Hell Hath No Fury

Chapter Thirty-Three

"What is it, Alazon?" Darcel Kinlafia's brown eyes looked into eyes of gray, and Alazon Yanamar didn't need the bond between them to taste his deep concern. "What's worrying her so badly?"

He turned his head away once again, gazing down the palace corridor where Grand Princess Andrin had just disappeared. The young woman's spine was as straight, her carriage as graceful, as ever, but her eyes had been unquiet for days, cosmetics could not disguise the dark shadows under them, and she had walked past Alazon and Kinlafia without even noticing their presence.

"I can't tell you that, love."

Alazon reached up and touched his cheek gently, and his eyes narrowed. There were times when the closeness of a bond like theirs had its downside. He could tell that whatever was haunting Andrin was causing Alazon deep distress, as well. At the same time, he was a Voice himself. He understood the responsibilities, the privacy oaths of any Voice, far less the Emperor of Ternathia's Privy Voice.

"I'm sorry," he said contritely. "I shouldn't have asked you. It's just that … I hate seeing her this way."

"I know you do." Alazon stroked his cheek one more time, then tucked her arm through his and began walking him down the same corridor. "I think everyone does," she continued. "Triad knows I do, but then," she glanced up at him, "most of us have known her since she was a little girl."

"Point taken, My Lady," he said with a slightly lopsided smile.

"If you don't want to tell me what's going on between the two of you, that's fine," she Said, deliberately using her Voice so there could be no question of her sincerity. "But if it's something I can help with-

help her or you-you know you only have to ask."

"Of course I know," he Told her in reply. "And it's certainly not that I don't want to tell you. It's just that I'm not really sure what's happening myself. And there are some … privacy issues of my own I have to work through."

"I can understand that," she Said, and in the side traces of her Voice, he Heard her memory of the echoes she'd felt when his shared Glimpse with Zindele had hammered through him. She couldn't help feeling that memory, putting it together with a dozen other little clues, and realizing-in general terms, at least-what must have happened. Yet she made absolutely no effort to use the knowledge he knew she already possessed as some sort of opening wedge, and he sent a warm flood of love and gratitude over their bond.

"You know she's already planning to organize our wedding for us, don't you?" Alazon continued, her mental tone lighter as she deliberately changed the subject. "From a few things she's said, I think she's planning on pulling out all the stops, too."

"Oh, wonderful!" Kinlafia's Voice was so tart Alazon chuckled out loud. "You do realize that my parents-both of my parents-are good New Farnalian Social Republicans, don't you? They're going to have enough trouble with my marrying an emperor's privy voice without having said emperor's daughter organizing the ceremony!"

"Oh, stop worrying!" she Scolded. "Every parent wants his or her child to do well in life. Just because your parents are Socialists doesn't change that! After you get elected to the new Imperial House of Talents, they'll be so proud of you they won't even notice who you're marrying. For that matter, you may find they've turned into staunch Imperialists once they see you wheeling and dealing in the very cockpit of power, as it were."

Kinlafia rolled his eyes.

"If simple confidence were enough to get elected, we wouldn't even have to count the ballots with you around," he Said dryly. "Unfortunately, I think it's a little more complicated than that."

"Not when Zindel chan Calirath puts his mind to it, it isn't," she Told him serenely. "And not when the candidate is as completely and totally right for the job as you are."

He squeezed her elbow against his side as the warmth and confidence flowed out of her into him, and yet her mention of the Emperor had brought him back his concern over Andrin. Zindel was older than Andrin, more experienced at dealing with-and concealing-the telltale symptoms of a Glimpse … despite which, it was obvious to Kinlafia that whatever was riding Andrin like some sort of unrelenting nightmare was also pursuing Zindel. And the ripples spreading from his and his daughter's anxiety were afflicting the Empress and her younger daughters, as well, even if they had no idea what that anxiety's root cause might be.

"Maybe the Ball will help," Alazon Said hopefully.

"And maybe the Ball will send her right over the edge!" Kinlafia shook his head. "The mere thought of it is coming close to having that effect on me, at any rate!"

"Nonsense! You'll be the most handsome man there, not to mention the most famous. In fact, I'm planning to be intolerably jealous when all these court ladies come fluttering around you, asking to dance."

"Oh, don't worry about that!" Kinlafia chuckled. "Did I forget to mention that I never learned to dance?" His brown eyes danced wickedly. "Trust me, as soon as I've crushed a few ladies' delicate toes, you won't have any trouble at all keeping me all to yourself!"

"Voice Kinlafia?"

Alazon had been about to reply when the voice from behind cut them off. They stopped, looking over their shoulders, and saw an armsman in the green and gold of the Caliraths, who bowed to them both with grave courtesy.

"Your pardon, Voice Kinlafia, but His Majesty would be very grateful for a few moments of your time."

Kinlafia's mouth felt suddenly dry, and his pulse rate picked up.

"Of course," he said quickly. "Would now be a convenient time for him?"

"He hoped you could come promptly," the armsman agreed, and Kinlafia turned to peck a quick kiss on Alazon's cheek.

"I'll see you again as soon as I can, my dear," he told her. "After all, we have that delightful appointment with the tailor this afternoon, don't we?"

Alazon smiled at him, then nodded and released his arm. He gave her an answering smile before he turned to the armsman and beckoned for the other man to lead the way. He followed the armsman down the passageway, and as he went, he felt Alazon's warm, loving touch on his mind and heart.

"Thank you for coming, Darcel."

Kinlafia's left eyebrow rose very slightly as Zindel chan Calirath turned from the view through his study windows to greet his guest. So far, the Emperor had always been careful to begin any interview or conversation with Kinlafia by greeting him formally, as "Voice Kinlafia." For a moment, Kinlafia wondered if today's change was some sort of deliberate tactic on Zindel's part, but then he felt that same mysterious something he'd felt at their very first meeting radiating from the Emperor. Using his given name hadn't been any sort of ploy; it was simply a measure of Zindel's concern that he'd forgotten the formal courtesy. And it was also, Kinlafia realized, a reflection of Zindel's awareness that whatever else might happen in this universe or any other, Darcel Kinlafia would face it at his daughter's side.

"Yes," Zindel said, almost as if he'd been the Voice, reading Kinlafia's surface thoughts, "it's about Andrin."

"Your Majesty, I'm sure there are other-" Kinlafia began, but then he stopped himself. There was no point in pretending, not when Zindel was as aware as he himself was of the bizarre fashion in which he had shared in the Emperor's Glimpse.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," he said instead. "It would be pretty foolish, I suppose, to pretend I don't know what you're talking about. Of course," he managed a smile of sorts, "understanding it is something else again!"

"I'm sorry, too, Darcel," Zindel said with simple sincerity.

He walked over to the chair behind his desk and sank into it, then waved for Kinlafia to be seated in another chair at the end of the desk, close enough for comfortable conversation. Kinlafia was well aware that one was not supposed to sit in the Emperor's presence, yet it seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to accept the invitation. He sat, cocking his head to one side, and waited for Zindel to explain why he'd been summoned.

It took the Emperor several seconds of uncharacteristic hesitation, then he cleared his throat.

"I'm sure you've figured out by now that Janaki had more than one reason for suggesting you run for office," he said.

"Your Majesty, I realized that the first time he made the suggestion," Kinlafia replied. "I didn't ask him what those other reasons were, although perhaps I should have. But I knew they were there."

"And you accepted his suggestion anyway." The fleetingness of Zindel's smile seemed to shout his anxiety to the Voice. "It must have been that damned Calirath 'magnetism,'"thinspace"" the Emperor continued. "Janaki always has had more than his fair share of it."

"I think they issue it with your birth certificates, actually, Your Majesty." Kinlafia produced a small smile of his own, although he was beginning to suspect that what he'd just said came very close to being the literal truth.

"Well, at any rate," Zindel said, "after our little shared experience at dinner, I strongly suspect-no, I don't suspect; I know-that you've figured out at least a part of what Janaki's other reasons were."

"Yes, I have, I think," Kinlafia admitted. "And if you'll pardon my saying so, Your Majesty, it scares the ever-living shit out of me. It's so far above anything I ever thought of as being my pay grade that I get a nosebleed just thinking about it."

"You'll get over it."

It could have been a simple conversational throwaway, and it could have been a condescension, but it was neither. It was a simple statement of fact, as if the Emperor had mentioned that the sun was likely to rise somewhere in the east tomorrow morning.

"I certainly hope you're right about that … even if it does seem a little unlikely at the moment."

Zindel chuckled, but then he shook his head and leaned slightly towards Kinlafia.

"Janaki's Talent isn't as strong as mine," he said, "and mine isn't as strong as Andrin's." His sea-gray eyes, so much like his son's and his elder daughter's, seemed to hold unquiet ghosts as his gaze met Kinlafia's. "In fact, I'm coming to the conclusion that Andrin has one of the truly legendary Talents. Her Glimpses are far stronger than mine ever were, far less than mine were at her age. I'm very much afraid that for her, like for many of her ancestors, her Talent's very strength is going to be the curse she bears.

As an Emperor, I'm delighted to see it, grateful it will be available to serve my people's need. As a father, I would sell my soul to protect her from it."

He fell silent, those gray eyes looking at something only they could see. He sat that way for several seconds before he inhaled again, deeply, and his eyes snapped back into focus.

"I suppose it's just as well for the Empire-and all of Sharona-that I can't protect her from her own Talent. But what Janaki Glimpsed fragments of, what I've Glimpsed in more detail, tells me she'll need you, Darcel. I don't pretend to know all of the reasons, all the ways in which you'll be there for her over the years. That isn't the way Glimpses work, especially for a member of the Glimpser's own family. But I know, beyond any question or doubt, that my daughter will come to love you as deeply as she's ever loved anyone in her life, and that you'll return that love just as deeply as if she had been the daughter of your own flesh. I know that, Darcel, but what I don't know is what the cost for you will be."

Kinlafia sat very quietly, looking into the eyes of the man who would become his Emperor in less than forty-eight hours. And as he did, he realized Zindel chant Calirath was already "his" Emperor.

"Your Majesty, I don't have any more idea about that than you do, and I won't say I don't care what the

'cost' will be. But I will say that, yes, I did share your Glimpse. And given what I Saw when I did, I'll pay that cost, whatever it is."

"Thank you," Zindel said with quiet, deep sincerity. "A father always wants-needs-to be there for his daughter. I hope to be there for many years to come for Andrin, as for Razial and Anbessa. But having Seen you and Andrin in my Glimpse, I know that if for some reason I can't be there, she will still have you, and that's one of the very few visions my Talent has ever given me which are unalloyed sources of relief and happiness.

"However, the reason I asked you to visit me this morning," he continued more briskly, "is that I'm certain you've noticed that both Andrin and I have been more tense than usual over the past several days.

And, as I'm almost equally certain you've deduced, that tension has been the result of a Glimpse we've shared.

"Given what you shared with me, you'll probably understand better than most non-Caliraths when I say it's been … difficult for us to nail down the exact significance of that Glimpse. However," his face turned grim and hard, "I've just received a dispatch from Division-Captain chan Geraith which has put a great deal of what I've Seen into perspective. A most disturbing perspective."

"Your Majesty?" Kinlafia stiffened in his chair.

"As you're better aware than most, any Voice message from the Division-Captain takes just over a week to reach us. This particular message relayed one from Janaki, at Fort Salby. It would appear, Darcel, that the Arcanans weren't negotiating in good faith with us, after all."

Kinlafia's eyes narrowed, and he felt something like sea ice sweeping through his veins.

"Janaki's message has put several things Andrin and I had Glimpsed earlier into perspective. I know, now, what we were Seeing, but Janaki's Glimpse is obviously far stronger, far more complete. At the time he sent his message to Division-Captain chan Geraith, he expected Fort Salby to be attacked within forty-eight hours by an Arcanan force which included dragons-literal, flying, fire-breathing dragons."

Kinlafia blinked in astonishment, and Zindel laughed. It was an ugly, harsh bark of sound, without any trace of humor.

"Believe me, I doubt very much that you could be more surprised by that than I was, and I actually Glimpsed the things months ago! I simply didn't know what they were, didn't have enough other knowledge to put it into context or recognize what I was seeing. The very idea was so preposterous that my preconceptions got in the way until it was far too late."

"What do you mean, 'too late,' Your Majesty?" Kinlafia asked tautly.

"I mean Andrin and I have been Glimpsing Janaki in combat for the last eight days." Zindel's face suddenly looked years older. "I mean we can't tell from what we've Seen what happens to him. But what we have Glimpsed is terrifying, Darcel … and the message he sent to chan Geraith is even more frightening. Whatever Andrin and I may be Glimpsing, Janaki expects to die."

Kinlafia felt as if he'd just been shot through the chest, and his face went suddenly white under its deep tan. Memories of Janaki-of his laughter, his kindness and compassion, his zest for life, and his obviously deep and abiding dedication to the lifetime task to which an accident of birth had condemned him-rushed through the Voice, and his hands tightened like claws on the armrests of his chair.

"He may be wrong," Zindel said. "His Talent is weaker, as I've said. He may be misinterpreting something he's Seen, and I pray to the Triad that he is. But the very weakness of his Talent makes the clarity of his Glimpse more frightening. There are several reasons why it might have been clearer, sharper, than ours, but there's no point in pretending that the most likely reason isn't that he's interpreted it correctly."

"My gods, Your Majesty," Kinlafia whispered. "I don't know … I mean, what can I say? Do?"

"I don't know what you'll do if Janaki is right." Zindel's eyes were dark, glistening with the unshed tears of a strong man, an Emperor, who was also a father whose son had just prophesied his own death. "All I know is that if he is, Andrin will need you … and you will be there for her."

"Does she know? About Janaki's message, I mean?"

"No, she doesn't. Neither does her mother." Zindel looked away, gazing out the windows at the garden, and his voice had become distant, as if he were speaking to himself … or possibly to his son. "I don't know if I'm going to tell them. On the one hand, I should. They have a right to know. But, on the other hand, suppose Janaki's wrong, as I pray he is? Should I tell them, put that burden on them, now, of all times, when it may never come to pass at all? And even if Janaki is right, telling them now won't change what will happen. It will only let them worry, anticipate. It's bad enough knowing myself, should I inflict that same pain, that same worry, on two of the five people I love most in all the multiverse?"

"I don't know what to say, Your Majesty," Kinlafia admitted softly. "I wish I did, but I don't."

"I know you don't, Darcel." The Emperor-elect of Sharona reached across and patted Darcel Kinlafia on the shoulder almost comfortingly. "I know you don't. But when Andrin needs you, you will know."

Andrin Calirath was not quite eighteen years old, and her mother had always had strict notions about proper etiquette and the degree of decorum expected out of a daughter of the aristocracy. Whereas many a young Ternathian noblewoman might have attended her first public ball by the time she was sixteen years old, or even as young as fifteen, Andrin's very first formal ball had been to celebrate the ratification and signing of the Act of Unification only twelve days earlier.

She'd expected to be giddy with excitement at the opportunity, and the truth was that she had enjoyed herself. But not as much as she'd expected to. Perhaps it was simply that pleasures anticipated always loomed greater than pleasures actually experienced. She suspected, however, that the answer was rather simpler than that.

Andrin was the eldest daughter of the man who would become the first Emperor of a united Sharona tomorrow afternoon in the magnificent Temple of Saint Taiyr of Tajvana, the traditional site of Calirath coronations for almost two thousand years. Where other nobly born young ladies of her age could spend their formal "coming out" ball in a whirl of excitement and enjoyment, Her Grand Imperial Highness Andrin could not. Her entire evening had been rigorously regimented, planned out ahead of time with the precision of a professional military operation.

She hadn't really blamed anyone. She was who she was, and there was no point pretending it could have been any other way. But the fact that she understood why it had happened hadn't magically-she winced a little as that particular adverb occurred to her-restored some sort of spontaneity to the occasion.

Still, she'd enjoyed her first ball immeasurably more than she was enjoying her second.

One thing an imperial princess could count upon was that she would never find herself unattended. Not only was she accompanied everywhere-except on the dance floor itself, at any rate-by Lazima chan Zindico or one of her other bodyguards, but she was also the inevitable center of a veritable bison herd of young (and not so young) male aristocrats, all determined to impress her with their sparkle, their wit, their good looks, and-above all-their eligibility.

The only one of them who hadn't all too obviously been thinking of himself in terms of matrimonial prospects (and her in terms of breeding stock, she thought tartly) was Howan Fai Goutin. The Crown Prince of Eniath had partnered her for two dances, before he bowed to the dictates of etiquette and withdrew to allow others to seek her hand. Those two dances had been blessed interludes, in which she could enjoy the physicality of movement without being subjected to witty comments or bits of profound political-or literary, or philosophical, or even (gods help her) religious-insight. (Why, oh why, had the word that she was "bookish" had to get out amongst the "marry-me-because-I'm-so-impressive" crowd?!) Unlike the others, Howan had simply danced with her, and most of her suitors had regarded him (while, no doubt, composing their own next witty sally) with a certain tolerant pity. For all its lengthy history, Eniath was a postage-stamp kingdom, and one which had already aligned its policy with the Caliraths. There was no need to buy Eniath's loyalty with an imperial marriage … and the entire kingdom was scarcely worth a Ternathian duchess' hand, far less that of an imperial grand princess who stood second in the line of succession to the throne of all of Sharona.

So they had allowed her two dances worth of freedom, waited while he'd bowed to her, kissed her hand, and withdrawn gracefully. And as soon as he had, they'd closed in once again to impress her with their own enormous suitability for her hand. It could even have been rather flattering, under the right circumstances … for all of, oh, fifteen seconds or so. By now, what she found herself hankering for most strongly was a good revolver and an extra box of ammunition.

Finena swiveled her head from her perch on the exquisitely stitched and gemmed leather gauntlet on Andrin's left wrist, looking up at her human friend with an eye Andrin was privately certain gleamed with approval. Her own lips twitched ever so slightly at the thought, yet not even that image, delectable though it might be, could break through the shell of … of what?

She couldn't answer that question, hard though she'd tried. She knew her terrifying Glimpses of Janaki were a huge part of it, of course. They were too strong, too persistent, for her to just brush them aside, however hard she tried. However frequently she reminded herself Glimpses often failed, or turned out to have been misunderstood or wrongly interpreted, especially when they concerned loved ones. She'd felt the bumblebees swarming under her skin again, felt the needles and pins of prophecy pricking in her bones, and she knew something-something dreadful-was going to happen to her brother.

Shalana the Merciful, please, she thought. Please let this Glimpse be wrong. Protect Janaki.

If only her father hadn't so obviously been Glimpsing something similar, it might have been easier for her to convince herself she was wrong. But she'd seen the same unspoken fears in his eyes, felt his Talent resonating against hers, and she knew what it was he hadn't told her mother.

Her haunted eyes tracked across the ballroom floor to where Empress Varena swirled through the graceful measures of a Uromathian waltz with the Prince Regent of Limathia (who appeared to have finally forgiven her father for the famous "godsdamned fish" remark). The Empress' head was tilted to one side as she smiled at her partner, moving with all the skilled grace which had seemed to elude Andrin, despite the best efforts of veritable troops of dancing masters, for so many years of her adolescence. Varena radiated vivacity, zest, confidence in the future, as she looked forward to her coronation as Empress of Sharona on the morrow.

But Andrin knew. She knew the burden of the Calirath Talent lay even heavier on the shoulders of imperial consorts who lacked that Talent than on any who possessed it. Her mother couldn't experience any Glimpse directly, yet she knew when her daughter and her husband were gripped by the cruel pincers of precognition. And she knew how desperately they sought to protect her from the often frustratingly murky visions of the future which haunted them. Despite her smiles, despite the confident, gracious image she projected, she knew they were protecting her now … and even someone far less intelligent than she would have had very little difficulty figuring out which of the people she loved was most probably in danger.

And yet, she did her duty. She shouldered the burden she had agreed to bear the day she accepted Zindel chan Calirath's hand in marriage, and the even greater one no one could have predicted, which would settle upon her tomorrow. She hid her fears, pretended she was unafraid. Pretended even to her husband and her daughter that she wasn't terrified by the future which they, unlike she, could at least Glimpse, however imperfectly.

As Andrin watched her dancing, smiling, she wanted to weep. Weep for her mother's courage, for the crushing weight of the duty she had accepted so many years before.

"Your Highness?"

Andrin blinked herself back into focus and turned her head.

"Yes, Voice Kinlafia?"

"I was hoping you might be kind enough to allow me to partner you for the next dance, Your Highness."

The tough-looking, brown-haired Voice looked out of place in the ballroom. Not because he wasn't perfectly attired, and one of the better-looking men present, but because he made the other, younger, far more nobly born males still orbiting Andrin look as callow and untried as they actually were. Many of them had the tanned, lean fitness of the sports field, but his bronzed, muscular hardness went far deeper than that, earned in a far harder school where the stakes had been infinitely higher than who won or lost some trophy. He was far too old for Andrin, of course-at least twice her age, and probably more-but for just a moment, as she looked into those warm, somehow compassionate brown eyes, she felt a deep envy of Alazon Yanamar.

"I promise I won't walk all over your slippers, Your Highness," Kinlafia told her with a twinkle. "Mind you, I wouldn't have promised any such thing for this waltz, but the next dance is from New Farnal, which means I actually know the steps."

He smiled so winningly she had to chuckle, despite her mood.

"I'd be delighted," she told him, and the crowd of disappointed aspirants parted like ice floes around the bows of a Farnalian icebreaker as he escorted her towards the head of the line forming for the next dance.

"You'll have to excuse me for a moment again, dearling," she told Finena, and the falcon launched from her gauntleted left wrist. Fortunately, the Caliraths' attachment to their falcons was sufficiently well known-not to say notorious-that no one seemed particularly astonished or upset when Finena went flashing overhead. The falcon settled on her perch, under the watchful eyes of Brahndys chan Gordahl and Ulthar chan Habikon, and Andrin offered her hand to Kinlafia.

"Thank you, Your Highness." He bent over it, pressed a kiss to its back, and then they took their places as the orchestra played the first few bars of a New Farnal country melody and the step-caller called out thecircle dance's first movement.

The dance was far more lively than the stylized, refined waltz which had preceded it. Kinlafia was obviously familiar with the steps, although despite his athleticism, he was not Howan Fai Goutin's equal as a dancer. Yet there was something profoundly soothing about him, and Andrin found herself actually laughing with delight as he twirled her through the dance's movements. And as she did, she realized it was precisely for that moment of escape that Kinlafia had asked her to dance.

It came to an end at last, and she tucked her hand into his elbow. He started to escort her back to where her abandoned suitors waited, but she looked up at him with a winsome smile

"If you please, Voice Kinlafia," she said, "I think I'd prefer a glass of lemonade."

"Nothing could please me more, Your Highness."

From one of the nobly born butterflies who had been fluttering about her so assiduously all evening, it would have been a pleasant nothing. From Kinlafia, it was a completely sincere statement, and she squeezed his elbow gently. He glanced down at her with a small smile, and she realized there was no need to explain to him what that squeeze was for.

Lazima chan Zindico trailed watchfully along behind, his eyes searching constantly for any tiny flaw in the crowd, any possible sign of danger for his charge.

He didn't find one, of course, which didn't prevent him from settling into what Andrin privately thought of as his "brooding protector mode" as Kinlafia seated her at one of the small, candlelit tables placed to catch the pleasant evening breeze swirling in through the wall of opened double doors. Kinlafia glanced at chan Zindico with a much more measuring eye than most of the young sprouts who had pestered Andrin all night ever showed. Obviously, the Voice recognized chan Zindico for what-and who-he truly was, whereas most of the spoiled, pampered aristocrats saw him only as one more item of furniture.

Andrin liked that.

Kinlafia disappeared for a moment or two, then returned with not one glass of punch, but four… and Prince Howan Fai Goutin and Alazon Yanamar. Andrin thanked the Voice for the glass and raised it to her lips a bit more quickly than she might otherwise have to hide her smile. She'd wondered when Alazon would turn up. She also wondered how long it would be before the reporters noticed that wherever "candidate Kinlafia" happened to be, the Emperor's Privy Voice was virtually certain to turn up, and vice versa. The thought tickled her fancy, and her eyes gleamed mischievously as she considered how she might twit the two of them. The two Voices were busy looking at one another, and Andrin's dancing eyes met Prince Howan's equally amused gaze for just a moment.

"Forgive me, Voice Kinlafia," she said then, lowering her glass, "but I've noticed that some of the papers and some of the Voice reports are commenting on how much time you seem to be spending here in the Palace. There's speculation that your presence here indicates you've decided to become one of 'Zindel's men.'"thinspace""

She paused, and Kinlafia cocked his head slightly to one side.

"I've seen the reports, Your Highness," he said. "May I ask why you mention them?"

"I know from something Yanamar said that Father didn't want it to seem as if he was too openly supporting your candidacy. But I've also noticed he seems to be spending an extraordinary amount of time talking to you … especially for someone who hasn't even won election yet. I was just wondering if you and he had changed your minds about the possible implications of his openly supporting you. Or, at least, appearing to support you?"

She looked at him very steadily, and saw something like recognition flicker back in those brown eyes of his, but he didn't reply immediately. Instead, he sat there for several seconds, gazing at her thoughtfully

– much as Shamir Taje might have. That thought danced through the back of Andrin's brain, and as it did, she realized that one of the things which most appealed to her about Kinlafia was that he and Taje were the only two men, apart from her father, who didn't seem to care about her youthfulness when she asked a question. They actually thought about those questions, about their responses to them, because they extended respect to the person asking them, not simply out of courtesy to the title of that person.

Then he tilted his head to one side, glancing at Prince Howan, and arched one eyebrow.

"King Junni has become one of Father's closer allies, Voice Kinlafia," Andrin told him. "I don't think we need to worry about the Prince's discretion, do we, Your Highness?"

"Most assuredly not, Your Grand Imperial Highness," Prince Howan responded with a slight smile. His Ternathian had improved enormously over the last couple of months, thanks in no small part to the services of a Voice language tutor, and the irony in his tone came through perfectly. Then his expression sobered. "Still, I will certainly understand if Voice Kinlafia would prefer to answer your question in privacy."

The Eniathian prince started to stand, but Kinlafia shook his head.

"If Her Highness trusts your discretion, Prince Howan, then certainly I do, as well," he said. The prince looked at him for a moment, then inclined his head in a small bow which mingled acknowledgment and appreciation of the implicit compliment. He sat back down, and Kinlafia turned to Andrin.

"Actually, Your Highness, I don't really think you were wondering about campaign strategies at all, were you?"

Andrin's eyes widened. Despite what she'd just been thinking, his directness-and perceptiveness-

surprised her. No wonder Alazon was so attracted to him!

"You're right," she admitted. "I suppose I'm just not used to asking such questions directly."

"With all due respect, Your Highness," Alazon put in, "you should get used to it." Andrin looked at her, and the Privy Voice shrugged. "You happen to be Heir-Secondary, Your Highness. Yes, you're young.

But don't let the natural deference of youth keep you from asking the questions you need to ask and demanding the answers to them."

Andrin glanced at Prince Howan, the only other person at the table remotely her own age. His expression gave away very little, but she thought she saw a trace of agreement in his almond eyes as he looked at the Privy Voice. And as Andrin considered the advice herself, she remembered that Alazon Yanamar was far more than simply her father's privy voice. She thought about it for several seconds, then nodded in acknowledgment and moved her eyes back to Kinlafia.

"Taking Alazon's advice, Voice Kinlafia, am I just imagining that Father-and First Councilor Taje-

both seem to be treating you much more as if you'd been a family adviser for years than like someone who just got back from Hell's Gate less than two weeks ago?"

"I-" Kinlafia began, and paused. He looked very thoughtful for a moment or two, then he gave a little shrug of his own-very much like Alazon's had been-and nodded.

"I wouldn't say they regard me as any sort of adviser, Your Highness. And they certainly don't regard me as any sort of retainer, or as some sort of official member of your household or administration. But there have been certain … developments, since your brother sent that flatteringly inaccurate letter of recommendation to your father. I'd really rather not go into all of them at this point, but-" he looked into her eyes once more "-some of them, at least, concern you."

"Me?" Andrin's pulse fluttered ever so slightly as she remembered her own thoughts during the Unification Parade. "Is it something Father's Glimpsed?" she asked.

"To some extent, yes."

She could tell Kinlafia hadn't really wanted to admit that, yet she felt strangely certain he'd never been tempted to lie to her, however diplomatically. The front of her brain told her she should take her cue from him, let it rest where it was. She'd already learned more than she'd really expected to, after all.

"Can you tell me what he's Seen?" she asked, instead.

"No, Your Highness. Not without his permission, I'm afraid."

Andrin felt a quick, brief flicker of anger-a spike of almost-rage, made far stronger by the background of her endless days of anxiety and fear for Janaki-and Kinlafia was a Voice. She knew he'd felt her anger, but he only looked back at her steadily, and anger turned into respect.

"I can … appreciate your discretion, Voice Kinlafia," she told him after a moment. "That's not to say I don't wish you could be more forthcoming." She sipped from her lemonade glass once more, then lowered it. "I'm sure you're well aware that Father and I have been experiencing an entire cascade of Glimpses for the past several days. It's a very … uncomfortable sensation. It worries me. No, it scares me, and I suppose that makes me more anxious than usual for some kind of reassurance."

"I do know about the Glimpses, Your Highness."

He looked across the table at her, his eyes filled with a compassion which seemed somehow only warmer and deeper because of her awareness of what he himself had endured. He was like her father in some ways, she realized. From a different sequence of causes, perhaps, but with that same inner core of strength. Not so much of toughness, or hardness, but of purpose. Of determination to meet whatever challenges the Triad might see fit to throw before them.

Was he always like that, I wonder? Or did what happened to him at Fallen Timbers change him that deeply?

"I will tell you this, Your Highness," he continued. "Your father-as I'm sure you need no one in the multiverse to tell you-loves you very, very deeply. I haven't known you very long myself, but I can already understand why that is. I've told your father that if I win election to Parliament, my opinions will be my own, and that if I disagree with him, I'll say so. I meant that then, and I mean it now. But since then, I've been privileged to come to know him-and you-far better than I ever expected I would. And speaking as Darcel Kinlafia, not Voice Kinlafia, and not Parliamentary Representative Kinlafia, I would count it an honor if you would call upon me for anything you need."

Andrin's eyes widened once more in fresh surprise. People told her father-and her, to some extent-

that sort of thing every day. Sometimes they even meant it. But coming from Kinlafia, it was … different, somehow. There was an echo almost of what she often sensed from chan Zindico and her other personal armsmen, and yet that wasn't quite correct, either. Chan Zindico and the others were her family's loyal retainers-her servants, when it came right down to it. Even though it would never have occurred to her to think of them as such, they were always aware of that relationship. It helped define not simply how they regarded her, but who they themselves were.

Darcel Kinlafia didn't see her that way. She'd never been "his" grand imperial princess, although she supposed that was technically going to change in about eighteen hours. There was no institutional, dynastic sense of loyalty in what he'd just said, and in a way Andrin doubted she would ever be able to explain, even to herself, that made the sincerity of what he'd just said indescribably precious. He meant it when he said he would be honored to help her, and there was no reason why he had to be. No basis for her to simply expect him to be.

"Voice Kinlafia, I-"

She paused, her eyes burning strangely, and he reached across the table and very gently took her hand. It could have been a presumption, an intrusion, but instead of drawing back, her wrist turned as if of its own volition, meeting his hand palm-to-palm, and as she felt him squeeze her fingers, something clicked almost audibly deep down inside her. The bumblebees buzzed louder under her skin, the sound almost deafening, and something seemed to literally flow from her fingers into his hand. She'd never experienced anything like it, never heard of anyone experiencing anything like it, and she inhaled sharply, her nostrils flared.

"Your Highness?" She heard chan Zindico say from behind her, his voice sharpening with the instinctive bristle of the deadly guard dog he truly was. "Are you all right, Your Highness?"

"I'm fine, Lazima."

She turned her head to smile reassuringly up at him, then looked back at Kinlafia. The Voice must have recognized chan Zindico's flare of suspicion, but his expression was calm, almost tranquil.

"Voice Kinlafia, I think-" she began, only to break off abruptly as Alazon Yanamar jerked upright in her chair.

The Privy Voice might have been carved from ice, so still she sat, as she Listened to whatever message had arrived with such abrupt, brutal unexpectedness. And then, her eyes filled suddenly with tears.

"Alazon?" Andrin said quickly, urgently. She took her hand from Kinlafia's, reaching out to the older woman as Alazon's pain reached out to her. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Alazon closed her eyes, her face wrung with an anguish so deep, so bitter, that Andrin literally flinched.

She saw Kinlafia responding to his beloved's grief, as well. He reached out towards Alazon, and only later did Andrin realize that he'd reached out towards her, not Alazon, first.

Andrin leaned towards Alazon across the table, unable to imagine what had hurt the older woman so.

And then, abruptly, she realized the music had stopped. That an ocean of utter silence was flowing out from the ballroom, sweeping over the entire Palace. She turned her head, looking through the arched colonnade back into the ballroom, trying to understand the sudden stillness. And then, at last, Alazon spoke.

"Your Highness," the anguish, the grief, in Alazon's beautiful voice ripped at Andrin like a knife. "Your Highness," the Privy Voice said, "your father needs you."