But first, you and I must come to an agreement. I am now offering you your freedom." He paused a moment, then continued, "That, however, would only be temporary. I intend to keep you as my slave. Indeed, you will have much more to do than your own work. I intend to create a grand household for you; a palace fit for my queen. I need someone to oversee the construction of all its most important parts. A slave who has the right touch. You have the experience and reputation to fit the role. You must find a way to leave and go to the great court in the Skylands. There, you will be able to take your place as queen." Beltan had an inkling of what the man had just offered Lady Calax. He knew he was just a slave, not of special rank, like the prince, his father, but of ordinary rank, like a servant. He did not, however, know what was in store for him. He did know he had no reason to refuse the offer. The chance for freedom was not one he could turn down. He looked to Lady Calax, but she was looking at him with an intensity that almost made him stop to consider. Was it an offer she also refused? But no, she too was looking past him, seeming to look past him, past him, to something, to someone, past him, beyond him. Was she looking to him to offer her a choice? "And what of the others?" asked Lady Calax, looking now at her friend. Again, Beltan had an inkling of what the Lady was asking about. "What do you mean, Lady Calax?" "My friends. When you say 'you and I must come to an agreement.' How can you come to an agreement with these two? You do realize they are of royal blood, don't you?" Calax bowed again. "I recognize that. But I am not making a bargain with them. I am merely offering them a choice. The choice of freedom or an eternal life as my slaves." Lady Calax looked back and forth between her friends. A silence fell, even in the Great Hall. Beltan and Beltan exchanged glances. "I don't understand," said Beltan. "It is simple," said Lady Calax. "You are both strong men. You can choose to die, to cease to be. But what of Lady Daine and Lady Edhelmae?" Edhelmae's voice trembled with suppressed emotion. "I will not be given up. Even in the midst of death." Lady Daine's deep voice sounded almost regretful. "You would have given up Nameratha and the Cwervig family to the Dominions?" Lady Calax nodded. The color drained from Lady Daine's face. Lady Edhelmae's shoulders heaved. "What will you do with us?" asked Beltan. "You will become my slaves and work in the castle," said Lady Calax. Beltan and Lady Daine exchanged troubled glances. "What of their husbands?" asked Lady Edhelmae. "They too will be my slaves. Work in the castle. And I want you to join me in choosing others for the household." Lady Daine started to speak, then closed her mouth and looked away. She made a small, sad sound, then pushed herself from the seat and moved toward the door. Beltan started to rise, then remained in his seat. Lady Daine passed through the door, which closed behind her. "Is that it?" asked Beltan. "Is she free?" Calax lowered his hand, the gem still in its claw. "Yes, she is free. She may choose her own fate." Beltan sighed, then rose to his feet. He bowed deeply and made to leave. Calax touched Beltan's arm. "You're upset. Perhaps if you take time to consider my offer, you might choose differently." Beltan looked up from where he had been gazing down at the woman's hands. "Time to consider?" he said. "Is that what you're saying?" He started to reach toward the woman's head, but as he did Calax pushed back from the table and away from Beltan, and Beltan stopped himself, hands going slack at his sides. "You'll not do it," Beltan said, in his father's voice. "What?" "What you're doing. You'll not bring her here to this place and do it here in the Great Hall. What you want will never happen." Calax's face flushed. "Perhaps I don't want it to happen as much as you want it to." He stared at Beltan for a long time, then his gaze dropped to the woman's hands. "Very well. If that is what you want, I will do what you ask." Beltan did not reply. His gaze continued to linger on the woman's hands, imagining all the things he wanted to do to them, imagining them moving. He knew what it meant when Lady Calax raised her head and looked up at him. He did not look away. The morning sun glinted off the diamond he held in his right hand. It was a warm morning in winter and he was sitting in the garden where he liked to smoke his pipe. He had found the pipe in the garden the previous evening when he had wandered in to search for something to pass the time. He had stopped by the bench where she sat, and had sat, and she had not been there. "Gods," he said, and took a drag from his pipe. He held the pipe in his left hand and watched the smoke rise above it. He exhaled. "I was wrong, you know. About you." He hadn't meant to say it. It had just slipped out. But the words had been on his mind for some time and he had wanted to say them. He exhaled again. "There are two sorts of people, Nevare." He took another drag. "Those who know the gods and those who do not." At the sound of his name, Tersilla had come out of the arbor and come to sit next to him. She stared down at the ground and watched a beetle scurry across it. "You see how they live, do you?" Tersilla asked him. "I used to think I didn't," he admitted. "I never thought the gods mattered until you told me about your city. I'm not just ignorant, Tersilla." She shrugged. "Yes. You know things I don't." He had been at a loss to explain. "What things?" "I told you once. That I did not believe the gods spoke to anyone." "Is that what you were told?" Tersilla nodded. "What about Riam?" She looked up at him. "What about Riam? You make me want to hate you." He puffed on his pipe and watched the smoke rise above it. "Why would you do that?" Tersilla snorted. "Gods and their foolish ways." He couldn't help but smile at that. "What?" "Did your mother not tell you that your father had been the Fool King?" She shook her head, and it almost seemed as if she was grinning. "No. How would she know such a thing?" "I don't know." It was a statement more than a question. "You should ask her yourself," Tersilla said, but she was smiling. She didn't know. It seemed a simple enough thing to ask. But had she even really said that she hadn't been told of her father's death? He could not remember. He knew it was true, and Rannilt had told him so. But still... the idea that she had not been told of her father's death was hard to accept. What was this? He sat up straight. It wasn't right. It wasn't right for him to be sitting here, having a conversation with a slave about her past. Wasn't it clear how the conversation would end? "Why didn't you stay in your house in Riam?" he asked her. She shook her head. "I didn't have a home. Why should I? They never welcomed me or my mother or my brothers. They were always shut up in their big house, drinking tea and going on their grand adventures. You've got to love them because they said so, but if they told me to jump off the tallest tower in the castle, I'd have to ask you for permission first." "Why did they go off on their adventures?" She shrugged. "Some of the things they did—I wouldn't be caught dead with them. I hate their adventures. But I won't tell you what they do. You may think that you're being kind, but you aren't. You're being cruel." Her words, her accusations, hurt him. In fact, they stunned him. He took a deep breath and puffed on his pipe. "You have no idea what the land truly is," he said. "No idea how different