"I'm so sorry—"

Ric reached out to touch her cheek. "Enough of that now, love. I've watched over you since you crossed Gibbet Bridge. You can't let me become an excuse to stop living, Carina. You've mourned long enough."

"I wanted to be faithful to you."

Ric smiled sadly. "And you have been. Long enough, my love. Your guilt binds me to this place, and I want to rest. You have to let me go."

"How can I let you go, when I love you?"

"Keep my memory," Ric said, touching her hair. "But you're too young to pine for the dead. Especially when there is another worthy brother-at-arms who loves you."

Carina blushed. "I don't—I mean, we haven't—"

Ric chuckled, and took her hands. "You owe me neither apologies nor explanations, love. I came back to give you my blessing, because I fear that without it, from my own lips, you'll continue to punish yourself. Follow your heart, Carina. Whatever you decide, do it because of what you feel, not out of imagined duty to me."

Carina squeezed her eyes closed against the tears. Though insubstantial, Ric reached out for her, folding his arms around her. "Had I been a little faster with my sword, we might have had the future we dreamed about," Ric said. "But that's closed to us. Will you give me your promise that you'll let me go?" He smiled sadly as Carina wiped away her tears. "Even in the arms of the Lady, I'll see, and I'll know."

"If that's what you want."

"I want it because I love you still," said Ric. "I don't want you to be lonely. So tonight, perhaps, we are both set free?"

"I'm never going to stop loving you, you know that."

"I know. But there is room in your heart for more than one love."

Tris stretched out toward Ric's spirit and felt a sense of completion, of peaceful resignation, settle over the ghost.

One more small task, m'lord, before you send me to my rest, the spirit asked as Tris began the passing over ritual. Give me the power, I ask of you, to make myself visible to one more person.

Tris paused on the Plains of Spirit, and understood. I'll help you, Tris promised. When you're ready, return to me, and I'll give you rest.

Carina stood in silence, still staring at the spot where Ric's ghost had vanished.

Tris put his arms around her and let her sob against his shoulder. "Why don't you let us walk you back to your room? I'll get Kiara to stay with you."

"Thank you," she murmured, and looked up at Tris. "Thank you from both of us."

It had been a very long day. Vahanian threw his cloak across a chair in his room and poured himself a glass of brandy. Between the Court of Spirits and the bitter wind that howled outside, he did not think he would ever feel warm again. Sipping the brandy, Vahanian edged closer to the fire.

The air in the room took on a sudden chill, and Vahanian recognized the prickle at the back of his neck. He had felt it all evening, when he stood guard over Tris in the Court of Spirits.

"Who's there?" Vahanian challenged, his hand .falling from habit to his sword.

Just beyond the edge of the fire's glow, a ghost began to grow solid, until the image of a young man dressed in the uniform of an Eastmark mere stood before him. It was the same ghost he had glimpsed in the crowd at Winterstide. Vahanian took in the man's uniform, the stain of his death wound, and the uncanny resemblance to Gregor. He felt a mix of apprehension and jealousy.

"You know who I am?" The spirit lifted his hands, palms up and open in a gesture of truce.

"Yes."

"Take good care of Carina. Watch over her, and keep her from harm." The ghost raised a hand in farewell and, to Vahanian's astonishment, faded without another word.

Gradually the fire warmed the room, removing the only evidence of the ghost's presence. But Vahanian sat staring at the embers, brandy untouched, long into the night.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

AT the palace, preparations continued for the beginning of the assault on Margolan. Tris, Vahanian, and Kiara met more frequently with the mercenaries and Staden's military advisors. Carina and Carroway found a lull in their own schedules. Tris's practice at the Sisterhood still consumed part of his time. But as his skills in magic and defense sharpened, Carina's talents were needed less intensively, which gave her an opportunity to recover from the strain. With the end to the Winterstide festivities, Carroway found respite from the holiday parties and the constant demand for entertainment. Carroway and Carina kept each other company in the sitting room near the dining hall, where Carina prepared her potions and powders. Carroway took advantage of the lull to work on new songs, intending to create several haunting ballads and stirring tunes that would help to inspire his listeners to action. Royster often joined them, working with Carroway on both song and history. Some evenings Berry dropped in for a game of tarle, but she had turned in early this night, leaving Carina and Carroway alone.

For several candlemarks, Carina worked on her powders, grinding up freshly dried leaves and roots with a mortar and pestle and heating them in the fire. Carroway's tunes were lively, and made the candle-marks pass quickly. Later, his songs grew pensive. One, a haunting tune, told of a beautiful musician with her silver flute, who played so perfectly that the spirits took her. Carina found herself drawn into Carroway's newest ballad, a sad tune about a spirited young girl killed by brigands. Only at the end did she realize that it was an ode to Tris's sister, Kait.

Ready for a break from her work and stretching to relieve her aching back, Carina drew up a chair and watched Carroway as he tinkered with the fingering on the lute. He tried one chord and then another, with different embellishments, until he found the perfect match. Not for the first time, Carina was deeply impressed with the bard's talents as a musician.

She clapped when he finished, and Carroway grinned sheepishly. "You're very kind." Carroway tilted back in his chair. "But the songs are still too rough for a real performance."

Carina leaned forward against the table and rested her chin on her folded arms. "You know, I realized as you were playing that you and Ban are still the mysterious ones."

Carroway chuckled. "Mysterious? My, that sounds quite romantic."

Carina smiled. "I mean it. I've learned a lot about Tris and Jonmarc, but you and Ban have said very little, except about your escape the night of the coup." She looked from the lute to Carroway's eyes. "I'm not surprised that a bard of your talent would be at court. And Ban is a good soldier and a loyal captain at arms. But you're both closer to Tris than your roles would suggest. So tell me, what's your story?"

Carroway set his lute aside and took a sip from a glass of port, silent for so long that Carina wondered if she said something amiss. "My story isn't very important," Carroway said finally. "Ban likely feels the same."

He ran a hand back through his long, blue-black hair. Carina wondered why the handsome young man seemed so completely unattached, when the ladies of the court vied for his attention. On the road, disheveled and dirty, Carroway had charmed uncounted serving wenches out of dinner and ale and bartered his music for shelter for the group and food for their horses. Carroway stood as tall as Tris but he was thin by comparison, though Carina knew the bard was much stronger than he looked. Fine-boned and long-fingered, he cut a handsome figure in the opulent court clothes that he so obviously enjoyed wearing. Light blue eyes under long lashes were as pretty as any maiden's, and his classic, even features reminded Carina of the sculptures of the Lady's companions of legend. Yet for all his talent and beauty, Carina sensed a vulnerability in Carroway that intrigued her.