"Tigana" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kay Guy Gavriel)

Chapter 6

IT HAPPENED, THE LONG PATH OF THAT DAY AND NIGHT DID not lead back to the inn after all.

The three of them returned through the forest to the main road from Astibar to Ardin town. They walked in silence along the road under the arch of the autumn stars, cicadas loud in the woods on either side. Devin was glad of his woolen overshirt; it was chilly now, there might be a frost tonight.

It was strange to be abroad in the darkness so late. When they were traveling Menico was always careful to have his company quartered and settled by the dinner hour. Even with the stern measures both Tyrants had taken against thieves and brigands, the paths of the Palm were not often traveled by decent folk at night.

Folk such as he himself had been, only this morning. He had been secure in his niche and his calling, had even had, improbably enough, a triumph. He'd been poised on the edge of a genuine success. And now he was walking a road in darkness having abandoned any such prospects or security, and having sworn an oath that marked him for a death-wheel, in Chiara if not here. Both places actually, if Tomasso bar Sandre talked.

It was an odd, lonely feeling. He trusted the men he had joined, he even trusted the girl, if it came to that, but he didn't know them very well. Not like he knew Menico or Eghano after so many years.

It occurred to him that the same dilemma applied to the cause he had just sworn to make his own: he didn't know Tigana either, which was the whole point of what Brandin of Ygrath had done with his sorcery. Devin was in the process of changing his life for a story told under the moon, for a childhood song, an evocation of his mother, something almost purely an abstraction for him. A name.

He was honest enough to wonder if he was doing this as much for the adventure of it, for the glamor that Alessan and Baerd and the old Duke represented, as for the depth of old pain and grief he'd learned about in the forest tonight. He didn't know the answer. He didn't know how much Catriana fitted into his reasons, how much his father did, or pride, or the sound of Baerd's voice speaking his loss to the night.

The truth was that if Sandre d'Astibar could stop his son from talking, as he had promised to do, then there was nothing to prevent Devin from carrying on exactly as he had for the past six years. From having the triumph and the rewards that seemed to lie before him. He shook his head. It was astonishing in a way, but that course, with Menico on the road, performing across the Palm, the life he'd woken to this morning, seemed almost inconceivable to him now, as if he'd already crossed to the other side of some tremendous divide. Devin wondered how often men did what they did, made the choices of their lives, for reasons that were clean and uncomplicated and easily understood as they were happening.

He was jolted from his reverie by Alessan abruptly raising a hand in warning. Without a word spoken the three of them slipped into the trees again beside the road. After a moment there was a flicker of torchlight to the west and Devin heard the sound of a cart approaching. There were voices, male and female both. Revelers returning home late, he guessed. There was a Festival going on. In some ways it had begun to seem another irrelevance. They waited for the cart to go by.

It did not. The horse was pulled up, with a soft slap and jingle of reins just in front of where they were hiding. Someone jumped down, then they heard him unlocking a chain on a gate.

"I really am hopelessly overindulgent," they heard him complain. "Every single time I look at this excuse for a crest I am reminded that I should have had an artisan design it. There are limits, or there ought to be, to what a father allows!"

Devin recognized the place and the voice in the same moment. An impulse, a striving back toward the ordinary and familiar after what had happened in the night, made him rise.

"Trust me," he whispered as Alessan threw him a glance. "This is a friend."

Then he stepped out into the road.

"I thought it was a handsome design," he said clearly. "Better than most artisans I know. And, to tell the truth, Rovigo, I remember you saying the same thing to me yesterday afternoon in The Bird."

"I know that voice," Rovigo replied instantly. "I know that voice and I am exceedingly glad to hear it, even though you have just unmasked me before a shrewish wife and a daughter who has long been the bane of her father's unfortunate existence. Devin d'Asoli, if I am not mistaken!"

He strode forward from the gate, seizing the cart lantern from its bracket. Devin heard relieved laughter from the two women in the cart. Behind him, Alessan and then Catriana stepped into the road.

"You are not mistaken," Devin said. "May I introduce two of my company members: Catriana d'Astibar and Alessan di Tregea. This is Rovigo, a merchant with whom I was sharing a bottle in elegant surroundings when Catriana arranged to have me assaulted and ejected yesterday."

"Ah!" Rovigo exclaimed, holding the lantern higher. "The sister!"

Catriana, lit by the widened cast of the flame, smiled demurely. "I needed to talk to him," she said by way of explanation. "I didn't much want to go inside that place."

"A wise and a providential woman," Rovigo approved, grinning. "Would that my clutch of daughters were half so intelligent. No one," he added, "should much want to go inside The Bird unless they have a head-cold so virulent that it defeats all sense of smell."

Alessan burst out laughing. "Well-met on a dark road, Master Rovigo, the more so if you are the owner of a vessel called the Sea Maid."

Devin blinked in astonishment.

"I have indeed the great misfortune to own and sail that un-seaworthy excuse for a vessel," Rovigo admitted cheerfully. "How do you come to know it, friend?"

Alessan seemed highly amused. "Because I was asked to seek you out if I could. I have tidings for you from Ferraut town. From a somewhat portly, red-faced personage named Taccio."

"My esteemed factor in Ferraut!" Rovigo exclaimed. "Well met, indeed! By the god, where did you encounter him?"

"In another tavern, I am sorry to have to say. A tavern where I had been playing music and he was… well, escaping retribution was his own phrase. We two were, as it happened, the last patrons of the night. He wasn't in any great hurry to return home, for what seemed to me prudent reasons, and we fell to talking."

"It is never hard to fall to talking with Taccio," Rovigo assented.

Devin heard a giggle from the cart. It didn’t sound like the amusement of a ponderous, unmarriageable daughter. He was beginning to take the measure of Rovigo's attitude to his women. In the darkness he found himself grinning.

Alessan said, "The worthy Taccio explained his dilemma to me, and when I came to mention that I had just joined the company of Menico di Ferraut and was bound this way for the Festival he charged me to seek you out and carry verbal confirmation of a letter he says he's had conveyed to you."

"Half a dozen letters," Rovigo groaned. "To it, then: your verbal confirmation, friend Alessan."

"Good Taccio bade me tell you, and to swear it as true by the Triad's grace and the three fingers of the Palm", Alessan's voice became a flawless parody of a sententious stage messenger, "that did the new bed not arrive from Astibar before the winter frosts, the Dragon that slumbers uneasily by his side would awaken in wrath unimaginable and put a violent end to his life of care in your esteemed service."

There was laughter and applause from the shadows of the cart. The mother, Devin decided, pursuing his earlier thought, didn't sound even remotely shrewish.

"Eanna and Adaon, who bless marriages together, forfend that such a thing should ever come to pass," Rovigo said piously. "The bed is ordered and it is made and it is ready to be shipped immediately the Festival is over."

"Then the Dragon shall slumber at ease and Taccio be saved," Alessan intoned, assuming the sonorous voice used for the «moral» at the end of a children's puppet-show.

"Though why," came a mild, still-amused female voice from the cart, "all of you should be so intimidated by poor Ingonida I honestly don't know. Rovigo, are we bereft entirely of our manners tonight? Will we keep these people standing in the cold and dark?"

"Absolutely not, my beloved," her husband exclaimed hastily. "Alix, it was only the conjured vision of Ingonida in wrath that addled my brain." Devin found that he couldn't stop grinning; even Catriana, he noticed, had relaxed her habitual expression of superior indifference.

"Were you going back to town?" Rovigo asked.

The first tricky moment, and Alessan left it to him. "We were," Devin said. "We'd taken a long walk to clear our heads and escape the noise, but were just about ready to brave the city again."

"I imagine the three of you would have been besieged by admirers all night," Rovigo said.

"We do seem to have achieved a certain notoriety," Alessan admitted.

"Well," said Rovigo earnestly, "all jesting aside, I could well understand if you wanted to rejoin the celebrations, they were nowhere near their peak when we left. It will go on all night, of course, but I confess I don't like leaving the younger ones alone too late, and my unfortunate oldest, Alais, suffers from twitches and fainting spells when over-excited."

"How sad," said Alessan with a straight face.

"Father!" came a softly urgent protest from the cart.

"Rovigo, stop that at once or I shall empty a basin on you in your sleep," her mother declared, though not, Devin judged, with any genuine anger.

"You see the way of things?" the merchant said, gesturing expressively with his free hand. "I am hounded without respite even into my dreams. But, if you are not entirely put off by the grievous stridency of my women and the prospect of three more inside very nearly as unpleasant, you are all most welcome, most humbly welcome to share a late repast and a quieter drink than you are likely to find in Astibar tonight."

"And three beds if you care to honor us," Alix added. "We heard you play and sing this morning at the Duke's rites. Truly, it would be an honor if you joined us."

"You were in the palace?" Devin asked, surprised.

"Hardly," Rovigo murmured in a self-deprecating tone. "We were in the street outside among the crowd." He hesitated. "Sandre d'Astibar was a man I greatly honored and admired. The Sandreni lands are just east of my own small holding, you have been walking by their woods even now. He was an easy-enough neighbor to the very end. I wanted to hear his mourning sung… and when I learned that my newest young friend's company had been selected to perform the rites, well… Will you come in with us?"

This time Devin left it to Alessan.

Who said, still highly amused, his teeth flashing white in the darkness, "We could not dream of refusing an offer so gracious. It will allow us to toast the safe journey of Taccio's new bed and the restful slumbers of his Dragon!"

"Oh, poor Ingonida," said Alix from the cart, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh, "you are all so unfair!"

Inside, there was light and warmth and continuing laughter. There were also three undeniably attractive young women whose names flew past Devin, amid screams and blushes, much too fast to be caught. The oldest of these three though, about seventeen, he guessed, had a musical lilt to her voice and an exceptionally flirtatious glance.

Alais was different.

In the light of the hallway of her home the merchant's oldest daughter turned out to be small and grave and slender. She had long, very straight black hair and eyes of the mildest shade of blue Devin could remember seeing. Beside her, Catriana's own blue gaze looked more challenging than ever and her tumbling red hair resembled nothing so much as the mane of a lioness.

They were ushered by insistent female hands and voices into immensely comfortable chairs in a sitting-room furnished in shades of green and gold. A huge country fire blazed on the hearth, repudiating the autumn chill. A large carpet in a design that was unmistakably Quileian, even to Devin's untutored eye, covered the floor. The seventeen-year-old, Selvena, it emerged, sank gracefully down upon it at Devin's feet. She looked up at him and smiled. He received, and chose to ignore, a quick, sardonic glance from Catriana as she took a seat — nearer to the fire. Alais was elsewhere for the moment, helping her mother.

Just then Rovigo reappeared, flushed and triumphant from some back room, carrying three bottles.

"I hope," he said, beaming down upon them, "that you all have a taste for Astibar's blue wine?"

And for Devin that simple question cast an entirely benevolent aura of fate over his impulsive action in the darkness outside. He glanced over at Alessan, and was rewarded with an odd smile that seemed to him to acknowledge many things.

Rovigo quickly began uncorking and pouring the wine. "If any of my wretched females are bothering you," he said over his shoulder, "feel free to swat them away like cats." A curl of blue smoke could be seen rising from each glass.

Selvena settled her gown more becomingly about her on the carpet, ignoring her father's gibe with an ease that bespoke long familiarity with this sort of thing. Her mother, neat, trim, competent, a laughably far cry from Rovigo's description in The Bird, came in with Alais and an elderly household servant. In a very short while a sideboard was covered with a remarkable variety of food.

Devin accepted a glass from Rovigo, savoring the icy-clean bouquet. He leaned back in his chair and prepared to be extremely content for the next little while. Selvena rose at a glance from her mother, but only to fill a plate of food for Devin. She brought it back to him, smiling, and settled on the carpet again, marginally nearer than before. Alais served Alessan and Catriana while the two youngest daughters sank down on the floor by their father. He aimed a mock-ferocious cuff at each of them.

Devin doubted if he'd ever seen a man so obviously happy to be where he was. It must have shown in the amused irony of his glance, for Rovigo, catching the look, shrugged.

"Daughters," he lamented, sorrowfully shaking his head.

" 'Ponderous cartwheels, " Devin reminded him, looking pointedly at the merchant's wife. Rovigo winced. Alix, laughter-lines crinkling at her temples, had overheard the exchange.

"He did it again, did he?" she said, tilting her head to one side. "Let me guess: I was of elephantine proportions and formidably evil disposition, and the four girls had scarcely enough good features among them to make up one passably acceptable woman. Am I right?"

Laughing aloud, Devin turned to see Rovigo, not at all discomfited, beaming with pride at his wife. "Exactly right," Devin said to Alix, "but I must say in his defense that I've never heard anyone give such a description so happily."

He was rewarded with Alix's quick laughter and a wonderfully grave smile over her shoulder from Alais, busy at the sideboard.

Rovigo raised his glass, moving it in small circles to make a pattern in the air with the icy smoke. "Will you join me in drinking to the memory of our Duke and to the glory of music? I don't believe in making idle toasts with blue wine."

"Nor do I," Alessan said quietly. He lifted his own glass. "To memory," he said very deliberately. "To Sandre d'Astibar. To music." Then he added something else, under his breath, before sipping from the wine.

Devin drank, tasting, for only the third or fourth time in his life, the astonishingly rich, cold complexity of Astibar's blue wine. There was nothing like it anywhere else in the Palm. And its price reflected that fact. He looked over and saluted Rovigo with his glass.

"To all of you," Catriana said suddenly. "To kindness on a dark road." She smiled, a smile without any edge or mockery to it. Devin was surprised, then decided it was unfair for him to feel that way.

Not on the road I'm on, she'd said in the Sandreni Palace. And that was something he could understand now. For he too was on that road after all, despite what she'd done to keep him from it. He tried to catch her eye but failed. She was talking to Alix, now seated beside her. Briefly reflective, Devin turned his attention to his food.

A moment later Selvena touched his foot lightly. "Will you sing for us?" she asked with a delicious smile. She didn't move her hand. "Alais heard you, and my parents, but the rest of us have been here all day."

"Selvena!" Mother and older sister snapped the name together. Selvena flinched as if struck but, Devin noticed, it was to her father that she turned, biting her lip. He was looking at her soberly.

"Dear heart," he said, in a voice far removed from the raillery of before, "you have a lesson to learn. Our friends make music for their livelihood. They are our guests here tonight. One does not, light of my life, ask guests to work in one's home." Selvena's eyes brimmed with tears. She lowered her head.

In the same serious tone Rovigo said to Devin, "Will you accept an apology? She meant it in good faith, I can assure you of that."

"I know she did," Devin protested, as Selvena sniffled softly at his feet. "There is no apology needed."

"Truly, none," Alessan added, setting his plate of food aside. "We make music to live, indeed, but we also make music because doing so is most truly to live. It is not work to play among friends, Rovigo."

Selvena wiped her eyes and looked up at him gratefully.

"I shall be happy to sing," Catriana said. She glanced briefly at Selvena. "Unless of course it was only Devin you had in mind?"

Devin winced, even though the slash had not been directed at him. Selvena flinched again, badly flustered for the second time in as many minutes. Out of the corner of his eye Devin saw an intriguing expression cross Alais's face.

Selvena began protesting earnestly that of course she'd meant all three of them. Alessan seemed amused by the entire exchange. Devin had a sudden intuition, looking at him, that this relaxed, sociable man was at least as close to the center of the Prince of Tigana as was the arrogantly precise figure he'd seen in the forest cabin.

He escapes this way, he thought suddenly. And even as the idea entered his mind he knew that it was true. He had heard the man play the "Lament for Adaon."

"Well," said Rovigo, smiling at Catriana, "if you are gracious enough to indulge a shameless child I blush to acknowledge as my own, it happens that I do have a set of Tregean pipes in the house, the Triad alone know why. I seem to remember once having a doting father's fancy that one of these creatures might emerge with a talent of some sort."

Alix, from several feet away, mimed a blow with a spoon at her husband. Unabashed, his good spirits restored, Rovigo sent the youngest girl off to fetch the pipes while he set about refilling everyone's glass.

Devin caught Alais looking at him from the seat she'd taken next to the fire. Reflexively he smiled at her. She didn't smile back, but her gaze, mild and serious, did not break away. He felt a small, unsettling skip to the rhythm of his heart.

As it turned out, after the meal was over he and Catriana sang for better than an hour to Alessan's pipes. Part of the way through, as they began one of the rousing old Certandan highland ballads, Rovigo left briefly and returned with a linked pair of Senzian drums. Shyly at first, very softly, he joined in on the refrain, proving as competent at that as at everything else Devin had seen him do. Catriana favored him with a particularly dazzling smile. Rovigo needed no further encouragement to stay with them on the next song, and the next.

No man, Devin found himself thinking, should need more encouragement to do anything in the world than that look from those blue eyes. Not that Catriana had ever favored him with anything remotely resembling such a glance. He found himself feeling somewhat confused all of a sudden.

Someone, Alais evidently, had filled his glass a third time. He drank a little more quickly than was good for him, given the legendary potency of blue wine, and then he led the other three into the next number: the last one for the two younger girls, Alix ruled, over protests.

He couldn't sing of Tigana, and he was certainly not about to sing of passion or love, so he began the very old song of Eanna's making the stars and committing the name of every single one of them to her

memory, so that nothing might ever be lost or forgotten in the deeps of space or time.

It was the closest he could come to what the night had meant to him, to why, in the end, he had made the choice he had.

As he began it, he received a look from Alessan, thoughtful and knowing, and a quick, enigmatic glance from Catriana as they joined with him. Rovigo's drums fell silent this time as the merchant listened. Devin saw Alais, her black hair backlit by the fire, watching him with grave concentration. He sang one whole verse directly to her, then, in fidelity to the song, he sent his vision inward to where his purest music was always found, and he looked at no one at all as he sang to Eanna herself, a hymn to names and the naming of things.

Somewhere, part of the way through, he had a bright image in his mind of a blue-white star named Micaela aloft in a black night, and he let the keenness of that carry him, high and soaring, up toward Catriana's harmony and then back down softly to an end.

In the quiet of the mood so shaped, Selvena and the two younger girls went to bed with surprising tranquility. A few moments later Alix rose as well, and so, to Devin's disappointment, did Alais.

In the doorway she turned and looked at Catriana. "You must be very tired," Rovigo's daughter said. "If you like I can show you your room now. I hope you don't mind sharing with me. Selvena usually does, but she's in with the girls tonight."

Devin expected Catriana to demur, or worse, at this fairly transparent separation of the women and the men. She surprised him again though, hesitating only a second before rising. "I am tired, and I don't mind sharing at all," she said. "It will remind me of home."

Devin, who had been smiling at the irony of the situation suddenly found the expression less appropriate than he'd thought. Catriana had seen him grinning though; he wished, abruptly, that she hadn't. She was sure to misunderstand. It occurred to him, with a genuine sense of unreality, that they had made love together that morning.

For some time after the women had gone the three men sat in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Rovigo rose at length and refilled their glasses with the last of the wine. He put another log on the fire and watched until it caught. With a sigh he sank back into his chair. Toying with his glass he looked from one to the other of his guests.

It was Alessan who broke the silence though. "Devin's a friend," he said quietly. "We can talk, Rovigo. Though I fear he's about to be extremely angry with both of us."

Devin sat up abruptly and put aside his glass. Rovigo, a wry expression playing about his lips, glanced briefly over at him, and then returned Alessan's gaze tranquilly.

"I wondered," he said. "Though I suspected he might be with us now, given the circumstances." Alessan was smiling too. They both turned to Devin.

Who felt himself going red. His brain raced frantically back over the events of the day before. He glared at Rovigo. "You didn't find me in The Bird by accident. Alessan sent you. You had him follow me, didn't you?" he accused, turning to the Prince.

The two men exchanged another glance before Alessan replied.

"I did," he admitted. "I had a certain suspicion that there would be funeral rites for Sandre d'Astibar coming up and that we might be asked to audition. I couldn't afford to lose track of you, Devin."

"I'm afraid I was behind you most of the way down the Street of the Temples yesterday," Rovigo added. He had the grace to look embarrassed, Devin noted.

He was still furious though, and very confused. "You lied about The Bird then, all that talk about going there whenever you came back from a journey."

"No, that part was true," Rovigo said. "Everything I said was true, Devin. Once you were forced down to the waterfront you happened to end up in a place I know very well."

"And Catriana?" Devin pursued angrily. "What about her? How did she…”

"I paid a boy to run a message back to your inn when I saw that old Goro was letting you stay inside The Bird. Devin, don't be angry. There was a purpose to all of this."

"There was," Alessan echoed. "You should understand some of it by now. The whole reason Catriana and I were in Astibar with Menico's troupe was because of what I expected to see happen with Sandre's death."

"Wait a minute!" Devin exclaimed. "Expected? How did you know he was going to die?"

"Rovigo told me," Alessan said simply. He let a small silence register. "He has been my contact in Astibar for nine years now. I formed the same impression of him back then that you did yesterday, and about as quickly."

Devin, his mind reeling, looked over at the merchant, the casual friend he'd made the day before. Who turned out to be not so casual at all. Rovigo put down his glass.

"I feel the same way about Tyrants that you do," he said quietly. "Alberico here or Brandin of Ygrath ruling in Chiara and Corte and Asoli, and in that province Alessan comes from whose name I cannot hear or remember, hard as I might try."

Devin swallowed. "And Duke Sandre?" he asked. "How did you know…?"

"I spied on them," Rovigo said calmly. "It wasn't hard. I used to monitor Tomasso's comings and goings. They were wholly focused on Alberico, I was their neighbor here in the distrada, it was easy enough to slip onto their land. I learned of Tomasso's deception years ago, and, though I won't say it is a thing I am proud of, last year I was outside their windows at the estate and at the lodge on many different nights while they shaped the details of Sandre's death."

Devin looked quickly over at Alessan. He opened his mouth to say something, then, without speaking, he closed it.

Alessan nodded. "Thank you," he said. He turned to Rovigo. "There are one or two things here, as there have been before, that you are better off not knowing, for your own safety and your family's. I think you know by now it isn't a matter of trust, or any such thing."

"After nine years I think I do know that," Rovigo murmured. "What should I know about what happened tonight?"

"Alberico arrived just after I joined Tomasso and the vigil-keepers in the lodge. Baerd and Catriana warned us and I had time to hide, with Devin, who had made his way to the cabin on his own."

"On his own? How?" Rovigo asked sharply.

Devin lifted his head. "I have my own resources," he said with dignity. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alessan grin, and he suddenly felt ridiculous. Sheepishly he added, "I overhead the Sandreni talking upstairs between the two sessions of the mourning rites."

Rovigo looked as if he had another question or three, but, with a glance at Alessan, he held them in. Devin was grateful.

Alessan said, "When we went back to the cabin afterwards we found the vigil-keepers dead. Tomasso was taken. Baerd has remained behind to take care of a number of things by the cabin tonight. He will burn it later."

"We passed the Barbadians as we left the city," Rovigo said quietly, absorbing this. "I saw Tomasso bar Sandre with them. I feared for you, Alessan."

"With some cause," Alessan said drily. "There was an informer there. The boy, Herado, Gianno's son was in the service of Alberico."

Rovigo's face registered shock. "Family? Morian damn him to darkness for that!" he rasped harshly. "How could he do such a thing?"

Alessan gave his small characteristic shrug. "A great deal has broken down since the Tyrants came, would you not say?"

There was a silence as Rovigo fought to master his shock and rage. Devin coughed nervously and broke it: "Your own family," he asked. "Do they…”

"They know nothing of this," the merchant said, regaining his calm. "Neither Alix nor any of the girls had ever seen Alessan or Catriana before tonight. I met Alessan and Baerd in Tregea town nine years ago and we discovered in the course of a long night that we had certain dreams and certain enemies in common. The told me something of what their purposes were, and I told them I was willing to assist in those pursuits as best I could without unduly endangering my wife or daughters. I have tried to do that. I will continue to try. It is my hope to live long enough to be able to hear the oath Alessan offers when he drinks blue wine."

He spoke the last words quietly but with obvious passion. Devin looked at the Prince, remembering the inaudible words he had murmured under his breath before he drank.

Alessan gazed steadily at Rovigo. "There is one other thing you should know: Devin is one of us in more than the obvious way. I learned that by accident yesterday afternoon. He too was born in my own province before it fell. Which is why he is here."

Rovigo said nothing.

"What is the oath?" Devin asked. And then, more diffidently, "Is it something that I should know?"

"Not as anything that matters in the scheme of things. I only spoke a prayer of my own." Alessan's voice was careful and very clear. "I always do. I said: Tigana, let my memory of you be like a blade in my soul."

Devin closed his eyes. The words and the voice. No one spoke. Devin opened his eyes and looked at Rovigo.

Whose brow was knotted in fierce, angry consternation.

"My friend, Devin should understand this," Alessan said to him gently. "It is a part of the legacy he has taken on. What did you hear me say?"

Rovigo gestured with helpless frustration. "The same thing I heard the first time this happened. That night nine years ago, when we switched to blue wine. I heard you ask that the memory of something be a blade in you. In your soul. But I didn't hear… I've lost the beginning again. The something."

"Tigana," Alessan said again. Tenderly, clear as chiming crystal.

But Devin saw Rovigo's expression grow even more baffled and dismayed. The merchant reached for his glass and drained it. "Will you… one more time?"

"Tigana," Devin said before Alessan could speak. To make this legacy, this grief at the heart of things, more truly his own, as properly it was his own. For the land was his or it had been, and its name was part of his own, and they were both lost. Taken away.

"Let my memory of you be like a blade in my soul," he said, his voice faltering at the end though he tried hard to keep it as steady as Alessan's had been.

Wondering, disoriented, visibly distressed, Rovigo shook his head.

"And Brandin's magic is behind this?" he asked.

"It is," Alessan said flatly.

After a moment Rovigo sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I am sorry," he said softly. "Forgive me, both of you. I should not have asked. I have opened a wound."

"I was the one who asked," Devin said quickly.

"The wound is always open," said Alessan, a moment later.

There was an extraordinary compassion in Rovigo's face. It was difficult to realize that this was the same man who had been jesting about Senzian rustics as husbands for his daughters. The merchant rose abruptly and became busy tending to the fire again, though the blaze was doing perfectly well. While he did so Devin looked at Alessan. The other man met his gaze. They said nothing though. Alessan's eyebrows lifted a little, and he gave the small shrug Devin had come to know.

"What do we do now, then?" asked Rovigo d'Astibar, returning to stand beside his chair. His color was high, perhaps from the fire. "I am as disturbed by this as I was when we first met. I do not like magic. Especially this kind of magic. It remains a matter of some… significance to me to be able to hear one day what I was just debarred from hearing."

Devin felt a rush of excitement run through him again: the other element to his feelings this evening. His pique at having been deceived in The Bird was entirely gone. These two, and Baerd and the Duke, were men to be reckoned with, in every possible way, and they were shaping plans that might change the map of the Palm, of the whole world. And he was here with them, he was one of them, chasing a dream of freedom. He took a long drink of his blue wine.

Alessan's expression was troubled though. He looked, suddenly, as if he were burdened with a new and difficult weight. He leaned slowly back in his chair, his hand going through the tangle of his hair as he looked at Rovigo in silence for a long time.

Turning from one man to the other, Devin felt abruptly lost again, his excitement fading almost as quickly as it had come.

"Rovigo, have we not involved you enough already?" Alessan asked at length. "I must admit this has become harder for me now that I have met your wife and daughters. This coming year may see a change in things, and I cannot even begin to tell you how much more danger. Four men died in that cabin tonight, and I think you know as well as I do how many will be death-wheeled in Astibar in the weeks to come. It has been one thing for you to keep an ear open here and on your travels, to quietly monitor Alberico's doings and Sandre's, for you and Baerd and I to meet every so often and touch palms and talk, friend to friend. But the shape of the tale is changing now, and I greatly fear to put you in danger."

Rovigo nodded. "I thought you might say something like that. I am grateful for your concern. But Alessan, I made up my mind on this a long time ago. I… would not expect that freedom could be found or won without a price paid. You said three days ago that the coming spring might mark a turning-point for all of us. If there are ways that I can help in the days to come you must tell me." He hesitated, then: "One of the reasons I love my wife is that Alix would echo this were she with us and did she know."

Alessan's expression was still troubled. "But she isn't with us and she doesn't know," he said. "There have been reasons for that, and there will be more of them after tonight. And your girls? How can I ask you to endanger them?"

"How can you decide for me, or them?" Rovigo replied softly, but without hesitation. "Where is our choice, our freedom, if you do that? I would obviously prefer not to do anything that will put them into actual danger, and I cannot afford to suspend my business entirely. But within these confines, is there no aid I can offer that will make a difference?"

Finally understanding the source of Alessan's doubts, Devin kept grimly silent. This was something to which he had attached no weight at all, while Alessan had been wrestling with it all along. He felt chastened and sobered, and afraid now though not for himself.

There will be people put at risk by everything we do, the Prince had said in the forest, speaking of Menico. And now Devin was beginning to understand, painfully, the reality of that.

He didn't want these people hurt. In any way at all. His excitement quite gone, Devin had driven home for him, for the first time, this one among the many ancillary sorrows that lay on the road he seemed to have found. He was brought face-to-face with the distance that road imposed between them and, it now seemed, almost everyone they might meet. Even friends. Even people who might share a part or all of their dream. He thought of Catriana in the palace again, and he understood her even more now than he had an hour ago.

Watching, letting the growth of wisdom guide him into silence, Devin focused on Alessan's momentarily unguarded face and he saw him come hard to his decision. He watched as the Prince took a deep, slow breath and so shouldered another burden that was the price of his blood.

Alessan smiled, an odd, rueful smile. "Actually, there is," he said to Rovigo. "There is something you can do now that will help." He hesitated, then, unexpectedly, the smile deepened and it reached his eyes. "Had you ever given any thought," he said in an elaborately casual voice, "to taking on some business partners?"

For just a moment Rovigo seemed nonplussed, then a quick, answering smile of understanding broadened across his face. I see," he said. "You need access to some places."

Alessan nodded. "That, and there are more of us now, as well. Devin is with us, and there may be others before spring. Things will be different from the years when it was only Baerd and I. I have been giving thought to this since Catriana joined us,"

His voice quickened, grew crisper. Devin remembered this tone from the cabin. This was the man he'd first seen there. Alessan said, "In business together you and I will have a more legitimate means of exchanging information and I'm going to need information regularly this winter. As partners we have reason to be writing each other about any affairs that touch on trade. And of course all affairs touch on trade."

"Indeed they do," said Rovigo, his eyes intent on Alessan's face.

"We can communicate directly if you have resources for that, or through Taccio in Ferraut." He glanced over at Devin. "I know Taccio, by the way, that wasn't a coincidence either. I assume you'd figured that out?" Devin hadn't even thought about it actually, but before he could speak Alessan had turned back to Rovigo. "I assume you have a courier service you can trust?" Rovigo nodded.

Alessan said, "You see, the newest problem is that although we could still travel as musicians, after this morning's performance we'd be notorious wherever we went. Had I thought about it in time I'd have botched the music a little, or told Devin to be a little less impressive."

"No you wouldn't have," Devin said quietly. "Whatever other things you would have done, ruining the music isn't one of them."

Alessan's mouth quirked as he acknowledged the hit. Rovigo smiled.

"Perhaps so," the Prince murmured. "It was special, wasn't it?"

There was a brief silence. Rovigo got up and put one more log on the fire.

Alessan said, "It all makes sense. There are certain places and certain activities that would be awkward for us as performers. Especially well-known performers. As merchants, we would have a new access to such places."

"Certain islands, perhaps?" Rovigo asked quietly, from by the fire.

"Perhaps," Alessan agreed. "If it comes to that. Though there it may be a matter of five of one hand, five of the other: artists are welcome at Brandin's court on Chiara. This gives us another option, though, and I like having options to work with. It has been necessary once or twice for a character I've assumed to disappear, or die." His voice was quiet, matter-of-fact. He took a sip of his wine.

After a moment he turned back to Rovigo. Who was now stroking his chin in a fine imitation of a shrewdly avaricious businessman.

"Well," the merchant said in a greedy, wheedling voice, "you appear to have made a most… intriguing proposal, gentlemen. I do have to ask one or two preliminary questions. I've known Alessan for some time, but this particular issue has never come up before, you understand." His eyes narrowed with exaggerated cunning. "What, if anything, do you know about business?"

Alessan gave a sudden burst of laughter, then quickly grew serious again. "Have you any money to hand?" he asked.

"I've my ship just in," Rovigo replied. "Cash from two days' transactions and easy credit based on profits over the next few weeks. Why?"

"I would suggest buying a reasonable but not indiscreet amount of grain in the next forty-eight hours. Twenty-four hours, actually, if you can."

Rovigo looked thoughtful. "I could do that," he said. "And my means are sufficiently limited that no purchase I made would be large enough to be indiscreet. I have a contact, too, the steward at the Nievolene farms by the Ferraut border."

"Not from Nievole," Alessan said quickly.

Another silence. Rovigo nodded his head slowly. "I see," he said, startling Devin again with his quickness. "You think we can expect some confiscation after the Festival?"

"You can," Alessan said. "Among all the other even less pleasant things. Have you another source for buying up grain?"

"I might." Rovigo looked from Alessan to Devin and back again. "Four partners, then," he said crisply. "The three of you and Baerd. Is that right?"

Alessan nodded. "Almost right, but make it five partners. There is one other person who should be brought in to divide our share, if that is all right with you?"

"Why should it not be?" Rovigo shrugged. "That doesn't touch my share at all. Will I meet this person?"

"I hope so, sooner or later," said Alessan. "I expect you will be happy with each other."

"Fine," Rovigo said crisply. "The usual terms for a contraina association are two-thirds to the one investing the funds, and one third to the ones who do the traveling and put in the time. Based on what you have just told me I will accept that you are likely to be able to offer information which will be of real value to our venture. I propose a half interest each way on all affairs were jointly conduct. Is that acceptable?"

He was looking at Devin. With as much composure as he could manage, Devin replied, "It is quite acceptable."

"It is more than fair," Alessan agreed. His expression was troubled again; he looked as if he would go on.

"It is done, then," said Rovigo quickly. "No more to be said, Alessan. We will go into town tomorrow to have the contraina formally drawn up and sealed. Which way do you plan to go after the Festival?"

"Ferraut, I think," said Alessan slowly. "We can discuss what comes after, but I have something to do there, and an idea for some trade with Senzio we might want to consider."

"Ferraut?" said Rovigo, ignoring the latter remarks. A smile slowly widened across his face. "Ferraut! That is splendid. Absolutely splendid! You can save us some money already. I'll give you a cart and all of you can take Ingonida her new bed!"

On the way upstairs Alais couldn't remember when she had last been so happy. Not that she was prone to moodiness like Selvena, but life at home tended to be very quiet, especially when her father was away.

And now so many things seemed to be happening at once.

Rovigo was home after a longer trip than usual down the coast. Alix and Alais were never at ease when he ventured south of the mountains into Quileia, no matter how many times he reassured them of his caution. And on top of that, this trip had come unsettlingly late in the season of autumn winds. But he was home now, and palm to palm with his return had come the Festival of Vines. It was her second one, and Alais had loved every moment of the day and night, absorbing with her wide, alert eyes all she saw. Drinking it in.

In the crowded square in front of the Sandreni Palace that morning she had stood extremely still, listening to a clear voice soar from the inner courtyard out among the unnatural silence of the people gathered. A voice that lamented Adaon's death among the cedars of Tregea so bitterly, so sweetly, that Alais had been afraid she would cry. She had closed her eyes.

It had been a source of astonished pride for her when Rovigo had casually mentioned to her and her mother having had a drink the day before with one of the singers who were doing the Duke's mourning rites. He had even invited the young man, he said, to come meet his four ungainly offspring. The teasing bothered Alais not at all. She would have felt that something was wrong by now had Rovigo spoken

about them in any other way. Neither she nor her sisters nursed any anxieties about their father's affection. They had only to look at his eyes.

On the road home late at night, already badly unsettled by the thundering clatter of the Barbadian soldiers they had made way for at the city walls, she had been truly frightened when a voice called out to them from the darkness near their gate.

Then, when her father had replied, and she came gradually to understand who this was, Alais had thought her heart would stop from sheer excitement. She could feel the tell-tale color rising in her cheeks.

When it became clear that the musicians were coming inside, it had taken a supreme act of self-control for her to regain the mien and composure proper to her parents' oldest, most trusted child.

In the house it became easier because the instant the two male guests stepped through the doorway Selvena had gone into her predictable mating frenzy. A course of behavior so embarrassingly transparent to her older sister that it drove Alais straight back into her own habitual, detached watchfulness. Selvena had been crying herself to sleep for much of the year because it looked more and more as if she would still be unmarried when her eighteenth naming day came in the spring.

Devin, the singer, was smaller and younger-looking than she'd expected. But he was neat and lithe, with an easy smile and quick, intelligent eyes under sandy-brown hair that curled halfway over his ears. She'd expected him to be arrogant or pretentious, despite what her father had said, but she saw nothing of that at all.

The other man, Alessan, looked about fifteen years older, perhaps more. His black, tangled hair was prematurely greying, silvering actually, at the temples. He had a lean, expressive face with very clear grey eyes and a wide mouth. He intimidated her a little, even though he was joking easily with her father right from the start, in exactly the manner she knew Rovigo most enjoyed.

Perhaps that was it, Alais thought: few people she'd met could keep up with her father, in jesting or in anything else. And this man with the sharp, quizzical features appeared to be doing so effortlessly. She wondered, aware that the thought was more than a little arrogant on her own part, how a Tregean musician could manage that. On the other hand, she reflected, she didn't know very much about musicians at all.

Which made her even more curious about the woman. Alais thought Catriana was terribly beautiful. With her commanding height and the startlingly blue eyes under the blaze of her hair, like a second fire in the room, she made Alais feel small and pale and bland. In a curious way that combined with Selvena's outrageous flirtation to relax rather than unsettle her: this sort of activity, competition, exercise, was simply not something with which she was going to get involved. Watching closely, she saw Catriana register Selvena's soft flouncing at Devin's feet and she intercepted the sardonic glance the red-haired singer directed at her fellow musician.

Alais decided to go into the kitchen. Her mother and Menka might need help. Alix gave her a quick, thoughtful glance when she came in, but did not comment.

They quickly put a meal together. Back in the front room Alais helped at the sideboard and then listened and watched from her favorite chair next to the fire. Later she had genuine cause to bless Selvena's shamelessness. None of the rest of them would have dreamt of asking their guests to sing.

This time she could see the singers so she kept her eyes open. Devin sang directly to her once near the end and Alais, her color furiously rising, forced herself not to look away. For the rest of that last song about Eanna naming the stars she found her mind straying into channels unusual for her, the sort of thing Selvena speculated about at night all the time, in detail. Alais hoped they would all attribute her color to the warmth of the fire.

She did wonder about one thing though, having been an observer of people for most of her life. There was something between Devin and Catriana, but it certainly wasn't love, or even tenderness as she understood either of those things. They would look at each other from time to time, usually when the other was unaware, and the glances would be more challenging than anything else. She reminded herself again that the world of these people was farther removed from her own than she could even imagine.

The younger ones said their good nights. Selvena doing so with a highly suspicious lack of protest, and touching, shockingly, fingertip to palm with both men in farewell. Alais caught a glance from her father, and a moment later she rose when her mother did.

It was impulse, nothing more, that led her to invite Catriana to come up with her. Immediately the words were spoken, she realized how they must sound to the other woman, someone so independent

and obviously at ease in the company of men. Alais flinched inwardly at her own provincial clumsiness, and braced herself for a rebuff. Catriana's smile, though, was all graciousness as she stood.

"It will remind me of home," she said.

Thinking about that as the two of them went up the stairs past the lamps in their brackets and the wall-hangings her grandfather had brought back south from a voyage to Khardhun years and years ago, Alais tried to fathom what would lead a girl her own age to venture out among the rough and tumble of long roads and uncertain lodging. Of late nights and men who would surely assume that if she was among them she had to be available. Alais tried, but she honestly couldn't grasp it. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, something generous in her spirit opened out toward the other woman.

"Thank you for the music," she said shyly.

"Small return for your kindness," Catriana said lightly.

"Not as small as you think," Alais said. "Our room is over here. I'm glad this reminds you of home… I hope it is a good memory." That was probing a little, but not rudely she hoped. She wanted to talk to this woman, to be friends, to learn what she could about a life so remote from her own.

They stepped into the large bedroom. Menka had the fire going already and the two bedspreads turned back. The deep-piled quilts were new this autumn, more contraband brought back by Rovigo from Quileia where winters were so much harsher than here.

Catriana laughed a little under her breath, her eyebrows arching as she surveyed the chamber. "Sharing a room does. This is rather more than I knew in a fisherman's cottage." Alais flushed, fearful of having offended, but before she could speak Catriana turned to her, eyes still very wide, and said casually, "Tell me, will we need to tie your sister down? She seems to be in heat and I'm worried about the two men surviving the night."

Alais went from feeling spoiled and insensitive to red-faced shock in one second. Then she saw the quick smile on the other woman's face and she laughed aloud in a release of anxiety and guilt.

"She's just terrible isn't she? She's vowed to kill herself in some dreadfully dramatic way if she isn't married by the Festival next year."

Catriana shook her head. "I knew some girls like her at home. I've met a few on the road, too. I've never been able to understand it."

"Nor I," said Alais a little too quickly. Catriana glanced at her.

Alais ventured a hesitant smile. "I guess that's a thing we have in common?"

"One thing," the other woman said indifferently, turning away. She strolled over to one of the woven pieces on the wall. "This is nice enough," she said, fingering it. "Where did your father find it?"

"I made it," Alais said shortly. She felt patronized suddenly, and it irritated her.

It must have shown in her voice, for Catriana looked quickly back over her shoulder. The two women exchanged a look in silence. Catriana sighed. "I'm hard to make friends with," she said at length. "I doubt it's worth your effort."

"No effort," said Alais quietly. "Besides," she ventured, "I may need your help tying Selvena down later."

Surprised, Catriana chuckled. "She'll be all right," she said, sitting on one of the beds. "Neither of them will touch her while they are guests in your father's house. Even if she slithers into their room wearing nothing but a single red glove."

Shocked for the second time, but finding the sensation oddly enjoyable, Alais giggled and sat down on her own bed, dangling her legs over the side. Catriana's feet, she noticed ruefully, easily reached the carpet.

"She just might do that," she whispered, grinning at the image. "I think she even has a red glove hidden somewhere!"

Catriana shook her head. "Then it's roping her down like a heifer or trusting the men, I guess. But as I say, they won't do anything."

"You know them very well, I suppose," Alais hazarded. She still wasn't sure whether any given remark would earn her a rebuff or elicit a smile. This was not, she was discovering, an easy woman to deal with.

"Alessan, I know better," Catriana said. "But Devin's been on the road a long time and I have no doubt he knows the rules." She glanced away briefly as she said that last, her own color a little high.

Still wary of another rejection Alais said cautiously, "I have no idea about that, actually. Are there rules? Do any of them… do you have problems when you travel?"

Catriana shrugged. "The kind of problems your sister's longing to find? Not from the musicians. There's an unwritten code, or else the companies would only get a certain kind of woman to tour and that would hurt the music. And the music really does matter to most of the troupes. The ones that last, anyway. Men can be quite badly hurt for bothering a girl too much. Certainly they'll never find work if it happens too often."

"I see," said Alais, trying to imagine it.

"You are expected to pair off with someone though," Catriana added. "As if it's the least you can do. Remove yourself as a temptation. So you find a man you like, or some of the girls find a woman, of course. There's a fair bit of that, too."

"Oh," said Alais, clasping her hands in her lap.

Catriana, who was really much too clever by half, flashed a glance of mingled amusement and malice. "Don't worry," she said sweetly, looking pointedly at where Alais's hands had settled like a barrier. "That glove doesn't fit me."

Abruptly Alais put her hands to either side of her, blushing furiously.

"I wasn't particularly worried," she said, trying to sound casual. Then, goaded by the other's mocking expression, she shot back: "What glove does fit you, then?"

The other woman's amusement quickly disappeared. There was a small silence. Then: "You do have some spirit in you, after all," Catriana said judiciously. "I wasn't sure."

"That," said Alais, moved to a rare anger, "is patronizing. How would you be sure of anything about me? And why would I let you see it?"

Again there was a silence, and again Catriana surprised her. "I'm sorry," she said. "Truly. I'm really not very good at this. I warned you." She looked away. "As it happens, you hit a nerve and I tend to lash out when that occurs."

Alais's anger, as quick to recede as it was slow to kindle, was gone even as the other woman spoke. This was, she reminded herself sternly, a guest in her house.

She had no immediate chance to reply though, or to try to mend the rift, because just then Menka bustled importantly into the room with a basin of water heated over the kitchen fire, followed by the youngest of Rovigo's apprentices with a second basin and towels draped over both his shoulders. The boy's eyes were desperately cast downwards in a room containing two women as he carried the basin and the towels carefully over to the table by the window.

The garrulous fuss Menka inevitably stirred up wherever she went broke the mood entirely, both the good and the bad parts of it, Alais thought. After the two servants left, the women washed up in silence. Alais, stealing a glance at the other's long-limbed body, felt even more inadequate in her own small, white softness and the sheltered life she'd lived. She climbed into bed, feeling as if she'd like to begin the whole conversation over again.

"Good night," she said.

"Good night," Catriana replied, after a moment. Alais tried to read an invitation to further conversation in her tone, but she wasn't sure. If Catriana wanted to talk, she decided, she had only to say something.

They blew out their bedside candles and lay silently in the semi-darkness. Alais watched the red glow of the fire, curled her toes around the hot brick Menka had put at the foot of her bed, and thought ruefully that the distance to Selvena's side of the room had never seemed so great.

Sometime later, still unsleeping though the fire was down to its embers, she heard a burst of hilarity from the three men downstairs. The warm, carrying sound of her father's laughter somehow worked its way into her and eased her distress. He was home. She felt sheltered and safe. Alais smiled to herself in the darkness. She heard the men come upstairs soon after, and go to their separate rooms.

She remained awake for a while, with an ear perked to catch the sound of her sister in the hallway, though she didn't really believe even Selvena would do that. She heard nothing, and eventually she fell asleep.

She dreamt of lying on a hilltop in a strange place. Of a man there with her. Lowering himself upon her. A mild moonless night glittering with stars. She lay with him upon that windy height amid a scattering of dew-drenched summer flowers, and in the high, unknown place of that dreaming Alais was filled with complex yearnings she could never have named aloud.

It was bitterly cold in the dungeon where they had thrown him at last. The stones were damp and icy, they smelled of urine and feces. He'd only been allowed to put back on his linen underclothing and his hose. There were rats in the cell. He couldn't see them in the blackness but he had been able to hear them from the beginning and he'd been bitten twice already as he dozed.

Earlier, he had been naked. The new Captain of the Guard, the replacement for the one who'd killed himself, had permitted his men to play with their prisoner before locking him up for the night. They all knew Tomasso's reputation. Everyone knew his reputation. He had made sure of that; it had been part of the plan.

So the guards had stripped him in the harsh brightness of the guardroom and they had amused themselves coarsely, pricking him with their swords or with the heated poker from the fire, sliding them around his flaccid sex, prodding him in the buttocks or the belly. Bound and helpless, Tomasso had wanted only to close his eyes and wish it all away.

For some reason it was the memory of Taeri that wouldn't let him do that. He still couldn't believe his younger brother was dead. Or that Taeri had been so brave and so decisive at the end. It made him want to cry, thinking about it, but he was not going to let the Barbadians see that. He was a Sandreni. Which seemed to mean more to him now, naked and near the end, than it ever had before.

So he kept his eyes open and he fixed them bleakly on the new captain. He did his best to ignore the things they were doing to him, and the sniggering, brutal suggestions as to what would happen tomorrow. They weren't very imaginative actually. He knew the morning's reality was going to be worse. Intolerably worse.

They hurt him a little with their blades and drew blood a few times, but nothing very much, Tomasso knew they were under orders to save him for the professionals in the morning. Alberico would be present then, as well.

This was just play.

Eventually the captain grew tired of Tomasso's steady gaze, or else he decided that there was enough blood flowing down the prisoner's legs, puddling on the floor. He ordered his men to stop. Tomasso's bonds were cut and they gave him back his undergarments and a filthy pest-infested strip of blanket and they took him down the stairs to the dungeons of Astibar and they threw him into the blackness of one of them.

The entrance was so low that even on his knees he'd scraped his head on the stone when they pushed him in. More blood, he realized, as his hand came away sticky. It didn't actually seem to matter very much.

He hated the rats though. He'd always been afraid of rats. He rolled the useless blanket as tightly as he could and tried to use it as a feeble club. It was hard though in the dark.

Tomasso wished he were a physically braver man. He knew what was coming in the morning, and the thought, now that he was alone, turned his bowels to jelly.

He heard a sound, and realized a moment later that he was whimpering. He fought to keep control of himself. He was alone though, and in freezing darkness in the hands of his enemies, and there were rats. He couldn't entirely keep the sounds from coming. He felt as if his heart was broken, as if it lay in jagged pieces at odd angles in his breast. Among the fragments he tried to assemble a curse for Herado and his betrayal, but nothing seemed equal to what his nephew had done. Nothing seemed large enough to encompass it.

He heard another rat and lashed out blindly with his rolled weapon. He hit something and heard a squeal. Again and again he pounded at the place of that sound. He thought he had killed it. One of them. He was trembling, but the frenzy of activity seemed to help him fight back his weakness. He didn't weep any more. He leaned back against the damp slime of the stone wall, wincing because of his open cuts. He closed his eyes, though he couldn't see in any case, and he thought of sunlight.

It was then that he must have dozed, because he woke suddenly with a shout of pain: one of the rats had bitten viciously at his thigh. He flailed about with the blanket for a few moments, but he was shivering now and beginning to feel genuinely ill. His mouth was swollen and pulpy from Alberico's blow in the cabin. He found it painful to swallow. He felt his forehead and decided he was feverish.

Which is why, when he saw the wan light of a candle, he was sure he was hallucinating. He was able to look around though by its glow. The cell was tiny. There was a dead rat near his right leg and there were two more living ones, big as cats, near the door. He saw, on the wall beside him, a scratched-out image of the sun with notches for days cut into the rim. It had the saddest face Tomasso could ever remember seeing. He looked at it for a long time.

Then he looked back towards the glowing light and realized with certainty that this was a hallucination, or a dream.

His father was holding the candle, dressed in the blue-silver robe of his burial, looking down with an expression different from any Tomasso could ever remember seeing on his face.

The fever must be extreme, he decided; his mind was conjuring forth in this abyss an image of something his shattered heart so desperately desired. A look of kindness, and even, if one wanted to reach for the word, even of love, in the eyes of the man who'd whipped him as a child and then designated him as useful for two decades of plotting against a Tyrant.

Which had ended tonight. Which would truly end, most horribly, for Tomasso in the morning, amid pain he didn't even have the capacity to imagine. He liked this dream though, this fever-induced fantasy. There was light in it. It kept the rats away. It even seemed to ease the bone-numbing cold of the wet stones beneath him and against his back.

He lifted an unsteady hand towards the flame. Through a dry throat and torn, puffy lips he croaked something. What he wanted to say was, "I'm sorry," to the dream-image of his father, but he couldn't make the words come right.

This was a dream though, his dream, and the image of Sandre seemed to understand.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Tomasso heard his dream-father say. So gently. "It was my fault and only mine. Through all those years and at the end. I knew Gianno's limitations from the start. I had too many hopes for you as a child. It… affected me too much. After."

The candle seemed to waver a little. A part of Tomasso, a corner of his heart, seemed to be knitting itself slowly back together, even though this was only a dream, only his own longing. A last feeble fantasy of being loved before they flayed him.

"Will you let me tell you how sorry I am for the folly that has condemned you to this? Will you hear me if I tell you I have been proud of you, in my fashion?"

Tomasso let himself weep. The words were balm for the deepest ache he knew. Crying made the light blur and swim though, and so he raised his shaking hands and kept trying to wipe the tears away. He wanted to speak but his shattered mouth could not form words. He nodded his head though, over and over. Then he had a thought and he raised his left hand, the heart hand, of oaths and fidelity, toward this dream of his dead father's ghost.

And slowly Sandre's hand came down, as if from a long, long way off, from years and years away, seasons lost and forgotten in the turning of time and pride, and father and son touched fingertips together.

It was a more solid contact than Tomasso had thought it would be. He closed his eyes for a moment, yielding to the intensity of his feelings. When he opened them his father's image seemed to be holding something out towards him. A vial of some liquid. Tomasso did not understand.

"This is the last thing I can do for you," the ghost said in a strange, unexpectedly wistful voice. "If I were stronger I could do more, but at least they will not hurt you in the morning now. They will not hurt you any more, my son. Drink it Tomasso, drink it and this will all be gone. All go away, I promise you. Then wait for me Tomasso, wait if you can in Morian's Halls. I would like to walk with you there."

Tomasso still did not understand, but the tone was so mild, so reassuring. He took the dream-vial. Again it was more substantial than he'd expected it to be.

His father nodded encouragement. With trembling hands Tomasso fumbled and removed the stopper. Then with a last gesture, a final mocking parody of himself, he raised it in a wide, sweeping, elaborate salute to his own powers of fantasy and he drained it to the dregs, which were bitter.

His father's smile was so sad. Smiles are not supposed to be sad, Tomasso wanted to say. He had said that to a boy once, in a temple of Morian at night, in a room where he was not supposed to be. His head felt heavy. He felt as if he were about to fall asleep, even though he already was asleep, and dreaming in his fever. He really didn't understand. He especially didn't understand why his father, who was dead, should ask him to wait in Morian's Halls.

He looked up again, wanting to ask about that. His vision seemed to be going completely strange on him though.

He knew this was so, because the image of his father, looking down upon him, seemed to be crying. There were tears in his father's eyes.

Which was impossible. Even in a dream.

"Farewell," he heard.

Farewell, he tried to say, in return.

He wasn't sure if he'd actually managed to form the word, or if he'd only thought it, but just then a darkness more encompassing than he had ever known came down over him like a blanket or a mantle, and the difference between the spoken and the unspoken ceased to matter anymore.