"You look tired, m'lad," said Staden. "Best thing for you is to get some sleep. Tales will wait until morning."

Tris nodded, and grinned wearily at Carroway. "I have some more grist for your stories," he said, clapping the bard on the shoulder. "But I don't know if anyone will believe them."

"The drunker they are, the more that sounds reasonable," assured Carroway, but Vahanian could see the worry in Carroway's face.

"Give me a day or two to rest, and I'll be back in the salle," Tris said to Vahanian.

"Yeah, sure thing," Vahanian agreed dubiously.

Early the next afternoon, Vahanian chanced to encounter Kiara in the upstairs passageway, bearing a tray with two teapots and plates of cold meats and cheeses. "Filling in for the kitchen help?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kiara blushed. "Yes, I guess so. Tris asked for some tea, and I volunteered to bring it up. It's just—"

Vahanian chuckled. "I understand." He nodded toward the two pots. "You must expect him to be thirsty."

"I planned to stop by and check on Carina." She shot a sly glance toward Vahanian. After the conversation on the balcony, he was sure that Kiara both recognized and endorsed his interest in her cousin. "Carina said she'd be working in the study. I'm late getting up to Tris—would you mind taking the tea to Carina if you're going that direction? I wouldn't want it to get cold."

"Glad to help," Vahanian deadpanned, taking the teapot and cup from her tray.

Kiara's eyes grew serious. "I'm afraid for them, Jonmarc. Both of them looked like they'd been to battle. I'm not sure how much more either of them can take."

Vahanian nodded. "I wondered that myself. I'm the wrong one to ask about magic. But remind Spook that if he gets his royal ass fried, the rest of us hang. And personally, I'm counting on doing some damage to Arontala. So... he needs to stick around for the party."

Kiara smiled at his irreverence. "I'll remind him— in so many words," she chuckled. "Go on now, or the tea will be cold. Let Carina know it will be tomorrow before the court healer can see her— there was an outbreak in the village and Staden sent the healers to help." "I'll tell her," Vahanian replied, heading for the study.

At the study, Vahanian knocked lightly at the door. When no answer came, he frowned and knocked again, more insistently. "Carina?" he called quietly. "Kiara asked me to bring up some tea. It's Jonmarc."

When there was still no answer, he tried the door. It was unlocked, and swung open at his touch. Carina lay sprawled on the floor, her book fallen beside her.

Vahanian rushed inside, and the door swung closed behind him. The tea was forgotten on the table as he knelt beside Carina, turning her over gently.

Carina was pale and feverish. A fresh gash bled on her upper arm, and Vahanian guessed that she had fallen against the edge of the table. From the lump on her forehead, it was obvious that she had hit the floor hard.

Gently, Vahanian lifted Carina into his arms and carried her to a small couch. Although he possessed none of Carina's healing magic, Vahanian had seen enough battle—and enough battle healers—to make a fair assessment of her injuries. Carina's breathing was steady and her pulse was strong. Vahanian spotted Carina's healer's bag near the fireplace, and rifled through it with a practiced eye. He selected a few herbs and a stretch of cloth, and brought the small iron pot of water that simmered on the fire. Within a few minutes, he had fashioned a rough bandage from part of the strip and made a poultice from the herbs to bind up the gash on her arm. He mixed some powders with the tea to bring down Carina's fever, and made a compress with a rag and the water on the washstand.

Carina began to stir as he patted the cool water against her face.

"Take it easy," Vahanian instructed. "You had a nasty fall."

"How—"

"Kiara asked me to stop off with some tea on my way by," Vahanian said, helping her sit to sip the tea. "She said to tell you that none of the palace healers could come by until tomorrow—some kind of plague in the village has them all busy."

"Then where did the poultice—"

He chuckled. "As you love to point out, I've been in more than my share of fights. Just a little battlefield healing, to return the favor."

Carina gingerly touched the fresh bandage on her arm, and sniffed the air. "Acycla leaves and cass root, with featherwort. Not a beginner's mixture."

"I spent a few years helping a hedge witch gather herbs," Vahanian said off-handedly. "You learn things."

Carina looked at Vahanian, meeting his eyes as if she were trying to read his thoughts. "Who are you... really?"

Vahanian recognized the question. It was the same loaded query he had tossed her way alter the slavers' rout in the Ruune Videya. Something in her eyes made him take the question seriously. He ran a hand back through his long, dark hair.

"Why do you care?" he asked quietly, refusing to look away.

"Because the answer matters."

"It's a long story."

"I don't think I'm going anywhere." She closed her eyes and sank back against the couch. "I saw you once, when we were at Westmarch, down in the forge. You handled those blacksmith's tools like you were born to them. For a merc, you've been a lot of strange places. So I'll ask you again—who are you, really?"

Vahanian took a long breath and looked toward the fireplace, unsure how to answer. Finally, he drew up a chair and sat down. "My mother was a weaver and my father a blacksmith, up in the Borderlands, near enough to the Northern Sea that the ship captains and the traders gave us good business. I started working in his forge from the time I was old enough to carry the tools. We made a good living."

"But you didn't stay."

"When I was fifteen, raiders came. We made too good of a living, I guess. My father died trying to help hold the gates. I grabbed his sword and tried to protect the forge, but I was just a kid. First time I got stabbed," he said ruefully. "When I came around, it was over. The village was looted, half of it burned. My mother and brothers were dead. I tried to get help in the next village, but I didn't make it through the woods."

"What happened?'

"The hedge witch's daughter was out gathering herbs. She found me and dragged me home. Guess I gave them a scare," he chuckled sadly. "After I healed up, they apprenticed me to their village blacksmith. A few years later, I married the hedge witch's daughter."

Carina said nothing, but her gaze made him look away, back to the fire. "There was a late spring that year, and the sea captains didn't stop at our port. Money was tight. I started pulling old relics out of the cave tombs—gold and jewelry and rare wood— and selling what I could find to traders just to get by. Then one night, after Shanna and I had been married about six months, a mage showed up, and wanted me to find him a relic." "Arontala?"

"Yeah," Vahanian said. "Offered a year's wages if I'd bring him back a talisman. So I went up there, and I found it. Put it on a strap around my neck to keep it safe."

"The charm we saw at Westmarch—the one that keeps the magicked beasts away."

Vahanian nodded. "All these years, I thought that damned thing called the beasts." He paused for a moment, swallowing hard, until he could find his voice once more. "The beasts came that night and there was nothing to stop them. Nothing I did made a difference. They couldn't kill me, but they gave me this." He tilted his head so that the scar showed from beneath his collar, a jagged line that ran from his ear down under his shirt.

"Everyone died—everyone but me," he said quietly. "All these years, I thought I brought the beasts." He dared to meet Carina's eyes, knowing that she struggled with her own ghosts. "I didn't believe Royster, didn't believe Tris. But Tris summoned Shanna's spirit, and I believed her."