She combed in silence for a moment or two, then took his chin in her hand, turned his head and looked at him critically. She touched his hair at the sides a time or two until it was arranged to her satisfaction. "That's better," she decided.

"Thank you." He was a bit confused by the change in her.

She sat down again on the grass, clasped her arms around one knee and gazed at the sparkling pool. "Garion," she said finally.

"Yes?"

"What's it like to grow up as an ordinary person?"

He shrugged. "I've never been anything but an ordinary person," he told her, "so I wouldn't know what to compare it to."

"You know what I mean. Tell me about where you grew up - and what you did and all."

So he told her about Faldor's farm, about the kitchen and Durnik's smithy and Doroon and Rundorig and Zubrette.

"You're in love with Zubrette, aren't you?" She asked it almost accusingly.

"I thought I was, but so much has happened since we left the farm that sometimes I can't even remember what she looks like. I think I could do without being in love anyway. From what I've seen of it, it's pretty painful most of the time."

"You're impossible," she said, and then she smiled at him, her little face framed in the blazing mass of her sun-touched hair.

"Probably," he admitted. "All right, now you tell me what it's like to grow up as a very special person."

"I'm not that special."

"You're an Imperial Princess," he reminded her. "I'd call that pretty special."

"Oh, that," she said, and then giggled. "You know, sometimes since I joined you people, I almost forget that I'm an Imperial Princess."

"Almost," he said with a smile, "but not quite."

"No," she agreed, "not quite." She looked out across the pool again. "Most of the time being a princess is very boring. It's all ceremonies and formalities. You have to stand around most of the time listening to speeches or receiving state visitors. There are guards around all the time, but sometimes I sneak away so I can be by myself. It makes them furious." She giggled again, and then her gaze turned pensive. "Let me tell your fortune," she said, taking his hand.

"Can you tell fortunes?" Garion asked.

"It's only make-believe," she admitted. "My maids and I play at it sometimes. We all promise each other high-born husbands and many children." She turned his hand over and looked at it. The silvery mark on his palm was very plain now that the skin was clean. "Whatever is that?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"It's not a disease, is it?"

"No," he said. "It has always been there. I think it has something to do with my family. Aunt Pol doesn't like to have people see it for some reason, so she tries to keep it hidden."

"How could you hide something like that?"