He had just settled down to an evening’s orgy with a toy when the Vayawand traitor came calling.

“She’s gone.”

Zabb put aside the girl and frowned at the older man. “What are you maundering about?”

Bat’tam grabbed his arm, gave it an urgent shake. “She’s taken a l’lail. Traveling overland. There’s a storm coming.” He stressed each word like a teacher speaking to a particularly dim student.

“Damn the girl. She gave her word. Is she trying to drive me mad? I should have killed him as a pup.” The words came out in sharp staccato bursts as Zabb tried to analyze and control his tumbling emotions.

“Then why are you making love to a substitute?”

Bat’tam demanded, and pointed at the terrified La’b.

Zabb looked from the Vayawand nobleman back to the toy, her long hair carefully dyed white blond, her similarity of features to the female Tisianne.

“Ancestors curse you.”

Mounted on a shujukis, snow swirling in his face, he could barely discern the wingtips of the raptor. Zabb held contact with his guard by the mindnet. The shujukis were mountain bred snow hunters, tracking by body heat. He searched by mentatics for that familiar, infuriating signature. It was not his gift, and he was making a botch of it. She was hiding from him and making a botch of it. The imperfect shields cut in and out like a child playing peekaboo through its fingers.

But she drew him like filings to a magnet. What did that mean? Probably nothing except that he had a passionate desire to kill her. Ideal, it was cold. Murder was a warming action.

At last the shujukis sensed her warmth Folding its wings, it dropped into a killer’s dive. The rending beak, the claws at the wingtips… Zabb considered them all, and the murderous thoughts crumbled. The shujukis sensed his wavering intent, reluctantly released the bloodlust.

The l’lails couldn’t know that. They had heard the single wing clap like warning thunder, the only warning the prey received. Tis clung like a burr to the long, arched neck of her l’lail as it bucked and fished. Mark Meadows was thrown. He struggled in the deep snow trying to regain his feet.

The flight of shujukis dropped into the snow. The beat of their massive wings shook snow from the branches of the blue needles. Grounded, they were absurd beasts, lumbering and graceless, supporting their wings on tiny clawed hands at the extreme end of each pinion.

Zabb struggled through the snow. Meadows had a vial almost to his mouth. Zabb struck it from his hands. Orange powder stained the snow like blood. The human froze, realizing that resistance in the face of so many mentats was hopeless.

Tis was still struggling with her terrified mount. Zabb gripped the l’lail by the ear. The animal froze. Tisianne had at least dressed for a mountain journey, with pants, high boots, parka. The pack strapped to the l’lail’s haunches contained a glowtent. But her teeth were rattling in her head – either from cold or fear of him. Zabb hoped it was the latter. The thought both pleased and depressed him. Contradictory emotions were beginning to feel normal. Relief to have found her. A profound desire to throttle her.

“Why are you driving me crazy? Why can’t I just let you go?” Not what he’d intended to say, but a truer question was never asked.

“Please…” She folded her lips together, shook her head. Perhaps she realized it was hopeless.

Zabb turned on Meadows. “She had guards and friends precisely so she won’t do this kind of idiotic stunt.”

“Friends love each other. Friends help each other. I’d do it again in a second,” Mark said, and the little catch in his voice somehow added to his dignity.

“What did you hope to accomplish? Vayawand is half a world away. There are a world’s complement of armies between you. What the hell are you doing on l’lail back in the middle of a blizzard?”

Tis answered. “I knew M.I.S. would be watching the stations. All we had to do was cross the Theanis, and we’d be in Maz’tariq. From there a train.”

“And you didn’t think Blaise would have his M.I.S. alerted? That traveling with a giant would cause no small amount of comment?”

Tisianne merely shrugged. Zabb had lost all feeling in his toes.

“Heri, take my shujukis, and the groundling. Princess Tisianne and I will ride back at first light on the l’lails.”

“My lord, for both of you to remain on this mountain… the House -”

“Would probably be better off if we both froze solid,” Zabb replied. “You have your orders. Now go.”

Zabb was grateful for one thing; unlike the noisy human, Meadows knew when further argument was pointless. After a final glance to Tisianne, and a nod from the girl, Mark cautiously threw a leg over the shujukis. The line of beasts waddled up onto an outcropping like a convention of fat and geriatric hang gliders, and one by one jumped off. That brief rush of air beneath their wings was enough to get them airborne.

Zabb pulled down the glowtent and keyed it. It unfolded, sent down anchors, and began to radiate heat. Tis watched as he hobbled the l’lails and tossed the pack over his shoulder.

“I hope there’s food in this. I didn’t have time for dinner.” He drew a hand down the tent flap, and it peeled back. Stooped to enter. She didn’t follow.

“Why are you doing this?”

Zabb sighed, straightened. “I can’t think of a more private place to talk than on a mountain in a blizzard.”

“What could you possibly have to say that requires such privacy?”

He gestured. “Come in and find out. I, for one, am not going to stand in the snow until my testicles freeze solid.”

“It’s not a disadvantage I currently suffer.”

“Come in out of the goddamn snow!”

He cooked for them, which was good because Tisianne was a poor kitchen chef, and a hopeless camp cook. She busied herself unrolling the bedroll, then sat nursing her knees, watching him as he stirred the sinau soup.

“Why are we up here?” she finally asked. “Sans guard, sans kith, sans House?”

Zabb tasted the soup. Hissed as it burned his tongue. Resumed stirring. “I wanted a chance to talk with you away from prying minds.”

“That sounds ominous.”

Zabb spooned soup into a bowl and handed it to her. She sipped it. “Mmm, that’s good, thank you. Something else you do well.”

“I do a number of things well -”

“Fight and plot are the only other two that leap to mind,” Tis said dryly.

“You have quite a tongue on you. It could double as a ghost lance.”

“Why is it that men always react so much more strongly to an insult from a woman?”

Zabb set aside his bowl and advanced on hands and knees toward her. “Perhaps because every exchange is a poor substitute for sex.” He kissed her.

“Don’t.”

“Why not? I do this pretty well too. Are you afraid you’ll start to like it?”

“You’re dreaming.”

His hand rubbed across the front of her shirt, and her nipples hardened. “Upset you, and you can’t hide anything,” he murmured, his lips against her hair.

She pushed him away. “Zabb, get a toy.”

“I have a better suggestion. Marry me.”

“Winter mad… I should have seen it. What did you say?”

“It makes perfect sense. Our two bloodlines have fought for three generations. I hold the House, you want the House. Marry me, we share it. The fighting ends.”

“First, you make a basic error. I don’t want the House. Second, I’m not even Takisian any longer. I’m a mudcrawler, a groundling, a mongrel. You’re going to breed with this?”

“You’ve said yourself, the times they are a’changing. We’ll be the first in our House to do it.”

“Then marry a Tarhiji, but don’t marry an alien. I have no pedigree. What kind of a heritage is this for our children? For the House Ilkazam? I’m barely a telepath… all of our babies would be tested, found wanting, and neutered.”