Tier staked out a table on the edge of the Eyrie where he could observe the Passerines. Myrceria sat with him as she usually did, never giving the appearance of being bored. He wondered at her attentions, though he said nothing to her. She was in charge of the running of the Eyrie: the servants, whores, and cooks all looked to her for guidance. From little things the Passerines let drop, she was a great favorite of several of the Raptors and a few of the older Passerines. Even so, none of them approached her while she was with him, and, if he was out of his cell, she was with him.

She was not the only one who attended him, though. Wherever he went there were always a few Passerines who came to gossip and quiz him about his life as a Traveler. Since Tier had never so much as seen a Traveler clan, he told them stories of being a soldier instead - which they seemed perfectly happy with.

All the while he watched them. Sorting the salvageable from the worthless in a process the Sept of Gerant had called "sieving the ferrets." The Sept would gather all of the new recruits together and start them training with two or three veterans. Then he'd send in a man just to observe - usually Gerant himself, though Tier had done that duty more than once.

At the end of several weeks, the observer would pick out the troublemakers, the cowards, and the men just not physically cut out for warfare and send them on their way with a bit of silver for their trouble.

Tier found that sorting the boys of the Silent Path was a bit more difficult because the Path encouraged just the kind of behavior he was looking to weed out. He'd found five or six that he'd not have in any of his fighting troops, and ten more that he'd have been able to whip into shape eventually - but he was going to turn these boys over to Phoran, not an experienced military leader.

Phoran had good instincts, but he also had some things that would make commanding a group like the one Tier proposed difficult. First of all, he was young. But worse was his reputation. It would make leading the Passerines in anything but drunken debauchery difficult.

Tier had decided that he'd have to do a little training first. He took a judicious sip of his ale. He'd just wait until the next fight broke out - which, if the night ran to form, would be in the next hour or so.

"Came and knocked on our suite this morning," Collarn was saying with palpable excitement. "My father thought they'd come to arrest me for something stupid I'd done. I thought he'd die of shock when they told him that the Emperor had decided that the Keeper of Music needed help and that the masters at the School of Music had recommended me for the position."

Tier smiled at him. "So are you going to take the job?"

Collarn grinned back. "And have to slave around after an old man for years, cleaning, tuning, and refinishing instruments? Absolutely. Do you know the kinds of things that are rabbited away in these rooms?" He gave a vague wave around to indicate the palace. "Neither do I. But I've already gotten to play instruments that are worth more than all my family's holdings combined."

Tier talked with him a bit more, and gradually turned the conversation over to Myrceria. When she had Collarn's attention fully engaged, Tier excused himself and began meandering through the auditorium because the unmistakable sounds of another fight were starting to rumble from somewhere near the stage.

He spoke casually to a few boys as he passed. By the time he made it to the fight, a crowd had gathered around to call encouragement to the combatants. They parted for Tier willingly enough. Once he had a clear view of the action, Tier folded his arms and watched.

The first boy was Toarsen, who was a hotheaded, bitter young man and, like most of his fellows, spoiled by too much money and nothing to do. But he was smart, which Tier liked, and he wasn't a coward.

His opponent was a little bit of a surprise, one of the twenty-year-olds who Tier had pegged as the worst kind of troublemaker, the ones who sat by and let other people do their dirty work. Nehret was not one of the boys who usually found themselves in duels.

Watching them closely, Tier could see signs that both of them had been trained to sword since birth, as many noblemen were, but they were trained as duelists, not as soldiers.

When he'd seen enough, Tier turned to the boy on his right, "May I borrow your sword?"

The boy flushed and fumbled, but handed the weapon over. When Tier asked the boy on his left for his sword also, that young man laughed, drew with a flourish and presented it to Tier on one knee. With a short sword in either hand, Tier walked into the makeshift combat floor.

He watched closely for a moment, staying out of both opponents' immediate line of sight as he tested the swords he held for balance. They were lighter than the one he'd left in Redern and of a slightly different design - made for letting blood rather than killing, he thought.

Finished with his preparations, he darted forward and attacked. Toarsen lost his sword altogether. Nehret kept his blade, but only at the cost of form and balance. He landed ignominiously on his rump.

"If you're going to fight," said Tier. "At least do it right. Nehret, you lose power because your shoulders are stiff - you're making your arms do all the work." Tier turned his back to Nehret, knowing from the past few days of observation just how well the boy would take being criticized and what he would do about it.

"Toarsen," Tier said. "You need to worry less about trying to scratch your opponent, and more about defending yourself. In a real fight you'd have been dead a half dozen times." He turned and caught the blade Nehret had aimed at his back.

"Watch this and see what I mean," continued Tier as if he weren't fending off the angry boy's blows. It wasn't as easy as he made it look. "Nehret is extending too much - ah, see? That attack is what I was talking about earlier. If you'd had your body behind it instead of just your arm it might have accomplished something. Look, he wants to really hurt me, but he's been so trained to go for touches rather than hits that he doesn't stand a chance of hurting me beyond a scratch or two. That's the problem with too much dueling, you don't know what to do in a real fight."

Tier put his left hand behind his back to get that blade out of his way. Then he turned the blade in his right so that when he hit Nehret he didn't take off his arm, just numbed it so the boy lost his sword.

Tier tapped him on the cheek. "By the way," he said, "never go after an opponent when his back is turned unless there is more at stake than your pride." Then he turned his back to Nehret again, knowing that he'd gone a fair way to reducing the amount of influence the boy had upon the other Passerines in the last few minutes. "Toarsen, why don't you try a round against me?"

After the council meeting, Phoran found that he was quite popular. People followed him wherever he went - to his bedchamber if he didn't get the door shut fast enough. Tradition would keep all the Septs at the palace until just before harvest; if they kept this up until then, he'd have the whole lot of them thrown out. Finally, having had enough of the fawning, resentful Septs, Phoran sent for Avar to go riding with him.

He'd been avoiding Avar, since he'd put words to the fears he'd always had. It was poor payment for the Sept's swift support during the council meeting, and Phoran had to do something to change it.

In the stable, he mounted without aid, but he had other things on his mind and took little note of it. For hours he dragged Avar from one merchant guild master to the next. It was not out of the ordinary for the Emperor to visit a guild master's shop - an emperor would hardly buy goods from a lesser man. If anyone was watching Phoran - and he thought there was at least one man following them - they would see that Phoran purchased something at every shop.

Phoran knew all the guild masters of course, but this was the first time he'd set himself to be pleasant to them. After they left the Weavers' Guild, Avar gave in to the curiosity Phoran had seen building all morning.

"You don't need a bed hanging," said Avar. "You could care less about silver candy dishes and tables with fluted legs. Just what are you doing?"

Phoran had come to believe Avar innocent of anything other than being assigned to keep the Emperor company and told to keep him occupied. Even so, he didn't quite trust his own evaluation. He should not have had Avar come with him.

Blade tossed his head, and Phoran let his reins slide through his fingers then gradually shortened them again to keep a light hold on the stallion. "After my uncle died, who told you to befriend me?"

Avar stilled.

"It's all right," said Phoran, though he watched the crowded streets rather than Avar. "I just would like to know who it was."

"My father," said Avar. "But it wasn't - "

"I suspect it was," said Phoran ruefully. "I was, what, twelve? And you seventeen. It would have been an unhappy chore - and I thank you for it."

He took a deep breath and chose to trust. "I'm trying to build some kind of a power base. The Septs will require a lot of work on my part before I know who will back me and why. But the city is as important to the stability of the Empire as the Septs. I thought it would be good to find backing here, where the Septs are too proud to look."

"I do like you," said Avar quietly. "I always have."

"Ah," said Phoran, for lack of anything better to say. How could Avar have liked him when everyone, including Phoran himself, had despised him? What had there been to like? But Avar had done his best to forward Phoran's plans, and for that, and for so many years of duty, Phoran owed him the chance to keep his white lies.

They rode in silence to the shop of the master importer, who brought goods from all over the Empire and beyond.

"Is Guild Master Emtarig in?" asked Phoran of the boy who manned the shop.

"Not now, sir. May I help you?"

He was new, this boy, and Phoran doubted that he knew even who it was who entered the shop. Phoran was dressed in riding clothes without imperial symbols - there was nothing to say who he was except his face.

"Boy," said Avar, gently enough, "tell your master that the Emperor awaits him in his shop."

The boy's eyes darted between Phoran and Avar, trying to decide who was the Emperor. At last he bowed low to Avar and scuttled through a curtained passage and, from the sound of his feet, up the stairs to the master's private lodgings.

Phoran began sorting among the items on the laden shelves and hid his smile. Avar couldn't help that he looked more like an emperor than Phoran did.

By careful negotiations with the other guilds, the importer's guild members could sell items that were not made in the city. There were beautifully tanned skins of animals Phoran had never seen - and likely never would. Valuable blown-glass goblets stood on a high shelf where no one was likely to knock them off accidently. Phoran was fingering a handful of brightly colored beads that caught his attention when he heard the boy leap back down the stairs.

He didn't turn until the guild master said, "Most Gracious Emperor, you honor my shop."

"Master Willon?" Phoran said with honest delight. He had to turn back to put the beads away. "I thought that you had retired to some gods' forsaken province, never to return to Taela?"

"Careful, Phoran," said Avar, who was grinning. "He went to Redern, which is part of my Sept."

"And Leheigh is truly a gods' forsaken place," agreed Phoran. "What business brings you back? I hope that there is nothing wrong with Master Emtarig."

"My son is well," said Willon. "But I have not seen my grandchildren in too long. I thought it was time to visit. My son is out to the market to speak with the Music Guild about a drum I brought back with me. Also, I had some people to see here."

"Good," said Phoran. He thought of asking Willon what he knew of a man named Tier - but when he spoke, all he said was, "What would you take for three of these hangings?" He would ask Tier about Willon instead.

They bargained briskly until they reached a price both thought fair. Phoran let it drag on for longer than he might have, hoping to catch Emtarig. Willon was an old friend of his uncle's, but Emtarig was the master guildsman now, the man Phoran needed to impress. But Emtarig did not return, so Phoran paid for the hangings and asked Willon to send the goods to the palace at his leisure.

They went to three more guild masters and bought a cobalt blue glass jar, four copper birds that sang in the wind, and an eating knife inlaid with shell before Phoran headed back to his rooms for a private evening meal with Avar. They talked, but not about anything serious.

Soon, thought Phoran, he'd tell Avar all that he'd found out about the Path - but not yet. Avar wouldn't believe him as easily as Tier had; he wasn't used to Phoran being anything except a jaded drunkard. Though to do him justice, Avar didn't have the motivation to believe in evil that Tier had.

Tier returned to his room tired, bruised, and ultimately satisfied - a usual state these days. His daily sword lessons had become more of a favorite activity than the dueling had ever been.

The Passerines blossomed under his attention and some, especially Toarsen, had come around and grown more than he'd thought possible. He'd always had a knack for turning boys into fighting men, which was why Gerant offered him a job in his personal guard when there were other men, born in the Sept, who were as good or better with weapons.

There were a few that weren't worth saving. Nehret was one, and there was one of the youngest batch who was, if Tier wasn't mistaken, one of those very few who seemed to be born without any morals or courage at all. He'd toady to those more powerful and hurt anyone he saw as weaker. In a few years, if he wasn't already, he'd be a rapist and murderer, and never lose a night's sleep over it. Tier had set Toarsen and his large friend Kissel to watch over that one and protect the younger Passerines.

The door to his room was open. Some of the boys would stop in at night, so nothing struck him as odd until he saw who it was.

"Myrceria?"

Sitting on his bed, her legs folded neatly underneath her, she smiled at him brightly. "I hope that you don't mind that I came here this evening."

"Not at all," he said.

She looked away. "Play something for me, please," she said. "Something to make me laugh."

He closed the door and sat on the foot of his bed, taking the lute off the hooks he'd had installed in the wall. He played a bit of melody on the lute, tuning automatically until it was acceptable.

"How do you do it?" she asked. "Collarn doesn't like anyone - and they generally return his feeling with interest. The only thing he loves is music. He works so hard at it, and he is never good enough. He hated the thought that because of your magic you would play better than he, no matter what he did or how much he practiced. I saw you take his hatred and turn it to hero worship in less than an hour. Telleridge said that you can't use your magic on us."

"It's not magic," Tier said. "Collarn loves music, and that is more important to him than all the hurts the world has dealt him. I just showed him that I loved music, too."

"What about the rest?" she asked. "The Passerines follow you around like lost puppies."

"I like people," said Tier with a shrug. "I don't think most of these boys are used to dealing with someone who likes them."

Unexpectedly she laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "The Masters are very concerned with what you have done to their control of the Passerines. Be careful."

She turned her head and he saw that there was a bruise on her jaw.

"Who hit you?" he asked.

She picked up a pillow and began straightening the fringe. "One of the Masters told Kissel that they were worried because Collarn was spending so much time away from the Eyrie. They told Kissel that he was to remind Collarn where his loyalties should lie - and Kissel refused them. He said that you would not approve of him picking on someone weaker than himself."

Tier stilled his strings. "I don't suppose it even crossed his mind to agree and then either fake it - or tell me about it. Ellevanal save me from honest fools. Why couldn't they have gone to Toarsen?"

Myrceria stared at him, her hands stilled. "You've done it on purpose, haven't you? You're taking control from the Masters on purpose. A month ago Kissel would have been happy to please the Masters, to win the fear of the other Passerines. How did you do it?"

Tier played a few notes of a dirge Collarn had played for him on a violin - it sounded odd on a lute.

"They are trying to ruin those boys," he said at last, "to turn them into something much less than they could be."

He'd been certain that she was a spy for Telleridge, and that might still be true - but his instincts told him that it wouldn't take a lot to turn her against the Masters of the Path. He would just have to find the right words.

He played a few more measures. "What happens to the ones who don't play their little game, Myrceria? Boys like Collarn who would never agree to the kinds of real damage the Path metes out? Or ones like Kissel, who is discovering that protecting someone weaker than he is makes him feel better about himself than tormenting them ever did?"

She didn't say anything.

"There aren't as many Raptors as there should be," he said gently. "Not for the numbers of Passerines they have."

"That's how they progress in the Path," she whispered. "The boys who would be Raptors are given the other boys' names - the ones like Collarn. They have to bring back proof that they have killed the bearer of the name they were give before they are Raptors."

She set the pillow aside. "How do you do that?" she said. "If they knew what I told you, they would kill me."

"You know it is wrong," he told her. "You know they must be stopped."

"By whom?" she said, her incredulousness fueled by anger. "You? Me? You are a prisoner in their power, Tier of Redern. You will die as they all do at the end of their year. And I am as much a prisoner as you."

"Evil must always be fought," Tier said. "If you don't fight - then you are a part of it."

She rose to her feet and walked without haste to the door. "You know nothing of what you face, or you would not be so arrogant, Bard."

She shut the door tightly behind her.

Well, thought Tier, that was unexpected. Whores learn early that survival means that they have to look out for themselves. Myrceria had been a whore for a long time, but she wasn't talking like a whore who cared for no one else.

She cared about those boys. She wasn't happy about it, but she cared.

Tier slapped one of the scrawny first-year Passerines on the shoulder after the boy finally executed the move Toarsen had been struggling to teach him for days.

"Drills," Tier called. There were groans and half-hearted protests, but they formed up in three ragged lines, lines that straightened at his silent frown.

"Begin," he called, and worked with them. Drills were the heart of swordplay. If a man had to think about his body and how to move his sword, he'd be too slow to save himself. Drills taught the body to respond to information from eyes and ears, leaving the mind to plan larger strategy than just how to meet the next thrust.

The sword he held wasn't the equal of the one he'd taken from some nobleman on the battlefield, but it was balanced. Myrceria had brought it to him when he requested it.

Tier'd continued to work with his sword over the years, but the past weeks had sharpened him until he'd almost reached the speed and strength he'd held while he was a soldier. His left shoulder was always a bit stiff until he worked it out, but otherwise he hadn't lost much flexibility to age.

He drilled with the boys until sweat made his shirt cling uncomfortably to his shoulders, then he brought his sword around in a flashy stroke that ended with it in its sheath.

"Pools!" shouted the boys in one voice, and they dashed, swords in hands, to the washroom to play in the cold pool.

Tier laughed and shook his head when Collarn stopped to invite him to the waterfight. "I've no wish to drown before my time," he avowed. "I'll wash up in my rooms."

Loyalty, he thought, watching the last of them disappear into the hall, was won by sweating with them.

"They've improved," said Telleridge.

Tier hadn't noticed the Master, but he'd been concentrating on the boys. He took a glass of water from a servant.

"They have," he said, after taking a long drink. "Some of them had further to go than others."

"I knew that you were a soldier, but you were more than that - I've been looking into it," Telleridge said. "Remarkable that a peasant boy, no offense, could be set to command soldiers. Are you one of the old Sept of Leheigh's by-blows?"

"Do you know where I'm from?" asked Tier with a lazy smile as he handed the empty glass off to one of the silent waiters.

"The Sept of Leheigh," replied Telleridge.

Tier shook his head. "I'm from Redern, the first settlement the Army of Man created after the Fall of the Shadowed, named for the Hero of the Fall, Red Ernave. We are farmers, tanners, bakers..." He shrugged. "But scratch a Rederni very deeply and you'll find the blood of warriors. If you'll excuse me, I need to wash up and change clothes."

When Tier reached his cell, he closed his door and washed quickly with water from the basin left there for that purpose. Once he'd changed into clean clothes he lay down on his bed.

The last time Phoran had visited, a few days ago, Gerant had sent word that he was on his way. It couldn't be too soon for Tier's comfort: the Masters weren't going to wait forever while Tier wrested control of the Passerines from them.

He woke for lunch and spent the rest of the day in his usual manner, talking and socializing in the Eyrie. In the evening he played for them, mostly raunchy army songs - but he feathered in others, songs of glory in battle and the sweetness of home.

Looking over the faces of the men who listened to his music he knew triumph because, given a chance, most of them would grow into fine men. Men who would serve their emperor, a boy who was showing signs of being the kind of ruler a man could take pride in serving: shrewd and clever with a streak of kindness he tried hard to hide.

When he returned to his room for the night, Myrceria tucked her arm flirtatiously in his and accompanied him.

When they were inside his room, she dropped her flirtation and his arm and settled on his bed. Stroking the coverlet absently she said, "I swore I was done talking to you. I have survived here a long time - and I did it by keeping my mouth shut. How dare you demand more of me?" She said it without heat. "I have no power to affect the men who rule here. I am just a whore."

Tier leaned against the wall opposite the bed, crossed his feet at the ankles and did his best to look neutral.

"I haven't seen the sun since I was fifteen," she murmured, almost to herself. "Sometimes I wonder if it still rises and sets."

"It does," said Tier. "It does."

"Telleridge is planning a Disciplining." She flattened her hand and stared at it as though she'd never seen it before.

"What is a Disciplining?" asked Tier, not liking the sound of it at all.

"When a Passerine disobeys a Raptor, they hold a meeting to decide what his punishment will be. Then they are punished in the Eyrie with all the Passerines in attendance. They usually do one every year, just as a reminder."

"Who is being disciplined?" asked Tier. They wouldn't pick him, he thought; they were too smart for that. They didn't need a martyr, they needed an example.

"I don't know," she said.

"Collarn," he said. "Or maybe Kissel or Toarsen. But Collarn if they're smart. If they hurt Toarsen, Kissel won't stand for it. If they hurt Kissel, Toarsen will go to his brother - and Avar has enough friends, including the Emperor, to hurt the Path. Collarn has no close friends except for me, and he's the kind of person that people expect bad things to happen to. When it does, it won't disturb the Passerines much."

"That's what I thought," said Myrceria softly. "I like Collarn. He has a vicious tongue when he wants to, but he's always polite to the people who can't defend themselves."

Tier heard the grief in her voice. "This is more than a caning or a beating," he said.

"All of the boys are forced to participate in the Disciplining in some way - and the punishment can be anything," she said. "Telleridge is very creative. Whipping is the most common, but some of the others are worse. One boy they forced to drink water... he passed out, and I think he died. They poured water on his face while he choked and gagged. And when he stopped, they just kept pouring."

"Can you make sure I know about it before it happens?" he asked.

She kept her eyes averted, but nodded quickly. "If I know in advance. I don't always."

"Can you get word to Collarn?" If they could warn him...

"Tomorrow," she said after a moment. "I have to do it myself - I can't trust any of the girls with a message like that. And I can't leave the Path's rooms anymore than you can. Tomorrow should be soon enough." She spoke those words quickly, as if she could make it true just by saying so. "It should take a day or two for them to arrange to get word to everyone anyway."

"Right," he said. "Tell him to find a reason to leave town for a week."

She nodded, started to get up to leave, but then settled back, wrapping her arms around her middle. "Would you play something for me? Something cheerful so I can sleep?"

He was tired, but she was tired, too, and no more than she could he have slept - not with the knowledge that the Masters had decreed that one of his boys was going to suffer for what Tier had done.

"I'm not going to sleep anytime soon either," he said. "Music would be nice."

He sat on the other end of his bed and started to tune his lute again. He'd just finished bringing the second course of strings in accord with the rest, when the door opened unexpectedly.

Tier'd grown used to the respectful knocks of his captors - even Phoran knocked. It was too early for a visit from Phoran. Tier opened his mouth for a reproval but stopped, shocked dumb when Lehr entered the room wearing Tier's own sword.

Joy lit Lehr's face, then dimmed a bit when he looked past Tier and saw Myrceria. He made a move to block the door - perhaps Tier thought with a touch of amusement that threaded past his astonishment, to allow Tier to assume a less compromising position. Did Lehr actually think that his father would take a leman?

But the door popped open wider before Lehr could reach it, and Jes took two full strides into the room. The comfortable temperature of the room plummeted until Tier could see his own breath, and Myrceria let out an abortive squeak.

Tier got to his feet slowly, because it was never smart to move too quickly around Jes in this mode, and opened his arms. Jes's glance swept the room comprehensively. But he apparently didn't see anything too threatening in Myrceria because he took two steps forward and wrapped his arms around Tier.

"Papa," he breathed as the room warmed. "Oh, Papa, we thought we'd never find you."

"Of course you did." A woman's voice, deep, rich, and beloved filled the room like the sound of a cello. Tier looked over Jes's shoulder to see his wife enter. "Ever since Hennea told us that he'd been taken alive. Are you well?"

Seraph looked so much like the empress-child he'd first met that it made him smile. An ice princess, his sister had called her with contempt. Being a straightforward person herself, Alinath had never seen that the cool facade could hide all manner of emotions that Seraph chose not to share.

"I'm fine," Tier said, and seeing that she was not going to run into his arms immediately, he continued speaking, "and much happier than I was a few minutes ago. Lehr, come here."

Lehr had grown in the months since he'd seen him last, Tier thought, hugging him tightly. So had Jes for that matter; his oldest son was a little taller than Tier now.

"We missed you," said Lehr, returning his hug.

"I missed you, too." He held him for a moment more.

"Lehr killed some people," said Jes. "He saved Mother."

Lehr stiffened in his arms, but Tier merely hugged him tighter. "I'm sorry, son," he said. "Killing another man is not something that should rest easily on your shoulders."

When he stepped back at last, he looked at Seraph, who'd stayed by the open door. "Is Rinnie out there, too?"

As was her habit with him, she answered the real question he asked. "She's safe with your sister. Frost, it seems, was the only family casualty of this mess - though we were quite worried about you until just now."

"They killed Frost?"

She nodded, "To make it look as if the both of you had walked into one of the Blighted Places. We might have believed it if a cousin of mine hadn't straightened us out."

She hadn't looked at Myrceria, but he knew that she didn't have any cousins. She must have met another Traveler.

"It's not safe for your cousins here," he warned.

She smiled like a wolf scenting prey. "Oh they know that," she said. "I just hope these solsenti of the Secret Path choose to try their tricks again." Her tongue lingered on "Secret Path," making it sound childish and stupid, which, of course, it was.

"You know about the Secret Path?" he said.

"We know about the Secret Path," said Lehr. "They're killing Travelers and stealing their Orders."

"What?" said Tier, looking at Seraph.

She nodded. "They take them from the dying Traveler and place them in a stone that they wear on jewelry so that they can use them."

"How did you find out so much?" he asked.

"Hennea told us," said Jes helpfully.

"My cousin," agreed Seraph.

"They have someone in Redern who has been watching our whole family," said Tier.

"Not anymore," said his wife coolly.

"Mother killed him." Jes had found a perch on top of a small table and was playing with the vase that had occupied the table first.

Tier glanced back at Myrceria. "I told you they'd be sorry if they ever ran afoul of my wife. Myrceria, I'd like you to meet my family. My wife, Seraph; my eldest son, Jes; and my youngest son, Lehr. Seraph, Jes, Lehr, this is Myrceria, who has helped make my captivity bearable."

Jes nodded with the shy manner that characterized him in front of strangers, Lehr made a stiff bow, and Seraph turned on her heel and walked out the door.

Lehr's smile died, so Tier took a moment to explain to him. "She knows me too well to think I've taken a mistress after all these years - as you should. Myrceria is an ally, so be polite. I need to take a moment with your mother."

He followed Seraph and closed the door behind him softly. Seraph was studying the stone wall of the hall as if she'd never seen stone laid upon stone before. They were safe enough, he thought. Anyone who walked down this hall was coming to see him - and at this hour that meant one of the Passerines. There was time, so he waited for her to show him what she needed from him.

"There is death magic in these stones," she said. She didn't sound as if it bothered her.

"They've been killing people for a long time," he said. "There's a message awaiting you in Redern telling you that I'm still alive. It should have gotten there by now."

"Hopefully someone will direct the messenger to Alinath," said Seraph, without looking away from the wall. She set a palm against it and said, "Once we convinced her you were alive when you left, she was most eager to hear if you'd stayed that way."

She pushed away from the wall abruptly. When she turned toward him he thought she'd look at him at last, but her eyes caught on the floor and stayed there.

"We need to get you out of here," she said in a low voice. "This place is a labyrinth, but Lehr found you, which was the difficult part. He'll be able to backtrack on the way out."

"I can't leave, Seraph," he said.

Her face came up at that.

"There's a boy about Jes's age who's going to be hurt because of me if I can't put a stop to it - and they've put some sort of hex on me anyway so I can't wander around at will."

She reached out to touch him for the first time since she'd appeared at his door. Gripping his hands lightly, she turned his hands over to look at his wrists.

"I can break this," she said positively after a moment. "But it will take time - and will do us no good, since as long as this boy of yours is in danger you won't leave anyway."

He twisted his hands until he could grip hers. "Seraph," he said. "It's all right, now."

Her hands shook in his but he could only see the top of her head. "I thought you were dead," she said.

She looked up, and the empress was gone, lost in a face wild with emotion. Unexpectedly he felt the lick of her magic caress his palms.

"I can't do that again," she told him. "I can't lose anyone I love again."

"You love me?" He moved his hands to her shoulders and pulled her close. She leaned against him like a tired infant.

It was the first time she'd said that to him, though he knew that she loved him with the same fierceness that she loved her children. She had been trained to maintain control, and he knew that she was uncomfortable with the strength of the emotions she felt. Because he understood her, he'd never pushed her to tell him something that he'd known full well.

He knew it would make her angry but he had to tease her. "I had to get myself kidnapped by a bunch of stupid wizards and dragged halfway across the Empire to hear that? If I'd known that's what it would take, I'd have gotten myself kidnapped twenty years ago."

"It's not funny," she said, stomping on his foot in her effort to get away from him.

"No, it's not," he said, pulling her tighter. The ferocious joy of holding her when he'd been half-certain he'd never see her again kept him teasing her beyond prudence. "So why didn't you tell me you loved me before? Twenty years didn't give you enough time? Or did you only figure it out when you thought I was dead?"

"Oh, aye, if I'd have told you - you'd just have said the same back," she said.

Her answer made no sense to him - except that she really didn't find anything amusing in the situation. He didn't want to hurt her feelings, so he tucked the laughter of her presence inside his heart and tried to understand what had upset her.

"If you had told me that you loved me," he said carefully, "I'd have told you the same."

"You wouldn't have meant it," she said firmly. "Haven't you spent the last twenty years trying to make up for marrying me by being the perfect husband and father?"

Her words stung, so his were a little sharp in return. "I'd have meant it."

"You married a woman you thought a child, married her so that you would not have to take over the bakery from Alinath and Bandor. You felt guilty."

"Of course I did," he agreed. "I told them we were married. I did it knowing that you were too young for marriage and that you would have to give up your magic and your people. I knew that you were frightened of rejoining the Travelers and having to take responsibility for so many lives again - but I knew that was where you felt you belonged and I kept you with me."

"You did it to save yourself from being forced into the bakery," Seraph said. "And that made you feel guilty. If I'd told you then that I loved you - you'd have said you loved me, too, because you wouldn't hurt my feelings."

Abruptly Tier understood. He pulled her back to him and laughed. He started to speak, but he had to laugh again first. "Seraph," he said. "Seraph, I was never going to be a baker - even Alinath knew that. I wanted you. And I was extremely glad that circumstances forced you to turn to me. I don't know that I loved you then - I just knew that I couldn't let you get away from me." He stepped back so he could look into her face. "I love you, Seraph."

He watched, delighted, as tears filled her eyes and spilled over, then he kissed her.

"I was so afraid," she said when she could talk. "I was so afraid that we'd be too late." She sniffed. "Plague it, Tier, my nose is running. I don't suppose you have something I can wipe it on?"

He pulled back and stripped off his overshirt and handed it to her.

"Tier," she said, scandalized, "that is silk."

"And we didn't pay for it. Here, blow."

She did. He wadded up the shirt and wiped her eyes with a clean spot. Then, the expression in his eyes holding her motionless, he tossed the shirt on the floor. He put a hand on either side of her face and kissed her, open-mouthed and hungry.

"I love you," she whispered when he pulled his head away, breathing heavily.

He kissed the top of her head and hugged her close. "I know that," he said. "I've always known that. Did you think that you could hide it by not saying the words? I love you, too - do you believe it now?"

Seraph started to answer him, but then remembered that he'd know if she lied. Did she really believe him when he said that he loved her?

Whatever he believed now, she knew she was right about the reasons he'd married her in the first place - he needed a reason to leave the bakery that would allow him to stay near enough so that he didn't feel that he was running away from his family again. But that didn't mean that he wasn't attracted to her. It didn't mean he couldn't have grown to love her.

Yes, she believed him. She started to say so, but she'd waited too long.

"You know, for an intelligent woman," he said, exasperated, "you can be remarkably stupid." He threw up his hands and paced away from her. "All right, all right. Maybe if I married a woman and felt I'd taken advantage of her, if she asked me, I might tell her that I loved her. Maybe I wouldn't want to hurt her feelings. You could be right about that. But why do you persist in believing that I couldn't love you even if I felt guilty about marrying you so young? Is it impossible that I've lusted after you since you stood on the steps of that inn and defied the whole lot of grown men who'd just gotten finished killing your brother?"

She tried to hide her smile, but he saw it, and it only made him angrier.

So he did what he always did when she'd pushed past that air of pleasant affability he showed the world. He dragged her back against him and kissed her again. Hot and fierce he moved his lips on hers, forcing his tongue through before she could welcome him. The stone was cold on her shoulders as his hips settled heavily against her midriff and demonstrated quite admirably that, if nothing else, his lust was quite real.

"All right," she said mildly, if a bit breathlessly, when he freed her mouth at last. "I believe you love me. Likely our sons and that poor woman you left with them believe you love me, too. Shall we go see?"

He laughed. "I missed you, Seraph."