Aeriel found herself coming out of her thoughts. How long she had been sitting, lost in contemplation, she did not know. The lamp Erin had set upon the floor was burning very low. She looked up then, and realized it was not the flame that had dimmed, but the room that had grown more light. Dawn lit the highest spires of the villa. By the window, Erin awoke and seeing the dawnlight, gave a cry.
Aeriel stood up. "We must flee this place, at once, while darkness holds. I dare not stay another hour."
Erin was also on her feet. "We cannot pass the gate. I tried to once. The guards refused to let me by."
Roshka shook himself, arose. "There is a door in the wall I picked the lock of years ago, that I might steal in and out again unseen. If we can make our way..."
His words were interrupted by a rapping at the door. Erin jumped. Roshka bit his whisper into silence. Aeriel turned.
"Who knocks?" she called.
"My lord's chamberlain," came the reply. "The suzerain requests you to come to him upon the terrace." ,
"Do not go," the dark girl hissed. "Say you are ill."
"He would only send his herbalists."
"Lady?" the chamberlain called.
"Tell your lord," Aeriel said, "that I will join him shortly. I am only just awake."
She listened carefully. Slippered feet beyond the door padded away. Erin plucked at Aeriel's sleeve.
"Quickly. While we have the chance."
Roshka was already on the balcony. "Come. We can flee west. The high families will take us in."
But Aeriel hung back. "If we go now," she said, "we are sure to be taken, for the suzerain will soon grow impatient and send to see why I have not come. You two go on and I will follow."
"No," said Erin, coming back from the window. "I will not be parted from you."
"I will eat nothing he gives me," said Aeriel, kissing her cheek. "You knew his game from the moment you saw him, and I should have listened to you at the start. Wait for me by the plum tree. I will come when I can."
Then she turned and caught up her walking stick, went from the room too quickly for Erin to even cry after her.
Aeriel went out upon the terrace overlooking the garden. He stood at the balustrade, gazing westward toward the dawn. As Aeriel approached, he turned, smiling.
"Forgive me if I woke you," he said. "But dawn over my garden is too beautiful for you to miss a second time."
Aeriel joined him.
"You look weary," he ventured.
"I... slept badly," she murmured.
Solstar arose, slowly, taking an hour to pass from where its rim first edged above the near, tall hills until the last of it broke free. The suzerain held up his hand, shielding his eyes from the light.
"Aeriel," he said, "all Pirs, all I hold could be yours." His gaze took in the gardens, his estates beyond. "These things I would give you if..."
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Aeriel felt weary and distracted. She smiled a little, thinly, and spoke before she thought.
"If I were your brother's heir, they would be mine. They are not yours to give."
The suzerain's gaze snapped around to stare at her. "Roshka," he whispered. "You have spoken to Roshka."
Aeriel's head felt suddenly clearer. She had not meant to say what she had, but now it was done. With an effort, the suzerain regained his calm.
"My nephew is mad. He can never take the throne. He caught a fever shortly after my brother died - his mother and sister, too. It killed them. He alone lived, but he has been mad since, telling everyone I caused their deaths."
Aeriel did not answer him. The suzerain seemed more composed now, his smile no longer forced.
"He has deceived you well, I see. Do you doubt me still? Come, I will take you to meet someone. Then, I think, you will no longer doubt."
He held out his hand, as if expecting her to take it. Aeriel gripped her walking stick. The suzerain shrugged. He turned and started away. Aeriel watched him a moment or two, but he did not pause or look behind. She followed.
He led her along the wall that bor-dered his villa grounds. The parapet was only wide enough for one. The suzerain went quickly, not looking back. They reached a tower at the corner of the walls. The suzerain disappeared into the arched doorway. Aeriel hung back, then followed again.
They ascended a flight of curving steps to the small room at the top of the tower. He unlocked the door and held it wide for her, but Aeriel would not enter until he had first gone through. She stood with her back to the wall, just inside the door. The room was small, plain, scarcely furnished. It was empty save for the two of them.
"Where is this person you would have me meet?"
The suzerain stood at the narrow window, gazing out. "He is not here yet," he said. "But he will come."
Aeriel listened, but could hear no footsteps on the stair. The suzerain turned and went to a grey wooden chest with panels carved in the Istern style. He knelt, lifting the lid.
"I loved a woman once, who had green eyes."
Aeriel said, "Her name was Eryka of Isternes."
The suzerain started, looking up. "Ah, Roshka.
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I forgot." His teeth had clenched behind his lips. "He would have told you her name."
The lord of Pirs reached into the chest, brought out a garment of pale green. The cloth was the same fine stuff they wore in Isternes. He held it bunched at his breast as he spoke.
"She was of your height," the suzerain said. "Fine-boned, your build. Her skin was mauve, her hair pale yellow with a green sheen to it...."
"Like Roshka," said Aeriel.
"Like you."
Aeriel said nothing, taken by surprise.
The suzerain nodded. "You have been in the desert. But I can see your complexion was mauve once. Your hair had green in it before it grew so fair. And your eyes are green."
Upon his knees beside the chest, he shook the pale green garment out. Aeriel saw it was a robe such as the lady Syllva had worn.
"If I gave you this gown," said the lord of Pirs, "would you wear it for me?"
Aeriel shook her head. She would have drawn away if the wall had not been at her back.
"That is another woman's garb."
The suzerain let the gown fall, rummaged in the chest. He drew out a little wand of ivory.
Aeriel had once seen Irrylath's brothers in Isternes using such a thing to turn the pages of a book.
"If I gave you this wand, Aeriel," the suzerain said, "and taught you to read, would you give up that accursed staff you cling to so?"
Aeriel shook her head again. "It is my walking stick."
The suzerain let the little rod fall. He reached out.
"Aeriel," he whispered. "Take my hand."
Aeriel stared at him, said nothing, feared to move.
The suzerain rose. "I would marry you." He moved toward her and Aeriel edged closer to the door. "I love you," he cried.
"You have known me all of one daymonth."
"I admire you."
"You need an heir."
The quietness of her tone stopped him. His eyes grew narrower, his lips harder.
"Roshka," the suzerain muttered. "Is that what he told you, that I need an heir?"
"He will come of age in a year. He says the high families suspect you."
The suzerain shook his head. "You mistake me. Not even Roshka knows all. It is not an heir I need - I can deal with the high families. It is a wife. I must wed, Aeriel. I must wed."
Aeriel gazed at him steadily. "I will wed you," she answered him at last, "when you have told me your name."
The suzerain began to laugh. The sound was hard and desperate. He wiped his eyes.
"Even that?" he said. "Has my nephew guessed that, too? Well, I will tell you all, and perhaps in the end you will pity me."
Aeriel stood ready to run if she must. She wanted only to be gone from him.
"When Eryka of Esternesse first came to Pirs," he said, "my brother and I both courted her, but she chose him in the end. She bore him children, and I was sick with jealousy.
Then the black bird came and told me I might have my heart's desire for only a little payment, a small nothing. It served a white lady, it said, who wished me well.
"But I did not like the look of it. Twice - twice I sent it off. But always it returned, and in between, I dreamed of Eryka. Its mistress whispered in my dreams. At last I went to it and told it yes, take anything, only give me my heart's desire.
"Then it told me, 'Lie down,' and I did so. It said, 'Turn your face to one side,' and I did.
Then I felt its claw standing upon my throat and the other upon my cheek - cold, cold as night. It drove its beak into my temple. I felt a burning, and another sensation, as of something thin and thready spinning away from me. Then nothing for a while. When I awoke, the bird was sitting on the window again, watching me.
" 'What have you done?' I said. My temple bled into my hand and my ears rang faintly.
" 'I have taken my lady's payment,' the black bird croaked. 'A little thing. Only your name. You never use it yourself. No one will ever use it again - save my lady, to call you in your dreams. Now you shall have your heart's desire - but do not go riding with your brother on the morn.'
"Then it flew, and I went down. The blood had stopped, but I felt very ill. I did not ride with my brother that day, and that was the day his horse threw him. 'My heart's desire'l"
The suzerain laughed.
"She would not wed me, Eryka. I thought the witch meant Eryka: my heart's desire. But she meant Pirs. My love killed herself and I got Pirs instead. I did not want it, nor my brother dead. I only wanted Eryka___"
"Then why are you still suzerain in Pirs?" spat Aeriel. "The lorelei of the Mere is a marvelous reader of hearts. Perhaps she read yours better than you knew."
The suzerain stared at her. "I did not need to sell my name to some sorceress to be told if my brother died I should get his lands!" He turned away, pacing vehemently. In a moment his voice grew quieter again.
"For years after, I could not bear the sight of women. I sent them from me or they fled.
But then I began to see I must have a wife, to break the witch's hold on me - any woman would do. It did not matter who. But by then, there was not a woman in all Pirs to be found.
"Oh, there were women - somewhere. Underground. I sent my horsemen out hunting them, but the Stag thwarted my huntsmen at every turn. And the women killed themselves rather than be taken. They had all heard of me by then, a nameless man.
"So the lady sent me her seraph, her winged son, to help me. She told me she sympathized, would be delighted to fulfill the terms of our agreement. I must have a wife.
Oh, yes. Her seraph captured Pirsalon and carried him away. But since then he has been no help. I am less his master than his slave. He makes me send him young boys to feed on.
"I want a wife!" the suzerain cried. "I must have a wife, for the curse holds only until my wedding day." His skin was drawn, his eyes upon her desperate. His tone grew soft, almost entreating. "The witch promised to free me on my wedding day."
Aeriel let out her breath. All she felt now was dismay. "And you believed her? The lorelei is a maker of empty promises."
She heard hunting horns sounding faintly in the woods beyond the wall. The eyes of the man across from her grew fierce.
"I will give her the Grey Neat, then," he replied. "Her seraph has been hunting it by night, and I by day since I learned of its coming. She wants it for some reason. I will give it to her instead of you - "
He stopped himself abruptly, as though he had bitten his tongue. Aeriel looked at him.
"Did you mean to sell me to the White Witch, then, when first I came here," she asked him, "in trade for your name?"
But her words were cut short by a flapping of wings. She and the suzerain turned. A black bird had alighted on the sill. It stood as tall as Aeriel's forearm, its wings dark as nothing in the white sunlight.
"So," the black bird said, bobbing. "So. This is she? The one my lady sent word of?"
"It is she," the suzerain said. His face had gone ashen beneath the coppery cast of his skin.
"Cht," the black bird clucked, eyeing Aeriel. "Cht. Alive. Why?" Its eye was so black she could find it only by its gleam among the sheenless feathers.
"Tell your lady - " the suzerain began.
"Our lady," the bird clucked, looking at him.
"Our lady," the suzerain snapped, "that I have the one she told me to look for, but she is mine now, to do with as I choose. She will stay with me under my protection. She will not leave this villa or trouble your mistress___"
"Our mistress."
"She will trouble her no more," the suzerain half shouted. He drew a deep breath, regaining himself. "But she is mine."
The black rhuk coughed, ruffled, hopped down from the window into the room. It was darker than its own shadow. The suzerain fell back.
"That is not what our lady required of you," the bird said, "if you should come upon the one she sought." It reached the robe of pale green silk, hopped onto it, picking at it, toyed with the rod of ivory.
The suzerain stared at it. "Are you a messenger, or the lady herself?" he whispered. "Do you presume to speak for her? Go - take my message to our mistress and be done with you."
He started toward the bird, shaking. Aeriel was not sure whether with terror or rage.
"And tell your lady to give me back my name!"
The rhuk hopped from the crumpled silk. "Nameless man," it muttered, taunting, almost laughing at him.
Then it gave two strong hops and flew, skimming toward the window, toward the light.
Aeriel was running forward before she was aware. She gripped her walking stick, brought the great blond knot of the crown down upon the bird, batting it out of the air. It flopped with a squawk to the ground, one limb broken.
"Fool," the suzerain was crying. "Do you think I have not tried to kill them?"
Aeriel brought her staff down upon the bird again. It screeched, floundered away from her. "Do you not know what I am?" it cawed. "Girl, do you not know?"
Aeriel followed. "I can guess." The bird was on the silk. "The White Witch makes her sons' wings from the feathers of your kind."
"Let me alone," the black bird shrieked. "My lady does not wish to harm you, only to speak with you... 1"
Aeriel swung the walking stick a final time, felt bone beneath the pinions crunch. The bird lay in a heap upon the green silk gown. A trickle of blood came from it, not pale like mortal blood, but dark.
The garment, the stone of the floor smoked a little where the blood touched them, gave off a bitter stench. The suzerain stared at the bird.
"That is some magic staff," he murmured. "I could not kill it with a mace the time I tried." He was silent a moment. "But what does it matter?" he said bitterly. "The lady will send another when her first does not return."
"I shall be a long time gone by then," Aeriel replied, then darted past him and was out the door.
Aeriel fled down the winding steps, along the narrow parapet. She saw the plum tree across the garden. The suzerain was coming after her, swiftly, but he did not run. He seemed to have no fear of losing her. She found a stair and descended. The suzerain called after her. She dodged into the thick of the trees.
The vegetation of the garden closed around her, and suddenly she was lost. Panting, out of breath, she found herself at the foot of another stair. She climbed and came onto the terrace where she and the suzerain had watched the dawn. White cloths now lay spread upon the tiles, but no cushions or platters of food.
She spotted the plum tree again from the balustrade suddenly. Turning, she started back toward the steps to descend and sprint for it - when abruptly she halted. Two paces from her lay one corner of the terrace. Long dry, a dark stain marked the flags where the suzerain had cast the wine from her cup a daymonth ago.
The lilies in the square of earth where some of the wine had run stood brittle now, withered and stiff. Two dead butterflies lay beside the sweet juice, and the bones of a lizard now moldering. Aeriel knelt and touched the dust.
"Aeriel," the suzerain said, and she realized he had come onto the terrace. She did not turn, only stared at the lilies, at the flies.
"The rhuk," he said. "What I said in the tower - I meant only to show you what peril you are in. If you leave this place..."
He stopped himself, began again.
"The White Witch is hunting you. She calls you a sorceress. She wants you dead. One of her birds came to me that fortnight before I found you, saying I must look for you and take you if I could. Her darkangels are hunting you."
"Erin was right," said Aeriel, running her fingers over the dark-stained stones. "My wine was diiFerent, that first feast you gave. You meant to poison me." She touched the lizard's bones again, then raised her eyes to meet the suzerain's.
"I had not seen your eyes," he whispered. "Stay with me. Be my wife. I will ransom the Grey Neat and its fellows for your life...."
Aeriel gazed at him, and hated him. "Leave my gargoyles alone."
The suzerain frowned. "Gargoyles?" he said.
"Greyling and Mooncalf and Catwing," she said. Half her rage was at herself - to have left them to the suzerain's huntsmen all this time. "I freed them from a darkangel in Avaric."
The suzerain shook his head. "What are you talking of? They are wild beasts."
"They are my beasts," said Aeriel fiercely, rising. "They are my beasts."
"You are a sorceress," the suzerain whispered. Then his tone grew suddenly fierce as well. "But you will wed me."
"You will never have me willing," whispered Aeriel, "and wedding is no wedding but that I say yes."
"You will say yes," the suzerain said, stepping forward. Aeriel raised her staff between them and the suzerain seized it. "You will."
He pulled at it roughly, as though expecting her to yield. Almost without thinking, Aeriel locked her fingers about the dark wood and made her body limp. She let herself fall, rolling backward as in the desert Orroto-to had taught her. Losing his balance, the suzerain fell.
Aeriel braced her arms, brought her knees to her chest and snapped her legs. The suzerain landed behind her, on his back, his startled cry choked off as the breath was knocked from him. His hands slipped from the staff.
Aeriel sprang to her feet, saw the suzerain rolling painfully to hands and knees, one arm cradling his ribs. He could not seem to catch his breath. Then all at once, he had started to his feet and was lunging at her.
Aeriel fell back, sidestepped and brought the crown of her walking stick around in a low arc, catching him behind the knees. She hauled back on it, hard, yanking his legs from under him.
The suzerain sprawled backward upon the smooth stone flags. She heard a crack as his head struck the tiles. He lay still then, and Aeriel knew she should run, that instant, but all she could do was stare. She wondered if she had killed him.
She drew a little closer, knelt. He barely breathed. She heard a sudden clanging crash, felt something strike the back of her head. She turned, dazed, saw one of the palace serving boys with a tray in his hands, raising it to land another blow.
She felt movement beside her, saw the suzerain springing up and realized his swoon had been feigned. His one hand closed over the wrist of her hand that held the staff, his other over the staff itself.
Aeriel twisted, tried to get free of him. He was pulling the staff from her. She grabbed at it wildly with her other hand. She felt another crash on the side of her head. The terrace tipped. Solstar went dark.
Dimly, she heard the suzerain shouting, "Stop it, boy. I don't want her dead."
She felt her fingers still about the staff, the suzerain tugging at it angrily. She opened her eyes and dragged in a breath. All her movements were sluggish. Her mouth tasted of copper.
"Bird," she panted. "Heron, awake."
She kicked at the suzerain, felt his ribs beneath her feet. His hand on her wrist lost its hold, but not his hand that held the staff. She shook the staff with both hands, against his grip.
"Wing," she cried out. "Fly!"
The walking stick shuddered in her grasp. The blond wood of its figurehead shimmered, paled, opened its wings. Aeriel heard the suzerain cry out, heard a shriek, then a crash as the servant boy dropped his tray. The heron launched into the air.
"What is it?" she cried out, hovering awkwardly. "Why can you not call me by my proper name?"
"Erin and Roshka," Aeriel gasped. "Tell them to fly."
She tried to get to her feet, but her bones were all loose inside her skin. She could not balance; the sky lolled and swayed. The suzerain had her by both wrists now. The heron lunged at him. He seized her by one fragile leg. The white bird squawked, stabbed at his fingers.
"Fly!" Aeriel said. All her muscles had lost their strength. "Fly," she muttered, putting her hand to her head.
One leg buckled. She fell sideways. Her elbow struck the stone, then her temple and chin.
She heard shouting, a number of feet upon the stone steps now - shod feet. Not servants.
Soldiers. Short, whipping sounds, whizzing: bowcords, she realized, arrows flying. The heron must have gotten free.
The stone of the terrace had lost its hardness. It was cold suddenly, and very still. Her cheek seemed to be sinking, slowly, the surface under her gently giving way. Her skin felt no more cohesive than water, or dust. It felt as though her whole body were falling into the stone.
