"Milady's Wiles"

by Brandy Dewinter

with the invaluable assistance of P.J. Wright


Chapter 1 - To Arms! To Arms!

     The stream of humanity flooding into the protection of the castle
known as Stalwart Guard could no longer be called an army.  In their own
minds, they probably couldn't even be called men.  They were beaten and
they knew it.  My brother, Prince Bareth, the commander of Stalwart Guard
would have to try and reform them into a defensive force.

     An errant lock of pale gold whipped into my face from where I had
tried to capture it in a twist beneath my collar.  I should have grabbed
a clasp on my way out, but when I heard the guard announce the flood
approaching the gate I had hurried out to see what was going on.  Prince
Bareth would not have had that problem.  He had always kept his hair cut
short to fit under his helmet, but I had never followed that route.

     That had been but one of many ways in which I had disappointed the
king, our father.  I was the youngest brother and he was long past enjoy-
ment of bouncing a baby on his knee before I came along.  Instead, he was
usually out practicing sword whacking with my two older brothers and I had
fallen much into the care of my mother, Queen Selay.  She had liked my
hair and had held off cutting it until I had grown to like it, too.  I
could not remember a time when the golden weight of it had not been part
of every move I made, nor would I give up the special times we had shared
when she had brushed it into shiny silk.

     It didn't help that I had taken after her physically, too.  At six-
teen it was clear that I would never be a well-muscled giant like my
father, King Andros, and my oldest brother, Prince Tamor.  Nor would I
even have the wiry strength of Prince Bareth, who had speed enough to
give any man a tough fight.  There were not three finer fighters in our
whole Kingdom of Achaiea than King Andros and his two sons.  How often had
I heard that?  Not 'King Andros and his two older sons,' just 'his two
sons.'  There was a barely-concealed sneer at the King in this comment as
well.  Of all his sons, only I had the crystal blue eyes that Mother owned.
That was a double concern for Father, not only did they set me apart from
him and his older sons, giving rise to rumors about my true parentage.
They also proclaimed my lineage to the queen's whispered powers of magic;
powers of persuasion beyond other women that were, in the legends, the
result of those spectacular eyes.

     My ruminations were interrupted when I saw an officer approach
Bareth to give his report.  Even without their martial respect I still
deserved the outward shows of my rank, and I had a right to hear what had
happened to the army the King had led into battle.

     The stairs from the battlement ran inside the thick wall so I lost
sight of Bareth and the officer for a few minutes as I ran down.  When
I came out the most important news was already apparent.  The officer and
all the men around him were kneeling before Bareth, not the formal bow
with leg extended that we were due as princes nor the clenched fist salute
due the garrison commander.  They were kneeling with the obeisance given
only to the King.  That could, in turn, only mean that King Andros and
Prince Tamor were known to be dead.

     I was getting ready to kneel myself when all eyes turned to a doorway
from which Queen Selay and her retinue approached.  Her sharp eyes ab-
sorbed the postures of the army and recognized the import as fast as my
own.  Her next glance though, was to me and her eyes directed me to her
side before I had a chance to complete my own gesture of respect.

     Instead of kneeling she gave Bareth a courtly bow of her own, the
narrow ankle of one graceful leg extended forward from the gathered hem
of her dress.  Since she set the standard, I matched her, my own slender
limb even more displayed in the tight knit leggings that were my standard
informal court dress.

     "What news?" she asked simply.

     "Mother, the news is bad.  The King and Prince Tamor have both given
their lives in defense of our land, but to no avail.  Kragdle and his High
Canyon horde are following on the heels of these survivors of the battle."

     "Can we hold?"

     "With these men, once we get them reorganized, I could hold Stalwart
Guard for a very long time," Bareth claimed, his tone so flat there was
no hint of boasting in it.  "But Kragdle knows that and there are many
villagers who will not be able to reach the castle's protection.  I fear
for them, my Queen."

     I could see that she wanted to say something, but the words couldn't
get past the tightness in her throat and all she managed was a heart-
breakingly small smile and a quick nod.

     That seemed to be the cue for the priest to come running up with
the anointing oil, followed by the Chamberlain with the crown.  In moments
it was over.  Achaiea had a new king, though if Kragdle conducted his
campaign with typical ruthlessness, it wouldn't be long before there was
precious little kingdom to rule.  Achaiea had known generations of peace
but we never realized how much that peace was due to the internal bic-
kering of the High Canyon hordes who had not united in as many genera-
tions.  Not united until the coming of Kragdle, who now held those lands
in his clutching talons and planned to extend his grasp to our own king-
dom.

     Queen Selay turned back to her apartments in the inner castle. I
knew she needed me a lot more than Bareth did so I stayed at her side.
As we left the courtyard I could hear the twang of crossbows as the
guards on the wall let fly at Kragdle's approaching vanguard.  The repeti-
tive clank from the drawbridge chain that had so often seemed needlessly
irksome when someone wanted to pass in times of peace, now seemed little
enough comfort in this suddenly too-real war.

     At the door to Mother's dayroom she waved off all the others, though
her tight grip on my arm made it clear she wanted me to stay with her.
Once we were inside she walked around uncertainly for a moment as though
looking for something that wasn't there, that would never be there again.

     "Deacon," she said to me, "your hair has gotten tangled in the wind.
Fetch your brush."

     How often when we are overwhelmed we cling to little islands of fa-
miliarity in the chaos.  I did as ordered of course, and as her hands
gently stroked the twists from the long flow of my hair I could feel a
corresponding tension flow from her stiff body.

     "Your hair is quite beautiful, you know," she said, still clinging to
the mundane.

     "Thank you, Mother, your brushing keeps it so."

     Perhaps it was the word, Mother, that triggered her loss of control.
I'll never know for sure, but after my simple response the brush thunked
on the floor and her hands flew to her face.  Heaving sobs wracked her
slender shoulders as she hid her streaming eyes from the world that no
longer included her husband and her eldest son.

     I stood and walked behind her, picking up her own brush from her
dressing table and began to return the favor.  Her hair had been pinned up
in a more formal arrangement than mine, of course, so the first thing I
did was remove the pins and combs and other aids to control.  It was a few
moments therefore, before I was running the brush through her own golden
glory, still thick and soft and without a trace of grey.

     Her cat, Greyshadow, jumped into Mother's lap and added her own com-
fort to combat the Queen's distress.  As Mother stroked the soft fur the
cat arched her back in pleasure, purring with a promise that their world
would survive this tragedy.

     My own mind churned, racing beyond the simple motions of my
hands to consider . . . and reject . . . plans and strategies for
defending the castle.  Bareth would never ask for my help, but he had
often mused aloud in my presence and listened carefully when my own
musings touched on the topic he raised.  It was his little make-believe to
take advantage of the intelligence we both knew I possessed in greater
measure than him without formally requesting advice from our father's
disappointment.  I had rejected a dozen impossible schemes and was sear-
ching for ever-less-likely candidates when a knock at our door had Mother
quickly dabbing at her eyes and arranging her dress.  At her nod I went to
open the door.

     Bareth was there, along with a few of his top officers plus the
priest and Hugh of Sandars, the Chamberlain.  Several members of the
entourage looked with displeasure at the cradled gray cat.  The rumors
that claimed strange powers for my mother declared that the cat was some-
how involved and most people were wary of the innocent animal.  I had one
of her kittens myself but had never seen any unusual behavior.  Well, none
beyond the strangeness of all cats.

     Bareth began without preamble, "Queen Mother, the castle has been
invested and Kragdle has announced his intentions."

     She sat patiently, perhaps still not trusting her voice.

     Bareth glanced at me, though not with his usual sly invitation to
think on the topic for him.  There was something else in his demeanor.
"Kragdle intends to rule Achaiea as part of his empire.  To that end, he
offers terms for our surrender rather than see the lands destroyed."

     In later years I would remember Bareth's tone as he delivered that
part of the message.  It was calm, controlled, and gave no indication
of the rest of the self-styled emperor's intentions.  I could not have
matched that calm, if I had known what was to come.

     "The terms?" Mother asked, a hint of hope in her eyes.

     Seeing that his calmness had actually misled Mother, Bareth kneeled
down before her and took her hands in his own.  "Mother, the terms are
hard.  He demands the life of all male heirs to the throne of Achaiea.
Else, he will execute a dozen peasant families every day and lay waste to
their homesteads until either we consent or there is nothing left of
Achaiea.  Oh, Mother, he has already killed the first families!  Their
bodies are lifted outside the gates on wooden poles.  Men, women, youths
and maidens.  Only the smallest children are spared."

     "How far does this edict extend into the nobility of Achaiea?" I
asked.

     "Never fear, Prince Deacon, you're close enough to be given the
chance to do your duty," Drayson, one of Bareth's officers, sneered at me.

     Bareth was about to speak to him but I held his shoulder. In the
face of the loss of our kingdom, and of my Father, and of my own life, I
lost the fear of the future that had always controlled me.  I felt a
white-hot yet death-cold power rise up within me, driven by a fierceness
I had never accepted before.  Not a fierceness of violent motion, instead
a fierceness of purpose that would crush all opposition before it with
the grinding inevitability of a glacier.  I walked over to the smug sol-
dier by myself.  It wouldn't have been much of a fight, physically.  He
towered over me by at least six inches and probably had twice my weight.
But I was a son of our father, and of our mother as well.  Their strength
had maintained order, even justice, in our kingdom for longer than this
cretin had been alive.  I just stared at him, the chips of blue ice that
were my eyes drilling into his muddy brown ones with cold beyond his worst
nightmares of hell.  Without breaking my hold on his eyes I slowly walked
up to him and drew his own dagger from his sheath and pressed it to his
neck.

     "Never fear, soldier-who-fled-the-battle, I will do my duty," I
whispered in his face.  Then, without yet looking away, I threw his dag-
ger down to spike between our feet.  It made him blink.  Only then, with a
cold neutrality replacing my intensity, did I turn back to Bareth and the
Queen.

     "However," now I continued on as though no fierce emotions had
just been vented, "we still need to know how far the edict extends.
Does it include those in Mother's family line?  What of the outlying
barons?  They are outside the walls already and if Kragdle expects us
to gather them in, his terms are impossible and our decision is obvious."

     The Chamberlain, who had never been a particular friend of mine
though he had been my primary tutor, weighed in on my side for once.
"Prince Deacon is correct.  We should not volunteer anyone to this mad-
man's bloodthirst.  We must make him give us a specific list of those to
be surrendered."

     "We cannot accept his terms," Mother breathed.

     "We may have to," Bareth disagreed.  For the first time, the royal
'We' was evident in his voice.  "We cannot allow Our people to die need-
lessly.  If Kragdle does as he promises, and the precedents of his cruelty
are many, there will be no kingdom to rule if We do not meet his terms."

     He stood straight, his resolve firm, his bearing regal in a way that
I had seldom seen even in our father, King Andros.   With a brief nod in
respect to the Queen, our King led his staff out of her room to continue
the negotiations.

     "Oh, Deacon, I can't lose you, too!" her sobs returned even as the
door closed.

     I did not notice at the time that Mother's expression of grief did
not include Bareth, "We are sons of our father as well.  If we turn our
back on our duty, you will already have lost us."

     The proper thing to have done would have been to stay with her, but
faced with the prospect of my own imminent demise I found I had no comfort
to spare.  My apartments were not far down the hall and I reached them
quickly.

        What would happen to the momentos of my life?  My mother's influ-
ence was clear in my room, dotted with paintings and musical instruments
rather than the swords and armor I knew were in Tamor's room.  And my
books!  In all the kingdom, there was not a finer library of discourses on
human motivation than I had accumulated.  The rumors of Mother's powers
had intrigued me and I had been quietly corresponding with scholars since
I learned to read, though always through my Mother.  Father would not
abide any reference to her gift, except from the one source he could deny
nothing.  And why was that?  Had I just witnessed within myself an echo of
that rumored power?  That irresistible persuasion?  Now I would never
know.

     My own cat, Wraith, was a few shades lighter than Mother's Grey-
shadow.  Both had a smooth, uniform color that seemed to make their forms
indistinct in anything other than strong light so I missed her for a mo-
ment while I was considering my few treasures.  When I didn't reach to pet
her as I moved near, she voiced her displeasure with a demand no less
imperative for coming from a kitten barely past weaning.  She subsided
with no more than a brief caress, though, sensing my mood.

     I spent the next hour or so quietly reminding myself of my favorite
tunes on the various instruments, letting the music be a symbol of my
brief and passing contribution to the world that would soon throw my
books out with the other rubbish.  A knock on my door interrupted me
before I became excessively maudlin.

     "Prince Deacon, your presence is requested in the Queen's chambers,"
came the call when I stopped playing.

     The resolve demonstrated by my brother the prin . . . my brother the
King, set a higher standard than I had given him credit for and I tried
to capture a share of that myself as I went to hear of my doom.  When I
got to the Queen's chambers there was an unexpectedly high level of energy
in the room.  Bareth and Mother were looking together at a parchment that
appeared to set out the terms of the surrender, with the other members of
Bareth's staff humming to each other in small groups.

     "Deacon, your name's not on the list!" Bareth blurted out as soon
as I entered.

     "What?"

     "Look and see," he offered, not quite pulling the parchment from
Mother's hands as he turned it toward me.

     At the head, was Tamor's name, followed by Bareth.  But where mine
would be expected to be found, the name of one of Father's brothers was
listed, Alcon, then his other brother, Kestrel.  The fifth and final name
on the list was mother's brother, Nyquist, who had come to Achaiea to
assist us in the ill-fated war.  All these relatives were elderly.  Father
had been proclaimed heir by his father in preference to older brothers who
were considered unsuitable for some reason I never knew.  As I looked at
the list I wondered if their failing had been in choice of a mate, for
they were similar to Father in many ways, yet none had found wives to
match our mother.  Father had reigned, but who had truly ruled in Achaiea?
These idle thoughts were an attempt for my mind to consider small problems
before attacking the large ones, but the large ones weren't going away.

    "Why is Tamor's name on the list?" I asked while I tried to understand
the significance of my name's absence.

     "They don't know he died in the battle.  We told them that we be-
lieved that to be the case and Kragdle has scouts out looking for his
body.  I confirmed with our men, though, and Tamor definitely died in the
fight.

     "It's, um, a surprisingly short list," I mused.

     The briefest flicker of amusement flashed across Bareth's eyes as
he replied, "Brother, you have a gift for making a point without saying
what one would expect.  The absence of your name is indeed a surprise."

     "Do you have an explanation?" I asked.

     "No.  When they gave Hugh the list, he did a masterful job of be-
traying none of the surprise you mentioned and just brought it to me."

    The Chamberlain, on hearing his name, turned to us.  "Your Majesty, I
may have an explanation.  All the names on that list have participated in
martial tournaments.  In addition, all have been proclaimed as the King's
representatives at fairs or as envoys in negotiations or in other official
capacities.  And of course, Queen Selay's only other brother now reigns in
Verdantland.  Since Prince Deacon has only now turned sixteen, he has had
no official duties outside the castle.  It appears that Kragdle's spies
are not very efficient."

     "Surely his spies can't be that bad," I disagreed.

     "Your pardon, Highness, but your appearance is somewhat , um, am-
biguous.  It is more common to find a girl who wears leggings than a boy,
uh, man with long blond hair, especially as long and . . . err . . . well
tended, as yours.  Those who saw you but did not know you personally might
not have recognized your true . . . gender," my old tutor stammered out.

     So that's why he was never very friendly toward me.  He thought I
was too effeminate.  Not just weak, but actually un-masculine.  Well,
maybe he was right, at least in how I appeared.

     I didn't voice these thoughts, but Mother's mind was moving in a
similar track and much further down the path.

     "We can beat that monster!" she breathed fiercely.

     "Mother?" Bareth asked in surprise.

     In sharp, clipped tones that seemed brittle as glass and twice as
edged, she explained her plan.

     "Oh, Bareth . . . my son . . . forgive me, but I cannot find a way to
save you.  This is no less your duty than it would be to lead your army
into battle, though the outcome is certain rather than in the hands of
God.  However, Achaiea can survive."

     Bareth's eyes had held hope when Queen Selay had claimed a chance to
beat Kragdle, then became carefully neutral when she withdrew any personal
hope for him.  He nodded briefly in acceptance of her priorities.  Achaiea
was more important than any single life and the life of her King was al-
ways hers to claim.  Yet just as surely, if the kingdom were to survive,
there needed to be a King.

     "I don't understand," he prodded the Queen.

     Instead of responding to him directly, Mother looked at me.

     "Deacon, are you ready to make a sacrifice almost as drastic as
that demanded of Bareth?" she asked.

     "Yes, Mother, though what can be almost that bad, yet be effective?"

     "Can you not guess?  You were always the smartest of my children and
Hugh has already given you the answer."

     Hugh has given the answer?  What answer?  Hugh just said that some
people might have mistaken me for a . . .

     It came to me with an inevitability of its own, yet I must resist.
"No.  I'm sorry, but I'll let them have my head first."

     Bareth still hadn't caught on, so the next to react was Hugh.  His
face took on a fierceness to match Mother's and I remembered that this
man controlled the daily management of the Kingdom, not a job for a man
of weak will or small intellect.

     "Yessss," he breathed.  "It would work."

     "What would work?" Bareth demanded.  "Somebody tell me what's going
on!"

     I tried to cut off any other response, "Nothing is going on.  Go
tell Kragdle that they made a mistake.  It's better to do it now than
have him find out on his own when he occupies the castle."

     Bareth was puffing up in preparation for a truly regal rage when
Mother put her hands on his arm, and on my own.

     She spoke to me, first, "Deacon, this is your duty to your kingdom,
no less than your duty to die if required.  In this case you must live in
order for Achaiea to live and for Kragdle to die."

     Finally, she explained to Bareth, "Deacon will have to masquerade
as a woman.  When the time is right, he can depose the High Canyon trash
and reclaim the kingdom."


Chapter 2 - A Maiden's Lover


     Even his own impending doom could not contain my brother's humor
at the path the Fates seemed to have selected for me.  His laughter rang
out with a too-loud energy that betrayed the tension within him even as
it gave him a way to relieve it.

     "Why, Deak, old boy, uh, girl, I think you may have the greater sac-
rifice to make at that!"

     "No, for I will share the same end as you.  It is impossible, and
when Kragdle finds out his vengeance will make his current threat seem
the greatest of mercies."

     "Deacon," at the word of our mother, all other voices ceased, "if
there were a way, one that would work for long enough to rid our land of
this pestilence, would you do it?"

     "Of course, but your premise is impossible."  I gave an easy, hollow
agreement.

     "I tell you that it is not.  I tell you that this can work, if you
will commit yourself to it as fully as your duty requires."

     Her tone was strange.  There didn't seem to be any emotion in it at
all, but it left not the slightest room for any alternate concept.  What
had been impossible now became the only possibility.  I found myself nod-
ding, as did everyone else in the room.  For a long moment she sat quiet-
ly, the only motion in the room her fingers idly stroking Greyshadow's
fur.

     "Leave me, please, all except Deacon."  Her order included the King
as casually as it did the lesser soldiers who guarded him.  They filed out
in silence, remarkable silence no less so because it seemed absolutely
unremarkable at the time to all of us.

     "How often have you used the white-cold mind?" she asked when they
had left.

     "Excuse me?" what was she talking about?

     "As you did with Drayson.  I saw it in you as surely as I saw his
submission to your strength."

     "Never," I replied.  "I just couldn't accept his insult, at least,
not any longer.  I mean, what could he do to me that wasn't going to hap-
pen already?"

     "Why do you suppose he didn't react?" she continued to probe.

     "I don't think I really considered it.  To begin with, I was so angry
that I didn't care, and when it was over, we had other things to worry
about."

     "Were you angry?  Describe your anger."

     "It wasn't one of Father's smashing rages, if that's what you mean.
It felt focused, white-hot yet cold beyond anything imaginable.  I just
knew that my will would prevail."

     This was too intense, not supported with the fuel of anger from Dray-
son's insult, confusing to a degree that made me very uncomfortable.  I
had to lighten the mood.

     "Or else he would have killed me," I defined the acceptable
alternative with a smile.  "There was no middle ground."

     Mother ceased her questions and began to explain, "What you have
described has been in our family, that is, my family, for untold genera-
tions.  Your description is apt.  We have always referred to is as the
'white-cold mind'.  It is a means of focusing our minds so intensely that
we can compel other minds to do our bidding.  Yet it is a dangerous gift,
or curse, for there are limits.  It is a battle between our will and that
of our target, and if our will is insufficient, well, don't attempt it
lightly.  It is easiest of course, when the target's will aligns with your
own.  Intense anger such as you felt provides great power to your will,
but it is a dangerous source of strength.  It will burn you out as surely
as a true fire of equal intensity."

    I nodded, not really sure what she was talking about though her de-
scription certainly matched my experience.  My lack of comprehension must
have been apparent, but when she continued she added yet another layer of
confusion.

     "Yet it is the reason you can succeed in your duty.  If both partici-
pants are willing, the white-cold mind can allow them to share knowledge
without coercion; to merge wills in an alliance rather than dominance and
submission."

     Where was she going with this?  What did this have to do with re-
gaining our realm?  And how did it make the impossible become inevitable?

     "Will you merge your mind with mine, Deacon?  In a matter of minutes
I can provide you with a lifetime of knowledge on how to act like a woman.
The other aspects of your masquerade are clothes and artistry that are
secondary.  You will be convincing.  In fact, with your fine features you
will probably be appealing, but that is also secondary.  You will reveal
yourself, or confirm yourself, with every gesture of your hand, with every
glance of your eyes to be either man or woman.  I can help you learn what
you must know to succeed."

     "With this white-cold thing?"

     "Yes.  But you must be a willing participant.  If you fight me, I
will not be able to sustain the intensity of emotion it would take to
force you, especially since you have the power yourself.  Yet this is
how you can do your duty to our kingdom and to our people."

     I could not claim to understand any significant portion of what she
said, not truly understand.  On another level though, I could not deny
what she said.  I had felt that intensity, that  . . . power.  It was as
real to me as the breath that sighed in and out of my lungs as my mind
churned.

     In the end I had no more option than Bareth.  Duty is a hard task-
mistress when she provides no choices at all.  Even death was not mine to
choose if there were a chance that we could restore our kingdom through
some other sacrifice.  Yet what a sacrifice this would be!

     Still, I nodded, "What do we do?"

     "Sit here," she pointed to a low stool near her own chair.  When I
was in place she took my hands in her own and caught my eyes with her own.
The blue jewels that had always seemed so much like my own were now so
different, somehow.  Larger, it seemed, and deeper in more ways than I
could measure.  I found myself moving forward into that depth as though
swept in a current of smooth water, at first quite slowly and I knew I
could draw back, but with gradually increasing speed until I knew just as
surely that I had no control at all.

    Images, impressions, sensations beyond senses began to match me on my
journey.  They melded with me until no seam existed and I could not tell
which were external and which had always been part of me.  The first
images were of Father and I thought to study them, but I felt a pull in
another direction and knew that Mother would hold these to herself.

     The sensations that next sought me out were like, yet unlike, my
own memories.  The scenes were the same, the people were familiar, but
these impressions were from Mother in those same situations, impressions
that focused more and more on things she did because of her femininity.
Clothes seemed initially overwhelming in variety and purpose, but as they
were absorbed into my knowledge their complexity seemed childish next to
those of action within the clothes.  I saw her as a young maiden captivate
suitor after suitor with a lift of an eyebrow, a glance, a flutter of a
wrist, or of an eyelash.  I saw her win Father with a smile, while that
same smile transformed a rival into incoherent rage.

     The intensity of that long-ago rival's emotion cast me from her
mind.  I blinked and the merging was lost.  When I looked again at
Mother's eyes, I saw only the clear blue gems that had always comforted
me.  They crinkled in the corners with amusement, a surprise on this most
devastating of days yet perhaps understandable.

     "So, Deacon, do you still think this is impossible?  Or should I
say, 'Cherysse'?"

     The voice that answered her was not my own, though it came from my
mouth.  This voice was lighter, more musical, more full of life and
energy.  The register had not changed, my own voice had never dropped
much, but in all other ways it was as different as night from day.  Or, as
man from woman.

    "I would not have believed it, but now I cannot imagine we will fail.
At least, not because of someone penetrating my masquerade," that strange,
musical voice replied.

     This phrasing seemed to bother her.  I saw a note of discomfort
pass her face, quickly suppressed, but less deniable now than even in
our previous closeness.  Before I could ask about it, she had risen and
gone to her door.

     Opening it, she bade the servant request the attendance of the King
and such others as he desired.

     "Cherysse, you will find that after you have fully absorbed the
impressions I have shared, you will be able to choose between the man-
nerisms as you wish, but for now the feminine will be dominant.  I'm sorry
for the abruptness but we have no time.  Remember always, your duty is as
vital and as inescapable as Bareth's own."

     By this time the King had approached.  I still sat on Mother's
stool, dazed by the flood of thoughts that had assailed me.  Lost in
my thoughts as I was, I absorbed without registering the conversations
around me.  Finally, Bareth's voice grew loud.

     "Deacon.  Deacon!  Wake up, brother!"

     I jerked to attentiveness and swiveled on the stool to look at him.
His eyes wore a very strange expression, one that seemed to indicate that
I was the source.

     "Yes, Bareth?  I mean, Majesty," that strange voice replied from my
mouth.

     All sound in the room ceased.  Bareth's eyebrows made an attempt to
disappear into his neatly trimmed hairline.  The voice from his mouth,
though still his own, had wonder in it that I had never heard before.

     "Deacon?" he asked again.

     "Yes?" I replied, a bit petulant at the repetition.  I tossed my hair
over my shoulder and stood up.

     Why was everyone looking at me so strangely?  I just stood up, for
God's sake.  I could feel a most unattractive frown forming on my face and
I fought to keep my features smooth.  A glance at Mother from both Bareth
and I stirred her to explanation.

     "I have instructed Deacon in skills he will need for his masquerade.
In support of that, from this moment forward, this is Cherysse, my daugh-
ter.  Deacon never existed.  I wanted you to understand this before the
transformation is complete so that there is no doubt that Cherysse is in-
deed Deacon."

     "Your pardon, my Queen," Hugh, the Chamberlain interrupted, "but that
brings up a point that we need to address.  It would be best if the suc-
cession of the crown were uninterrupted and unambiguous.  If we allow
Kragdle to crown himself without our own anointed monarch, his claim might
be more difficult to unseat at a later date."

     "What do you advise?" Queen Selay asked.

     "If King Bareth were to abdicate, in favor of, um, Deacon, and Deacon
were crowned before Kragdle could anoint himself, then we would have a
much more compelling rallying cry for our people."

     Bareth smiled in a self-deprecating sort of way and replied, "That
would be acceptable to me.  I was never destined to wear the crown for
long, it seems.  Let Deacon carry the weight of it forward."

     He removed the simple circlet of gold that symbolized our nation
and moved to place it on my head.  The priest interrupted him.

     "Your Majesty, that should follow the anointing," he reminded us
all.

     From the folds of his robe he drew forth a small vial and approached
me in his turn.  Once again, the ceremony was completed quickly.  A drop
or two of oil and then the cold weight of the crown.  Bareth was right, it
was heavy.  And I knew it would not get lighter for some time to come.

     Once again Mother controlled the situation.  The advisors wanted
to draw me off and begin to involve me in the affairs of the realm, to
no good purpose that I could see, but she swept them up with her glance
and made them pause.

     "Cherysse," the emphasis was unmistakable, and the command just as
clear, "has further preparations to make.  You must leave us alone.  What
is Kragdle's deadline for our response?"

     Bareth replied, "If we do not surrender by dawn, he will execute
the next dozen peasant families."

     "Very well.  Bareth, we will attend you later."  Her words contained
the dismissal of the staff and of the so-briefly-reigning King.

     When they were gone she turned again to me.  The expression that
briefly clouded her face when I talked about none penetrating my disguise
had now returned in even greater measure.  She paced about the room for a
moment, then sighed with a glance at me that made it clear she was not
happy with what was to come.

     "Cherysse, are you familiar with a 'maiden's lover'?" she asked.

     "No, not that I kno . ." and then I paused as her words triggered a
memory that had not been there a few hours ago.

     "No!  Mother, you cannot!  I cannot!  It is too much!"   But the
very memories that horrified me were linked to the portion of her memories
that justified the terrible device.

     She waited for my protestations to dissipate.  When I ran down,
she smiled a sad smile that conveyed her personal knowledge of the price
she was asking.

     "It can be survived," she declared.

     Not for the first time I wondered if Bareth's part were indeed the
easier one.  Not for the last time, either.  Yet this was duty no less
demanding once the full price was established.

     "What do I need to do?"  My sigh of resignation brought an even
brighter shine to her eyes, and a warm embrace.

     "I'm sorry, Cherysse, you know that I would not do this if there
were any other way."

     "Of course," wistfully I replied, with a tremor in my voice that
would have shamed me, once.

     "You will need to disrobe, of course, and we had better arrange a
bath before you dress in your new attire," she said with brusque effi-
ciency as she summoned the servants.

     A bath was drawn with scented oils to smooth and protect my skin.  At
Mother's suggestion a fine blade was used to remove all my body hair, not
that there was much of it.  I would have savored the luxury of the bath
for a very long time, but as the water began to cool Mother brought forth
my tormentor.

     "This one was my own.  We don't have time to have another one made
more to your form.  It is a good thing that you are slender."

     A 'maiden's lover' was so named because it had the sole purpose of
preventing any other lover from approaching her virtue.  It looked like a
vest of chain mail woven of the finest steel our land could produce, drawn
down to fine thread but no less strong than an equivalent thickness of
plate.  In extent, it was designed to cover me from my nether regions to
the bosom that I did not have.  In between the woven steel formed a tight-
fitting corset, sized as Mother had explained to the shape she had posses-
sed as a maiden.

     Unfortunately, that was not my natural shape, especially in the
lower portion that was led back between my legs.  This portion of the
garment was rigid plate, providing enough room for a maiden's treasures
but requiring my own to be compressed most uncomfortably.  A flexible rod
perhaps the thickness of an ordinary bootlace trailed from the tip of
this part of the device, trailed for a surprisingly long distance.

     The first step in donning it, though, was to slip a soft silken
garment up my hips to cover the same area.  It was woven continuously
without seam or fastening, yet in some cunning fashion it provided suf-
ficient stretch to allow it to pass my hips.  The bottom of this tube of
silk was closed off sufficiently to provide some cover for my most inti-
mate areas while leaving openings that I knew would be only too necessary
when I wore the controlling steel device for days at a time.

     When the actual maiden's lover was slid up my hips and into position
the corset portion began just above my hips and had eyelets for conven-
tional laces, though they were set into the rear of the 'lover' on remova-
ble flaps.  Mother drew other laces, ordinary string, through these eye-
lets and began to bring the edges together.  It took a while.  When the
tension would become too tight for her to pull (well past anything that I
could willingly accept) she would pause and require me to raise my arms,
or lower them, or breathe (as though I could) or move as well as I might.
After these exercises, she would draw on the laces again.  Eventually the
purpose of the long wire leading from the nether guard became apparent as
she began to thread it through interlocking loops on the back of the gar-
ment.  This would only work if the back were fully closed, a condition
that the young Princess Selay no doubt found much easier to achieve than I
did.  The reduction in my waist was so intense that some of the flesh
actually worked up into the cups in front, giving me a surprisingly
realistic bosom, especially since these cups were themselves stiffly
formed.  When she was done she unlaced the long string and removed the
lacing flaps, leaving only the thin rod to hold the back together.

     The purpose of a small loop in the end of the rod became apparent as
Mother drew a final part of the diabolical device from the chest that had
held the garment.  A small lock, jeweled and intricate to rival the most
precise of timepieces, bound the loop in the wire to a corresponding loop
in the back of the garment.

     "What key opens that lock?" my maiden's voice gasped.

     "You will not know that, now or ever," she replied.  Something in
her tone let me know that she had once asked the same question, and re-
ceived the same reply.  I turned to look at her in surprise, but my own
protest was stifled by the view displayed in a tall mirror behind her
shoulder.

     Whatever else that device might accomplish, it had transformed me
into a woman in body.  It appeared Mother, as a maiden, had been a most
shapely lass.  Now, whether I wanted it or not that shape defined me as
well.  My long golden hair did much to complete the picture.  It reminded
me of my earlier comment.

     "Well, Mother, it is certain that no one will penetrate my disguise
now."  I tried to chuckle for her sake, but the device left me too little
breath for more than a whispered comment.

    "Yes, dear, that was my concern when you mentioned it earlier.  The
only justification for this garment is that it has that virtue, even when
the maiden may not."

     She continued, "Now, let us get you dressed.  It is impossible for
a princess to dress herself, and it would be too suspicious if I took
care of everything for you with my own hands.  Once you are dressed in
your 'lover', others can aid you.  However, only I will ever release you
from your protection.  That has been our way for generations and will be
our justification now."

    She summoned servants and opened her own dressers to find the proper
gown for me.  While she considered choices that I would eventually have to
make on my own, others attended to my hair.  A woman's rank was displayed
in the combs and pins she wore in her hair anytime she was out of her own
chambers.  Those of a princess were many and varied and it was clear that
Mother was again correct.  No woman could place them all properly by her-
self.  By the time they were done a gown had been selected, along with
stockings and shoes.  It was clear that this was again a chore that would
need assistance, for while wearing the 'maiden's lover' I could not bend
sufficiently to place stockings on myself, nor shoes.

     The final assistant was a cosmetician skilled in arts imported from
far off Araby and even further lands to the East, more legend than real
yet none the less artistic.  He transformed my face so that all remaining
vestiges of Deacon were removed and only Cherysse remained.

     In the hustle and bustle of so many attendants I had not had time
to look again into the mirror.  As though at a signal, all drew back and
an aisle was made from me to the looking glass.

     If I had still possessed the breath to do so, I would have gasped.
As it was, I grew light-headed with shock and had to be steadied by
several pairs of hands.  Like all court gowns my dress was ornate, yet the
decoration in this gown complemented the shape displayed, not distracting
from the flow of waist and swell of bosom.  Only the full, wide skirt de-
parted from the curves beneath, providing security against a too-intimate
revelation of a lady's limbs.  Mother had selected a gown of a deep, rich
blue, highlighted with gold.  The combination picked up the colors of my
hair and eyes, colors which Mother displayed as well.

     "That was the gown I wore the day I met your Father," she explained,
the bright shine back in her eyes.

     A dismissive wave of her hand sent the servants scurrying, all but
one she called by name.  "Amy, send to Bareth's chambers and see if it
would be convenient for him to receive us at this time."

     The woman was gone in an instant, returning in barely more time
with his reported assent.

     "Mother," I whispered, "why not have him come here?"

     "We need to maintain the fiction of his reign until at least the
dawn," she explained.  "Besides, it will do you good to get out and
about."

     Taking my hand in her own, she led me down the corridor to Bareth's
apartments.  At the rap of his guard, his door opened.  He stood there
himself but did not move back into the room to allow us to enter.

     "Dea, uh, Cherysse?" he stammered.

     "Yes, brother, it is your sister," I replied.  My voice, still
strange to him though I was becoming accustomed to it, caused him to start
out of his stupor and finally move back in to the room.

     "I would never have believed it.  Even after the transformation
Mother called us down to see, I would never had credited any report of
this miracle," he chattered.  "You are not merely feminine, you are beautiful!"

     "Thank you," Mother's imprinted mannerisms brought out the demure
response without conscious thought.

     Bareth's eyes had lit up with pleasure at the sight of the pretty
maiden that I had become.  It overshadowed, for a moment, his own fate.
Still, it was clear that this had been weighing heavily on his mind for it
sobered quickly.

     "Can you do this, Deacon?" he asked.

     "Yes, my brother.  I can.  I will, for our realm, for our people, and
for you."  As I said it, I felt an echo of the white-cold mind in my
voice and saw conviction greater than my own appear on Bareth's features.
And peace.  His honor was such that his own sacrifice was not an unrealis-
tic price for him to pay, but it gave him peace to know it would not be in
vain.  Would I be able to keep the promise I had just made?  I wished my
own mind were as certain as I had caused his to be.


Chapter 3 - Tan Fog

     The dawn found Mother and I watching from the battlements as the four
known heirs to the throne of Achaiea walked to their doom.  Mother's
golden hair took a deep copper color from the blood of the rising sun, so
soon to be matched by the blood of human cruelty.  I knew mine looked the
same for this morning Mother and I were identical in all respects save
age.  It was her intention to reinforce the image of my gender by constant
reference to her own.  Together we wore widow's black, accented by silver
that took on the color of the sun to look like drops of blood already
spattered on our bodies.

     Bareth would not stand out in the annals of our realm for the sac-
rifice of his life.  In the oldest records no distinction was made between
this surrender to death, and death in battle.  In truth, there was no
practical difference as the losers were always executed.  We had become
more civilized since then.  Now a dozen peasant families had already been
sacrificed to escort my brother to his eternity.  Yet another dozen stood
by to ensure he held steadfast to his duty.  Such "civilized" escorts were
also no longer remarkable.  In time, he would be most memorable for the
shortness of his reign, over within hours of his accession to the throne.
I wondered if I would survive long enough to have a record of my own, and
what it would say.

     As the rays of light crept lower into the valley before the castle
the color lightened to a more golden hue.  This did not fill the view with
warmth, though.  It showed a shifting tan carpet, swirling over the ground
like fingers of fog, ever moving with no distinct form or structure.  This
was the way of the High Canyon horde, never called an army.  Their clothes
were as uniform as they could make them, disdaining honorable coats of
arms for anonymity in battle except for those whose deeds were so great
that no artificial identity was required.  Their horde as a whole moved in
apparent confusion for the same purpose.  It was impossible to count them
as they constantly shifted elements from one sector of the battlefield to
another.

     There was no doubt about the destination of our men, though.  The
headsman was prominent a long crossbow reach from the drawbridge.  Bareth
and his three uncles moved steadily forward, neither hesitation nor anxi-
ety in their strides.  When they reached the waiting tan-covered men it
appeared that the faceless members of the horde knew something of our
royal family for each was questioned.  From our distance it was impossible
to tell what the interrogation entailed but apparently the answers were
satisfactory to our invaders.  Each Achaiean man turned toward the crenel-
lated wall where Mother and I stood, saluting our bright hair one last
time before submitting to a professionally quick end.  In all-too-brief
sequence the males of the royal family were dispatched.

     Those murders were only the most dramatic sign of our surrender.
The gates of Stalwart Guard were to remain open as sign of submission
of the people as a whole.  A contingent of the horde flowed toward our
castle even as the bodies of our men were bundled in cloths and presented
to the disarmed retinue that had accompanied them.

     With regal dignity I strove to match, Mother descended from the
wall and entered the throne room where she took her accustomed place in
the Queen's high seat.  I, of course, could not take the royal throne as
was my right.  Instead, I stood at her shoulder in the position of a prin-
cess.  And in the raiment of a princess.  And under it all, the maiden's
lover.  It had not been a comfortable night for me.  The tightness of the
too-narrow waist had prevented easy breathing regardless of my position
and the unaccustomed bulk of the bosom I had so strangely acquired main-
tained a sensation of discord in any of my normal postures.  I didn't want
even to think of the unnatural compression in a so-intimate place.  Still,
the artistry of the palace cosmetician overcame such minor obstacles as a
sleepless night and I looked more attractive than I would have believed
possible just 24 hours before.

     The doors to the throne room were thrown open with casual disregard
for protocol, I thought.  Then it came to me this was not casual at all,
it was flamboyantly arrogant.  Yet the actions of those intruding in our
chamber were not individually flamboyant.  Perhaps a dozen members of the
horde entered, though even here it was hard to tell as they maintained
their habitual swirl.  There was an island of stability in their fog.  A
pair of men clothed in tan approached on a straight, unyielding line.  A
third man bearing the symbol of their pagan religion followed the stead-
fast two.

     A few feet in front of the dais one threw back his obscuring hood.
We saw a face too harsh to be merely lean.  Not harshness of expression,
of which there was none, but harshness of a deeper, permanent sort.  When
the children of Achaiea were learning to laugh, the child this man had
been was learning to live without water for days at a time.  That dryness
still pervaded him, a parched visage with no waste about it, not even the
waste of muscle to pad skin stretched too tightly over sharp-edged bones.

     His voice was much the same, toneless yet sharp, with no inflection.
"Madame Selay, I presume."

     Mother ignored his comment utterly, gazing at the open doorway as
though still waiting for someone to enter.

     I saw that I had misjudged the man.  There was humor in him after
all.  It was just not reflected in his face unless he chose to use the
expression as part of his communication.  A tight smile recognizable
by the contrast to his previous neutrality accompanied his next comment,
"Queen Selay, then."

     At this Mother nodded her head with rigid precision. Her glance
never left the open doorway beyond our intruder's head, but she acknow-
ledged his unwelcome presence once her own recognition was proper.

     "I am Kragdle, King of High Canyon, and by grace of the one true
God, now ruler of Achaiea," he declared, stepping up to confront Mother
from a distance too close for proper court protocol.  Still his voice
was absent, the comments carried seemingly by force of personality
rather than the volume others would need.

     He waved his hand and the other figure who had strode directly to
our dais pulled back his own hood and approached to stand in front of me.
This man was inches taller than Kragdle and had the wide shoulders and
large hands of my father and older brother.  Yet his body reflected a lean
economy more reminiscent of Bareth.  Of the men in my experience, my
father and brothers had been the greatest warriors.  This man, though,
looked to combine the best of the fighters in my heritage.  His face did
not show the harshness of the thirst that had marked Kragdle, yet the
additional flesh he carried on his face was spare and efficient.  More
than any other distinction from his father though, his warm, brown eyes
lacked the ruthlessness of the glittering chips of black rock displayed by
our conqueror.  Instead, the eyes showed interest, all the more terrifying
when I realized I was the primary focus of that interest.

     "Your Majesty," in another voice there would have been a sneer buried
in that comment to the Queen but the flatness of Kragdle's whisper robbed
it of clear insult, "allow me to present my son, Lyonidas.  He will be
regent in Achaiea.  In accordance with that duty, I have charged him to
act as judge in our first case.  A case of possible treason."

     Then he turned that snake's glare on me.

     "Ah, what have we here?  A royal princess, no less," he whispered in
that voiceless hiss.  "We had heard rumors of another child."

     He started to move toward me and one of the royal guards moved to in-
terpose himself.  An instant of irritation flickered in the black coals of
Kragdle's eyes.  He looked around the throne room at the surviving leaders
of the Army of Achaiea and his smile changed to something even uglier.

     "Lyonidas, my son, have you ever noticed how hard it is to tell the
difference between the Achaiean soldiers and . . . their women?" he mused
without inflection.

     "Why, even this delicate flower might be one of their noble warriors
in disguise," he continued, pointing at me.

     A low, wordless growl escaped from the men of Achaiea in the room.
There was a shifting that cleared sword arms.  Kragdle ignored it com-
pletely but his swirl of men did not.  Their own arms moved beneath the
concealing cloaks, accompanied by a muted whisper of steel withdrawing
from sheaths.

     Lyonidas forestalled the imminent battle by stepping up to me with a
grin.   He ignored my guard and said to his father, "There is really only
one way to be sure."

     A shake of Mother's head even more constrained than her previous
acknowledgment caught Lyonidas' attention.  Kragdle used the opportunity
to deliver a threat he had obviously intended from before he entered the
throne room.

     "Why, if we found that this creature were male," this part was said
with amusement, but then his tone became vicious, "or if we found another
male heir hidden anywhere in the castle, we would be forced to execute
every single member of the Achaiean royal family to ensure that no other
heirs masqueraded among the inhabitants.  Since such treachery might
permit disguise as serving girls, or even children, every person residing
in this castle would be sacrificed to the traitor's deception."

     Again there was that flicker of amusement on Kragdle's sun-darkened
features as he observed the total lack of response from Mother.  No fear,
no guilt, no anxiety colored her regal features.  After it was clear his
threat would bring no response, he concluded with yet another question,
"Is there anything you wish to say before we conduct our trial?"

     Queen Selay finally spoke, "This is my daughter, Cherysse.  I am
not responsible for your rumors.  You have the power to murder peasants,
and for that reason our heirs died in honor.  Do not assume that gives you
ultimate power over us.  We who remain will die before we are dishonored .
. . for death is available to all.  If you defile my daughter, we will
save you the trouble of executions and with our dying breath we will curse
you before God.  Our people will know of your perfidy and of the use-
lessness of surrender.  You will not see any value from your usurpation
and butchery, not now, and not for future generations too numerous to
count."

     The smile vanished from Kragdle's face while Mother spoke.  At the
end of her speech he put it back on his features with deliberate intent,
but he stepped back.   The amusement on his face made a claim of being
still in control of this audience, but the true battle of wills had been
won by Mother and at least she, Kragdle, and I knew it.

     "Lyonidas, how would you determine if this is truly a woman?" he
offered with that tight little grin.  My sex was clear in his mind but
he would use this joke he had made up himself as an excuse to gloat about
his power.

     Lyonidas reached out to me with his large, muscular hands.  The
audience in the chamber gasped, then gasped again as Queen Selay stood.

     "For countless generations the Imperial Edict has proscribed the
defilement of women, whether maid or matron," she reminded him.

     "There hasn't been an Emperor for most of those generations you
invoke," Kragdle snarled.

     "Perhaps not, but the other nations of the old Empire still obey
those precepts of civilization.  My brother, King Nikolai of Verdantland
has told me many times of his respect for those ancient traditions."

     At this thinly veiled threat Kragdle's eyes narrowed once again.
It was well known that there had been border squabbles between High
Canyon and Verdantland for years as Nikolai had tried to take advantage
of any distraction Kragdle might experience in his conquests.  The High
Canyon campaign against our nation had been so swift that Queen Selay's
brother had not had time to mobilize while the High Canyon horde was
outside home borders and Verdantland was not strong enough for a bald
invasion of High Canyon.  However, an atrocity or two would bring Nikolai
allies, perhaps enough to give Kragdle a real challenge.

     Still, great conquerors are great gamblers.  Kragdle had not built an
empire from nothing by being intimidated by distant threats.  Just the
opposite, his arrogance led him to believe he could do as he wished with
us and still protect his past conquests.  I could see a decision forming
in his eyes to make his strength clear with a gesture suitably disdainful
of the old customs.

     Before he said anything though, I spoke up.  My bookish, unmanly
studies had provided me with another control on his aggressiveness.  My
words were not directed to Kragdle, but to the silent shaman with the
pagan wand, "Is it not written in the book of Aster, 'Who wars on an
innocent maiden of a conquered land will face destruction.  Verily, even
unto the least of the followers of the defiler'?"

     The shaman jerked at hearing the words of his own Holy Writ.  His
answering nod was too reflexive for him to solicit permission from his
King.  It provoked a stirring from Kragdle's other silent escorts as they
realized that Kragdle was threatening their own souls with his power
games.

     Kragdle's eyes held mine for a long moment.  He took in my golden
hair and blue eyes as though noticing them for the first time.  Then his
glance flickered to Queen Selay for an instant, reminding himself of our
similarity.  When he spoke, his hiss was too quiet for his own men to
understand.  Only the Queen, Lyonidas, and myself heard his comment, "I
had heard that the noblewomen of Achaiea were witches with strange mental
powers.  Well, I don't believe it.  I have beaten 'King Andros and his two
sons, the finest fighters in Achaiea' and I can beat the women and chil-
dren that remain, witch powers or no."

     After holding my gaze, and then Queen Selay's, for long enough to
make the point that he was not intimidated, he glanced sidelong at
Lyonidas.  Uncertainly showed in the son's features for a long second,
then he again moved toward me.

     "Do you really think it is making war on a maiden, when all I want to
do is see if this vision of loveliness has a woman's sensuality as well?"

    Lyonidas' eyes never left me.  That is not to say they never left my
eyes for his own gaze slowly absorbed my form from golden halo of intri-
cate hairstyle, past swell of apparently full bosom, to sweep of sleek
waist, stopping only with a speculative glance at what might be hidden
behind the full skirts.  Where Kragdle was a leathery snake, Lyonidas was
a languid lion, secure in his power, not intense with taut energy.  Only
once his gaze had completed his evaluation of my form, did he again look
directly into my face.

     "Father," he said with a ponderous tone at odds with the amusement
lurking within his soft brown eyes, "there is definitely evidence of
treachery here.  However, the obvious evidence is against those outside
the authority you have given me.  Those spies who report to you have
claimed that the women of Achaiea are the most beautiful in all the world,
yet that report so understates the truth as to be tantamount to deliberate
lie.  I assume you will deal with them yourself when you return home."

     Now he spoke directly to me with a possessiveness in his tone that
transformed the meaning in his respectful words, "My princess, it is also
rumored that once a girl of Achaiea reaches the age of fertility, only her
husband . . . or her lover . . . ever see her hair unbound.  Is this
true?"

     "Such is our custom," I replied, "and if you know that, you know
that husband and lover are one and the same."

     "Always?"  His amusement now twitched at his eyes as well as his
lips.

     "For those who are honorable, yes," I declared.

     "And for you?"  Now he grinned openly.

     I slapped him.

     It was a reflex so fast that I didn't even have time to consider any
consequences.  Deacon would never have done it.  When struck with an
equivalent insult, Deacon had called on the white-cold mind for the
power to restore respect.  But my responses were now driven by Mother's
personality and she was a woman of strength in many more ways than just
power of mind.

     Swords appeared in the hands of the tan swirl behind Lyonidas and
it began to flow toward the dais almost before the echo had died.  They
were stopped by Lyonidas' laughter.

     "Ah, a woman of spirit.  We had reports of that as well.  Tell me,
girl, are you yet a maiden?"

     This time it was my turn for the curt, tiny nod that Mother had
demonstrated.  I felt my lips tighten at this continued insult but no
out-of-control reflex lifted my hand for another physical response.

     Without further words he reached up and started removing the combs
and pins from my hair.  His touch was gentle and his hands never came
close to my body, nor even my face.  Nothing in his slow, soft touch ever
quite became enough threat to present an unbearable attack, though the
insult of stripping my hair was as great as stripping my body.  A woman's
status was defined by the arrangement of her hair no less than a man's
status was defined by his coat of arms.  To take down the combs from my
hair and let it flow freely was to take away my status as a princess.
Worse, it left me less than a simple but honorable maiden of Achaiea, such
as the peasant girls who had been slaughtered so casually.

     Yet, it triggered sensations within me that I did not understand.
Only a lover caressed a woman's hair this way.  As he removed the decora-
tions, strands began to hang down in unbalanced disarray, tugging my head
even as his ministrations tugged on the combs and pins.  A part of me
wanted to slap his hands away just to finish more quickly than his slow
pace would support.  But a part of me found the gentle caresses he gave my
hair to be unimaginably sensual, so much so that my eyes closed in appre-
ciation of the sensations.  When he finished and my golden mane again fell
in free tumbles, I gave a reflexive shake of my head to cause the scat-
tered strands to lay behind my shoulders.  Another unconscious reflex
tucked a portion behind each ear to keep it out of my face as I re-opened
my eyes.

     "Father," Lyonidas reported, "I tell you that this is a woman.  Her
hair is natural, and too beautiful for a man.  Her reflexes show that
this hair has been always been part of her life.  However, in watching
it flow freely, I find a treason on her part, after all."

     Another gasp filled the chamber, but I could see the amusement
shining in his eyes and knew destruction was not on his mind.

     Lyonidas continued speaking to his father but looking only at me,
"It degrades the beauty of your new realm to restrict such beauty with
combs and gaudy distractions.  As your regent, I issue my first formal
edict.  Henceforth, only such hair adornments as enhance Our ability to
see a woman's features will be permitted.  Combs to keep her shining
sunlight from her face, or perhaps a clasp to gather it, will be allowed,
but in no cases is the full length of it to be bound.  It must be allowed
to flow unfettered and reflect her grace when she moves."

     With that he picked up two of the combs of status that had been so
painstakingly added to my hair that morning and offered them to me.  I
took them and worked them quickly into my hair above and behind my ears
to hold the golden mass free of my features.  Why did I not resist?  In
later moments I would never be able to really explain, but at that par-
ticular moment I wanted to do what Lyonidas directed.

     His smile at my compliance completed the transformation of his
features into a generous openness, but that smile was only for me.
Even as he turned back to his father, I saw the mask of neutrality move
again across his visage.  That I could understand since his father was
clearly not given to outward displays of emotion.  But what was the
meaning of the small nod he gave his father when their eyes met?   He had
already announced his conviction that I was indeed a maiden.

     The small smile of amusement on his father's face had never wavered,
but he gave a small nod of his own before turning to the Queen.  "Your
Majesty, this edict applies to all the unmarried women in the kingdom,
except only yourself.  It will be a sign of availability for your women
that my men may use to determine who to woo and win."

     "None will be courted until after our mourning period," Queen Selay
declared with a finality that made it clear what forcing a woman would
cause.  Her own duty, and her own willingness to sacrifice to that duty if
needed were never more clear.  Kragdle gave a minuscule nod of his own
head to acknowledge her threat.

     "How long will this mourning last?" he asked.

     "That depends on the circumstances of the woman's loss.  If she has
no personal losses in the war, then her mourning will last only the three
months due the loss of her King.  If she has lost a brother or cousin, our
customs call for six months.  If she has lost a husband, no less than nine
months is required to ensure clear paternity in the event of issue."

     Lyonidas interrupted, "And how long will your lovely daughter mourn?"

     Mother provided me as much margin as she could, "Princess Cherysse
has lost her father, two brothers, and three uncles.  While I will only
require formal mourning clothes for three months, as I shall wear, no one
will be allowed to court her for at least a full year."

     I could see an intention to argue on Lyonidas' face but his father
responded with his dry whisper, "This is acceptable."

     The glance that passed between the two tan-garbed men was full of
promise to discuss this further, in private, but it held no greater signi-
ficance than the glance that passed between Mother and I.

     With only the barest of nods, Kragdle turned and strode from the
throne room.  Lyonidas took a moment to capture my eyes.  Then his gaze
swept the other women of the court and his fingers danced a light twiddle
that made it clear their hair should be unbound the next time he saw them.
Turning quickly, his longer strides caught up to his father even as the
remaining members of the horde swirled around them.


Chapter 4 - "Thinking Deeper"

     After the self-styled King of High Canyon had departed Mother stood.
She spent a couple of long moments staring at the doors through which they
had gone then gathered me up with her glance and left through the private
door behind the thrones.

     At the door to her chambers she waved all the attendants away, pul-
ling only me in with her.  Then she shut the door and began to pace around
the room, still having said nothing.

     The silence, combined with her tense, jerky motion finally got to be
too much for me and I had to speak.

     "Well, at least we know their plan."

     This simple statement froze her in her tracks and once again her
slender shoulders began to shake as deep, silent sobs wracked her body.
Only the rustle of my gown whispered in the quiet room as I moved to her
side and tried to console her.

     "I'm sorry, Mother, I didn't mean to hurt you.  What did I say?"

     "No, dear, it's nothing you said.  Well, not really.  It's just that
your father would not have known their plan at this point.  He was a good
man, a man so honest that he was never able to see beyond the surface.  He
wouldn't have understood what Kragdle and Lyonidas intended."

     My own memories of my father were a bit distant to cause me to break
into tears but I knew she was right, both in that he was honest and that
he couldn't see beyond the surface.  The image of a battering ram came to
mind.  Her private assessment of him, which applied equally well to his
two older brothers who had been passed over as King, confirmed that it was
Mother who had really provided the guidance for Achaiea.

     Queen Selay shook her head and straightened her shoulders.  She had a
regal duty no less than that of her husband and sons.  The smile she tried
on me was almost enough to make me cry as well, but we both got past the
knife-edge of emotional distress and thought about our next actions.

     "Suppose you tell me what you think they intend," she offered, or
challenged.

     "It seems clear that they expect to import henchmen who will marry
into our nobility, claiming lands and titles left vacant in the war.  This
will lend justification beyond simple conquest and reduce the potential
for resistance."

     Her arched eyebrow invited me to go on though I was running out of
steam.  Still, I tried a bit more, "Oh, and they intend Lyonidas for me.
They must intend for you to remain a widow so that no rival for the throne
arises from some new husband or further children."

     "Did you notice how Kragdle's ploy helped you?" she asked.

     "His ploy?" I guess not.

     "Obviously," she began to explain, "he had heard the rumors of your
birth.  I expect they were just bare rumors with no descriptions. It was
clear he didn't even know your name, of course.  Your father's habit of
claiming martial prowess for himself 'and his two sons', while it always
did you a disservice before seems to have helped in this.  He couldn't be
sure until he saw you whether you were male or female.  He could have
added some nonspecific "Youngest Prince" to the list of those to be sac-
rificed and let us confirm or deny your existence.  Why didn't he do this?"

     "Um, he didn't want to appear ignorant?" I guessed.

     Poorly.

     Her smile showed tolerance that was worse than a rebuke.  "No, he
lost that when he didn't show you on the list more than if he had guessed
wrongly about your sex."

     She relented though, and continued, "If you were male, and hiding,
his fake 'trial' would have found you out and he would have a superficial
justification for eliminating any organized opposition to his rule.  On
the other hand, if you were female and he called you for execution, then
when it became clear you were a maiden you would have had justification
for refusing the suit of his son, which he didn't want to provide.  He
thought finding you in the throne room would resolve between only two
alternatives, both of them good for him."

     "And it helped us, instead?" I asked.

      "Kragdle made it clear that the lives of everyone in the castle are
forfeit if you are found to be male.  That includes everyone who knows
your true gender.  He has passed his own sentence of death on any who
might consider betraying you."

     "You knew this would happen!" I realized.

     Her smile this time had genuine pleasure in it, albeit the pleasure
of a lioness with a fresh kill.  "Yes, dear.  Women are soft and weak.
God has given us compensations."

     Her voice made it clear that the compensations she claimed were
those of subtle power, and that she had thought of the next steps as well.

     "So what do we do?" I asked.

     "Well, we need to encourage Kragdle's plan, at least for now,"
she declared.

     "Encourage it?  I would have thought we should fight him at every
opportunity."

     "No, dear Cherysse," her emphasis on my new name reminded me we had
already chosen against a frontal approach.  "Kragdle has opened the door
to love and romance which are a woman's proper weapons.  We will use these
weapons against him more surely than we could ever use fire and steel."

     Her comment made me look into my mind for the subtle power she
claimed.  Had I gained it when I had gained poise and gracefulness?
Not that I could tell.  I could see coquetry in plenty, but not guile.
Yet clearly it was in my heritage.  Kragdle had staged a play that my
father would never have understood.  My mother, the Queen, had turned that
play against him into one that met our needs as though she had planned it
herself.

     A knock at her door interrupted our privacy.  At her nod I answered
it to find Hugh, the Chamberlain.

     "Your Highness," he nodded to me, then continued to Mother, "Majesty,
I am sorry to interrupt you in your time of grief, but the bodies of your
husband and of your eldest son have been returned to us."

     Queen Selay nodded with regal dignity, aloof and cold.  Did Hugh
know the torment she hid behind her closed doors?  When it was clear she
had nothing to say in response to his first announcement Hugh coughed
delicately into his hand.

     "I'm sorry, Majesty, but in this heat it would be best to have the
funerals quickly.  It has already been a full day."

     Queen Selay nodded again, "Make the preparations.  I, uh, we will
be ready."

     After he had left she slumped without moving, losing the erect pos-
ture to the unbearable load that her slim shoulders must carry.  But only
for a moment.  Even as I moved toward her she raised her hand to stop me.

     "I'll be all right," she promised, "but now that you have been
officially announced as the princess, you will need to start taking a
more active role in court affairs.  Go see to Julia.  She will be chief
mourner for Tamor, just as I will be for Andros of course.  Since Bareth
had no fiancee you will be his chief mourner.  I haven't seen Julia yet
today.  She wasn't in the throne room.  Find her and get her ready.  Your
own attire is appropriate.  Now go."

     I left her alone in her room, only Greyshadow to keep her company in
her loss.  Yet she was still the Queen, and my mother, and I must obey.

    Julia, Tamor's betrothed, was in her own rooms.  She stared out the
narrow window of her bedchamber, not dressed though it was nearly noon.

     I had never seen her out of formal court dress before.  On the other
hand, I'm not sure she had ever truly seen me at all.  Though she was only
a year or so older than me, I had been a pale shade lurking in the back-
ground, lost in the boisterous energy Tamor had always carried with him.
She was truly lovely sitting there in the sunbeam.  Her long red hair,
unbound since she had never left her chamber, glowed in the sunlight like
a ruby cape spread across her shoulders.  The sun caught the light ma-
terial of her nightclothes and made them seem airy as angel's wings.  Only
her somber expression detracted from the peaceful image.

     "Julia?" I tried to intrude gently.

     "Hmm?" she replied distractedly, then looked at me.  "Who are you?"

     She hadn't been told about the masquerade.  I should have known.
I thought about how to say it but stumbled as every phrasing I could
think of seemed vainglorious, or shameful, or both at the same time.
Finally, I just started.

     "I am Prince Deacon.  Kragdle and his minions knew only rumors of
another child to Andros, nothing more.  When Mother realized this she
decided I should masquerade as female until we can regain our kingdom."

     "You are, um, Deacon?" she repeated in a dazed way, neglecting my
honorific.  Well, my old honorific.

     "Yes, Julia, or at least I was.  Now I am Cherysse and everyone in
the castle will be executed if Kragdle ever finds out otherwise."

     "Cherysse?" she asked, but really more of a statement coming out of
her dreamy state.

     "Yes," I repeated.  "Now, we must get you ready for the funeral.
You will be chief mourner for Tamor as is your right.  Mother will attend
the King and I will be mourner for Bareth.  Call your servants and get
dressed."

     "I have not yet bathed today," she protested.

     "I'm afraid there's no time for that," I insisted, though a part of
me wondered what she would look like as she bathed.  A part that became
very painful in just a moment within its hidden constriction.

     She stood and began to move with some reflection of her normal ener-
gy.   The somber expression never left her face but her imperious sum-
moning brought servants even as she stripped herself of her nightgown.

     For an instant I thought I might be allowed to see what she would
look like as she bathed even yet, but under her gown lurked a maiden's
lover no less intimidating than my own.

     She was well into ignoring my presence, as usual, when it occurred to
her that she was not really alone.

      "Dea . . um. . . Cherysse?  Is there anything more?" she asked as
a way to dismiss me.

     "Not for now," I admitted.  "I will seek out the Chamberlain to
determine our duties."

     The tasks the Queen had assigned me swept me up in duty no less
demanding because no physical danger was involved.  I found the Chamber-
lain scurrying around faster than I could keep up with in my long skirts,
but he had placed the crown of Achaiea on my head himself, for however
brief a period.  He stopped when he saw my approach.

     "How can I help you, um, Princess Cherysse?"

     Hugh dutifully responded to my request for information on the funeral
arrangements, though I would have been satisfied if one of his underlings
had told me what I needed to know.  When I had it straight I reported back
to the Queen's chambers.  She had summoned Julia who was once again
staring out a window, looking sadder than before.  Her own black gown was
tailored as elegantly as ours and left no doubt of the slender figure
within.  We waited until our appointed time, then joined the funeral
procession.  Members of the royal family were buried within the castle and
the six caskets had been arrayed in a lower chamber.

     The principal duty of a chief mourner, it turned out (this was my
first royal funeral), was to select something from among the personal
effects of the deceased that would be used a memorial symbol for them.
By long tradition the symbol for the King was the crown, which had been
brought down to adorn Andros.  That complicated things since two Kings of
Achaiea lay together.  Hugh and his protocol experts had decided the right
way to handle this was for Mother to take the crown from Father's brow and
hand it to me.  I would place it on Bareth's head for a moment while Julia
selected something from Tamor.  Then I, too, would take the crown, this
time from Bareth.

     My respectful stance with lowered head allowed my unbound hair to
block my view of what Julia selected.  But I could sense her stepping back
and so knew when it was time for me to do my part.  Once again the crown
of Achaiea was in my hands.  Once again I could not wear it.  I delivered
it to Hugh for him to hide somewhere.  We weren't going to surrender that
to Kragdle.  In a short while it was over.  The funeral procession re-
turned to the upper castle and dispersed.

    I stayed with Mother until she reached her rooms but this time she
didn't want any company.  Respecting her wishes, of course, I decided
there was no better place for me than my own chambers.  I was walking
toward them when I heard a sound from Tamor's rooms.

     "Who's there?" I demanded, though still the silver tones of a young
woman robbed my words of real force.

     Instead of an answer, the sound ceased altogether.  Nonetheless I
decided I had better look in on the room.  If Wraith had gotten in among
Tamor's things, I'd be in more trouble than I needed right then.  A part
of me recognized the ludicrousness of this concern.  I was King, for the
love of God!  The reasons why I couldn't openly claim that made the prob-
lems of an errant kitten trivial.  Still, I had been through too many
scolding sessions on behalf of that cat to just ignore the possibility.

     The door stood ajar and I opened it slowly in order not to scare the
kitten into some unreachable retreat.  Inside, instead of a small grey cat
I found Julia weeping on Tamor's bed.

     "Julia?" I asked in gentle interruption for the second time that day.

     "What!" she snapped.

     "What are you doing in Tamor's room?"

     "What business is it of yours?" she demanded, but I saw her hand try
to hide something beside her on the bed.

     "What have you got?"  Now I was demanding.

     "Nothing," she lied, for by this time I had stepped far enough into
the room to see that she held an unsheathed dagger.

     "Is this what you took as a memorial for Tamor?" I asked casually,
though I kept moving closer.

     "Yes," she bit off the word like it tasted foul.

     "Then it should be in the memorial case," I reminded her.

     "It has a higher purpose," she declared.

     The dagger was unsheathed, the point was toward her, and it didn't
take all the intelligence I'd like to think I possessed to see what pur-
pose she had in mind.

     It made me angry.  Julia as a beautiful girl, full of vivacious
energy, quick with a laugh and even quicker with a sharp word in her own
defense when she had been wronged.  It was claimed that redheaded women
had fiery moods.  I didn't know if that were true in all cases, but it was
most certainly true with Julia.  She was everything that a woman could be,
saving only the regal dignity that Mother had gained with maturity.  Yet
she was ready to throw that all away in a flash of sorrow.

     "Lady Julia," I became formal, "Queen Selay has need of you in her
chambers."  Maybe.  Hopefully.  Anything to keep Julia from being alone
for a while.

     She looked at me with disbelief, but could not complete her self-
assigned destruction with me watching.  Instead she nodded and stood
to follow me.

     When we reached the Queen's chambers I moved to whisper in her ear.
She nodded almost before the words were out of my mouth, as though she
had expected it.

     "Julia, I owe you an apology," Queen Selay began.  This got Julia's
attention.  Perhaps she had expected to be talked out of her desire or
to be chided for a bad idea, but not contrition on the part of the Queen.

     Mother continued, "I have not yet explained to you the critical role
you will play in recovering our kingdom.  Not knowing might have led you
to make a disastrous mistake."

     Critical role?  She had Julia's attention now.  Not to mention mine.

     "You are the second ranking maiden in the kingdom," Queen Selay
continued, "after only Princess Cherysse herself.  You are also a most
beautiful woman, as is Cherysse.  I need the two of you together to keep
Lyonidas under control."

     "Both of us?" I gasped in surprise.

     "Yes," the Queen insisted.  "Kragdle agreed to my period of mourning
for you but Lyonidas didn't like it.  You noticed this?"

     At my nod she continued, "If Lyonidas importunes his father suf-
ficiently, this may be overturned.  I need someone else to keep Lyonidas
from becoming too focused on the goal of winning you."

     Why was this not entirely pleasing to me?  I didn't want Lyonidas
anyway.  Was it just that I wanted to be won?  Why was the touch of
Lyonidas' hands in my hair filling my mind?

     "What is your plan?" Julia asked.  There was more animation in her
voice than when I had talked to her, except when I had made her angry.

     "Lyonidas has already made his intentions toward Cherysse clear.  We
need to make them less clear.  You will flirt with Lyonidas while Cherysse
is chaste.  I want him thinking of removing Cherysse and marrying you
instead.  Not to the point of actually doing something with Cherysse, but
to the point that he doesn't pursue her with all his energy."

     "Indeed," Julia mused, not at all surprised by this plan.  I was
surprised though!  Amazed to the point of gasping.

     "Mother!  How could you just use me like that?"

     "Cherysse, you are my last surviving child.  I would give my life
a hundred times before seeing a frown on your face.  But we both have
a duty to Achaiea and to the memories of Andros and your brothers.  Julia
knows this.  It is a woman's way to use romance to gain her ends.  I
already told you that."

     I never would have thought that my duty to Achaiea would involve
letting my brother's betrothed flirt with my own suitor.  Of course, I
never would have thought that my duty would involve me wearing a dress,
nor the infernal contraption under it.  This was too deep for me, too many
impossible things going on at once.  I rustled to a chair and sat to get my mind in order.

     "There is more," Mother continued.  Oh, God!  What now?

     "Cherysse, you and Julia both will require a companion from the no-
bility for as long as you wear your maiden's lovers.  It is not possible
to keep yourself clean and sanitary by yourself.  I, myself, am respon-
sible for your virtue and will be the only one to see you out of your
restraints.  However, when I am not present you need another who is of
sufficient rank to tend to your intimate needs.  In all the castle there
are only the two of you for each other."

     "But, um, Mother, my needs are, uh, not the same as Julia's," I
quietly protested.

     "I know that, but Lyonidas does not.  He will discover our customs
quickly enough and will know something is wrong if there are any other
arrangements."

     "What will that entail, exactly," I asked.  Julia did not.  Apparen-
tly she knew what was involved.

     "Each bathing day, you will report to me in the morning for your
bath.  I will release you from your restraints at that time only.  You
will clean each other thoroughly, then I will help you into your lovers
again.  If I am not available, while you are out of the castle for exam-
ple, you will have to help each other with your necessary functions as
best you can."

     "You want Julia to, um, touch me?" I asked.

     "Yes, and you will have to care for Julia, as well," Queen Selay
confirmed with unshakable determination.

     "Julia, you haven't said anything," I appealed to her for support.

     "The Queen is right.  It is the only way.  I can do my part, see that
you do yours," Julia declared, the fierce determination in her eyes an
emotion-charged echo of the flatness in Mother's tones.

     Julia looked down at the dagger she still clutched in her hands as
though wondering how it got there.  Without a word she sheathed it and
carried the memorial over to its place in the array that was part of the
royal chambers.  I moved to her side as her head bowed, but as I got close
I heard her muttering.  It was not sorrow that bowed her head, but anger.

     "I'll give you a memorial, my Tamor, that will pull a single dagger
into obscurity.  By the time we are done a river of blood will water your
grave."


Chapter 5 - Closer Than Sisters

     The second day following saw the return of Lyonidas to our castle.
He arrived with an entourage of faceless guards, but his attitude showed
he didn't fear any of us enough to need them.  He wasn't particularly
arrogant like his father, just comfortable in the presence of his
enemies.

     It appeared that the High Canyonites didn't care much for formal
protocol.  He had arrived without announcement, demanding entrance past
our gate guards in his own voice.  Unlike the previous visit he had
arrived on horseback, as had his guards.  In one smooth motion he dis-
mounted and  tossed the reins of his long-legged black gelding to one of
his companions.  Before Hugh of Sandars had even reached the courtyard
Lyonidas was once again striding toward the throne room.

     Our Chamberlain moved to intercept him, "Prince Lyonidas, can I be of
assistance?"

     "Probably," Lyonidas answered lightly.  "For now, please let the
Queen and Princess Cherysse know that I have arrived."

     He had continued toward the throne room as he spoke, and saw that
Mother and I were there even before he finished speaking.

    "Ah, don't bother," Lyonidas continued, "I see they already know."

     There was a crowd in the throne room as Lyonidas entered.  It was the
day of petition to the crown for justice, a long-scheduled opportunity for
noble and commoner alike.  The Queen had decided to continue with the tra-
dition in a show of control over our own internal affairs.  At the time of
his entrance two shepherds were arguing a case before Queen Selay.  Lyoni-
das pushed past them and climbed the dais.  He looked around briefly, saw
that the only available seat was the King's throne unless he ejected Queen
Selay from her high seat, then plopped down in the throne.

     Queen Selay stood instantly.  The hiss of withdrawn breath in the
room covered any hesitation she had in speaking.  Her words came with
careful import, "Prince Lyonidas, are you your father's regent, or by
claiming the throne are you claiming the kingdom for yourself?"

     He stood immediately, an instant of blush covered in bluster, "Oh,
that's right.  You people place lots of significance in furniture and
things.  Well, we don't, but we don't need to confuse anyone, either.
I am content to be regent for my father, the King."

     Then he tried to change the subject, "What's going on, anyway?"

     Queen Selay sat in her high seat again, pointedly the only one
seated.  "This is the day of petition.  These men have come forward to
ask for justice.  In the absence of the King, I was going to act as
judge.  Perhaps you will do this instead?"

     "Surely," he grinned, "what's the situation?'

     The Queen nodded at the first man who we had earlier learned was
named Samuel.  He launched into a list of grievances against his neighbor,
Harris.  It seemed Harris had dammed up a small stream and made other
improvements in his property that had caused him to prosper more than
Samuel.    In return for the temporary loss of water to his land while
Harris' small lake filled, Samuel had stolen a prize ram and used it to
impregnate several of his ewes without permission.  In the course of his
use, the ram hadn't been treated properly and had died.

     It took almost 30 minutes to get the story out of the men.  Every
time Harris would try to explain his side of things, Samuel would inter-
rupt with another accusation of unfairness.  Lyonidas listened intently at
first but as time went on his attention began to wander, returning all too
frequently to look at me.  I made a point of looking away each time his
eyes found mine.  Of course, I had to look at him when he wasn't looking
at me, or perhaps from the corner of my eye even when he was looking at
me, in order to study him that I might understand our adversary better.

     Julia was standing beside me.  She would do something with her hair
or flutter her hand, or something each time Lyonidas looked our way to
ensure that she had his attention.  It was distracting to me standing
beside her, and clearly interesting to Lyonidas.

    "What, huh?" he said, recognizing too late that Queen Selay had
spoken.

     "What is your decision, Prince Lyonidas?" she repeated.

     "Oh, decision, yes," he stammered.  "This one, Samuel, has stolen
the other's ram.  Samuel is a thief.  Kill him."

     Samuel collapsed on the spot, blubbering incoherently for mercy.
Harris looked almost as stricken.  He hadn't wanted vengeance, only the
price of his ram.  Most of the rest of us were horrified as well.  Only
Queen Selay remained calm.  She waited for Samuel's wails to die down
then addressed Lyonidas.

     "Very well, Regent.  Shall we execute Samuel's wife and children
as well?  Without him, there is no way they will survive the winter.
Or would you prefer that they starve?"

     "No, of course not.  Let someone else take care of her," Lyonidas
replied.

     Now, we all knew that Samuel's wife was part of a large family and
would not really starve.  But, Lyonidas did not.

     "Who do you recommend?" the Queen asked.

     Lyonidas was getting a bit flustered, "I don't know, doesn't she
have any family?"

     "Does it appear to you that Samuel is prosperous, part of a wealthy
family?" the Queen's interrogation continued, though it was the regent
who was now on trial.

     Lyonidas studied the men before him.  Neither were dressed in the
clothes of the nobility but even between them it was clear that Samuel's
clothes were of lesser quality than those Harris wore.  I could see
Lyonidas trying to find another option.  Mother's question had two thrusts
in it.  If Samuel's family couldn't support his wife, then surely Samuel
couldn't pay restitution for the ram, either.

     A moment of vulnerability showed in Lyonidas dark eyes, before he
hardened his expression.  "If you have a better idea, tell it to me."

     Now the challenge was back on the Queen, but her tight smile showed
it was expected.

     She had not actually answered any of Lyonidas questions, replying
instead with questions of her own.  She paid no more apparent attention to
his order.  Looking at Harris while pointing at Samuel, she asked, "Do you
desire this man's death?"

     "No, Your Majesty.  The ram was not worth a man's life."

     "What do you think would be fair?" she asked.  At this, Lyonidas
twitched as though bitten by a flea.  Such an obvious question and he
didn't think to ask it.

     Harris was a little surprised as well.  He looked at the man trem-
bling at his feet for a moment, then answered, "Perhaps if Samuel gave me
the lambs which issue from the ewes fertilized by my ram."

     "I'm afraid that's not good enough," Queen Selay declared.  "He will
indeed give you the lambs.  In addition, he will labor for you on further
improvements to your farm.  His sentence will continue until he uses the
skills he will learn in working for you to make similar improvements in
his own farm.  If he fails to apply himself, you will report back to Us."

     Now her voice took on a harder tone, "Do you understand and accept
this judgment, Samuel?"

     For one who had a moment ago faced execution, the sentence seemed
light indeed.  Samuel got to his feet with nodding acceptance, looking
sideways at the neighbor who now had control of his life.

     Before they could turn away, Queen Selay's voice froze them as she
addressed Lyonidas.  "If, that is, this judgment is acceptable to the
Regent?"

     Lyonidas could only nod at the obvious justice.  He looked up as
the next couple of peasants approached the dais and sighed at the thought
of another interminable trial.

     "Queen Selay, as I have just arrived, I would like to get settled
into my accommodations.  I'll leave you to hear the remaining petitions."

     She nodded gravely, "As you wish.  Perhaps you would like an escort.
Princess Cherysse, please accompany him."

    I stepped forward in reflex to her order, but in confusion as well.  I
thought we were not going to encourage Lyonidas in his pursuit of me.  He
held out his arm in easy courtesy and my hand took its place on his.  We
swept from the throne room with an overlarge escort of all the tan-garbed
men, my own guards, and Julia.

     "I don't believe I have met your companion," Lyonidas stated once our
circus had gotten underway.

     "This is my late brother Tamor's betrothed, Julia," I replied.

     Lyonidas bowed to Julia.  There was no apology in his voice, but
he spoke with honest respect, "Your betrothed was a valiant warrior, of
great courage and skill."

     "It is history," she replied.  Her eyes wandered up and down
Lyonidas' lanky frame and implied it might as well have been ancient
history.

     A few strands of hair, no longer contained by combs and pins, had
drifted in front of my face so I tossed my head to get it back behind
my shoulder.  It didn't all go where I wanted so I gathered it in the
hand not held by Lyonidas and pulled it back.  In the course of this,
my bosom had pressed against his arm.  Of course since it wasn't really
me, I didn't realize it immediately and we walked along with my new curves
rubbing softly against his much harder forearm.  When my hair was out of
the way, I looked up at him to find his own gaze focused rather intently
on the interaction.  Once I realized what had happened I moved clear, but
not before the smile on his face ignited a fire in my cheeks as bright as
Julia's hair.

     Julia sniffed, then seemed to have trouble with her breathing, sud-
denly feeling the need to take several overlarge breaths.  Her gown,
unlike mine, displayed at least a part of attributes I only simulated and
the deep breathing captured my attention.  I almost stumbled on an uneven
place in the pavement, clutching at Lyonidas' hand for stability.  For
some reason he had missed the same step.

     With that distraction, or perhaps release from distraction, I
oriented on where we had gotten in our walk.  The section ahead was
normally reserved for nobility and a very few select companions, not
the whole circus behind us.  All but one of my guards drew up to their
accustomed waiting area, but the swirl around Lyonidas continued.

     "I'm sorry, Prince Lyonidas, but your guards are not permitted
beyond this point."

     "Is that so?" he replied, suspicion in his eyes.

     Julia interrupted with a toss of her own hair, "Surely, Prince
Lyonidas, you don't fear women and servants, do you?"

     A grin lit his face at her comment and his response was laden with
undercurrents of humor, "My dear mother has taught me that the female of
the species is much deadlier than the male."

     "That you can rely on," Julia laughed.  I was about to make a comment
of my own when Lyonidas waved at his guards to take a position at the
door, all but one that was indistinguishable from the rest, at least to
me.  Lyonidas bowed me past the portal and held his genteel pose even as
Julia entered behind me.  Somehow, she managed to make her somber gown
flippant and light as she passed.  I had moved my own, of course, merely
to stay clear of the doorway.

     It had been decided that Lyonidas would stay in Tamor's rooms.  Queen
Selay intended to retain the royal apartments unless forcibly removed.  I
steered Lyonidas to the correct wing with gentle pressures and we arrived
at our destination without letting it seem like there were any choices.
Tamor's rooms were entirely befitting a crown prince and Lyonidas was
clearly pleased.

      "And where are your rooms?" he asked me, a grin back in his eyes
that made me feel most strange.

      "Down the hall," I admitted, pointing vaguely.

     He asked Julia the same question.  It was a good thing that Mother
had moved her to rooms adjacent to the royal suite, or Julia might have
had a late night visitor.  Then I remembered that she had the same dis-
incentive to dalliance that crushed my waist.   Still, I didn't want her
to be too available to Lyonidas.

     Julia and I left Lyonidas to get settled in his rooms.  As we left he
was going around examining Tamor's martial momentos.  It looked like he'd
be quite satisfied with the decor.  As soon as we were out of earshot, I
turned to Julia.

     But her own words cut mine off before they were voiced, "Cherysse,
you're not supposed to be encouraging him!"

     "Me?  I'm not the one throwing myself at him!" I shot back.

    "You're not?  Then what were you doing rubbing you bosom on his arm
the whole way down the hall?"

     "That was an accident.  I didn't even notice while I was fixing my
hair," I claimed.

     "That's another thing, flipping all the blonde hair around.  Like his
eyes weren't glued to you already!"

     "Well, at least I wasn't hyperventilating for effect!"

     This brought a blush to her cheeks and enough pause in our ranting
for another voice to intrude.

     "Ladies, attend me please."  Queen Selay's quiet voice left no room
for other comment.  She had apparently finished with the petitions and was
returning to her room.

     We followed her with lowered heads, glaring at each other through the
bright-colored tresses that framed our faces.   We followed Mother into
her rooms in silence though.  Once we were inside Queen Selay moved
quietly to her usual seat, motioning Julia and me to nearby stools.

     "Girls, you're going to have to work together on this," she began.

     I interrupted her, "But Mother, Julia was being shameless.  I thought
she was just supposed to keep Lyonidas off balance so he didn't become
to adamant about me too soon."

     Julia got her next comment in before Mother could reply, "And that's
all I was doing, trying to keep his interest from being totally focused on
Cherysse.  But the way she was acting, that took some doing!"

     That infernal maiden's lover kept me from gathering the breath I
needed for the reply I wanted to make and once again the slight pause
gave Mother room to speak.

     "Quiet, both of you," she ordered.

     The glare Julia gave me was a sight to behold.  Her green eyes had a
fire in them that threatened to bring down the castle, fed by the blaze
always shown in her tumbling hair now that she was forbidden to pin it
up with maidenly modesty.  Since we weren't allowed to speak, I tried to
let her know with my own gaze that she wouldn't get between Lyonidas
and me.

      Mother sighed as she looked at us.  After a moment, she spoke first
to that redheaded tart, "Julia, Cherysse is, um, struggling with her, um,
reactions to this situation.  Instead of berating her you should help
her find more appropriate responses.  It is important that Lyonidas be
attracted to her, just not exclusively focused on her."

     I found myself sticking my tongue out at Julia at Mother's comments
though I couldn't remember the last time I had done that.  Mother saw it,
of course, and then it was my turn.

     "Cherysse, you are above all a Princess of Achaiea.  You will behave
like a lady.  However, the reason you wear your maiden's lover is because
I understand how difficult it is to maintain decorum.  Nonetheless, you
shall behave."

     "But Mother," I whined, "you asked me to escort him, and rubbing
against him was an accident."

     Mother ignored Julia's snort and went on, "I asked you to escort him
because we need to maintain his interest without letting it become over-
whelming.  It will be a delicate balance and will require great care.  We
cannot afford further accidents."

     She looked at us both, demanding obedience with her eyes.  I looked
at Julia, who looked at me, the challenge still in her eyes.  Queen Selay
cleared her throat in a manner that I had learned the hard way meant this
was non-negotiable, so I looked back at my mother and nodded in submis-
sion.  Julia followed suit, and I thought the incident was closed.  No
such luck.

     "Cherysse," the Queen ordered, "you will spend the balance of the
day in your chambers.  You are obviously overwrought by the stresses of
our recent problems.  Julia will be escorted by Lyonidas this evening."

     My protest died on my lips at her stern look.  This time it was Julia
who stuck her tongue out at me.  The unfairness of it was somewhat re-
lieved by Mother's next command, "Julia, you will remember that your
goal is to keep his interest, not win his love.  That is for Cherysse,
but only when the time is right.  I want you to be a model of propriety
tonight."

     I could see Julia winding up for either protest or denial or some-
thing, but Mother's stern look forestalled her as well.  She nodded once
again.

     A thoughtful look appeared on the Queen's face as she looked at us.
"Actually," she said, "this is probably for the best.  A bit of jealousy
between you will inflate Lyonidas' already substantial ego and keep him
from looking too closely at the things that will be happening.  However,
the two of you will remember your duty and keep yourselves under control.
Do you understand?"

     "Yes, Mother," I replied, simultaneously with Julia's "Yes, my
Queen."

     Still, Julia was the one to go to the arrival dinner that evening.
I spent it in my rooms with my music and my books, and my one true friend,
Wraith.


Chapter 6 - A Picnic

     The next morning I was summoned to Mother's chambers quite early.  I
wrapped a dressing gown around my always-present steel companion and went
to her rooms without delay.  I still wanted to find out why she had al-
lowed Julia unrestricted access to my, that is, to Lyonidas.

     I found Julia already in the room, also in a dressing gown.  Mother
was wearing much the same.  She ushered us in to her private bathing
chamber which was dominated by a quite large tub, already filled with
steaming water and sprinkled with fresh rose petals.

     "All right, girls, this will be our normal practice from now on.
You will bathe in my presence since it will require removal of your
maiden's lovers.  After that, I will replace them and you can get dressed
for the day."

     I was so excited at the thought of getting out of my constricting
tormentor that I didn't realize for a moment that Julia was part of the
same plan.  Instead I whirled to present my back to Mother, dropping
my dressing gown to allow her unrestricted access to the lock and flexible
steel rod.  I was not to be released immediately, though, since first
Mother had to reattach the conventional lacing panels to relieve the
pressure on the closures.  It became even tighter, a feat I would have
sworn was impossible, but then I hard the faint click of the lock being
released and the slither of the rod withdrawing from the interlocking
loops.

     Still I had to stand there until she released the lacing panels as
well, but with each inch of the flexible rod's withdrawal, my most inti-
mate discomfort was relieved.  I had become used to the sensations suf-
ficiently to ignore it, but it had never been comfortable.  Even the
continuing constrictions at my waist paled to insignificance in comparison
with the almost obscene pleasure of releasing the lower binding.  Finally
even my waist was free, the silken undergarment also removed, and Mother
was shooing me into the bath.

     I entered it gratefully, letting the heat soothe the many pinched
points of my flesh, and most of all soothe the aching compression of
those parts of me incongruous with my general appearance.  I let my eyes
close with pleasure and sank down until only my nose was clear of the
perfumed water.

     A surge in the water roused me as I felt another body enter the tub.
I looked up to see Julia, naked as a nymph and twice as lovely slide with
her own gratitude into the embracing warmth.  In a single heartbeat the
dull ache I had been gently assuaging climbed to sharp need, causing me to
gasp.

     "What's wrong?" Mother asked.

     "Um, nothing, uh, nothing really," I lied.

     Mother's eyes got shrewdly sharp for a moment, but she nodded accep-
tance of my words, if not their content.  She handed me a bar of scented
soap and while I worked on the parts below the water line she began to
work other soap into my blonde tresses.  Once Julia's eyes opened from
their own initial bliss, soap was handed to her as well and she began her
cleansing ritual.  Her hair was as long as mine and perhaps even fuller,
acting as a thick sponge to draw a mass of water from the bath.  When the
time came for Mother to wash Julia's hair, she raised herself up to rest
her elbows on the edge of the tub.

     Unfortunately, or fortunately, or whatever, this exposed assets that
captured my attention a thousand times more thoroughly than her enhanced
breathing exercises had done the day before.  They were so, lovely, so,
shapely with smooth flowing curves that changed in complex yet always
compatible ways.  The . . . um . . . accents, were spectacular, dark and
mysterious and much larger than I expected.  The ache hidden under the hot
water became much more intense, much more demanding.  If I had to put that
infernal outfit on at this time, well, the kingdom would never see an heir
from my bloodline.  Still, I couldn't tear my eyes away.  Or, at least I
didn't think I could.  Though I stayed soaking in the bath after Mother
finished with my hair, when Julia was finished she was told to stand up
and get dressed.  That revealed a distraction that made even her other
treasures seem, well, never uninteresting, perhaps challenged for
attention.

     Julia seemed unaware of this and slipped on a thin robe while she
began to run towels through the heavy mass of her fiery hair.  I still
stared.  I knew I was doing so but I couldn't tear my eyes away from
the slim goddess sitting in the morning sunlight, her damp robe caressing
her so intimately.

     "Cherysse!" Mother said sharply, and I realized it was not the first
time she had called.

    "Um, yes, uh, what?" I babbled.

     "Stand up, you now need to dry yourself," she ordered.

     "I, um, well, um, not now," I muttered quietly, trying not to let
Julia hear.

     "Yes, now!" she said even more sharply.

     In the face of a direct order I really had no option.  I stood up,
revealing a surprisingly slender waist of my own, and a bit of shape
above due to the forced redistribution of what little excess flesh I
owned.  Still the water was deep enough that the most strident disclaimer
of my femininity was concealed.

    "All the way," Mother demanded, but gently.  She was trying to get
us both through this issue.  I didn't think she knew, though, just how
much of an issue had 'arisen.'

     I would have been better off to have obeyed immediately as my exten-
ded reluctance had captured Julia's attention.  When I finally stepped
fully from the water her eyes widened in surprise then narrowed in con-
centration.  I was too embarrassed to study her reaction more closely,
turning and reaching for my own robe.

     "You'll both have to get used to this," Mother explained.  "It is
normal for noble companions protected by a maiden's lover to help each
other in their needs.  That is all that you are doing.  Remember that."

     Julia's eyes now twitched in a grin she tried to keep off her lips.
"It appears that will be easier for me than for, um, Cherysse."

     "Actually not," Mother cautioned.  "Cherysse will not find it dif-
ficult to think of you as female.  You will have to be careful not to let
anything slip."

     "Cherysse was so perfect that I had quite forgotten," Julia said, and
I tried to decide if that was good news or bad.

     "As I hope all others in the castle will do without a constant remin-
der," replied the Queen.

     By this time both of us had toweled our hair dry enough to stop
active dripping, which was all that we needed before we dressed.  Once
we were again in our diabolical devices the palace servants for hair
dressing and cosmetics would attend us.  Before Mother brought our
lovers back though, she handed each of us a sharp blade.

     She ordered us, "Remove all the body hair from each other.  It is
important to be as smooth as possible under the garments."

     Julia looked at me, a spark of humor in the green jewels of her eyes,
then dropped her robe without comment.

     I should have done it first, for the sight of her once again nude and
glowing resurrected my interest, and its undeniable sign.

     "Oh, you poor . . dear," Julia giggled.

     "It's not funny," I snapped.

     "Actually, it is," she disagreed, "but it's no more ladylike of me to
recognize it, than it is of you to . . show your interest."

     Her humor still shown forth with bright glory from her eyes, and it
just would not be denied.  Even Mother was struggling to contain a grin. I
finally gave in and laughed with them.  But I decided I could have a
little fun of my own.

     "So, Julia, Mother says we need to help each other, closer than
sisters," I began.  She nodded, still laughing, before she really absorbed
what I had said.

     "Then perhaps you could give me a little help with my, um, need
before we are again imprisoned," I grinned.

     Her eyes flashed with instant anger at the thought that I would
suggest she would do such a thing.  But before she used the blade she
held to solve the problem permanently, she realized I was teasing and
calmed down.  Somewhat.

     "I suppose I deserved that," she grumped.

     Mother nodded on my behalf, since I was treading lightly right at
that moment.

     "This will require you both to be tolerant and helpful, not make
fun of each other.  Now finish your duties."

     Julia had very little body hair and the fine down that was all I had
ever possessed grew slowly.  As a result, it was only a few minutes with
the blades and soothing oil before we were each as smooth as porcelain.
If I had thought things through more carefully, I would have taken longer
so that I might delay the next step.

     The only other thing that needed to be done before we went out to
the waiting servants was to be locked again into our enforcers of maidenly
virtue.  The process was much the same as before.  Actually, the days of
constant embrace had narrowed my waist and the corset portion fit more
easily.  In the presence of Julia, though, the nether region was even more
uncomfortable than before.  At least when she saw the real distress the
device caused me Julia's eyes showed correspondingly real sympathy.  I
didn't think she'd make jokes about that problem again.

     Though we had been at our morning bath for over an hour, it was still
only the first part of our daily preparations.  The palace servants
brought forth gowns of more durable cloth for us that day, though they
were of course still black, still relatively simple in adornment.  In
another hour we were ready to go to breakfast.

     Lyonidas was just finishing up as we made our entrance.  He stood
in welcome and I was gratified to see that his eyes went first to me.

     "Are you feeling better this morning?" he asked me politely.

     "In some ways," I reported.

     "But not in all ways?" he asked.

     Queen Selay interceded, "She has rested well, but I think she needs
to get some fresh air.  It looks to be a beautiful day, today, and it has
been some time since the fields south of the castle have been inspected."

     Lyonidas looked surprised.  Well, so was I.  "She conducts inspec-
tions for you?" he asked.

     "It is a royal duty, and she is all the royal family there is left
besides myself," Queen Selay reminded the Regent with a voice too flat to
carry the emotion that showed in her eyes.

     To his credit, Lyonidas looked embarrassed.  To his further credit
he did not apologize for the war he thought they had won.

     "Then I shall accompany her," he declared.  "It is appropriate for
me to understand this land as well."

     The look of satisfaction in Mother's eyes was almost too subtle to
see, but in the next instant her eyes found mine and I knew I had not
imagined it.

    Hugh of Sandars was summoned to prepare the royal outing.  Since
I was going, Julia would go.  Our proper escort also required at least one
member of the palace guard.  Hugh went off to arrange for horses and
provisions.  Lyonidas summoned his anonymous tan-garbed shadow and
motioned that he should drop his hood.

     "This is Strane," he introduced the man.  Strane was dark with more
than hair coloring.  He brooded under heavy brows, not happy at being
revealed.

     "Strane, go find Olrin.  The two of you will escort me.  It is in my
mind that you need to know about this new land as much as I do."

     Strane nodded without comment and left, followed shortly by the rest
of us as we completed our simple breakfast.  Hugh had arranged things with
his usual efficiency and it was only when I saw the Achaiean guard who
would accompany us that I saw a potential problem.  It was Drayson, the
one who had insulted me when it was unclear who would be executed as part
of Kragdle's consolidation of power.  Though he was under sentence of
death along with the rest of us if my secret came out, still he had the
greatest reason of all to hate me.

     The situation had to be resolved, and immediately.  I expected some
sort of confrontation as I walked directly to him where he waited.
However, before I could speak and though it was a breach of protocol, he
blurted out, "Princess Cherysse, may I introduce my fiancee, Yvina?  I
would do anything to keep her safe.  And of course, my life is already
committed to your safety."

     Well, that pretty well cleared up that issue.  I had always disliked
Drayson because he was exactly what Father would have wanted in place of
me: big, blunt-spoken, strong as an ox and about as intelligent.  His
betrothed, though, looked quite a bit smarter and I suspected his little
speech was the result of her understanding of the situation more than his.
She was a pretty girl, though not in Julia's class in more ways than noble
rank.  Her brown hair was unbound per our new orders, but surprisingly
short.  I converted my intended confrontation into a greeting to his lady
and we mounted our horses.

     This was much worse than I expected.  Riding side-saddle at a gentle
walk was no real problem.  Riding while wearing that accursed maiden's
lover was problem enough, though.  No position I could take relieved the
discomfort, compounded in my case in ways the designers of the device had
never considered.  It was some time before I could overcome the distrac-
tion.  Lyonidas noted my distress, though he misinterpreted the cause.
The lands we rode through were close enough to the castle to have been
plundered by the High Canyon horde and this was more than adequate ex-
planation for concern.

     Lyonidas tried to open a conversation with an offer to participate
in the rehabilitation of the land, "We'll have to bring in some seed and
a few sheep for these people."

     "It will take more than that," I observed.  "This village has no
blacksmith, now, nor a potter."

     "How can you tell?" he asked in surprise.  Even Julia's eyes showed
she hadn't picked up on the telltale signs.

     "The hearth in the forge is cold, though there is coal nearby.  No
active blacksmith would allow that.  The same is true of the potter's
kiln, though of course he uses wood, not coal.  They have had enough
time to return to their homes if they were able.  Without them, this
village will die.  There is no mill here to give the site inherent value,
nor millpond or stream.  Without local craftsmen there is no market
for a farmer's products and so they will be taken elsewhere."

     It had been obvious to me though I had never been in the hamlet
before.  Only after I explained did I remember that I had learned of
this interaction in one of the books I had ordered.  I expected that our
Chamberlain already knew of this problem, but not many others in our
kingdom would recognize the signs.

     "That is very, um, insightful," Lyonidas mused.  For once even Julia
seemed to be impressed.  At least, she made no immediate move to regain
Lyonidas' attention.

     "Do all the women of Achaiea possess such insight?" he asked.

     "Perhaps not," I answered.  "While my brothers were learning sword-
play, I was studying other things."

     For once, I actually answered a question with absolute honesty.
I'd have to remember this occasion.

     "Until you came," I explained further though the explanation returned
to the problems High Canyon had caused us, "we had no need for people to
gather together for defense.  As you can see, this hamlet had no barrier
wall.  Our villages arise from economic causes.  The farmers are efficient
at providing food, allowing specialized craftsmen to thrive as well.  It
is our way."

     By this time we were leaving the village.  Since the High Canyon
horde had approached from the north the land on this side of the castle
returned to prosperity in a few miles.  The villages showed the truth of
the signs I had recognized, with the forge and kiln if present at all,
always heated.  One town we passed also had a mill near a bridge over a
stream.

     "Drayson," I summoned the palace guard, "what is this place?"

     "Not surprisingly, it is called Miller's Crossing.   We have several
villages with that name.  Your Father, the King, referred to this one as
the one with the wide wheel."

     I saw that the millwheel was indeed strangely proportioned.  The land
did not support a very high millpond and to make up the required force the
wheel had been made unusually wide.

     "I see evidence of two blacksmiths here, though only one forge.  See
if there is someone who could move to the other village we passed."

     While he went off to obtain the information I requested, Lyonidas
looked carefully at the blacksmith's shop for the clues I had recognized,
then shook his head.

     "I confess, my Princess, that I cannot see how you determined that."

     I looked at Julia with a small smile of invitation, but she shook her
head as well.  She might have the flirtation thing down better than I,
but it could be that I would keep Lyonidas interested after all.

     "There are two anvils, of course, set up and ready for use.  A single
blacksmith would only need one.  If he had a spare, he would keep it out
of the way in that small shop."

     While we waited for Drayson I rode over to his fiancee.  When I
reached her side of our group I saw that she was not alone.  Another
tan cloak was perched atop a horse quite near hers.

     "Your Highness," Yvina said quickly as I approached.  The tan cloak
moved back a bit.

     "Who is your conversationalist?" I asked.

     "This is one of the men from High Canyon," she offered.

     "Really?" I grinned.  "I never would have guessed."

     "Good day, Olrin," I said to the man, making a guess despite my
words.

     He started at my naming him, then pulled back the hood of his
cloak.

     "Princess," he said.  Only intense study under Kragdle could have put
that much sneer into so little inflection.

     It angered me.  We might have to submit to Kragdle, but even Lyonidas
treated me, that is, us, respectfully.  This hitherto faceless minion of
High Canyon was not of our nobility and I would not submit to him until he
demonstrated the same power as his king.  I felt the white-cold mind boil
up within me and let my eyes lock onto his.

     "In the future, I will thank you to remember that these were our
lands for generations before you came.  The wealth and peace you covet
are the result of my family's management.  Do you think you can remember
that?"

     His eyes stared unmoving until I finally let my own gaze relax.  This
caused another small start in his taut body, followed by much more genteel
words, "Yes, Your Highness, I will remember."

     "I'm not going to ask how you knew it was Olrin.  I know the explana-
tion will be obvious as soon as you say it," Lyonidas said with a smile.
He had ridden up as I was speaking.  Though he hadn't really seen the
depth of intensity in my will, he had felt the tension between us and was
trying to defuse it.

     I nodded my head in acceptance of his decision, a grin of my own
feeling strange after so much controlled fury.  Then I caught Julia's eyes
with a challenging grin for her as well and took as deep a breath as my
tormenting guardian would allow.  Her eyes widened in shock first, then in
humor of her own.  Lyonidas didn't notice her expression of course.  His
eyes were riveted to the swell that graced the front of my dress.  Julia's
gown was no more revealing than mine, this day, and Mother had apparently
had a bit better figure when her maiden's lover was tailored than Julia
did.  Of course, that made my own life even more difficult, but it did
give me an advantage at the moment.

     Julia's responding grin was wide enough to show her real pleasure
in the challenge.  She moved her hand to flip at her hair, but I beat her
to that gesture as well, flicking my blonde tresses to capture the morning
sun.  My motion caught Lyonidas' eye and redirected his focus, though
still not toward Julia.  Behind his back she gave me a jaunty salute, then
a grin that promised further battle.  Now, though, we were on the same
side and we both knew it.

     Drayson returned before anything else could happen, confirming my
suspicion on the number of blacksmiths.  Better yet, one was a senior
apprentice essentially ready to move out on his own.  It solved a couple
of problems at once to help him relocate to the village nearer the castle.

    We rode on.  Now and then a peasant would approach us with a problem,
but more often one would approach us with flowers.  This area was nicely
fertile and the people had time for luxuries like flowerbeds.

     Lyonidas noticed.  He didn't say anything but I knew it was no
accident that Mother had sent us through a devastated area to the closest
fertile area untouched by the recent war.

     As it came near to noon a peasant woman came out with some hot, fresh
bread.  It was excellent and while she refused payment, I made sure that
Drayson left her small child with some coins.  We nibbled on the bread as
we rode but all it did was whet our appetites and Lyonidas soon called a
halt.

     We had reached a small lake surrounded on three sides by trees and on
the fourth by a pasture let go to wildflowers.  The farmers often did
this; rotating fallow fields to allow them to renew whatever made the soil
most fertile.  The wildflowers were very inviting but I could tell the
crystal pure lake interested Lyonidas even more.

     He directed his men to spread a blanket out near the water, then made
some excuse for Julia to look to her horse so that he and I could go there
by ourselves.

     "You are a most wise young lady," he began as we sat.  Of course, I
had to sit with a most prim posture due to my hidden "aid".

     "Thank you, Milord Regent," I replied formally, but I smiled to let
him know I was not ungrateful for his comment.  That was it, really, just
a smile of thanks for a compliment.  It wasn't that there was meant to be
any other message in my smile.  His own smile was quite open.  It softened
his features from the too-spare leanness that reminded me too much of his
father.  He really didn't look much like his father at all, once you got
past that leanness.

     The gentle breeze kept blowing my loose hair, and I kept gathering
it up.  Trying to prop myself on one hand, while frequently using the
other for my hair, kept me from enjoying much of the provisions that had
been laid out for us.  He noticed my difficulty and reached out with his
own hand to gather my errant golden cape.

     There was something about the feel of his hands in my hair that
affected me most . . . strangely.  I felt my whole body tense, then relax
as though a potent elixir were flowing through it.  My eyes closed as
though the world were receding and the only sensations I needed were
flowing through the strands of hair that his hand caressed.  I felt myself
lean into his hand, pressing it with my cheek, squeezing my thick tresses
between my skin and his.

     "Your Highness,  Princess Cherysse," Julia's voice intruded into my
mind.

     "Yes," I replied dreamily, not really caring.

     "Your Highness, could I help you with your preparations, before our
return journey?" she offered.

     What preparations?  I was doing just fine.  Or at least I had been
until she interrupted us.

     Then it came to me just what I had been doing.  It was wrong for a
woman to allow a man to fondle her hair, as wrong as having it down in the
first place.  Only a lover should be allowed to touch me as Lyonidas had
been touching me and that forbidden caress had come near to making me lose
control.

    I struggled to my feet in shame, not daring to look at Lyonidas, nor
even Julia.  She grabbed my arm and pulled me into the trees a bit further
along the edge of the lake.

     "That's twice you've let him in your hair," she hissed as soon as we
were private.

     "Oh, Julia, I don't know what came over me.  One minute, I was trying
to keep it out of my face, the next, he was, and after that . . ."

     "After that, you looked like you really needed your hidden guardian,"
she finished for me.

     "I never felt this way before.  The only one who ever touched my hair
was Mother and she just brushed it for me, as I did for her," I promised.

     "Well, you're behaving exactly right for a maiden of Achaiea, which
is exactly wrong if you want him to remain at a distance," she declared.

     "You're right, of course," I admitted.  "Thank you sister.  I needed
you.  I'll probably need you again."

     "If he ever caresses my hair like that, you'll need to come to my
rescue," she giggled.

     The image was so dreamy, both my memory of his touch and the idea of
Julia's hair being caressed, though in my mind the hand doing the cares-
sing of her hair was my own.  I reached out to touch her flowing fire in
response to my dream and felt the same sort of energy from the other side.
Her own eyes drifted shut in languid surrender and I was reaching my hand
to capture her cheek when her eyes snapped open.

     "Don't," she denied me.  "We can't."

     I snatched my hand back as though her hair were as hot as it looked,
my guilty shame renewed a thousandfold.

     "If that's what that feels like," she mused, "we'll need to help each
other.  A lot."

     Then she grinned with her normal humor.  "It'll take both of us to
protect ourselves from each other."

     I wasn't sure I quite understood that statement, but it sounded right
somehow, so I smiled back.  Before I could excuse myself once again, she
became businesslike.

     "We both need to take care of things before the long ride back, and
unlike the men, or the common women, we need to help each other."

     She was right, of course, and we did the necessary things.  They
were embarrassing not erotic, and I was glad when we were done.  I could
tell that Julia felt the same way, and in any event the moment between us
was quite thoroughly past.

     Lyonidas had seen to it that the others were ready, and we were soon
on our way.  The ride back was by a slightly different route but the story
was much the same.  I could see that Lyonidas was impressed with the
wealth declared by time for flowers, for carved decorations on houses, and
for weavers who produced brightly-colored fabrics rather than uniform tan.
Queen Selay had clearly understood this, but it was unclear to me how she
had known that Lyonidas would accompany me when she had ordered me to go.

     On our way back we passed the smaller keep where Duke Kestrel,
executed brother to King Andros, had resided.  His widow, Duchess Amity,
greeted us as we approached.  She was another who had known my real gender
but it was clear as soon as we got near enough for conversation that she
had been informed of the masquerade.  I suspected the Chamberlain's usual
efficiency.

     "Princess Cherysse, I am so glad you have come," Amity called.

     "Can we be of assistance?" I asked.

     Amity explained, "I have been summoned by the Queen and hoped to
accomp