The gold buckles on the horse's bridle weren't quite even. Tugging them straight, frowning, Matt glanced at her. 'Who? His Highness?' He clicked his tongue. 'Early again, drat him. Nine o'clock he asks me to have Ballodair ready, some meetin' or other somewhere, but it ain't even —'

Dathne made an impatient hissing sound. 'Not Prince Gar, you clot-head! Him.'

At first he couldn't make head or tail of what she meant, Then he looked, really looked, into her face, her eyes. His heart leapt, and he had to steady himself against Ballodair's warm, muscled neck.

'Are you sure? How do you know?' His voice sounded strange: cracked and dry and frightened. He was frightened. If Dathne was right ... if the one so long awaited was here at last... then this life, which he loved despite its dangerous secrets, was ended. And this day, so bright and blue and warmly scented with jasmine and roses and fine-boned horseflesh, marked the beginning of the end of all things known and cherished.

The end of everything, should he and Dathne fail.

Dathne was staring at him, surprise and annoyance in her narrow, uncompromising face. 'How do I know? You of all people ask me that?' she demanded. 'I know. He woke me out of sleep with his coming, late last night. My skin crawls with him.' Then she shrugged, an impatient twitch of her bony shoulders. 'And anyway, I've seen him.'

'Seen him?' said Matt, startled. 'In the flesh, you mean? Not vision? When? Where?'

Pulling her light shawl tight about her, she took a straw-rustling step closer and dropped her voice to a near whisper. 'Earlier. I followed my nose till I found him coming out of Verry's Hostelry.' She sniffed. 'Can't say I think much of his taste.'

'Dathne, that was foolish.' He wiped his sweaty palms down his breeches. 'What if he'd seen you?'

Another shrug. 'What if he had? He doesn't know me or what I'm about. Besides, he didn't. The City's thronging with folk for market day. I blended with the crowd well enough.'

'You don't reckon ...' Matt hesitated. 'D'you think he knows?'

12

Dathne scowled and scuffed her toe in the yellow straw, thinking. 'He might,' she said at last. 'I suppose.' Then she shook her head. 'But I think not. If he did, why would there be need of us? We've a part to play in all this that hasn't begun yet.' Her dark eyes took on a daunting, familiar glow. 'I wonder where it will lead us. Don't you?'

Matt shivered. That was the kind of question he'd rather wasn't asked, or answered. 'So long as it's not to an early grave, I don't much care. Have you told Veira?'