inclined his head to concede the point.

'Unfortunately, the poor boy may find his follies catch up with him soon enough,' continued the king. The twinkle in his eye could not fail to arouse Tila's curiosity.

'And what follies are these, your Majesty?'

'I gather his celebrations lasted well into the evening yesterday -and now it appears he is expected to be wearing no fewer than three favours on his arm today, and that leaves him in a pretty pickle.'

Tila smiled at the notion, until she imagined Count Vesna riding out with three scarves on his arm. 'Your Majesty seems most amused by a situation that cannot fail to distract his champion.'

'It has to be a matter of some concern for him, that's true – but then I realised there was a way to avoid this situation.'

'Oh?' Her smile fled.

The king smiled even more broadly. 'Well, as my champion, I could solve matters easily by commanding him to honour the queen and ask for her favour.'

'But the queen is not here,' Tila faltered.

'Exactly my problem,' the king replied brightly. 'So who could my champion legitimately ask, I wonder? As my representative, he would have to pick a lady of sufficient import, perhaps make it a gesture of goodwill-'

'Oh no, he can't- You can't…'

Emin clapped his hands together as if the thought had only just struck him. 'But of course, a visiting dignitary! Ah, Lady Tila, that is a generous and wise offer.'

'But Count Vesna already wears my favour. It would be unseemly for both men to-' Tila's protestations wilted under Emin's relentless smile. The glitter in his eyes showed how much he was enjoying him' self. Even today, he had time for games.

'I'm sure the count will understand – a gesture of friendship between nations, that's all. And you would be saving three delicate young ladies from terrible heartbreak.'

'I-' She sagged, conceding defeat, trying to ignore a vision of Vesna's expression as she publicly handed her favour to the Sunbee, who for all his swagger, was a remarkably handsome young man. 'If Lord Isak agrees, then I would be happy to help,' she said, hoping Isak would leap to her rescue.

But Isak was still lost in his own thoughts: now he was staring at the

figures opposite him. He could smell more than one mage out there. The woman seated beside Herolen Jex, Duchess Forell he assumed, was returning his scrutiny. Isak felt sure that she knew what he was looking for, that she could feel his presence questing softly out. She was a tall woman, and his extraordinary sight enabled him to make out her proud, imposing face; her hair and eyebrows were oddly dark against her skin. The typical inhabitants of Narkang had pale, sandy-brown colouring, but it looked to Isak as if the women of the White Circle were marking themselves out by dyeing their hair a dark reddish-brown.

Isak found his eyes drifting away from the duchess and up to the woman sitting behind her, who was draped similarly in a white shawl, although arranged so that it covered almost her entire head. As Isak stared curiously, the woman looked up and met his eyes; in the shadow of her shawl, Isak could hardly see her face at all. When she smiled at him, he felt it rather than saw it. A cold tremble slithered down his spine. Amidst the clamour of the crowd, he heard only her breathing. Through the radiance of sunshine and the glitter of a thousand reflections, he saw only the darkness of her pupils. Isak's head began to throb as though it had been suddenly plunged into icy water.

'My Lord?' Tila's voice cut through the fog, startling Isak enough for him to break from the hypnotising stare. Seeing his alarm, Tila reached out and laid a hand on his arm. The touch brought him back to reality.

'I'm fine,' he said to Tila reassuringly, then, turning to the king, 'Emin, who is the woman sitting over there?' The king made no sign that he had noticed Isak's public informality. He followed Isak's gaze.

That's Duchess Forell,' he said, a questioning look on his face.

'No, I meant the woman behind her, the one with her head still covered.'

'I'm not sure. I think I've spotted all the titled women of the White Circle, so she cannot be particularly- unless that is Ostia.'

'Ostia?'

'A name I've heard – nothing more, unfortunately. Maybe her name is some kind of pun, that she's come from the east, but it's so obviously bad that it must have a greater significance. Why?'

'She keeps her face almost entirely covered, and she's not moved since they arrived. Some of the women have been sent off to fetch or deliver messages, I'd guess, and they're all dripping in jewels and

thus I'd assumed titled – but she, who looks like a commoner, just sits without even speaking.'

'A good observation,' the king said. 'Can you tell if she's a mage?'

Isak shrugged. 'There's something strange about her, I know that much.'

The king sat back and whispered in Coran's ear. The man nodded and moved off up the tiers as Isak returned his attention to the impending joust, which was just about to start.

The two knights cantered past each other, saluting each other with their lances. Sir Bohv's visor was raised and he offered the count a smile too. Vesna gave a twitch of the helm in reply, but the roaring lion decoration made that appear less than friendly. As they reached opposite ends of the fence, Sir Bohv flicked his visor down and both men yanked their steeds about, kicking their spurs in hard. The crowd collectively drew in breath until the two men met and a massive cheer raced around the stands. Both men hit: Vesna's lance glanced off Sir Bohv's shield; the knight's scarlet shaft shattered against the count's shoulder-plate.

The second pass was more decisive. Sir Bohv, saluting with his new lance, was greeted with a roar of applause from the public stand. He trotted round to see Vesna standing high in his stirrups and ready to come again, and off they both charged. The Farlan hero kept himself high until Sir Bohv had almost reached him, then dropped down to present as small a target as possible.

Sir Bohv had expected the change in position, a standard ploy, and lowered his lance to match it, but at the very last instant, Vesna threw his body as far forward over his horse's neck as he could, bracing his shield against his body. The lance slid over the surface and away – but Vesna's, with a terrific crash, slammed into Sir Bohv's gut and threw him straight out of the saddle. Commoners and nobles alike all leapt to their feet, bellowing, clapping, screaming and stamping.

Isak's fist tightened at the dull thump of Sir Bohv hitting the ground. His nerves were on edge already and the jousting was just another reminder of the imminent combat. Though his friend's victory paled when compared to that, he stirred his massive hands to join Emin's applause.

'Excellent strike,' the king murmured.

Vesna reined to a halt and wheeled his beast in a tight circle, holding the lance aloft to acknowledge the crowd before urging his horse over to the knight's prone form. A tirade of obscenities made it clear the injury was not mortal and the crowd cheered again as Sir Bohv was helped up, clutching his ribs, to congratulate the victor.

The count looked less than friendly a little later as he was forced to watch the Sunbee swagger over to the royal box and request Tila's favour. She made no reply, but held out the white scarf for a page to tie around the man's golden-shining arm. In the bright sunlight it was hardly noticeable against the fantastic armour, but as Vesna stroked the red scarf on his own wrist, he could see nothing else. Tila's impassive face went unnoticed, as did Emin's satisfied smile.

The Kingsguard champion had won his own first bout of the day easily. His opponent, a noble of similar age, picked himself out of the dirt and stiffly bowed to the golden knight. With the formality over he turned and departed without a second glance.