Rialus peed. He did not feel it coming. It just happened, the warm flow starting at his groin and trickling down both his legs. He would never be sure-but he had his suspicions-that the act of releasing his bladder saved his life. The lion's nostrils flared. It obviously smelled the urine. Its upper lip drew back from its teeth and trembled for a moment-a look of derision if Rialus had ever seen one. It raised its head, turned away in disgust, and carried on across the path, leaving Rialus the sight of its swaying genitalia as a lingering image.

He considered backing out, running to his quarters, and changing his clothes, but there was not time for that. He picked up the summons and carried on, walking awkwardly, for the urine was already cool, hoping his robe would hide any stains.

As he walked, he noticed something strange in the air around Devoth, things darting and hovering as he stood still. A swarm of insects? Perhaps the beetles performing some strange act of Auldek hygiene? He could not make out what it was until he drew quite near. Then he saw more clearly.

Not flying insects at all, but hummingbirds! Ten or more of them zipped through the air above Devoth, flashing scarlet and metallic green and yellow. They darted, swirled, chased one another, and then hovered. They were beautiful, all motion and grace and… they returned again to Devoth. He even held one on the palm of his outstretched hand. They had no fear of him. Indeed, they seemed to be competing for his attention.

Noticing Rialus, Devoth turned to face him. He smiled as the tiny bird flitted up from his hand and then settled again. "Ah, there's my leagueman. Do you like my birds? They like to dance with me. They love me, as you can tell. And I love them."

Staring at them, Rialus did not know how to answer. He opened his mouth, but only a breath of indecision escaped him. He might never understand these people. He wished to think them foul and base and ugly, but nothing as beautiful as a hummingbird had ever loved Rialus. Fast behind this thought came another, completely unbidden and without warning. What, he thought, if the world is not meant for Acacians after all? What if the Auldek deserve it more than we?

As if in answer, Devoth grinned. For the few seconds that he held the grin, Rialus was certain the Auldek could read his thoughts. "You know, leagueman, if you hold still like that for long enough, one of my birds may nest in your mouth. That would do neither of us any good. Come, we have things to discuss. We'll begin the march within a fortnight." With that, he bobbed his upraised hand, and the tiny bird whirred into flight once more.

C HAPTER

Mena would never forget the strange song that Corinn whispered to Aaden as he lay unconscious and bleeding that horrible afternoon. She could not remember the words of it. She was not even sure there were words. It had a shape that might have been language but that was vague and hidden beneath a melody that defied description. It was sound and breath and notes. It contained more voices than just Corinn's, mixed with music and exhalation and sobbing and a thousand promises. It mystified her.

And the others as well. One of the servants asked if they should pull the queen away from the boy, but Mena shook her head. Whatever was happening-whether the song was a funeral dirge or a sorcerer's spell-it was Corinn's right to sing it. A mother's right. Perhaps a queen's right.

When finally Corinn drew back and let them attend the prince, the physicians gasped in amazement. Aaden's abdomen had healed. There was blood aplenty, but try as they might they could not find any cuts in the boy's flesh. Bruises, yes, a swollen line above his groin that looked like a long-healed wound, abrasions. But the boy simply was not suffering from the dagger wound they had come running to attend. He was no more hurt than if he had been through a rough patch of sword training. He slept, breathing steadily, his face as peaceful as that of any child deep in the dreamworld.

"He will sleep until he wakes," the queen said.

"But," one of the physicians began, "how did-"

"The Giver has helped me heal him," she said, inflecting the god's name in the manner that gave its feminine form. "Let us praise her and be thankful."

After verifying Aaden's lack of injury with her own eyes, Mena had sought out her sister. Corinn had already turned her back on the scene and was striding away, Rhrenna rushing to keep up with her. Mena caught her in the hallway, but Corinn would not even look her in the face. She mumbled something about washing the blood off. That was all. She left Mena standing in the hallway, caked in grime.

Corinn had not even looked at Elya, and that was cruel, for the creature was trembling with worry, obviously afraid that she had not done well enough. Mena returned to her and assured her, through whispered words and caresses, that she had done very well. Wonderfully well. She was a beauty. She had saved Aaden, and Corinn would thank her for it once she recovered from the shock.

Believing this to be true, Mena could not have been more surprised with how quickly her sister had-well, recovered seemed the proper word. Proper, but not the right one. Several days later, Aaden still remained asleep, but Corinn had put her grief and fear behind her. She emerged from her chambers as poised and controlled as ever, washed clean and seeming all the more forceful in her beauty. Her face was leaner, perhaps, just slightly more angular and perhaps several years older, though this may just have been because of the tight-lipped expression she took on.

She summoned the Queen's Council and demanded that the Senate in Alecia send representatives to witness what had happened firsthand and to hear Sire Dagon's testimony. She met in various sessions all day long, leaving one military briefing to receive ambassadors, after which she left for still more meetings. She even agreed to go to Alecia herself, to address the largest audience of senators and representatives from around the empire possible all at once.

She had time for everyone, it seemed, except her sister. Mena could not secure a moment alone with her. When they did speak, it was only on official matters in the company of others. The queen assigned Mena the duty of briefing all incoming soldiers on the best manner to fight the Numrek, even demanding she hold mock battles in the Carmelia. Mena could not help but think this cruel, for the stadium brought to mind again and again the horrible moment when the Numrek had sunk his blade into Aaden's belly, and then into Devlyn's-the poor boy. She fulfilled her role with Melio at her side. He was a comfort, but it was Corinn she needed. Like Elya in her simple way, Mena, too, craved Corinn's absolution. Her sister managed to deny her, without ever overtly saying that she was doing so.

Once, when Mena asked for a word alone with her, Corinn looked at her as if she were a slightly slow child. "Of course we can talk," she said. "Would you like me to have the merchants of Bocoum wait until we're done? They've only sailed across to promise their financial assistance and the invaluable use of their barges to transport troops and goods. They've come to offer their aid to the nation at a desperate time, but if you would like me to have them wait, I will. The other option is that we speak later. Which do you prefer?"

It was no real question, obviously. Mena bowed in answer and withdrew without complaint. How could she argue? What she wanted was intangible, emotional, a sense of connection Corinn might be incapable of providing. While, on the other hand, Corinn seemed a monarch with a hundred hands now, each of them was juggling different aspects of this new crisis.