Teresa clutched his sleeve. "Dalton," she whispered as she stared at Bertrand Chanboor in wide-eyed reverence, "Dalton, do you realize he could very well be our next Sovereign."

Dalton, not wanting to spoil the sincerity of her epiphany, laid a hand gently on her back. "We can hope, Tess."

"We can pray, too," she whispered, her eyes glistening with tears.

Bertrand spread his hands before the wet eyes of the frightened crowd.

"Please, good people, bow your heads with me in prayer."

Dalton, pacing near the door, took Franca's arm as soon as she stepped into the room. He shut the door.

"My dear Franca, so good to see you. And to get a chance to talk with you. It has been a while. Thank you for coming."

"You said it was important."

"Yes, it is." Dalton held out a hand in invitation. "Please, have a seat."

Franca smoothed her dress under her as she sat in a padded chair before his desk. Dalton leaned back against the desk, wanting to be closer to her, to appear less formal than sitting behind his desk.

He felt something under his backside. He saw what it was and pushed the little book of Joseph Ander's back on his desk, out of his way.

Franca fanned her face. "Could you open a window, please, Dalton? It's frightfully stuffy in here."

Though it was just dawn, the sun yet to break the horizon, she was right; it was already hot and promised to be a stifling day. Smiling, Dalton went behind his desk and lifted the window all the way. He glanced over his shoulder, and at her gestured insistence, opened two more windows.

"Thank you, Dalton. You are kind to indulge me. Now, what's so important?"

He came back round the desk to once more lean back against it as he gazed down at her. "Were you able to hear anything at the feast last night? It was an important evening, what with the tragic announcement. It would be helpful if you were able to report on what you heard."

Franca, looking distressed, opened a little purse hung round her waist, hidden under a layer of brown wool. She withdrew four gold coins and held them out.

"Here. This is what you've paid me since I've… since I've had the difficulty with my gift. I've not earned it. I've no right to keep your money. I'm sorry you had to call me all the way in here because I didn't return your payment sooner."

Dalton knew how much she needed the money. With her gift not working, neither did she. Franca was going broke. With no man in her life, she had to earn a living or starve. For her to return the money he'd paid her was a serious statement.

Dalton pushed her hand away. "No, no, Franca, I don't want your money-"

"Not my money. I've done nothing to earn it. I've no right to it."

She offered the coins again. Dalton took her hand in both his and held it tenderly.

"Franca, we're old and dear friends. I'll tell you what. If you don't think you've earned the money, then I will give you the opportunity to earn it right now."

"I told you, I can't-"

"It doesn't involve using your gift. It involves something else you have to offer."

She drew back with a gasp. "Dalton! You've a wife! A beautiful young bride-"

"No, no," Dalton said, caught off guard. "No, Franca. I'm sorry if I ever led you to believe I would… I'm sorry if I wasn't clear."

Dalton found Franca an intriguing, attractive woman, even if she was a little older, and quite odd. Though it hadn't been in his mind, and even though he would not entertain such an offer, he was nevertheless disappointed to find she thought the idea repulsive.

She eased back into her seat. "Then what is it you want?"

"The truth."

"Ah. Well, Dalton, there's truth, and then there's truth. Some more trouble than others."

"Wise words."

"Which truth is it you seek?"

"What's wrong with your magic?"

"It doesn't work."

"I know that. I want to know why."

"Thinking of going into the wizard business, Dalton?"

He took a breath and clasped his hands. "Franca, it's important. I need to know why your magic doesn't work."

"Why?"

"Because I need to know if it's just you, or if there is something wrong with magic in general. Magic is an important element to the life of many in Anderith. If it doesn't work I need to know about it so this office can be prepared."

Her scowl eased. "Oh."

"So, what's wrong with magic, and how universal is the difficulty?"

She retreated into a gloom. "Can't say."

"Franca, I really need to know. Please?"

She peered up at him. "Dalton, don't ask me-"

"I'm asking."

She sat for a time, staring off at the floor. At last she took one of his hands and pressed the four gold coins into it. She stood to look him in the eye.

"I will tell you, but I won't take money for it. This is the kind of thing I won't take money for. I will only tell you because I… because you are a friend."

Dalton thought she looked as if he had just sentenced her to death. He motioned to the chair and she sank back into it.

"I appreciate it, Franca. I really do."

She nodded without looking up.

"There's something wrong with magic. Since you don't know about magic, I'll not confuse you with the details. The important thing for you to know is that magic is dying. Just as my magic is gone, so is all magic. Dead and gone."

"But why? Is there nothing that can be done?"

She thought it over awhile. "No. I don't think so. I can't be sure, but I can tell you that I'm pretty sure the First Wizard himself died trying to fix the problem."

Dalton was stunned by such a thing. It was unthinkable. Though it was true he didn't know anything about magic, he knew of many of its benefits to people, such as Franca's healing — not only the body, but the comfort she brought to troubled souls.

He found this more momentous than the mere death of a man who was Sovereign. This was the death of much more.

"But will it come back? Will something happen to, to, I don't know… heal the problem?"

"I don't know. Like I said, a man far more knowledgeable about it than I wasn't able to reverse the difficulty, so I tend to think it irreversible. It's possible it could come back, but I fear it is already too late for that to happen."

"And what do you believe the consequences of an event of this nature will be?"

Franca, losing her color, said only, "I can't even guess."

"Have you looked into this? I mean, really looked into it?"

"I've been secluded, studying everything I could, trying everything I could. Last night was the first night I've even been out in public for weeks." She looked up with a frown. "When the Minister announced the death of the Sovereign, he said something about the Lord Rahl. What was that about?"

Dalton realized the woman was so out of touch with the day-to-day business of life in Anderith that she didn't even know about Lord Rahl and the vote. With this news, he now had urgent matters he had to attend to.

"Oh, you know, there are always parties contending for the goods Anderith produces." He took her hand and helped her up. "Franca, thank you for coming and for confiding in me with this news. You have been more help than you could know."

She seemed flustered to find herself being rushed out, but he couldn't help it. He had to get to work.

She paused, her face inches from his, and looked him in the eye. It was an arresting gaze-power or no power. "Promise me, Dalton, that I won't come to regret telling you the truth."

"Franca, you can count-"

Dalton spun at a sudden racket behind him. Startled, he drew Franca back. A huge black bird had come in the open window. A raven, he believed it to be, although he had never seen one this close.

The thing sprawled across his desk, its wing tips nearly reaching each end of it. It used its wide-spread wings and its beak to try to help get its footing on the flat, smooth leather covering. It let out a squawk of angry frustration or perhaps surprise at its smooth and awkward roost.