And Wynett, Gerat thought, she was committed to the way of the Lady, dedicated to the celibacy that ensured the continuance of her healing talent, yet she had gone willingly into the Beltrevan with Kedryn. Gone farther with him, into the regions of the netherworld, where together they had won back his sight and Wynett had seen her destiny lay not in sole duty to the Lady, but in love of Kedryn. Without that choice made they would not have celebrated the love that bound them, uniting the two parts of Kyrie’s talisman that it might stand against the power of Ashar’s Messenger and overcome his magics to restore unity to the Kingdoms.

  All those choices had been made and the Messenger defeated, Ashar’s workings thwarted that peace might reign, the Kingdoms secure.

  Is it then, Gerat wondered, ended? Is the Text fulfilled? She relinquished her touch on the book and rose to cross the small chamber to the closest window, raising eyes of a startlingly clear blue to the sky. Larks swooped there, pursuing the insectile bounty the warmth of spring raised above the city, darting shapes against the heat-hazed heavens. Far, far off the Gadrizels were a blur across the eastern horizon, darkening even as she watched as the sun continued its westerly path toward its setting. She let her gaze move slowly over the plain that ran from the foothills of the mountain range to the walls of the city, seeing less with her eyes than with her inner knowledge the burgeoning pasture iands and the farms that dotted the fertile champaign. The senses that had made her Paramount Sister welcomed the emotions she felt emanating from those simple homesteads where farmers were content to till their fields and husband their animals, yielding slowly as her eyes moved closer, looking down to encompass the rooftops and avenues of the city men called sacred, to the busier emotions of the inhabitants. Here she could feel the pleasure of merchants at a fair-struck bargain, and the delight of clients in their purchases; the anticipation of good food prepared in a comfortable home; the warmth of companionship; above all, the peace that was an aura of almost physical intensity about the central buildings of the Sisterhood, the very core of Estrevan, the focal point of the city’s growth and being.

  Perhaps, she mused, we have too much peace. Perhaps we live too far from the daily workings of the Kingdoms. Yet Sisters inhabited Tamur and Kesh and Ust-Galich, teachers and hospitalers, those gifted with the sending powers and the farsight, the prognosticators. Bethany governed the college in Andurel, and in all the towns of the Kingdoms there were others bringing Kyrie’s Word and the succor of their individual talents, and through them Estrevan was made aware of the worldly happenings of mankind. And was it not important that one place should stand apart? A place where those who sought it might find peace? They did not have to come—that, too, was a choice made freely, both by those laymen and women who came, and by those who sought to develop latent talents in service of the Lady. Without them—without the tranquillity Estrevan bestowed—would it have been possible to interpret Alaria’s Text? To inform those needed in the Kingdom’s defense of the choices that lay before them? Without Estrevan would the Messenger have been defeated?

  Perhaps I ponder overmuch, she told herself. What is done is done and cannot be turned back; Taws is gone and Kedryn wed to Wynett, as best I know hailed king. Young, admittedly, but of unquestionable integrity, and gifted with wisdom. He has Wynett to advise him, and his father, too, and Bedyr Caitin is a good man. And I have done all I can to see the way Alaria foretold and guide his steps along that path.

  So why, she asked herself as she turned from the window to look westward to a sun preparing to go down in a blaze of golden glory, do these nagging doubts linger still?

  Why am I not sure it has ended?

  Chapter One

  Kedryn Caitin, Prince of Tamur and ruler-elect of the Three Kingdoms, stared moodily from a tower of the White Palace over the lawns surrounding the monarch’s residence to the rooftops of Andurel. Set as it was atop a hill, the palace commanded the finest view possible of the island city, and the height of the tower on which he stood granted him a perspective few save the birds wheeling overhead might enjoy. To the south, looking past the cascades that foamed and rumbled down steep steps of time-carved stone, he could discern the borders of Ust-Galich; to the northeast, beyond the Vortigen, the sweeping grasslands of Kesh; northwest lay his homeland of Tamur, separated from Kesh by the great sun-silvered ribbon of the Idre. He could discern boats upon the waterway, fishing craft and ferries and traders, and when he turned his gaze around to the southwest he could see the last remnants of the Galichian army winding antlike in the distance down the portage that ran alongside the cascades. Below him the city spread in jewel-like brilliance over the slopes of the eyots that afforded it support, as if it sprang from the surface of the river herself, webworks of bridges arching between the juts of stone, the roofs of varicolored die reflecting the early morning sun in myriad hues, the parks and gardens budding green with the promise of spring, crocuses and snowdrops splashing the lawns with bright colors, the avenues like arteries spreading from the heart that was the White Palace.

  A heart that must beat to the drumming of a king, the cadence held by the man who occupied the High Throne, resident in this wondrous place.

  His eyes turned again to the western banks of the Idre, toward Tamur, misty at this early hour, and his heart swelled with love of that hardy land, and the fear that he might not again know her. The wind coming o£F the river swept strands of long brown hair across his face and he reached to push them clear, aware that his eyes moistened and not sure whether that was caused by the breeze or the inevitability that sat heavy on his soul.

  Below him he could hear the shouts of the masons repairing the throne room ravaged by the magical duel with Taws, the pounding of their hammers and the steady creaking of the windlasses reminding him of those same sounds in High Fort, after the defeat of the Horde, that memory in turn bringing more, a sense of time rushing, bearing him forward as helplessly as a twig carried on the race of a floodtide. It seemed so short a time since he had ridden out from Caitin Hold a boy, not yet blooded, eager to face barbarian blades and win his manhood, and now he stood atop the palace the folk of the Kingdoms assumed was his, expecting him to take the medallion worn by poor, dead Darr and govern them. They awaited his coronation, he knew, for he was wedded to Darr’s elder daughter and he was the Chosen One, he had banished Taws, and Hattim Sethiyan was dead, and all declared him the rightful heir to the High Throne. His father, Bedyr, and his mother, Yrla, both voiced their support, as did Jarl of Kesh, even the Galichians, now repentant of their dead lord’s usurpation. All seemed confident of his ability to assume the medallion of regal office; all save him.

  He stared across the rooftops to the harbor area, knowing that Galen Sadreth’s Vashti lay at anchor there, and wondered if the bluff river captain would agree to take him on board and bring him home again to Tamur, or lend his voice to the chorus that proclaimed him bound by right and duty to accept the throne. It seemed they could none of them see any other choice for him, not his parents or his closest friends. Tepshen Lahl, whose council he had valued since first the ageless easterner had versed him in swordcraft, spoke of obligations that could not be avoided; Brannoc, in whose wolf’s-head love of freedom he had hoped to find a sympathetic ear, could only shrug and say that he saw no other choice. Even Wynett lent her support, pointing out that the occupant of the High Throne unified the Kingdoms and that without a king they must again descend into chaos, and as he had fought so hard to prevent that very disruption how could he now turn his back.

  Yet he doubted his ability to assume such responsibility. Tamur, yes, he could govern that kingdom in the fullness of time, when Bedyr finally went to join their ancestors, but that was long years off and he would have time to grow into the role, time to learn the arts of governance, to learn from his hither. And Tamur was but one kingdom. To assume the leadership of the Three Kingdoms was a task so vast it frightened him as no physical threat could. He did not, no matter what was said of him, consider himself a diplomat, and whoever sat in the White Palace must be that above all else. To juggle the interests of Tamur and Kesh and Ust-Galich, to balance the desires of three lords, to avoid offense or favoritism, that was a task to try any man. It was little wonder Darr had seemed so aged, his hair grayed before its time, with that great weight of cares upon him every day.

  He sniffed, scenting the many perfumes of Andurel, bread hot from the ovens, and fish, grass becoming lush now that the sun shone strong, the flinty odor of stone new-cut, horse smells from the stables below, die oil of tended weapons, and the scents mingled with the panorama below him and reminded him that he must soon decide . . . what? What choice did he really have? Could he refuse the medallion, leave the Kingdoms to find a new monarch? Watch petty rivalries spring up, perhaps to erupt into civil war?

  No, said the voice of his conscience, sounding like Bedyr and Tepshen and Wynett, Yrla and Brannoc and Jarl. You were prepared to give your life for the Kingdoms when you thought that meant only dying, now it means living and you must still give it.

  Living here, he thought, bound to Andurel as surely as any prisoner is bound to his cell. Living daily with the endless problems of governance. Living not my life, but the king’s, living as a symbol.

  He shuddered at the thought and at the seemingly inevitable fete decreed for him, reaching unconsciously for the blue stone hung about his neck as apology and blasphemous anger at the destiny the Lady imposed upon him mingled in his troubled mind.

  That stone, Kyrie’s talisman, had brought him here, for without it he could not have survived the descent into the netherworld, or defeated Taws; not without that and Wynett, who wore the other half. Without it he would have remained blinded by the ensorcelled sword that took his sight; would have died at Taws’s hand. Without it, Wynett might not have come to that decision for which he was so grateful, and thence to his bed and her place as his wife. And yet, for all those reasons, it was the talisman that placed him here, now, staring over the land that expected him to rule it.

  And as he touched it calm descended upon him. His anguish faded, a clarity of perception wiping the frown from his handsome features, replacing the dour set of his wide mouth with a smile. He nodded to the sky, seeing in a flash of comprehension a path he might successfully take, a path that would be for the lasting benefit of the Three Kingdoms, and also one that would satisfy him.

  It was not yet absolutely clear—he would need to ponder it a while, prepare it for presentation, consider all the arguments against it and the responses he would make to those arguments—but it was there, revealing itself to him just as the Idre became clearer as the sun burned off the last of the morning mist, and his smile grew broader as he perceived the first steps along that route.

  “You seem mightily pleased.”

  He turned at the sound of Wynett’s voice, seeing her emerge from the little roundhouse that granted egress to the tower. Her hair blew loose in the wind, gold as the sun itself, and the cornflower blue of her eyes shone bright as she studied him. His eyes drank in the sight of her, delighting in the way the soft, blue overrobe she wore outlined the supple contours of her body, then saw her shiver in the early morning chill and opened his arms that she might draw close, folding his heavier robe about her as she leaned back against him and he buried his face in her hair, luxuriating in the sweet, beloved scent of it.

  “I am,” he said softly, then laughed, hugging her, saying again, louder, “I am.”

  Wynett craned her head back to brush lips against his cheek, feeling the stubble of his unshaved beard, pleased at this change of heart, for during the past few days she had grown concerned for the man she loved. “Do you share it?” she murmured.

  Kedryn loosened his grip upon her to touch the stone she wore between the swell of her breasts, smiling still as he said, “The Lady works in mysterious ways.”

  “Indeed?” Wynett’s tone mocked surprise. “And I, so long sworn to her service, had not realized that. Did you rise so early to consider these weighty matters?”

  Kedryn laughed, bussing her gently on the neck. “I could not sleep,” he murmured, “for thinking of what is expected of me.”

  Wynett’s smile stilled a fraction and she reached to take his hands, cupping them. “Is it so hard to accept? I am resolved to it.”

  “You were bom a king’s daughter.” Kedryn’s voice grew solemn, though his smile became mischievous. “And you chose servitude to the Lady. I was bom a mere prince and thought to live out my days as little more; this notion of kingship sits heavy on my shoulders.”

  “They are broad enough.” Wynett’s fingers traced the outline of his biceps, squeezing gently at the hard muscle. “And I accepted a life other than the one 1 expected. Can you not do the same?”

  Kedryn drew her closer, holding her that she could not turn to see the amusement in his eyes as he said solemnly, “I am accustomed to the open places of Tamur, not the walls of a palace. Have I not done my duty by the Lady that I may enjoy freedom? Are we to be confined in Andurel, unable to go where we would?”

  “There is none other the Kingdoms will accept as monarch,” Wynett retorted, voicing an argument he knew he would hear again, for he had already heard it so many times before. “By birthright and marriage right; by what you have done, you have earned the throne. Who else might take it?”

  “Jarl’s Kemm?” he asked innocently.

  Wynett snorted. “Kemm is a good man, but not even his own father considers him a suitable candidate to the High Throne. No, my love, there is none other.”

  “What if I were to refuse?” he asked in the same ingenuous tone.

  “You cannot!” Wynett pinched his forearm. “Would you plunge this land of ours back into chaos? The Kingdoms must have a king, and you are the only candidate acceptable to all.”

  “Why?” he asked bluntly. “Why must there be a king?”

  Wynett wriggled in “his arms then, forcing him to loose his grip enough that she could turn to face him, looking into eyes that he rapidly made earnest, though not without some effort.

  “Do you jest with me? The king symbolizes the unity of the Three Kingdoms, binding them that they act in concert. Think back, Kedryn! When the Horde was raised what might have happened had you not slain Niloc Yarrum and the woodlanders come down through the Lozin Gate to find not the massed armies of the Kingdoms, but only Tamur, or Tamur and Kesh? What if Ust-Galich had refused to fight? Without a king in the White Palace that might have happened! Without a king in Andurel the Kingdoms are no more than three fiefdoms, each separate, going about their own business, isolated, and so prey to outside influence.

  “Corwyn saw that when he imposed unity on the warring territories, and every king since has seen it. A king is needed!”

  Kedryn could no longer keep the merriment from his eyes and smiled at her, cupping her face as streamers of blond hair caressed his cheeks, feeling his love for her swell as that calm that emanated from the talisman filled him.

  “You speak as my father speaks,” he said. “And my mother. And Jarl. And Tepshen. Even Sister Bethany has said as much.”

  “Because it is the truth,” Wynett insisted.

  “It is the truth that without the unity imposed by Andurel— by the White Palace—the Kingdoms might well fall back into chaos,” he agreed. “But what power does the king really have? He is little more than a symbol and his wishes may be opposed by the lords of the Kingdoms—your father was loath to command Hattim Sethiyan to war for fear he might refuse. Hattim was hungry for the throne not because he sought the good of the Kingdoms, but from vanity, pride, a lust for power, a desire to aggrandize Ust-Galich.”

  “Hattim was a vain and prideful man,” Wynett countered, frowning now at the smile Kedryn wore, the disparity between his earnest tone and merry expression confusing her. “You are not like him.”

  “No,” Kedryn allowed, “but after we are dead, what then? Shall princes vie for the hand of our eldest daughter? Shall ambitions rise again? The Kingdoms want me, now, because some quirk of fate set me in die right place at the right time; because 1—with you beside me—was able to defeat Taws. When I am dead, who shall succeed me?”

  “Is it such morbid thought that caused you such pleasure?” Wynett’s eyes narrowed, the blue clouding. “When I found you here you were smiling as though all cares were gone. I had thought you resolved to acceptance.”

  Kedryn stroked her cheeks, smooth beneath his touch, his own face becoming serious. “I looked out at all this,” he said, one arm sweeping out to encompass the panorama below them, “and I felt dread. As a songbird seeing a cage open before it must feel dread. I wondered what it was the Lady had brought me to, and then I touched this.” His hand clasped the talisman again. “This stone that brought us together, and banished Taws, and brought me here, and I felt. . . calm. I saw a way.” He paused, frowning afresh, not yet quite sure how to put into words what had come to him in that moment of revelation. Wynett waited, confident of both her husband and the stone’s power.

  “You speak of unity,” he went on at last, “as does my father, and all those I trust. You say there must be some central symbol to which the Three Kingdoms may look for guidance; some power of government in Andurel.”

  “Aye,” murmured his wife as he paused again, marshaling his thoughts.

  “And I agree,” Kedryn continued, “but whilst that symbol is one man—the occupant of the White Palace—the opportunity for ambition exists. Darr was a fair man, but Hattim was not; and had Hattim retained the throne, even without Taws’s aid, he might well have wrought immense harm to Tamur and Kesh, to the Kingdoms. One man might impose his own unity on the Kingdoms, rendering them not free domains, but his personal fiefdom. He might establish an empire such as Tepshen speaks of in his homeland.”