At a signal from Gill, music floated into the hall from above, and the throng withdrew to the sides. Long tables were quickly brought out and prepared for the feast, and a table was set on the dais for the king and queen; King Fredrik was seated there, as was Gill. One by one the tapestries lining the hall were pulled back to reveal mirror after mirror. "Please, Warin, don't look for me," thought Emmae. "This place will be your death." And yet, she desperately hoped that he would come to kill Hildin, to save her from killing him herself and ending her own life. But she saw no telltale flicker, no shadow that might have shown him coming. She saw Hildin gradually relax beside her, and she settled back in her chair, numb. Hildin's hand rested on her thigh beneath the table, hot and clutching. Emmae could sense his arousal and excitement swirl within her, but she let it flow through her as the banquet flowed on around her.

The company had not been seated long when a commotion from outside cut through the music. Hildin leaned forward and squeezed Emmae's thigh so hard she bit back a cry. "Is it him? Is he come?" he hissed at Gill. The noise grew louder--many raised voices and a clash like weapons. "It must be," laughed Hildin, rising to his feet. "He's come back! Bar the door, give him some fun before he dies!"

But no sooner had the guards barred the doors to the great hall than they burst open , the thick wooden bar snapping in two and sending splinters flying. Framed in the arch stood Warin, panting hard and spattered with blood, the light staff still in his hand. Behind him stood the Travelers and most of the city's guards. The music and conversation stopped dead.

"I've come back, Hildin," said Warin into the quiet.

"I hoped you would, brother," Hildin said gleefully. "Welcome to my coronation celebration. Your timing could not be better. You're too late for both your wedding and your crown, but then, you renounced them both, didn't you?"

"The prophecy turned out to be false," Warin answered, slowly walking up the aisle. "My father is dead, and I didn't kill him."

"And yet, I wear the crown," said Hildin. "I wear the crown, and I've married the little princess."

"I never would have come here if you hadn't taken her from me. The throne could have been yours. I still don't want it. But I will have my woman."

At this, Emmae stood, overturning her heavy chair. She tried to run to him, but Gill caught her and held her tight. She was frightened and angry and elated at the sight of her lover, but underneath it all, coiling like a snake, she felt Hildin growing more and more aroused. An image formed in her mind: Hildin slitting Warin's throat, then throwing her down and fucking her in a pool of his lifeblood, and as soon as the image appeared she knew it was exactly what Hildin wanted. From Warin, she felt a powerful tug, the need to twine herself around him and never let go, but she didn't know if it was Warin's emotion or if it was honestly hers.

She felt nothing at all from Gill, but the tension in his hands said much.

"As of yesterday, Emmae is my lawful wife," said Hildin.

"She was mine before that, in our eyes if not in the eyes of this assembly."

"What?!" squawked King Fredrik from the head table.

"I was the one who found her, not knowing who she was, and I am the one who loves her," said Warin. "And," he added, "she is your wife, Hildin, only as long as you live." He stopped a few yards from the dais.

"Are you challenging your king?" said Hildin, eyes narrowing.

"If getting my Emmae back means I must kill a king and take a throne, I will."

Hildin spread his arms wide. "You all heard it. He's speaking treason. Commander," he called to the head of his guards, "take him." The guardsmen ringing the hall drew their weapons, and the guards and Travelers who'd followed Warin into the hall took up their stances.

"D'you see the blood that decorates our swords?" cried Connin. "It's the blood of troops loyal to Hildin the Usurper! You in this hall are the only ones left. If you want to add to the patterns on my blade, step up, I'll be happy to oblige you!" The guardsmen faltered.

"King Warin!" suddenly cried out Hendas the Younger, to Hendas the Elder's surprise. "Hildin is a usurper! Warin is the rightful king!" A roar went up from the crowd, but Warin silenced them. The guards fell back one by one, sheathing their swords. Hildin turned pale, but his eyes were dilated with excitement.

"My brother is the crowned king. By law, he is king until the day he dies," said Warin. "And that day will be today." He spun the light staff in his hands. "Though you haven't felt the magic, have you, Hildin, our dead father's magic that by rights goes to the new king," he said. "D'you know why? Because it came to me!" He struck the staff on the ground, and a shock wave rippled through the air. It struck the head table and split it right in two; it fell with a crash in a vee, the dishes and goblets sliding down the pieces and piling up in the center. Wine ran down the dais in a red cascade.

"No matter," snarled Hildin, "once you're dead I'll get it anyway. And," he yelled, "I will remember those of you who side against me today. Your heads will hang above the gates at Barle, both Hendas Elder and Younger, and your daughters and sisters will add their maiden blood to the puddle beneath them!"

Young Hendas stepped to the aisle. "Then what have I got to lose?" he called out. The crowd of nobles murmured among themselves, and many stepped to the aisle with the son of Lord Barle.

"Give it up, Hildin," said Warin. "Surrender, and I'll make your death quick and merciful. There is no one who'll stand with you."

"There is one," said Gill, releasing Emmae and drawing his sword.

"And that's enough," smiled Hildin. He pulled a flame from a nearby candle, drew it into a wand, and flung it behind Warin. A curtain of flame rose up, separating Warin from his companions and the rest of the hall.

"You can't burn me, Hildin."

"I don't need to. I just need to even the odds."

Gill stepped down from the dais between the brothers . "Two against one?" said Warin. "How are those odds even?"

Hildin shrugged. "You have our father's magic. I have Gill."

"I can't fight and use my magic at the same time."

"Neither can I," smiled Hildin.

"Oh, so you're going to fight me? Or are you hiding behind this boy, brother?"

Gill swung his sword. "Don't call me 'boy,' cousin," he growled.

"Oh, I'll call you more than that, cousin, for your role in this," said Warin, dismissing his light staff and pulling his sword. "Lapdog! Toady! Lackey! Slave! Rapist! Dead man!"

With an enraged shout, Gill launched himself at Warin. Warin parried his attack with practised ease, fending off thrust after thrust until Gill pulled back, panting. They circled one another, until Warin's back was toward the dais; Gill launched another furious series of thrusts, and Warin beat him back, letting him expend his energy. Hildin pulled a fresh wand from a candle, fashioning it long, curved and slender in his hands. It was a bow, Emmae realized. He pulled another wand, lengthened it into a shaft, and fitted it to the light bow, aiming it at Warin's back. I have to do something, she thought. What can I do?