She felt tired, dreamy. She tried to imagine what it would be like in Mystarria, in the King’s Palace. She dared to dream. She’d heard tales of it, the white boats on the great gray river, floating through the canals in the city. The green hills, and smell of sea salt. The fog rolling in each dawn. The cries of gulls and endless crashing of waves.

Almost she could imagine the King’s Palace, a great bed with silk sheets, the violet-colored curtains flying through the open windows, and herself naked beside Gaborn.

“Tell me of Mystarria,” Iome whispered. “ ‘In Mystarria lagoons lay like obsidian, among the roots of the cypress trees . . .’ ” she quoted an old song. “Is it like that?”

Gaborn sang the tune, and though he had no lute, his voice was lovely:

“In Mystarria lagoons lay like obsidian,
among the roots of the cypress trees.
And pools are so black they reflect no sun,
as they silently buoy the water lilies.”

Those lagoons were said to be the homes of water wizards and their daughters, the nymphs. Iome said, “Your father’s wizards, I’ve never met them.”

“They are weak wizards. Most of them have not even grown their gills. The most powerful water wizards live out in the deep ocean, not near land.”

“But they influence your people, all the same. It’s a stable country.”

“Oh yes,” Gaborn said, “we in Mystarria are always seeking equanimity. Very stable. Some might say boring.”

“Don’t speak ill of it,” Iome said. “Your father is tied to the water. I can tell. He has a way of . . . counteracting instabilities. Did he bring one of his wizards? I’d like to meet one.”

Iome imagined that he would, that if he’d brought soldiers to parade about and display his power, he might have brought one of the water wizards. She hoped such a wizard might help fight Raj Ahten at Longmot.

“First of all, they aren’t ‘his’ wizards, any more than Binnesman could be your wizard—”

“But did he bring one in his retinue?”

“Almost,” Gaborn said, and she could tell he wanted the wizards’ help, too. Water wizards, unlike Earth Wardens, could be counted on to meddle in the affairs of mankind on a regular basis. “But it’s a long journey, and there isn’t much water on the plains of Fleeds. . . .”

Gaborn began to talk to her then about his life in Mystarria, the great campus of the House of Understanding with its many Rooms spread out all over the city of Aneuve. Some Rooms were great halls, where thousands came to hear lectures and participate in discussions. Others were cozy, more like the common room in a fine inn, where scholars sat beside roaring fires in winter, like the hearth-masters of old, and taught lessons while sipping hot rum. . . .

Iome woke with a start as Gaborn shifted his weight beneath her, shook her shoulder gently.