Midwinter

"I can't help but think that my participation in these events is somehow related to our errand. If so, it's the only information I have that Purane-Es does not, and that is valuable."

"You say you helped the Queen's Men. Did you give your name?"

"No. I gave the name of one of my ancestors. Bersoen. The lieutenant of the company promised me a medal."

"I see," said Silverdun. "When we arrive in Sylvan it may be of some interest to consult the Histories and determine if that medal was delivered."

"So you think there's a connection to our mission?"

Silverdun scoffed. "Mauritane, if you knew the Queen as well as you claim to, you'd know that the question doesn't need to be asked."

Edi brought them to a halt before a patrol of four city guardsmen.

"These gentlemen will each require twenty," he said.

Mauritane grumbled but paid the men from the rapidly dwindling proceeds of the previous evening's mestina.

"You'd better pray that they are the last patrol we encounter," said Mauritane, once they'd ridden on. "Because I'm running out of silver and patience both."

Edi looked around him and, realizing that he was now alone with them, chose to say nothing.

Raieve squinted at Silverdun. "That Faella certainly took care of you," she said. "What on earth did you do to her?"

"Does it matter?" said Silverdun.

"I'm curious." Raieve suppressed her wicked grin.

"She wanted me to leave Estacana with her and become a mestine. She thought we could work as a duet." Silverdun made a face, looking away.

"And you refused her to remain with us? I'm touched," said Raieve.

"Your facetiousness is not appreciated," Silverdun said. "She was serious. And she did not take my refusal well."

Raieve nodded. "Well, you got what you deserved."

Gray Mave cocked his head to one side; he'd been following the conversation. "How do you figure, miss?"

"What?"

"How do you figure he got what he deserved? Sounds to me like the poor girl was touched with the madness."

Raieve's brow furrowed. "Ah, and I suppose you believe Silverdun did nothing to encourage her? A young girl meets a dashing lord and becomes infatuated with him. What would you have her think? Who among us escaped wild fantasies at that age?"

"Yes," said Silverdun. "But it was not I that encouraged her. If you'll recall, it was she that found her way unclothed into my tent."

Raieve laughed. "Oh, and you had no choice but to bed her?"

"Honestly, the thought of resisting never crossed my mind."

"Then you got what you deserved," said Raieve. She spurred her horse and rode forward to watch Edi.

Edi halted them again, but not for another patrol. They'd reached the end of the path. It terminated at a line of dark trees, stretching as far as the eye could see in either direction. A wooden sign affixed to a post protruding from the snow read, "Beware: Here begin some Contested Lands. Beyond this marker, Seelie Law does not pertain."

"Lasciate ogne speranza, voi c'intrate," intoned Satterly.

"What's that?" said Mauritane.

"It's from an old story in my world. It says pretty much the same thing."

a choice

Marar Envacoro awoke with a start, his premonitory Gift aching in his head and bones. He raised his head gently and peered at his wife and son, still asleep on the bed beside him, the boy's ash blond hair falling across his wife's face. Marar leaned and kissed them each on the forehead gently, careful not to wake them.

He opened the tent flap to a gentle breeze that meant the city was still in motion and that his water-bearing skills would not be needed today. He'd hoped the premonition was only to underscore a water stop, as it often did, for he needed the extra money. Instead, it would be another day walking the streets. It was Aba's will. So be it.

He dropped the flap and kneeled beneath the window ledge, prying out the false bottom of the cabinet there, removing his worship beads. He counted them off, the prayers of the morning, the prayers of safety, the prayers of thanksgiving, the prayers of repentance. He whispered them, every few moments glancing at his wife to ensure that she still slept. If she were to stir, he knew from experience, he could have the beads in his pocket before she saw them. And Marar would be certain that she never would. Not until the time was right.

It was not easy, leading this double life. It went against everything he believed in and everything he knew to be good. But Aba's will was not a straight line, and he would walk it as best he could.

"Aba protect me from my foes, give me the voice to speak against the oppressor, give me the will to thwart my enemies. Aba, I ask for your protection in the name of She Who Will Come." Marar repeated the words in a murmur, fighting to retain their meaning in his mind despite the number of times he'd spoken the prayer in the past five years.