The stairs faded in the next lightning flash. A hallway appeared in their place. Imogen blew out a frustrated sigh as the vapor swirled around her legs, climbing ever higher. It would shroud her completely if she waited much longer. Desperate and frightened, Imogen stamped her foot.

"Your king," she snapped, "is a coward, and I'm going to tell him so. Right now."

She didn't need Niamh's innate magery to sense the surprise rippling through the mist at her words. It rolled back on itself as if uncertain what to do next.

"Let me pass," she commanded.

A hesitation, then suddenly the hallway reconfigured itself into the former staircase. The mist withdrew, hugging the wall as she descended the stairs. Obviously, no one still in possession of their senses called Cededa a coward, but her outlandish statement had served its purpose by shocking her ethereal guardian into letting her go.

By the time she made it to the main doors, the rain outside had settled to a steady drizzle, the thunder a distant rumble paying court to dancing lightning bolts. Imogen's cloak became a sodden weight on her shoulders. She abandoned it at the foot of the palace steps and sped along the main avenue, hoping she might find Cededa before her guttering torch went dark.

Buildings rose on either side of her, crumbling hulks wearing locks of ivy and streaming rain from broken windows. In her torch's failing light, they resembled crippled giants, sentinels that guarded Tineroth's ancient roads. The vistas branching off the main path captured darkness thicker than honey. If Cededa lurked in those black closes, she'd never find him. Cursing his name and begging him to show himself, Imogen splashed through puddles and yanked on her soaked skirts where they tangled around her legs.

Her torch gave a dying sizzle just as she reached a fork in the grand avenue. The last weak flame winked out, leaving her standing in a darkness so oppressive, she couldn't even see her hand in front of her face.

"Damnation!"

Her bellowed curse shot through the black, echoing back to her. As if on cue, her torch ignited in her hands, brilliant orange flames leaping high. Imogen shouted another epithet and almost dropped the torch.

"You've a surprisingly foul mouth, Imogen."

Cededa watched her from across the avenue, his shadowy form illuminated by dancing flames. Still as the statues of his kinsmen, he sat cross-legged atop a massive altar amidst the ruins of a temple. Rain dripped down his bare shoulders and chest, darkening his hair. The Tineroth key glowed silver across his collar bones and on his hand.

Imogen wiped tendrils of wet hair from her face and prepared herself to grovel.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cededa held back a pained sigh at the image before him. Unlikely as it might be, Imogen had blossomed during her time with him in Tineroth. Where before he'd seen only a pretty but forgettable girl, he now faced a woman as beautiful and elemental as the storm. She marched toward him, her hair a dark silk falling over her shoulders to her waist, features pinched and resolute.