“Jealousy is a sin, Your Majesty. And His Highness hates his sins, every time he does them.”

“Someday I must make peace with him. Inform him. Inform him he will inform Tristen on the Quinalt, make a godly man of him…”

“A Man, you say.”

“Close as he maydo, damn your wit. Mine’s fled.” He set the cup down emptied, resisting the impulse to fling it at the wall. “Hates his sins, does he? So do I. So do I, crow. And my father’s sins, how do I number them?”

“I left your father’s service,” Idrys said. “He no longer liked my reports regarding you. So I ceased to make them. It seemed a fair arrangement.”

Uwen went off to his small nook to sleep and Tristen let his servants put him to bed, his very comfortable bed in an apartment far finer than he had had in Amefel, rooms on the highest level of the Guelesfort. The bedchamber had evening stars painted on the ceiling, and white clouds against a dark sky. The glow from the newly banked fire in the fireplace showed him just a little of that paintwork, a shadowy view sparked with the silver inlay of a star catching the firelight.

A sword stood sheathed beside the fireplace. He had had master Peygan forge him a blade after Lewenbrook. Truthwas the symbol on one side of it; Illusionwas written on the other. But it had gone unused in Guelessar. Now he asked himself where he might write Appearances, which had been Cefwyn’s word tonight. He would become friendly to the Quinalt, for Appearances. He would join the barons, for Appearances. He would avoid magic, for Appearances.

The sword stood in the corner, in disuse. Other men practiced. Uwen practiced. He did not, hating the feeling that came on him when he took up the thing. It was another kind of Unfolding, a terrible one, sure of its power and uncaring.

To secure peace with Elwynor, to end the war that had existed through the reigns of Cefwyn’s grandfather and father… dared he hope now that Mauryl’s purpose for him extended that far? He would, in the spring, cross the river into Elwynor for Ninévrisë’s sake, and there deal death with that sword, but he would not win, because it would offend the barons.

There was so much temptation to know, to reach back, and to bend his life backward, backward, backward, until it met itself on the Road.

And he knew the way back to that Road. He had found it today, on the hilltop. But it was a terrible way, fraught with dangers. He perceived that if he truly used it he risked his own existence. A young man sitting against a tree in Marna Wood perceived a terrible presence, like a shadow in the woods… and he had been both young man and shadow. Dared he be a third presence? Dared he reach toward Ynefel again by that Road, to see whether it was still safe? The young man had seen nothing. The shadow had fought shadows, and Hasufin had ruled that Road.

He dared not venture that way again. His heart beat hard at the very thought.

Lying on his back, his hands on the fine, thick, comfortable bedclothes, he reached out, instead, all forbidden, for Emuin, and found the two presences he knew well in the Guelesfort, one on the floor just below him: Ninévrisë was unaware of him, was thinking instead of Cefwyn, all warm and full of love. He skimmed away, and above him, aloft, up in the dark, found Emuin in his tower, Emuin, whom he trusted would answer him, call him a fool, tell him when he was right and wrong and whether he dared even contemplate gods.

— Master Emuin.

The old man was not quite startled, but disapproved his intrusion, a chill wind in the gray space that wavered and then paid attention.

— Idrys will come tomorrow to ask you, Tristen said. Cefwyn says Efanor will tell me about the Quinalt if you approve, sir. I know you disapprove my venturing here, but Cefwyn says I must visit the Quinalt with the court in two days. He believes it’s a question of appearances, and it will please the Patriarch. Dare I?

— It seems you have already agreed and I have little to do with it. The old man was still shadowy and faint to him, tattering in the pearl-gray winds of the place. Why? Why have you agreed to this?

He could not lie in the world of Men with any great skill at all. Here, it was far more difficult. And he knew in his heart he had agreed. Because I want to be free, master Emuin. And because I think Cefwyn is in danger of these barons as much as of the rebels across the river.

— Free. free. What does that mean, free… do you at all know? Free of what? Free from what? And what more could you do for Cefwyn than you have done?

Hard questions. Fearsome questions. Free to help my friends. Free to defend Cefwyn. Free to ride through Wys village and have the children not take alarm. And what I might do stands in the corner yonder. By my own will I would never touch it. But I will, for Cefwyn’s sake, when I must. These men that press Cefwyn with their wants, they are not his friends. Never were they mine, nor will ever be. I could win Cevulim, even Lord Pelumer. Never these men.

The gray space shadowed, showed clouds, rare detail, in this place that teased the eye with no shapes at all.

— Beware of anger, Emuin said, and the clouds grew lighter. Anger and folly walk arm in arm, young lord. Enough that Cefwyn dallies with them, do not you join him.

— I shall meet with Efanor, by your leave, sir. Idrys is on his way to ask you. He counseled caution. But Cefwyn said… Cefwyn said if the Quinalt could shape a way for me to enter, it would shape a place where all Elwynor could fit.

— Revising their doctrine to accommodate Mauryl’s heir, is it? And so master crow will consult me. A wonder in itself. Master crow will consult. Most often things are already settled and have grandchildren, before master crow consults. Gods save the king, I say.

— Can they? Save the king, that is? What are the gods, sir? Are they shadows?

— I’m sure I don’t know. I leave that knotty matter to His Highness. I leave him heaven and hell and all blessedness. I made that choice for good and all when I took up wizardry again. And what I gave up, the gods know that, too.

— Is Efanor wise, sir?

— Ah, now you ask me.

— Shall I rely on him for truth, sir?He perceived master Emuin retreating from him, growing more distant, and more distant again, and he erased a little of that distance, enough to make himself heard without shouting… erased a little of that distance, because he could do such things here. He could do more than master Emuin in this place, truth be told; but he knew his own ignorance, too. I ask your advice, master Emuin. I ask you plainly, are there gods, master Emuin? And are they as Efanor will tell me?

— There is a greedy, conniving man in Murandys, the answer came back to him, troubling, at the edge of sleep. There is the love of comforts in Llymaryn. There is a frightened man in the Quinaltine. Those three things and those three men move half the court. Ryssand’s malice would be powerless without Murandys’ greed. As for gods, there may be. Go to sleep. Do what I cannot prevent you from doing.

— Ought I not, sir? Ought I to do what Cefwyn wishes, and lie, as he wishes— or not?

— Ah, now the second true question. Now that it ’s far too late, the question none of us can answer. Go, do as you can do. If Idrys comes tomorrow to consult me, probably I shall agree. Cefwyn held you out of all questions and now he places you in the heart of them. That will have consequences, young lord, and predicting these things might change them. You will do as you will. Efanor seeks gods. Let Efanor beware lest he find one he does not expect.

Emuin was fading, and slid away from him. Perhaps, Tristen thought with a chill, priests or gods could hear them. But he had seen no one else in the gray space. That Ninévrisë was so close and he had not heard or seen her during his converse with Emuin meant they had been more subtle than her near and sleeping presence could detect. She was in a way their sentry, and never knew.