Perhaps it was so; or perhaps Ushahin, who had been abjured by the Grey Dam, no longer carried the taint of the Were on him like a scent. It grieved him to think it might be so. The horse merely gazed at him, thinking its own abstruse equine thoughts. He did not trouble its mind, but instead stroked its mane, wondering at the way his fingers slid through the coarse, black, hair. It had been a long time since he had taken pleasure in touch, in the sensation of texture against his skin.

“All things must be as they must,” he said to the stallion, then mounted and went to tell Lord Satoris that the Dwarfs had broken Yrinna’s Peace.

THIRTEEN

THIRTEEN

“LADY.” TANAROS BOWED. “ARE YOU well?”

She stood very straight, and her luminous grey eyes were watchful and wary. Her travail in Darkhaven had only honed her beauty, he thought; paring it to its essence, until the bright flame of her spirit was almost visible beneath translucent flesh.

“I am,” she said. “Thank you, General Tanaros.”

“Good.” He cleared his throat, remembering how he had burst into the room and feeling ill at ease. “On behalf of his Lordship, I tender apologies. Please know that the attempt upon your life was made against his orders.”

“Yes,” Cerelinde said. “I know.”

“You seem very certain.”

Her face, already fair as ivory, turned a paler hue. “I heard the screams.”

“It’s not what you think.” The words were impulsive. Tanaros sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Ah, Cerelinde! His Lordship did what was necessary. If you saw Ushahin’s … punishment … you would understand.”

Her chin lifted a notch. “The Ellylon do not condone torture.”

“He healed his arm,” Tanaros said abruptly.

Cerelinde stared at him, uncomprehending. “Forgive me. I do not understand.”

“Slowly,” Tanaros said, “and painfully. Very painfully.” He gave a short laugh. “It matters not Ushahin understood what he did. He bore his Lordship’s punishment that his madlings might not He did not want them to suffer for serving his will.” A stifled sound came from the corner; turning his head, Tanaros saw Meara huddled there. A cold, burning suspicion suffused his chest. “Do you have something to say, Meara?”

She shook her head in frantic denial, hiding her face against her knees.

“Let her be.” Cerelinde stepped between them, her face alight with anger. “Do you think I would permit her in my presence did I not trust her, Tanaros?”

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Do you trust her?”

The Ellylon could not lie. She stood close to him, close enough to touch, her chin still lifted. He could feel the heat of her body; could almost smell her skin. Her eyes were level with his. He could see the pleated irises, the subtle colors that illuminated them; violet, blue, and green, and the indeterminate hue that lies in the innermost curve of a rainbow.