There was no longer any point to consulting the oracular pool. Either because it would show, no matter what, the many strands of possibility that opened before Kedryn, or because it was manipulated by Eyrik. To what purpose she was not sure, nor even that he did create the images she had seen; but she did see, clearly, that to consult the pool again was to court a pessimism bordering on madness. Yet without the pool she could have no knowledge of Kedryn; could not know—save through faith now rendered blind—that he sought her, or how he fared; whether he lived or died.

  The mind-numbing sensation of absolute loneliness that had assailed her on the roof of the palace descended again. Without the pool she was totally in Eyrik’s hands, and without trust in his goodwill she was alone as she had never been. There existed only the unswerving belief that Kedryn would seek her, and the tenets of her faith.

  She fixed her mind on those bedrocks . . . and found them shaken by the very disciplines from which she sought succor, for Estrevan taught a sometimes uncomfortable pragmatism that forced her to consider all the possibilities, regardless of her emotions. Kedryn would seek her, but to find her he must enter the netherworld and, presumably, surmount the hideous dangers she had seen revealed: his death was a possibility she could not ignore. If he should die questing for her she was trapped, condemned to live out her life here in this fabulous—and now menacing—palace, alone with Eyrik. The Lady was with her, of that she was confident, but less so of Kyrie’s power to intervene directly. Her spirit, while she maintained her faith, was secure, but her flesh, too, was real, and it crept at the notion of remaining, perhaps forever, in this place. The talisman likely protected her from direct harm, but now it could not stave off that creeping tide of insidious doubt. All she had left were her faith and the flickering spark of hope that Kedryn, himself protected, should win through to save her. Unless, that coldly logical part of her mentality she had summoned told her, she placed her trust in Eyrik, and that, she felt, she could not do.

  Ergo, she was alone.

  She must rely on whatever guidance the Lady could give her and her own wit. It was a daunting prospect, and one that allowed her little initiative, for it seemed that she could do nothing but await whatever might develop, reacting to Eyrik’s suggestions, the gambits in the strange game played by him.

  She opened her eyes and rose, smoothing a gown she realized for the first time was soaked over her thighs. It did not seem that she had achieved much, other than an elimination of certain aspects, but she felt more calm, and gripped by a resolve she would not allow to be swayed. Practically, she decided that she would return to her rooms and assuage her spirits with the simple comforts of hot water and dry clothing. Without a further glance at the pool she quit the chamber and found her way through the sodden atrium to the stairs.

  Inside, the chambers were all light and airy comfort. They emanated a sense of casual luxury, of security. The rain still fell beyond the windows, but the interior was dry and refreshingly cool, the withered flowers gone, replaced with fresh bouquets that imparted a delightful perfume to the air. Kindling was laid in the fireplace, with tapers and a tinderbox beside, but the thought of fire brought thoughts of Ashar and she ignored the hearth, turning to bolt the door behind her before unfastening her gown and removing her undergarments. She went to the alcove and spun the golden faucets, hot water steaming instantly into the ornate tub. She watched it fill, the rising water reminding her of the pool, and eased beneath the surface with a sigh. Stretching out, she let her head rest against the rim, concentrating on the purely physical pleasure of the bath.

  Its warmth made her drowsy and she rubbed her body with smooth soap that gave off the scent of sandalwood, then sought the refreshment of cold water before rising to towel herself dry. She rubbed at her hair and, still naked, settled before the mirror to brush it, the drowsy feeling lingering, so that when she was satisfied she ignored the wardrobe and climbed instead into the tempting comfort of the bed. Closing one hand about the talisman she drifted into welcome sleep.

  She woke with a start, aware of a presence in the room, panic erupting for an instant so that she gasped as her eyes focused to reveal Eyrik standing beside the bed, a tray of black lacquer in his hands.

  He smiled a mixture of amusement and apology and said, “Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you.”

  Wynett stared at him, realizing that she was naked, and drew the sheets demurely to her chin before easing to a sitting position against the pillows. Eyrik’s gold-flecked eyes passed briefly over the contours delineated by the sheet and he set the tray across her thighs.

  “You did not appear at dinner, so I presumed to bring you food.”

  He gestured at the tray and Wynett saw that it held platters of meat, salvers of vegetables, a selection of fruit and cheeses, a carafe and two glasses. Her stomach registered the savory odors but she ignored the temptation to eat, her gaze fixed on Eyrik.

  His glossy hair was held back from his handsome face by a thin gold band that mirrored the flecks in his brown eyes. He wore a loose surcoat of white held at the waist by a belt of golden metal, his shirt and breeks maroon, white boots on his feet. His resemblance to Kedryn seemed increased. His smile was easy as he added, “Are you not hungry?”

  “How did you enter?” she asked.

  “Forgive my presumption in intruding.” Hie ducked his head in apology. “But I was concerned for you.”

  “How did you enter?” she repeated, a hand reaching beneath the concealing sheet to clutch the talisman.

  Eyrik shrugged. “The door was unbolted. I knocked, but when there was no answer I thought to leave the tray for you—you awoke before I could depart.”

  Wynett frowned. Had she not bolted the door? Aye, she was certain she had. Therefore bolts afforded him no obstacle. She thought for an instant to challenge him on it, but then thought better of it and turned her eyes to the food.

  ‘Thank you."

  She had hoped he would leave, but he showed no sign of departing, gesturing instead at the bed and saying, “May I sit?” Not giving her time to reply, but settling at the foot, smiling pleasantly.

  “I believe the rain will cease soon. It is horribly depressing, is it not?”

  Wynett nodded, conscious of his weight tugging at the sheets and of her own nudity.

  “Please.” He gestured at the tray. “Will you not eat? I would not see you starve yourself.”

  “I ... ” She held the sheet firmly, “I am undressed.”

  The flecks in his eyes seemed to shift, and she read admiration in his gaze as they traveled from her face to her exposed shoulders, but then his smile became grave and he rose, apologetic again.

  “May I bring you a gown? I would talk with you—I confess to feeling somewhat guilty at leaving you alone so long.”

  He moved as he spoke, the words overcoming any opposition she might have offered, going to the outer chamber, to the wardrobes, from which he took a dressing gown of maroon silk that exactly matched his shirt and breeks. He returned, spreading it across the bed, and removed himself once more to the antechamber, closing the door behind him. Wynett saw that he would not be deterred and lifted the tray clear, jumping from the bed to swiftly don the gown. Her sense of vulnerability was mildly assuaged by the texture of the silk against her skin, though the decolletage was greater than she would have chosen and the silk was very sheer. It was a gown she might have worn for Kedryn, but not in the presence of any other man. She regained the bed, seeking the additional barrier of the sheets, as Eyrik called, "May I enter?”

  Feeling that she had little choice she replied in the affirmative and he entered again, resuming his seat at the bed’s foot. Wynett nibbled on roasted veal, as much to conceal her nervousness as from hunger.

  "Some wine?”

  Eyrik lifted the carafe, filling both glasses, the movement bringing his face close to hers. Wynett forked a vegetable, disturbed by his proximity, sensing a subtle change in his attitude. She found it hard to define, but he appeared more confident, his solicitude now less diffident, more assertive. He raised the goblet, savoring the bouquet, then took a mouthful and sighed.

  “Excellent. Will you not taste it?”

  She raised her own glass, taking a small sip. It was, indeed, as he described it, light and mildly effervescent, tingling her palate as she swallowed.

  “What drove you to retirement?” he wondered; and Wynett debated whether the question was so innocent as it appeared, or if he knew the answer. If he did manipulate the pool, then the latter.

  She said, “I was fatigued.” There seemed no point to concealing her activities, so she added, “I went to the pool.”

  Eyrik’s finely arched brows rose questioningly. “And did you apply the talisman as I suggested?”

  Wynett nodded.

  “Am I to assume from that doleful mien that the results were not to your liking?”

  There was nothing in his tone to suggest duplicity; rather, his face assumed an expression of concern.

  “Aye,” she said, “they were not.”

  “What did you see?”

  “Do you not know?” She surprised herself with the question, not sure from whence it sprang, but now experiencing a degree of irritation that she sought rapidly to conceal.

  “How should I?” His eyes narrowed, the gold flecks dancing against the brown, furrows marking his brow as he frowned: an expression of uncomprehending innocence. “The pool shows what it shows. I have no control over its revelations.”

  Wynett raised her glass, seeking a moment in which to order her thoughts. She had no wish to reveal her suspicions, nor to anger him. “I thought perhaps,” she said carefully, “that you were aware of them.”

  Eyrik shook his head. “How could I be? I was not there.”

  Wynett shrugged. “Forgive me, I am confused by what I saw.”

  “Which was?” he prompted.

  “Alternatives, as before.”

  “The talisman did not impose a singular reality?” His frown grew deeper, his eyes thoughtful.

  “It did not,” she said when she realized he waited for a response.

  “Then I was wrong.” He shook his head, his tone grown mournful. One hand reached out to touch her arm in a gesture imbued with sympathy. “I am sorry, Wynett. I was convinced the stone must work as I had thought.”

  He shook his head again, removing his hand from her arm to cup it about his glass. So troubled was his gaze she wondered if her suspicions were misguided, her doubts unfounded.

  “What did you see?” he asked.

  “Many things,” she replied. “Some horrible, some incomprehensible. Alternative overlaid alternative until there was only confusion.”

  “My dear!” He clutched her arm again, radiating distressed concern. “I am sorry—I had truly believed the talisman would show you the true reality, but obviously I was wrong.” His frown grew deeper, his grip a fraction stronger, as though he sought to impart comfort from the touch, his voice dropping to a murmur as he said, “Mayhap its power is weakened here.”

  “How should that be?” she asked nervously, reaching for the carafe, less from any desire for the wine than the need to remove his hand.

  He shrugged, leaning slightly forward as if in thought, looking first down at the glass he held, then up again at her face. “We occupy a curious realm—as you already know. The power that imbues the talisman is great in the natural world, but here we exist surrounded by Ashar’s magics. Mayhap that power reduces the strength of the talisman. The Lady’s domain is that world you know, not the realms of the netherworld, and perchance her puissance is overwhelmed by Ashar’s might.”

  He voiced the very fears Wynett had felt as she considered her situation and his pronouncement filled her with dread. She willed hands that threatened to tremble to stillness, the food she ate become tasteless in her mouth. She swallowed and lifted her glass to her lips, drinking deeper this time.

  “But that does not mean hope is lost,” Eyrik declared, surprising her. “It means simply that the pool must continue to show all that is possible.”

  “I shall not consult it again,” Wynett declared firmly.

  Eyrik nodded as if in sympathy: “If it reduces you to such dolor I may only applaud that decision. And seek some other means by which you may obtain news of Kedryn.”

  “Is there another way?” she asked, hope rising again despite all her doubts.

  “Perhaps.” Eyrik straightened, his face solemn as he stared at her, something in his eyes that she could not read.

  It occurred to her, obliquely, that the disciplines of Estrevan were of little help where he was concerned. For all that she had surrendered those gifts folk considered magical with her celibacy, she still retained many of the aptitudes instilled by the Sisterhood, among them that ability to read expressions, body movements, to see past words to the truth implicit in the muscles and the skin, the movement of the eyes, the sheen of sweat, but that talent was useless where Eyrik was concerned. She could not read him; she could see only the face he chose to present to her. Or did she take too complex a view? Was that face true?

  “Perhaps?” she prompted when he fell silent.

  He nodded again, hesitantly, apparently unsure of himself, or unwilling to reveal his thoughts.

  “It may not be a means much to your liking,” he said at last.

  “How can it not be if it allows me news of Kedryn?” she asked.

  “Because it would involve the use of the talisman,” he said quietly.

  Wynett bit back the negative that sprang to her lips, wondering if some verbal trap was laid. Eyrik appeared devoid of guile, his face serious as he studied her, troubled even, as though he feared her reaction. He wore, as ever, the semblance of a man intent only on aiding her, anxious to help and wary of giving offense. If he did prepare some snare, it was subtly layed: she craved knowledge of Kedryn, and to refuse out of hand was to both deny herself that knowledge and imply mistrust of Eyrik.

  “How so?” she prevaricated. “You suggest the talisman’s strength is weakened here, so how might it be used?”

  Eyrik shrugged, the motion rustling the soft material of his surcoat. “It is a complicated thing,” he said, “involving certain cantrips and apparatus of my own devising. If the talisman was unable to impose order on the pool then it is, undoubtedly, weaker here, but still not without power. Mayhap that power is become limited by the nature of our surroundings, but mayhap, also, I can enhance its strength.”

  ‘To what end?” she asked, a hand curling instinctively about the jewel.

  “I believe that I may establish a beacon,” he replied in an earnest tone, leaning forward again as though to impress his words the more forcefully upon her. “I believe that I am able to augment the magic of the stone so that it will guide Kedryn here. That is what has occupied me of late—the reason I have neglected my duties as host. I should not have left so lovely a guest alone had I not been anxious to satisfy your heart’s desire! Today, however, I set the final touches to the machineries necessary to my purpose and all is ready. Only the talisman is needed to complete the cycle.”

  “And it will guide Kedryn to this place?” she wondered.

  “Aye, so I believe,” nodded Eyrik, grinning as though proud of what he had accomplished on her behalf. “His part of the stone will respond to the clarion I broadcast and he will be guided through the intricate layers of the netherworld.”

  “And when he comes?” Wynett felt excitement flutter, quickening her heartbeat, optimism threatening to overwhelm caution.

  “Then the two halves of the talisman will be joined,” Eyrik responded eagerly, his smile prompting her to share his excitement. “And joined, the power of the stone will be magnified. Was it not so when you faced the Messenger in the White Palace?”

  Wynett nodded agreement, remembering that terrible duel, when the strength of the stone had seemed to possess her, guiding her, guiding Kedryn, that together they were able to overcome the awesome power of Ashar’s minion.

  “Thus enhanced it will, I am confident, open an avenue of escape,” he continued. “We shall all be free.”

  “We?” Wynett enquired. “Would you, too, leave this place?” Eyrik’s smiled faded, his features rearranging in serious lines as he ducked his head. “I am no less a prisoner than you, my dear. I would walk the byways of the Kingdoms freely, without hindrance. I grow tired of my confinement.”

  His eyes flashed with exhilaration, as if the very thought transported him. Wynett studied him cautiously, seeing only excitement, wondering if some deeper emotion she could not read lay behind it.

  “How should this be accomplished?” she asked.

  His free became serious again and he said, “I should need to employ the talisman, as I told you.”

  “You ask that I remove it?”

  He nodded, seeming nervous now.

  “You know that such action is forsworn.”

  Eyrik raised his hands palms upward, spreading long fingers in a gesture of helplessness. “There is no other way. I have constructed certain devices that will work in concert with my cantrips to establish the beacon. Without the talisman they are useless, yet their design is such that the stone must be removed from your neck.”

  “I cannot,” she said, shaking her head. “I am sworn.”

  “Surely by vows taken without cognizance of your present fate,” he murmured.

  “Taken in good faith,” Wynett returned. “Nor am I confident the talisman would operate as you hope if separated from me.”

  “If not, then not,” said Eyrik, his voice a trifle subdued, but still underlaid with enthusiasm. “Though I believe the strength rests in the stone itself.”

  It was a subtle admonishment and Wynett blushed at the unspoken suggestion that misplaced pride guided her. She felt a terrible dread and a mighty confusion, for if Eyrik spoke the truth then she denied him the means whereby he might guide Kedryn to her and denied herself the means of escape from the netherworld. Yet if he lied he doubtless sought the jewel for his own ends. And if he was Ashar, or a minion of the awful god, then to deliver the talisman into his hands was to betray all she believed in, to invest the god with frightening strength.