"Rejoice," Landis proclaimed. "You are joined in the law of the kingdoms and in the presence of the Lady, in life and in death—and beyond."

Tris leaned forward and kissed Kiara, and the crowd cheered. Landis removed the stole from around their wrists, and when they unclasped their hands, the cuts were healed on their palms except for a thin pink scar.

As Tris and Kiara descended from the dais, the minstrels' music shifted into one of Mar-golan's traditional wedding dances. There was no way to avoid having to join in the dances. Tris found himself swept into a fast-moving circle dance between Cam and Donelan, while Kiara was whisked away by Berry into a circle with Carina, Alle, and Lady Eadoin. Tris gritted his teeth and used a flicker of magic to reinforce the binding Carina had used on his ankle, hoping to make it through the dance before his ankle gave out on him. Servants moved through the crowd with goblets of wine and. pitchers of ale, and Tris could smell roasting venison. One dance tune followed another, each more quick of step and complicated than the last. Dancers moved from circles to lines and back once more as the music dictated. The music and dancing continued until Crevan came to the great room door. With a flourish of trumpets, the seneschal announced that the banquet was served.

It took all of Tris's will not to limp as he clasped Kiara's hand and led the procession into the banquet hall. Once again, Carroway and Crevan had outdone themselves. Long tables glistened with candles on mirrored trays. A profusion of colorful flowers were strewn down the tables. Out of season fresh flowers, impossible to get without magic, festooned the large chandeliers, and floral garlands made a canopy overhead. It was, Tris thought appreciatively, an extremely showy display requiring a bit of magic and very little gold.

Carroway performed with the musicians and directed the procession of jugglers, acrobats, dancers, and entertainers that kept the guests amused through the many courses of the long, formal meal. The feasting would continue into the night, when vayash moru and vyrkin in their human form would join the festivities. Tris sipped his wine, wishing for something stronger as his ankle throbbed.

"Carroway's really outdone himself," Kiara murmured to Tris. "Can you knight him in appreciation?"

Tris chuckled. "He's already 'Lord High Bard' and 'Margolan's Master Minstrel'. I'm running out of titles."

When the servants cleared away the eighth course of the formal dinner, a large table laden with gifts was wheeled in. Tris escorted Kiara down from the head table to richly upholstered chairs where they would receive the gifts of their guests. Try as Tris might to avoid the show of competitive generosity, Crevan would not forego this portion of the event, fearing that to do so would be to give offense to the guests.

Donelan's gift could not be boxed. He had given two mares and two stallions of the horses for which Isencroft was famed. Unmatched for speed, without equal for beauty, the bloodlines of the Isencroft horses were regarded to be as precious as the crown jewels of the kingdom. Fitted with the incomparable tack for which Isencroft was also known, the horses were indeed worthy of a king, and the gift of breeding stock was symbolic of the union between the two kingdoms that would occur upon Donelan's death.

Kalcen leaned forward as Tris and Kiara unwrapped his gift. It was a triptych with beautifully painted illuminations, drawn by a skilled artist. The frame was covered with gold. "I've had my astrologers consult the stars to create this. We set much stock by the stars in East-mark. One panel is for you," he said with a nod toward Tris, "and one for you," he said with a smile for Kiara. "It foretells lucky and inauspicious dates for 80 years from the day of your births. In the center, my seers have read the stars for this day, and predict that signs are favorable for a male child to be born within a year."

For nearly a candlemark, Tris and Kiara received the gifts of the nobility: beautiful silver, finely etched crystal, and gem-studded jewelry. Tris felt himself begin to relax as the pile of gifts diminished without incident. He and Kiara were effusive in their thanks, but he knew that Kiara also was mentally wincing at the competitive opulence of the presents from nobility eager to gain favor with the new king and queen.

At last, one gift remained. It was draped in cloth, a rectangle the size of a doorway.

"Think it's a portrait?" Kiara whispered to Tris with a laugh, knowing how much he hated Jared's life-sized paintings of himself.

"Goddess, I hope not! We've only just finished burning all the ones Jared made." He sobered and his eyes widened. "There's something wrong."

"What is it?"

"Blood magic. I can feel it."

The servants swept back the cloth with a flourish, revealing an ornately framed mirror. The frame was gold, engraved with an intricate design of runes.

"Don't touch that!"

Tris's warning came an instant too late. The mirror wavered in the servants' grip and one of them reached out a hand to steady it, touching the glass.

The mirror misted and the glass disappeared. An ear-piercing shriek sounded, and before the servants holding the mirror could scatter, a huge beast bounded through the frame. The beast was corpse gray, with slick, hairless skin stretched across a nightmare body. Its misshapen head held bulbous eyes and sharp, protruding teeth. It walked upright like a man, on solidly-muscled hind legs that ended in massive claws. With its clawed forearms, the beast swept aside the men holding the frame, casually ripping the head from the nearest of the servants.

"Not on my watch!" Harrtuck ran at the beast with his sword drawn, slashing with a blow that should have felled a bear or a wolf. The beast lashed out with its forearm, raking four deep tracks across Harrtuck's shoulder and flinging him across the room. Harrtuck landed hard against the wall and lay still. Shrieks and cries erupted from the terrified wedding guests as they scrambled to get out of the beast's way. Jair grabbed a torch from the wall behind him and ran at the beast with a cry, swinging the torch wildly to break the thing's advance on the partygoers.

"Get everybody out of here!" Tris shouted to Soterius, who was already on his feet. Tris vaulted the table, drawing his sword as the beast advanced and frightened guests scattered. The beast focused on him, as he hoped. Tris stepped closer.

Tris lifted his hand to raise a warding but before it snapped into place, he felt another person enter the space.

"You sure know how to throw a party." Vahanian was behind him, sword drawn.

Outside the warding, Tris was dimly aware of Carroway and Soterius shouting for order. He heard Donelan and Kalcen call for their guards. A solid row of soldiers, his own plus the guards from Isencroft and Eastmark, formed a perimeter, their weapons ready.

The beast lunged for Tris, and Tris ducked, but not quickly enough. He felt the beast's claws rake across his back, sending him sprawling. His wounded ankle buckled underneath him, sending sharp pains up his leg. Jonmarc charged, sword raised, and scored a deep gash on the thing's shoulder, only to be swept aside by its powerful forearm. Tris stretched out his power, hoping to snuff out the life force of the beast, but the stench of blood magic made his senses reel. He could feel no glimmer of soul in the magicked creature.

Tris tore the charm from around his neck. "Take this—I've got a plan."

Jonmarc grabbed the chit before he realized what it was. "Not that same damn talisman!"

"You're safe with it—keep him busy."

"Be quick about it!"

Armed with the talisman, Jonmarc gave a battle cry and threw himself toward the beast, hacking in great two-handed blows that would have felled any.natural creature. His vayash moru training served him well; his quick reflexes kept him a hair's breadth away from the thing's talons. The creature's skin barely registered the blows, but it turned away from Tris, with its baleful yellow eyes fixing on Jonmarc as it advanced a step toward him. Jonmarc dodged and ducked, missing the worst of the creature's blows. Its claws raked down his left arm, shredding his silk shirt and digging against the mail beneath.