I let go, expecting him to drop to the sand. Instead, he spun, my knife in his hand, and thrust it into my belly. At least, that was his intent. The buckle of my sword belt deflected it, the blade skidded across the leather of the belt, and then plunged past me, wrapping in my shirt as it went. The blade so near my flesh woke my anger. I caught his wrist, snapped it sharply back, and the knife went flying. A blow from my fist to the side of his neck hammered-him to his knees. He yowled in fury as he fell, and the sound stood my hair on end. The glaring glance he turned on me was not the Prince's, but some awful combination of cat, boy, and a woman who would master them both. Her will was the one that brought him up off his knees and springing toward me.

I tried to catch his charge and control him, but he fought like a mad thing, clawing and spitting and ripping at my hair. I hit him hard in the center of his chest, a blow that should have at least slowed him, but he came back at me, his fury doubled. I knew then that she had full control of him, and that she would care nothing about pain I dealt him. I'd have to damage him if I wanted to stop him, and even at that moment, I could not bring myself to do that. So I flung myself to meet his charge, wrapped him in my arms, and used my weight to bear him down. We came down very near the fire, but I was on top, and resolved to stay there. Our faces were inches apart as I made good my hold on him. He twisted his head about wildly, and tried to strike me in the face with his brow. The eyes that met mine were not the Prince's. She spat up at me and cursed me. I lifted him and slammed him back against the earth. I saw his head bounce off the ground. He should have been near stunned, but he darted his mouth at my arm as if to bite me. I felt a surge of fury that started somewhere so deep it was outside me.

"Dutiful!" I roared. "Stop fighting me!"

He went limp in my arms. The woman-cat glared at me furiously, but slowly she faded from his eyes. Prince Dutiful goggled up at me in terror. Then even that faded from his eyes. He stared like a dead man. Blood outlined his teeth. It was his own, leaking from his nose and over his mouth. He lay very still. I felt sickened. I peeled myself away from him and stood slowly, chest heaving. "Eda and El, mercy," I prayed as I seldom did, but the gods were not interested in undoing what I had done.

I knew what I had done. I had done it before, coldly and deliberately. I had used the Skill to forcefully imprint on my uncle, Prince Regal, that he would suddenly become adamantly loyal to Queen Kettricken, and the child she carried. I had intended that Skill imprint to be permanent, and it had been, though Prince Regal's untimely death but a few months later had prevented me from ever knowing how long such an imposed command would remain in force.

This time I had acted in anger, with no thought beyond the moment. The furious command I had given him had printed itself onto his mind with the full strength of my Skill behind it. He had not decided to stop fighting me. Part of him doubtless wished to kill me still. His baffled look told me that he had no comprehension of what I had done to him. Neither did I, really.

"Can you get up?" I asked him guardedly. "Can I get up?" He echoed my words eerily. His diction was blurred. His eyes rolled about as he seemed to seek an answer in himself, then his gaze came back to me. "You can get up," I ventured fearfully. And at my words, he could.

He came to his feet unsteadily, reeling as if I had knocked him cold. The force of my command seemed to have driven the woman's control away. Yet to have supplanted that with my own will over him was no victory for me. He stood, shoulders slightly hunched, as if investigat' ing a pain in himself. After a time, he lifted his eyes to look at me. "I hate you," he told me, in a voice devoid of rancor. "That's understandable," I heard myself reply. I some-times shared that sentiment.

I couldn't look at him. I found my knife on the sand and returned it to its sheath. The Prince lurched around the fire, then sat down on the opposite side. I watched him surreptitiously. He wiped his hand across his mouth and then looked at his bloody palm. Mouth slightly ajar, he ran his tongue past his teeth. I feared he would spit some out, but he did not. He made no complaint at all. Instead, he looked like a man trying desperately to recall something. Humiliated and confused, he stared at the fire. I wondered what he pondered.

For a time I sat, feeling all the new little pains he had given me. Many of them were not physical. I doubted they equaled what I had done to him. I could think of nothing to say to him, so I poked at the food in the fire. The seaweed I'd wrapped it in had shrunken and dried in the heat and was beginning to char. I poked the packet out from the coals. Inside, the mussels had opened, and the crab's flesh had gone from opaque to white. Close enough to cooked to satisfy me, I decided.

"There's food here," I announced.

"I'm not hungry," the Prince replied. Voice and eyes were distant.

"Eat it anyway, while there's food to eat." My words came out as a callous command.

Whether it was my Skill-hold upon him, or his own common sense, I couldn't tell. But after I had taken my share of the food from the seaweed packet, he came cautiously around the fire to claim his share. In some ways, he reminded me of Nighteyes when he had first come to me. The cub had been wary and defiant, yet pragmatic enough to realize he had to depend on me to provide for him. Perhaps the Prince knew that without me, he had no hopes of returning easily to Buck.

Or perhaps my Skill-command had burned so deep that even a suggestion from me must be obeyed.

The silence lasted as long as the food did, and a bit longer. I broke it. "I looked at the stars last night."

The Prince nodded. After a time, "We're a long way from home," he admitted grudgingly.

"We may face a long journey home with few resources. Do you know how to live off the land at all?"

Again, a silence followed my words. He did not want to speak to me, but I had knowledge he desperately needed. His question came grudgingly.

"What about the way we came here? Can't we go back that way?" A frown divided his brows as he asked, "How did you learn to do that magic? Is it the Skill?"

I broke a little piece of the truth off and gave it to him. "King Verity taught me to Skill. A long time ago." Before he could ask another question, I announced, "I'm going to walk down the beach and climb up those cliffs. It could be there's a town nearby." If I had to leave the boy here alone, I'd do my best to leave him in a safe place. And if the Skill-pillar did not emerge from the water, then I'd best prepare for along walk home. My will was iron in that regard. I'd returnto Buck if I had to crawl there. And once there, I'd huntdown every one of those Piebalds and kill them slowly. Thepromise gave purpose to my motions. I began to pull on mysocks and boots. The feathers still lay on the sand. A flick ofmy fingers slid them up my sleeve. I'd secure them betterlater. I did not wish to discuss them with the Prince. Dutifulmade no reply to my words, but when I stood up and walkedaway from the fire, he followed me. I stopped at the freshwater stream, to wash my hands and face and to drink, aswell. The Prince watched me, and when I was finished, hewalked upstream to drink himself. While he was occupied, astrip from my shirt secured the feathers to my forearm. Bythe time he looked up from washing the blood from his face, my sleeve once more concealed them. Together we walkedon. The silence felt like a heavy thing we carried betweenus. I could feel him mulling over what I had told him aboutthe woman. I wanted to lecture him, to batter him withwords until he understood exactly what the woman wastrying to do. I wanted to ask if she was still in his mindwith him. Instead I bit my tongue and held back my words.