“Right. If he lets you. What if he negotiates his way out of trouble with Matayanga? If he doesn’t attack?”

“The plan isn’t perfect. I’d lose.”

“You wouldn’t try to force that war, would you?”

“No! No more than Lord Kuo is. Shinsan can’t stand much more warfare.”

The King glanced at Varthlokkur once more. Again he could only indicate that he believed she was telling the truth.

The King nodded. “All right, Mist. What can I contribute?”

“You’re doing it. Giving us a safe springboard. The only other thing might be the loan of a few shock troops for the strike itself.”

Varthlokkur studied Dantice, and in his little twitches read what his part in the plot was to have been—before the King had become involved. He was to have gathered the financing for mercenary forces meant to do the job now in the hands of royal soldiery. The lad is a fool, the wizard thought. But this is a woman who can make fools of men far wiser.

The King said, “Sir Gjerdrum, put together the forces she needs. And keep it quiet.”

Varthlokkur turned to the young knight. Poor Gjerdrum. He was bitterly opposed to this venture. None of the King’s arguments had swayed him the least. Yet he was going along, because it was the King’s will.

He’s probably right, Varthlokkur reflected. When you come right down to it, we’re all going along because that’s easier than arguing. And chances are Bragi is being a damned fool. He can’t separate his private feelings from what is politic. If he doesn’t learn soon, Kavelin is in for hard times.

Nepanthe stalked the bounds of her apartment like a thing caged. She was tormented by a diffuse, unconquerable certainty that her world had shifted around her, that suddenly she was a foreigner in her own time. Nothing seemed quite real anymore.

She knew why. All her lost anchors, all the missing friends and loves. She had no more family, and few friends—just no anchor left. Except her husband, and hers was a marriage of convenience, from her viewpoint. She needed a protector. She had accepted the protection of a man who wanted her. Any romance existed only in Varthlokkur’s imagination.

These days she just drifted above and away from everything. Her lack of touching points ached. Sometimes she wondered if she were quite sane.

Her life was one long necklace pearled with dissatisfaction and unhappy moments. There had been good times, but those she had to struggle to remember. She had no trouble recalling the misery. Indeed, she dwelt upon it.

She paused to stare out her window. The sky was a heavy grey. More bad weather? It seemed the sun had vanished with their arrival. Did gloom follow her like a doleful hound?

“Maybe it’s just being pregnant,” she murmured. “I can’t be this way all the time. Right now even I can’t stand me.” A weak, mocking smile toyed with her lips. “I have had friends.”