Arienrhod raised her eyebrows, not entirely feigning surprise. “Murder? There must be some mistake, some other explanation.”

“I saw one body myself. And the bodies of the mers.” PalaThion blinked as the memory came back to her, and her mouth pulled down. “There was no mistake, and there’s no other explanation. I want Starbuck, and I want him now… Your Majesty.”

“Of course, Commander. I want to question him about the charges myself.” She had not learned any more about Moon’s fleeting reappearance in the short time since it had happened. But now — “Sparks!” She looked away across the whiteness of the room, to where he stood among the nobles who had been displaying their Festival costumes for her perusal. With the resourcefulness of the rich, they had already managed to claim the most beautiful and elaborate specimens of the mask makers art, and had costumes designed to match. They stood together like a gathering of beautifully misbegotten beasts, their mutant totem-faces gazing at her impassively, creatures out of a drug fantasy.

Sparks came quickly at her call. She watched him move, seeing how his blue sleeveless jerkin and tight-fitting pants accentuated the litheness of his movement. But his expression was a false face, his listless mourning made him as much of a stranger as any festival mask. He kneeled before her with silent subservience, ignoring PalaThion utterly. She was not certain whether his rudeness was calculated or only guilty; knowing that he felt guilt toward the woman but never understanding why. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He looked up.

She gestured for him to rise. “Where is Starbuck, Sparks?”

He gaped at her, recovered himself hastily. “I — uh, I don’t know, Your Majesty. He’s left the palace. He didn’t tell me when he’d be back.” He showed her a sardonic hidden smile, and his curiosity. “He doesn’t talk to me.”

“Commander PalaThion has come to arrest him for murder.”

“For murder?” Sparks turned to PalaThion.

Poison showed in PalaThion’s eyes as she looked back at him; the poison was still there as she lifted her head again. “How very well he timed that.”

“Come now, Commander,” irritably. “Do you think I’m a mind reader? And I don’t condone murder among my subjects.” PalaThion’s expression said that she wouldn’t be surprised at either one. “I want to know more about this. You said you saw the bodies yourself? Whose bodies?”

“I saw one body — if you don’t include the corpses of the mers.” PalaThion swallowed, as though it was more to her than simply an unpleasant memory. Sparks toyed with the agates at his belt ends, striking them against his thigh like a whip, grimacing at each blow. “It was the body of a dillyp.”

“A Hound!” She couldn’t keep the disdain out of her relief.

“No, Your Majesty,” coldly. “A dillyp. A free citizen of the Hegemony, a guest of Citizen Ngenet. He had been stabbed. According to Ngenet another of his guests was missing, and she is also presumed to be dead. She was a citizen of this world, a Summer woman named Moon Dawntreader. The mer bodies had been mutilated.” She made it as ugly as she could.

“Mutilated?” Sparks said, too loudly.

Arienrhod felt the spotlight of PalaThion’s gaze on her as she spoke Moon’s name: She suspects. But she was prepared for this, and she kept her polite disgust unchanging. “The name is vaguely familiar to me… Is she a relative of yours, Sparks?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” One hand closed over his other wrist; Arienrhod saw his nails bite into his flesh. “If you remember, she was — my cousin.”

“You have my condolences.” She gave him no warmth.

PalaThion was watching her with something that was neither amazement nor disappointment, but some of both. “She was an illegal returnee. She disappeared about five years ago.” Something grated.

“I think I recall the incident.” And I thought it was the end of everything; but it wasn’t.

“What do you mean, the mers were — mutilated?” Sparks said again. “Mutilated how?”

“I have a filmed record of it at headquarters, if you enjoy that sort of thing, Dawntreader.”

“Goddamn it, I didn’t mean — I want to know what happened to Moon!”

“Sparks.” Arienrhod leaned forward in quiet warning. “It’s his cousin, after all, Commander. Of course he’s concerned about what happened.” Damn him… seeing just how concerned he was.

“They had been — skinned, Your Majesty.” PalaThion still frowned tightly.

“Skinned?” She glanced at Sparks with veiled disbelief, saw in comprehension in his eyes. “Starbuck would never do something like that. Why should he?”

“You’d know his reasons better than I would, since he’s your man.” PalaThion toyed with her weapons belt, coming treacherously close to arrogance. “Who else would have the resources to drown so many mers at once?”

I don’t like this. I can’t see far enough into it. Arienrhod probed the transparent convolutions of the throne’s arm. “Well, frankly, Commander, even if he did do it, I don’t see why you’re so concerned. He’ll be dead soon enough, when the Change comes.” She shrugged with fatalistic acceptance, and a trace of smile.

“The law can’t count on that, Your Majesty.” PalaThion looked at her pointedly. “And besides — that would be too easy on him.”

Sparks turned back; stopped himself, running a hand through his hair.

Arienrhod felt the blood sing unexpectedly in her ears. “Speak for yourself, off worlder I suggest you concern yourself with your own fate after the Change, and leave ours to us.”

“Your fate and mine are bound together, Your Majesty, since Tiamat belongs to the Hegemony.” Arienrhod thought there was a subtle emphasis on belongs. But PalaThion’s confidence cracked even as she made the bluff, and drove her back into her place. PalaThion knew — yes, knew — that Winter had plans; but she knew just as surely that she was helpless to stop them. “In any case, I want Stabuck for questioning, and I expect that you will cooperate,” expecting nothing of the kind.

“I’ll do what I can to get this unpleasantness straightened out, of course.” Arienrhod untangled the free-falling collar of crystal beads that cascaded down her silver shirt. “But Starbuck is his own man, he comes and goes as he pleases. I don’t know when I’ll see him next.”

PalaThion’s mouth twisted skeptically. “My men will be looking for him too. But of course it would help me more if you’d tell me his name.”

Arienrhod gestured Sparks up onto the dais, stroked his bare arm with her hand. She felt it quiver as though her touch burned him with cold fire. “I’m sorry, Commander. I can’t reveal his identity to anyone; that would be a violation of trust, of the whole concept of his position. But I will keep my eyes open for him…” She reached up to touch a lock of Sparks’s hair, curled it around her finger; he only looked at her with sudden apprehension. She smiled, and he smiled, uncertain.

“I can find it out for myself. And when I do, I’ll get him!” PalaThion bowed with all the appearance of propriety, and strode away.

Sparks laughed tightly, a release of tension. “Right in front of her eyes!”

Arienrhod allowed herself to join him, without any real pleasure; remembering a time when laughter was a simple thing, with its roots in joy, not pain… “What a shame she’ll never appreciate what she missed.” But I need to make certain of that. “Starbuck will have to wear the mask of Everyman for a while.”

Sparks nodded, suddenly sober. “That’s all right with me,” as suddenly bitter.

“What happened on that beach?” She leaned toward him, holding him with her eyes.

“I told you everything I know, everything I saw! We killed the mers in the usual way, and we left them for Ngenet to find. We didn’t do anything else.” He folded his arms in front of him. “I don’t know what happened after that. By’r Lady, I wish I did…” a miserable prayer of loss and longing.