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silver and white silk nestled his band of restraint, warm pulsing against my
skin. If I had been she, I would have been much affrighted at what I was what
the Keepress Estri had become.
There would be no harm in it, she decided muzzily. When she rose, her
movements were slow, uncoordinated.
I turned from her, went to fill two bowls. Sit in the alcove, I suggested. I
poured the kifra, brought the drinks to her where she sat beneath the window.
When she reached up to take one, her light-nailed hands shook.
Would you speak of it? I asked, sitting cross-legged upon the cushions, my
elbows upon my knees. I thought of Khys, and how displeased he would be to see
my limbs so arranged,
How can you stand it? she demanded, her black eyes gigantic over the golden
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bowl. She did not sip, but gulped her kifra down. Her lids closed, pulse
showing on their gilded backs, she found more tears to shed.
What? I asked, discomfited.
Him, she sniffed, discarding her empty bowl, smearing her tears across her
cheeks.
Khys? I wondered what he had done to her. Very probably, he had done little.
I had seen her tears before. What did he do to you?
He ... I ... He is ... She looked at me, imploring, as if I should know.
He is dharen of Silistra, I supplied. She nodded, her lips twitching. I
waited.
Did you catch with Chayin? she asked, her membranes fluttering like crier s
wings.
Did you catch with Khys? I queried her back.
She started, rose to her knees, clasping her belly. Uritheria protect me!
she moaned. I pray not. Please, did you?
No, I said. I understood part of her tears. If I had spawn by Chayin, he
would have choice between them. She did not want her son s position
endangered. Her fear, that I might bear Chayin a more worthy heir than she,
was not unfounded.
I saw your son, she said, sitting up, relief taking the weight from her
shoulders.
Indeed, I said. And how did you find him?
She shook her head, spread her hands wide. They still trembled, pink-palmed.
She licked her lips, red tongue darting. Awesome, she said.
Have you taken a helsar? I asked, to cover my confusion. My child was eight
passes old, surely too young for such an appellation.
No, she murmured. Nor do I wish to. Those slanted eyes shot black fire at
me. Chayin, under its influence and that of the dharen, has become a stranger
to me. He is worse than ever. There is no controlling him.
I only smiled. That would bother the Nemarchan. When he had been afflicted,
she had worked her will through him.
He was not even interested enough in the affairs of this world to be present
at the birth of his son, she said, upon a hiss wet with poisonous spray.
I bore mine, also, alone, I said, in what I hoped was a commiserating tone.
Where is the cahndor?
With Sereth. And that hiss was sibilant in the extreme. They couch! she
spat, leaning so close that her breath rained upon my shoulder.
They have long made such assignations their practice, I admonished her,
startled. I would not attempt to get between them. You might lose your place
altogether. She straightened. I recollected something she had said, long ago
at Frullo jer. You still live. You did not fulfill your prophecy and die the
death Chayin had in mind for you.
Not yet, I have not, she said. Then: I would have died, had I been fool
enough to linger near the coast of Menetph. I was inland, in Menetph North,
when the sea rose up and smote the city.
I had not known Menetph smitten. But if the coastline of Astria had been
changed in the holocaust, then why not elsewhere?
There was a silence between us. I rose to refill her bowl. She grabbed it up
and stood. I could look down upon the part in her black hair.
Is Sereth well? I asked her, as she followed me to the kifra stand.
I doubt that I have ever seen him well. He is recovered from his temper of
last evening, if that is what you mean. I wondered what Chayin had told him
of me.
It would be a great favor if you would tell Chayin I must speak with him, I
said, pouring her golden kifra from the moisture-beaded pitcher.
About what? she said softly.
I almost slapped her, then recalled that I sought her aid.
About the arrar, I said, even softer.
She inclined her head. Understanding crossed her face like a hulion s shadow.
Are you not afraid of Khys s wrath? she murmured, making the jump. I
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reminded myself that Liuma was an accomplished forereader.
One would be a fool not to fear him, I said coldly, seeing her recollect her
own fear in whatever had passed between her and the dharen. Her eyes found my
chald. I might be able to keep him away from you, I offered.
Could you? Gratitude afore the fact has always confounded me. Her fingers
found my arm, squeezed. I resisted the impulse to shake her hand away. I
lifted my full bowl with my free hand to my lips. The keep grew dim, as if a
cloud obscured the sun.
Perhaps, I said, as if I was sure. But I must know your purpose here.
She took a step backward, her eyes opened so wide they seemed dark stones amid
fresh-fallen snow. Her mouth fell open. Wheeling, spilling kifra down my leg,
I saw what she had seen, and my bowl dropped from nerveless fingers, splashing
its contents upon the rusty mat.
It had been no cloud before the sun. There was a blinding flash, a crackling
as of burning parchment. An acrid wind, upon which rode stinging grains of
window, rattled the keep s locked doors. Tiny Liuma grabbed me around the
waist, buried her head against me. I stood, unmoving, stroking her hair, her
whimpers rattling my flesh. Through the pulverized window, beyond which
hovered a creamy egg-shape, came a metal ramp that secured itself around the
sill with hooked claws. The metal screeched upon the stone. Over that bridge,
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