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There was sickly grey predawn light coloring the ceiling when she opened her eyes. She wasn't sure what was going on, but when she tried to move she felt the wincing pain in her side, and remembered all that had happened. Something had woken her: a noise. She turned her head to see Jordan, sprawled in a chair, in a troubled sleep. His head tossed from side to side and he mumbled unintelligibly. He wore the black stained clothing of the night before. She realized he must have stayed in this chair the entire night, watching over her. She reached out and tapped his knee. Even awakening his reflexes were instant--her hand was suddenly clutched in a vise grip, and his eyes burst open, wild and unfocused. Then he saw her, and his shoulders slumped. "I... I dreamed I had failed," he said. "I dreamed I had lost you." "Never in a million years," she said. His hand did not let go of hers. "What happened after you healed me," she asked. "I don't remember much at all." "Temaile came with us," he said. "She's in the dungeons now, awaiting trial. Master Telocuse is somewhere in the castle, also being watched over by your father's men. Your father is at the Daravon estate, taking over the maintenance. And you... Are alive." "Thanks to you," she said. "No," he said. "I failed you. I let you come to harm." "Nonsense," she said. "I did," he insisted. "I failed you with Paitr and I failed you now. Some First Lance I've turned out to be." "Jordan, you'll never be able to protect everyone," she said. "Not even me. Someday something will happen that you can't prevent. That's just the way life works. In fact, it's already worked like that. But both times, you were there to help pick up the pieces. I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you. And you're the one who always tells me that causing harm is a lot easier than not causing harm." "I caused you harm," he said. "I failed." "You failed to stop others from causing me harm, yes," she said. "But you did the exact opposite. You caused healing. That's the harder part, Jordan. That's why the First Lance only leads the armies--because any fool can do that. What's difficult is being a king--fostering the people, bringing them prosperity. That's what's hard." "You'll make a good queen," he said. "All of that comes naturally to you." "And it comes to you as well," she said. "Maybe not naturally, but it does come. And that's important, Jordan. When I ascend to the throne, this nation will have two monarchs. That's something special." "Yes, but thanks to me there were almost no monarchs," Jordan said. "All right, be contrary if you want," she grumped. "It's too early in the morning to have this argument. I'm going back to bed." "I will keep the vigil," Jordan said. "Oh no you won't," she said. "You need sleep too. You get in this bed right now and get some rest." He hesitated. "My lady. Is that--" "Your queen commands you," she said. She rolled onto her other side to make room for him and pulled the blankets up. When she felt the edge of the comforter lift, she reached out, and only then realized he was not wearing any clothes. Immediately afterwards she realized that she was not wearing any clothes either. Jordan saw her face and lifted an eyebrow: "Now you see why I hesitate." "Oh, never mind," she said. "We've seen it all before." "Yes, but..." he said. "Jordan," she exclaimed, sitting up, "are you nervous?" And then, "Ow," as she remembered why it might be smart not to move quickly any time soon. Immediately he was beside her, easing her back down. "You should rest," he said. "And so should you," she said. "I don't bite. And I don't snore. Lie down." He did. She closed the covers around them and slid her arm across his waist, which caused him to jump. She sighed. "Jordan. It's just me." "Yes," he said, "which is the problem." He took her hand with his own and led her arm lower, until she encountered his sword, bare and ready for action. "Oh," she said. "Yes," he said, and she thought he might actually be trying not to blush. Which made her smile. He was actually embarrassed about being erect around her? "Jordan," she said. "That's been inside me. More than once. It doesn't bother me that your horn is awake, and it shouldn't bother you. It's natural, isn't it? It just means you love me." "If... You say so, my lady," he said. "I do," she said. "Now hush. I want to get some sleep. And so should you." "As you say, my lady," he said. "And another thing," she said, "you don't have to just lie there. You can hold me. It'd be perfectly natural. We are in bed together, after all." He hesitated for a moment, then lifted his arm and put it around her, to draw her in closer. She laid her head on his shoulder and smiled up at him. "There, now, isn't this better?" "As you say, my lady," he said. She sighed. "You're hopeless, Jordan. We need to teach you to be a real human being." "If my lady insists," he said, staring straight ahead. "But I love you anyway," she said. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and his expression softened a little. "You shouldn't have done that," he said. "Done what?" she said. "Stood there, and let... Temaile... Hit you," he said. "Well, I couldn't've hit her," she said. "Nonsense," he said. He turned on his shoulder to face her. "You've trained and trained well. You could've had her at any time." "Yes, but I didn't want to," she said. "Well, you didn't have to stand there," he said, "you could've sidestepped at any time." "No," she said, "I couldn't've done that either. Listen to me, Jordan. I... I'd had enough." He stared, not comprehending. "I just didn't want to be part of it anymore. I didn't want to be part of the all the violence, the bloodshed. The killing. I didn't want anyone to raise a hand against anyone anymore. There was nothing I could've done, other than what I did. If I'd dodged, you would have hit her, or I would have had to hit her. Instead, look what's happened. I'm alive. You're alive. She's alive. We've left too many dead behind already, Jordan. I wasn't going to add to it." He was silent for a time. "I think... I think I knew that. Even as it happened. I think I knew that you were doing the only thing you could do. And... You saved her. You saved Temaile. Even if... Almost at the expense of your own life." "You make me feel stupid," she mumbled. "My own enemy, and I take wounds to save her. Some person I am. I'm almost as stupid as she is." "You shouldn't feel stupid," he said. "You should be proud. You were true to your own nature, Catheryne. You put aside the sword and reached out, with empty hands, to save. Healing is in you, just as much as violence is in me. Your nature is love, to love everyone, even your enemies. And you were true to that self, even to the point of... Death. No, you should be proud of yourself. As proud as I am." She smiled at him. "You always know the right thing to say." "I try," he said, with the slightest hint of satisfaction. "But I also have to say this: Don't ever do that again." "Believe me," she said. "It's not an experience I care to repeat." "Good," he said. "If you had died, Catheryne, I would have lost everything, there would have been nothing left for me." She heard the strange intensity in his voice and looked into his eyes and saw the bleakness there--and suddenly wondered: just how would she feel, what would she be, if Jordan one day died? It was a terrible thing to contemplate, and she shivered. "One of us may die," she said. "It's a dangerous world, Jordan. Things happen. One day you will lead war in the Spring Lands, and face danger. Or one of us will get sick. Or one of us will drink some bad ennascintella. Things happen, Jordan." "Yes," he said, "but Kyrei send that day be far off. And what I mean is, don't take risks. Don't put yourself in danger unless you absolutely have to." She frowned at him. "The same goes for you, you know." "I never put myself in danger unless it's necessary," he said. "And, besides..." He let himself down on his back again. "I never face danger I don't intend to return from." "Fine words," she said, teasing. "Easy to say while lying in bed with a woman." "I mean it," he said. His arm snaked around her, drew her close. "Because now I have someone to return to." "Hmm," she said, pleased. "You always know the right thing to say." Time passed, as it always does, and for Gabriele Basingame life turned slowly to what she would eventually come look upon as the happiest, simplest time of her life. And, as few people are lucky enough to do, she knew it would be so, and enjoyed the time as best she could--knowing that, inevitably, the idyll would end, and that she had better cherish her time as best she could. Her time with her father, her time with Moya Tilmitt, her time with Jordan. Their time. Time with Jordan was most of the time. He was always there, sometimes out of sight but never out of mind, a shadow over her shoulder, a glimpse from the corner of her eye. She felt her presence near herself acutely, as if every nerve and sinew in her body were primed for his nearness, as if she were lodestone and he iron, turning ever to face him, turning ever to seek him. The trial of Temaile Daravon was a massacre. Whatever she had seen in Catheryne's eyes that night, it had broken her spirit. She pled guilty--literally pled; she sat in silence through the entire trial, punctuated only by silent tears and the occasional free admittance of her guilt. She spoke of the things they did not know--how her father had, by intuitive leaps of logic, realized what Besson Telocuse's mysterious affliction was; how she had whispered to him in the night, and tempted him with her body, and driven him mad with desire, and prompted him to become a creature of death. She spoke of her ambition to be queen, and of the luxuries she had hoped to enjoy. She spoke sometimes; she sat dormant at others. Catheryne made herself attend, for it was the least she could do; Jordan sat with her, and if he had any comments or thoughts, he kept them to himself. And then, some weeks later, came the news: Temaile had hanged herself in her cell, and the trial would end. She left only a hasty note, scribbled in wine on the floor: I'm sorry. Some disdained the funeral, disgusted by what she had become; others attended, and prayed for her soul. Catheryne was one of them. "You don't truly believe in all this religion stuff, do you," Jordan asked her. "I don't know," she said. "But I know that Temaile couldn't live with herself. And I hope that, somewhere, someone can help her learn." Paitr Domenicos re-enlisted and traveled to the Spring Lands, to be stationed there permanently. Catheryne wsn't sure what he was trying to accomplish there, but the reports came back that he was flourishing, doing well, and she grew used to the hope that, perhaps, she would not have to attend another funeral soon. They had not spoken since the disastrous night in her chambers; any time they had passed each other in the halls of the Palace, he had turned his eyes and avoided her conversation. Eventually she had decided to leave him alone; she didn't think there was anything to be gained by confronting him, and if he wanted to stay away from her, well, honestly she had no real problem with that. She had made her mistake and learned from it, and he had made his mistake and learned from it; and that was a victory in itself. Davina's social rehabilitation continued. Once or twice she decided to came to the trial; one of them, unfortunately, happened to be one of the days when Temaile decided to divulge some of the information on how she had twisted Besson Telocuse, and goaded him into the atrocities he had committed on the women he attacked. Catheryne didn't think this was deliberate; she had never claimed to know much about Temaile one way or another, but she was fairly sure that, now, Temaile would never have done anything to harm anyone again. Nonetheless, the testimony had reduced poor Davina to tears, and Catheryne and Jordan had come to her aid. On the whole, Catheryne thought it might be a victory, though: not only had the Princess-Heir been seen publicly supporting Davina, but Davina had been seen publicly acting as would any woman in her situation. They had reaffirmed Davina's normality, which was exactly what she needed, in Catheryne's opinion. As long as everyone kept thinking of Davina as some strange creature to be pitied, she would never be able to get on with her life. Now she had again become a normal person, or at least more of a normal person, in the eyes of all. It was all Catheryne could wish for. Besson Telocuse's education proceeded apace. Whatever else Temaile Daravon had done to him, her twisting and motivational efforts had clearly been inefficient and must have required constant renewal; within days he had forgotten the old hows and whys of his life, and was learning the magics he wanted to. His education, Moya Tilmitt told them, was lopsided, for his pre-existing skills were totally uncatalogued and unregimented. Which made sense, Moya Tilmitt reminded them, since he was self-taught. But it caused problems. There were simple things that he should have known how to do but didn't, and highly advanced things he shouldn't have been able to do, but could. It was challenging work, to be sure, but Catheryne could see that Moya Tilmitt was enjoying it immensely. Clearly in this misfit student he had found his stride as a teacher. They spent less time with Moya Tilmitt in those days; he was busy with Besson Telocuse, and sometimes with Father, working on a system to discover the unfound from the Eretrian population and send them to be trained, so that no one would ever be able to do what Temaile Daravon had done. With all his appointments, they had lessons with him only twice or three times a week. More and more he would leave them in a separate room and simply allow them to explore, shaping the waves of the Flow as they saw fit. "You've been under tutelage-mine for over a year-half now, and it is around this time that we start letting the students-young explore for themselves. You two have proven your trustworthiness and your capability time and again. I feel confident that you will be safe." And of course, through it all there was Jordan. They continued their exercises, training and sparring against each other. Catheryne intended never to use the silte again, except in times of direst need, it was good exercise to train this way. And now it was no longer work, no longer frustrating; it was easy, it was play. Her body was more adept at these movements, at these configurations; and she had lost the hesitations, the underconfidences, that had plagued her previous efforts. Now she could do it, and she knew she could do it. She would never be a trained and hardened soldier, Jordan said, but she could definitely defend herself until an opportunity for a finishing blow came up. "But what's the point if I can't outfight someone," Catheryne asked Jordan. "Because you don't need to outfight them," Jordan said. "You have other tools at your disposal. You have the Flow. You have the command of your royal lineage. You have the command of tactics and wisdom--you know when to strike from behind, and how to keep the enemy off-balance. And you have the command of yourself--you are a beautiful and desirable woman. You do not need to be able to deal with the advantages of a hardened soldier, because you know how to take those advantages away from him. And that is all you need to win." Of course, after being injured as badly as she had been, it was several days before she was deemed fit enough and well enough to undertake strenuous activity. It was several days more before she felt ready to resume their combat training. But in the meanwhile, they found other ways to exercise. The first few days were torturous: being constantly in each other's presence and touching each other pretty frequently--Jordan claimed she was still weak from her injury and needed support, but she thought it might have just been an excuse to touch her. She didn't mind at all. But there was no way she could handle a bed session without breaking something, and their constant contact only made the fires burn hotter. At times in those first few days it was almost torture to simply be around him. They were young, they were drunk with love, and the days were calm and blissful--but they could not touch each other. She never even kissed him--she knew that if she started, she'd never stop. "All right," she said to Jordan. "I won't ever do that again. Because it will undoubtedly happen at a most inconvenient time." "I am glad you have seen the wisdom in my words," he said. "Whatever," she said. "You just want my flower." It was a vulgar statement, but delivered with a grin, and Jordan just raised an eyebrow. "And you mean to tell me," he said, "that you aren't interested in my stalk?" "Guilty," she said. "Guilty as charged." The only advantage their little waiting period added was that she had time to find the herbs and medicines she would need in order to prevent pregnancy. They made a bitter brew, but according to Nurse, women had taken them for hundreds of years and none had yet had cause to complain. And it was a good thing she did, too: the first time he entered her, the intensity almost overwhelmed them both, and from then on, they never really stopped. Loving with Jordan was different now than it had ever been. She never felt embarrassed or self-conscious with him; indeed, it was often he who had to be coaxed from his shell. It was strange: he had stared down the edge of the sword of death and never flinched, but bring him into bed naked with a lover, and he became hesitant, almost shy. She wasn't sure where that had come from. Was he scared? "Yes," he said. And, after he had reacted with total shock: "Scared because... I don't want to disappoint you. I come from a life of nothing, and you have given me everything. And what you give, you could take away. If you were in my shoes, wouldn't you be scared?" "You always say the sweetest things," she said. His devotion had its benefits. She had heard of men who dipped their wicks and then left, who cared for nothing but their own satisfaction. She had been with such a man, once or twice. Jordan was definitely not one of them. Her pleasure, it seemed, was just as important to him as his own--maybe even more so. And her own explorations... She had never realized that a woman could use her mouth on a man's stalk, but after the first time she tried it, she knew she'd have to do it again. It was fun, exploring this strange thing with her mouth and lips and tongue, and Jordan's reactions... Well! That marked the end of all discussion as far as she was concerned. It was almost as good as when he would go down to her flower and do his thing. Almost as good. That was the way she reached her end, most of the time; Jordan often ended when he was inside of her, bursting forth into her sheath, but she rarely did when he was penetrating her. According to Jordan, this was actually quite normal, and she learned to enjoy the different sensations for what they were: the feeling of his seed rushing forth within her, and then the explosion of light and warmth as his lips and tongue drove her to her peak. It was wonderful; both of them were wonderful. It was all wonderful. And the ways! She had never known there were so many ways to make love! Most of their first times were the same: she lay on her back and spread her legs, and he approached her from above. But once while she was sucking on his straw she wanted him immediately, and simply moved up and impaled herself upon him, and that was that; and another time he had her stand on hands and knees, while he took her from behind. That one, to put it mildly, had been a wild ride. Strangely enough, it was Jordan who suggested most of these things; no one had told her any of these little mechanical details, and it would hardly have been proper to discuss them in the first place! But clearly Jordan hadn't had that problem in his education. But once he had suggested them, it was her job to implement them, to push it forward. It helped that she was willing to try anything, at least once; she tried to hide it, but the fact was, she was voracious. She loved this, all of it; she wanted everything there was to have. And Jordan, clearly, was willing to come along for the ride. And beneath it all, there was always him. Jordan, the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with; the man she couldn't get enough of. All she wanted in life was to wake up and smile to see him there; and, for a time, she had it, and was the happiest she had ever been. What Jordan himself was feeling was never written on his face, but she thought he was enjoying himself too. He loved her, that was certain; it spoke through in his actions, his expressions, his movements, and sometimes, very rarely, simply in his words: "I love you, Catheryne." And she would beam at him and kiss him and say, "I love you too, Jordan," and sometimes--sometimes, on those ever rare occasions--he would smile. Thus the days passed. And thus Catheryne knew a time of peace, before the upheaval that would shake them all. The morning of the change dawned bleak and cold, as they always did in Winterside, but with a hint of sunlight peeking through the clouds. Catheryne awoke to feel Jordan's arms around her, his body close--they had given up on sending him back to his own room long ago, and discretion was second nature to most Winters. She felt his body cuddled up to hers; she heard his breath, and felt it sigh through her hair. His manhood nestled between the cheeks of her bottom. Jordan said that this was normal, and had something to do with the need to pass water--"morning wood," evidently, was the slang term for it. Sometimes she liked hard wood in the morning. She reached behind her, maneuvering his stalk until it slid into the gap between her thighs. Now it rubbed gently against the petals of her flower, ready to slip inside--a thought and a feeling that were enough to begin the tingling arousal in her secret place. She wondered at herself for a moment. Are all women this... Forward? What does Jordan think of me, to be so... Horny all the time? I don't even have a horn! He's the one that ought to be this hungry. But she didn't stop. He was stiff and ready, and she rocked her hips gently, stimulating herself on him, stoking the flames against him. Soon she was wet beneath, and ready for him; and his staff was coated with the dew of her flower. Jordan never stirred. Normally he awakened at a touch--how could he be sleeping through this? Or was he? She tilted her hips back, and the head of his stalk slipped just inside her--but no further. She wiggled a bit before realizing that she would need him to thrust inside her if she wanted more depth--there was simply nothing she could do, at this angle, from this direction, right now. She was wondering whether to wake him when his hand slid to her breast, covering her nipple with his palm. "Good morning," he said. "Hello," she said. "This is a very interesting way to be woken up," he said. "I had an idea," she said. "I hope you don't mind." He stroked in and out of her slowly, drawing her close to him, pressing his chest against her back; he kissed her neck, her shoulders, her ears, anything he could reach; he fondled her breasts, stroking and caressing, with his hands. When she turned her head to kiss him, he made a noise of disagreement and said, "Please, just lie back and allow me, my lady." And she did, and sighed with pleasure and happiness as he coupled with her, feeling him sliding within her, feeling him moving inside her sheath, extra tight and extra full because her legs were closed, feeling his hands on her breasts, his lips on her skin, his breath in her hair. She had never felt so relaxed, so spoiled in her life. It was glorious. "Mmmm," she said. "A girl could get used to this." "My lady, it would be my pleasure to wake you thus every morning," he said. "Yes, I bet it would," she murmured. When she wanted more, she moved his hand to the bud at the top of her flower, and gasped at the shocks that rippled through her. It was good--it was mightily good--and soon it wasn't enough. She disengaged his hand, and his staff, from her body for a moment--just long enough to push him over onto his back. Then she straddled his hips and sunk his shaft deep within her. His eyes closed and his mouth opened, and she moaned her pleasure and leaned down to kiss him. "Close?" she whispered. "Not especially," he said. "And you?" "Doesn't matter," she said. "You just lie back." She began to rock her hips up and down, feeling him withdraw and return, riding up and down his shaft. Her breasts hung down on his chest, and their tongues met as they kissed. His hands stroked her back, her hair, her shoulders, her rear, her thighs; she caressed his face, kissed his cheeks, his forehead. And all the while there was the constant sensation of his stalk inside her, pressing at her inner walls, sliding over those special tingling places, sending ebbs and eddies of fire through her body with every slight movement. When she felt he was ready, she sat up straight and took him as deep into herself as she could; she moved up and down, feeling her breasts swinging with the motion until his appreciative hands reached up to cradle him, and as she came down she felt him touching some new inner place inside her, and realized he might have plumbed the entire depths of her sheath. Was it true? Were they so much made for each other that they matched each other exactly? "Oh..." he said. "Oh, Catheryne... I'm..." When she felt his first surge she drew him into herself as far as he would go; she felt the twitch inside her, the growth, and then the burst, the warm wetness inside her, clinging to her walls, as he went to his end deep inside her and she watched his open-mouthed face, the pleasure there, until finally his pulsing ceased and he collapsed back, utterly spent, his chest heaving, and she descended to him in a shower of golden hair and kissed his face. When he could speak again, he said, "Have you finished, my lady?" "No, my lord, I have not," she said. And then, before he could continue, "And that is all right. I have quite enjoyed myself in the meantime." "I see," he said. "I see." And then, quieter: "Catheryne?" "Yes, Master Demitri?" she said archly. "I love you." She smiled, and bent to kiss him. "I love you, Jordan." They were silent for a time. Jordan's breathing returned to normal, and she laid upon him, feeling the beat of his heart, while his hands and arms idly roamed her back and shoulders. "Did you know," he said suddenly. "Today is the day your father declared the the Time of Trials. Exactly one year ago." "Really?" she said. The days had blended to her; she had lost all count. "Yes," he said. "And in a month they will have started, and a week from then..." She remembered suddenly, vividly, the virginity ceremony in that ritual bed--how alien he had been, how strange she had been. "Can you believe," she asked. "You were so... Distant. And I was... Well. I was rather spoiled." "But that's changed," he said. "Yes," she said. "Yes it has." She lifted her head to look at him. "Did you ever... Even in your wildest dreams. I know you weren't planning to even be alive right now. But... Did you ever, even slightly, ever think that this might happen? That the two of us might be... Together?" He looked up at her, wondering what the best answer would be. Finally he settled on the truth. "No, Catheryne. I..." His hand rose, stroking hair from her face. "I never thought we'd find ourselves where we are now." A strange, pensive look crossed her face. "Neither did I, back then." And then, smiling: "Just shows you how stupid we were, doesn't it." His eyebrows raised, and he tilted his head. "I... Suppose so, my love." When they emerged, Moya Tilmitt was waiting for them. "Your Highness, my lord, I have news. And... A proposition." "We are at your disposal, Moya Tilmitt," Catheryne said. "Master Telocuse's education has proceeded apace," Moya Tilmitt said, "but there are things I cannot teach him, things only teachers-credentialed can explain to him." "I see," Catheryne said. "And you would like to find him one," Jordan said. "Yes, that," said Moya Tilmitt. "But... I would like to bring the two of you as well." They regarded him silently. "It is... A tradition," said Moya Tilmitt, "for young mages to visit with... An oracle. These are wise and holy men and women who have some little view on the will of Kyrei. There is one not far from here, at Breticlan off the Cymerine border." "Breticlan, Breticlan..." said Catheryne, racking her memory of geography. "I've never heard of that place." "Nor should you have," said Moya Tilmitt. "It is a city only for mages." They were silent again. "...What?" Moya Tilmitt asked. "You don't expect-truly that we all wander in the desert, do you? Well, I mean, some of us do, especially the crechets-teaching, but we do long for others of kind-our-own. And we do not need to be rivers-near, for we have ways-other of getting water." "There are mage cities," Catheryne said. "Well, towns, generally," said Moya Tilmitt. "A few are large enough to be called cities--Mortraveil, for instance, on the other side of Gruenveldt, or Mesocalichan outside of Quintaln. Of course, I must ask you never to discuss these places with the giftless. They can wander in and some have been known to, but by and large we prefer to keep our Sanctuaries secret." "Sanctuaries," said Jordan, as though tasting this new word. "Yes," Moya Tilmitt said. "And you would like us to go," Catheryne said. "Yes," Moya Tilmitt said. "I feel that it will be... Educational. It is a two-month trip at most, and it is doubtful that we will come to harm. We are all capable-very, after all, the two of you especially." They discussed it with her father, and with the Queen, and with some reluctance they were allowed to go. Moya Tilmitt convinced them that it would be harmless, and Jordan pointed out that, from the looks of things, they might be safer away from the Silver City than in it. Father said, "We will turn it into a holiday. Catheryne has faced down many adversities since her coronation; now she wanders in the desert for solitude, seeking time to reflect, and to pray, and to learn more of herself." "There will be some truth to that," Moya Tilmitt said. "We'll have to take false names," Jordan said. "It would be smarter if people didn't realize who we were. Certainly if anyone finds us, Moya Tilmitt would be in danger, and it would be hard to work free of that." "I shall be..." Catheryne said. "No," Jordan said. "Don't tell. Let no one know but the three of us. What the two of you don't know, my lord, Your Majesty, you cannot reveal." Catheryne smiled. "The old paranoid Jordan is back, it seems." "Please, my lady," he said, without rebuke. "Allow me to do my job." "Well... If I have to," she said. "But I shall do mine and remind you that not all is danger and bared blades." "I would never ask otherwise," he said. And the very next day they set off. They traveled on foot, taking very few provisions: some food, a few changes of clothes, sleeping rolls, cooking utensils, their weapons... It was clear that they would live on meager means from now on, and keep to the edges of civilization. "We're going to do it like a crechet-schooling," said Moya Tilmitt. "Just the four of us, and whatever we can carry, or buy, or find in the wild. It may be rough-somewhat for you, Your Highness, but I trust you can cope." "Your Highness?" Catheryne said, puzzled. "I don't know any highnesses here. I'm just Catheryne Talnor, a soldier's daughter from the Winterlands." "Talnor?" Jordan asked. "Ella of House Talnor?" Catheryne asked. "Ella of the ashes? I'm sure you've heard of that story before." Jordan made a disparaging noise. "And who are you, good sirs?" she asked her companions. "I don't believe I've met any of you before." "Kenneth Tilmitt, Mistress Talnor," said Moya Tilmitt, bowing. "I am but a man-simple, but queens and lords have found service-mine valuable before. That which you need, I will provide." "Hello, I'm Besson Telocuse," said Besson, smiling brightly. "Jordan," said Jordan. "Jordan Citelle." At her questioning glance: "It was my mother's name, before she married." "Well," said Catheryne. "Now that we've all met. Let's get going, shall we?" They did. And as they left the Silver City--on foot, not by horse, so the journey took nearly an hour--Catheryne wondered what it was she was getting into. A Mage city? An oracle? The whole wide world of the Winterlands seemed to spread out before her, and the Spring Lands beyond, and then, even farther off, Summerside, where once a man named Corlan Demitri had played. Might she visit them all? And more? She had the strangest feeling that she would be gone for much, much longer than two months. When would she come home again? Would she come home again? But that was nonsense. She reached out for Jordan's hand and held it as they walked. She was taking home with her. Princess Gabriele Basingame had found her happy ending. And, if she had her way, she would never let it go.
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