She stared, then laughter bubbled out of her. "Curtis? Good God! Whatever became of my quiet, homespun farmboy with literal hayseeds in his hair?" Her husband's solemn, even lugubrious expression stilled her mirth. Getting up, she stepped over to him and took his hands. "Its been nearly twenty years since we saw him last. My decision hasn't changed, and it will not." I wept all that out of my system after he left, she added inwardly, out of my system and out of your sight. I chose you because of the love we had-we have-and for little Ceonigh. And now there's Rorie as well.

There was more to it that she wasn't looking at. With Raien she had security and stability. After her ordeal at the Cloister, security was important. And Curtis had changed, even eighteen years ago. Anyone changed over time, but to become the Lion of Farside…? And perhaps hardest to confront, she could not go back to life on the farm, even if he could. Not farm life as she remembered it.

She would, she knew, love Curtis Macurdy till the day she died. And Cyncaidh for just as long. But Cyncaidh she knew, from nineteen years of familiarity and sharing, from love and admiration. She couldn't imagine leaving him and their sons.

Macurdy and Vulkan arrived shortly after two. Vulkan's bulk and hooves were ill-suited to the carpets and hardwood floors of the Cyncaidh residence. (At the palace at Teklapori, the floors were mainly of granite, with rugs largely restricted to the royal apartment and guest rooms.) So Talrie ensconced him in the carriage house, with a peck of corn and some cabbages. "A fat turkey has been obtained and is being plucked for you," Talrie added. "It will be brought out directly, unless you'd prefer it roasted. That would take quite some time."

Vulkan told him he preferred it raw. And that meanwhile a brief wallow in the fish pool would be welcome. In the residence, Macurdy met with the Cyncaidhs for only a few minutes. The last time he'd met Varia, the circumstances had been utterly different than he'd expected. He'd been thrown completely off-stride, his reaction unsure and tentative. This time he knew her circumstances. What he somehow wasn't prepared for was how beautiful she would seem to him; she took his breath away. Liiset was beautiful, and they were clone sisters, but Varia's loveliness put her somehow in a class of her own.

Varia's greeting, while warm and fond, set enough distance between them to cool whatever hope he'd arrived with. She'd changed, of course. Her speech sounded ylvin now, both in accent and syntax, and her aura reflected a matured serenity that told him her life was happy and complete.

When the Cyncaidhs excused themselves, Talrie took Macurdy to a guest room. Adjacent was a bath with a deep tub, freshly filled with hot water. Macurdy bathed, then lay down in borrowed pajamas for a nap that was slow in coming. He'd been highly skeptical that Varia would accept Sarkia's invitation, but now he realized how much hope it had kindled in his subconscious.

And now having seen her, spoken with her, read her aura, it seemed to him there was no chance at all that she'd agree. Still he'd deliver Sarkia's message. Because he'd said he would, and because he would not waste whatever hope there might be.

Chief Counselor Cyncaidh had not missed Macurdy's reaction to Varia-the Farsider had been shaken by the sight of her-but her reaction had not matched his. She'd spoken graciously and fondly to him, and her aura had matched her words, but she'd shown little male-female response.

Meanwhile, Cyncaidh was a disciplined man, and returned to his reports with full concentration. After a bit someone knocked again. "Your lordship," said Talrie's familiar voice, "a diplomatic courier has arrived from the ylvin embassy, with two guardsmen. And an envelope. They wish to see you personally-yourself and Lady Cyncaidh. He did not divulge his mission." Cyncaidh arose tight-lipped, and followed Talrie downstairs. It seemed to him he wasn't going to like this. Three minutes later he came back upstairs, going first to the guest room where Macurdy was napping. He'd known at a glance who the two youths were, had known before the captain said a word.

He shook Macurdy's shoulder. "Curtis," he said, "wake up. Some men have arrived. They wish to see you."

Macurdy sat up abruptly. "Who are they?"

"I'll let you hear it from them. I have to notify Varia."

Frowning, Macurdy got up and began to dress, while Cyncaidh went to Varia's study. He told her no more than he had Macurdy, and she didn't press him.

Talrie had already conducted Rillor and the two young guardsmen to the first-floor parlor. They wore dress uniforms now. Varia knew at first sight who the red-haired youths were, though they'd been only four months old when she'd seen them last. Sons seldom looked so much like their fathers as these did, though part of it was Curtis's lasting youth. Standing beside her, Cyncaidh put a reassuring hand on her arm. They both knew the one reason Sarkia would have sent them. She wanted Varia back.

Macurdy was the only one who had to be told. Having no need to shave, he'd never looked much in mirrors. Cyncaidh introduced them. "Varia, Curtis, this gentleman is Captain Rillor, a courier from the dynast. And these two young men are your sons, Ohns and Dohns. They've come to meet their parents."

Macurdy was thunderstruck. He knew instantly what this was about. And if Sarkia had asked, he might conceivably have agreed to it. But to have it imposed on Varia like this… Anger surged in him, shocking even himself. If he'd had his saber, he might have cut the courier down. And Rillor felt it. His knees threatened to fold.

Cyncaidh felt it too, and saw it surge through Macurdy's aura. It made his skin crawl. He even sensed the cause. The twins also felt it, and saw it in their father's aura, but lacking the background knowledge, they had no notion what was wrong.

Varia missed all of it, though normally she was more perceptive than any of them. She was dealing with her own emotions. Mariil, in her healing sessions, had greatly unburdened Varia of her griefs and losses. But this confrontation brought down upon her what remained of them.

"Thank you for bringing them, Captain Rillor," she said quietly. Gently. "Ohns, Dohns, I am glad you've been allowed to visit."

Ylvin had become a fossil language, taught to children but not used in day-to-day life. As Lady Cyncaidh, she'd learned a bit of it in connection with ceremony and tradition, and realized the significance of her sons' calling names. "Ohns," she added, "when you were newly born, I named you Will. And Dohns, I named you Curtis. If you will indulge me, I will call you by those names."

As alike as they looked physically, she had no difficulty distinguishing them. Aspects of their auras told her that Ohns was born a warrior, and Dohns a would-be scholar.

"Mother," Ohns said, "you may call me whatever you like. I will be happy to hear it." Dohns nodded firmly. "And I," he said.

Rillor reached inside his dress jacket and drew out the envelope from Sarkia. "My lady," he said, bowing slightly, "I have the honor of giving you this envelope from the Dynast."

She accepted it. "Thank you, Captain," she said, but did not open it. Her glance included all three Guardsmen. "I trust you'll stay for dinner."

Cyncaidh wished she hadn't included Rillor; he'd disliked the man on sight. But it was, he told himself, the proper and necessary thing to do.

They went to the ground-floor parlor together, where Varia put the envelope on the mantle. Then they sat talking of trivialities. Not wishing to draw needless attention, Rillor hardly participated. Some of these people-Varia surely-would see auras in dangerous detail, if she focused on them. He wished she'd open the envelope. It would engage their attentions enough to make his job easier. Meanwhile he cased the room, careful not to be obvious. There were handsome, cut-glass lamps scattered about. One, with a stem for carrying, stood on a lamp table by the door. That one, he thought. It's the one they'll light first.