Rolic awoke to an uncomfortable chill. Hands were upon him, wet cloth violating the warm layer of filth he had allowed to form. It was dark, or perhaps his eyes had finally failed.

"What is this?" Rolic said and then repeated it since his first attempt was weakened by insufficient air.

"You smell foul," an unrelenting taskmaster said. Rolic recognized the voice of Floren. "None will allow you on their wagon until you are bathed, and no other would bathe you."

"Leave me be," Rolic demanded. Or was it a plea born of weakness?

"Nay," Floren said, her hands working feverishly to rub layers of skin off his skeleton. "Kelton has ordered the army forward. We are not to leave you to the beasts."

"It is not his choice," Rolic said. His arms were too weak to fight the woman's vicious scrapings.

"Ahh, but it is," Floren countered. "You have helped elevate him, and now you pay the cost. If it were up to most, the wolves would eat well."

"He is a fool," Rolic argued. "I am only a hindrance now."

"Aye, you are a hindrance," Floren agreed, though her coarse cloth did not stall its torture. "Nothing but an old torn cloak that should be cast to the fire. If we fail, it will certainly be Kelton's heart that sinks us."

"Call him," Rolic said. A few words with the man will have Rolic once again resting peacefully.

"It is too late for that," Floren said. The woman had no qualms or sympathy for scrubbing the more delicate parts of a man. "He left as the sun fell; the army follows as it rises. It seems the end is nearing." There was resignation in her voice or was it sadness.

"The last-of-the-line?" Rolic asked.

"Juno has seen to its failure," Floren said. She paused her washing. Rolic could see the shadow of her hand rise to her face, yet the darkness hid its duty there. It was only a brief pause. "It is this new princess that has sealed the end." The scrubbing recommenced. "I have lost all say in the matter. The Answer and Juno are one, and none have the power to break them."

Rolic sighed. "It is only an old tale." He did not believe his words, but resignation born of feebleness forced him to comply with reality. Kelton could not see he was a tool of fate. Perhaps it was ego. The adulation of others is a strong draw and can lead a man to think they are above all else.

"She will die," Floren said. This time when she stalled her work, he could almost hear tears rolling down her cheeks.

"If he fails, all will die." Rolic began to think he misunderstood something. Floren's worry was centered on Juno, yet the whole army and all who supported it were at risk.

"He will not fail," Floren said. Her voice faltered. "But destiny will claim her, and I do not have the power to alter it."

"Juno is not the last-of-the-line," Rolic said, attempting to prove her theory wrong. But then Floren explained. Rolic closed his eyes as the words of the ancient tale shifted, new meaning drawn from words he once thought solid as rock. The ramifications of Floren's interpretation shattered much of what he had assumed. It was the first time thought traveled beyond the coming war. He began to consider what kind of hell he may have helped to create. Kelton was formidable, even with the chains of empathy that bound him. A weakness, Rolic once thought. Floren's worry may be wrapped in Juno, though Rolic envisioned something far worse. The world was too fragile to withstand Kelton unshackled, with a vengeance infecting his heart and a growing army at his call.

Rolic found himself hoping the ruts on the wagon ride would beat him into death's embrace.

"This weave is different," Kelton said as he sat amongst the trees overlooking Goddess' Grove. Juno was fixing her claiming weave since parts had come undone during their hasty travel. The Queen had sat down to help as if his head were their plaything.

"It is like the warrior weave on Jutney, yet not," Juno said with a shrug. "I am only duplicating the Queen's lead. It is a strong look, though."

"It is a woman's look," Lord Brandish said.

"Aye," Gossamer agreed. "Though we are the lonely stags here, and he is the one being fondled." Juno rolled her eyes while the two laughed at their wisdom.

"This weave is different," Kelton repeated in Sorinnian.

"It is a King's weave," the Queen said as she worked.

"King? I thought only Queen's rule your land."

"For many ages, the throne has been a queen's by birth," the Queen replied. "There are strong women in my line. I have weaved this on my claimed one, and he sits the throne in my name this very day." She smiled, and her voice dropped to a whisper though there was no one near besides Kelton who understood her words. "Some weave it in secret at night when they desire to encourage their claimed one. Many children breathe because of this weave." Kelton chuckled.

Except for a small unit of O'fan's scouts and five Sorinnian warriors, Kelton had chosen only Gossamer and Lord Brandish to attend. Gossamer, because he was a large part in convincing Kelton to come. Lord Brandish, because if things went wrong, Kelton could not leave a strong leader of men in the army undoing what had started - trust had yet to be fully proven. Brandish was also evidence that their cause had deep roots in the land, which should unsettle the King. The Queen came of her own accord, demanding her daughter remain and travel with the army. To Kelton, it showed immense trust since he would be her only translator.

Juno came because she wanted to meet a king. That, and Kelton could not deny her demand. By her words, they would live or fall together. Separation was no longer an option, and his fear for her safety was easily overridden by strength wrapped in a beguiling smile. If his army possessed half her courage, then victory was assured.

"The Queen says it is a king's weave," Kelton told Juno, though he meant for Lord Brandish to overhear as well.

"Aye," Juno said, nodding her agreement.

"Fitting," Lord Brandish said. It was said with a seriousness that canceled his previous comment. It was silly how it made Kelton feel better, and made him wonder if he would ever mature enough to ignore such things.

Gossamer moved to his knees and pushed a branch of the bush that hid them aside. "The meeting tent is now erected, and I have seen no soldiers south of it."

"There are none," Kelton said. The Knowing made that clear. Juno and the Queen stopped his head from moving in unison. They did not speak the same language, yet they coordinated with ease. It seemed the party's surprise arrival would have to wait for the completion of the weave.

King Gregory clenched his teeth and struggled to keep his voice low. "You will assign two guards to her," he told Verdi. "At the first sign of trouble, they are to snatch her away from here." He shook his head. "That witch brought her here for a purpose."

"Your servant, sire?" The look on Verdi's face was one of confusion. His eyes were looking toward the tent flap Luran had just passed through.

"Aye," Gregory verified. "Nothing is to happen to her - no matter my end, you will see Luran well cared for." He moved close to Verdi, so there was no misunderstanding. "There is a chest of coin at the foot of my bedding. It is hers if my head rolls - do you understand?"

"Aye, sire," Verdi said, though there was no confidence in the response. Perhaps he thought his king was becoming addled.

Gregory put his hand on the back of Verdi's neck and pulled an ear closer to his lips. "She has warmed my heart and bed for more winters than I care to count." Out of necessity, more trust was given.

"Aye, sire," Verdi repeated, this time with conviction. "The Queen knows of this?"

"Aye," Gregory growled. "Margarey sees only shame and desires to bury it."

"I will see it done, sire," Verdi said. He paused a moment, then added. "I came to inform you that the meeting tent has been erected as desired."

"The south cleared?"

"Aye, sire."

"His Knowing will see through anything false," Gregory said. "I suspect he will send scouts early as well." He moved to a chair, the largest in the command tent, and signaled Verdi to take one as well. "I will hear of his woman, the one you spoke of."

"Juno, she is called, sire," Verdi said. "The wilted rose was on her wrist, though not in her eyes."

"Cursed?"

"Aye, sire," Verdi continued. "Though not. Most cursed seem to float in apathy, weakened by their duty. Not her - no, not at all."

"And you say they are one?" Gregory smiled. It pleased him that Kelton had found some happiness. Duty needed a reason to smile.

"Aye, deeply so," Verdi replied. He shifted in his seat. "He looked upon her as if it were the first time, though it was clearly not. It was her doing that I was unbound and able to negotiate with dignity. Kind she is, of that, there is no mistake."

"You fancy her," Gregory said.

Verdi chuckled. "She wore a dress of sorts, something I have never seen. It hid everything a dress should, yet every curve announced itself."

"Provocative?" Gregory asked.

Verdi shook his head. "Regal, though it had an allure that demands a man's eye." He smiled. "It was worn for him, I think. He could not seem to break from it."

"She has pull with him then?" Gregory asked.

"Aye, though it is in equal measure the other way," Verdi replied.

The tent was slapped in warning, and Verdi rose. A moment later, Queen Margarey entered. The woman's dress looked out of place, more suited for a castle than the field - a thing of layered tassels that shifted as she walked.

"Your Majesty," Verdi said with a bow.

"Leave us," the Queen said, sending Verdi away with a wave of her hand.

Verdi stood stock still and looked at Gregory. The King nodded, granting permission to leave. Gregory knew it was not done for him but as an irritant aimed at his wife. He was liking Verdi more and more each day.

"Why have you come?" Gregory asked. He expected a lie, for her lips would never form the true answer.

"There is said to be a queen traveling with the demon," Margarey replied. She shrugged. "Magna'est thought it best another queen convince her of her error."

Gregory laughed. "And you will do this how?" Striker had gathered enough information from merchants and those the Sorinnians had passed to know the foreign Queen's limits.

Margarey's face strained. She had no love of being laughed at. "A queen better understands another. A few soft words and she will see her foray as the folly that it is."

"Soft words, you say," Gregory said. The humor of her ignorance was more enjoyable than he would have expected. "Mayhap you queens have secret signals." He made shapes with his fingers in an obnoxious demonstration. "Or you share thoughts with your minds."

"You are foul," Margarey said.

"This queen does not use our words," Gregory informed her. "You can no more speak to her as you could a bird." The shock on his wife's face was delicious. He imagined Magna'est might have guessed this as well. The first layers of the Brethren's betrayal had begun. Margarey was denser than most, so it would take her longer to calculate her lack of long-term usefulness.

"How does she..."

"This demon you think a fool," Gregory said, speaking as if Margarey were a child, "well, he knows this Queen's words. Magna'est is mistaken to imagine him an addled boy, and you - well, you have no thoughts of your own." He waved his hand in dismissal. "It is you who is the addled girl."

"You would give this demon more respect than your own queen," Margarey said with spittle spraying as her anger grew. Words were almost as good as a knife.

"We have not been each other's king and queen since before the winter of our boy's deaths," Gregory growled. He moved forward, barely restraining the beautiful anger that was growing inside of him. Margarey took a step back. "I know what you have been promised." He jabbed his finger in the air, aimed like a dagger at her heart. "and I know it will not be given." The end game was coming, and all restraints would soon be removed. Win or lose, it will be glorious in one respect.

"It is this meeting, Mansard," Margarey said, her tone weakening. Gregory knew only fear would bring out his first name. "It is an anxious time that we should not allow to divide us." Her face relaxed, though fear remained in her eyes. "Mayhap we can find one who knows this Queen's words."

"In two days?" Gregory said as if Margarey were an idiot. He was not ready to stop twisting the knife. "This land is isolated from such things - only a Brother would possess the skill. Do you think this demon would meet with one of them? He cuts the throats of anyone with the Promise on their lips and burns those who have claimed it." Margarey's hand absently caressed her own throat in a protective manner.

"Sire!" The call came from beyond the entrance.

"Aye," Gregory acknowledged, turning away from Margarey and thus his anger.

"They are here, sire?"

"Who?"

"The one who claims to be the Answer, sire."

Gregory laughed as Margarey's eyes went wide. "Addled boy, he is not. He is never where expected and unbalances all who confront him. Come, wife, let us prove to the demon my poor choice of queen."

Kelton stood in the field, well out of the trees and in plain sight of the guards who stood in front of the meeting tent. They had sent a runner the moment he appeared. Juno stood to his right in her modified skirt and a sword at her hip. Kelton missed her Sorinnian dress, but she would not risk damaging it on the ride. On his left, the Queen was resplendent in her armor, Lord Brandish to her left. Gossamer, the only one without a blade, stood on the other side of Juno.

They were joined by two of O'fan's scouts and one Sorinnian warrior. The other scouts were moving about in the trees to forewarn of any deceit that may be afoot. The rest of the Sorinnians were in hiding with bows drawn. If a retreat were required, it would be done under a flurry of arrows, allowing them the cover to return to the horses. If need be, they were to meet up with the approaching army, a half-day behind at most, and turn any treachery upon itself. Kelton had to admit it was not a perfect plan - some risk was inevitable.

Kelton adjusted spider's-bite. He had left his cloak with his horse and flipped the sheaths over to carry his blades as a true Nagada, grips up above the shoulders. There was no need to hide them, but there was every reason to expose them.

It was some time before one of the guards walked toward them. It was Verdi straightening his uniform as he approached. More hustle could be seen behind him, people moving in and out of the tent bringing trays, chairs, and a table - most without uniforms. There was little doubt Kelton had caught them by surprise.

"Your Majesty," Verdi said, bowing to the Queen. "Sir, and my lady," he continued, greeting Kelton and Juno. He nodded to Brandish and Gossamer as well.

"It is good to be greeted by one we know, Verdi," Juno said. "This meeting is awkward enough. Know that we appreciate you as our guide."

"It is my honor, my lady," Verdi said. Kelton attempted to look more regal, for he could see that Verdi enjoyed Juno's attention. The man's eyes lit up, and the smile that graced his face was full and honest. Perhaps he should leave all the negotiations to Juno if he could not draw eyes.

"You are early, sir," Verdi said to Kelton as he guided the party forward. "My king asks that you please forgive our hasty preparations."

"You convinced me of the meeting's importance, Verdi," Kelton said. "I felt haste was of equal importance."

"My king found it tactful," Verdi said. "Wise is the word he used."

"Flattery," Kelton said as if the attempt were a feeble gesture.

"Respect," Verdi corrected.

When they approached the tent's entrance, Gossamer broke away from his position next to Juno and signaled for a word with Kelton. Kelton paused the procession with his hand and stepped aside with Gossamer.

"Know that I have great pride in you, Kelton," Gossamer whispered. "Never did I see you raising an army and meeting with the King as an equal." His words were anxious and rushed. He had not thought them through.

"I have met a king before," Kelton said to lessen the importance, then smiled. "I lived to do so because I had a father who taught me to stand tall. Now, we meet this king together, and I would have it no other way."

"There is much you do not know," Gossamer said. It almost sounded like an argument not to enter the tent.

"Aye," Kelton agreed. "That is why you will be there with me. King's breathe like all other men, is that not what you say in your stories?"

"Aye," Gossamer said. "Just know that you are the one thing I have done well in this world. It matters not what happens in there; my love for you is unending." Kelton was surprised by the declaration and its timing. He intended to respond, but Gossamer had turned and moved toward the entrance.

"Why are Gossamer's eyes wet?" Juno whispered when Kelton moved next to her again.

"He sees pride in me as a son," Kelton replied with a shrug. "I know not why he voices it now."

Juno took Kelton's hand in hers and walked to the entrance. "I am proud as well."

Kelton signaled the scouts to set to their duty. They were to watch all sides of the tent and call forth the count of any persons approaching. If the number and the Knowing did not agree, the meeting would come to a swift end. Kelton would not tolerate the presence of a Brother, not with Juno near.

The tent was larger than it looked, the top a good two men high held up by thick poles on either side of a large table, making the short ends unusable. There were two chairs on one long side and five on the other. In the center of the table were two trays, one heaped high with slices of bread, the other a hill of cheese chunks. A group of seven mugs was placed between the trays in two uneven rows upside down, alongside a stack of plates.

Behind the side with two chairs stood the king and queen, the second being unexpected. There were no crowns, and Kelton was pleased to see all chairs were of the same kind. Thrones had no place at a meeting such as this.

The introductions were cordial, with titles no one truly respected passed about. Nodding and bowing as expected, though none deep or meaningful. It did serve the purpose of starting the flow of words, for the air had felt stagnant to Kelton when he first entered.

It was the King who was first to continue beyond introductions. "It has been winters beyond memory since a meeting such as this was assembled in this land. There are records of them, and they have been made known to me. It is customary for the host to provide substance and for the guests to prepare the first plate for the host." He smiled at Juno. "My lady, would you be so kind? Though poison is not a tool I use, it is best if it is proven by your choices."

"A wise custom," Juno said. She took a plate, then chose bread and cheese to fill it. She smiled as she handed it to the King. "Mayhap the custom has two purposes - for now, it seems I have become your servant." The King laughed as he took the proffered plate. The levity surprised Kelton. He thought anger would rule the meeting.