"Don't ask me to explain it, for I can't," she said honestly. "Tristan is in danger-of that I am sure. But he is also alive and trying to get back home-I just know it. If only the Minion patrols flying over the Sea of Whispers could bring us back some scrap of information-anything that might help us find him! But we cannot lose hope. I will not lose hope." She held her face up to the breeze, eyes closed. Then her brow creased as a dark thought crossed her mind.

"And now Tristan and I learn that we have a brother out there somewhere, most probably suffering horribly at the hands of the wizard Krassus," she said quietly, half to herself. "We must someday bring him home, as well." She paused. "There have been so many secrets," she finally whispered. "And, I fear, still so many more to learn."

For a time they both sat there, saying nothing.

"I hope with all my heart that you are right and that we can find them both," Celeste finally said. She pulled her knees up beneath her chin. "Tell me something," she said softly. "What was your husband Frederick like? I'm sorry I was never able to know him."

With Tristan still missing, the princess wasn't sure she possessed the fortitude to speak of her late husband, as well. Frederick had been the love of her life, the father of her only child. When he had been killed at the hands of the Coven, it had been as if the flame in her heart had suddenly been blown out. Sometimes it seemed that the part of her heart the flame had once inhabited had gone cold, never to be rekindled again. She had spoken little of Frederick since his death. But as she thought on it, she realized that she needed to, wanted to. A sad smile came to her lips as she took another sip of wine.

"Frederick was the commander of the Royal Guard," she began. "He and Tristan were best friends, and they constantly teased each other-especially over who was the better swordsman. Frederick taught Tristan everything he knows about combat, yet in some ways, the student eventually overcame the teacher. It was Tristan who taught me to use a sword, and later on he introduced me to Frederick. When I first saw the stalwart officer in the splendid uniform, I was so smitten that I couldn't breathe."

Celeste smiled at her.

"Silly of me, I know," Shailiha continued with a short, sad laugh. "But that's how love is. And now Frederick is gone, but at least he lives on in Morganna. I am immensely grateful for that, and always will be."

The wind came up again, moving through her long blond hair. She pulled the disobedient tresses behind her. Then she turned her eyes back to Celeste.

"You love my brother very much, don't you?" the princess asked gently, already knowing the answer.

Smiling, Celeste lowered her head a bit. "It is really so obvious?" she asked back, blushing slightly.

"Oh, yes," Shailiha answered. "Everyone at the palace sees it. And rest assured, the same sentiment rests in his eyes, as well. But tell me: Now that so much has changed for you, what will you do when you finally see him again?"

It was Celeste's turn to look out over the field. "My newfound heart won't let me wait this time," she said softly, her mind made up. "I will tell him. And then we shall see."

Shailiha smiled as she wondered what the future might hold for Celeste and Tristan, if and when her brother ever came home. Neither of them spoke, for they both knew that there was nothing more that needed saying. Instead they packed up the remainder of the food and mounted their horses.

As they rode back through the field of waving grain, the Minion warriors still patiently circling above, Shailiha closed her eyes and called for Caprice. Silently, softly, the beautiful flier of the field came fluttering down to land obediently on her mistress' outstretched arm.

CHAPTER

Thirty-seven

"D rop anchor!" Scars shouted loudly.

The anchor went in with a splash, and The People's Revenge, all of her sails furled, drifted for a moment before coming to a halt. Not far from them, the other two ships in their little fleet likewise dropped anchor and came to a rest. Satisfied, Scars looked back to his captain and nodded.

Tristan stood on the bow next to Tyranny, wondering how she could be so sure they had arrived at the Isle of Sanctuary. It was midday, and the sun was high, but a dense fog bank blocked the view ahead of them. But then, through the salty sea air, he was surprised to realize he could distinguish another odor: the smell of land.

Tristan was not the only one who welcomed the chance to stand on firm ground again. Tyranny's crew seemed extremely anxious to go ashore. For some reason still unknown to the prince, Tyranny had ordered the slaves to stay aboard for the time being. A smattering of crewmen, chosen by lot, stayed behind to watch over the ships as they lay at anchor. The others were all joyously clambering into the skiffs hoisted along the length of the hull, lowering themselves down into the water as quickly as they knew how, and paddling off into the fog.

Tyranny stood watching her crew depart with a distinct look of concern on her face. The bandage Tristan had wound around her forehead yesterday had been removed, as had the ones on her hands. Only the cloth around her left thigh remained, since that wound had been deeper and still tried to bleed through from time to time. Tristan wondered what she was waiting for.

"Aren't we going ashore?" he asked her. On hearing his words she seemed to come out of some kind of personal reverie, and she turned her wide, blue eyes toward him.

"Yes, yes, of course," she answered rather absently. At a gesture from her, Scars walked to the gunwale and prepared to lower the captain's personal skiff into the sea. Tyranny started to join him, but Tristan gently took her by one arm, stopping her.

"I think it's time you gave me some answers about all of this, don't you?" he asked, jaw hard with determination.

Tyranny nodded. "You're right," she said simply. "Climb into the skiff, and I will explain on the way."

But as the skiff made its way into the gloom, Scars rowing, Tyranny was silent. The dense fog was cold and clammy against Tristan's skin, and so thick that he could barely see Tyranny next to him. If it hadn't been for the reassuring sound of the oars slicing through the sea, he wouldn't have known that Scars was there at all. Tristan scowled.

"What is it about this place that has unnerved you so?" he asked. "That isn't like you. And why do you seem so hesitant to go ashore, when the rest of your crew was so eager?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, and a short, rather sad smile crossed her face. "You're very observant," she answered. "I don't fear this place, Tristan. There is nothing in this world that I truly fear, including the screechlings that attacked us. But there are reasons why I do not wish to see this place again."

He edged closer and put an arm around her, not only to help ward off the cold, but also, he hoped, to inspire a sense of trust. She did not shy away from his touch. "May I know what these reasons are?" he asked.

"The Isle of Sanctuary is a haven for pirates," she said. "Not privateers such as Scars and myself, mind you, but true marauders of the seas. These men, and in some cases women, make their living by plundering the honest merchant vessels that ply the coast of Eutracia. Whenever they take a ship, those captives who refuse to join them are immediately put to the sword. Because of this practice, their ranks have swollen quickly. On discovering this island they made it their base. Even the name of Sanctuary that the wizards gave to this place suits the needs of the pirates. Ironic, wouldn't you say?"

But something else occurred to Tristan. "How is it possible that you know of the connection between this place and the Directorate of Wizards?"