"You may begin," he said.

After pouring a small amount of the oil onto the ground, Abbey produced flint and steel from one of the pockets of her dress. As she struck them together, the resulting spark launched itself obediently toward the pool of oil, and a small flame erupted.

After releasing a few more drops of the precious oil down into the flame she stood back, using her gift to force the azure fire higher and higher. When it was at last about two meters wide and five meters tall she crooked one finger, causing the flame to divide into two distinct but unequal-sized branches. Curling her finger again, she pointed to the right, and the smaller of the two flames flattened itself out, coming dangerously close to scorching her hands and her face.

Reaching into the air, she collected the single drop of Shailiha's blood onto one of her fingertips and held it high.

A rectangular window began to form midway up the body of the undulating blaze. Hoping against hope, Shailiha came as close to it as she dared, trying to see what was forming within its midst. Equally mesmerized, Faegan wheeled his chair nearer.

At first Shailiha thought she could see Tristan, sitting in a chair and surrounded by other men and women. But the view was maddeningly fuzzy.

She turned to look at the herbmistress. As she did, the suddenly terrified look on Abbey's face told her that something had just gone horribly, dangerously wrong. For a moment Shailiha saw the herbmistress turn her eyes from her creation to look strangely at the princess; then she immediately gazed back at her flame, her mouth open with horror, and gestured at the blaze as if she were desperately trying to change something about it.

Then, as if in slow motion, she used every bit of her strength to turn and lunge at the wizard and the princess, knocking Shailiha down and sending Faegan's chair tumbling over backward.

Amidst a great thunderclap of heat and fire, Abbey's gazing flame exploded.

CHAPTER

Forty-five

S itting next to the sailmaker, with the deafening, palpable tension of the Wing and Claw raining down around him, Tristan felt his heart racing. Horrified, he helplessly watched the man he assumed to be Rolf pull even harder on Tyranny's hair in an effort to force the prince to reveal himself. Even though she refused to cry out, Tristan could see that she was in desperate pain, and there was nothing that Scars could do to help her. If the three of them were to somehow survive this, it would be completely up to Tristan.

Tyranny's former lover was everything Tyranny and Scars had said he would be. He was tall, hard-muscled, and somewhat older than the prince-perhaps thirty-five Seasons of New Life. Sandy blond hair fell haphazardly down around his face and shoulders. Part of it was woven into two narrow, tight braids that hung alongside the left jaw, their ends capped with small onyx ornaments. His dark blue eyes were hard and unforgiving. He wore a bright red, sleeveless shirt; tight-fitting tan breeches; black knee boots; and a bright red sash around his waist. Numerous tattoos and scars could be seen on his chest and his chiseled arms. At his left hip he wore a saber; an empty dagger sheath was at his right, tied down to his thigh.

"Come forward now!" Rolf screamed again, yanking Tyranny's face a bit higher. Tristan saw Tyranny wince, then close her eyes against the pain.

Remembering the piece of ancient vellum still hidden in his boot, an idea came to Tristan.

He stood up, roughly pushing his chair out of the way. The chair legs screeched loudly on the floor.

Everyone turned to look at the tall, dark-haired man with the strange weapons lying across his back. His eyes never leaving Rolf, Tristan slowly replaced his throwing knife into its quiver, opened his hands to show they were empty, and started across the floor. As he did, many in the crowd smiled greedily. They were sure someone was about to die, and their money was on Rolf.

Coming to stand before the pirate, Tristan looked hard into his eyes. "Let her go," he said. "She's with me now."

Looking Tristan up and down, Rolf let go a derisive laugh. "My men in the street said ya wore a black vest and carried childish lookin' weapons, but they forgot to mention how ugly y'are," he said. Tristan immediately recognized his accent as coming from the Eutracian highlands, just north of Ilendium.

"They also told me that they saw Tyranny kissin' ya in the street," Rolf went on. "So who are ya, then? I would surely like to know, before I order the men in this room to tear y'apart. Then the lass and I would like to be alone." Rolf smiled wickedly. "It seems she and I have some catchin' up to do."

Steeling himself, Tristan decided to take his gamble. He put a snide look on his face, then pointed down at Tyranny. "This bitch and that idiot giant of hers are my partners now, and I want them back."

Tristan held his breath, praying that neither Tyranny nor Scars would say anything. They remained silent.

"What's that ya say?" Rolf demanded, screwing his face up. "And just how did all this come about?"

"The same way everything does," Tristan said calmly, playing up to the pirate's greed. He took another step forward. "I promised to pay for her knowledge, and her ships. She and the giant work for me now."

"Oh, they work for ya, is it?" Rolf asked sarcastically. "Just why should I believe all of this rubbish-not that it matters? And out of idle curiosity, just how much did ya supposedly promise to pay, eh? It would take a fine price indeed for Tyranny to give up her ships, even if she did steal them from someone else!" Smiling, he looked down at her pain-stricken face. "Isn't that right, lass?" he asked her nastily. Then he turned his dark blue eyes back up to the prince.

Tristan smiled at him. "I paid one hundred thousand kisa," he answered calmly.

The moment the words left his mouth, he heard a hush come over the crowd. "If you don't believe me, just ask her for the promissory note I signed," he added. "She always keeps it hidden between her breasts." Holding his breath, he hoped against hope that is was still there.

Rolf looked narrowly at the prince, then finally let go of Tyranny's hair. Bending over, he grabbed her under one arm and roughly pulled her to her feet. "Is this true?" he demanded.

Confused, uncertain what Tristan was doing, she reached into her jacket and pulled out the note the two of them had signed that day in her cabin. She handed it over to Rolf.

Upon reading it, the color drained from Rolf's face for a moment. Clearly, he was intrigued. But his knife remained steadily at Tyranny's throat. "And just why would a man of your means want to be out there on the ocean, eh?" he asked. "Or in a place the likes of Sanctuary?"

"The answer is simple," Tristan said. "She and I have each lost a brother to the demonslavers. We want to find them. She had the ships, and I had the money. Even you ought to be able to understand that, you dumb bastard."

A slight chuckle came from the crowd. Few had ever insulted Rolf that way and lived to tell about it.

Smiling greedily, Tristan let the insult stand, hoping that he hadn't just succeeded in getting the three of them killed. A tense silence held court for several moments.

Rolf turned back to Tyranny. "And just where is this money now?" he asked.

So far, the greedy pirate was doing exactly as Tristan had hoped he would. "I'm the only one who knows," Tristan said quickly, before Tyranny could speak. "It's hidden, buried on the coast of Eutracia. Tyranny has seen it-that was necessary, to prove that I actually had it. But before I paid her I wanted a first voyage, to see what she could do against the slavers. That's why I signed the note. Before we set sail I moved the money, making sure I was the only one who knew the location. But soon after entering these waters we were attacked by screechlings, and we had to dock here for fresh spars and sail. Do you really think we would be here in this dirty hole unless we needed to be?"