and to the Circle. “Bless you, brothers. Talia—” his hand rested briefly on her head. “You are more than worthy to be Queen’s Own. This would not have been remotely possible without your help. Oh, damn, words mean less than nothing now! You’ll learn soon enough what this night’s agony has won for all of us in the way of long-overdue justice. I think—Ylsa would be proud of you.”

The door sighed; he was gone.

“Talia?” Someone had taken Kyril’s place on her right; the voice was Dirk’s. She stemmed the flood of tears with an effort, and regained at least a fragile semblance of control over herself. Surreptitiously drying her eyes on her sleeve, she raised her aching head.

The weariness on both their faces matched her own, and there were tears in Kris’ eyes and the marks of weeping on Dirk’s cheeks as well. Both of them tried to reach out of their own grief to comfort her, but were not really sure what to say.

‟I—think I’d like—to go back to my room,” she said carefully, between surges of pain. Her head throbbed in time with her pulse, and her vision faded every time the pain worsened. She tried to stand, but as she did so, the chamber spun around her like a top, the lamplight dimmed, and there was a roaring in her ears. Kris shoved the table out of the way so that she wouldn’t crack her skull open on it while Dirk knocked over the bench in his haste to reach her before she fell; then everything seemed to fade, even her own body, and her thoughts vanished in the wave of anguish that followed.

It was Ylsa—and Felara with her. At least, Talia thought it was Felara; the Companion didn’t look the same from moment to moment, a fascinating and luminous, eternally shifting form. And where they were—it was sort of a ghost of her own room, all gray and shadowy; insubstantial. You could see the Moon and the stars through the walls.

“Ylsa?” she said, doubtfully—for the Herald looked scarcely older than herself.

“Kitten,” Ylsa replied, her tone a benediction. “Oh, kitten! You won’t remember this clearly—but you will remember it. Tell Keren not to grieve too long; tell her I said so! And if she doesn’t behave herself and take what Sherri’s offering, I’ll come haunt her! The darkness isn’t the end to everything, kitten, the Havens are beyond it, and I’m overdue. But before I go—I have a few things to tell you, and to give you—”

She woke the next morning with burning eyes and a still-pounding skull, yet with an oddly comforted soul. There had been a dream—or was it a dream? Ylsa, no longer the mutilated, ravaged thing Talia had seen, but miraculously restored and somehow younger-looking, had spoken to her. She’d seemed awfully substantial for a ghost, if indeed that was what she was.

She’d spoken with Talia for a long, long time; some things she’d said were so clear that Talia could almost hear them now—what to tell Keren, for instance, when Keren’s grief had ebbed somewhat; to make it clear to Sherri that she was not to consider herself an interloper. Then she’d taken Talia’s hand in her own, and done—what?

She couldn’t remember exactly, but somehow the anguish of last night had been replaced by a gentle sorrow that was much easier to bear. The memories, too—those that were her own were still crystal clear, but those which had been Ylsa’s were blurred, set at one remove, and no longer so agonizingly a part of her. She couldn’t remember now what it had felt like to die.

Someone had removed her outer tunic, tucking her into bed wearing her loose shirt and breeches. As she sat up, nausea joined the ache in her skull and her temples throbbed. The symptoms were very easy to recognize; after all, she’d badly overtaxed herself. Now she was paying the price. Ylsa had said something about that, too, in the dream—

She dragged herself out of bed and went to the desk, only to discover that someone had anticipated her need, readying a mug of Ylsa’s herbal remedy and putting a kettle of water over the tiny fire on her pocket-sized hearth. She needed only to pour the hot water over the crushed botanicals and wait for them to steep. She counted to one hundred, slowly, then drank the brew off without bothering to sweeten or strain it.

When the pounding in her head had subsided a bit, and her stomach had settled, she sought the bathing room. A long, hot bath was also part of the prescription, and she soaked for at least an hour. By then, her headache had receded to manageable proportions, and she dressed in clean clothing and descended to the kitchen.

Mero was working like a fiend possessed; his round face displaying a grief as deep as any Herald’s. He greeted her appearance with an exclamation of surprise; she soon found herself tucked into a corner of the kitchen with another mug of the herb tea in one hand and a slice of honeycake to kill the taste in another.

“Has anything happened since last night?” she asked, knowing that Mero heard everything as soon as it transpired.

‟Not a great deal,” he replied. ‟But—they brought her home in the dawn—”

His face crumpled for a moment, and Talia remembered belatedly that Mero and Ylsa had been longtime friends, that he had “adopted” her much as he had taken Elspeth as a special pet, in Ylsa’s long-ago student days.

“And Keren?” she asked, hesitating to intrude on his grief.

‟She—is coping. Is better than I would have expected. That was a wise thing—a kind thing, that you did; to bring to her side one who could most truly feel and share in her loss and sorrow,” he replied, giving her a look of sad approval. “The Book of One says ‘That love is most true that thinks first of the pain of others before its own.’ She—the lady—she must be proud of you, I think—” he stumbled to a halt, not knowing what else to say.

“I hope she is, Mero,” Talia replied with sincerity. “What of the Queen and the Council—and Teren?”

“Teren helps Sherrill to tend his sister; he seems well enough. I think it is enough for him to know that she is safe again. Oh, and Sherrill has been ordered to bide at the Collegium until this newly-woken Gift of hers be properly trained. Kyril himself is to tend to that. As for the rest—the Council are still closeted together. There was some coming and going of the palace Guard in the hour before dawn, however. Rumor says that there are some highborn ones missing from their beds. But—you do not eat—” he frowned at her, and she hastily began to nibble at the cake. “She told me, long ago, that those who spend much of themselves in magic must soon replace what they spent or suffer as a consequence.” He stood over her until she’d finished, then pressed another slice into her hand.

“It’s so quiet,” she said, suddenly missing the sound of feet and voices that usually filled the Collegium. ‟Where is everybody?”

“In the Great Hall, waiting on the word from the Council. Perhaps you should be there as well.”

‟No—I don’t think I need to be,” she replied, closing weary eyes. “Now that my head is working again, I know what the decisions will be.”

Whether she’d sorted out the confused memories alone, or with the aid of someone—or something—else, she knew now what it was that Ylsa had died to obtain. It was nothing less than the proofs, written in their own hands, of treason against Selenay and murder of many of the Heralds by five of the Court’s highly placed nobles. These were the incontrovertible proofs that the Queen had long desired to obtain—and two of the nobles named in those letters were previously unsuspected, and both were Council members. There would be no denying their own letters; before nightfall the heart and soul of the conspiracy begun by the Queen’s husband would be destroyed, root and branch. These documents, hidden in the hollow arrows and transported to the dim chamber of the Palace by Dirk and Kris, would be the instruments of vengeance for Ylsa herself, and Talamir, and many another Herald whose names Talia didn’t even know. How Ylsa had obtained these things, Talia had no idea—nor, with the effect of the drug she’d been drinking finally taking hold, did she much care.

She began to doze a little, her head nodding, when the Death Bell suddenly ceased its tolling. She woke at the sudden silence; then other bells began ringing—the bells that only rang to announce vital decisions made by the Council. They were tolling a death-knell.

Mero nodded, as if to himself. “The Council has decided, the Queen has confirmed it. They have chosen the death-sentence.” he said. “They will probably grant the condemned ones the right to die by their own hands, but if they have not the courage, the executioner will have them in the morning. I wish—” his face registered both grief and fury. “It is not the way of the One, may He forgive me—but I could wish they had a dozen lives each, that they might truly pay for what they did! And I wish that it could be I who metes out that vengeance to them—”

Talia briefly closed her eyes on his raw grief, then took up the task of easing it.

The petals falling from the apple trees were of a match for Rolan’s coat—and the pristine state of Skif’s traveling leathers.

“Do I look that different?” he asked Talia anxiously. “I mean, I don’t feel any different.”

“I’m afraid you do look different,” she told him with a perfectly straight face. “Like someone else altogether.”

“How?”

“Well, to tell you the absolute truth,” she muted her voice as if she were giving him the worst of bad news, “you look—”

“What? What?”

“Responsible. Serious. Adult.”

‟Talia!”

“No, really, you don’t look any different,” she giggled. ‟All it looks like is that you fell into a vat of bleach and your Grays got accidentally upgraded.”

“Oh, Talia,” he joined her laughter for a while, then grew serious. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too.”

They walked together in silence through the falling blossoms. It was Skif who finally broke the silence between them.

“At least I won’t be as worried about you now—not like I’d have been if I’d gone last fall.”

“Worried? About me? Why? What is there to be worried about here?”

“For one thing, you’re safer now; there isn’t anybody left to be out after your blood. For another, well, I don’t know why, but before, you never seemed to belong here. Now you do.”

“Now I feel like I’ve earned my place here, that’s all.”

“You never needed to earn it.”

“I thought I did.” They drew within sight of the tack shed, where Skif’s Companion Cymry waited, and with her, his internship instructor, Dirk. “Promise me something?”

“What?”

“You won’t forget how to laugh.”

He grinned. “If you’ll promise me that you’ll learn.”

“Clown.”

“Pedant.”

“Scoundrel.”

“Shrew.” Then, unexpectedly, “You’re the best friend I’ll ever have.”

Her throat suddenly closed with tears. Unable to speak, she buried her face in his shoulder, holding him as tightly as she could. A few moments later, she noticed he was doing the same.

“Just look at us,” she managed to get out. “A pair of great blubbering babies!”

“All in a good cause,” he wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Talia, I really do have something I’d like to ask you before I leave. Something I’d like you to do.”

“Anything,” she managed to grin, “So long as it’s not going to get me in too much trouble!”

“Well—I never had any family—at least not that I know of. Would—you be my family? My sister? Since it doesn’t seem like we were meant to be anything else?

“Oh, Skif! I—” she swallowed. “Nothing would make me happier, not even getting my Whites. I don’t have any family anymore either, but you’re worth twelve Holds all by yourself.”

“Then, just like we used to on the street—” He solemnly nicked his wrist and handed her his knife; she followed suit, and they held their wrists together . . .

“Blood to blood, till death binding,” he whispered.

“And after,” she replied.

“And after.”

He tore his handkerchief in half, and bound up both their wrists. “It’s time, I guess. If I dally around much more, Dirk’s going to be annoyed. Well—take care.”

“Be very careful out there, promise? If you manage to get yourself hurt—I’ll—I’ll turn Alberich loose on you!”

“Lord of Lights, you are vicious, aren’t you!” He turned toward her, and caught her in a fierce hug that nearly squeezed all the breath from her lungs, then planted a hard, quick kiss on her lips, and ran off toward his waiting mentor. As he ran, he looked back over this shoulder, waving farewell.

She waved after him until he was completely out of sight.

She was unaware that she was being watched.

“And off goes her last friend,” Selenay sighed, guilt in her eyes.

“I think not,” Kyril replied from just behind her.

They had just turned their own Companions loose and had been walking together slowly back to the Palace; the gentle warmth and the perfumed rain of blossoms had made both of them reluctant to return to duty. Kyril had spotted Talia first; they’d turned aside into a copse to avoid disturbing what was obviously meant to be a private farewell.

“Why?” Selenay asked. “Lady knows she’s little enough time for making friends.”

“She doesn’t have to make them; they make themselves her friends. As little as I see the trainees, I’ve noticed that. And it isn’t just the younglings—there’s Keren, Sherrill—even Alberich.”

“Enough to hold her here without regret? We’ve stolen her childhood, Kyril—we’ve made her a woman in a child’s body, and forced responsibilities on her an adult would blanch at.”

“We steal all their childhoods, Lady; it comes with being Chosen,” he sighed. “There isn’t a one of us who’s had the opportunity to truly be a child. Responsibility comes on us all early. As to Talia—she never really had a childhood to steal; her own people saw to that.”

“It isn’t fair—”

“Life isn’t fair. Even so, given the chance to choose, she’d take being Chosen over any other fate. I know I would. Don’t you think she’s happier with us than she would be anywhere else?”

“If I could only be sure of that.”

“Then watch her—you’ll see.”

Talia stared as long as anything of Skif and his mentor could be seen, then turned back toward the Collegium. As she turned, Selenay could clearly see her face; with no one watching her, she had erected no barriers. As she turned away, her pensive expression lightened until, as she faced the Collegium most of the sorrow of parting had left her eyes. And Selenay’s heart lifted again, as she read all Kyril had promised she would find in those eyes.

Talia sighed, turning back toward the Collegium. As she did so, she felt Rolan reaching tentatively for her. For one long moment after Skif had vanished off on his own, she had felt bereft and terribly lonely. But now—

How could she ever be lonely when there was Rolan?

And Skif wasn’t the only friend she had; Jeri was off somewhere, but Sherrill was still here—and Keren, Devan, little Elspeth, Selenay—even dear, overly-gallant Griffon.

They were all of them, more than friends; they were kin—the important kind, soul-kindred. Her family. Her real family. This was where she’d belonged all along; as she’d told Skif, it had just taken her this long to see it.

And with a lighter heart, she turned back down the path that led to the Collegium.

The Collegium—and home.