"Aunt Pol said what?" he demanded, terribly shocked.

"You're supposed to stay with me to protect me," she told him. She took hold of the hem of her tunic, obviously preparing to take it off.

Garion spun about and stared determinedly at the trees. His ears flamed, and his hands trembled uncontrollably.

She laughed a small, silvery laugh, and he could hear splashing as she entered the pool. She squealed from the shock of the cold water, and then there was more splashing.

"Bring me the soap," she commanded.

Without thinking, he bent to pick up the soap and caught one brief glimpse of her standing waist-deep in the water before he shut his eyes tightly. He backed toward the pool, his eyes closed and the hand holding the soap thrust out awkwardly behind him.

She laughed again and took the soap from his hand.

After what seemed an eternity, the princess completed her bath, emerged from the pool, dried herself and put her clothes back on. Garion kept his eyes firmly shut the entire time.

"You Sendars have such curious notions," she said as they sat together in the sun-warmed glade beside the pool. She was combing her deep red hair, her head inclined to one side and the comb pulling down through the thick, damp tangles. "The baths in Tol Honeth are open to all, and athletic contests are always conducted without clothing. Just last summer I myself ran against a dozen other girls in the Imperial Stadium. The spectators were most appreciative."

"I can imagine," Garion said dryly.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing at the amulet resting against his bare chest.

"My grandfather gave it to me last Erastide," Garion answered.

"Let me see." She held out her hand.

He leaned forward.

"Take it off so I can see it," she ordered.

"I'm not supposed to take it off," he told her. "Mister Wolf and Aunt Pol say I'm never supposed to take it off for any reason. I think there's a spell of some kind on it."

"What a strange idea," she remarked as she bent to examine the amulet. "They aren't really sorcerers, are they?"

"Mister Wolf is seven thousand years old," Garion said. "He knew the God Aldur. I've seen him make a tree grow from a small twig in a matter of minutes and set rocks on fire. Aunt Pol cured a blind woman with a single word, and she can turn herself into an owl."

"I don't believe in such things," Ce'Nedra told him. "I'm sure there's another explanation."

Garion shrugged and pulled on his linen shirt and brown tunic. He shook his head and raked his fingers through his still-damp hair.

"You're making an awful mess of it," she observed critically. "Here." She stood up and stepped behind him. "Let me do it." She put the comb to his hair and began pulling it through carefully. "You have nice hair for a man," she said.

"It's just hair," he said indifferently.