It was so smoothly done that he took them all with him for a moment, standing the reality on its head.

“But,” spluttered Ceredur, red-faced with indignation, “she tried to kill you!”

“She had cause,” Diarmuid replied calmly.

“Will you explain, Prince Diarmuid?” It was Mabon of Rhoden. Speaking with deference, Kevin noted.

“Now,” said Coll, grinning again.

Now, thought Sharra. Whatever happens, I will not live with this shame.

Diarmuid said, “I stole a flower from Larai Rigal four nights ago in such a way that the Princess would know. It was an irresponsible thing, for those gardens, as we all know, are sacred to them. It seems that Sharra of Cathal valued the honor of her country above her own life—for which we in turn must honor her.”

Sharra’s world spun for a dizzy instant, then righted itself. She felt herself flushing; tried to control it. He was giving her an out, setting her free. But, she asked herself, even then, with a racing heart, of what worth was freedom if it came only as his gift?

She had no time to pursue it, for Aileron’s voice cut abrasively through his brother’s spell, just as Diarmuid’s applause had destroyed his own, moments before: “You are lying,” the older Prince said tersely. “Even you would not go through Seresh and Cynan as King’s Heir, risking so much exposure for a flower. Do not toy with us!”

Diarmuid, eyebrows raised, turned to his brother. “Should I,” he said in a voice like velvet, “kill you instead?”

Score one, Kevin thought, seeing, even high as he was, how Aileron paled at that. And a neat diversion, too.

“As it happens,” Diarmuid went on, “I didn’t go near the river fortresses.”

“You flew, I suppose?” Jaelle interjected acidly.

Diarmuid bestowed his most benign smile upon her. “No. We crossed Saeren below the Dael Slope, and climbed up the handholds carved in the rock on the other side.”

“This is disgraceful!” Aileron snapped, recovering. “How can you lie at such a time?” There was a murmur among the gathering.

“As it happens,” Kevin Laine called down, moving forward to be seen, “he’s telling the truth.” They all looked up. “The absolute truth,” Kevin went on, pushing it. “There were nine of us.”

“Do you remember,” Diarmuid asked his brother, “the book of Nygath that we read as boys?”

Reluctantly, Aileron nodded.

“I broke the code,” Diarmuid said cheerfully. “The one we could never solve. It told of steps carved into the cliff in Cathal five hundred years ago by Alon, before he was King. We crossed the river and climbed them. It isn’t quite as foolish as it sounds—it was a useful training expedition. And something more.”

She kept her head high, her eyes fixed on the windows. But every timbre of his voice registered within her. Something more. Is a falcon not a falcon if it does not fly alone?