"I know it's a terrible thing. But everyone grieves. One can't refrain from emotional attachment for fear of the pain of parting."

"True, parting is a normal aspect of life. A certain number of grievings must come into every life—it's necessary to the maturing process. But when a Dushau grieves, the emotions are, um, wrapped tightly like filaments, into a fibrous wall across memory. Depending on the intensity of the grieving, that wall can be translucent or opaque and unbreakable. A Dushau who has only Dushau friends will have a manageable number of grievings. A Dushau who befriends Ephemerals, will have so many scars, so many mind blockages, however faint they may be, that his sanity becomes endangered. A Dushau's life depends on investing his emotions wisely, you see."

She had known all the facts, but had never put them together quite like that. The concept stunned her. No wonder Dushau seemed so aloof and uncaring; they were afraid to care.

"But I'm only one person, and he doesn't care for me."

"Jindigar has spent a large part of his life involving himself ever deeper in the affairs of Ephemerals. He may decide to change that now, and I think you owe him that chance—when he's healed enough to think straight again. If, when he's healed, he decides to throw away the Archive he's paid so dearly for and continue to develop friendships with Ephemerals, then there's nothing any of us can do. All I'm asking, Krinata, is that you have the sensitivity to allow him to make that decision, when he's healed enough to make any kind of decision. Don't force it on him now, when he'll grab at anything for immediate relief. With this, he has become truly a prince among us. We would, any of us, except perhaps Desdinda, give our lives for his. If he truly means anything to you, give him the grace of your absence."

Krinata could only agree. But her life became suddenly bleak and hopeless. In voluntarily giving up Jindigar, she felt she was giving up something that had cost her as dearly as the Archive had cost him. It could take him fifty years to recover, and he'd regard it only as a medium-length convalescence. She had to shut herself off from whatever had kept their prison and their hopeless future from sapping her spirit. Her days became listless, and her nights sleepless. And in the end, it was a resolve too difficult to keep.

One night, she was awake during the seventeen-hour darkness. She went out onto the cool porch. Sitting, watching the stars, wondering which was Truth, or even if Truth was still in orbit, she heard a sound.

She froze, listening, wondering if other prisoners were digging an escape tunnel. But now, the scrabbling was not furtive. She crept around the end of the building, and found a scrawny, three-quarters starved piol digging in the moist ground under the skirt of the elevated building.

As she watched, it increased its tempo frantically. Then it jerked back and came up with a wriggling something in its claws which it promptly devoured. But when Krinata made a move toward it, it scampered away.

After that, she set herself to tame the wild one, putting out bowls of water and scraps of food. Soon, she had it eating out of her hand, and figured that it had once been tame. Finally, she arranged for Jindigar to find her in the shower room bathing the piol, thinking one could love such an animal but not grieve over its death as over a person's.

And that was the beginning of Jindigar's recovery. Deciding the piol was female, he named her Rita. Each day, he fed and groomed and played with her. She soon became part of the barracks life.

Prey proclaimed Krinata a genius. Storm made her part of his small family where before he, too, had been adamant about keeping her away from Jindigar. And when Bell finally got up the nerve to ask if the rumor about her and Jindigar were true, Krinata could explain to someone who believed her. It was such a relief.

As the days passed Krinata spent a lot of time wondering why the Dushau and all of Truth's complement hadn't been executed out of hand. But there were no answers.

The hashmarks she made on her windowsill showed they'd been there ten local days, though it seemed like ten years, when the rest of Storm's family was thrown in with them. They looked tortured and starved, and she was sure there were fewer of them. All they talked of was those who had died, many in prison. The survivors were hardened and proud, defending their religious principles.

Krinata overheard snatches of conversations held in tense undertones about whether the marriage was really valid, interrupted in the middle as it had been. The newlyweds maintained it was. Some of the older, more orthodox said it wasn't. The group polarized with Storm and his mates joining the Truth complement, and the family keeping to themselves.

Her tally of days had reached fifteen when a flurry of activity swept the camp, the guards forcing everyone to clean, polish and mend everything in sight. Rumor had it that they were about to be inspected.

Something in Krinata woke to hope again, and escape plans began to form in her mind, plans involving Jindigar. Just thinking of working with him raised her spirits.

The big morning arrived. The guards, all spit and polish in their best uniforms, paraded the prisoners outside then– barracks, seeming to expect the nonmilitary prisoners to form up as if they were a precision drill team.

Then, amid imperial magnitude drum rolls, the compound was invaded by smart-stepping imperial troops, armed and armored, carrying the Emperor's banner.

Krinata's heart sank when she saw Zinzik, robes flying, crown flashing, marching amid his Honor Guard. She despaired even before he stopped in front of their ranks, singled her out, and said, "Step forward, Krinata Zavaronne."

TWELVE

Zinzik's Revenge

Quaking inside, Krinata advanced in front of her line and made a precise obeisance.

"A loyal subject, are you?" asked Zinzik, pacing, his eyes running up and down the row of Dushau until he spotted Jindigar. Abstractedly examining the prince, he added thoughtfully, ''And how do you explain what you have done?"

"I thought you were simply making a mistake which you, in imperial wisdom, would soon correct. I saw no reason for loyal subjects to die because of an error."

"I am Emperor. An Emperor of the Allegiancy doesn't make mistakes."

She knew he already had her slated for execution, and wondered if he'd have her shot on the spot or saved for public ceremony. But she looked him squarely in the eye and said, "This time, you did, Excellency."

He dismissed her coldly, calling Jindigar out. "Illustrious Prince of Dushau. Come, greet your Emperor."

Jindigar remained standing, eyes focused on the distance, as if he'd gone back into that catatonic state.

Zinzik roared, "Jindigar, step forth!"

Jindigar brought his eyes to bear on the Emperor as if noticing him for the first time, gave a very unceremonious shrug, as if it were of no moment to him where he stood, and took two paces forward to present himself beside Krinata.

"Well!" prompted Zinzik.

"Well, what?" asked Jindigar.

"On your knees, Dushau!"

"Why?"

"I am your Emperor! I hold the power of life and death over you!" Unbelievably, Zinzik was livid. She realized he clung to the trappings of power while the core of his influence eroded away, support of the Kings and the Dukes lost. She glanced at Trassle who was watching alertly.

As if reasoning with a simple child, Jindigar said, "I owe no fealty to any Emperor. My oath to the Allegiancy was broken by the Allegiancy's Emperor. The power of life and death does not give one the power to command fealty. Or loyalty. Or any esteem whatsoever."