Pheresa du Lindier was kneeling on a tiny embroidered prayer cushion, searching her soul yet again for answers, when a tremendous jolt threw her to one side. She landed on her hip with bruising force, her full skirts tangled about her. Overhead, the lamps swayed violently on their chains, casting wild shadows about the stuffy cabin. Her jewel-studded Circle flew from her fingers to roll across the floor. Pheresa tried to grab it, and failed.

"After it, Oola!" she ordered in vexation.

One of her attendants scooped it up from where it had slid beneath the tiny, bolted-down table, then hurried over to assist Pheresa to her feet.

She was already upright, brushing dust from her skirts with angry slaps of her hands. It embarrassed her to be rendered so clumsy. Oola handed her the Circle and began to smooth her gown for her.

"Is my lady hurt?" she asked with an anxiety that only increased Pheresa's feeling of irritation.

She was so tired of being fussed over, of being watched for the least sign of discomfort or illness. She was never left alone for a moment, and the constant scrutiny and lack of privacy had her nerves in shreds. Yet she knew if she gave way and allowed her temper to escape the iron control she'd clamped over it, the news would be delivered immediately to the king as certain proof that she remained unwell and unfit. Her enemies were waiting for any excuse to pounce.

"My lady?" Oola asked, peering at her through the uneven light cast by the dim lanterns. "Are you hurt?"

"Nay! I'm well," Pheresa said, and shifted her gaze to her other attendant lest her anger show. "Verine, look outside and see if we've docked."

Verine peered out the tiny round window of the cabin. "Yes, I see the palace walls!" she called out excitedly. "We are here at last! Oh, my lady, think of it. Home!"

Pheresa shut her eyes a moment to savor the notion. Now she could hear a series of muffled thuds and shouts as the crew ran about their duties. The barge shuddered, forcing her to brace her feet to keep from being thrown off balance again. Oola clung to her, but Pheresa pulled away and stood gripping the polished bulwark that arched over her bed.

"My cloak and outdoor slippers, quickly," she ordered. "Verine, finish putting my writing things away and extinguish these lamps. Let us be ready to disembark."

The tortured squeal of wood rubbing against something it shouldn't made her wince. The barge jolted again, and they came to a complete halt. Pheresa, still unused to the peculiar rocking sway of the barge after the past three weeks of riding it down the Charva River's slow-moving current, found the sudden steadiness of the craft reassuring. Her heart filled with the knowledge that they were finally home. The ordeal that had begun last autumn was nearly over.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and for a moment she felt overwhelmed with exhaustion. So much had happened, most of it too dreadful to think about. And now, there was only the state funeral of Prince Gavril to endure before it was finished. She would rest for days afterwards, she promised herself. She would lie abed, or walk in the warm, tranquil gardens of Savroix. She would renew her spirit and find peace of mind once more. She would move past her tears and confusion and find a way to heal her heart.

A thunderous knock on her door made her jump.

Verine hurried to open it, and Sir Brillon stood framed in the narrow doorway. The church knight was a tall, rawboned man, with a scarred face and zealous black eyes. Clad in chain mail and a distinctive white and black surcoat, the slashed marks of his order marking one shoulder, he stood with his spurred feet braced apart. One gloved hand gripped his sword hilt; the other fist rested on his hip. He and a small squadron of men had been assigned to oversee Pheresa's protection during the long journey southward from Nether. Pheresa had learned to consider him more a jailer than a protector, for he was forever watching her, forever making notes of what she did or said. She had caught him intercepting her letters, but her furious confrontation with him had come to nothing. Sir Brillon merely said he was obeying orders, his cool audacity leaving her red-faced and sputtering.

She glared at him now, resenting him for having forbidden her permission to walk the deck and take fresh air this past week. He claimed the weather was too inclement for her. She knew that this final stretch of the Charva was bordered with towns and trade centers. She'd heard the people cheering the king as the royal barges swept by. Sir Brillon had orders to keep her out of the populace's sight. Whether he answered to the king or to one of the cardinals, she had not yet learned. She suspected the latter.

"Sir Brillon," she said in a strong, forthright voice, concealing her resentment of him as best she could, " 'tis indeed wonderful to see Savroix at last. I thank you now for your service during this sad journey, and bid you good-bye."

His black gaze flickered down during this speech, then flashed back to meet hers. "The king is disembarking now, my lady."

She forgot her antagonism instantly, and gestured for Oola to place her cloak across her shoulders. "Then I must hurry and join his majesty."

Sir Brillon held out his hand. "Nay, my lady. There's no hurry. You're not requested to join the royal presence."

"According to whom? You?"

"Nay, my lady. I merely follow orders."

She tightened her lips to hold back a sarcastic retort. "Of course."

"The gangway is narrow, my lady, and the rain makes it slippery. We must disembark in seemly order. His majesty first. Then the coffin. Then the other passengers in order of their importance."

Pheresa's head snapped up, and the small cabin suddenly fell silent. Verine and Oola exchanged looks and busied themselves tidying and packing. Her lungs felt compressed by an iron weight, and her temples were throbbing. This was as open an insult as he'd ever given her.

She drew on her gloves with quick, angry tugs of the supple leather. "I am betrothed to the Prince of the Realm," she said with quiet steeliness. "My place is with the king."

Sir Brillon bowed. "Of course, my lady. You are to precede the passengers, but follow the coffin. Or such were the orders given to me. I but relay them."

"Then let us go."

He stepped back from the doorway, and she emerged into the cramped passageway that smelled of pine tar, damp, and musty tapestries. Small lamps hanging from chains illuminated the way dimly. She walked briskly to the steps leading up to the deck. Fresh air, moist with rain, gusted down into her face, and she filled her lungs gratefully.

Sir Brillon followed on her heels as she ascended the narrow steps, his spurs jingling quietly.

Topside, she emerged beneath a small awning that sheltered the steps from the weather. A curtain of rain swept the deck in a sudden downpour, making the crew swear and scurry. The deck, normally staid and quiet, with a protected seating area for watching the scenery at one end, was now a scene of chaos. Courtiers stood in the way of the crew placing the gangway across the narrow span of water between the barge and the palace.

Savroix's walls towered overhead, and when she glanced up, Pheresa could see the faces of guardsmen peering down at them from the battlements. This was the oldest section of the palace, and the most fortified. Right now, the massive gates stood open, and officials in rain-soaked finery hovered just inside them.

A fanfare of trumpets announced the king's presence. Pheresa saw him striding across the deck toward the gangplank. Verence's handsome looks had worn considerably on this journey. His shoulder-length hair was heavily streaked with gray. His remarkable green-and-blue eyes, normally so keen and lively, looked dull and weary today. He glanced at her as he strode by, but did not smile.

Pheresa hastened to lower herself in a curtsy, her heart pounding in sudden anticipation. He had noticed her, had looked her way. She had not spoken to him in many days. Would he now beckon for her to join him? Would this be at last the moment when she gained his favor?

The king nodded to her, and walked on with his officers and entourage close about him. Pheresa's heart sank to her slippers, yet at the same time a corner of her mind berated her for indulging in such foolish hopes. Now was not the time for his majesty to announce his next heir. She must be patient. She was the best candidate to succeed Gavril as next in line for the throne. Whom else could Verence choose? Yet his son must first be buried properly, with the full honors of state. When that was done, the new Heir to the Realm would be chosen and announced. She must give Verence time to finish his grieving.

The blaring trumpets faded before a solemn drumroll. Gavril's coffin, swathed in cloths of dark blue and silver, was hoisted from the bowels of the barge and placed across the shoulders of six church knights. Careful of their burden, they walked the rain-slick deck toward the gangway.

Conscious of many eyes watching her, Pheresa curtsied to the coffin as it was carried past her. The stink of Gavril's corruption polluted the air, and Pheresa involuntarily reached for the small purse of salt swinging from her girdle. Although Gavril's remains had been salted and frozen in preparation for the journey southward, it had been a long journey indeed, a slow journey, delayed by winter weather and other difficulties. He was frozen no longer, and the rot of him was nearly unbearable no matter how much incense was burned to conceal the smell in the barge hold.

Shuddering, she knew she would never forget the horrors she'd survived in Nether. She could not inhale that terrible stench without thinking of Nonkind. The images of the soultaker destroying Gavril were burned into her memory. His screams still rang at times in her ears.

Fighting away such memories, she clutched her salt purse even tighter and forced herself out from beneath the awning to follow the coffin.

Sir Brillon hurried beside her, crowding her much too close.

She glared at him. "Keep your distance, sir!"

Another downpour drenched her in seconds. He moved even closer and held up a fold of his cloak to protect her. The rain thundered down with stinging force, and Pheresa faltered a moment, half-tempted to turn back to whatever shelter she could find.

Instead, she moved forward. Sir Brillon shouted something in her ear, but she could not make out what he said. She crossed the gangway, her feet sliding a little in the water that bounced on its surface. Lightning flashed overhead, making her squint, and thunder boomed, echoing between the river and the palace walls.

Then she was across, breathing hard, her clothing soaked and heavy, her slippers ruined and leaking water. She hurried through the tall gates into the spacious courtyard beyond. Everything was confusion, with courtiers running to duck out of the rain. Pheresa paid no attention to who disembarked after her. Instead, she glanced around, saw the coffin bearers carrying their burden through a different door than where the king had gone. She drew up the hood of her cloak and attempted to follow Verence, only to find Sir Brillon's arm pointing to her right.

"That's closer, my lady. Hurry!"

She saw a canopy stretched above a doorway and headed for it, hurrying now, almost running. More thunder boomed overhead, and the day was nearly black.

Moments later, she found herself beneath the canopy, gasping for breath and wiping water from her face with relief. "Thod above," she said, shaking out her sodden skirts. "What a--"

"Inside, my lady," Sir Brillon interrupted. He gestured at the doorway, where a priest was beckoning. "We must get you dry and warm at once."

"Yes." She glanced behind him in hopes of seeing where her attendants had gone, but Oola and Verine were not in sight. More people were spilling into the courtyard, along with knights and the servants in charge of unloading supplies and luggage. Pheresa hurried through the doorway, unfastening the ties of her cloak as she went. "Any passage will lead to the Grand Corridor from here. I shall want--"

She broke off in order to respond to the priest's respectful greeting.

"A fire for her ladyship," Sir Brillon ordered.

A page in bright livery appeared and bowed to Pheresa. "This way, my lady."

With a smile for the child, she followed willingly. All she could think about was getting to her state apartments and changing out of her wet garments. It was so chilly indoors she could see her breath. Gloom filled the passageway, for many of the sconce lamps were not yet lit. She smelled the faint scents of beeswax, wool, and incense. Far in the distance she could hear the muffled intonations of chantsong, pure in its adoration, beautiful.

She sighed happily and smoothed back her dripping hair. How good it was to be home. Only another day or two of dreary duties and then--

"In here, my lady."

As the page spoke, he pushed open a heavily carved door leading into a sumptuous apartment lined with crimson silk. A fire burned briskly on the hearth, and a bowl of apples on the table gave off a delicious fragrance.

It was so beautiful, civilized, and comfortable that she wanted to clap her hands in delight. Instead, she shook her head at the page. "Thank you, but please conduct me to my private apartments. I wish to rest."

"Come inside, Lady Pheresa," said a dry, thin voice that sent a prickle of unease running up her spine. "I have prayed much for your safe return. Now that you have finally arrived, please honor me by accepting my hospitality for a few moments."

She did not recognize the voice, but she knew its owner meant her little good. Alarmed, she would have retreated, but Sir Brillon stood behind her and did not move aside.

"Let me by," she said to him. "I do not wish to--"

"The cardinal wants a word, my lady," Sir Brillon said, gripping her arm with fingers like steel. "Do him the courtesy of a little interview."

Pheresa glared at Sir Brillon, but his black eyes met hers implacably. She realized, feeling suddenly chilled, that she'd entered a neatly laid trap. Thanks to the disorganization of the disembarkation and the distraction of the weather, she'd allowed herself to be ushered through a door no one else was using. She had been neatly cut off from the rest of the royal party, and although she could come to no true harm here within the walls of Savroix, she disliked such coercive tactics. They reminded her too much of her hostage days in Grov.

"Please do come in, my lady," the dry voice said.

Seething, she stood rooted in place, her brown eyes afire as she glared at Sir Brillon. "Your hand offends me, sir," she said in a low, very sharp voice. "Remove it at once."

He released her with a slight bow, the twitch of his lips mocking her. Drawing herself very erect, Pheresa walked forward.

The cardinal rose from a chair and advanced to meet her. Attired in long white robes with a yellow sash of office and a diamond-studded Circle glittering on his chest, he was a short, very thin man, sporting a tidy gray goatee in the fashion favored by the clergy. His green eyes were large and remarkable in his narrow face. They watched her with the coldness of a falcon marking its prey.

She recognized him now as Theloi, considered very conservative in his dogma, far more so than Noncire, whom he had apparently replaced. A few months ago, Pheresa would have found herself shy and nervous in this powerful man's presence. Now, although she did not like the way he studied her, she reminded herself that she had survived encounters with much more dangerous men.

"Please sit close to the fire," he said. "Would you care for wine?"

"Nay, lord cardinal. I wish to retire to my apartments and change into dry clothing. Surely there is a better time for this meeting."

"Of course, of course." He glanced at Sir Brillon, who was prowling about the edges of the room like something caged, then returned his gaze to her. "You dislike my eagerness, but then I could not wait longer to see this Lady of the Miracle. This Lady of the Chalice."

Pheresa concealed her grimace. She disliked being called either. 'Twas how the knights in Verence's army referred to her now. She hoped the practice was not going to be spread about the court.

"Please," she said in protest. "I received the gift of restored life and health from the Chalice, but that is all. To call me by such phrases is to imply that I possess some magical powers or can pass along the wondrous blessing of the Chalice. I cannot."

"So, I understand, you have claimed far and wide," Theloi said.

She drew in a sharp breath and glanced involuntarily at Sir Brillon. "You are well informed, lord cardinal."

"Come, come, my lady. Let us not parry words but instead speak plainly. The church is most interested in what has happened. It is, you understand, our business to investigate the matter thoroughly."

"There is nothing to discover," she said uneasily. "I was ill. I would have died. The Netherans had me drink from the Chalice, and I was restored. That is all."

Theloi smiled at her. "You are far too modest, Lady Pheresa. That can hardly be all. You understand that our most learned scholars wish to discuss the event in all its particulars."

"Perhaps one day--"

"No, my lady. Now."

She frowned. "Certainly not now. I have endured a long, difficult, most tedious journey. I wish to retire to my apartments. Later, the church scholars may petition me for an interview, but not until--"

"My lady, you misunderstand," Cardinal Theloi said firmly. "Your personal effects have been transferred from the royal barge to a wagon. You will leave directly from this room for the nuncery at Batoine. There, you will live comfortably but retired, while the details of this miracle are explored and a full--"

"Never!"

"Lady Pheresa, you have no choice."

Her heart began to pound. She darted a swift glance around the room and noticed that Sir Brillon stood between her and the door. Fear pierced her before she battled it down. She must not panic, she told herself. Theloi could not do what he threatened without her cooperation. No matter what he said, he did not rule Savroix, and he did not rule her.

She stared at him through narrowed eyes. "I do not believe I heard you correctly, lord cardinal. You mentioned a choice?"

"I said you have no choice, my lady."

"You are mistaken," she said sharply. "The king will not permit this abduction."

"The king does not interfere in matters of the soul."

"My soul is intact, thank you."

"Ah," Theloi said quietly, "but Prince Gavril's is not."

She caught her breath, but said nothing. Suddenly she felt cornered indeed, frightened, and unsure of her ground.

Theloi's green eyes watched her with chilling confidence. "I think you begin to understand."

Her mouth felt dry, so dry she could not swallow. She made no effort to speak.

Theloi said, "His highness was Nonkind at the time of his death, was he not?"

"You know he was."

"Such a pity. He was a young man of tremendous beauty and promise. 'Tis said the king grieves hard."

She felt a renewed surge of pity for Verence. He went about so melancholy and bleak, his joy in life obviously gone. Nightly he ordered prayer vigils for the soul of his doomed son, but no amount of prayer could restore what Gavril had lost.

"His majesty mourns Gavril deeply," she admitted.

"But to no avail," Theloi said without mercy. "Unless the church decides to intervene and help Gavril's soul reach Beyond."

"Decides?" she echoed with scorn. "Do you churchmen have no pity? Where is love and understanding? Where is the desire to help all that you can, without regard for politics or gain?"

Theloi's green eyes flashed. "I serve Tomias!" he said. "Serve his teachings. To respect and serve those teachings is to obey what has been set forth in Writ: And let the condemned stand before Thod in judgment, knowing the full pain and torment of wrongdoing. Let no mercy be written beside the sinner's name, to cancel his transgression. Let all tremble before Thod, and bow. For only a few shall not perish."

The holy words thundered at her as Theloi's voice gathered power and projection. She held herself rigid to keep from flinching, and finished the quote, "Yet even the worst may know hope of forgiveness after a time of punishment, if enough prayer is said on his behalf. Let all hearts join in petition, and Thod will hear their pleas."

"You dare to quote Writ!" Sir Brillon said in outrage from behind her.

She ignored him, but Theloi glanced his way with a frown, and Sir Brillon fell silent.

Theloi folded his hands inside his sleeves and regarded her without expression. "You have remembered your pious studies well."

She started to say that she had been educated at a nuncery school, but held her tongue. Theloi obviously knew that.

"There is a slim chance that eventually Gavril will receive the mercy of Thod," he said. "But no guarantee. Certainly there is no chance without the devoted prayers of all clergy across the realm."

"Why would you withhold such assistance?" she asked.

Theloi turned away from her and stood by the fire, gazing down into its orange flames with a brooding expression. The light flickered along his cheekbones, casting patterns of light and shadow across his face. "The Chalice has been missing for a generation, hidden and lost to all. Now it is found. This is a time for rejoicing, a time of many wonders to follow. You, my lady, are one of them. You must be protected."

She tossed her head proudly. "I have other plans."

He looked at her. "Your ambition is known to me."

"Had I married Gavril before his death, succession would be mine."

"But you did not."

Pheresa frowned. She did not need something so obvious pointed out to her. That was the crux of her current problem. Yet if she was not named Verence's heir, who would be? And when was the king going to decide? She sighed, wishing that he had already made his choice. Had he named her heir before they left Grov, or even during the journey homeward, she would have been met today with a respectful reception. There would be no secret meetings of intrigue with cardinals, no veiled threats, no talk of being shut away for the rest of her life in a nuncery while church scholars debated over whether she should be named a saint or not.

"No one can come into such close contact with the holy Chalice and not be touched forever by it," the cardinal said.

Pheresa held out her hands in frustration. "I have gained no special powers. I am whatever I was before."

"Impossible."

"You will not put me away or imprison me," she declared. "My destiny lies elsewhere."

"To be named a saint is the supreme honor. To serve in the footsteps of Tomias is the greatest calling."

"But I am not called from within," she protested. "I will not lie and say that I am."

"Thod has called you. And to his service you will go." Theloi smiled at her while she stood silent with rage and frustration. "Already we have begun negotiations with Nether for the Chalice to be brought here."

"They'll never surrender it."

He frowned. "The Netherans are backward barbarians, unfit for the privilege of guarding the Chalice from harm. The fact that it has been lost for nearly twenty years is proof of their ineptitude."

"It was not lost, only hidden," she said tartly. "The king of Nether kept it safe--"

"Nonsense. That lie has been told to cover their bumbling, but the truth is known."

"You forget, lord cardinal, that I have just returned from Nether and know the truth of these events," she said. "As does King Verence."

Theloi studied her a moment and raised his thin brows. "So you would dare threaten a cardinal, dare threaten the church. You have changed a great deal this past winter, my lady, or else Noncire was wrong when he said you were a spineless little creature, pretty, but of no benefit to the throne or the realm."

The words hurt deeply, as they were meant to. Once, Pheresa's eyes would have filled with tears. Now she stared dry-eyed and stiff at this cruel little man, her face hot from his insult.

"Cardinal Noncire," she said in a quiet, cold voice, "died in Gant, tortured by Nonkind evil. His judgment was less than sound in many areas. I do not think you should depend too much on the accuracy of his perceptions."

"Well said," Theloi acknowledged with a gesture. "Perhaps you are not spineless after all. But you should not be queen, and you won't be."

Pheresa lifted her chin. "That decision is not yours to make."

"Ah, but there is the matter of Prince Gavril's lost soul--"

"That is cruel and beastly! The king will not bow to such extortion."

"Take care, my lady," Theloi said in a voice that made her fall silent. "You can go too far. I think I need not warn you that you do not want me for an enemy."

She wanted to reply in kind, but prudence held her tongue. She was alone here, and Sir Brillon could carry her off bodily into the twilight to Batoine. Who would stop him, or realize what he was about? At that moment she wished with all her heart for a protector, someone she could trust. Realizing she had only her wits to save her, she told herself she'd better start using them.

"I -- I agree that we grow too heated in our argument, lord cardinal," she said at last, stammering a little as she fought to control herself. "Let us consider the situation more clearly."

"The situation is very clear," Theloi replied impatiently. "You are to go to Batoine at once and await examination by church counsel. Although Sir Brillon has done his best these past few weeks to see you unsullied by excessive contact with common folk, it is imperative that you now be isolated and kept in purity for--"

"You forget, lord cardinal," she broke in hastily, "that I am not free to journey elsewhere. There is the funeral."

Theloi waved this aside. "A mere detail. Your absence can be put down to illness."

"My responsibility is to be present," she said firmly. "Gavril was my betrothed, and I must attend him in this final ceremony."

Theloi frowned. "Do not pretend grief you do not feel, my lady. It has been noted that you avoided the prayer vigils on the journey and would not go near the wagon bearing his highness's coffin."

Her hands clenched tight at her sides. Desperately she stared at Theloi and let the hot, bitter tears swell in her eyes. They rolled down her cheeks, and her throat worked against a surge of feelings.

"You understand nothing," she said, her voice raw with all that she had kept under tight control since leaving Nether. "Nothing! I loved him and then -- and then--" She choked and pressed her hands to her lips to hold back the rest. Oh, yes, she thought bitterly. She had loved Gavril until the day he came to visit her as she lay ill and dying in her encasement, when for the first time he dropped his charming mask and ceased to pretend he cared. That day she gazed up into his dark blue eyes, ablaze with his resentment of her, and saw the truth. He wanted her to die and release him from the obligation of trying to rescue her. He prayed for her death, so that he could abandon his quest and go home.

She'd pledged herself to a man who'd never cared for her. And in doing so, she'd turned her back on another who was honest, true, and noble of heart. Faldain had saved her life, not Gavril. Faldain had offered her his heart and hand with simple honesty at the Harvest Ball, and she'd rejected him because she wanted to be queen. She hadn't known then that she could have been queen of Nether instead.

And now, Gavril was dead. She'd sought a second chance with Faldain, offering herself freely to him with all her gratitude and newfound hope. She'd gone to him with all Mandria momentarily in her hands as dowry, and he hadn't wanted her.

What was wrong with her, she wondered bitterly, that no man would love her? Lifting her tear-streaked face, she met Cardinal Theloi's gaze through her blurred one.

"A woman's tears," he said coldly, "are her most effective weapon."

"The king will not understand if I am absent," she whispered. And all the while she was thinking that during the funeral she would have a chance to speak to the king and beg him to keep her at court. He had refused to see her of late, but he had refused to see anyone. At the funeral she would be at his side and she would make her plea then. "Lord cardinal," she said now, "I was bound to Gavril. I must perform this last public duty for him, even if you truly mean to cloister me thereafter."

"Ah, yes, your remarkable sense of duty," Theloi said thoughtfully. "You have become renowned for it. Despite your tears, I think you love duty more than you ever loved your prince."

Stung, she opened her mouth to protest, but he gestured for silence.

"Very well," he said, "attend the funeral. The populace will not be allowed to get close to you. Sir Brillon will stay at your side to ensure you are not soiled by too much proximity with lesser beings."

She did not like the idea of Sir Brillon's zealous escort, yet even he could not prevent her from conversing with the king during the ceremony. Filled with relief, she barely kept herself from smiling. "Thank you."

"The funeral will be held tomorrow. It is only a short delay," Theloi said. "As soon as your duty ends, you will leave for Batoine. That, I promise you."

Determined never to set foot within the nuncery's walls, Pheresa gave him the slightest possible inclination of her head. "May I now withdraw, lord cardinal? I grow chilled in these damp clothes, and I wish to rest before the rigors of tomorrow."

Theloi held out his hand to her, but Pheresa could not force herself to kiss his ring as she should have. Annoyance flashed in his eyes as he lowered his hand to his side. At once she knew she had erred in offending him, but she did not care. He had offended her more, she reminded herself, and turned and hurried out with Sir Brillon on her heels.

The young page was still waiting outside in the passageway. Pheresa gave him a stern look, unwilling to forgive his part in Theloi's little trap. I must be more careful, she reminded herself. I must take care not to get separated from others. I must watch my back. I must be vigilant for my own safety, for no one else is.

"My lady?" Sir Brillon said, reaching out to take her arm.

She drew away from him in distaste, angered once again by his familiarity. "Keep your distance, sir!" she said sharply. "You are no courtier. You will walk behind me, as is fitting for your place."

Sir Brillon's mouth compressed in a hard line. The scar across his face turned pink, but after a moment he bowed to her and stepped back.

Another enemy made, Pheresa thought to herself. She did not care. If she did not succeed in obtaining the king's intervention tomorrow, she was doomed anyway.

Copyright © 2002 by Deborah Chester