She was not so stunning as Chenaya, but she was beautiful. And before she granted him any divorce, Kadakithis would acknowledge that. So would Shupansea, the woman who wanted her place at his side.

She turned to Leyn and Ouijen who manned the front poles of her transport. "Thank you, brothers," she said formally to the two gladiators. They had helped often with her training, and she bore them great respect. It delighted her heart that they had volunteered to bear her today. The two at the rear poles were new men. She didn't know their names, but if Dayme had chosen them they also deserved her respect. She made a short bow. "Thank you for this honor you've done me."

"We'll wait here," Leyn said. Then, he put on a grin. "Give 'em a taste of hell."

He was a beautiful man, blessed by Savankala with the same golden hair as Chenaya, tall and strong with the classically sculpted body that only a gladiator's training seemed to give. She looked into his richly blue eyes and smiled half-sadly. Why was it not Leyn she loved?

"I'll try not to leave you long in this sun," she answered. "And a taste of hell? I'll serve them a gods-damned banquet." She made an ugly face that instantly transformed to an expression of innocence. "Of course, I'm just a sweet, boring little princess of Ranke." But as she said it, she drew a finger across her throat and turned thumbs down with the other hand.

They laughed together, startling passersby who moved along the Processional on their morning business. Then, Daphne passed alone through the gate, crossed Vashanka's Square, and entered the Hall of Justice.

The hall was empty. Kadakithis had given up any real pretense of governing the city, himself- He rarely held court at all- She paused at the bottom step of a high dais. At its top rested the throne from which the prince once had delivered his judgments.

For a moment her resolve faltered. She sank down on one knee, staring upward, recalling how she had first arrived in this gods-cursed city with her husband. Kadakithis had been so full of ideals then-almost bloated with plans and schemes to improve this filthy city his halfbrother, the emperor Abakithis, had given into his care. She had loved him at that time, even forgiven him for the harem he had brought along from Ranke. And she, too, had shared his ideals and dreams. Most of all, she had rejoiced at the changes that command had seemed to make in him.

But none of it had lasted. The ideals were shattered and scattered into dust. Kadakithis had so easily relinquished his command, first to Shupansea and her Beysibs, and then to Molin Torchholder and his cronies. She grieved for the Kadakithis that had journeyed-an enthusiastic boy-man-to this city. She despised the Kadakithis he had become.

It was not his fault, of course. It was the city. Sanctuary corrupted from the inside out. First, it shattered your ideals, then it ground your face against the broken edges, held you down with its foot on your neck until you no longer felt the pain. Until you were just numb.

She was proof of that. A once-delicate princess who lived, ate, slept like a gladiator, who cursed like a street whore, who had killed and reveled in the flow of blood. Oh, Sanctuary had worked its brutal magic on her.

Daphne rose from the step, passed through the rearmost door meant only for the prince and his entourage, and into the palace proper. She did not see Lu-Broca, the major domo, anywhere, so she grabbed the arm of the first guard that crossed her path. "There are four good men outside the Processional Gate." She saw by the gleam in his eyes that even a mere palace guard knew who she was, and she smiled inwardly- Intimidation came so easily to her these days. "You, personally, will take them the best goblets and the finest vintage wine you can beg, borrow, or steal from the kitchens. Fail me in this-" She patted his shoulder and winked, "Well, don't fail me." She had his dagger from his belt sheath and under his chin before he could draw a breath. "Oops!" she said, passing it back by the point. "You nearly dropped this."

She walked serenely down the corridor, leaving him. Neither Rankan guard nor Beysib dared to bar her way. They knew her. Princess Daphne, who once had dared to call their Beysa a whore to her face and laughed about it before all the city's gathered nobility. They hated her, but they accorded her a measure of awe, perhaps because not even their fishgoddess, Mother Bey, had dared to strike her down.

Or, perhaps that was only her imagination. Sometimes her mind ran away with her. She couldn't really guess what they thought other, Beysib or Rankan. Nor did she care. It was Chenaya she strove to please, and Dayme and Lowan Vigeles. And herself. Beyond that, she no longer gave a damn about Ranke or the Beysibs or Kadakithis.

Her loyalty was to Land's End. Chenaya had rescued her from Scavengers' Isle, and Lowan had offered her a home. Dayme and his gladiators had put strength in her arm, courage in her heart, and a sword in her hand. To them she owed loyalty and love. Anyone else was less than the dirt under her sandaled feet.

She found Kadakithis in his private quarters. It amused her that he thought such intimate surroundings could sway her decision. Well, let him keep his littie vanities a while longer. A guard stood by his door, opened it for her, and remained at her side until the Prince stepped through a curtained archway.

Kadakithis smiled his most reasonable smile.

Daphne stifled a sigh. He was still in so many ways the boy she had once loved. He had the same babyish face, the same hair, same thin and spotty beard that probably would never become a man's full mane. He was too scrawny, a mere stick beside Dayrne or Leyn. Yet, she had truly loved him.

No more, though. He had killed that love when the Raggah kidnapped her. Kadakithis hadn't even bothered to look for her or to wonder about her fate. And when she did return-thanks to Chenaya-she had found him with another woman. Hardly a woman at all, but a fish-eyed carp.

She didn't know if she hated him. But he had hurt her. She wanted to hurt him back.

"Daphne!" Kadakithis exclaimed. "You look positively radiant."

She folded her arms and waited for him to come to her. "Flatter me some more, Kitty-Kat," she encouraged him coldly. "Maybe it'll make me more pliant, and I'll give you what we both know you want."

He reached out to her, and she suffered his touch. His fingers brushed over her bicep. "By the Golden Crown of Savankala," he whispered in his best chiding tone, "if your father knew you were working out with a bunch of gladiators!" He squeezed her muscle. "Why it's bigger than mine!"

"Yours was never very big, husband," she answered caustically. "But we both pretended." She changed the subject. "Is Shu-sea hiding behind that curtain?"

The Prince paled briefly and looked back over his shoulder to the archway. "Of course not. We're completely alone."

He never had been much of a liar, not to her, anyway. "Too bad," she said and paced away from him to the far side of the room. "Because I know she'd like to hear my news. I've decided to give you the divorce you've been begging for."

If she hadn't hated him before, that changed instantly. His face brightened; the corners of his mouth turned upward in a smile, and he almost clapped his hands together for joy. Then, he caught himself.

"It's against Rankan Law," she reminded him. "We're both of Royal Families. But let's admit it, my love, we're so far outside Rankan tradition that it doesn't matter spit or blood what we do. The throne belongs to a usurper now, damn Theron's soul. Your loyalty is to your Beysib allies, and mine is to Chenaya and Land's End. You're no more a Pankan prince than I am a princess. I'm a gladiator now, an auctorata.

You ..." she hesitated, then gave him her most withering look. "You're a plaything for Shupansea and a puppet for Molin Torchholder."