Face and voice impassive, he replied, 'She was probably just gathering kindling. Or herbs or roots. I do not think we need bother about her.' He lifted his voice. 'Elliania! The time for fun is over. We should return to the mothershouse.'

I saw Elliania s face when you made Henja run. The Narcheska was startled. And now she is frightened.

The brusque nod she gave to Peottre's words confirmed the Prince's opinion. She slid immediately from her pony's back, and then lifted the hackamore from his head, turning him loose on the hillside. Peottre did the same for the beast the Prince had been riding, and suddenly I found myself walking back to the mothershouse alongside them. Elliania and Dutiful led the way, and the silence between them contrasted sadly with their earlier merriment. My heart was heavy for him. He was learning to love this Outislander girl, but every time they drew closer to one another, the damned politics of throne and power wedged them apart. I felt a sudden rush of anger, and spoke rashly.

That was Henja, wasn't it? That woman hiding in the bushes.

She was the Narcheska's servant in Buckkeep Castle, if I recall correctly.'

I give the man credit for his composure. Although he could not look at me, his voice was calm. 'I doubt it. She left our service before

we departed Buckkeep. We both believed she might be happier in the Six Duchies, and thus were glad to release her.'

'Perhaps she returned to Wuislington on her own. Perhaps she became homesick.'

'This is not her home: she is not of our mothershouse,' Peottre announced firmly.

'How odd.' I was determined to be relentless. As a mere guardsman, I would not be expected to possess tact, only curiosity. 'I thought that in this country, the mother's family was all important, so anyone attending the Narcheska would be of her mothers' line.'

'Ordinarily, yes.' Peottre's voice was growing stiffen 'No woman of the family could be spared at the time we sailed. So we hired her.'

'I see.' I shrugged. 'I have wondered, why do not Elliania's mother and sisters attend her now? Are they dead?'

He shuddered as if I'd stuck a dart in him. 'No. They aren't.' Bitterness came into his voice. 'Her two older brothers are. They died in Kebal Rawbread's War. Her mother and her younger sister live but they are . . . detained elsewhere, on an important matter. If they could be here with her now, they would.'

'Oh, I'm sure of that,' I replied blandly. I was convinced of the truth of every word he had uttered, and just as certain that I did not have the entire truth.

Late that night, while Thick slept heavily, I Skilled as much to Chade. 1 tried to keep my thoughts to the old man private and separate from my Skill-link to the Prince. I could sense his restless sleep. The undercurrent of the boy's frustration and impatience set my nerves on edge. I tried to set his emotions aside as I communicated to Chade all that had passed between Peottre and me. Chade was annoyed with my bluntness with Peottre even as he was avidly interested in the man's responses. There are designs within designs here, like one of the Fool's wooden puzzle balls. I am convinced that he and the Narcheska have an agenda of their own, and that not all in her mothershouse knows of it. Some do. Almata for example. And the Narches]

Like their fistfight on the night of the wedding?

Betrothal, Fitz- Betrothal. We do not recognize that ceremony as a true wedding. The Prince must be wed at home, in Buckkeep, and the marriage must be consummated. But no, not just that confrontation. Lestra has made several attempts at him since then, usually when the Narcheska is not about.

Does Elliania know?

How could she?

He might tell her, 1 speculated. I wonder what would happen if she knew?

1 have no desire to find out. The situation is quite complicated enough as it is. Perhaps this is just a rivalry between girl-cousins. I wish I understood Henja's role in all this. Is she just some dotty old woman? Or more? Are you quite sure it was her?

Quite. It had not been just my eyes that confirmed it, but I would not tell Chade I had scented her, and that enough of the wolf remained in me to be certain of that sense.

Our conversation had wearied Chade and I let him go to his rest. I checked to be sure the cottage door was latched, and then regretfully closed the window shutters as well. I did not like sleeping in such a tightly closed place. I always slept best when I could feel air moving freely on my face, but after my sighting of Henja that day, I would not give anyone the opportunity to have a clear shot at me.

Such was my frame of mind as I settled myself for sleep, and the

next morning, I tried to use it to account for my nightmares. Yet it was not fair to call my dreams that. There was nothing of terror in them, only uneasiness, and a vividness that was not Skill-walking, but something else. I dreamed of the Fool as he had been once, not as Lord Golden but as a pale, frail lad with colourless eyes. In that guise, he bestrode the stone dragon behind Girl on a Dragon, and together they rose into the blue skies. But then suddenly he became Lord Golden, and as he rode behind the carved and soulless girl that was a part of the dragon sculpture that he had called back to wakefulness and life, a black and white cloak fluttered out on the wind behind him. His hair was pulled back sleek and tight from his face and bound back like a warrior's tail. His expression was so set and stern that he looked as soulless as the Girl whose slender waist he clasped. His hands were bare, I saw in surprise, for it had been a very long time since I had seen him do anything ungloved. Higher they rose into the sky, and higher still, and then suddenly he lifted his hand and pointed, and the girl kneed the dragon to fly in the direction of that slender, pointing finger. Then clouds cloaked them as if mist enfolded them. I stirred from sleep to find my own fingers set to my wrist in the pale prints he had once left there. 1 shifted in my bedding but could not seem to come back to full wakefulness. Pulling my blanket more tightly around me, I surrendered to sleep again.

And then I did Skill-walk in my dreams, to a most disturbing scene. Nettle sat and chatted with Tintaglia on a grassy hillside. I knew it was a dream of Nettle's making, for never had flowers blossomed so brightly, nor bloomed so evenly throughout the grass. It reminded me of a carefully worked tapestry. The dragon was the size of a horse, and crouched in a way that was not quite threatening. I stepped into the dream. Nettle's back was very straight and her voice nearly brittle as she demanded of the dragon, 'And what has any of that to do with me?'

And in a silent aside to me, Why did you delay? Didn't you feel me summoning you?

'I can hear that, you know,' Tintaglia pointed out calmly. 'And he did not hear you summoning him because I did not wish him to. So, you see, you are quite alone, if I decide you are.' The dragon

suddenly turned her cold gaze on me. Beauty had fled her reptile eyes, leaving them spinning gems of fury. 'A fact that does not escape you, either, I assume.'