He held a goblet toward her. Wynett ignored it, studying him. Light and shade played across his handsome visage, making his expression difficult to read.

  “Who are you?” she asked. “Where am I?”

  Amused brown eyes answered her gaze and her question in silence for a moment, then he set the goblet down before her and chuckled, a sound rich as his speaking voice.

  “You need not fear me: I mean you no harm.”

  “Who are you?” she repeated.

  “Your savior,” he said simply, and sipped the wine, sighing his approval. “This is most excellent. Please try a little.”

  Wynett shook her head and he shrugged, saying, “Then at least take food. Are you not hungry after your ordeal?”

  She was, she realized, though the empty tugging in her stomach was not entirely to do with need of sustenance, but nonetheless amplified by the enticing odors that rose from the array of dishes set on the linen.

  “Who are you?” she said again; doggedly.

  “Are names so important?” he countered; casually, as if the question was too trivial for consideration. “Surely they are more a matter of convenience than of definition?”

  “Is definition not important?” she asked. “I say again: who are you?”

  “One with only your interests at heart,” he returned. “But if it will ease your mind, then you may call me Eyrik.”

  Laughter sparkled in his eyes, urging her to accept him, to answer it, but she shook her head, a slight, dismissive gesture, and said, “Where am I . . . Eyrik?”

  “Safe,” he said solemnly, selecting a tidbit from the selection on the table and popping it into his mouth.

  Wynett continued to stare at him, thinking, almost against her will, that he was the most handsome man she had seen since Kedryn. “Safe where?” she demanded.

  “Here.” A hand waved casually to encompass the courtyard, the balconies, the stoa. “There is nowhere safer. Nothing may harm you here.”

  Wynett frowned, confusion growing apace, fueled by his prevarication, the mild amusement he evinced, as if they played out some courtly game of words. She set a hand upon the talisman, feeling the stone vibrate, warm in her palm.

  “Ah, Kyrie’s talisman,” he said mildly. “That helped save you, too.”

  “Too?” asked Wynett.

  “I had some small part in it.” He smiled modestly, waving a self-deprecatory hand. "The beast might have taken you . . . elsewhere . . . had I not intervened.”

  “You know of the beast!” It was not a question. “Then do you know of Kedryn? What was his fete?”

  Fear burst anew in her breast as she studied his face, almost afraid to hear the answer. Eyrik returned her gaze, his eyes no longer laughing, but filled now with sincerity.

  “I am not sure,” he said. “I believe he lives, but I cannot know for certain.”

  The bewilderment that had filled Wynett as she discovered the impossibilities of the sunlit chambers welled up, fear and frustration taking the form of tears that she fought, telling herself that she must keep her wits about her; losing the struggle.

  “Please,” Eyrik said solicitously, “do not cry. You are safe and I promise that I shall do my utmost to discover Kedryn’s fete. If it is within my power to reunite you, I shall do so—even though I envy him your affection.”

  This latter was said softly, as though embarrassment intruded upon his confidence, and Wynett blinked back her tears, clutching at the straw of hope.

  “You would do that? Can you do that?”

  Eyrik shrugged, his expression almost bashful. “I shall try,” he promised. “You have my word on it.”

  Wynett felt oddly reassured, for there was a palpable sincerity in his tone. “I am confused,” she declared. “Will you answer my questions?”

  Eyrik moved with graceful speed, a tanned hand reaching out to enfold hers, gently, but still forcefully, so that she found her fingers entrapped as he gazed earnestly into her eyes.

  “You must forgive me.” His tone was conciliatory, not quite pleading. “I am so long accustomed to this place that I forget my manners through familiarity, and there are so few visitors. Of course you are confused! Who would not be? Ask me what you will and I shall answer to the best of my ability.”

  He let go her hand, lifting his goblet again as she composed herself, seeking to impress order on the myriad questions that danced through her mind.

  “Where am I?” she asked.

  “In one of the several worlds beyond those known to men,” he said. “I cannot explain it better than that. The beast brought you to the netherworld, where you might have wandered with those other unfortunate souls had I not intervened.”

  “Then am I dead?”

  “No!” He shook his head, smiling again. “You are most definitely alive. Can you not feel it?”

  “I am not sure, ” she responded. “I do not know what death feels like.”

  “Not this,” he chuckled.

  Wynett nodded. “How were you able to . . . intervene?”

  "I have certain powers,” he told her. “I am of this world, rather than that one you know, and in consequence am able to exert an influence over those creatures of the limbo.”

  “Are you . . . ,” she clutched the talisman again, cold dread deepening her voice, "... Ashar?”

  She felt relief as he threw back his head and roared laughter: it was an honest sound.

  “Does this seem to you Ashar’s domain?” he asked as his laughter abated.

  Wynett glanced around her. Sunlight fell on the petals of magnolia blossoms, on cheerful roses, on the water sparkling from the fountain. It glinted on his chestnut hair. She shook her head.

  “There is much to understand,” Eyrik said, the laughter still echoing in his voice. “Mayhap to much for my poor capabilities to explain. Better, I think, that you allow me to show you this place; that you explore it at first hand. That will likely lead to a clearer understanding than I may give.”

  If he prevaricated he was a master of the art, for his gaze was direct and clear, empty of guile. “Then how can you determine Kedryn’s fate?” she asked.

  “This place is . . . different. And as I said, I have certain powers: I place them at your disposal. I give you my word that I shall do my utmost to ascertain what has become of Kedryn and bring him to you.” He paused, adding gallantly, “Even though I had sooner see you reign here with me.” “Reign?” she asked.

  “You are, undoubtedly, a queen amongst women,” Eyrik declared, raising his goblet in toast. “But even a queen must eat. Do you now trust me enough to partake of my board?” He gestured again at the laden table and this time Wynett nodded, selecting roasted meat. The cut was honeyed, sweet and savory at the same time. She took more, allowing Eyrik to suggest delicacies, each one proving a culinary masterpiece, mouth-watering and satisfying. She sipped the wine he had poured and found it equally excellent, pleasantly chill. She found herself relaxing.

  “I do not know how long it may take me,” he murmured as she ate. “Can you endure to stay a while?”

  “Do I have any choice?” A chill that had nothing to do with the coolness of the excellent wine iced her senses.

  “Not really,” Eyrik said amiably, leaning back in his chair, the posture drawing his shirt taut across the muscles of his torso, “we are governed by laws different to those you know, here.”

  Wynett frowned and Eyrik was instantly attentive, leaning forward, his elbows on the table, his eyes fixed on hers. “What may seem a long time to you may be no time at all in the outside world. Or vice versa. It may be that Kedryn comes tomorrow, though that may be long weeks for him; or his tomorrow may be your year—I cannot tell.”

  “Can you not return me?” she asked, as calmly as she was able.

  Eyrik went on smiling as he shook his head. “That I may not do. I am not omnipotent.”

  Wynett found a napkin and dabbed at her mouth. “What are you then?” she wondered.

  “Not so different from you,” he said, a hint of melancholy impinging on his smile. “You might call me another lost soul.”

  “That does not answer my question.”

  “No.” He shook his head, his expression serious again. “It does not, but it is an honest answer. Once I was much as you, but ... fate . . . decreed that I should come to this place, and that I should not leave it. So here I remain, alone.”

  He sighed as if describing a destiny regretted, then brightened again, adding, “But let us speak of more cheerful matters. Your chambers are to your liking?”

  “They are are magnificent,” Wynett told him, “though I cannot understand them.”

  Eyrik chuckled, and as his head tilted back she saw that flecks of gold danced in the brown of his eyes, tiny motes of brilliance. “You will grow accustomed to them,” he assured her. “At first they are a mite bewildering, but—remember—different laws apply here. Now, if you are replete, shall we explore a little? It would give me great pleasure to show you something of my domain.”

  Without awaiting a reply he stood up. Wynett saw that he was taller than Kedryn, and although she could not put a precise age on his unlined features, she guessed that he was older. He extended a hand and she found herself, unthinking, accepting it, allowing him to bring her to her feet. Still holding her hand, he set it on his arm, gallant as any courtier as he led her out from the arbor to the center of the courtyard. He paused beside the fountain and she saw that fishes swam in the surrounding bowl, sleek shapes of gold and red and blue, circling endlessly in the translucent liquid that spilled from the upper ornamentation, the sound like faraway cymbals carried on the breeze. Designs were carved in the basalt, but she could not make them out, the combination of shallow indentations and sunlight defeating her scrutiny. Eyrik dabbled a casual hand in the water and the fishes scattered.

  “Poor, timid things,” he murmured. “Come.”

  Wynett found further questions rise to her lips, but something about Eyrik’s manner forestalled them. He seemed so excited at the prospect of escorting her about his palace, which was, she decided, the only word, that they died stillborn in the face of his enthusiasm and the fabulous place was sufficient in itself to dazzle her senses so that she remained mute as he thrust open a door that appeared to be carved from a single slab of green-veined marble and ushered her into the hall beyond.

  Windows filled three walls, high, narrow bays terminating in pointed arches, the glass in each of a different color so that the room was filled with rainbow light. The floor was of the same reseda marble as the door, and like the portal appeared to consist of a single vast slab. A walled fire-pit stood at the center, above it a silver chimney cone suspended on fragile silver chains from a roof arched with sweeping beams of dark wood. Circular tables inlaid with mosaic patterns stood about the chamber, three high-backed golden chairs placed about each one. Wynett stared at the windows and said softly, “It cannot be.”

  “But it is,” said Eyrik. “Here anything can be.”

  Wynett dragged her gaze from the fantastic hall to study his face, framing a question, but he smiled and took her across the floor, the pavonine light transforming him to a thing of pure color, as if the rainbow iridescence took form and walked, the multihued brilliance become substance. It assaulted her senses, dizzying her, for it seemed she walked not on material stuff but on air, moving as did the fishes in the basalt pool of the fountain, and she found herself clinging to his supportive arm, needing that contact lest she float away, or fell, and be trapped forever in that whirling, mind-numbing spectrum.

  His arm was strong, hard-tendoned beneath the fine material of his shirt, and he strode across the floor as though the cataclysmic aurora had no effect upon him. Wynett was grateful when he thrust open a second door and brought her into a quieter room, pausing again so that she might survey it. She realized she was breathing hard, as though the mad patterning of the rainbow hall leeched air from her lungs, and she staggered.

  “I am sorry.” He was solicitous again, his arm encircling her. “I forget how dazzling that hall can be.”

  Wynett leaned against him, imposing calm on her disordered senses, barely aware that he held her, or that she rested against his tall frame. When that realization dawned upon her she straightened, finding her own feet, and his arm fell from her shoulders.

  “Mayhap this is more to your liking?”

  She nodded silently. The room was smaller, the floor tiled in blue, the walls white, a simple hearth set to one side, a long settle before it. There was a plain oaken table and twelve high chairs at the center, as though the chamber were a dining room in some rural hold or rustic ostlery, that impression heightened by the unadorned benches that sat against the walls. Though not by the windows, for while they were of plain design, simple casements set within rectangular embrasures, they existed where no windows could, again on three walls that, physically, must be interior because Eyrik led her through the chamber to another door, of solid oak like the furniture, and into yet another room.

  Now she found herself staring at a vast, high-vaulted chamber that looked to be carved from living rock. The floor was blue-black stone, smooth and curved upward into the walls as if the whole space had been scooped from a mountainside. There were no windows, the only illumination coming from long lines of dull golden sconces set in serried ranks along the cavernous abutments, each one containing a thick yellow candle that burned with a clear, bright flame that was reflected back from the rock so that fulvous light filled the place. She could not see the roof, for the upper part of the chamber was lost in shadow, though it occurred to her that it must be higher than the stairway she had descended from the balcony, and that each of the rooms was higher than those she had occupied and so must—should —extend beyond the upper levels. The concept defied logical explanation, the dimensions of this unreal place seeming ungovemed by physical limitations, and she felt her head reel afresh, assailed by the sheer impossibilities she experienced.

  She felt Eyrik’s hand upon her elbow, urging her forward, and allowed him to steer her into the weird, candle-lit sanctum.

  It was empty of any furniture save a single massy seat, more throne than chair, that bulked from the floor toward the farther end. Like the walls, it appeared to be one fabric with the cavernous chamber, raised on three broad steps, seamless, the back high, the arms ponderous. Unlike the walls and floor, however, it seemed to reflect no light, for while it was of that same blue-black stone it appeared to sit in a darkness of its own, ominous in its huge solidity. Eyrik paused before it, but when Wynett offered no comment, nor made any move toward it, he led her on, past, to a door cut so artfully into the rock that it was invisible until he swung it open.

  Wynett looked through to sunlight, seeing the lawns spread before her, and wondered why none of that light entered the chamber. Eyrik bowed, beckoning her on and she passed thankfully into the open air, relieved to find herself once more surrounded by comprehensible sights, the apparent normality of the vista reassuring.

  The grass was springy beneath her feet, the sun warm on her face, a breeze refreshing as it rustled her hair. She heard birds singing and the brook she had seen babbling, she could smell apple blossom and when she looked up the sky was a perfect blue, great swells of white cloud spread majestically along the horizon.

  “Shall we walk?” Eyrik asked. “A little of this place can, I know, be daunting.”

  “Aye,” Wynett agreed, answering both his question and his statement.

  “You will grow accustomed to it,” he smiled. Then added quickly, “Until Kedryn comes.”

  “Are you?” she inquired, confidence returning a little now that she stood in surroundings she could understand.

  “Oh, I have had ample time to grow familiar with all this strangeness,” he said cheerfully, offering his arm again.

  Wynett ignored it, which seemed not to offend him, for he simply proceeded across the lawns toward the stream, smiling broadly.

  “How long have you been here?” she asked.

  “I forget,” he said, shrugging. “Mayhap forever.' Time has little meaning here, remember. It is no more important than space, and you have seen how limitless that is.”

  “Aye,” Wynett nodded, thinking of the rooms. “Are you alone?”

  “Not now.” He moved in front of her, his smile wide and white, laughter in his eyes as he exaggerated a bow. “Now that you are here I have all the company a man could want.”

  His smile, his manner, something in his look, rendered logical thought difficult. Wynett experienced a sensation similar to that feeling of helpless floating, her concentration evaporating. She steeled herself to retain the thread of her thoughts. “Are you a man?” she wondered.

  “What else do you think me?” he rejoined, something of his earlier bantering manner returning.

  “I am not sure,” she said honestly.

  “Observe me,” he urged. “Do I not speak as a man? Walk as a man? Do I not have arms and legs, a head, a torso? Other parts? Would you prick me to see if red blood flows in my veins?”

  “I do not wish to see your blood,” she said, somewhat nervously.

  Eyrik laughed, shaking his head, and took her hand, drawing her toward the stream. “Wynett, Wynett, you must learn to trust me. Did I not save you from the leviathan? Have I not promised to do my utmost to reunite you with Kedryn?”

  “You have so promised,” she allowed.

  “Then believe me,” he said earnestly. “And believe in me. All will become clear as time passes.”

  Wynett would have spoken more but they had reached the stream and Eyrik indicated the stepping stones that spanned the burbling freshet, saying, “Be careful, the water is deeper than it seems.”

  She looked down, seeing what appeared no more than a pleasant brook, the bottom sandy, streamed with green weeds, the flitting silver shapes of fishes coursing the race.

  “Shall I carry you across?” he asked, his voice innocent.

  “Thank you, no.” Wynett shook her head, feeling an abrupt surge of alarm at the prospect of being held in those solid arms. “I believe I may safely cross unaided.”