Destiny Regained

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Her large eyes shone with a child's tears as they alit on the piteous creature before her. A chat'ka, chained and torn with lashes, was mewling, its sinuous throat pulsing with aching song. Her eyes followed the restricting chain from the brick wall to where it separated into four shackles, which kept the luminous creature from clawing its way free. The metal bands were deeply scored from the chat'ka's attempts, its imposing claws unable to win against the man-made device. Where metal met skin there was flesh rubbed raw from days of imprisonment and neglect. It had passed the stage of infection - now it was only burning pain, senseless agony. Her eyes, above newly damp cheeks, turned to the creature's back and flanks and fresh tears slipped down her face. The delicate skin, soft and glowing as a newborn's, was marred, the angry red streaks like fire licking up the chat'ka's sides. And the wings - her eyes there could not go for such pain was in her heart at the sight. Membrane of opalescent luminosity stretched between jointed flesh and when extended to their full glory would exceed the height of a full-grown man.

Only now, the tender skin was hanging in ragged strips completely torn from the wing joints and blood oozed sluggishly onto the already saturated ground. According to legend, had the chat'ka been able to only brush its horns along the painful appendages, the horrible wounds would disappear and the chat'ka would once again be whole.

She took a hesitant step forward, her mind blank except for the sound of the abused creature's cries. Her hand was reaching out to free the chat'ka from its shackles when the creature's song turned urgent and wild. It thrashed in its chains, skin tearing and blood flowing again to the dirt, and she began to turn around. A moment later she was picking herself off the ground, her eyes wide with shock and pain, her hand now protecting her clouted ear.

"What did I tell ya' about that winged demon, girl? Ya' keep away, ya' hear me? Or else the next will do more'n knock ya' to the ground." Her uncle raised a fist threateningly and she cringed, eyes closed tightly and shoulders hunched in expectation of the blow. But none came and next she heard his heavy footsteps as they crunched their way across the gravel.

Slowly, she peeked up through tear weighted lashes, her eyes still filled with fear and nervous expectation. She glanced quickly at the now silent chat'ka, mentally pleading for its forgiveness as she turned away and began trudging back to the heart of her uncle's holding. When she reached the kitchen door, the keening took up again from behind her, but intertwined with the sadness was a new thread of hope and she stepped into the room with a lighter heart.

She was nursing both her ears now, the second punishment coming from her aunt for upsetting her uncle. Her aunt was sporting a blackened cheek and she knew that the older woman had also felt the man's anger. She couldn't help but feel guilty for the pain she caused her aunt... Then her ears throbbed especially hard and she hid her wince behind her fingers, hoping her aunt didn't see it.

"I'll not be having ya' pouting over there, me girl!" Her aunt scowled. "If I can take it and bear it so's can you! And don't ya' be thinking to make me feel bad over's what I gave ya' as you deserved it- and more'n likely another one too!" Her aunt raised her hand threateningly, unknowingly echoing her husband's movements.

The girl barely kept herself from cringing back, knowing that would only make her aunt more upset with her for showing weakness. Her fingers hid her face again, no longer because of the pain but because of the anger she knew was flushing her cheeks. She couldn't hide her eyes though, and if her aunt noticed, she chose to ignore it. She stood as quietly as she could and tried to ease back out the door, her feet silent on the crushed hay which covered the dirt floor. She almost dared breath again when her aunt's voice recalled her sharply.

"And just where do ya' think to take yurself out to, you wretch of a girl? T' go coddle that child-eatin' monster, no doubt!" Her aunt glared at her, her watery blue eyes outraged and large in her thin, papery face. "Ya' get yurself t' that table and peel and cut them roots, ya' hear! And don't let me ketch ya' trying t' weasel outta no more o' yur chores, or more'n yur ears'll be complainin'." The woman gave an emphatic nod and turned back to the meat she was preparing: an old, tough goose, the only that her uncle would allow for the holding when there wasn't company. He didn't mind revealing his miserliness to his kin but company was never to know that the holding barely harvested enough to bring in one hundred keppets a season.

She hated peeling roots. She had never cared for it and doubted that she ever would. They were knobby, full of crevices, and hard as rocks... And they didn't taste much better! Her hands never escaped from peeling a basket of roots without nicks and cuts and she came to believe that her aunt purposely assigned her this task because she knew how much her niece hated it. The girl wouldn't put it past her. Her aunt went out of her way to make the girl's life as unpleasant as humanly possible. And up until a few years ago, she hadn't realized why.

The girl's sixteenth summer had just passed and she'd lived with her aunt and uncle for eleven of them. She had had a mother and father once, but her young mind never thought to impress their faces in its archives nor memorize their speech and laughter. Her child's innocence had never thought that she would wake up and not find her parents waiting to greet her and hold her. Until one night she was awakened by her mother's screams and her father's shouts of fear and pain. She had only had enough sense to crawl under her bed, hiding until the thieves had taken what they wanted and left. Among the things stolen had been her parent's lives. She did remember that night, most vividly. And her mind would never erase the sound of her parent's pain, the last things she ever heard them express.

Her aunt felt it her responsibility to take in her brother's only child but forever held it against the girl that she could have none of her own. The woman had had five children but none made it past their first summer, some not even making it past their first eight-day. The girl pitied her aunt sometimes, wondering what it must feel like to foster a sibling's child, knowing that you'll never be able to raise your own. Then her innate common sense would kick in and tell her that her aunt's ever-present grief was no reason to abuse her. If anything, the woman should love her all the more, as she was the only thing her aunt had left of her brother. It was clear her aunt did not feel this way.

Yet, for the girl, her aunt and uncle were the ones that raised her, molded her, if through punishment and scorn instead of love and kindness then their attentions had only made the girl more independent and her spirit stronger. For this, if for nothing else, she was grateful to her kin.

"Girl, do ya' mean t' sit there and stare them roots bare or are ya' gonna make me come over there and give ya' another boxin'? That whole basketful needs must be done before the meat is put in t' cook!"

The girl hurried to finish the root she had started and in her haste the dull knife slipped and sliced into her thumb, splitting the skin down to the bone. She was too shocked to cry out as her blood pooled out of the wound and fell to the table, barely missing the half-peeled root. Quickly, she put her thumb to her mouth, hoping to stop the blood flow but the cut was deep and tears only now filled her eyes at the thought of having the wound stitched up. She had seen what happened when others had to have an injury stitched, more often than not the wound became infected and more harm than good was done. To her shame, more tears slipped down her cheek and one salty droplet plopped onto her thumb, the salt stinging and bringing a cry to her lips. She tried to bite it back but then her aunt was there over her shoulder, pulling her hand up into the light and inspecting the cut none too gently.

"Ya' damn fool girl! Can't ya' do anything right?! Well, there's no use for ya' in here til ya' get that fixed up. Well, what're ya' waiting for? Him t' come t' you? Git yurself outta here and over t' the Healer!" Her aunt clouted her against the back of the head, causing the girl to see stars but she pushed herself up from the chair, barely able to keep from falling over, and scurried out the door.

She stopped outside of the building and let the rough-hewn logs that made up the kitchen walls support her, closing her eyes tightly against the spinning world. After a few deep breaths, she dared to open her eyes. They cleared and she was able to make her way without her stomach trying to leave her. As she walked to the Healer's small building, she could hear her aunt's vehement curses floating out the kitchen door.

The Healer was a kindly man, worn and thin, with soft hazel eyes hidden beneath heavy brows and shaggy hair that always fell across his forehead. He was well past his thirtieth summer but a more specific guess than that was difficult due to his boyish face. His hands were always gentle and the people of the holding were proud to call him their Healer, but, much to the soft-spoken man's frustration, the holder himself didn't understand the needs of a Healer. His room was much too small and he was never given the help he required when it came time to harvest herbs and other healing plants. The holder seemed to look down upon the Healer, believing that if the wounded were meant to recover then they would, and no amount of herbs or poultices would do much good. The Healer shook his head at such ignorance.

Consequently, when the girl came in to have her thumb stitched up, the Healer only hung his head in shame. Thorn root powder, Green-veined pother, and fresh sutures should have been at his disposal. As it was, all he had was last year's supplies, dried and their potency much diminished. And the severity of the wound- The Healer winced. How many times had he told the holder's wife that she must have her knives sharpened on a regular basis to prevent such injuries as this? Did these people just not care about their own? At times, he thought that the latter was frighteningly true. This poor girl was treated like a slave, ordered about and set to tasks that no other girl her age would be asked to perform. And she was never called by name, just Girl. Come to think of it, the Healer didn't even know her real name! His jaw clenched as he continued to examine the wound, every wince that he elicited striking at his heart.

The girl's eyes were tight and her mouth set in a hard line, trying to suppress the pain he knew she must be suffering. Damn her uncle! If only he had some of that pother to numb the pain and thorn root to keep it from getting infected. Too many of the injuries he'd tended to had become worse due to the lacking of his supplies. He took a moment to rub his eyes, trying to steel himself against what he would do.

"I'm going to have to clean this out and stitch it- without any pother. You may pass out, but I'll be here when you come to, okay?" He waited for the girl's terse nod before taking the thumb in one hand, spreading the lips of the wounds and gently running warm water over it. The girl's whole body quivered and became stiff as a board but her eyes remained clear, if somewhat wide. The Healer eased his clenching jaw and poured the last of the water over the wound, watching as the red blood pearled up and rolled onto the stone floor. He had insisted on a stone tile floor for sterility purposes- and that had been no small battle between himself and the holder!

Trying to distract his patient from her suffering, the Healer began to talk to her, even as he was threading his needle. "What's your name, girl?"

Her eyes darted to his face and he saw that they were almost all pupil, the black nearly hiding the pale green of her iris. Consternation drew her brows together, trying to find the relevancy of the question. "My... my name, sir?" Her voice was thick and it took her a false start before the words came out clearly. She spoke as though it was not something she did regularly, her young voice rough and catching in her throat.

The man smiled gently. "Yes, your name, me girl. What did your parents bless you with on your birthing?" Was this poor child completely neglected? Did she have no friends who cared for her, no family to love her?

She hung her head, hiding her confusion. "I... I don't-" Her words were abruptly swallowed as she choked on a scream, the needle piercing her skin for the first stitch, and then the second, and then the third. The Healer tried to go as quickly as possible and with the fifth stitch the girl's eyes had rolled up into her head, her words still in her throat.

"I'm sorry to inconvenience you but the girl is in pain and I'll not be having you work her with her thumb still in that state. You should have considered the consequences of dull knives before you put one in that girl's hand, my lady holder." The Healer's voice held not a trace of warmth and his hazel eyes were hard as steel, silently berating the fool who stood before him.

The woman drew herself up, attempting outrage. "How dare ya' accuse me of mistreatin' that miserable wretch of a girl! I took her in and she hasn't done half o' what she should, the little ingrate! She complains over the smallest o' tasks I sets before her and cain't even get them done right!" Her eyes narrowed meanly. "And don't ya' be forgettin' what you said. 'My lady holder.' For that's exactly what I am! Your lady holder!" Her eyes were triumphant.

A cold smile turned up the Healer's wan lips. "My lady, it was merely a title of respect. You should know as well as I do that a Healer falls not under the rule of a holder. A Healer can move when he wants and a holder is behooved to provide food and shelter for him or her due to the nature of the job. You have no power over me, lady holder." The phrase now took on a derogatory lilt. "Now please leave my room and let my patient heal properly. I'll tell you when she's ready for work." The dismissal was clear and the woman's back stiffened noticeably, worn pride blazing through her faded blue eyes. Slowly she turned and stalked back to her kitchen, her lips tight and angry. The Healer knew he had an enemy in her now.

The thin man turned back to his patient and sighed when he saw she was breathing easily, color back in her cheeks. Her injured hand rested outside of the quilted coverlet and without touching the still painful thumb, he looked it over. The skin around the stitches was still an angry red and so inflamed that the stitches were nearly hidden in flesh. He could only shake his head, praying to his god that the girl would be saved from infection.

His ears picked up faint rustlings and he lifted his head from his arms, struggling to get his eyes focused on the bed across the room. Groaning under his breath, he heaved his body up from the low couch, grimacing as joints popped and creaked. He was getting too old for this. . . But he'd had no choice as he certainly wasn't going to make the poor girl sleep on the couch and so she got the bed. With wonderful goose down pillows and thick blankets- He cut off his digressions and moved across the cold stone floor, wincing with each step before he slipped on his woolen slippers, the soft interior cradling his feet.

Leaning over the bed, he met the girl's clear green eyes, her face surprisingly young when free of the pain. She could be no more than thirteen, with that meager build! A ghost of a smile crossed her face and the Healer caught his breath. This young girl would be a beauty when she grew into it! With such fine cheekbones and that pert nose above rosebud lips, which seemed more likely to smile than frown, no heart would be immune. He returned the warm smile, easing his seat down on the bed without jostling her hand too much.

"So, me girl, how are you feeling this morn? Not too abused, I hope."

Cheeks dimpled as her smile broadened. "Just fine, thank you, Healer sir." Her eyes fell upon her thumb. "I guess some knives just haven't had their proper training as of yet." She affected a shrug and the Healer laughed, its rich sound startling his charge.

"Yes, well, I've talked to your aunt about that and she seemed somewhat - put off - at the notion." A wry smile quirked up his lips as the girl's eyes grew wide and nervous, her smile dissolving into a quivering frown.

"Was she..." She swallowed, starting again in a stronger voice. "Was she terribly angry, Healer sir? Oh, I can only imagine what she'll assign to me now! She'll probably think I injured myself on purpose just to get out of work!" Her desperateness was replaced by bitter knowledge, her face once again looking older than her years.

"Well, me lovely girl, you'll not be having to worry about that ever again." His voice was startlingly hard and his patient's eyes turned to his face, searching his face for meaning. "I'm claiming you as apprentice, which is the right of any full Healer. Your aunt and uncle will never treat you so again." A cat-like grin lit his face and the girl couldn't help but grin back, two conspirators hatching a plan.

"When may I get up, Healer sir?" the girl inquired politely. Her feet were moving back and forth restlessly and her uninjured hand was plucking at the quilt over her legs, nervous energy having no other release.

The Healer tsk-ed and looked at the girl out of the corner of his eye. "Feeling better already, me girl? Thinking to tell the Healer when you're ready?"

She quickly raised her hand to apologize. "Oh, heavens, no! I never meant- I mean, I would never even think to- I'm so sorry, Healer sir!" Her eyes teared up with anguished chagrin, thinking she had just offended the only adult who had shown any semblance of kindness towards her in the past eleven years.

The man tried to hide his shame at bringing forth such a response and rested his hand over the girl's uninjured one. "Me girl, calm yourself. I was only jesting. You are one of the best-behaved younglings I've yet to encounter at this holding," he reassured her, knowing it was the truth.

Bristling slightly, she said, "I'll have you know I have sixteen summers, thank you very much, and have been bleeding regularly since my tenth!"

He held up his hands to mollify her. "My apologies, me lady, I stand corrected." He bowed his head humbly and offered forth his left hand, palm up, requesting forgiveness.

She only hesitated a moment so as to quell her giggles before lifting her left hand to place over his, palm to palm, fingers grasping wrist. She somberly nodded her head and their hands parted. Then they both laughed.

Tears formed at the corners of her eyes and the Healer immediately blamed himself. "Have I overtaxed you, me lady? Here I am, a Healer, letting my patient wear herself back out." The look on his face was one of self-recrimination and the girl saw that he was not speaking in levity.

"Oh no, please, don't go!" she hastily pleaded. "It's not that at all! It's just-- Well, I haven't laughed like this since my parents were still alive." Her words came out in a whisper, the pain evident.

His eyes echoing hers with their tears, he placed a consoling arm around her shoulders, the embrace as natural as though she were his own flesh and blood. She held him fiercely, supporting his theory that she had had no close contact since staying with her aunt and uncle. He willingly gave her his support and warmth, silent, knowing all she needed was the touch. When her need was sated, she pulled back but didn't shrug off his arm, her eyes pleading with him not to move away. His heart reached out to the poor lonely soul who deserved no such fate and his arm tightened ever so slightly, reassuring her.

Easing into the topic, his curiosity burning hotly, he asked, "How long have you lived with your aunt and uncle?"

Seeing where the conversation was headed, the girl relaxed against the pillows behind her and sighed, not a sigh of sadness or frustration but of resignation, knowing that it would come up eventually. She had almost forgotten that the Healer hadn't always been at the holding; he'd only lived there for the past three or four summers, taking over when their old Healer had finally passed on. They had been lucky that the new Healer had come along when he had or else they would have had to go through the winter with no Healer. She took a deep breath, preparing herself to answer his questions.

"I've been under their charge since my fifth summer, Healer sir. Before that I lived with my birth parents." A sad smile flitted through her eyes as she continued, "The spring of my fifth summer, thieves came to rob us of our possessions and among the things taken were my mother and father." Her chest heaved with a calming breath and she closed her eyes briefly, recomposing herself. Even after eleven summers--

"Did your aunt willingly take you in, me lady?" he asked gently.

His patient snorted, her face twisting with bitterness. "About as willingly as she offers trondors to the poor that pass our doors! But I had no other kin and by blood debt, she was forced to take me in. My father was her only brother. And so for the past eleven summers I have worked here under my aunt and uncle, taking the blame for my aunt's children never surviving past their first summers. Most people at this holding don't even know that I'm the niece of the holders!" Her tone grew outraged and her eyes flashed, the green blazing and snapping with anger. The Healer pursed his lips, recognizing the power this girl would have. She would not settle for running a holding, oh no, and she would not suffer having idiots around her either. She would be one to reckon with, this wisp of a girl before him. Her lips twisted again. "I don't even have a dowry. Only two more summers before the Day of Marriages and my uncle insists that if I'm to have a dowry then I'm to earn it on my own as he'll have no lazy twit of a wretched girl leeching away from his money chests. Sometimes I begin to wonder if I wasn't supposed to join my parents eleven summers ago."

The Healer's eyes became clouded with worry. This was not a healthy state of mind for one so young, and the environment was doing nothing to help. With warmth, he said, "Well, now you have someone who wants you and is willing to care for you with only one condition." He noted that her eyes narrowed warily. "That you return such care."

He was nearly pushed off the bed as she tackled him in a bear hug, careful to keep her hand out of harm's way. "I promise, I promise, I promise!" She kissed him on the cheek and her eyes sparkled with glee, her cheeks holding a healthy flush.

"Well, then," he adjusted his clothes and swept his hair out of his eyes, "it's settled, you are my apprentice and adopted daughter. We'll go to the priest as soon as you're well enough." Their twin smiles warmed the air around them and heralded a relationship that promised to heal both hearts of their loneliness.

The girl was awakened by angry voices, one soft and cultured, the other rough and mean. She knew that voice and her body froze with fear.

"I claimed the girl as my apprentice and you know godsdamned good and well that I need not have had a priest present! It is a right granted to full Healers, which I shouldn't have to remind you I am," the scorn dripped heavily from the Healer's voice, "and I'm not relinquishing that girl over to your care for another breath if I can help it. I should also tell you that as soon as she's recovered enough, I'm going to adopt her as my daughter and she will no longer be your concern." The Healer smiled smugly, cornering the holder with words. The Healer knew as well as the holder did that he wanted nothing to do with the girl other than to abuse her and to fight the Healer for custody would only reveal that meanness.

So the holder backed down, his eyes burning with hatred and his shoulders bunched as though he was going to throw a punch. The Healer shifted his feet and began to bring his hands up but the holder dropped his shoulders, turning smartly and stomping out the door.

The man sighed wearily and turned back towards the bed, his eyes widening as he noticed his patient awake.

"I'm sorry we woke you. Your uncle and I were simply ironing out the details of our arrangement." His tone was dry and it evoked a like smile on the girl's face.

"You should've used one of those heavy oxen yokes. The ironing might've gone quicker," she quipped.

He chuckled and moved over to the bedside. "You must be hungry, me lady. What can I get for you?"

The girl flushed slightly, her eyes focusing on the quilt over her legs. "Actually, I kinda need to-" Her voice trailed off and her eyes shifted over to the door.

"Ah, I was wondering when you would," he said briskly. Quickly he flipped back the covers and seemed oblivious to her cry of dismay when she realized all she had on was a flimsy shift that barely reached the middle of her thighs.

"Healer sir, I can't go out like this! It's not proper," she quailed. Her fingers dug into the Healer's arm as she tried to scramble back under the covers, only freezing when pressure was placed on her thumb. Her face filled with pain and she clung to the Healer, breathing heavily.

Patiently, he explained, "You won't have to go outside, me girl, as I have my own private jack right over there," he jerked his head, indicating the far corner. Then he grinned. "It's a Healer privilege so his patients won't have to try to get to the public ones. Nice, eh?" When she still hesitated, he finally understood. "Me girl, I'm a Healer, remember? I've seen much more shocking sights than your bare legs." His tone was serious but his eyes danced with levity.

That seemed to satisfy her for she allowed him to help her up and to the corner, giving a flippant little wave as she pulled the curtain closed around her. He smiled to himself and went to the stove to get hot cereal cooking. He heard the curtain slide open and before she had to ask, he pointed to a basin of water, by which was a pad of soap and a soft towel. She smiled graciously and washed up.

"F-father," a faint smile at the title, "where're my clothes?"

The Healer didn't bother to hide his grimace. "I threw those rags away-"

"Rags?! Those were my clothes!"

He continued on, ignoring the interruption. "-As not only were they much too small but so threadbare and holey that I would be hard pressed to use them as rags. Your new clothes are on the dresser by the bed." He slid a glance toward her. "I think they should fit just fine."

She gaped at him in disbelief, the generosity new and unexpected. Why should a stranger be any nicer than her own flesh and blood? But then, he'd already been nicer and kinder and more loving-- Without another question she flew over to the dresser and pulled on the clothes as fast as she could, expertly keeping her thumb out of the way. The doeskin tunic was soft and well cured, it's silky texture heaven against her skin. The breeches, like the tunic, fit perfectly, snug across her hips and flowing down to her ankles, the woolen weave tight and clean. While the tunic was a light, delicate beige, the breeches were a wonderful green, deep as a spring pool. She reveled in the new clothes, how they slid against her skin, and ran to her benefactor with a loving hug.

"Thank you so much, father. Not even my aunt and uncle ever provided me with new clothes! These must be fresh out of the tailors!" By his smug smile, she knew that they were. "Thank you so much!" she repeated.

"You're welcome, you're welcome," he laughed as he loosened her death grip around his torso. "If you don't ease up you're going to be wearing them to my funeral!" he joked.

Sheepishly, she loosened her arms but didn't let go immediately. When she did, her eyes confirmed the happiness she felt and the Healer received all the thanks he'd ever need. "Now that I know they fit, we can go back later and get more of both, and underclothes as well, as those were no better off." He looked her up and down speculatively, and his eyes saw her feet. "Ah, we'll also make a visit to the cobbler so that we can get you a proper pair of boots. Those - scraps - you were wearing before just won't do for tromping around, gathering medicinal plants."

A shiver ran up the girl's spine, but it was evident that it was one of pleasure and extreme happiness. A loud grumble issued from her midsection and she clutched her offending stomach accusingly, glaring down at it. When she looked up, she met the Healer's merry eyes through strands of his peppered hair and smiled apologetically, shrugging her shoulders. "I think it's telling me to get my mind off of my looks and pay more attention to eating."

"Well, that is easily remedied," the Healer said as he set a bowl of hot cereal on the table, followed by a large loaf of crusty bread, butter, and honeycomb full of golden honey. The girl could barely sit herself down fast enough.

After two bowls of the hearty cereal and almost half the loaf of bread, generously slathered with butter and honey, the girl had sated her hunger of eleven years. Not once in those eleven years had she ever known the feeling of a full stomach. Her aunt saw no need to reward what she saw as sloth and so her niece went hungry. The Healer's eyes just widened as his apprentice/daughter attacked the food on the table, eating as fast as her mouth could get it down. Now he thought that part of her slight size was malnutrition. One more mark against her previous caretakers. He himself only had one bowl of cereal and the rest of the bread. He'd never been a big eater, as his willowy form attested.

When she finally settled back against her chair and sighed contentedly, she comprehended what she had just done. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. But when she looked at the Healer, whose shoulders were shaking with silent laughter, her lips just turned up in a lazy smile. "Guess I was hungry."

The Healer had gone off to gather some plants that grew close by and left the girl with instructions on what to do should she want to bathe and clean herself up. Her look must have expressed her gratitude for he just nodded and slipped from the room, an empty, woven bag slung over his shoulder.

It took two buckets of heated water before she felt clean enough to put her new clothes back on, still reveling in the wondrous feeling of the soft fabrics. Her hair had taken those two plus half of another before all the dirt and tangles had been worked out of it. But it was well worth it as she ran her fingers through the clean, sun bleached strands of auburn. Much to her joy, she had found two brushes for her use, a hairbrush and a toothbrush. Running her tongue over her teeth, she grimaced and knew that a tooth brushing would be more than welcome. All clean and fresh, she moved out from the room and sat on the steps, slowly brushing through her waist length hair.

With the help of the noon breeze and sun, her hair was soon dry and she twisted it back away from her face with a knot at the nape of her neck. For the first time in her memory, she was able to sit and just relax, not worrying about what she should be doing or what her aunt or uncle would make her do. The sounds of the holding drifted to her ears: children talking as they went about their chores, women chatting over their peeling or weaving or sewing, men's rough voices barely reaching her from the fields on the opposite side of the holding as the Healer's room. And then two more sounds reached her ears, two voices that she'd rather run from than sit and confront. Then they were there, glaring down at her new clothes and clean face, hands on hips and mouths open and ready to yell.

She scrambled to her feet so at least she could look them in the eye, and her aunt and uncle lit into her.

"Ya' ungrateful little wretch! Ya' should've died in that house instead o' my dear brother!"

"Ya' think t' win the Healer's favors do ya'? Well I'll just see 'bout that! I'm the holder here, not that wisp o' a man!"

"And where'd ya' get them new clothes, girl? Did ya' steal 'em? Huh?" Her aunt pulled at the shirt, nearly knocking the girl off her feet.

"And let me see this scratch that got ya' outta workin'! I bet yu're just a whining whore like yur mother was!" And before she could stop him, her uncle grabbed her hand, crushing her thumb between his fingers before holding up the offending appendage where he could see it. He worked at the stitches, tearing the skin, and blood began to flow swiftly down her hand, running over his fingers. It made his grip slick and he dropped her hand; she barely kept the blood from staining her new clothes.

Tears stood out from her eyes as she faced them, her eyes bright and full of hate.

"And I betcha yu're bedding that there man too, ya' little whore! Just like yur mother! Stealin' my dear brother! Sleeping t' get them new clothes!" Her aunt sneered and was about to tear at the shirt when a new voice froze them in their places.

"You'd better move back from my apprentice before I take you before the King on account of abusing a rightful student and a healing patient. Both offenses punishable by loss of titles, lands, and spending time in the royal dungeon, not just the local jail." The Healer's voice cut the holders to their very soul and they turned quickly to face him, recognizing the truth of what he spoke. His hazel eyes bored into them until they squirmed like children beneath a parent's admonishing gaze. When next he spoke, his voice was terribly soft. "If I ever see or hear of you abusing my apprentice again, I'll not even think twice about giving you what you deserve, you miserable excuses for human beings." He stepped past them, draping his arm protectively about the girl's shoulders, and began to guide her back into the room. He paused, gesturing for her to continue in, and turned back to her aunt and uncle, who had only now begun to step away from the steps.

"Also," his voice whipped them around like puppets on strings, "I refuse you service. Take your ills somewhere else. I claim Healer's right to choose." And with that he stepped over the threshold and closed the door on the stricken faces.

"Can you really do that?" the girl whispered when he had come into the room. Her face was pale not only from the renewed pain but from the realization of what he'd just done to her aunt and uncle. Unless they could find another Healer to help them, they would be as good as dead come winter. He had just sentenced them to probable death.

His voice was still hard but as he spoke it thawed and he slumped against the table. "Oh yes, me dear girl. A Healer has every right. We're no slut to be bought at the patient's convenience. They pushed me too far. And believe me, that's hard to do! But they did it to themselves. No matter where they go to find a Healer, a true Healer, they will have to explain why their Healer refuses to service them. That will make any man or woman who helps them aware that something is not right with them." A grim smile creased his face but it didn't touch his eyes. "Let me see what damage they've done now."

She offered him her ravaged thumb, being careful not to drop blood anywhere. "Damn!" he swore viciously. "And we were doing so well! No infection, clean stitches, no tearing." He swallowed more curses and began to clean her up, trying to do the best he could with the stitches that were already closing the wound. When he finally washed the blood off her hand, the wound looked worse than it did when she first came to him. The edges were puffy and red and the inflammation had spread to a circle wide around her thumb. . . There was no doubt in the Healer's mind but that it had become infected. And nothing would make those two inhuman holders happier than to hear that their niece was to suffer more because of them.

The Healer instructed her to get undressed and climb into bed, wanting her to rest as much as possible so she would be better equipped to fight of the infection. He served her a cold lunch of meats and cheese with another loaf of bread along with a cool berry juice that chilled her down to her toes.

Watching her Healer's face, she said, "It's going to get infected, isn't it?"

He pursed his lips and forced himself to answer truthfully. "Yes, me lady, I believe it is. I'll try to keep it down with the older thorn root powder that I have and see if I might be able to go search some out." He shook his head dubiously. "Though this late in the year, I don't know that I'll be able to find any that are better than what I've got stored here!"

Fear washed over the girl's face at the prospect of being left alone and the Healer smiled to ease her mind. "And don't you worry about them two that dare to soil your name with a claim of blood. I held that which is most important to them over the chopping block and got their attention. And they're fools if they think that I won't take it to the Royal Courts." His voice had that iron edge to it again and the girl agreed that they would have to be fools to cross him again. "So, I believe that I can safely leave you here alone while I traipse about in the woods." His infectious grin spread to her lips and she grinned back, the light in her eyes not fading until she could no longer hear his footsteps outside the room.

The thing that she feared the most, infection. And at no fault of the Healer, either. He had done everything in his power to help her. It was her uncle that had done this, causing her even more pain, never content to just let her be miserable all on her own. Perhaps that's why he was so upset. She was no longer miserable; now she smiled and laughed and talked! She had only talked to two people for the sheer pleasure of their company in the past four summers: the stableman's son and her cousin. But she hadn't seen the stableman's young boy since he had been sent to the next town to become apprenticed to a cabinet maker. That had been three summers ago and up until now, Demmy had been her only true friend.

But now that had all changed. A smile again graced her lips and this was how the Healer found her when he returned, only her eyes had closed in peaceful sleep.

That peaceful rest was soon shattered with fevered heights and frozen plummets. It was all the Healer could do to keep her from thrashing about and destroying her thumb even more. As it was, the scar tissue that would form would almost be enough to leave the thumb useless; he could do nothing about that calamity. The thumb swelled to the size of three of her other fingers and yellow-green pustules began to attach themselves to the skin around the sutures. The Healer realized he would have to remove the stitches and continuously clean out the wound or risk spreading the infection about her body and causing the dying tissue disease.

In the first three days that his apprentice was racked with pain and fever, more people came to visit her than she would ever believe. The young, polite youngling had made more friends than she realized and all of them came to lend their support. The Healer thanked them profusely, in awe of the concern they showed over her health. Much to his relief, her aunt and uncle never came within a rock's throw of the room.

On the fourth day of the girl's affliction, she burst out vocally for the first time, startling the Healer awake from the light slumber that he'd finally allowed himself.

"Chat'ka! Chat'ka!"

The Healer moved closer to the bedside, not believing his ears. Was she calling for a chat'ka? Talking to a chat'ka? He shook his head, listening.

"Horns! Chat'ka, help! Please! Please!" Her voice increased to a whine and her struggling increased as she tried to lever herself from the bed, unmindful of the pressure she applied to her thumb. He threw himself on her, pinning her down to the bed, amazed by the wiry strength in her muscles.

"Did she say 'chat'ka', Healer sir?" asked a disbelieving voice at the door.

The Healer turned his head, trying to keep the girl still. A young girl stood at the door, about the age of his apprentice. She had one foot inside the threshold, but when the Healer turned his eyes on her, she hurriedly retreated outside the room, standing with her hands respectfully behind her back. Hers was not a face he recognized and he beckoned her inside, trying to force a warm smile to his lips.

"Come in, girl, and give me a hand if you will. This girl of ours has more strength in her slight frame than I would guess."

The visitor slipped to the other side of the bed and held down her shoulders with one hand while smoothing the sweat damp hair off her forehead with the other. Her timid ministrations seemed to ease the girl's struggling and she murmured the creature's name one more time before easing off into the fitful sleep that marked infections.

The new girl didn't move, her light brown eyes wide and bright. "She did say it," the girl whispered. Just the word 'chat'ka' was enough to send pleasant little shivers throughout her body as images of elegant, winged creatures danced through her thoughts.

"What's your name, girl?" The Healer asked as he tucked the coverlet back around his apprentice's chin, only to have her throw them back off and sink into oblivion.

"Demmy, Healer sir. I'm the niece of the holder here. I'm the girl's cousin by marriage vow." Her voice was low, as though she wanted no one to hear. But her hands belied her voice as they continued to soothe her cousin's fevered brow with tender concern.

"Well, Demmy, I thank you for your aide, me lady. It is much appreciated." He gave a little half bow and Demmy let forth a peal of laughter so light and sweet that the Healer felt the tension ease from his body and he joined the girl's laughter. Laughter was scarce enough these past four days that it was a welcome reprieve. "If you would stay with her while I just go outside and get some air I would be much beholden to you, Demmy."

She nodded eagerly and he sighed in relief as the cool breeze of morning dried the sweat on his brow and carried away his weariness. He propped himself against the porch steps, his eyes roving the tree dotted horizon even while his ears stayed attuned to the inside of the building.

Low murmurs drifted out the door and he smiled at Demmy's open care for the girl. It seemed that the bitterness stopped with the holders and for that he was relieved. This holding would not survive another generation of such base holders.

His relief was somewhat tarnished, though, when his eyes picked out the snow clouds approaching the holding. They were heavy and dark and the snow promised to be wet and cold. That was all his charge needed! Well, his hearth would be put to work, that was for sure.

He eased back in the room and Demmy looked up, her hands still running over the girl's face. "May I please stay with her over night, Healer sir?" Her tone was so forlorn that the Healer was led to believe that the girl was Demmy's closest friend. He smiled his acceptance and her eyes lit up with pleasure.

"He's gonna let me stay, Girl. Did ya' hear?"

The Healer noticed the way that 'girl' became a name when applied to his apprentice. "Demmy, does she not have a name?" He kept his tone pleasant and warm but the holder's niece flushed with shame anyway, obviously embarrassed.

"I'm sorry to say it, Healer sir, but I don't know. My uncle has only ever called her 'Girl' and I only knew her once she was taken in by my uncle and his wife so if she had a birthing name, I don't know it. I'm sorry, Healer sir," she said again, the hot flush not fading from her cheeks.

He patted her shoulders. "It's okay, Demmy. If she didn't know her name, how could I expect you to?"

The Healer fixed up warm meats and bread for breakfast, finding out that Demmy had not eaten before coming to see her ailing cousin. She politely accepted the food but would not eat it until the Healer had gotten some warm liquids down his apprentice's throat. Demmy ate almost as ravenously as her cousin had. The Healer only shook his head.

By that evening, the storm had already dumped a good three hand's worth of snow, piles quickly gathering against doors and steps thanks to the brisk wind. The Healer shuttered his windows tightly against the cold and piled the logs as high as he could in the hearth. Demmy was huddled in a thick blanket by the bed, where she had stayed faithfully all day. The girl-- The Healer turned saddened eyes upon his patient. Still she writhed with fever, calling out the mystical creature's name almost every hour now. If only he knew what she meant, what she wanted, then perhaps he could serve her more readily. But he was at a loss, as was the slip of girl whose eyes rarely left her cousin's face.

Three hours after sundown, the wind picked up in strength and it howled and spit at the doors and windows, demanding entrance and shrieking its rage at being denied. It almost drowned out the hoof beats that pounded up to the porch but in one respite, the Healer heard a horse's wearied blow and hurried to the door, opening it just as a young man raised his fist to knock. Quickly the Healer ushered him and his men in, not wanting any more chilled air inside than had already been allowed.

"The corral is just around the corner and hay and water and oats are on the right inside the door," the Healer said, anticipating the man's questions.

The visitor looked startled but wasted no time in dispensing orders. Much to his credit, he, too, went back out into the renewed storm to help his men with their mounts. Soon they were stomping their feet off at the door and inside, warming their hands by the fire. The young man, who appeared to be the leader, let his men warm themselves first, standing back and talking to the Healer.

"I believe that some have suffered from frozen skin and Bruelt, there, the one with the red cape, has a broken hand. Horse got unruly and reins got twisted about his fingers." The man winced in sympathy, his eyes appraising his men. "But other than that, I think we came out pretty good."

The Healer cleared his throat delicately. "May I ask, sir, how you and your men came to be caught out in the storm?" What he didn't say was that the storm came slowly enough that any man worth his mettle would have stayed inside, warm, and not have risked his men and their steeds.

The young man smiled ruefully, acknowledging the unspoken rebuke. "It was no one's folly but my own, my good Healer. I misjudged the distance between where we started out and this very holding and the storm came upon us just an hour's ride from the gates." He shook his head. "I'm lucky our injuries were no worse than they appear to be." A new look hardened his face, one of duty and weighted responsibilities.

During all this, Demmy had crept from her blanket, her eyes wide and her cheeks pale. "Healer, be that the Prince?" she whispered, pulling at the man's sleeves.

Her words caught the Healer off guard and he looked closely at the handsome young man, noting hair color and facial features. By the gods, the girl was right! And here he was, admonishing him before his men! The Healer dropped down to one knee, bending his head over his Prince's hand. "Forgive me, my lord, for not recognizing you right off. I fear that I have been somewhat distraught with ills of my own and my mind is not at its sharpest."

The Prince looked quizzically down at the Healer and pulled him up, clapping him amiably on the arm. "Apologize not, my good Healer. To be honest, I prefer it when I can enter unrecognized." And by the rueful expression in the young man's eyes, the Healer knew this to be true. "What is this though? Are we intruding when you have other cares to worry on?" Concern flared in his eyes and as he looked around, they alit on the now quiet girl in the Healer's bed.

As if in a trance, he stepped to the bedside, his fingers trailing over the girl's face, his eyes bright and full of the girl's beauty. "What-?" And then he saw her hand on top of the coverlet, the thumb still an angry red and the yellow liquid still oozing up from the wound. His gurgled yell of outrage turned the attention of his men to him and they stood, hands on sword hilts. The Prince looked up at the scraping sound of metal on leather and raised his hand, motioning his men to be still. "How did this happen to her?"

"She was peeling roots with a dull knife and-"

"Dull? But lady holder had just had them all sharpened not an eight-day ago!" Demmy piped up.

"She had?" Outrage shone through the Healer's eyes. "That woman purposely gave the girl a dull knife! Damn her soul to the ninth Hell!" His reaction stunned the room but the Healer seemed oblivious. When it was apparent he'd forgotten the Prince's question, the young man gently reminded him.

"Oh, yes, well, the girl was given a dull knife to peel roots and it slipped, slicing open her thumb. I had stitched it up but then her-" The Healer paused, wondering whether to reveal how the wound had become infected. No, he'd given them one more chance. "-stitches somehow tore and the wound became infected. I cut out the old suture so as to clean it better but she's been like this for four days now." The weariness was evident in his voice, but so was the love and the Prince respected the thin man all the more for it.

"What's her name?" the Prince inevitably asked, his eyes once again gazing down on her sweat-dampened face.

"We don't-" but before the Healer confessed this lacking, the girl called out, her voice unintelligible at first but getting clearer as she spoke.

"Tressalyn, I am Tressalyn, as my mother blessed me." Her green eyes snapped open and for the first time in half an eight-day, she seemed perfectly lucid. Her eyes locked on the Prince's and the electricity that passed between the two youths was evident even to the last of his men. "My Prince," she added, before falling back into her fevered sleep.

"Tressalyn," the Prince repeated, the name more like a caress from his lips. "Beautiful Tressalyn." He hooked a stool with his boot toe and eased down beside the bed, one hand running over her face while the other held her now still hands, ever mindful of the injured thumb. The room was silent as everyone present stared at their smitten Prince.

Then the Healer stirred himself, remembering the soldiers behind him around the fire. Knowing that nothing would now disturb the two youths, he began administering aid to the frozen men. Bruelt did indeed have three broken fingers and his other two had been dislocated. The Healer bandaged him up as best he could so as to leave the man with maximum mobility. The frozen skin was easily cured with a restorative salve and he simply passed the pot around, letting the men help themselves. Little Demmy had eased back to her former spot by the bed, huddling even deeper in her blanket, her eyes wide as a frightened rabbit, trying to take everything in.

"Have you men had a bite to eat yet?" the Healer inquired, scanning the seven men before him. As each man shook his head, the Healer nodded. "I'd figured as much. Anyone against roasted goose and fire baked roots?" A wry smile turned up his lips as each man shook his head vigorously, their hunger sharpened by the cold. He had a feeling they would willingly have eaten their harnesses had the leather been warmed up.

The Healer himself wasn't hungry but not only did these men need something to warm their bellies, it gave him something to do, to keep his hands busy. When he served up the goose, roots, and three loaves of dense brown bread, the men dispersed themselves about the room, some opting for the table while others went back to the warm hearth, stretching out like cats upon a sun-warmed windowsill. The room had been small for just three people but with an extra eight large men, the room was nearly bursting at the seams. It did help heat the air though.

Warm broth was what the Healer had been feeding the girl - no, no longer the girl, Tressalyn - had been feeding Tressalyn, but when he went to feed her, the Prince asked if he could and the Healer saw no reason to deny him. The young man sat Tressalyn up so she wouldn't choke and fed her slowly, the smile on his face enough to make the thin Healer want to cry. Not once did the ailing girl refuse to swallow or whip her head back and forth; she cooperated fully for the first time since she was taken by the infection. The Healer didn't know what to think. But Demmy did.

"It's like she's been waiting for you, lord Prince," she offered, her voice low and full of awe. "She hasn't been this easy to feed all day! Why, she's even stopped talking in her sleep and thrashing about."

Much to his astonishment, the Healer realized the girl was right. Tressalyn had been resting easy ever since she revealed her name, as though that was what she had been fighting for. He stepped over and ran a cool hand over her forehead - the fever seemed to have broken! He turned wondering eyes upon the Prince, who was still oblivious to anything but the girl on the bed. Had this turn around been the young man's doing? Had Tressalyn truly been waiting just for him? Unfortunately, these were questions that he would probably never know the answers to.

When the girl had eaten all of the broth, the Healer took the bowl from the Prince's hands and replaced it with a plate of warm food. The young man stared at it for awhile before finally taking up the fork and wolfing down the meal, yet when the Healer offered him seconds he declined, turning back to Tressalyn. The Healer sighed. It had already begun. The girl wasn't even lucid and she was already stealing hearts. And royal ones at that- Yes, this girl, this Tressalyn would certainly be a handful.

The fire popped as one of the soldiers added more wood and he looked at the startled faces focused on him with chagrin, shrugging slightly in apology. One of the men drew a small set of pipes from his belt wallet and struck up a sprightly tune, stepping about the room as he played. His comrades clapped hands and stomped feet in rhythm and soon the Healer found himself joining in, a bright smile on his face. The soldiering musician barely paused for a breath between songs and the warm atmosphere of the room swirled and danced, lifting the hearts of all present. The only two oblivious were Tressalyn and her Prince: the girl lost in her fevered mind, the Prince trying to follow.

The royal party left just as the sun's light pushed over the tree tops, the snow storm blowing westward, away from the holding. The Prince made the obligatory stop by the holder and his lady, paying his respects and breaking the night-long fast with them in their hall. For some reason, the young man did not reveal to the sour looking holder where he had spent the evening, letting the man assume that he and his entourage had only passed through that morning. He warned his men to remain quiet as well and after meeting the holder's owners, they did not question their leader's request.

The Prince reluctantly took his leave of the holding, knowing that he was leaving Tressalyn as well, and her worn protector. He ordered the holding guards to open the gates but just as he was gesturing his men out onto the sodden road, a figure stepped from the shadows cast by the wooden doors.

"I simply wanted to thank you for the honor of your stay, my Prince," the Healer said, bowing eloquently. "The gi- Tressalyn has been much improved since you came to our door and it seems that your presence was of more aid than any of my medicines. For that I can not begin to express my gratitude. She awoke briefly this morning, her eyes were clear and bright, and we spoke. She's no longer awake, me lord," he said hurriedly, as the Prince turned his horse back to the holding. "But she'll be here when next you pass through," and with that he bowed again and slipped back into the shadows, glancing left and right to make sure no one had overheard.

The Prince nudged his mount forward and joined his men, gesturing them home. When they saw that he would not be taking the lead, Bruelt trotted forward, his bandaged hand wrapped lightly about the reins. "Follow, men. Onward home we go!" The Prince brought up the rear, his thoughts still with the slight beauty back in the Healer's room. He would see her again, and when he did, it would be for forever.

When the Healer returned, Demmy was helping Tressalyn to sit up, the girl weak with a five day's worth of fighting behind her. Her face was wan and her skin translucent but the smile she sent to the Healer made her glow.

"Well, well, look who's up! Finally got it beat do you?" The Healer moved to his apprentice's side, smoothing back her hair.

"Are you asking me to presume to tell you that I'm better?" Her question was posed in such an innocent tone that the subtle jibe was lost on her cousin, but Tressalyn's cheeks colored and her eyes regained their sparkle.

"I guess I am," the Healer conceded airily. "That is my duty as a Healer, to evaluate the patient's state of health. Sometimes that is best done through the patient's eyes."

"Well, I'm not leaving this bed!" she groaned. "I feel exhausted and like I've been wrung through the cloth press!"

"And well you should too! After over half an eight-day of raging infection!" Demmy's eyes grew wide and her voice rose in pitch. "If it wasn't for our Prince, you might still be fighting that evil in ya'!" She gave an emphatic nod, her loyalty towards the Prince unshakeable since the previous night.

"The Prince?" True bewilderment flitted across Tressalyn's face. And then her memory kicked in and the recollections of her fever warped sleep and the encounter with the Prince showed in her eyes. "The Prince," she sighed, and leaned back against the headboard, her eyes half closed with a feline delight. Then they flew open. "Tressalyn!" She met the Healer's eyes. "My name's Tressalyn," she shouted. Laughter bubbled up in her throat and she slapped her uninjured hand against a quilt-cushioned thigh. Had she not been bed-ridden, she would have been capering about the room. "I have a name! Isn't that amazing!"

Demmy and the Healer looked at each other over the girl's head, tears standing forth in both their eyes at the simple pleasure this girl took in having a name, something they both took for granted. Such a simple thing, a name was, and yet a person's whole identity revolved around it. And this girl - Tressalyn - now had one all her own.

"Quite, me girl," the Healer said lightly. Then a stern look hardened his eye. "But if you keep on like this, you'll throw yourself back into a fever and none of us could handle another episode. So you just ease back down and we'll bring you some-"

"Please, please no more broth!" Tressalyn pleaded. But she snuggled down into bed, her strength nearing its limit.

"Ah, so you remember that, do you?" The Healer chuckled lightly. "Well, perhaps we'll spice up that broth with some meat and roots. Will that suit you, Tressalyn?"

She nodded, auburn hair falling across her face, but the light strands couldn't hide the immense pleasure brightening her eyes. And the Healer doubted she was so pleased over the variation in her diet.

It took another eight-day but soon Tressalyn was moving around the room on her own, if somewhat slowly. Much to the Healer's delight, Demmy's vigilance didn't end once her cousin had overcome the worst of her infection and the holder's niece stayed to help with the recovery. The Healer once inquired as to whether her presence would be missed and she shook her head sadly, telling him that her uncle would miss her no more than his wife missed Tressalyn.

"Healer sir, he only needs me to keep his voice in proper volume, nothing more. Just as she needs Tressy for nothing more than to keep the backside of her hand warm." Demmy's eyes had grown hard and her voice was strained with anger. From then on, one more bed crowded the small floor, but it was an addition that no one thought to mind.

The Healer kept a close watch on his apprentice's thumb, wary of any sign of recurring infection but slowly his fear disappeared as the girl's health rose past its prior heights. She even began putting on weight, approaching what was more than likely a healthy level.

The thin man had no sisters and so he had never been exposed to an environment with young females. It was quite pleasant. He had never known two people could find so many things to talk, cackle, or awe over! Everything was something to talk apart, even little nothings. Like a young man asking a certain lady to dance while another girl asked a boy to dance! Imagine! It was all he could do to keep himself from laughing as he didn't want the two young ladies to think he was making light of their fun.

Almost a month after Tressalyn had come to the Healer for aid, he took her to the tailor and spoiled her to a point of sin. They loved every moment of it. She hesitated at first, not knowing her limitations but when the Healer opened his arms, signaling that the store was hers, she put her heart into it. She picked through every shelf, looking at every shirt, every skirt, everything! It was clear that the tailor liked Tressalyn and when he realized what they were in for, he jumped right in. At one point he took her measurements and slipped to the back. After a few moments he returned, yards of cloth hanging over his arms. Tressalyn's mouth fell open and her eyes glittered with desire. The tailor placed it in her hands and gave her a little push towards the dressing area.

It was a floor length gown, the silk a deep emerald green, light, and like a cool breeze against her skin. The skirt fell in lavish pleats, the solid green broken by individually placed beads, like dew drops, and she knew that one twirl would send it curling around her legs. The bodice was embroidered with golden thread and more beads, fashionably cut, and meant to accentuate a woman's attributes. The sleeves were of a thinner gossamer, floating down in airy folds to the tips of her fingers. She was a shining vision. The coloring brought out her pale green eyes and set off her light auburn hair, a beautiful contrast with her fair skin.

"Well, how do I look?" Tressalyn demanded. She spun on her toe and lifted her arms with child-like delight, letting the fabric caress her body.

"It's yours," the tailor finally got out. "It belongs to you."

The girl's mouth dropped in dismay. "I can't! Not for nothing! This dress must cost, why it must cost near twenty keppets!" The Healer could tell Tressalyn was honestly distraught at the thought of taking such a valuable creation.

"My payment will come when I see you wear it. That will be enough for me." Honesty shone forth from his smile. "Besides, it was meant for my sister at her wedding but the man with whom she was betrothed was found in a compromising situation and the dress was no longer needed." His dry tone left no doubt as to what that 'compromising situation' was.

"Well, Tressalyn, there you have it. It's yours!" The Healer was quite pleased. For once the girl looked as she should, clothed in garments matching her beauty, her eyes alight with that inner fire, and her cheeks flushed with pleasure.

"Tressalyn? That's your name?" The tailor was quite puzzled since as long as he had known her, she had never been called anything other than 'girl.'

She turned shy. "Yes. During my fever dreams, it just came to me and I assumed it must be as I wouldn't have just made it up, not after all these years."

"Tressalyn," the tailor mused. "Yes, I believe that it fits. Very well, Tressalyn, do you accept my offer?"

Her answer was clear as she ran to him, filling his arms with a silk-wrapped hug. When she pulled back, she asked, "Will you be coming to my adoption three days from now?"

"Your adoption?" His eyes met the Healer's and he smiled, nodding approvingly. "I wouldn't miss it! But on one condition-" He paused ominously. "That you wear that dress!"

Tressalyn put forth her hand. "It's a deal!"

A few hours later, the tailor watched with smiling eyes as the Healer and his soon-to-be daughter left the shop, the girl waving gaily back before the door shut behind her. Along with the silk dress, she left with five more tunics of varying colors, three vests, four skirts, and four pair of breeches, along with the prescribed underclothes. She had also chosen a pale rose dress for her cousin Demmy, knowing that the girl would be speechless. The Healer walked, laden with these purchases, as though drunk. Tressalyn would have liked to have worn the dress out, exalting in its fineness, but she feared ruining it with dust and other unmentionables kicked up by passersby. So the treasure was wrapped in a bag and slung over the man's shoulders, giving him a lopsided gait.

Next they hit the cobbler and he was just as delighted to serve the pleasant young lady. He measured her feet and showed her the different styles and colors. She decided upon a sturdy pair of mid-calf walking boots of water-proofed leather and a finer pair of shoes, died to match the dress, which would be appropriate for dancing and the aspects of any fine party. Both would be ready before the adoption ceremony.

The pair walked home in a state of contentment, enjoying the cool air and the clear day. Then the keening took up, filling the air with sad notes, jarring Tressalyn to the tips of her toes. She stopped dead in her tracks, almost pitching forward as he legs refused to take another step. Tears stung her eyes and she closed them quickly, unaware of the odd look the Healer was directing towards her.

"Tressalyn, what's wrong? You appear as though someone just stabbed you."

When he got no response, he set the clothes aside and shook the girl, gently, enough to bring her out of her pain-induced reverie.

"Don't you hear it? Tearing at your mind, the sadness, the pain. Can't you hear it?" Her eyes echoed her words, filled with agony, and then confusion as the Healer dumbly shook his head, wondering if the infection had returned. "Chat'ka!" she gasped. And began a stilted run to the far side of the holding, away from the Healer's quarters and away from the still confused Healer.

He started to call out after her but realized it was no use. Not only would she ignore him but the distance between them was too great. He didn't know whether to go after the girl or- No, he had to go after her. Quickly he gathered up the soft bundles and took them into the nearest shop, asking the keeper to watch them until he returned.

Following Tressalyn's path, the Healer headed across the holding, hoping he wasn't too late - for whatever it was that was happening...

She was huddled over a mewling mass of red and eye-stunning silver. Her hands were scrabbling at the metal chains keeping the chat'ka grounded but new locks kept anyone without a key from releasing the piteous creature. Her tears were hastily wiped away, sparing the chat'ka the extra pain of salty tears on open wounds and so now red streaks of the winged creature's blood were slashed across Tressalyn's face, garish decorations echoing the tattoos of southron tribes.

When the Healer's shadow fell across the chat'ka's body, Tressalyn lunged to her feet, her fingers curled into talons, and attacked. Yet before the Healer could even raise a hand in defense, the girl turned in mid lunge and fell to her knees, gasping against the chat'ka's whip-lashed side.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't realize it was you until-" She hesitated. "Until I saw your face." The Healer knew she had changed what she was going to say at first and felt a pang of frustration. He moved closer and only now did the magnitude of what was before him strike.

"That really is a chat'ka, isn't it?" he managed.

Tressalyn took a deep breath and rocked back to rest on her heels, her eyes still on the bleeding chat'ka. "Yes, beneath the whip lashes and knife slashes and any other device of pain's leavings, there is a chat'ka. One which my uncle has been keeping here since before I was taken with infection." She shook her head and her jaw worked as she fought more tears. "She was not this bad before though... Not good, Healer sir, not even close, but at least then there was a hint of silver still showing. And her wings were still," the words stopped in her throat, choking on bitter tears, "still resembling wings."

The Healer looked over the beast with a trained eye, taking in its - her(and how did Tressalyn know that?) - wounds and noting the ravaged wings, now mere wing joints, the tender membrane dragging on the ground.

Gently he lifted the girl up and cradled her against his chest, absently smoothing her hair. "Shhh, fear not for I will do what I can for this beastie come nightfall."

"But we cannot leave her here like this!" Tressalyn cried. "We cannot leave her here to be beaten again, to be killed!" The Healer motioned her to quiet her voice and she hunched her shoulders, quickly scanning the area.

"I fully intend to release this creature, me girl, do not think I care nought! But once we do, we will have to run as well, for the ire of your kin will be great, and mercy will be just as scarce. If we are to be safe while running, you will have to be legally mine." He nodded as understanding widened her eyes. "Do you see? I will-"

"You will administer medication until after the adoption ceremony and then we will free her and free ourselves!" Her triumphant crow was cautiously muted but her eyes shone. The Healer only nodded.

Tressalyn turned back to the chat'ka. "You needs must only hold on for three more days, my lovely. Only three more days." Something flickered deep in her green eyes and the hair stood up on the Healer's arm. A surprised murmur left the girl's lips and before he could stop her she held out her injured thumb, placing it before the chat'ka's horns. He felt his jaw hang slack as the creature gently placed her foremost horn on the girl's thumb. A silver nimbus of blinding fire flared about the two and the Healer was forced to shield his eyes. When he lowered his arm, the girl was again kneeling before the chat'ka but now her head was resting against the small silver wedge that was the creature's own head, the silver flame now muted, more gentle, and only encompassing Tressalyn's head. Then he blinked and the fire was gone, the girl again standing on her own two feet and the creature still huddled against the wall, standing in its own blood.

"Tress-"

But the girl was already walking back to the Healer's quarters, her path a half circle which would carry her on the outskirts of the buildings and consequently away from people. Before starting after her, he caught the chat'ka's eyes and felt his blood chill at the intelligence he saw in them. The creature almost seemed to be smiling, despite her own pain, and hesitantly the Healer offered a smile back. Then he followed after his apprentice, questions filling his mind even while his feet took him back to the store where he had left the day's purchases.

She was filled with a sense of rightness and belonging for the first time in her life and her blood sang in her veins even while pounding against her temples. It seemed that the chat'ka's song still rang in her ears, the song that no one else could hear.

Her eyes fell upon her once injured thumb and even though it was smeared with blood, there was no evidence that it had ever even been scratched, much less sliced open. There wasn't even scar tissue... The chat'ka had done this for her with her - yes, the chat'ka had told her she was a girl - magic, the magic unique to her kind. They could regenerate tissue and heal any wound, except the finality of death. Their magic also extended to mental or spiritual illness, explaining why the form of a chat'ka in flight was the sigil of all Healers, emblazoned on their formal regalia and professional seals.

Tressalyn reached the Healer's building still steeped in the magic of the encounter. The poor creature had nearly clawed through one of the chains and when her success had been found out, the holder had whipped her to near death. Only then did he leave off and leave her alone. It was the chat'ka's beating which caused her to loose the horrible mental keening that so affected Tressalyn and rebounded in her brain. Then the creature's words began flowing across her mind, the cool, silver presence soothing and unlike anything the girl had ever experienced. The chat'ka had told her to offer up her thumb and trustingly, she had done so... What had happened had been as unexpected as wonderful. She felt the power of the creature course through the very fiber of her body and flood her mind, like the light of a full moon on a calm pond. Whatever had allowed Tressalyn to hear the chat'ka just this once, she thanked the gods it had done so.

He entered the room to find Tressalyn furiously scrubbing at her hands and face and neck, her eyes still frighteningly distant and alien. He began to approach her but her strange demeanor held him at bay better than any physical barrier, so instead he went to the stove and heated up more water, placing the steaming kettle on a flat rock beside the wash basin to replenish the quickly reddening water.

Silently, she emptied out the dirty basin and poured in the partially cooled kettle water. Unmindful of the heat, she washed once more and after drying, left the room, never once acknowledging the Healer's presence. He followed her out but stopped at the door, watching as she walked away from the holding and into the sparsely wooded wilderness. Her posture was relaxed and loose, her stride long and smooth and the Healer did not doubt she would come back when she was ready.

The Healer walked back to the wash basin and poured in more clean water, hoping that perhaps the splash of coolness against his face would awaken him from whatever dream he was caught in. Yet after thorough cleansing, the memories still remained and he knew it had been no dream... One thing he was grateful for was that Demmy had chosen this day to go visit with other friends... He feared that she would have not known how to take such odd occurrences.

She walked. She walked until her legs refused to take another step. And then she sat. Her green eyes had gained none of their usual clarity but were still focused elsewhere, either inwardly or so far away the lands were unknown to her.

The day progressed around her, unmindful of what it had done to the girl in the slow sliding of time. Birds cheeped lazily as the noon sun eased toward the westward horizon and the bright blue of the sky deepened as dusk crept over the land. Evening blooms began to cautiously unfurl their colorful banners of magenta and white and yellow and loose their heady scents upon twilight's whispering breeze as large moths, which resembled the tiny nectar sippers that hovered in mid air, came to feast off their sweet dews. The beauty of night's uncloaking was lost on Tressalyn, though, for it was the past, not the present, which so occupied her already overwhelmed thoughts.

Memories that she could not recognize as her own and knowledge that she had never sought after inundated her mind, scattering all sense and arranging itself helter-skelter among her own thoughts and memories. She would occasionally rub the back of her neck, a slight frown creasing her brow as though she was trying to find something and failing. Slowly, as the dusk darkened into true night, her mind snapped to with a near physical click and all the new memories, all the new knowledge, were irreversibly hers. And then they were gone, as though they had never been. But the feeling remained and though she knew there was something she should be able to remember, it eluded her grasp.

Slowly, Tressalyn rose to her feet, mindful of the numb appendages and sore bottom. She glanced at the none too smooth log she had perched on for so many hours and grimaced, rubbing her backside and legs until blood flow, and with that feeling, returned. She turned in a lazy circle, taking in the darkened day, her green eyes again clear and bright. With a wondering smile, she made her way back to the Healer and Demmy, her spirits calm. She received a taste of something that had forever been beyond her reach, and even though it had been taken away again, she knew beyond a doubt it would not be long before she regained what was lost.

The Healer was beginning to truly worry and was in the act of telling Demmy to sit quiet while he went out to retrieve their errant companion when Tressalyn walked through the door.

"Hello, Father. Hi, Demmy." She smiled brightly at both and went over to her cousin, dropping with boneless grace to the floor. "How are Linna and Jobe and Dinian doing? Did she finally-? She did?!" Tressalyn's clear laughter rang through the room and Demmy's joined it.

All the Healer's questions went unvoiced for he did not want to chance harming his apprentice with painful inquiries. He took pleasure from her happiness instead, watching as her previously dull eyes sparkled and danced with her cousin's recounting of her day. Names filled the room and more girlish giggles and shrieks and it was to this sometimes ear-piercing accompaniment that he cooked roots and water-leaves in a spiced oil, which he proceeded to bake into palm-sized rolls of bread.

The girls continued their chatter over dinner and the Healer saw that Tressalyn had changed somehow, something about her eyes, the set of her mouth, the way she held herself. He also noticed how often her hand crept to the back of her neck, rubbing the skin before returning to the spiced meat roll before her. One of these times, he noticed her hand, the hand which had been injured and barely kept his dinner from falling to the floor. Tressalyn eyed him quizzically but he waved her away, smiling self-deprecatingly in response to his clumsiness. After a moment of hesitation she turned her attention back to her cousin, who had been in the middle of a story about some friend who committed some faux pas.

The Healer's attention went back to Tressalyn's once ravaged and brutally scarred thumb. The scarring would have prohibited her thumb from touching her smallest finger and from stretching fully away from the first finger. Yet the girl seemingly had full mobility and there was no ugly scarring, at least not that the Healer could see. The angry red gash that still should have marred her hand had given way to flawless skin. Demmy seemed not to notice but the Healer couldn't take his eyes away.

The chat'ka had done this. The silver fire, the glowing halo, the horn... The horn! That was what the girl had been saying in her fever dreams! The chat'ka's horns... Their healing properties... But how had the girl known? He had assumed her fevered mind was sent onto the line between sanity and the realm beyond and put no weight in the girl's words but the question now remained: how could she have known? She, never leaving the holding, hardly ever leaving the kitchen! Another question he might never know the answer to... For a simple hold girl, she created more questions than a court politician! He eyed her again, watching her hand again slide to the back of her neck. No, this girl, this Tressalyn, was anything but simple, and he feared that things would never be simple again.

Three days passed in relative calm. The Healer tended to the chat'ka every evening as promised and by the third day he noticed the wounds beginning to show signs of healing, and the wings, which he had carefully stitched back together, were beginning to knit into solid membrane as well.

When he awakened that third day, it was to Demmy's excited exclamations over her new dress. He sat up just in time to see the slight girl bowl her cousin over in gratitude, the two girls falling together onto the couch in a gale of laughter. He smiled at Demmy's happy tears and Tressalyn's self-satisfied look.

The girls took turns washing and then helped each other into their new dresses. Tressalyn's new glow made her look even more stunning in her green creation and as she twirled around the room, she twirled to silence, for nothing could be thought of which was worthy of being said. Demmy, if not as stunning, was nonetheless quite catching in her simple rose dress. It swirled around her slight form and gave her the appearance of an otherworldly angel come down for a time. Her cheeks flushed prettily when the Healer told her so and she rushed to give him a hug.

Demmy took care to do Tressalyn's hair and the girl's fingers twisted and curled and primped and pinned until the long auburn hair was done up in a coif which would have made a courtier's lady jealous. Curls cascaded down around Tressalyn's face, just enough to frame her fine features, and the rest of her mane had been rolled into a bun at the back of her head, more curls falling around the bun while tiny braids kris-crossed over the bun itself, creating a net-like effect. The Healer was amply impressed and Tressalyn's pleasure was so sincere that Demmy near walked on air.

For Demmy, Tressalyn chose a simpler confection to match the dress. Braiding small sections of hair around Demmy's face, Tressalyn collected the finished plaits at the crown of her cousin's head and curled the tails, allowing the rest of her hair to fall free down her back. Demmy appeared to have a cap of plaits and the finished image was one of simple beauty. Neither girl looked as young as the Healer knew them to be and they took pleasure in the fact.

As the sun was reaching its noon zenith, the trio was already in the plain chapel, gazing at the friendly faces staring back. Tressalyn searched the crowd for her aunt and uncle and was able to breathe easier for their absence. Demmy, too, seemed more at ease when Tressalyn pointed out the fact.

Tressalyn, now in her delicate green dancing slippers, and the Healer stood before the priest, the crowd at their backs. Demmy had taken her seat at the front of the chapel next to the cobbler and the tailor, both of whom were beaming like proud uncles.

"Healer Drake, you have come before me to petition for the legal guardianship of one Tressalyn, who has been under your care for the past month." The priest's voice boomed across the chapel and all quiet murmuring stopped abruptly, the last words falling upon complete silence and echoing slightly from the walls. "We have three who would bear testimony to your care and your right to adopt this child." He nodded to the three in the front seats and they stood, each declaring in turn that he or she found the Healer competent and caring.

"Is there any here who contest Healer Drake's petition? Who believe that they and not he should have custody of the child, Tressalyn?" His eyes raked over the room and Tressalyn held her breath, dreading the words she feared she would hear. But silence met the priest's words and she let out the breath in her lungs with an audible whoosh. The priest gave her a kindly smile and nodded his head.

"Then in the presence of the Divine Metrah, and all the higher powers that be, I grant you, Healer Drake, full parental rights of Tressalyn, and with those rights, the more numerous responsibilities. For now it is not only your duty to help her to maintain a healthy physical state but also a stable mental and spiritual state, providing her with all your love and knowledge so as to allow her to mature into her full potential as a valuable member of society." He turned to Tresssalyn.

"And you, my dear Tressalyn, now have the responsibility of respecting this man, who is so lovingly providing for you, and accepting his guidance with an open mind and heart. As his daughter, all your actions are now a reflection on him, even into adulthood, and this must always be in the back of your mind, in all you do." She nodded solemnly and his eyes glittered.

"I believe this to be a fated matching of two kindred spirits and is to be celebrated by all who love this newly joined father and daughter!" His words broke the crowd's silence and their voices rose is agreement, cheers and congratulations resounding from the walls.

Tressalyn's eyes overflowed and the people who came to hug and kiss her appeared blurred and fuzzy until she wiped her eyes and found her face to be damp to the touch. Demmy stayed by her side, offering her strength, until the majority of people had offered their praises of the ceremony and only a few were left. Tressalyn wasn't sure how to deal with such an outpouring of affection... Never had she even imagined that so many cared for her! So little love did she receive at home that she had become reluctant to open up at all, yet even through her reticence her beautiful spirit had shone through and people had made themselves her friends, will her or nill her.

When Tressalyn stepped from the chapel, a small band had already formed and people were twirling around the makeshift dance floor in the commons. The Healer swept her up in the first dance and from then on, her feet hardly seemed to stop dancing before another partner spun her away again. She laughed gaily when Demmy was shyly asked to dance and the girl allowed herself to be pulled onto the dance floor. The young man was one that Demmy had her eyes on and Tressalyn knew the flush which stained her cousin's cheeks was from more than the dancing.

Music filled the night air right up until the passing of the day and waking of the next. Fewer and fewer couples got up to dance and when the last couple disappeared into the dark, the band bowed to Tressalyn and her new father and disassembled their stands to take themselves off to their own beds and lovers.

"Where's that slip of a cousin of yours, daughter?" The Healer said that word every chance he could, reveling in the sound of it and now the truth of it. It was apparent that Tressalyn experienced the same pleasure.

Looking around, she said, "I'm not all that-"

Just then she spied two shadows slipping from the night and coming towards them. There was a high flush on Demmy's cheeks and her hand was shyly linked with the young man's who had given her the first dance. Tressalyn smiled warmly at the couple and Demmy beamed back, biting her lip in her excitement. The Healer followed her gaze and a like smile turned up his lips, his eyes twinkling impishly.

"And here I thought she was the shy one!" he said just loud enough for Demmy to hear. She blushed a deeper red but then threw back her shoulders, took a firmer hold of her companion's hand, and marched up to the Healer and his daughter.

"I'm sorry, Uncle, I didn't quite hear you. Did you say, 'The dance was too much for this old one.'?" She grinned up at the tall man and he just chuckled, throwing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his chest.

"Whatever would I do without you girls to keep me on my toes?" He looked at his two girls and the two girls looked at each other. They gave such identical shrugs, which so clearly said, "Fall," that the Healer laughed out loud and made both girls jump.

The four set back to the Healer's quarters and somewhere along the way, Demmy's companion took his leave. Tressalyn remained overjoyed for her cousin yet each step she took towards the room brought one more pang of sadness and even a little fear. Tonight was the night she and her father were to release the chat'ka and become holdless on the run... She may have lacked in love, but she had never been without a home and the thought was daunting now that it lie at her slippered feet. The Healer, too, seemed to become more subdued as they walked back and soon Demmy could not help but notice.

"Tressy, Healer sir, is everything all right?"

Tressalyn glanced at her father, unsure of how to answer, and he nodded, giving her permission to divulge their plan. "Demmy, whatever I'm going to say to you, you must believe for I've made none of it up. Father will attest to that." She took a deep breath and Demmy's eyes grew wide with curiosity and a trace of worry.

"Uncle has a chat'ka chained to the side of the storehouse on the far side of the holding. I found her about a month ago, the day that I cut my hand, and I don't know how long she'd been there before that but Uncle has been whipping and cutting her." The surprise on Demmy's face gave way to pained outrage.

"No, that makes perfect sense," she exclaimed. "I was walking over there one day and Uncle nearly threw me down, telling me I had no business in that area and to get myself back to work." She motioned for her cousin to continue, her eyes luminous in the star light.

"Well, he beat her again three days ago and me and Father went and helped her. He has been tending her every night, helping her to heal until we can free her and she can do it herself."

"Do it herself?"

Tressalyn licked her lips and wordlessly lifted up her previously wounded thumb. Demmy gasped and took the thumb between her fingers, gazing at the healthy, unscarred skin. She opened her mouth as if to say something but the words eluded her grasp. Tressalyn only nodded.

They walked a few moments in silence, allowing Demmy to work it through in her mind. "When are you going to free her? Tonight?"

Again, Tressalyn nodded. "Yes, we're going to free her and then run ourselves. Uncle would never rest until he had us hanged for taking this away from him, whatever 'this' is."

Demmy began to say she would come too but the Healer finally added his voice to the conversation.

"No, Demmy. You needs must stay here and keep your uncle from suspecting us, at least for awhile. Say we went to gather herbs or some such nonsense. Also, watch him, stay close and see if you can discover why he would hold a chat'ka. Besides, two will travel much faster than three and I have only two horses, anyway. I'm sorry, Demmy," he said when her face fell, "but do you understand the importance of your role in all of this?" He smiled when she bit her lip and nodded firmly, determined to take pride in her responsibility. "There's a girl. Now let's hurry home so we can finish this."

When all was packed up, and there wasn't all that much to pack, Tressalyn needed only one roll while her father took up three. His included not only his clothing and personal affects but also all those things which a Healer needs most, a small mortar and pestle, packets of dried herbs, bandages and a few pots of odd smelling salves.

Demmy helped as best she could, laying out the things to be packed on the bed. She presented the green silk dress to Tressalyn for her pack and the girl was about to shake her head in negation when her father said, "Yes. Take that! You may need it where we're going."

His insistence made Tressalyn frown in wonder but did not question his decision and carefully rolled it up so as to keep the fine material as wrinkle free as possible.

When all was packed that they thought they would need, dawn was still a few hours off and the Healer assured the two girls that there was still plenty of time. Between the three of them, the horses where curried and tacked up in a matter of minutes and the packs tied securely behind the prominent cantles.

Tressalyn was about to bid her cousin farewell when Demmy clutched her cousin's hands and looked pleadingly into her eyes. "Can I please come with you, just to release the chat'ka? Please, Tressy?" Her desire was so strong that Tressalyn didn't even look to her father.

"Of course, Demmy. But you have to promise to come straight back and not say a word to anyone!" Demmy looked hurt and Tressalyn amended, "Not that you would of course."

The three walked quickly around the perimeter of the commons, Tressalyn and her father leading the two horses. They ducked from shadow to shadow as much as possible, though being tailed by two large beasts made subterfuge somewhat difficult. Every now and then one of the horse's hooves would strike a stone or a human foot would snap a stick and all would freeze, waiting for some indication that they had been found out, and only continuing on after a tense moment of strong fear.

The store house finally loomed before them, a great dark shadow under a dark sky. They turned a corner and Tressalyn had to put her hand over her cousin's mouth as the girl broke out in cooings and exclamations of joy. The girl's eyes grew wide but then understanding followed by hot embarrassment flushed her cheeks.

Tressalyn released her cousin and Demmy only stepped toward the partially healed chat'ka, her hands extended but not quite touching the mythical creature. Tressalyn had to admit that her father had done a commendable job; the poor beast at least looked like a chat'ka now, the silver hide once again glowing, if marred in a few areas by still-healing lash marks.

Much to Demmy's surprise, the chat'ka wriggled closer to her outstretched hands until her fingertips brushed against the undamaged skin. The creature sighed in what could only be happiness as Demmy hesitantly, and then with growing confidence, stroked the tiny beast.

"She's so soft!" Demmy quietly exclaimed. "And warm! Like sun-warmed lake water on your skin..."

Tressalyn moved up beside her cousin and the chat'ka gently nuzzled her chest, careful to keep her horns from gouging the girl. While the two pet and cooed over the small beast, the Healer removed a thin metal wire from his pocket and began rooting around in the lock. A small frown drew down his brows and darkened his face but after a few breaths a clear and audible click issued from the metal box and the bulky lock fell with a thud to the ground. The Healer made short work of the other three and within thirty marks, the three humans were hurriedly freeing the chat'ka of her chains, leaving the horrible form of restraint in a pile against the wall.

Unsure of what would happen now, Tressalyn, Demmy, and the Healer backed away a few paces and stared. Slowly, the chat'ka rose from the crouch it had been chained in and painfully stretched out her wings. Almost so gradually that the humans didn't notice, a glow began to emanate from the horns gracing the chat'ka's head and spread to enshroud the creature's entire body. With building speed the intensity of light grew until it was as bright as the silver fire which healed Tressalyn's thumb. Then the glow grew brighter still and silver sparks erupted along the wings, following the wing joints down to the body and then tracing patterns over the whip lashes. The glow now lit up their entire section of the sky and none of the humans could bare to keep their eyes open, being forced to turn their backs on the chat'ka instead.

After an interminable amount of time, the glow abruptly vanished, leaving the night even darker than it was before. The three humans blinked but their eyes seemed to have been blinded momentarily from the sudden lack of light. When sight did return, it was in the form of spots and brief flashes of light, until the darkness eventually gave way to dim shapes and then finally their night vision took over.

And then the gift of speech took its leave. Before them stood a creature of unsurpassable beauty and grace. The glow had not totally disappeared as they thought, but now was a subtle mist surrounding the chat'ka. She stood on her hind legs, her wings extended, and a soft croon pulsed forth from her throat. When her human companions offered no words, she dropped down to all fours, stepping to the Healer and nuzzling his stomach, her croon changing so that her gratitude and love was unmistakable. Next, she went to Demmy and the girl seemed to be near tears as the chat'ka butted her hand and briefly stood on her hind legs again to nuzzle against her cheeks. Demmy hesitated only a moment before easing her arms around the small creature's neck and laying her head on the chat'ka's shoulder.

The chat'ka saved Tressalyn for last. When the creature stepped before the girl, she spread her wings and closed them about Tressalyn in what could only be a hug. Tressalyn kneeled down in the glowing embrace and wrapped the chat'ka in an embrace of her own. Tressalyn absently noted that the soft skin beneath her face held the barest trace of sweet menalin, a flower that only bloomed after spring's first rain.

After a moment, the chat'ka drew back slightly and placed her horns on the girl's head and in that moment, the world seemed to stop in its rotation. All the confusion that Tressalyn had felt three nights ago was erased and in the cracks that had been left after the girl's soul searching were the missing pieces of the past. And in those pieces was the chat'ka, unmistakably and unshakably.

Tressalyn didn't know how long she had knelt there but when she rose, her knees popped in argument and there were deep indents in the soft earth she had knelt on. Her two companions had uttered no sound while she and the chat'ka had been encapsulated in the glowing mist so when the chat'ka smoothly flattened her wings against her silvered sides, revealing a still dream-lost Tressalyn, they rushed forth, exclaiming as softly as they could over the image she and the chat'ka had made- an image straight out of the old legends.

The girl shook her head and focused misted eyes upon her toes, trying to bring her mind fully to the present. Images of rider-laden chat'kas and holdings built upon the highest cliffs still danced behind her eyes and only with a strong mental will did she push them back. When she met her father's eyes she noticed how he backed up, nearly tripping over his own feet. Worried, she reached for him and he clutched her arm with a painfully tight grip. Catching her wince, he loosened his fingers but his eyes never left her face, staring at her as he had at the chat'ka when first he had laid eyes on her.

"Father?" she queried, her voice quivering slightly with growing fear. "Father?"

He hesitated only a moment and then shook his head. Dropping his hands to his sides, he smiled what Tressalyn supposed was meant to be a reassuring smile.

"It's nothing, really, Tress. Well, it's something but it's not really- I mean to say that, it's not really that-" He broke off confusedly, realizing that he was babbling and that his daughter was eyeing him with more than a little panic. He threw a desperate look to Demmy and gently turned Tressalyn around, making her face her cousin.

Demmy gasped and then hurriedly covered her mouth, looking guiltily around.

"Demmy? What is it?!" Tressalyn was becoming a trifle frustrated with her kin.

"Well, Tressy. I don't know quite how to explain it. Your eyes..." She groped for words, waving her hands vaguely before her. "They're- Well, they're just different! Older, I guess..." She trailed off but her uneasy glance made Tressalyn suspicious.

"What else?" she demanded.

Demmy cringed back ever so slightly and the Healer spoke from over Tressalyn's shoulder.

"They glow, me dear girl. With the light of the chat'ka. And your face-" again that uneasy pause and then, "Well, me girl, in the moon light, it seems as though it has become silvered, just enough so's the light catches it."

A faint crooning filled the night air and Tressalyn started. As hard as it seemed to be, she had forgotten the chat'ka was there. Slowly, she turned her gaze upon the reared up creature. In the song was assurance, strength, and, yes, over it all was love. Deep and pure and endless love. With the song ringing in her ears and in her heart, she stood taller, threw back her shoulders and answered the song with one of her own, her young voice tempered but soft in the night.

The chat'ka settled her wings with a self-satisfied air and then launched herself into the night sky, snapping her wings out and forcing herself up with great, buffeting strokes. The displaced air swirled around the earth-bound humans, making their hair dance and shifting dirt into their eyes. For one breath-taking moment, the creature was silhouetted against the velvety blanket of stars and black and then she was gone, leaving the night empty behind her.

Stunned silence followed in her wake and for a few breaths not even the evening crickets dared voice their song. Then the Healer blinked, rubbed the grit from his eyes, and shook his girls to their senses, not knowing how much time had passed since they first came to release the chat'ka.

"Come, we must hurry now! Dawn must be no more than three hours away and we needs must ride as far as we can tonight! Demmy," he turned to her and caught her eye, "you know what you must do once we are gone?" She blinked dumbly and then nodded quickly. "That's a girl," he smiled, "now get ye gone and to bed so there is no evidence of your late night once your uncle discovers his loss."

Again she nodded and then threw her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly. He hugged her back and then disengaged her arms, turning her towards her cousin. Demmy did not hesitate to give Tressalyn an equally tight farewell embrace, forgetting her cousin's alien traits.

"I love you, Tressy," she whispered fiercely.

With tears stinging her eyes, she pulled back enough to look in Demmy's face, the tears leaking over her lids when she saw the sincerity staring back at her. Wrapping Demmy in one last hug, she said, "I love you too, Demmy."

Then the girl was turning and running back to the Healer's quarters, her dark shirt and breeches making her disappear into the night. Tressalyn watched her cousin until she was straining against the darkness and when her father lightly touched her shoulder, she jumped.

"Daughter-"

Silently, she turned and scrambled into the waiting saddle, riding not something that she did often enough to make the mounting smooth or practiced. The Healer, on the other hand, swung up and settled himself in the deep seat with minimum effort and seeming ease. But he had had time to accustom himself with riding as he traveled so often from one holding to the next.

Wordlessly, he turned his dappled mare south and Tressalyn followed, her eyes still hopefully scanning the sky.

When false dawn began to stain the eastern sky, the father and daughter were already leagues away from the holding. They had urged their mounts no faster than a quick walk while the sun's rays still hid beneath the horizon but once light began to peek over the flat fields and the sky brightened to a pale yellow, the Healer and Tressalyn moved them up to an easy canter, their horses still fresh and eager. The Healer moved easily with his mare, half dozing in the saddle. Tressalyn had no such luxury. If she moved up, her horse was moving down. When she was coming down, the saddle was painfully coming up. Her thighs ached with her efforts to cling to her horse and her seat bones were already bruised and tender. She despaired of ever riding as smoothly as her father did.

There was a hand's breadth between the fields and the sun when the pair started passing other travelers. Tressalyn felt as though every passerby could see their deed hanging over their head and felt inexistent eyes boring into the back of her neck. She turned to check behind her one too many times and her father softly called her.

"Tress, it's too soon for anyone to be following us. Your uncle probably discovered his missing prisoner only an hour ago and if Demmy is doing her job properly, then he will not suspect us for another day or so. We need not hurry so as to make ourselves seem suspicious but just enough so that when your uncle does send men after us we have a fairly safe lead. Do you understand?" He waited for her to nod solemnly before smiling. "And if you insist on glancing over your shoulder every breath, someone will notice and think it odd."

Tressalyn flushed and kept her eyes on her horse's ears.

"Tress, have you never ridden before?" The Healer had been watching his daughter during the afternoon, waiting for her to sit the saddle easier but with every stride she winced and if anything her seat was becoming less stable.

"No, Father, I haven't. Uncle never gave me leave to near his horses and he also never saw me-" her words ended in a hiss of pain as she came down hard on the saddle. "He also never saw me worth the effort of lessons."

"Well, we will most definitely have to remedy that, me dear girl!" And so began her riding lessons.

After two hours of "You're too stiff" and then "But don't flop around like that!" she was ready to give it all to the pigs and walk.

"Tressalyn, you just have to relax and move with your horse. He's a smooth ride if you would just relax!" The Healer's tone had grown increasingly frustrated as the day progressed and that made Tressalyn feel even worse.

"Father, I'm trying!" she cried, genuine despair shading her voice. "But you're not going to force years of experience into one afternoon."

He moistened his lips and blinked. Then, "You're right, Tress, and I'm sorry for losing patience with you. We'll just do a little each day until you won't be able to tell where you stop and the horse begins."

The image that brought to mind made Tressalyn giggle and soon the Healer began laughing too. The tension was broken and when they saw the small town come into view, their spirits were much lighter.

"But why can't you just claim your Healer status? Then they'll have to provide food and board, won't they?"

"Yes, they would, but when your uncle's men begin searching for us, people will be more likely to remember a Healer and his daughter than a peasant and his son passing through." He eyed her up and down speculatively for a moment and then gave a tight smile. "If you won't consent to cutting it-" her eyes flared angrily and her lips tightened, "No, I didn't think so," he continued. "So we'll tie it up so it looks shorter and you will have to keep you cloak hood up. You'll be a very pretty boy but-" the Healer shrugged dismissively.

Tressalyn couldn't say as she was pleased with the idea but with tighter binding- She nodded to herself; yes, it could work.

They rode in silence until they found a small clearing off the road, partially shielded by trees and high bushes, where they turned off to make the necessary changes. A mirror was not something Tressalyn had counted as important so she couldn't gauge the effect of the shortened hair and binding but from her father's satisfied grin, she assumed it had worked.

He dug her cloak out of her packs and she slipped it on, letting him arrange the folds of the hood to hide her face as well as he could. Then he changed into the most worn clothing he had, trying to look the part of a traveling peasant. Satisfied that they could pull off their charade, they mounted back up and continued down the road into town.

The Healer's assumption that Tressalyn had never left the holding was backed up by the way that she clung to his arm the minute they dismounted in the inn's yard, her eyes wide as a hunted deer's and just as scared.

The noise coming from the common room through the open front door was louder than any of the holding's gatherings, the cacophony of voices stunning her poor ears. The Healer took pity on her and held her to his side while giving the stable boy clear directions.

"I would like them t' get warm mash and some greens, boy. They've had a hard day and deserve good care." He forestalled the boy's arguments with an extra three trondors, secreted from a hidden pocket in his cloak. The stable boy's sullen look disappeared in a childish smile and he eagerly snatched at the coins, nearly dropping the reins in his haste.

Sure of their horses' safety and well-being, the Healer took Tressalyn by the arm and led her toward the front entrance. Tressalyn was simply trying to keep her ears from falling off when the Healer pulled her roughly to the side, dragging her away from the door. Her gurgled protest was cut short as a large object flew over the threshold, landing with a hard thud on the spot they had just vacated.

Her eyes wider still, she recognized the large lump to be man as legs unfolded to stand him up and arms flailed about ineffectually to maintain already dubious balance. When he noticed her staring, he grinned blankly, clearly inebriated.

"They's just no fun in there! The girls don't let a man get no feel of nothin'!" And with that he was stumbling out of the inn's yard and across the road to another inn, his feet betraying him now and again and sending him sprawling on the ground.

The Healer glanced at his daughter and caught her flummoxed expression. "Close your mouth, me girl!" he urged. "Ye needs must seem used to this ilk!" He smiled when she emptied her face of shock and attempted one of boredom, briefly squeezing her arm before continuing into the inn.

If the noise was painful from outside, it was deafening once over the door's threshold. Tressalyn had to fight the urge to cover her ears as they made their way through the tables and benches. Occasionally she would glance up, peeking from underneath her hood, and would catch an odd look cast in her direction. She thought that once might be chance but then it happened again and when she met the glance, the woman blanched and quickly averted her eyes. After that, Tressalyn kept her eyes on her toes, blindly following her father through the hectic crowd.

After a few moments of haggling, the Healer paid the innkeeper for food and board and eased himself and his charge onto a crowded bench.

"A rost and five trondors for this is ridiculous," he fumed. "And that was after I talked him down from three rosts! Three rosts!" He shook his head disgustedly and turned his attention to his seat mates.

Tressalyn followed suit, glancing at the men and women around her. She noticed at least three other travelers like her and her father, peasants with sons or daughters at their sides. Directly to her right was a fighter of sorts, his sword propped against the back of the bench and his chain link glinting in the light coming from oil lamps dispersed about the room. Across from him was a woman. At least, Tressalyn had to assume she was a woman for she was clothed identically to the swordsman, excepting that instead of a broad sword, she sported a wicked short sword and crossbow. Her hard face was lined with old scars, one in particular which caught Tressalyn's eye. It curved from her forehead along the side of her face down to her chin and it pulled her mouth to the right, giving it the appearance of a constant snarl.

When the food was placed before her, Tressalyn was shocked. She'd had better fare with her aunt! She glanced at her father and noted that he had expected nothing more, so with a resigned sigh she broke off a chunk of rock-like bread and used it to scoop up the stringy bits of meat floating about in barely warm water, which she assumed was supposed to be soup.

As she ate, her ears slowly grew accustomed to the noise and within a few marks she could identify certain noises: a newcomer arguing with the keeper over a few trondors, a mug of ale being set on a table, snatches of conversation. Halfway through her meal, the two fighters began talking.

"That captain o' ours, he's gonna find 'imself at the bad end of a rope if'n he doesn't take more care than he did in our last campaign," the swordsman commented casually. His voice was deep and harsh, like a crow.

The woman smiled cruelly and replied, "At least there he can do no more damage. We lost more'n a third of good hardened fighters to that last battle and he did no more'n say it was a rough fight." She shook her head. "It's too bad Ithana had to go down. She had a fair head on her shoulders and would never have walked into that box like Mikan did." She snorted and tore off a chunk of bread, softening it in the meat-dotted water.

Unlike the man, the woman's voice was soft and clear, almost cultured. She spoke as her father did, not like the cretins that her uncle always said fighters were. With her interest piqued, she listened harder to their words.

"Yeah, too bad Ithana had to take that bolt in her side or else she would have been able to finish it up. As it is, we'll be lucky to get her back by the next New Mothillian!" He grunted unhappily. "Th' only thing holding me 'ere is the promise of pay come next eight-day!"

"Shove it, Lipen," she said lightly. "You know you wouldn't break contract, regardless of the captain. You remember what happened to Xerha- a year without fighting and half pay for seven months after that. You can bet she won't dissent again." She grinned, and the man, Lipen, grinned back.

"Yeah, but it sure sounds good, doesn't it, Tressa?" He laughed.

It was all Tressalyn could do to keep from jumping in her seat. The man hadn't called her; he'd called his friend, the woman. Their conversation drifted off and Tressalyn mulled over what she had heard. The existence of woman fighters was alien enough but the fact that they acted in authoritative positions as well was more than a little shocking. In her holding, the men were expected to protect the women and the closest any girl came to anything resembling a weapon was a knife she used in the kitchen. And this woman, this Tressa, appeared to be an experienced fighter. Tressalyn was trying to picture a band of women fighters charging the enemy, and failing comically, when the fighter's conversation took another turn and a word caught her attention.

"-chat'ka skins were going for a pretty trondor before the King outlawed the hunting of the beasts," Tressa commented. "I remember when any fighter worth her contract had something made of the leather. Get a wound and in a few marks," she snapped her fingers sharply, "wound's gone, not a mark left. And with the size of 'em, one skin could be dispersed amongst three whole companies."

Tressalyn quickly pictured the size of the chat'ka they must be talking about and shook her head slightly. Did they come in different sizes? Are they talking about a different chat'ka than what she was thinking of? What the man said next answered both questions.

"Yeah, them chat'kas are right huge! Even a youngling is formidable, with them horns and claws. Folk've taken t' capturin' 'em to lure the mamas out and then they have two! And don't even think th' cost has gone down, Tressa. Th' skin goes fer even more now that it's outlawed and the King's about havin' kittens t' stop it!" Lipen nodded emphatically, pushing his empty bowl away from him.

Tressalyn felt the ground drop out from beneath her and clutched the table, her knuckles turning white with strain. The Healer, who had been conversing with the farmer to his left, glanced at his daughter and quickly excused them from the table, saying his 'son' wasn't used to the drain of daylong travel. The farmer murmured something about younglings and the fighters grinned at each other, remembering their hours of training on horseback. Lipen, a bit of pity in his eyes, reached inside his wallet, withdrew a small pot and tossed it to the Healer, who caught it somewhat awkwardly with his left hand.

"Here, friend. Have him rub this on his sores and anywhere that it's raw and he'll be ready to go tomorrow. A fighter's best friend, that stuff is!" The fighter winked at Tressalyn and then turned back to his companion. The woman though, wasn't so quick to turn her attention away. When Tressalyn had been quietly eating, there was no reason for the fighter to pay any mind to the slight youngling wearily slumped against the table. Now that Tressa looked closer, though, she noticed what she couldn't notice earlier. That 'boy's' eyes glowed. The fighter was about to say something when the Healer hurried Tressalyn up the stairs towards their room, smoothly cutting the woman off. Shaking her head, the oddity slowly left her mind and after a moment, she turned back to her meal and her companion.

Once in their room, the Healer latched the door and window and laid Tressalyn out on the bed. Quickly lighting the two lamps, he freed his daughter of her cloak and boots and pulled the thin blanket up to her chin, fearing that the day had taxed her beyond her still growing strength. During his worried ministrations, Tressalyn tried to get his attention but not until he had done everything to ease her weariness would he even hear her so she sat back against the head board and waited.

Finally he pulled a rickety chair to the bedside and sat down.

"Are you ready to listen now, Father?" Tressalyn asked quietly. Not waiting for his reply, she launched into a description of all she had heard pertaining to the chat'ka, the hunting and the tactic poachers were now using to capture the beasts. Throughout her recounting, the Healer's face grew more ashen and when she had finished he sat quietly, contemplating all he had just learned.

"I knew your uncle was not a man of the highest order but I never would have thought even him capable of this. Using a youngling as bait!" He shook his head disgustedly.

"And had we not freed her, she would have gone to some fighter as a healing rag as well." Her voice was strained and it pained her to even think of such things. The image of her lovely little chat'ka-- No, she banished the picture from her mind and focused her eyes on the wall opposite her, counting the cracks and stains until the sheer monotony of the task drove all other thoughts from her mind.

"Father," Tressalyn started, bringing the Healer up from a reverie of his own. "What I don't understand is why they can't wait for them to die naturally and take the skins that way. Then they wouldn't be breaking the law, would they?"

Shaking his head, the Healer said, "I just don't know. Perhaps they have extreme longevity or once they die the skin loses its powers." He shook his head again. "I just don't know, Tress."

Riding wasn't quite so painful this morning. The salve Lipen had given them helped immensely and she spread it liberally on her sore legs and backside. Before they left the inn, they had inquired about the fighters and, learning they had not yet gone, left the small jar to be returned to them. Before that though, the Healer had taken a small sample to be inspected and duplicated at his leisure.

Keeping to his promise the Healer gave her only a short instruction this morning on riding. Much to her delight, she found it easier to move with her horse, though every now and then a painful bump would still send her gritting her teeth and biting back curses. At least her father had stopped saying, "Tress, just move with him!" If she had to tolerate another day of that she would have become as nervy as a cat about to kitten.

The only thing that still bothered Tressalyn was she still didn't know exactly where they were going, other than they were traveling south, south west. When she asked, he either brushed the question away or simply said that she would know when they got there.

The Healer kept them at a fast pace the whole day but they didn't reach the next town until well after night had descended. Accustomed to their roles now, they saw their horses looked after and took themselves into the welcome warmth of the common room.

She was ready for the head-throbbing din but the murmuring voices, if not subdued, neither were they raucous. The room was smaller than the previous night's common room but something about it set Tressalyn at ease. Perhaps it was the lack of confusion - tables were placed neatly about the room, creating half circles around the large hearth and petite girls acted as barmaids, slipping among the tables and dispensing food and drink. Or perhaps it was the lack of smoke and smell of oil - the flue drew the smoke neatly up the chimney and curling into the cool night air while lamps that burned in sconces along the walls fed off of wax so the air remained free of smoke and the slightly rancid odor that went along with oil. Whatever the reason, Tressalyn sighed easily and felt the muscles in her shoulders relax in the calm atmosphere.

As they made their way to the innkeeper, Tressalyn glanced curiously about the room. Like before she was able to pick out the peasants and farmers, their clothes plainly cut and hardy. There was only one fighter that she could identify, an old grizzled veteran sitting off in a shadowed corner with only his sword and his drink to keep him company. Then her eyes alit upon a young woman who was near her own age, gauging by the smoothness of her face. When the young woman caught her eyes, Tressalyn started. The stranger's eyes glowed a sparkling blue. Then the girl smiled knowingly and nodded once in recognition, turning back to her meal.

When Tressalyn looked to find her father, he was already speaking with the innkeeper and judging by the Healer's face, the man was fair with his prices. She hurried to his side and followed the innkeeper down a long hall and up a short flight of stairs to where they were to stay the night. The innkeeper left them with a key and disappeared back down the hall to the common room.

Like the large room downstairs, the sleeping quarters had wax candles in their lamps and the floor was swept clean. Two beds took up most of the space but between them a small table was set against the wall and on it was a wash basin and a large ewer of water. They put the packs on the bed and the Healer motioned for Tressalyn to wash up.

When both were clean and more than ready to eat, the girl debated about whether to tell her father about the young woman with glowing eyes downstairs. But what would she say? There was another person like herself down there? What were 'people like her'? And why should she fear the girl? The young woman had given her no indication that she meant Tressalyn harm? In the end, she pulled her brushed off cloak up around her face and silently followed her father down the stairs.

The Healer chose a table close to the fire and as she was sitting down, Tressalyn looked to where the other girl had been seated. Had been- she was there no longer. At first she felt relieved and then briefly disappointed. Why should she feel disappointed? She hadn't wanted to see the odd girl, had she? The only other person like her that she knew of...

A buxom girl with platinum hair came to tell them what the cook had prepared for the evening and ask what they would like to drink. Tressalyn stirred from her self-imposed reverie only to request warm cider, noting unhappily that the barmaid quickly averted her gaze after meeting Tressalyn's eyes.

"Father, did you see-" Tressalyn was interrupted by the barmaid, who quickly set down their plates and mugs and scurried off with more haste than her job required. Then their hunger took over and what Tressalyn was about to say was lost in the thick slices of ham drowned in a spicy mushroom sauce accompanied with steamed roots flavored with onions. The meat was tender and her mouth was watering before she ever took a bite. And the roots! She had never tasted their equal! Not hard at all but crunchy and moist.

Not until after both of them sat back in their chairs, sated and drowsy, with their empty plates cleared away, did the Healer ask her what she had been about to say.

"Tress, you were going to ask me a question before we ate. What was it?" The Healer leaned forward, encouraging his daughter to speak openly.

The girl licked her lips uneasily and squirmed on her chair. Now, with a full stomach and sleepy thoughts, she wanted to simply forget about the girl with glowing eyes. But she had brought it up and it was only fair that she tell her father everything, even if it cast a dubious shadow on her own sanity.

Sitting taller on her chair, Tressalyn described the strange girl who had been sitting across the room when they had first entered. As she told him how the girl had smiled and nodded so knowingly, her father grew faintly disturbed, his light eyes clouding with thought.

"And you're sure you've never seen her before?" he replied, his voice softened to keep their seatmates from overhearing.

Tressalyn suppressed an exasperated retort. "Father, I never left the holding," her words were clipped, "How could I have possible have met such a girl?"

The Healer simply shrugged, unable to answer her question.

"And that does nothing to explain her eyes," she continued relentlessly. "You're a Healer, what causes such a thing? And what are the chances of there being two of us with such a condition?"

Again, he shrugged, becoming increasingly uncomfortable. He felt as though events were spinning wildly out of his control and he was helpless to stop them or even manage to hold on. He hadn't even a guess as to why his daughter's eyes glowed and if another girl suffered from the same condition, he had to assume that there were even more out there somewhere. But how likely was it that another person with glowing eyes would be in this very inn? He shook his head clear and focused on his daughter, her eyes flashing with frustration. Even now, in the firelight, they radiated a faint green gleam, just enough that if one was aware of it, they would notice it. As he was... and did.

"Father?" Her temper had cooled and concern edged her voice. "Father, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to attack you." She reached across the table and squeezed his cold hand, peering into his face for some sign of response. "Father?"

A shiver racked the Healer's body and comprehension flooded back into his eyes. "Yes, yes, me girl, worry not of me. I'll be fine." His eyes met hers; his glance was sharp. "You needs must meet with this girl and find out what you can about her. I'd like to think that this was mere coincidence but I'm coming to believe that your path knows not of chance."

What they both knew to be necessary was now voiced, giving the suggestion life and strength. Tressalyn was not so sure that she would be given the choice though. Since she had seen the girl for the first time, a quiet, persistent voice kept saying that this was just one more thing that must be done. Like coming to love the Healer and freeing the chat'ka and then leaving the prison she had so long called home.

Nodding, Tressalyn averted her gaze, her thoughts turning inward and misty. The Healer, not wanting to disturb her, turned his attention to the middle aged bard arranging himself before the fire. The musician's slightly silvered hair caught the firelight and between that and his rich blue vest and breeches, he cut a striking figure silhouetted against the flickering light. A hush fell across the room and after a dramatic pause, the bard strummed a lingering chord. It was the beginning of a mellow ballad in which two warring countries - once peaceful - met on the battlefield one fateful day, years into the war, and how one country's Queen rode into the thick of the battle, rallying her men about her and defeated her enemy with only her subject's love as a shield. It was an old tale that had changed many times through the telling.

"Sing the original!" called out a clear voice from the doorway. "Sing it the way it was meant to be sung, Bard." The tone was imperious but subtly so, demanding even while it complimented the musician's abilities.

The man sat straighter in his chair, his eyes widening with belligerence. "Who speaks so? Step forward and let me sing it as it has only been dreamt of."

From the shadowed doorway stepped forth the young woman with the glowing eyes. Every muscle in Tressalyn's body clenched and she heard the Healer at her side exhale heavily. Glancing quickly at him, she noted that all his attention was focused on the new arrival.

"Look at her face, Tress, and her hair. You could be sisters but for the eyes."

Tressalyn did look closer and nearly fell off her chair. Her father was right. The way the girl's lips curved and the shape of her nose and the narrowness of her chin. The only blatant difference was the eyes.

"I speak so, Bard. And we shall see how well you fulfill that boast for I have heard the song from the chat'ka's own throat." Her words rang clear in the silence, rebounding to every ear though she never raised her voice.

Someone cleared his throat nervously and a bench scraped against the floor. The mundane sounds broke the spell the young woman had cast upon the room and with minimal flourishes, the Bard launched into one of the best performances of his life. He knew it as well as every man and woman in the room. All other activities stopped and even the Cook emerged from the heated depths of the kitchen to watch the Bard play. When the last chords faded from the air, it took a moment for the audience to shake clear their thoughts and remember where they were. They were no longer with the Queen on her winged beast of silvered skin nor with her people as they watched her plummet with her companion to their death below.

Tears stood forth in more than one face, Tressalyn and the young woman included. When the applause came, it came in a storm, with the men stomping their feet and pounding the tables until patrons of surrounding inns came to see what was going on. The young woman was more subdued. Even while tears trickled down her cheeks, she stood and went to the Bard, who was still trembling with emotion. She took his face between her hands and stared into him, her eyes glowing with scintillating light. A wondering smile alit upon the Bard's face.

"Oh Blessed Metrah, it's all true. Every last word is true." He swallowed back the freshet of tears that threatened to flood his eyes and stood, bowing over the young woman's hands. "My Lady, it has been an honor of the highest order and it would take the attentions of the Divine Metrah herself to surpass such an evening." Gently, he kissed her palms and, after gathering his instruments, left the room with a swirling of his blue robes and a flash of silver hair.

It took awhile for the room to settle back down but eventually benches were pulled back up to tables and forks and spoons could be heard scraping against the bottom of bowls. Only the dream-glazed looks in some of the patrons' eyes belied the normality of the evening.

Tressalyn and her father remained standing, their eyes locked on the young woman still standing before the fire. She gestured slightly towards the door and the two bestirred themselves to follow her out, feeling the eyes of those left in the room boring into their backs.

The young woman led them to the stables where smokeless lanterns battled the darkness and dust motes circled lazily in the muted yellow light. The smell of hay tickled Tressalyn's nose and she sneezed, causing the startled horses to snort and dance in their stalls. She heard the young woman murmur softly and the horses all calmed, some even whickering a tentative welcome.

Tressalyn was about to ask what was going on and the young woman's name when the blue-eyed lady stopped, leaning back against a low stall door, hooking her elbows over the edge of the barrier.

"Tressalyn ke'Laetviorr. One of the First Born and yet you know it not."

The girl bristled at the young woman's tone but when their eyes met, Tressalyn's belligerence drained from her, leaving the girl limp and weary. Bonelessly, she slumped down onto a stool, propping her back against a saddle rack.

"How do you know my name?"

The young woman smiled benevolently. "We have been watching for you since the Passing. Your name never leaves our thoughts, nor your face from our minds. We have all of us been searching for you and only until a few days ago had we even an inkling where you were. Had it not been that you met Zenora, we still would have been searching blindly." Her tone colored with wry humor.

This was all too much for Tressalyn's overly taxed mind. "I'm sorry; I just don't understand. The Passing? People searching for me? And I don't remember meeting a Zenora."

"Oh you poor dear," the young woman murmured. She reached out a sympathetic hand and patted Tressalyn's knee. "Fear not for all shall be revealed in due course."

"Why not right now?" the Healer demanded. "I refuse to continue on this course with no more knowledge than this child is more than she would seem. If this promises to bring danger to us, I believe it only our right to know."

The young woman sized him up, measuring him with those stunning blue eyes. "You speak wisely, Healer Drake. It bodes well for you. You are correct in assuming that Tressalyn ke'Laetviorr is more than she seems and that danger will follow in your shadow." She paused warningly. "But I tell you now that this tale is not a minor thing, and may take us well into the swiftly approaching dawn."

Hooking another stool, the Healer sat down with his long legs stretched out before him. "Start at the beginning, me lady. We have everything to lose and even more to gain."

Her eyes glowed appreciatively. "So we do. I will start first with my name. I was blessed with the name Crysalyn be'Tretyma and this is the story of the First Born-"

"Ye wretched girl!" The holder cuffed his niece across her face, sending her to the floor. "Ye told me they had merely gone for herbs and th' other useless leaves them Healers play with! Two days ago ye told me this." The man towered over his cowering niece and glowered down at her. "The truth would herald ye a mere beating whereas any more o' yur tales will mean runnin'."

Demmy's thoughts swirled furiously. She didn't think it would have taken him this long to grow suspicious of his Healer's disappearance. She had told him what her cousin told her to say: the Healer and his new daughter had gone to gather medicinal herbs and roots and did not know when they would return. This had sufficed for a day's time but then the holder grew restless and began questioning his niece at every passing. She took to hiding in old storage closets, scared that under too much questioning she would betray her loved ones.

"I don't know, holder sir. I only know what they chose to tell me." Her voice quavered weakly and she hated herself for cowering so before this beast she called uncle. Yet, any show of resistance would only fan his ire and she would find herself wishing for a 'mere beating'.

His booted toe jabbed sharply against her ribs, forcing her breath to catch in her throat. He grinned meanly at her wince of pain, her fear sating his evil spirit as nothing else could. Demmy had discovered that her uncle was more than just the base man she had assumed he was. While keeping her eye on him, she uncovered a delight in bringing pain to others rooted so deep in his soul that it sent him out of his way to roughly handle maid servant, relative, and animal. Her eyes keener now, she noticed the mottled yellow marks on servants around the holding, how they jumped at sudden movements around them and how they shied away from human contact. And after her uncle discovered his missing chat'ka, bruises weren't the only wounds his servants were forced to silently suffer.

She remembered more clearly than she liked the bestial fury her uncle burned with when he discovered his prize was not where he had left it. His roar had echoed to the very edges of his holding and brought every member of the stead to sharp attention; there had been no mistaking the mindless rage in the sound. When she had ventured forth to peek out of a window, she watched in horror as her uncle lost all vestiges of humanity, pacing, foaming, raging, yelling. Any person who was foolish enough to cross his path felt his heavy hand. Trallen still had his arm in the cast and only the gods could know when Mevla would regain use of her jaw... Demmy had helped her for the past day to eat through a small reed, even that minimal motion bringing tears to the older woman's eyes. Given Mevla's age, Demmy was doubtful as to whether she ever would completely heal.

Another jab brought Demmy's mind back to the present. This time, her uncle's effort was half-hearted and she knew he was getting tired of the game. She was no longer cowering but neither was she fighting back. With no instigation, his anger faded to heightened irritation.

Cautiously, Demmy rose to her knees and when she was not knocked back down, she stood up, biting her lip as her right hip and knee protested even that little movement. She knew she would be showing dark bruises by mid-day.

"I will find them, ye' wretch of a niece and once I do I'll not be kind to ye' three." He sneered and stalked away, leaving a trembling Demmy in his wake.

Trying to maintain her already unsteady upright stance, she began to slowly make her way to the Healer's quarters. She had never removed her belongings from the small room when her cousin and the Healer had run. It had become home and the holder would never there tread due to the large penalties for trespassing upon a Healer's private quarters.

As she walked, her thoughts turned to her cousin and the kindly Healer. She didn't know how much longer the holder would wait before sending out a search party. She didn't think that he suspected them of releasing the chat'ka - yet, anyway.

Please hurry, Tressy. May the gods themselves speed you along your way. Her fervent prayer echoed softly in her mind. And may they speed you back to me as well.

Only faint rustlings in the hay disturbed the heavy silence. Not even bird song yet broke the lightened sky. Tressalyn mutely looked at her father, her eyes dull and distant. Old tears had left their salty trails on her cheeks and new tears were promises on the ends of her lashes. Her father appeared to be handling it a little better than she, that is to say, there was at least a conscious gleam in his eyes.

Crysalyn, on the other hand, was calmly leaning against the stall door. In six hours she had moved only once - to hold Tressalyn when the girl had finally succumbed to the body-wracking sobs Crysalyn knew she needed. The young girl had cried until her body was spent and then she simply shook, her teeth chattering in a spiritual freeze. Had Crysalyn been in the poor dear's situation, she was not so sure she would have taken the tale so well.

When it was clear that Tressalyn was not going to speak anytime soon, the young lady with the stunning eyes reached out and, every so lightly, caressed the girl's pale cheek. Inhaling sharply, Tressalyn came to with a start, her green eyes wide and luminescent.

"Where-?" she began but then realization flooded back to her and she slowly got to her feet, wincing as frozen joints protested loudly.

Pacing about the room warmed Tressalyn's body but nothing could defrost her spirit. Her whole life had been a lie, and no one had even known. She had spent her life under the thumb of two tyrants when her birthright-- She shook her head. It was still too fresh and unreal and to think on it would be like probing a fresh wound with morbid fascination in the pain.

Color slowly returned to the girl's pale cheeks and she was just about to shake her father awake when he stirred himself and stood, grimacing in pain. Tressalyn threw him an empathetic smile.

The sun had cleared the horizon when both father and daughter were ready to start the day. Crysalyn patiently waited, her eyes never leaving Tressalyn's wondering countenance, her blue eyes glinting brightly with the morning sun.

"Lady Crysalyn-" Tressalyn began but bit off what she had been about to say. A rustling could be heard in the hayloft and soon a young boy materialized, proceeded and followed by irritating amounts of hay and dust.

Big brown eyes grew even wider when he realized what he had interrupted. Simple brown eyes met first with scintillating blue and then with sparkling green. Sun-darkened skin turned white in a breath and he back-pedaled into the ladder, nearly falling over himself. Tressalyn moved forward to help him and when the young boy took a closer look at the green-eyed girl, his mouth fell open with recognition.

"Y-y-you're th' boy! Th' one wi' th' far-" Then his eyes fell on the tall figure behind Tressalyn and his jaws snapped shut.

Vacillating between lies and truth, Tressalyn opted for the latter. "Sir, my name is Tressalyn and my father and I are running from a very bad man. It would be much appreciated if should anyone inquire after us, you could keep them from following us." The girl dipped into her wallet and held out three rosts, the red metal glinting in the sunlight. At the sight of this fortune, the stable boy's eyes nearly left his face but he deliberately latched his hands behind his back, setting his jaw.

"I'm sorry, Lady Tressalyn Green-Eyes, but I can't take th' coins. T' do so would be t' tie m'self t' Lichfyr himself f'r eternity. I will gladly keep th' bad men from stopping ya'." He drew himself up with all the dignity a boy his age could muster and began his morning chores, murmuring quietly to the horses as he filled their bins.

Tressalyn stared after him and then at the red rosts in her hand. Crysalyn's eyes filled with joy and vindication and met the Healer's gaze over Tressalyn's head. Their thoughts mirrored each other's: Yes, she is all that was prophesied and more.

I'm finally going to get to see him again. I wonder if he was as smitten as Demmy said. I wonder if he'll look at me the same after he knows. I wonder- Tressalyn's thoughts swam in circles, radiating about the Prince.

It had been two days since Crysalyn had spoken with them. Tressalyn had entreated the blue-eyed lady to accompany them yet Crysalyn had politely refused, saying the others were awaiting her to hear of all that had transpired since she had left. An odd mixture of relief and disappointment warred in Tressalyn's breast at her sister-in-spirit's departure; the blue-eyed lady's absence meant no more answers to the pressing questions which never left Tressalyn's thoughts but it also meant that for rare moments she could try to forget what she had become.

Absently, Tressalyn rubbed at the back of her neck. A persistent itching lingered just under her skin where no amount of scratching could relieve.

"Tress, come closer. Let me look at your neck." The Healer gestured her to his side. "You've been fussing back there since we left the holding, me girl."

Tressalyn kneed her gelding next to the Healer's mare and tilted her head forward, brushing the hair away from the spot in question. Shivers danced down her spine as the Healer's cool, competent fingers inspected the fair skin.

"Daughter, have you always had this birthing mark on the back of your neck? It is quite- Why, I do believe that- Dearest Metrah! Tressalyn if only you could see this! It's remarkable!"

"Father, if you keep on in this fashion I will be forced to slap your mount heartily on the haunch and laugh merrily as she takes you on a pleasant little jaunt." Her voice was edged and clipped. Saucily, she hitched her hair back over her shoulder and deliberately legged her horse away from the Healer's.

"Well, me dearest daughter, it's a chat'ka."

All thoughts of the Prince was driven away. "Pardon?"

"On the back of your neck there is a patch of silver skin resembling a chat'ka in flight." He faltered. "But, the skin is not your own. It is of the chat'ka's own hide."

Doubtfully, Tressalyn's fingers crept back up to her neck, searching for some sign of change. "Father, I don't feel a thing. Are you sure it's not just... well, not just the silver tint?"

Challenged pride drew back the Healer's fragile seeming shoulders and straightened his back. "I have been Healing since before you were conceived, me lady, and have faith that I know what skin should look like." He paused for effect. "And believe me when I say that that is not normal skin!"

Tressalyn's fingers continued to probe the back of her neck but finally she gave up, almost doubting her father's diagnosis. Almost, because for one, the skin was itching like a thousand little dust-teeth were biting her skin and another because of something that Crysalyn had mentioned over the discourse of her tale. Tressalyn hadn't remembered until her father had inspected her neck.

"It was written in the Scrolls of Methana that she of the Mark will be born for each that fades into the Other. Nothing will set her apart but the Mark and the bond of the Thrice Blessed one."

Was this the Mark the young woman had spoke of? Tressalyn shook her head But it must be... For what else could it be? So it was true, it was all true. And she was-- No, she could not yet accept that. Perhaps with time but now...

With conscious effort, she stopped fussing with her neck and wrapped the reins around her hands, the thick leather cutting deep lines into her soft skin.

"Tressy, don't look back but I think- Tressalyn, don't look back!" Urgency mingled with irritation in the Healer's voice as Tressalyn turned dejectedly around, her eyes focusing on the hard road before them. "I think that someone might be following us," he continued. "I noticed after we'd left the Knife and Trencher that someone was behind us. I thought not on it as we are not the only travelers. Yet, for three days now I've heard the sound of distant hoof beats and on inspection two shadows still trail us." He slid a glance at his ashen-faced daughter. "Do you feel up to a good run?"

A cloud of dust was all he got in response as Tressalyn kicked her mount forward, clutching the reins and mane as though her life depended on it. The Healer urged his own steed onward, leaning far over the horse's withers. In a few breaths, he was pacing Tressalyn's gelding.

Trees and fences flashed by in a blur. Air sang in their ears and whipped coarse mane hairs into eyes and mouths. Tressalyn's stomach threatened to leave her on the side of the road until she closed her eyes and trusted her father to guide her steed.

Then darkness fell across her eyelids and her horse veered beneath her, leaving her clinging to the saddle horn to keep from sliding off. Gradually, her horse's pace slowed and the gelding's sides heaved beneath her legs as he regained his breath. The potent smell of crushed pine needles assaulted her nose and her eyes opened to a small clearing, shielded from the road by leafy bushes and low hanging boughs.

She turned worried eyes upon her father, silently asking whether this would really work but he only motioned her silent. With a lowered head, she strained her ears for the least sound that would indicate detection. Soon hoofbeats could be heard approaching and nary a whisper of breath left Tressalyn's lips until she heard the two travelers pass loudly by their hiding place. Releasing her breath, she turned back to her father and was surprised to see that none of the tension had left his wiry frame. His mare danced in place beneath him and pulled at the reins in response to the strength of his fear.

Many marks passed before the Healer blinked and still more after that when he finally spoke.

"I believe that I may have been mistaken but in the event that my suspicions were well-founded, they should be well-"

"Circled 'round ya' with a sword tip at yur back," grated a new voice.

Tressalyn inhaled sharply as two swordsmen emerged from the trees, their swords leveled at the Healer and his daughter. She tried to knee her mount nearer her father but her awkward movements were anything but subtle and the swordsman on the left cut her off.

"Just keep ye' calm and yur actions smart and nothin' untoward will befall ye'." That same voice grated harshly against Tressalyn's ears and a niggling sense of familiarity wormed through her mind. Taking a closer look at their captors, she felt her mouth drop open. The one on the left was not a man at all but a woman. A woman with a short sword, a crossbow, and a nasty scar marring her otherwise beautiful face.

"This is them, brother. I recognize the eyes. I've only seen those eyes two other times and I'd bet my sword that one of them was this here girl."

Up til now the Healer had held his peace, seeing no reason to instigate those who held his life on their sword blade but at the woman's words he broke his silence.

"I beg your pardon, swordlady, but may I ask why you have chosen to keep us? We have done no harm to anyone or thing." His tone was polite but tight with worry.

"That may be so, man, but your actions belie your words. Had you done no wrong then you would have had no reason to hide here, now would you?"

The Healer dipped his head in concession. "Your suspicion is keen, m'lady fighter but an old man and his youngish daughter have no defense against bandits and even this kingdom has not yet destroyed that varmint. How were we to know that ye' two riders were not just that? Come to steal of us our money and lives?"

A faint smile pulled at the scar running down the woman's face, making Tressalyn wince. "Your words are well spoken, sir and bode well for your future. Only one learned or very foolish could stand so well beneath swordpoint." With this she sheathed her own weapon and backed her mount up, allowing Tressalyn to ease her gelding to her father's side. At his partner's de-blading, he too put up his weapon and eased off his aggressive stance.

"Tressa."

At this, the woman fighter turned her hardened gaze upon the slip of a girl sitting the gelding. "Well, me girl, you are now one up on me as I know not of your birth name." Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Tressalyn's face. "But you are the child we offered the pother to, aren't you?" She nodded absently, not needing an answer.

Needlessly, Tressalyn nodded, acknowledging the connection. "I will honor your request but before I do I have one question, lady fighter, should you allow me to voice it." The swordswoman waved the girl on. With a deep breath, Tressalyn asked, "I needs must know whether you plan us harm, for our mission is one that will not be stopped for want of money or possessions." At the last Tressalyn's voice strengthened and she spoke with authority and boldness that mocked her position to the fighters.

A moment of silence passed as the fighters pondered her words and then was abruptly shattered with rough laughter. The male fighter, Lipen, was laughing, slapping his hand against his thigh in mirth until tears began to roll down his cheeks. Tressa cocked her head in slight amusement, not clear as to what her partner was finding so funny.

Gasping his way back to normal, Lipen wiped his eyes and pounded his chest with one brick-sized fist. Finally he regained his voice. "Oh boy-o! Does that girly have a head on 'er! She's bein' held by two seasoned fighters and she's enough backbone to charge us with thievery! Oh, Tressa, she reminds me of you!" He croaked his harsh laughter again and new tears trickled down his cheeks.

Tressa looked only slightly bemused but the eyes she turned upon the young girl were softer. "Me girl, we mean you no harm, much less do we mean to strip you of your possessions. But we have been tailing ye' two as a girl with eyes and face such as yours is not a common maid and needs... protecting."

"Protecting, Tressa?" Lipen kneed his mount until it was shoulder to shoulder with Tressalyn's gelding, putting an amiable arm around the girl's shoulders. "Perhaps, but you were more'n a little worried that they were hide hawkers, and lit out so fast because they overheard our business." He gave Tressalyn's shoulders a little squeeze and she knew she had made a friend in him with her facade of courage.

By the darker tone under the woman fighter's already bronzed skin, Tressalyn knew Lipen spoke the truth.

"Perhaps I was a bit hasty in my judgement of ye' but a fighter learns quickly to suspect all but their shieldmate," Tressa explained. "I ask for your pardon if my thoughts do offend."

"Pardon is not necessary, m'lady," demurred the Healer. "A fighter's nature is well-known to me and I would expect nothing less for one as experienced as you seem to be. But now I must ask what you intend to do with us as we are certainly not hide hawkers nor any other criminal looking for a victim."

"It is apparent that you are hastening towards a much desired destination and suspect shadows - for I might add that yours is not the fear of normal travelers - so methinks that you are perhaps in need of professional guarding?" Tressa ended on a questioning note, raising an eyebrow in what Tressalyn thought was hope.

The Healer considered this offer and seemed to come to a decision. "Your presence on our trip is not an offer to be shunned. Yet perhaps our story should be put forth before you put your sword with ours."

Grinning wryly, Tressa shifted in her saddle, easing her seat. "I must say that I was hoping you would freely divulge the reason for your running, not knowing if it was within my right to ask."

"Your companionship would certainly not have been accepted without such information. Our secrets are not worth your lives in their keeping silent," added the Healer.

"Then you can tell your tale as we take to the road. I know not yet where you are heading but I'm sure the tale will enlighten us soon enough." Tressa motioned for the two men to lead the way out of the now-cramped clearing, pacing her mount with Tressalyn's as the girl began to exit to the road.

"Oh, my birth name is Tressalyn," the girl said as they broke through the trees into fading sunlight.

The stunned look on the fighter's face was a near mirror image of the one on the girl's face that night at the inn.

"Is that so? Where is your family from, pray tell? Up near Yennithim?"

Tressalyn shook her head. "No, no where near there, actually, lady fighter. My parents made their home on the southern border of Pronhae, just north of Llhoum. Why do you ask? Be my name common up in the mountain lands?"

"Common, me girl? Why, it be of royal blood." The fighter's brows furrowed with thought. "Be you sure your family did not come from the north?"

Pausing, the girl considered her answer. "Lady, I must say with all honesty that I am sure of nothing that constitutes my early childhood. My parents were killed in my own home and since their deaths I have kept residence with my nearest kin in Methralain, or just outside of it anyway. My aunt has never spoken of where my kin came from."

"Leastways, Tressalyn," the fighter said formally, "my sword is yours."

"And my horse yours."

Since Tressalyn and the Healer had finished their tale, the two fighters had been the very image of riding dead men for all they had said. Lipen was absently rubbing his forehead, the wrinkles between his brows denoting a faint headache. Tressa was stroking her sword hilt, a vicious gleam lighting her eyes and the scowl which always drew up her lips was turned into a terrifying pseudo-smile instead.

"And you lived with them unknowing of your rightful place for most of your life?" Tressa queried. "With them beating you at every opportunity and giving you no more thought than they would for livestock?" Intense anger and disgust hid in her voice, making it deeper and rougher than it usually was.

The girl nodded dumbly. She was not used to strangers caring for her so and Tressa's reaction to the tale was stronger than the girl thought was needed. In one of her intuitive leaps, the swordswoman seemed to read Tressalyn's thoughts.

"I had a friend when I was but a girl and no higher than a horse's knee who was severely beaten by her father. By the time we were of six summers, she had only a few of her teeth left and had all of her limbs broken at one time or another. But during our thirteenth summer..." Tressa shook her head. "We had been playing together. I had taken my father's short sword and she had taken her father's long knife and we had been playing at the game most girls play when a man's eyes are on her not - that of a fighter and a hero.

"Her father had discovered the missing weapon and found us in the field behind my home, going through the paces we had seen the boys our age doing that morning in the courtyard. He grew irate, tore the knife from her hand, and began to beat her, with the handle and the blade of the knife both, whichever end came to hand easiest. When I could stand it no longer I brought the flat of my blade over his head but he was mad as a bull in a red state and felt it not. He simply reached behind him with that hunting blade, slashed my face," she paused to indicate the horrid scar running the length of her face, "and continued beatin' on his girl.

"My next blow I meant for him not to recover from and he did not. It is hard to beat a helpless child when a sword's blade is lodged through the heart and emerging from the chest. He died of course but not before my friend did." Tressa stopped and swallowed, the pain of that day as strong as it was fifteen years ago. Lipen looked kindly on his partner and took up the story.

"I's the one who found 'em, Tressa here standing over that monster in a man's skin like a huntress over 'er kill. I had been looking for that blade 'cause Pa had promised me some more lessons and knew she liked t' play at fightin'. I tried t' pull that blade from her hands but she wouldn't let go and finally had to pull the man off'en the sword. After that, she just fell to her knees and wept, apologizing to Meesa for not stopping th' man sooner.

"I didn't know what to do with 'er so's I went and got our parents. They weren't surprised at the beating so much as they were surprised Tressa had it in her to stop 'im. That monster was dumped over the nearest cliff while we mourned Meesa's death and initiated Tressa here into our weaponry classes." Lipen shot a glance at his sister full of pride and love.

Tressa cleared her throat and looked at Tressalyn. "So that's why I feel so strongly about beating and how I came to be a mercenary fighter, me girl. And I'll tell you one other thing - my only regret is not killing that Lichfyr puppet sooner and saving poor Meesa her death." One tear escaped from the warrior's iron will as she kicked her horse forward to take point. The three behind stared after the heartsick woman until she topped the next hill.

"She's a very strong woman," Tressalyn murmured.

"As the sayin' goes, m' lady, 'It takes a good heart to notice one of kind.'" And then Lipen turned his horse to take tail, watching for any that might intend ill will to the expanded party.

Tressa and Lipen took turns at point and tail while Tressalyn and the Healer rode like protected royalty in the middle. The travelers took care never to go into town together nor sit together at the inns. When they left in the morning they always left at different times and met outside the town's boundary so no connection could be made between the farmer and his child and the two mercenaries.

As they rode, the towns popped up more frequently. Some days they would pass two or three as compared to the start of their escape when they were struggling to reach one in a sun's time. Even Tressalyn knew that this was a sign they were nearing the Capitol. The quality of the inns improved as well, matching or even surpassing that of the Silent Bard.

Five days after the two fighters joined Tressalyn and the Healer on their journey, Tressa galloped up beside the Healer from her position at tail, her jaw clenched and her eyes hard.

"I believe that the men you run from have finally realized how you fixed them and come to get what they can back out of your own hide." She glanced over her shoulder at the length of road behind them. "They are pushing their horses as hard as they can and by the looks of the beasts they have been ridden hard for a good eight-day, if not more. Those fools are going to ride them straight to founder," Tressa said disgustedly.

"How far behind us are they, lady fighter?" inquired the Healer.

Tressa paused, nibbling at her lip in thought. "I'd say a good day, maybe even a day and a half."

"Does this mean we have to run?" Tressalyn asked quietly.

The Healer patted her knee. "How badly do you want to know what your uncle will do to us if he catches up with us?"

The girl smothered a groan and followed her father's lead as he booted his mare forward, easing her into a full run. Tressa was already half a league ahead of them, wanting to tell Lipen what was going on.

"Well, me men left 'alf an eight day ago 'n should be catchin' up with them thieves soon. No thanks to ya' lies, wench," Demmy's uncle added, emphasizing his displeasure with another cuff across her cheek.

Demmy just cowered, she didn't know what else to do. She had stalled as long as she could but when Tressy and the Healer never returned, the holder was bound to become suspicious and naturally sent out his men after them. He had kept Demmy locked up in the kitchen so she couldn't run after them.

"Them thieves should come back wi' nary a complaint when me men tell them what will happen to you if they don't." The holder sneered meanly. "Not like anyone'll miss ya', a miserable excuse for a girl." This time it was a cuff to the other cheek.

He left the room and Demmy in it, alone and hurt. She was sure her nose had been broken and had already lost one tooth with another loose. She could barely see out of her eyes, they were so puffy and she imagined that she must resemble one of those men who choose to fight for a living.

She had stopped wishing that Tressalyn and the Healer return to this place, only that they bring justice to her uncle and that she die an easy death - not one her uncle would prefer.

The Healer, his daughter, and their two guardians rode as long as they could, circling the towns, and only stopping long enough to rest the horses. They made their beds in small groves hidden from the rode and Lipen and Tressa took turns at night watch.

A couple days after the holder's men had first been sighted, Lipen reported that they were no longer visible. This meant that they either had taken to traveling off the road or had been outrun. Everyone assumed it was the former and continued with haste.

Two eight days after the Healer and Tressalyn had first runaway, the group saw the Capitol. The castle projected high above all the surrounding landscape and was a sign of hope for the rode weary travelers.

"How far away are we, Father?" Tressalyn could not take her eyes from the haven before her and was hoping for a favorable answer.

"If we ride like we have been, Tressy, then we should reach it by mid-morning tomorrow."

The girl swallowed her sigh. What was another half a day when compared to the many already behind them?

Tressa rode up from behind the father and daughter. "I still see no sign of them behind us. I say we set up camp now so's we appear rested for our appearance before the King and his Heir. Besides, if we're going to get our girl here ready to be what she needs must be forever more, we will herald the rising of tomorrow's sun."

Tressalyn eagerly accepted this idea and as she and the Healer scouted out a suitable clearing, Tressa rode ahead to bring her brother back from point. The routine was set and everyone knew what their responsibility was. Tressalyn and the Healer would unpack their supplies and set up their tent. Then they would go out and gather kindling so as to have a fire going by the time the two fighters returned. Then Tressa would go out to catch fresh meat while Lipen set up their tents and got water boiling. It was simple and efficient and the four travelers had slipped into the routine like old partners from the same mercenary company.

The woman warrior was not joking when she said they would be up before the sun itself. She got the fire going and then roused the others from their warm beds. If not for the fire, Tressalyn would have been tripping over her own feet. With her natural ingeniousness, Tressa created a small room between four trees, utilizing two of the tents, for getting Tressalyn ready.

Out of her packs, the fighter pulled wonder after wonder: face creams, colored powders, lip dyes, ribbons, combs, hair pins set with crystals. The beautiful green silk dress was hung from a tree branch to air out and drop the wrinkles and would be put on only after everything else was ready. "Lady fighter," Tressalyn began, "why do you have so many things that a court flower would have in her mirror-table?"

Tressa chuckled. "Me lovely little lady, you will soon learn that the best weapon a woman will ever have is her charms." She gestured broadly to the creams and paints on the ground before them. "With these, it's possible to make even myself look like the most cultured of court beauties."

The girl cocked her head. "But didn't you know? You already look more beautiful than they do." The sincerity of her comment brought tears to the fighter's eyes. Tressa brought the girl close in a tight embrace.

"Lady Tressalyn, I thank you for the privilege of your acquaintance. I have yet to meet one as beautiful and kind as you with so few years to her name." Tressa drew back, and wiping her eyes said, "When I'm done, you'll have the Prince throwing the crown itself at your feet."

Smiling softly, Tressalyn replied, "That won't be necessary. All I want is his heart."

The woman fighter smiled and, after giving the girl's shoulders another little squeeze, began.

When the two women withdrew behind the walls of their room, the Healer and Lipen took it upon themselves to break camp and ready the horses. All four steeds were curried and brushed until they gleamed. Their manes and tails were braided and in the mane of Tressalyn's gelding, Lipen tied emerald green bows that had been given to him from Tressa for that purpose.

Next came the tack. The leather was rubbed down with shiner and the silver was all polished until it shone like a mirror. The earthy smell of clean horse and leather polish supplanted that of pine needles and crushed grass when they were finally done.

The two men were beginning to fidget when Tressa stepped out from the room, her serious expression silencing them without a word.

"Gentlemen, it is my honor to bring before you the Lady Tressalyn ke'Laetviorr, a First Born of the Winged Ones and future bride to the Heir Apparent." At the last she hid her smile with a sweeping bow and stepped away from the door of the room.

And in her place a shining woman stood. Tressalyn glowed brighter than the first time she had worn the green silk creation. Her eyes were burning emeralds against her shimmering skin and only the barest hint of color stained her cheeks and lips as her natural beauty needed very little accent. A clear crystal hung suspended over her forehead and its chain was the only device holding back her abundance of rich auburn hair, which was falling down her back to her waist. Her regal poise and presence made a throne out of the surrounding forest and the only response she got was stunned silence.

Nervously she glanced to Tressa, her brows furrowing together.

"Nothing's wrong, dear filly, these men just can't find the words to adequately describe this vision they see before them." She grinned impishly and began to take apart the makeshift room and pack it up with the rest of the supplies.

Tressalyn was motionless except for her fingers, which were picking absentmindedly at her dress. Finally she stepped up to her father and stood before him.

"Father, do you like it?"

The Healer took her hands in his and smiled up at her, still at a loss for words.

"Ya' look like a queen, Lady Tressalyn, like yur s'posed t'," Lipen finally said, looking at the Healer for approval.

The Healer simply nodded.

"Mount up, friends," Tressa said. "Let's waste not our time to loaded silence."

The two men lifted Tressalyn into her saddle. Out of habit, she went to swing her leg over the cantle and was pulled short by a strong hand on her knee.

"You'll make a split skirt out o' that dress like that," noted Lipen. "You'll have to ride side saddle, m'lady."

"He's right, Tressy. Think you can do it, me girl?"

Carefully, Tressalyn swung her leg forward and sat gingerly in the saddle, crossing her legs on the one side as she would for a regular chair. Tressa stepped to the girl's side and arranged the folds of green cloth, creating a half moon of emerald silk around the silver goddess sitting atop her noble steed.

When she finished, the woman warrior nodded with maternal pride and swung up into her saddle, gesturing for Lipen to lead the way out. Tressalyn followed and for one breathless moment, she swayed precariously in her saddle.

"Tress-" started the Healer.

The girl stopped him with a raised hand. "I'm fine, Father. I just had to regain my balance." She threw a rueful glance over her shoulder. "It's like having to learn riding all over again."

The Healer laughed. "Let's pray to Metrah that that's not so!"

Dawn peeked over the hills and placed warm kisses on the four travelers below. Her soft blush stained the sky with a rosy palette of dark pinks and light reds that, with a breath, was transformed into a golden crown that reached across the lightening heavens. Tressalyn turned her face to the sun and, in turn, newborn rays of light turned their fire upon her face, magnifying the silver of her skin to that of the bits of mica strewn across granite faces. A deeper blush rose in the girl's cheeks and she smiled at the morning.

"The morning star suits you, m'lady. Would only that it could light up the sky as you do."

Tressalyn turned her head and looked at the rider who had appeared beside her. Hair the color of hay was pulled back in a curly tail and grey eyes glinted from beneath a sloping brow. The smile he presented her was refined and confident, almost cocky. His clothing was well made but flashy, his mount a nervy pure-bred that danced anxiously beneath the saddle. She guarded her response, something about the stranger setting her on edge.

"Thank you, stranger. Your flattery is gracious." Her voice was flat, her eyes hooded. Something in her manner caught her father's attention and he kneed his dappled mare nearer the two.

"Ah, you do me injustice, good m'lady. You see, flattery is when what is spoken is untrue." His voice was slick, like oil on top of water and Tressalyn recoiled, legging her horse away as subtly as her skill provided.

"I stand corrected, sir." She dipped her head in cool thanks, hoping her manner would discourage further words. Either he was blind to her distaste or he chose to ignore it.

"May I inquire to what our kingdom owes the honor of your beautious presence? Do you request a session with our noble King?"

Lying was not in Tressalyn's nature and had this stranger not mentioned the king, she would simply have avoided telling him the whole truth, but now...

"As a matter of fact, we are." She met his gaze with ice, daring him to question her purpose further.

"Fancy that! I too am headed to his attention." He smiled his cocky smile, kneeing his nervy stallion nearer Tressalyn. Quick as a snake, Tressalyn's gelding snapped at the stallion's shoulder, his teeth clicking together just hairs away from flesh. Startled, the stallion half bucked and then reared up, throwing his rider to the moist road before skittering off the road into the trees. A less than refined curse exploded from the now-muddy stranger.

Struggling to maintain her laughter, Tressalyn withdrew her handkerchief from her saddlebag and dropped it onto the stranger's lap, saying, "I hope this will do. I fear it may be a might small." The black look he shot her was less than gracious but he took the small square of cloth and patted the drying mud from his cheeks.

Gesturing with a quick motion, Tressalyn drew her father on, leaving the oily stranger to pick himself up and catch his worthless horse. Something about the man continued to worry at Tressalyn's memory, something in the way he looked at her and spoke.

"Daughter?" The Healer rode close and put a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. "Did he frighten you in some way?"

Silently, she shook her head, her mind working furiously to determine where she knew the stranger from. Glancing back, she saw the man stand up and begin to walk to the side of the road his horse had run off. He didn't get very far; his riding boots were slick-soled and before he made two paces, a mud-covered rock turned his foot beneath him, depositing him once more on the water-sodden road. Before he slipped, however, Tressalyn noticed his gait was stilted by a pronounced limp. Then it struck her.

"Father, I know that man. He passed through our holding not half a year ago. And with him left many of our possessions. Small things, things that weren't much on their own but together..."

The Healer gazed speculatively at the road, his brow drawn with thought. "I believe you're right, me girl. I do recall the store keepers complaining about a thief come in the night and absconding with their wares." He peered at her. "But can you be sure 'tis the same man?"

Her affirming nod was sure. "It was lost to me at first but then when he walked, I noticed his limp. That man from our holding had a limp as well."

"Then your uncle has caught up with us." His voice was tight with anger. "But that does not mean he will remain so. Come, Tressa will be able to see us once she tops that rise and when she sees us with fire at our heels she will know something is amiss."

With one parting glance over her shoulder, Tressalyn nudged her bay forward, leaning at an awkward angle to maintain her balance and holding her skirts up with her left hand. Her horses' hooves threw up mud dismayingly close to the green silk and somewhat clumsily she angled him to the high side of the road. Her father gave her an approving smile and together they ran to catch up with Lipen.

"Why in the nine hells are they running? She'll ruin her dress with the mud like it is!" Tressa cursed softly and kicked her horse up to a gallop, molding herself to the mare's back and lifting up off the saddle ever so slightly.

She was just rounding a curve when her horse whinnied and shied away from some object at the side of the road. The mare dropped down to a teeth-jarring trot and Tressa clenched her jaw until she was able to bring the horse back under control.

"Stand!" she commanded, throwing an annoyed glance at her horse.

"Yes, sword lady," the object said hurriedly, scrambling to get to his feet. "As it please you."

Tressa looked at the curious stranger all covered with mud. "Your mount throw you, sir?"

He snorted with disgust. "Damned no good sack of worthless bones! Threw me and then ran off to Lichfyr knows where." He rubbed a white handkerchief across his face and smoothed his hair back, the dirty blond now stained with dark, reddish mud. For the first time he looked at the woman still astride her horse and his eyes bulged with fear.

The warrior looked back and the recognition was mirrored in her eyes. "You! Oh no you don't, not this time," and as he tried to flee she slipped her foot out of her stirrup and swung a mighty kick at his head, her boot connecting with a solid thud.

Their hoofbeats reached Lipen many moments before the riders did so when the Healer and Tressalyn came within shouting distance, the mercenary had already pulled up and started back in their direction. Worry clouded his eyes. Had someone gotten past Tressa? Only a few seconds were between him and the answer.

Breathing hard the bay gelding and dappled mare came abreast of Lipen's own mousy gelding and were pulled to a hard stop by their riders. Both humans were flushed and near jumping out of their skins.

"What happened back there?" Lipen demanded. "Has something happened to my sister?"

Tressalyn tried to catch her breath and failed so the Healer answered. "We can't be sure. All we know is someone from the holding, probably sent by the holder, caught up to us and rode with us a ways before Tressalyn here recognized him." He paused. "But how he got past your sister we know not."

Lipen muttered a strong curse and slammed his fist against his thigh. "Dammit to Lichfyr and his hells. Stay here off the road. I'm going back."

"But what if-" and she got no further as Lipen turned his back to her and rode back the way they came, kicking his horse to greater and greater speed.

"Well, let's take ourselves to a hiding place like he suggested and wait." The Healer slowly turned his horse to the side of road and melted into the trees.

"Wait?" Tressalyn cried, stricken at the thought of her friends being hurt. "But what if-"

"What if what, girl? Do you think you could do better than a trained fighter, than a mercenary? Think again. We would only be in the way."

"But I'm a First-"

"A First Born? And what will that do you? You know nothing of your powers yet and that title does not make you impervious to arrows or sword blades." He shook his head. "We wait as we were told, me girl, and help them by doing so."

For the first time Tressalyn felt truly frustrated with her father and wanted nothing more than to huff off and pout, cursing at the injustice of parental instruction. The Healer noted the belligerent set of her jaw and tightness around her eyes and wisely kept his peace. He rested easily in his saddle, his arms folded across the pommel and his legs loose around the barrel of his mare. Tressalyn remained stiff and put off, facing her horse in the opposite direction as her father so he remained not in her line of sight. His very quietude piqued her angered annoyance to its utmost and she was tempted to leave despite his and Lipen's commands.

Then the words of the priest echoed to the forefront of her memory. "And you . . . now have the responsibility of respecting this man, who is so lovingly providing for you, and accepting his guidance with an open mind and heart." An open mind and heart... She had been less than objective in her refusal to accept what her father was saying. Shame flooded her thoughts and a hot, embarrassed flush crept into her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Father. You're right. We would only be in the way and I see that now." The look she gave him was full of wounded pride. "I was stupid to think such things."

His soft, forgiving smile eased her pained apology. "Daughter, your thoughts were not stupid but loyal and brave... if a bit rash," he conceded after a pause. "It fills me with pride to know that you would so selflessly sacrifice your own safety for that of another and only time will teach you when that sacrifice is needed and when it is not. Until that time though, I am here to help you."

"I know," she said quietly. "I remember."

The Healer only nodded, love choking his voice.

From nearby the sound of hoofbeats sounded but they were not running or even moving quickly. And it seemed that there was a third horse. Both father and daughter became motionless and silent, trying to peer through the trees and bushes to see who was passing.

"Healer, Tressy, come out. It's us." The harsh, croaking voice was distinctively Lipen's and the two hiding breathed a synchronized sigh of relief. Tressalyn led the way out and her sigh of relief quickly turned to one of dismay and disappointment.

"What's he doing here?" she demanded, her voice rising to a whine. "He's a thief, a scoundrel, and a good for nothing vagabond and he doesn't deserve-"

"To live? I agree," conceded Tressa, her face like stone. "But not for the reasons you so vehemently recounted. This . . . man," her lips curled around the word as they would around something distastefully rancid, "is a chat'ka hunter and one which escaped us a little over half a year ago. How wonderfully just that he should now be dropped before me in the road, his appearance finally matching his heart." She threw the muddy stranger a wry grin, her pleasure more than apparent at his lowered state.

"A chat'ka hunter?" Revulsion pulled her lips back from her teeth and Tressalyn kicked her horse forward, charging the bound stranger and his exhausted steed. Yet before her gelding could collide with the stallion, Lipen's hand shot out and grabbed her horse's bridle, swinging the bay around and bringing him to a halt. Tressalyn's glowing green eyes shone with hate and sparkled with vengeance, pent up energy nearly setting her silver skin aflame. She made a fearful image and the stranger hunched his back and tucked his head between his shoulders, trying to make himself invisible to this angry vision. "May Lichfyr save a special seat for you in the ninth hell where everything you have done unto the chat'kas will be done unto you ten times over for as long as the hells will hold your diseased spirit." Her words had the finality of a death sentence and all in her party were struck dumb with her powerful presence. There was no doubt that her curse would be carried out, not from her companions nor from the doomed stranger.

"No!" the doomed man cried out. "Please, Lady, have mercy! I beg of you to have mercy!"

Sneering, she said, "Mercy? Do not utter such words as you will sully their pure meanings. You knew not of mercy while you were hunting the Sacred Ones and I know not of mercy now. You will suffer as I have said and I pray that that slight compensation shall be enough to ease the troubled souls of those you have killed. Mercy you shall not find in abundance, from me not at all." She worked her jaw, bringing herself back under control. Slowly, thoughtfulness superceded the hate and the look in her chilled eyes sent shivers up the stranger's spine. "Let me show you what awaits you, soulless," and she stretched out her hand, palm towards the stranger. At first nothing seemed to be happening, and then slowly a silver nimbus of light radiated from her hand. Hazy tendrils crept towards the stranger and curled around him, tasting his skin and forming a wall of light about him. Fear was evident in his eyes and tainted the air. Then the screaming started.

They rode some ways before any had the courage to speak to her. The sun was nigh its zenith and the Capital's gates were near enough to see the intricate designs carved into the tempered wood. When someone did finally speak, it was Tressa whose voice broke the silence.

"Forgive my impertinence, Lady Tressalyn, but what did you do to him?" As she spoke, her eyes drifted to the comatose man atop the anxious stallion, his grey eyes now dull and his face slack. This was the state he had fallen into when he finally stopped screaming.

Green eyes pierced the sword woman's soul. "I passed judgement," Tressalyn replied simply. "I showed him what awaits him when he dies and his mind couldn't handle the knowledge. It fled from reality, leaving him like his." Her eyes raked over the mindless stranger and she raised her lip in disgust, wiping her fingers on her skirts as if by merely looking at him, she had become dirty.

The warrior licked her lips nervously. "But, me girl, how did you do it?"

Again that chilling green eyed gaze. Then something shifted and Tressalyn gave a little shake of her head, as if dispelling cobwebs from her thoughts. A wondering smile warmed her face, bringing back the girl that her companions all knew and loved. "You know, I haven't a clue. I knew what I wanted to do to him and the ability to do it just... came." She hitched her shoulder in a flippant shrug, indicating that the how didn't matter, only the fact that it had worked. But then her face clouded over. "Was what I did wrong?"

Silence met her words as the adults traded questioning glances, each trying to reconcile what had transpired in so short an amount of time.

Then, the Healer offered his daughter a tight smile. "Do you believe that the punishment matched the crime, daughter? Do you regret what you have done?"

With careful pondering, the girl considered her father's question and then weighed her words before she spoke. "I do believe that the punishment fit the crime, father. He felt no remorse for the precious lives he has taken. Now, he will be given time to reconsider his actions and realize the error of what he has done.Hell is only what you make of it and somewhere deep down inside each of us is a presence that knows everything we do and whether, morally, it is right or wrong. Until his wrongs have been righted, his moral presence will keep him locked in his Hell, the Hell I have spoken of for him.

"And no, I do not regret what I did. Were I given a hundred more chances to change my actions, I would decline. I feel in my heart that the judgement I meted out was proper and just." Tressalyn paused, made as if to speak more, but fell silent with a satisfied nod.

"Then what you did was not wrong," replied the Healer. "You weighed the consequences of your actions and did what you believed was right. None of us before you can fault your actions or call them into question."

Any further conversation was brought to an end as the four companions and their charge arrived at the gate. Four sentinels were posted there, two of which stepped forth to halt Tressalyn and her fellows.

"Please stop, Lady. May we inquire your business here this good day?" asked the first.

"You may but I cannot promise that the answer will be satisfactory. We are here to see the King and his Heir. I am Tressalyn ke'Laetviorr, and these are my guardians - the Healer Drake, my father; Tressa, a swordslady; and her brother Lipen, also a warrior. The man in our charge is a chat'ka hunter." Tressalyn gazed at the sentinel nearest her. "Will that be all, good sirs?"

The young man caught beneath her gaze swallowed hard and looked to his fellow guards, unsure of where he stood with this confident caller. An older man stepped forth from the shadows of the gate, a man grizzled with age. His eyes narrowed as they alit upon Tressalyn's shining face and a ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. Suddenly he folded over in a sweeping bow, his shining pate nearly brushing the ground.

"Most honored Lady, we will gladly let you pass and apologize for detaining you so. We hope that in doing so we have not offended."

Tressalyn demurred graciously, going so far as to take the older guard's hand in friendship. The look on his face resembled that of a man touching divinity itself. With another sweeping bow, the guard pushed open the gates, gesturing Tressalyn and her guardians through. The girl turned back to wave and the sentinel stood at attention, giving her a formal salute afforded only to royalty. His fellow guards eyed him quizzically and stared after the beautiful Lady and her party with tightly reined curiosity. As soon as the gates swung closed behind the five riders, the older sentinel was surrounded by his younger companions.

"Who is she?" the youngest demanded, still faintly embarrassed by his earlier performance in the face of one who was obviously of high birth.

"Why are they coming here?" another queried.

"What was wrong with her face?" the third called out, and he was the first to receive a response. After he picked himself up off the ground and wiped the thin trickle of blood from his nose, the old guard spoke.

"If you speak of the Lady in such a manner again you will be looking for a job elsewhere, Yeakin. There is nothing wrong, nor will there ever be anything wrong with her. She is a Winged One, rider of the chat'ka and it has been twenty years since last we were graced with such a sacred personage."

"Twenty years? I don't remember any Winged One here at the Capitol," replied the youngest.

The guard shook his head in mild disgust. "Young fools, what do you think our Queen was, Metrah smile upon her soul?"

Three blank faces greeted his words and the guard spit in the dust at his feet. "Do none of you know of our history? The story of the Winged Ones and the First Borns? Were your parents all dimwits with no sense of obligation to their past? The First Borns are the highest of the chat'ka riders and only a First Born may rule a kingdom. Have you never wondered why the King has never taken a bride to rule by his side? If he did so he would have to step down from the throne because no woman but a First Born may act as Queen of any country. Once that Queen dies, another First Born must come to take her place."

"So why has no one come in twenty years to take the throne?"

Staring up at the clear sky, the guard replied, "I think she just has."

The five strangers drew many eyes, most of which centered upon the vision in green silk. They rode in an open triangle: Tressa at tail leading the criminal and his horse, the Healer on the right, Lipen on the left and Tressalyn between and slightly ahead of the two men. Her glowing countenance and proud posture told all who saw her that she was one of power and high birth. None would have believed if were told that not long ago she was a scullery maid who was beaten and almost broken. None would have believed that she was ever anything but confident and strong.

It took just a few marks before the rode up to the doors of the Capitol. Eight guards stood before them now and a man with a gold braid looped over his right shoulder stepped forward to lift Tressalyn off her horse. The rest were allowed to dismount on their own.

"My Lady, it is an honor to be in the presence of one so renowned. The King and his Heir are awaiting your attention in the throne room. My men will take your mounts to the stables and settle them in while I escort you to his Majesty." The decorated guard extended his arm and after a slight pause, Tressalyn rested her arm over his, her other hand trembling as an aspen leaf in the fall.

They were about to pass through the door when a shadow came upon them. Something about the darkness pulled at Tressalyn's mind and she stopped, walking back to where she had a plain view of the sky. A chorus of cries rang out as a winged beast circled over where Tressalyn now stood, its melodious song reaching to the borders of the Capitol.

Tressalyn raised up her hands in welcome and, like the night she and her father ran away, matched the chat'ka's song with one of her own. Every observer held his or her breath as the winged creature descended, its circles becoming tighter and tighter until, with a great backwash of wind and cloud of dust, the chat'ka touched down, its wings settling against its sides with a gentle swishing. The girl waited only for the dust to settle before running toward her companion and wrapping her arms around the chat'ka's neck. Large wings unfolded and closed about Tressalyn, blocking her from the gawking crowd. Silver light radiated from the couple as for the first time, First Born and chat'ka recognized each other for what they were.

Just a few breaths passed before the chat'ka folded her wings against her sides, revealing a still glowing Tressalyn.

"You've grown, Zenora," observed Tressalyn.

In response, the chat'ka reared up on her hind legs and spread her wings, trilling proudly. Where once her wings were the height of a man, now they were the height of three and when she stood she would be able to look over most rooftops. A collective gasp rose from the crowd and Zenora preened under all the attention. Gently she dropped down to all fours and rearranged her wings, now folded to her body.

"Now we may go see the King and Heir," said Tressalyn quietly, regaining the attention of her escort. "Now my party is complete."

Zenora followed her rider and the guard and Tressalyn's dumbstruck companions followed her, their eyes full of the silver beast come from legends to walk before them in reality. The Healer was the only one whose expression one of relief and happiness rather than disbelief and wonder. The shimmering creature had to duck her head and flatten her wings even more to squeeze through the first door but after that, the archways were more than big enough, even for her.

When they reached the large double doors closing off the throne room, the guard told Tressalyn and her companions to remain there, while he announced their presence. He said this with a wry grin as their presence would certainly need no explanation.

From behind the large doors, Tressalyn could here him call out their names, intoning their positions as was done for royalty. Then there was a pause and the doors opened revealing a high, vaulted room with wall length windows letting in the afternoon sun. The King sat on a modest throne and his son, the Heir, sat beside him. Advisors and gentlemen and ladies of the court lined the walls, each peering at the newcomers.

Tressalyn hesitated only a moment before stepping through the doorway and making her way down the carpeted floor. Sunlight refracted off the beadwork of her dress and made her eyes glow brighter than evening stars. A smile curled her lips as the courtiers lining the walls gasped. Zenora entered the throne room, playing the part of the mystical creature to the hilt. She rustled her wings and hummed softly in her throat, the song filling the room with gentle, lilting music. The rest of the party entered with little to no commotion as they were merely simple Healers or warriors or thieves.

The King's eyes never left the slowly approaching young woman and her chat'ka, his jaw clenching and unclenching with apprehension. His son, however, could barely maintain his composure. The girl he had fallen in love with that snowy evening stood again before him and she was more beautiful than he had remembered. Her skin glowed with a shimmering light and her eyes rivaled the sun in their scintillating depths. Auburn hair fell to her waist and turned to a burnished copper as afternoon sun fell upon it.

The King took a deep breath and stood, stepping down from his throne. The Prince did the same, eagerness in every step. "My Lady Tressalyn, for twenty years since my Queen's death I have been wondering when another would come to take her place. I often feared that somehow my kingdom had fallen into disfavor and would not be given the honor of another First Born." He smiled. "It pleases me to know now that this was not so and it warms my heart to know that my son will be allowed to rule as a king is meant to rule - with a First Born at his side." The greying man bowed deeply, dropping down to one knee, and his son followed suit.

Caught unaware by this gallant act, Tressalyn bent down and lifted the older man's face with her hands. "My lord King, I am not worthy of such accord though I hope in time I will be. The honor is mine, my lord, and I will do my best to rule as my foremother did, justly and proudly, so as to do her fairly. Please stand, my lord King, and allow me to introduce you to my companions." With trembling hands, Tressalyn brought the King to his feet. Looping her arm through his, she took him to Zenora.

The young chat'ka bowed her head and caressed the King's cheek with her own, humming a little louder than before. The king closed his eyes and a single tear escaped from behind his lashes.

"My King?" said Tressalyn.

"It is nothing but an old man's memories, Lady Tressalyn. My Queen, Lilliana... her companion was Xithas. Your Zenora made me remember him; that's all. Please, continue."

Tressalyn took them to each of her companions, introducing them again without the stiff formality. When they reached the comatose stranger, the King and his son paused, looking at each other oddly.

"Cousin?" murmured the Prince. "Could it be?"

"We have not seem him in five years, son, but I believe it is." The King turned to Tressalyn. "How is it that my nephew has come to me this way?"

"My lord, this man is a thief, a deceiver, and worst of all, a chat'ka hunter. Tressa and Lipen had been tracking him down when he fell into our laps. When I heard what he was, I passed judgement on him, as is my right as a Winged One." She met and held the King's horrified gaze, pride stiffening her words.

"A chat'ka hunter? My nephew?" The King's breath came in gasps and his son draped a protective arm about the older man's shoulders.

"Father? Are you really that surprised? Do you remember how he used to speak about money and the way he would go about acquiring it?" The Prince's eyes settled upon his cousin's slack face. "I knew that he would come to some bad end, it was just a matter of what that end would be."

After a moment, the King caught Tressalyn's eye. "I trust your judgement and believe that you have done the right thing. My son speaks truly but it is still a shock to see one's relations in such a state as this." The King bowed his head. "My thanks, Lady Tressalyn, for your swift justice. Guards," the King called out, gesturing for them to approach. "Take my nephew to the holding room. Make it fairly comfortable as I believe he will be there until he passes from this world." The guards nodded and carried the senseless man to his new home.

"I will have rooms set up for you and your companions, Lady Tressalyn. I hope that you will feel up to joining us for dinner tonight, though if you should decline, I more than understand," demurred the King.

Tressalyn caught the eye of each of her companions and each in turn gave a single nod. When she turned back it was the Prince who filled her sight. "I would be happy to accept your offer, my Lord, and those rooms would be more than welcome."

The chamberlain was generous in his choice of rooms for Tressalyn's three companions. Each room was the size of a small house and contained its own jack and bathtub, which was supplied with warm and cold water. A large hearth filled the anteroom and a large canopied bed filled the bedroom. This was a small heaven for both of the mercenaries who were accustomed to tiny tents when they were allowed such luxuries at all. The Healer was just as pleased, mostly though, because his room went out to the garden and he was given free reign to take what he needed.

Tressalyn was the most surprised though, in her given habitation. Her room was down the hall from her companions and from the outside, appeared no different. When she stepped through the door, however, all similarities ended.

"The Queen's chambers, my Lady, at the King's behest," explained the chamberlain in a nasal voice. "The closet is for your use now and your maids will be here shortly to attend to your needs." Before Tressalyn could object to her quarters, the heavy man left, allowing her to explore her new surroundings. Her quarters consisted of four rooms, all connected and all equally large. The first was an anteroom, filled with only a table, four chairs, and a fireplace. To the right was the study and in it sat a large, cherry wood desk and matching chair as well as a two-wall bookcase. It was the latter that drew Tressalyn's attention.

A myriad of books met her eyes: leather bound, cloth bound, red, green, brown, thick, thin, old, new. Hungrily, she scanned the titles and came upon book after book about the Winged Ones. She could barely contain her excitement. It was all she could do not to plop down right there and read them all. But in the back of her mind was the reminder of her duties, the duties she so eagerly claimed before the King and his court. With a wistful sigh, she ran her fingers lightly over the exposed spines and turned her back to the bookshelves, focusing on the door on the other side of the anteroom.

The room to the left of the anteroom was the bedroom and unlike any bedroom she had ever seen. It spanned the area of two large houses and the ceiling would have rivaled that of the throne room. The tapestries and bed linens were of the softest blue and cream and Tressalyn could feel her heart beat slowing and her mind calming. The bed was large and high enough she had jump to get on. A thin gossamer tent surrounded the bed and this cloth too had a bluish tint. The mattress was soft and the pillows softer. But the girl was up in a moment when she saw the double glass doors that made up one wall.

Scenes were etched in each corner of every glass pane and when Tressalyn drew close enough, she saw they were of chat'kas and their riders. By the quality of the work, she knew the scenes had to have been done by a master.

Outside the double doors was a large open field, in the center of which there was a small lake. Trees created a green border around the private yard, backed by an aged brick wall. Carefully, Tressalyn swung the glass doors open and stepped onto the stone patio. A buffet of wind rustled her hair and when she looked up, a large shadow blocked the sun from her eyes. She had barely time to smile before her soul's companion landed before her with a backwash of wind and a loving song.

Rider and chat'ka embraced again and Tressalyn got lost in the moment, the subtle scent of sweet menalin overpowering her thoughts. The harsh sound of a woman clearing her throat brought Tressalyn up from her soft abyss and the girl turned her head towards the room.

Three handmaidens stood in the doorway, their smiles as perfunctory as they were welcome. There was no awe or fear in their expressions and Tressalyn had to remind herself that these women had probably grown up with a chat'ka in their charge, making Zenora's presence nothing if not more natural than no Zenora at all. Reluctantly Tressalyn stepped away from her winged mount, her heart heavy at the thought of having to leave her.

"She'll be fine m'lady," one of the maids assured her. "No doubt after her long travels she'll want to refresh herself in the lake and then sunbathe while the sun is still lending its warmth to such activities."

Zenora trilled in agreement, rolling her eyes towards the lake and rustling her wings. Tressalyn smiled and nodded. With barely concealed excitement, the young chat'ka ran to the lake and just before she reached the water, launched herself into the air. Puzzled Tressalyn looked to her maids and found them already in the room, looking through the closet and putting her own possessions in the proper drawer or cabinet. She looked back to the lake just in time to see Zenora plunge beneath the water, her wings snapping against her body just blinks before they met the surface of the lake. When the chat'ka surfaced, she flared her wings and created waves near five hands high, the water rushing out onto the sandy beach surrounding the lake and then back against Zenora's silvered skin. Quickly she dove back beneath the waves and when she didn't resurface, Tressalyn turned to the handmaiden who had spoken before, her eyes wide with panic.

"Don't ye' worry, m'lady," the older woman said. "There's sand beneath all that water and your little lady there is simply running her skin over it, rubbing all those old scales off and giving herself a good back scratch. She'll be fine and if you look, you'll see her now." The woman gestured out the door and with a great exhalation of pent up breath, Tressalyn saw Zenora's head break the surface of the lake, the chat'ka eyes nearly closed with pleasure.

"Thank you, good lady. I must confess that I am new at this and needs must hope that those around me know what to do," Tressalyn said simply.

The older woman looked upon the girl with compassion and patted her arm. "Don't ye be worrying, m'lady. Give it time and all will work out. Before you know it, the actions will be as natural as the breaths you take even now and it will be as though it was nought but the way it is." With a confident grin, the woman took Tressalyn's hand and led her to the closet.

The two other handmaidens had laid out two dresses and their accoutrements and were now standing to the side, waiting for instructions. In mild shock, Tressalyn stepped to the dresses, her fingers trailing absently over the fine cloth. Both were of the finest silk, so soft that it was hard to tell there was anything beneath her fingers at all. The first dress was a midnight blue and the lights caught the folds so that the color seemed to writhe up the material. Silver thread curled up the sides of the skirt, terminating at the bodice, and when Tressalyn spread out the folds of silk cloth, she gasped. The silver thread was in fact a chat'ka rearing up, the flared wings meeting from either side in the front and the back of the bodice.

The second was of a material whiter than virgin snows and had a collar that would stand up around her neck, connecting in the front and then sliding down to a diamond cut out above her breasts. The skirt was full and on the right side, was sewn up to reveal golden petticoats. Searching for the chat'ka's image, she found it on the back of the collar; the chat'ka was in mid-flight with its wings at full extension and flowing to either side of the stiff collar. It too was of golden thread.

Tressalyn bit her lip and stepped back from the dresses. The two handmaidens who had chosen the pieces looked at each other in distress, fearful they had somehow offended their new mistress with their choices. One of them stepped forth, laying a course hand on Tressalyn's shoulder.

"Mistress, do these turn your eyes away? Need we look more?"

Surprised at the question, Tressalyn laughed sharply. "Turn my eyes away? Nay, just the opposite! Never have I seen such dresses and now, to have them at my disposal is more than I can comprehend. My simple past is struggling to accept such a rich present." She tried to console her distraught maid with a smile and pat on the hand.

"Well, m'lady, the time for accepting is at hand. Dinner shall be called in thirty marks ad we needs must prepare ye' for the occasion." The older woman placed a hand on either dress. "Which one suits your fancy, m'lady?"

Both dresses pleaded with Tressalyn to wear them but in the end, she chose the snow white one with the golden petticoats and soaring chat'ka. Much to her surprise, the three maids led her to the bathing room, undressed her and proceeded to bathe her, taking care to hold her hair out of the way of the dripping sponges. The youngest of the three gasped as she lifted the auburn strands away from her mistress's neck.

"What ever is the matter with ye', Imogit? You sound as though Old Winter tickled your skirts," stated the older maid a little crossly.

"Why, she has the Marking, Emyl! Like our once-mistress, Queen Lilliana!" The woman's voice was strained.

Emyl looked startled, for the first time since Tressalyn had seen her she lost her composure. "The Mark? Could it be?" She peered into Tressalyn's shining green eyes, her own eyes growing moist. "After all this time, could it truly be?"

Tressalyn shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "Were you not told who I was?" she ventured.

Three shaking heads answered her question. "We were told only that we had a rider here, not the new Queen herself. Your presence could not be more welcome, m'Queen. We all of us maids feared we were undeserving of another mistress for what happened and lost our own Prince a wife and Queen with our carelessness."

"I don't-" Tressalyn began but stopped as a delicate shiver ran through her body. Chill-bumps stood up on her exposed flesh and with cries of dismay, the three maids rushed to wrap thick towels about her body. After becoming warmed, Tressalyn continued. "I don't understand. What happened to my predecessor?"

Looking to Emyl, the two younger maids clearly passed the responsibility of the tale to another's shoulders. Sighing wearily, Emyl cleared her throat. Yet before she began she told the other maids to begin dressing Tressalyn and doing her hair, not allowing them to sit idle while she spoke.

"Young m'Queen, your past image was a wonderful Queen and beautiful person and what happened to her was as wrong as blood on new snow. Just after our own Prince was born to our King and Queen, she took ill. It was slight at first, her face growing pale and sweated whenever she walked and a somewhat pained look in her eyes. Then, when the Prince passed his first summer, it grew worse. It became that she could not leave the bed but that she was panting for breath and nearly doubled over in pain. She bled as a woman does but without the respite and within a month's time, she was gone." Emyl cast her eyes to the floor. "We maids believed that we had failed her somehow, allowing her to waste away as she did, and when no new First Born came to the King, ours fears seemed to be confirmed. Our guilt has beat at our souls since she left us."

Touched by the woman's sincerity, Tressalyn reached out and wrapped her arm about the woman's shoulder. "Good Emyl, take heed and know that nothing you could have done would have spared her. It was beyond your realm of control and guilt should no longer be your shadow nor your herald." The girl smiled at her three attendants. "I am here. Is that not proof enough that you have not lost the favor of the Winged Ones?"

After a moment of thought, the three women nodded and offered timid smiles to their new mistress and Queen. Tressalyn had never known the power of being a high born but now she learned the protectiveness that came with it. She had only known these women for a few marks and yet already their sincerity and attentions had caught her heart. In a moment of overwhelming love, Tressalyn gathered up her maids' hands and pressed each one to her cheek, a tear falling upon each one. Surprised by this gesture, the two youngest were struck dumb, slowly drawing their blessed hands to their breasts. Emyl, too, was struck silent but her hand reached out to gently press fingertips to Tressalyn's temple. Her eyes softened to the point of tears and a maternal look glowed within their brown depths.

"How many summers are in ye' name, m'Queen?" she asked softly.

Suddenly overcome with shyness, Tressalyn lowered her eyes. "Sixteen, m'lady maid."

Slowly, Emyl shook her head. "Sixteen," she repeated, wonder lowering her voice. "Sixteen summers and yet you have the heart and the spirit of a Queen-from-birth with twice your summers. Do you know how special you are, m'Queen?"

"I do now," Tressalyn replied, looking up to meet Emyl's eyes. Thoughtfully, the girl-Queen nibbled on her lower lip. "I must confess that never have I felt so loved as I do now, by people to whom I should mean nothing. A Healer, mercenaries, and maids, all non-blood and yet my heart wants for nothing." Her scintillating green eyes bore into Emyl's brown. "Is that not odd?"

"Odd?" Emyl shot back. "Odd would be not loving you, m'Queen. Who would deny their hearts such love as only you can offer? I can tell you without the waste of a breath: only fools, fools who don't deserve one such as you anyway."

"Thank you, Emyl," was all Tressalyn could manage.

A silent moment followed but then Emyl cleared her throat and upon seeing her two companions still standing, with their hands still against their breasts, she turned into a whirlwind and it was all Tressalyn could do not to get blown away.

The three maids were standing back in awe, staring at the angelic vision they had created. Perhaps created was too strong a word for Tressalyn's beauty was most certainly her own. Released was more fitting - the angelic vision they had released.

The white gown fit her almost perfectly, if a little loose across the hips, and with her auburn locks in contrast, she could be likened to the priestesses who remain virgins to their death and wear white dresses to show their purity and closeness to the Heavens. Jewel studded pins pulled her hair loosely on top of her head, the green and white gems sparkling with inner fire against their rich background. Heightening powder tinged her cheeks and darker powder made a thin line beneath her lashes on the very edges of her lids. The effect: her eyes sparkled brighter than before and were even more stunning. A faint rose-tinted oil stained her lips.

Slowly, Tressalyn turned around to face her maids. "How did you do it? The image in that mirror is most certainly not I! That image is a full-grown Queen who's come into her own while I am only a maid in fancy clothes." A hint of desperation strained her voice now that she was moments away from her first dinner as Lyndrahan's rightful Queen.

Emyl placed her hands on Tressalyn's shoulders and turned her back to the mirror, forcing the girl to meet her own eyes. "M'Queen Tressalyn, Lilliana never looked more cut to the part." Simple words and yet their open honesty convinced Tressalyn as nothing else could have done. Breathing deep, Tressalyn squared her shoulders and met her own shining green eyes. A faint smile turned up her lips at what she saw. The scrawny servant had finally disappeared beneath a strong healthy young woman and the constant fear that had taken root in the depths of her spirit was finally dissipated in the presence of newfound confidence. Where once a broken girl had stood there was a spirited Winged One and First Born, a Queen in place of a beggar.

A deep bell tolled twice, signaling dinner. Lyndrahan's Queen set her jaw and turned to the door, meeting each of her maid's eyes as she passed into the hall. Each maid smiled in return and the youngest went so far as to wink encouragingly. Tressalyn smiled back and closed the door behind her.

Stepping into the hall, she nearly tripped over a handsome young man.

"Begging your pardon, sir. I confess to have seen you not upon exiting," apologized Tressalyn, dipping into a quick curtsy. A quick curtsy that she was hurriedly lifted out of with a firm hand beneath her elbow.

"My Queen, you bow not to your servants. 'Tis not how 'tis done." The young man's soft baritone held no levity and yet when Tressalyn met his eyes, their grey depths danced merrily with some untold joke. "This 'tis how 'tis done," and taking her trembling hand in his own, he bowed deeply over her fingers, his lips barely a hair's breadth away from her skin. "I beg your deepest apologies, my Lady Queen, and pray I have offended not with my clumsiness."

"But, I was the one who tripped over you," Tressalyn protested. "You did nothing wrong! Your apology is not accepted," she declared, "since you did nothing to earn it." Her jaw set stubbornly and her eyes glinted with a young woman's belligerence.

Slowly, the male servant straightened and stared at the girl before him. All the other high borns he knew would have cuffed him for the tripping and then expected an apology on top of that! She would certainly require extra studying.

Flashing a mollifying smile, the servant offered Tressalyn his arm and dipped his head in acceptance. "As you say, my Queen, so shall it be."

Tressalyn's lips quirked in an irritated smile as she lightly rested her hand on the servant's. "Do stop calling me that."

"Calling you what, my Queen?" he asked as they started to the dining hall.

"That! 'My Queen.' My name is Tressalyn and I would much prefer you call me by my blessing name than a title that I don't yet deserve." Her voice was tart and she appeared to be truly annoyed.

"But, my Queen, 'tis not how 'tis-"

"Done?" she finished for him. "Then we will simply have to change the ways things are done. I will simply not stand for people treating me as their better when this dress has more experience than I do in terms of ruling."

The young man responded with silence, unsure of where he stood or how he should respond. With any other royal personage, he would have smiled the automatic obsequious smile, demurred politely, and continued onward. But with this new Queen... Granted, Queen Lilliana hadn't been a tyrant but she knew how she was expected to act within her station and acted so.

When it was apparent the young male servant would make no reply, Tressalyn pulled him to a stop in the middle of the hall. "Well?" she demanded crossly.

"Well what, my Queen?" he queried, confused.

An explosive sigh left Tressalyn's lips. "By all the Goddesses above! I am not the paper-glass to be broken with a breath and nor am I the burst lights to be exploded with one spark. What I am is a young woman who has been thrown into an alien home with curious rules and very few friends." She was breathing hard. "What's your name?"

"My name, my Queen? But why would you want-" he saw Tressalyn open her mouth angrily and quickly changed what he was about to say. "My name is Mikhel, my Queen." He bent over awkwardly in a half bow while the walked, smiling warily.

"Mikhel," she repeated. The frustration had drained from her face and pleasure taken its place. "Thank you," she murmured. Then her emerald eyes clouded over and uncertainty masked her features. "Mikhel, would you..." Her voice caught and she cleared her throat before continuing. "Would you be my friend?" Storm-tossed sea green eyes met Mikhel's grey with sincerity and the young man was touched deeply.

"Friend to the Queen?" he whispered.

Tressalyn shook her head. "No," she said quickly, her voice firm. "Not to the Queen but to me, Tressalyn." She paused. "I am only the Queen when upon the throne I sit, and unless you are a mist dream, we are but walking down a hallway." A faint smile turned up her lips.

Mikhel smiled back. "You are an odd one, my Qu- Tressalyn. But I would gladly accept your friendship and pray I do it honor."

Just then the low din of the dining hall came to their ears and when they turned the last corner, golden light spilled from the large double doors, momentarily rendering the two friends blind. When they blinked their sight back, it was to a now silent room of over two hundred people, all staring intently at the new come pair.

Recovering with an agility that left Tressalyn slightly jealous, Mikhel cupped her elbow in his hand and gently propelled her into the room, following behind and slightly to the left of her. Drawing a deep, calming breath, Tressalyn felt her muscles relax even as her back straightened and her shoulders pulled back proudly. Smiling warmly, she dipped low in a deep curtsy, bowing her head until her forehead nearly touched her bent knees. A gasp was breathed across the room. Queens did not bow to their people; it was just not done.

When Tressalyn straightened, her face was serene but her eyes searched with a silent desperateness for her fellows. She found them on either side of the King and his Heir and their warm smiles made brave her heart. Fighting the urge to nibble on her lip, she took a deep breath and addressed her people.

"Greetings to you all and best wishes. It warms my heart to see so many sharing in merriment and it stuns my mind to know that it is in my own honor that you celebrate. This I do not yet deserve but I pray that in time I may be worthy of this accord, should you allow me to take my seat as your Queen, your Protector, and, above all, your friend." Her voice rang to every corner of the room, the power of her presence illuminating the shadows.

A moment of silence met her words and for a moment Tressalyn feared she had somehow made offense. She barely kept herself from throwing a frightened glance back at Mikhel when a deep voice from across the room boomed out over the crowd.

"Your offer is accepted Queen Tressalyn and may we be worthy of your accord!" Cheers and clapping met the anonymous words and Tressalyn flushed with pleasure. She had done something right. So overjoyed was she with this thought that she barely noticed as Mikhel guided her to her place between the King and the Prince and then proceeded to take a seat behind and to her right, sitting apart from the table.

In a moment's time, scrapping chair legs on wooden floors replaced the cheering and applause. Relatives of the royal family, loyal advisors, and the myriad of courtiers were shoulder to shoulder around the giant table. From her end, Tressalyn could hardly make out the features of the guest in the seat opposite her at the furthest reach of the great ecliptic table. Bold colors and shimmering jewels decorated her guests, their wardrobes rivaling the brightest of exotic beasts who made the Hidden Forests of the east their home. There were girls who appeared no older than Tressalyn herself and still others whose faces told the tale of many decades. Men with graying beards and leathered skin and others who barely claimed the title of 'man' and only shaved once an eight-day. Agile servants began the intricate dance of serving and soon steaming mounds of meat and roots and greens were dispensed along the table, their aromas mingling overhead. Warm, spiced wine was quickly poured into the goblets before each guest and chilled fermented juices were also made available in frozen pitchers. When the last servant had filled the last goblet and stepped back to join his fellows against the wall, waiting to be needed, a pregnant hush fell across the room. All eyes turned to the King but focus was on the Queen and Prince. Tressalyn felt the change on the air and turned her head just enough to catch the Prince out of the corner of her eye.

Pushing back his chair, the Prince stood, all regality and seriousness. "On this night, the first of the ninth month of the three hundredth and second year, I do beseech the First Born Tressalyn ke'Laetviorr to accept this-" he held up a polished silver circlet of entwined chat'ka's, "and in doing so accept her position as our Queen." For the first time the Prince met Tressalyn's eyes. "As my Queen," he added in a softer voice.

Silently, Tressalyn eased back her chair and instead of standing, she knelt, taking care not to sully her snow white skirts. Bending her head to receive the crown, she said, "I accept you and your crown, my Prince." She felt him carefully settle the silver circlet upon her coif and when it was secure she lifted her eyes to meet her Prince's. With stiff dignity, the Prince drew Tressalyn to her feet and lightly pressed his lips to her fingers, his eyes never leaving the young woman's face.

Cheering echoed in the room for a second time but for Tressalyn and her Prince the room may as well have been empty. When they both resumed their seats, the feast began. Utensils clattered against plates and the buzz of many conversations filled the room. The Prince filled Tressalyn's plate with a little bit of everything, being careful not to splash the reddish soup onto her gown. The young Queen thanked him with smiling eyes and in doing so, saw Tressa beside him.

Tressalyn's hands flew to her mouth. "Tressa! You look magnificent!" she breathed, her regal manner shattered into a sixteen year old's excitement. "I've never seen you look so... so-" Tressalyn gestured helplessly, groping for the right word.

"Feminine?" Lipen suggested, giving Tressalyn a crooked smile. The girl responded with a glare and looked as though she wanted to box her companion's ears while his sister merely jabbed his ribs with her elbow.

"Actually, elegant was the word I was looking for," the girl retorted tartly. Lipen only grinned at her, the acid tone useless. Exasperated, Tressalyn sighed and threw up her hands, sitting back in her chair. "Has he always been like this, Tressa?"

The woman warrior grinned ruefully, her scar pulling down. "Always, Tressy, always."

"Men," Tressalyn growled.

"Oh, Daughter, we are not all that incorrigible," added the Healer. "I, for one, think our swordslady looks quite stunning this blessed eve." He lowered his head to Tressa in appreciation. "I believe blue becomes you, Lady Fighter."

Tressa hid her smile as she bowed her head in return. "My thanks, Good Healer. May I return the compliment."

The King and the Prince watched the four companions with puzzled curiosity.

"May I ask, how you came to be traveling together? It seems odd for a First Born to need protection from, so far, unpaid mercenaries." The King directed his question to the Healer.

The Healer caught Tressalyn's eye and at her gesture, revealed to the royal family their tale. At first the King had trouble comprehending this composed young woman no higher than the lowest servant but when Tressalyn made no move to correct her father's telling, the King's troubled eyes became accepting.

When the Healer had finished, Tressalyn added, "Had it not been for their protection, your nephew would very likely have been carting me back to the holding at this very moment." Her comment made the King wince but before the expression really took hold, he smoothed his features and gazed with blatant admiration at the Queen and her loyal companions.

"I have known people whose lives have been entwined far longer than you four and yet their intimacy could not begin to rival that which you have accomplished in a mark of that time." The older man shook his head.

"Father," the Prince's voice was tight and his face mirrored his unease. "I understand your fascination with our Queen's travels but you seem to be overlooking a crucial point." The Prince's jaw clenched as his father turned blank eyes to him. "Father, what are we going to do about this Holder?"

For a moment the King remained unresponsive and his son grew visibly impatient. Then the old ruler seemed to shake off the daze and answered, "We will arrest him, of course." His tone said clearly that this was common sense and not worth the breath of speech.

The Prince tightened his lips. "Even a King needs proof, Father. Not that we can't take you on faith, Tressalyn," he said hurriedly, turning apologetic eyes on her, "but our rule has been based upon justice and proof is one step to that goal."

"And just how do you propose to acquire proof, my Lord?" inquired Tressa. "Although, why the word of a First Born cannot be taken on faith is still denying me its reason."

"The reason is that I want to make sure that this monster with the audacity to call itself man cannot plead that we simply attacked him because of his rough handling of his servants." The Prince paused, passing his tongue over suddenly dried lips. "And I plan to go and get the proof myself."

The fire in the hearth had burned down marks ago and the soft glow of embers were now all that lit the room. Yet sparks were flying between the two in the room, their emotional inferno hotter than any fire.

"I'm still adamantly against it!" screeched Tressalyn. "You don't know the man you deal with! He would kill a first blood son; what is to stop him from disposing of a supposed lone chat'ka hunter?" She was pacing furiously before the hearth, the weak embers casting her shadow about the room in an exaggerated mimicry of her agitated state.

"That's why I need your help, Tressalyn. Tell me about this Holder so that I go in armed." The Prince paused and tried to catch Tressalyn's painfully bright eyes. In contrast to the darkened room, the girl's eyes were twin flames of green fire, fueled by anger and fanned by fear. "I know the risk I take and embrace it if it means bringing that monster down." His voice remained low and soft but there was an intensity in its tone that belied the Prince's outward calm.

Tressalyn clenched her jaw and shut her eyes against the Prince's relaxed form lounging in the overstuffed chair by the fireplace. For the first time since they had begun this verbal repartee, she sunk to the floor, her head down and her loosened hair hiding her tears. There was the scrape of leather on stone and then the Prince was at her side, gently tucking her hair behind her ear and revealing her face to the ember's glow.

"Please grant me your blessing, my Queen," he pleaded, "for without it I shall not leave... and your uncle will remain free."

His words struck the young Queen's heart and she resented the power he had over her, pushing the buttons at just the right time. Only a week and yet he had already come to read her so well. Not this time-- A stubborn gleam lit her eyes and she jerked her head away from the Prince's touch.

"He would have killed me," she spat, "and for all I know, he has already done so to Demmy!" Tears choked her but she continued. "He's as skittish as a deer in the fall and more deadly and he would not hesitate nary a blink before plunging a blade between your ribs from behind. As your Queen I forbid you to go." The words left her lips before she could stop them and then it was too late.

The Prince's face turned to stone and he rocked back on his heels, his chest motionless. Confusion flashed briefly in his eyes and then anger masked his face. "A Queen barely an eight-day and you dare to pull rank on me? I have been raised to accept the responsibility of the crown and yet you assume to teach me?" Scorn dripped from his words and his eyes were brown daggers, pinning Tressalyn to the ground. "You may be a First Born with the power that birthing brings but the wisdom of that title is apparently yet to be gained. You think that privilege is what comes with power when in truth power is overshadowed by duty." Snorting, he scoffed his Queen. "You betray your sixteen years, My Queen, and you had best to learn to think of the country and not your own personal desires." Suddenly, the Prince stood, looming over Tressalyn. "Sleep well, Queen Tressalyn. May dreams leave insight in their wake as that is something you are wanting." His soft words were like lashes and Tressalyn flinched as each one hit her ears.

Without waiting for a response, the Prince strode from the room. Feeling mentally beaten, Tressalyn sat silently in anger's wake. The embers popped and flared and for a brief moment a flame sprang to life, dancing weakly over the coals. The orange light refracted off the tears on her lashes and her vision came through a prism of color. She blinked rapidly to clear the tears and the embers were just embers once more, throwing the room into sullen half-darkness. Shivering, Tressalyn wrapped her arms around herself and huddled on the hearth, gritting her jaw against the tears that pushed against her eyelids.

The opening of the door tore Tressalyn from her self-pitying reverie and hope fired her eyes as she looked to the entrance. A half-sob, half-sigh escaped her lips as Mikhel eased into the room.

"I saw the Prince leave and thought-" The young man fell silent as he stepped into the dim circle of light surrounding the hearth and met his Queen's eyes. "What has happened, my lady?"

By herself Tressalyn had a breath of a chance against her tears, but the heartfelt concern in Mikhel's voice struck her resolve a mortal blow. Rising to her feet, Tressalyn threw herself into Mikhel's waiting embrace and dissolved into sobs.

"Wh-wh-why ca-can't he s-see that I-I only st-stopped him from going f-f-for his own g-g-g-good?" she wailed, her tears soaking into the servant's tunic. "H-h-he j-just doesn't underst-st-stand!"

Mikhel remained silent, allowing Tressalyn to cry herself out. When a few marks had passed and Tressalyn's sobs had become slight hiccoughs, Mikhel guided the young woman to her bed and sat her down, easing himself beside her. He watched as she self-consciously wiped the tears from her cheeks and averted her eyes in shame.

When she was ready, Mikhel laid out her nightclothes and stepped from the room while she changed. When he returned, she had already gotten into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, those green eyes glowing in the dark like a cat's. He stepped to her bedside and began to smooth her forehead of its pain as one would do to their child. Soon, Tressalyn began to relax and just when he thought she had dropped into sleep and was about to take himself to his own bed, her eyes opened to show the barest slit of emerald green.

"Was I wrong?" she murmured, her voice pained.

His silence served better response than any rebuke and the two tears that leaked from his mistress's eyes served better punishment for his honesty than any whip.

Her eyes felt heavy and swollen when she awoke the next morning. Running her forearm over her face to drive the sleep away, Tressalyn sat up and blinked owlishly into the sunlight. Her rooms were empty excepting herself but the mark of her handmaidens was evident. A large platter rested by her bedside, the scent of warm food wafting from beneath the silver cover. A split skirt and sleeveless vest of autumn gold was laid out across a chair with riding boots beneath them. Taking a deep breath in an effort to energize herself, she fell back against the pillows. The double glass doors were standing open and a pleasant breeze was making the gauzy curtains dance. Lazy rays of sunlight shone in, pooling on the floor.

With minimal effort, Tressalyn sat back up and pulled the platter of food onto the bed before her crossed legs. Pulling the cover off, the heat of warm food flushed her face and delectable scents of spiced sausages, fruit porridge, toasted bread, and preserves flooded her nostrils and made her mouth water. This was a definite improvement upon the cold porridge and meat breakfasts she suffered while on the road. Without another thought, she tucked into the meal.

When only crumbs remained, she put the platter to the side and slid out of bed. Forgetting the height of the mattress, her ankles absorbed the unexpected force of the drop and she winced, sucking in a breath through tightly clenched teeth. Stepping gingerly to the other side of the bed, Tressalyn shed her nightclothes and stepped into the golden embrace of silk-lined suede. Surprisingly, the boots fit as though they were made for her.

A noise caught her attention from outside and she hurried to the glass wall, closing her eyes with pleasure as the sun kissed her skin free of its chill. The noise sounded again and Tressalyn recognized it as a chat'ka's trilling. Without another thought, the young Queen ran into the field and into the sweetly scented embrace of her Zenora.

"Oh, my beauteous lovely," she murmured.

Zenora craned her neck and gently rubbed her soft head against Tressalyn's cheek. When the girl's arms loosened around the chat'ka's neck, Zenora butted Tressalyn's chest, herding her towards the creature's back. Reaching out with her mind, Tressalyn felt wistful urging from her companion and there was no doubt in her mind what the young chat'ka wanted.

"I can't possible go out! I haven't even washed up or brushed my hair!" Tressalyn exclaimed.

The wistful urging changed to a stronger plea and Zenora curled her neck around her rider, effectively trapping the girl against her scaled side.

"Zenora, that's not playing fair! I promise I'll go; I just refuse to go like this." Tressalyn's thoughts were firm even as they were adoring and Zenora reluctantly released her Queen.

"My thanks, dearheart," Tressalyn said, dipping into a curtsy.

Zenora spread her wings and dipped her head in what could only be a chat'ka's curtsy. A chuckling trill vibrated from the chat'ka's throat and amusement colored her thoughts.

Kicking her skirts, still unaccustomed to the weighted pleats after a lifetime of practical breeches, she ran back into her room and stripped down to bathe. The water was still lukewarm and it felt refreshing to scrub away the tears of last night's argument. Thick towels were set beside the basin and just as Tressalyn picked one up to dry off, the door to her sleeping chambers opened.

Before the girl even had time to see who it was, a scream left her throat.

"No! You can't come in!" Desperately, she tried to wrap the towel around her nakedness but it had not yet completely unfolded and her numb fingers were not of any aid. Her eyes full of misery, she hid as much of her as she could and finally looked up.

A stranger stood in the doorway, his shoulders broad enough to block all view of the room behind him. His pate shone in the morning's sun, the only hair on his head bristling over his lip in a thick black moustache. His lips curled with a lascivious leer and black eyes glinted cruelly.

"You shan't be a trouble, you wench," he sneered. "I had greater charges than ye' in worse conditions." When Tressalyn made no move to scream or run, the intruder's grin grew and he stepped quickly into the room, his eyes darting left and right in expectation of attack.

Tressalyn found her mouth gone dry and try as she might, the scream seemed caught in her throat. Her thoughts were in turmoil but terror laced through them all. She was intensely aware of her vulnerability and all she could do was shuffle back, the one towel the only barrier between her and her attacker.

"You're not gonna even scream, are ya', wench? Some Queen you are, can't even scream." The man's voice lowered to a whisper. "I betcha' want it, don't you Queen?" His tongue flicked over pale lips and a shiver danced down Tressalyn's back as revulsion clenched her stomach into an acidic knot, the warm breakfast of just moments ago sitting like rocks.

The space between them was reduced to mere paces and Tressalyn finally found her voice.

"ZENORA!" Her scream split the air and an echoing scream sounded from outside.

For the first time, fear flickered in the attacker's eyes as he looked through the glass doors. With the man's attention elsewhere, Tressalyn tried to scramble up the bed, yet one hand was still clutching the near useless towel and the bed was too high. Finally, realizing it was either her life or her modesty, she dropped the towel and vaulted onto the bed, diving to the other side.

Her momentum carried her full over the bed and she hit the floor with a tooth-jarring thud, her shoulder joint grinding ominously against the unpadded wood. But all pain was pushed aside when she saw her chat'ka charging the room, her wings flared in fury and her throat pulsing with a blood freezing scream.

The attacker saw his chances narrowing quickly. With a desperate heat in his dark eyes he ran around the bed and pulled a dagger from his belt. Tressalyn's eyes bulged and she scuttled backwards until her shoulders were against the wall and she could go no further. Her frightened green eyes darted between her quickly approaching savior and her even closer attacker and in a last fleeting moment of pride, she covered herself with her hands as much as she could and glared back at the intruder.

Suddenly shards of glass burst into the room, showering Tressalyn and her attacker with a hundred knives, cutting skin where jagged edge touched tender flesh. Then Zenora was in the room and in a panic the man flung his dagger at the girl-Queen.

In a moment, the man's head was separated neatly from his neck but the dagger's aim held true and with a sickening thud, sunk itself into Tressalyn's shoulder. The pain was excruciating and it was as though the girl could feel the edge cutting each individual fiber as it passed through her flesh. Then the pain peaked as the tip was stopped by her shoulder blade and blackness descended.

Tressalyn awoke to darkness laced with a hint of sweet menalin. Trying to stand, she found herself within a small, confined area and felt her chest tighten with fear. She couldn't remember anything after the burning pain in her shoulder...

Her shoulder-- Slowly she raised a hand to where the pain should have been and felt only smooth, unmarred skin. Her breath came easier and reaching out with one trembling hand, felt silky hide beneath her fingertips. Suddenly light bloomed around her as Zenora's wings spread apart and Tressalyn shielded her eyes from the unaccustomed brightness. Easing her fingers apart, she peeked through the narrow slits to gain her bearings.

She was still in her room, by the side of the bed. Glass was strewn about the floor and the large double doors that once led to the garden had been reduced to a couple pieces of wood hanging crookedly from their hinges. The stranger was no where to be seen but a conspicuous red stain stood out from the light wood floor. Swallowing to keep down her breakfast, Tressalyn quickly lifted her gaze to the people standing about her room. Lipen was leaning lazily against the door frame cleaning his nails with a fine tipped dagger. His posture was relaxed but Tressalyn knew he was ready to move on the slightest sign of trouble. The Healer was at the foot of the bed and his eyes anxiously met hers through her laced fingers. Then he averted his eyes and walked quickly to the other side of the room, opening drawers to pull out clothes. Lowering her hands to her sides, Tressalyn felt skin brush skin and looked down to see her own bared flesh. Yelping, her hands came back up, but Zenora was already folding her wings around to hide her rider. Yet before the membranous wings had completely snapped shut, she saw the Prince by the shattered glass doors and felt the blush on his cheeks mirrored on her own.

Cool cloth rained down on her head, arcing over the tops of Zenora's wings. Smiling, Tressalyn scrambled into the welcome clothes, not even minding that the olive green breeches didn't match the lavender tunic. Before the chat'ka could expose her once more, she rested her forehead against the silken chest of the creature and silently gave her thanks. A warm cascade of emotions fell over her mind, foremost of which was love.

The large wings spread once more and rustled softly against the chat'ka's sides, the scent of sweet menalin wafting throughout the room. Tressalyn stepped away from the warmth of Zenora's body, taking special care to skirt around the red stain. Everyone came to immediate attention, standing up straighter and stepping further into the room. Tressa peeked in from the anteroom and her scarred face contorted into a joyous smile.

"Welcome back, Tressy!" Her tone was more appropriate for a relative returning from a long trip than for a survivor of an attempted assassination but it did the trick and broke the tension that had been humming in the room. Tressa's smile passed to her brother, than to the Healer, and finally even the Prince's lips curled in the hint of a grin.

"How long-?"

"Not all that long, me girl," answered her father. "That spirited young guardian of yours has had her fire up for nigh on two hours now and we came in just as she took you into that healing embrace o' 'ers."

Tressalyn's hand strayed absently to her shoulder that only two hours ago has been run through with a dagger. "Why that long? It took her only moments that first time."

The Healer shook his head. "We can't talk to your pretty, daughter of mine. You'd be best to ask her yourself."

Turning around, Tressalyn looked up into the bright silvered eyes of her chat'ka and gently laid her hand against Zenora's narrow head.

A silver nimbus radiated from the pair and of a sudden, the image of a long, sawtoothed leaf the color of dried blood flashed into her head. "Oh!" she cried, her hand flying to her stomach. "Nevermore root. The dagger had been dipped in nevermore root." Her eyes flew to her father and she wavered on her feet.

Tension charged the room once more, heightening every sense.

"That the one with no antidote?" grated Lipen, running the flat of his dagger softly along the line of his jaw.

The Healer's eyes were hard as granite and his voice cold as ice when he answered. "Yes. It is also the one that has been purged in the wild and can only be found in the King's own growing house." Those hard eyes pinned the Prince to where he stood. "How is that possible, Prince? How did this thief have a supply of nevermore root?" His voice was dangerously soft and had he a dagger at his belt, he would have been stroking its hilt.

Blood flooded the Prince's face and anger flashed in his eyes. "If you are accusing one of the royal family of-" Then he broke off, stunned, as realization dawned on him. "My cousin. The one Tressalyn-" His voice failed him again as he remembered what Tressalyn had done to his cousin. "The one she meted out judgment to. As nephew to the King, he would have had access to the growing house. And as such, the keeper of the plants would have had needed not inform the King." The Prince shrunk against the wall in misery.

In that same soft voice, the Healer said, "I would suggest that be changed before the day is out. Are there any other criminals sharing of the royal blood we should know about?"

The Prince dumbly shook his head, refusing to lift his eyes from the floor.

"Good. That ... cousin... will not live out the night, I expect?"

That got the Prince's attention and his brown eyes shone with disbelief. "What?! Begging your pardon, Healer, but what you suggest - do you not take a vow upon the chat'ka itself that you will preserve life?"

"Of course, young m'lord Prince. But the vow to the Healer also leaves the right of choice and the right to refuse service. I feel no shame in what I suggest and neither does our dear chat'ka." One slender hand gestured lazily over his shoulder and the Prince's eyes followed its path. Zenora's mouth hung slightly open, drops of blood still clinging to some of her teeth, and a silver chuckling was pulsing in her throat.

"I suppose there are - ways," replied the Prince, his voice resigned and his face revealing slight nausea. "I pray these past happenings are not prophetic of what my reign with you shall be, my Queen Tressalyn." His eyes flicked to her and in their brown depths, the girl-Queen saw resentment and the slightest edge of fear. Abruptly, he stood and left the room, painfully clipping his shoulder on the door frame in his haste to leave.

Silence was left in the Prince's wake and in that stillness, weeping could be heard in the anteroom. "Who is that?" Tressalyn demanded.

Tressa rolled her eyes with mild disgust and curled her lip. "That would be your hand maids, convinced that you were almost killed because of some mistake on their part. They've been blubbering like that since they woke up-"

Tressalyn cut her off. "What do you mean, 'woke up'?"

"They was knocked cold out in the hall when we came running and the youngest one didn't come to til 'bout an hour ago. The two older ones followed." Lipen waggled his brows, an amused half-smile playing on his lips.

Dismay darkened Tressalyn's face as she looked at her two companions. "Mock them not. They watched their Queen of many years waste away before their eyes and believed it was their inept care that was my predecessor's death knell. Their fears are very real and their loyalty very deep. They are strong women, those three, and their weeping is only proof of sincere devotion." Tressa and Lipen stood before their Queen with appropriately bowed heads, accepting her rebuke in silence. When they offered no vocal apology, Tressalyn swept past them and into the anteroom where her three maids knelt in a circle, their tears falling in a ring on the floor.

Lipen was the first to look up, shame heavy in his eyes, and he threw a guilty glance to his sister, who was still too ashamed to lift her gaze from her boot tops.

"There's no doubt," he mumurred. "A Queen she is and no more the timid peasant girl we aided. Our help is necessary naught but for our own pleasure." Regret colored his voice and he shuffled slowly to the bed, where he leaned back to wait.

In the anteroom, the maids had hurriedly ceased to cry when Tressalyn's footsteps they heard draw near. Emyl was the first to rise from her knees and so slowly did she straighten that Tressalyn knew her old bones had been in the lowly position for some time. The tears were still trickling from the older maid's eyes but a calmness had settled upon her features to see her mistress whole and well. The other two handmaids followed Emyl's example, only their slowness was a product of uncertainty and not age.

"We failed ya', lady Queen," whispered Emyl. "Ya' near to died for a lackin' in our own abilities. Like our once lady Queen," she finished softly under her breath. The other maids nodded fiercely, clearly in accordance with their chosen mentor.

Tressalyn suppressed a snort; the last thing she wanted to do was hurt these three women's feelings.

"Do I appear wounded in any way?" She didn't continue until each maid had shook her head. "Have I made any motion to give reprimand or cross word?" The three head shakes followed much quickly than before. "Then by what reasons have you justified these charges against yourselves? Ye maids take too much upon already weighted shoulders and then do penance when one foot missteps over a crack. I forbid you to weep more in my name. I simply won't have it!" The girl-Queen's exasperation was tempered by love and the demand was softened into a frustrated request.

The warm tone was not lost upon the three handmaids and identical smiles flashed onto their faces. The tears had finally stopped their coursing and salty paths dried on their flushed cheeks. Tressalyn gently caressed each face and then sent them off to bring food to her chambers for five, anticipating the return of the Prince. Gladly they went to a familiar task and Tressalyn turned back to her room.

Tressa was in the process of cleaning up the largest of glass shards and Lipen had resumed filing his nails with his knife, though how he had any nail left was beyond Tressalyn. Silently, the girl-Queen retrieved a sweep from a closet in the anteroom and began to help the swordswoman put the room back in order. When Tressa looked up to see Tressalyn on her knees cleaning up the glass shards a look of outrage clouded her face.

"My lady Queen, what would you do here on your knees like the lowliest of servants?"

Taken aback by the woman's outburst, Tressalyn sat back on her heels. "'My lady Queen'? Tressa, you need not address me so. To be true, I prefer it not."

"Preference is outweighed by reality, Tressalyn, my Queen, and it is unseemly for you to be on your knees so." Tressa's voice was firm and as she spoke, she stood to pull the girl-Queen to her feet.

Tressalyn let her body be manipulated but her mind was thinking furiously. "If those who I hold most dear and would not give up for all the gold or power in this world intend to treat me so, as one you serve in place of love, then I shall put you from me and become what you bade." Her voice was deceptively soft but a hair could have been split on the cutting edge that ran through her words.

"Daughter-" The Healer paused as the girl turned heated eyes upon him and took a breath before continuing. "Daughter, you cannot turn back from what you are still becoming and it is our duty to ensure you grow to be a Queen in every way. We can no longer treat you as the farmer girl you once were, out of duty if not out of desire." The Healer's soft eyes melted Tressalyn's anger and with that fire gone, she became once more the girl of a mere sixteen summers, confused and afraid.

"But I have not changed!" she cried. "I am the same girl you took into your care, Father Healer. The same one you two fighters swore to protect even though you knew me not. I have not changed," she said again. "You have changed. You have let this castle and that crown change you." Tressalyn slumped into a chair, misery making her limbs heavy. None dared to break her silence and after a few breaths, she looked up, her dark eyes passing over the three before her.

"I lie," she amended. "I have changed. As hold servant I would not have dared to don the crown nor had the courage to face that hall..." Her voice broke and she swallowed, trying to regain her voice. "Nor the audacity to deny my Prince and future King his glory."

Glass crunched as Tressa, Lipen, and the Healer stepped around their young charge, offering up their love and support, helpless to take the newfound weight of responsibility from her slight shoulders. Tressalyn's eyes wandered within the circle of her companions without her gaze settling for more than a few breaths on any one detail while her mind sorted everything out. A few moments passed in silence where the only movements were the trees' in the yard beyond the shattered doors.

Then the girl heaved a gusty sigh and ran sharp eyes up her own frame. A half smile quirked at the corner of her mouth as she cast a sideways glance at her father.

"It seems to hold true that men have as much sense as a rock when it comes to harmonious colors. How in Metrah's name do you manage to dress yourself in the morning?!"

Each in their turn, the three companions let their eyes drift over Tressalyn's attire and smiles slowly blossomed. Tressa was the first to laugh and Lipen quickly followed his sister's lead, though whether it was because he truly found the situation humorous or because he was laughing at his sister's mirth was unclear. Tressalyn bit down on her lip to keep from joining the two fighters but when she met the Healer's befuddled gaze, her shoulders shook with laughter.

"What's wrong with purple and green?" he finally ventured. "I think they're fine colors." But his justifications were met with only louder laughter. He finally sank back against the bed, arms crossed against his chest, his face cloudy with confusion and belligerent indifference. Looking over his shoulder, he even found Zenora's throat pulsing in a most suspicious fashion. "Humph!" he snorted, tucking his head between his shoulders.

In an attempt at peace, Tressalyn reached out to place a consoling hand on her father's shoulder. "Take no offense, father, for one cannot fight 'gainst a thing inborn." She laughed one last hiccoughing laugh and swallowed down the rest of her chuckles. "It's true what you say, purple and green are very fine colors - but even more so when they're separated." Her mollifying smile worked its charm and the Healer smiled back, his eyes twinkling again with their usual light.

"Perhaps 'tis true what you say, me daughter. Perhaps 'tis why no woman will have me." His smile took on a rueful tilt.

"'Tis no more than blindness on their part," muttered Tressa.

"Mayhap be but I've yet to find a woman so willing to overlook this ignorance," he said with a woeful shake of head.

"That's not-" Tressa began, but got no further as the Prince, trailed by the food laden maids, arrived. Yet before the warrior could clear her open face, Tressalyn saw loving defensiveness written in every line and smiled to herself. Perhaps the right woman wasn't so far away as it were...

But her smile was short lived when her gaze alit upon her Prince. Self-hate and anger warred in his eyes and his lips were drawn into a tight line slashed bitterly across his face. His gaze was frozen on the floor, looking neither left nor right nor at any of his companions. He stepped through the antechamber and into Tressalyn's sleeping chambers, icy silence his fanfare and mark of passage. The maids, ignoring the tense atmosphere, brought small tables in from the other room and set out the meal, the usually comforting noises of their work falling with discord upon the air. The two youngest took themselves from the room with as much haste as was seemly but Emyl paused for the briefest mark in the threshold, catching her mistress's glowing eyes and offering an encouraging nod and smile.

From the dishes wafted the faint aroma of roasted meat, fresh bread, and spiced apples but it was all left untouched. Four pairs of eyes held steadily on the Prince, following his paces until he settled slowly upon a chest against the wall, his motions controlled and very carefully balanced. Finally he looked up but at no one person and said, "It's done. It shall look as though he died from lack of his own breath and passed on in peace." The hands resting in his lap clenched and the man's eyes fell to their white knuckles. "I did this with my own hands to know it was well and truly done."

Tressalyn swallowed down the burning gorge that rose in her throat, her breath catching. Jaw clenched to keep from crying, she turned away, not wanting to look more upon his tortured visage.

As no one ventured to speak, the Prince arose and left the room, the heavy closing of the door marking his exit. His untouched platter seemed to fill the space he left and five meals grew cold where they were set.

Dressed now in the lavender tunic and white breeches, with her hair brushed and confined with a silken ribbon that matched her pants, Tressalyn walked down the hall towards the Prince's chambers. In her hands was his plate of food.

Finding her hands otherwise occupied when she reached his doors, she lightly kicked the door with a booted toe, straining to hear signs of life beyond the thick, red oak barriers. When she received no hail of entrance, she turned and began to walk back to her own rooms but just as she reached the corner, she heard the doors behind her swing open.

Tressalyn took a deep breath and held it as she turned on her heel to face the Prince. Still he remained silent and when she met his hooded eyes, the anger smoldered there still. But choosing to take his lack of words as reluctant welcome in lieu of sullen rejection, she allowed her feet to carry her back to his rooms, waiting for him to clear the doorway before stepping past him into the anteroom.

The doors closed behind her with an ominous thud and Tressalyn felt her body flinch as though hit. Squaring her shoulders, she walked to the table and set the now heavy platter on the polished surface but took no seat herself, waiting for a word from her Prince. The room was so still Tressalyn turned to see if the heir had remained in the chamber and found him standing by the door, as though expecting a speedy departure. Yet when the girl made no motion to leave, his lips curled ever so slightly in distaste and he moved into another chamber, his steps heavy with resignation.

Hesitant to follow him without his bidding, Tressalyn remained standing in the anteroom, one hand still resting upon the plate of food.

"Did you come for a purpose or were you simply relieving my servants for the day?" His voice was hard and had a sharp bite to it. It was intended to drive her away but instead it drew her into the room to face the man behind the words.

The chamber smelled of leather and metal and when Tressalyn raised her eyes to the walls, she discovered why. Weapons of all constructions and purposes adorned the walls, from blades to lances to war axes to even more violent seeming weapons that made the girl shudder to imagine them in use. Sharp edges fairly glinted in the afternoon sun's light and gave the room a threatening air.

Letting her eyes fall to the man before her, Tressalyn could see suppressed expectation behind his darkened gaze. So, his choice of room was no accident. He meant for her to feel unsure and unbalanced in this meeting, thinking this show of masculine power would accomplish his wish. Tressalyn swallowed the bitter laugh that rose in her throat, thinking back to the beatings she had suffered at the hands of her uncle and knowing that this passive attack could touch her not.

With studied apathy, Tressalyn said, "You have quite a collection. I'm sure it could only be bettered by a devoted historian... Or assassin," she added after a careful pause. Without waiting further for his invitation to sit, knowing one would never come, the girl-Queen looked about the room and chose a wide chair that fell dramatically within a broad ray of sunlight. When she sat, her legs tucked tightly beneath her, the natural illumination lit up her silvered skin and picked up the lighter highlights in her hair, creating a beautiful young goddess set for a short time on mortal earth.

Tressalyn's droll response to the Prince's obviously prized collection did nothing to sooth his ruffled spirit. With narrowed eyes, he sat deeper in his chair, fingers digging dangerously into the plush arms of the seat. A muscle ticked in his jaw where Tressalyn was sure he was grinding his teeth. Allowing herself a little pleasure in gaining the upper hand, the girl consciously backed down, deciding it was time to smooth her Prince's prickly psyche.

"How long have you been collecting?" she inquired, sincerity warming her voice.

The Prince did not answer immediately, as though mapping her question and its intent, searching for hidden barbs. Finding none, he replied tersely, "Six summers. My first was gifted to me by my grandsire for my first hunt." He jerked his head to the right, gesturing to over the hearth. "That boar spear has been in my family for five generations and now it is mine."

She ran her eyes over the aged weapon and was able to appreciate its craftmanship even without familiarity of such things. "It's very beautiful," she commented.

His only response was a quick nod of his head. After a moment of silence he said, "I find it hard to believe you came to appreciate my chambers nor that you came to relax in my company. If you don't mind my asking, does this visit have a purpose?" His tone was still clipped but at least he was no longer honing his comments to a cutting edge.

Tressalyn resisted the urge to lick her lips, focusing her attention instead on smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her breeches. The Prince did not trespass the silence and so it stretched forth until the Queen was able to get her words just right.

"I fear that perhaps I have been overly hasty in my decision regarding my uncle." She noted that the Prince's expression did not change. So he was not going to give her any handhold on his thoughts. So be it. "After thinking through the arguments presented me by you, it is clear that he must not remain unpunished and that you are indeed as qualified by any to apprehend him and bring him to justice." Finally she saw just the faintest tightening of his lips, though whether it heralded a smile or a scowl was unclear.

When Tressalyn showed no indication of speaking again, the Prince's impatience got the better of him. "And? Does this mean you have rescinded your command?"

Pausing ever so briefly, Tressalyn nodded. "Yes. I give you my permission to apprehend my uncle." She dropped her regal mask to flash a smile his direction, hoping it would strike the final blow to his distant attitude towards her.

As though expecting some trick on Tressalyn's part, the Prince did not react for a few breaths, waiting for her to amend her consent. Yet when she sent her smile his way he knew he had won her over to his side. His frozen expression melting like winter's last snow beneath the spring sun, he pushed himself from his chair and knelt at the foot of Tressalyn's chair. In gallant thanks, he took both her hands and lightly kissed her palms.

"My Prince, it is no longer just your life that I fear for though. Now I find mine own head placed on the chopping block and to think of you leaving me, unable to protect myself, I know I shall not be able to rest ere you return. Unless-" Shyly, as though expecting reprimand, she looked down at her hands and glanced coyly at her Prince through lowered lashes.

"Unless? What could I do to ensure my Queen's safety? At your command you have two devoted mercenaries, a nearly full-grown chat'ka, and every royal guard. I," The Prince swallowed. "I could not even protect my Queen in her own bed chambers. Would that I were there but that I could have protected her."

"I've not a doubt of that, my lord Prince, but had I known the sword or even the dagger, I may not have been at the mercy of one who did." Again that lowered look. "How could I be at the mercy of any malicious follower with the Prince's own knowledge guiding my hands?"

"But Tressy, Tressa would be more than willing to pass on to you her sword lore. And Lipen too. Why need you me?"

"My modest Prince," Tressalyn murmured as she ran two fingers along his jaw. "You are the best. Who but the best should teach the Queen? Did not your father teach his lady Queen?"

The Prince's brow drew together, not appreciating the challenge to his honor and ability. But he also couldn't help but wonder where Tressalyn had learned that about his parents. Tressalyn could see the question in his eyes and kept her proud smile to herself. Did he think her completely ignorant? She had made use of the extensive library filling one of her chambers and found the personal journals of her predecessor. It was there she had learned who the Prince's mother truly was - the woman behind the crown, behind the Mark. The woman who knew through a gods-sent gift what would befall her if she bore the Prince and yet gave him life anyway. She had grown to respect this spirit sister though she had known her not.

"Yes, my father king did teach my lady mother the ways of the sword." His jaw clenched and a look of resignation made heavy his face. "He trusted this responsibility not upon else but his own shoulders," he finished in a whisper. Then he smiled. "I would be honored to pass my teachings on to you when I re-"

"Oh wonderful!" Tressalyn interrupted. "I will be able to sleep much easier knowing that even while you are away, your knowledge is still with me." She was hard pressed to maintain the naively innocent expression on her face as the realization of what happened dawned in the Prince's eyes. And it was clear he did not appreciate her manipulations.

"You push me too often, my Queen," he growled. "But you shall get what you ask for and think not that your training shall be any easier than the basest of recruits for your position."

Tressalyn's chin rose firmly, pride making her eyes blaze. "I would be insulted with less!" She arched a brow in silent challenge.

The Prince pursed his lips. "Yes, I suppose you would, now, wouldn't you?" Then his face creased in a rueful grin as he shook his head. "Who would believe that you were once little more than a slave? Certainly not I, not now." His eyes narrowed speculatively. "Do you suppose that is a trait common among your kind? That wisdom you seem to hold that belies your youth? Father says Mother was like that, often advising him in such a way as to make it seem she were of a sage's ilk and not a young woman." He looked up at her then, a twinkle lighting his eyes. "Do you know all, my Queen? Or are there yet lessonings to master?"

Feeling her cheeks darken with innocent's blush, Tressalyn struggled to keep her voice light and calm. "My Prince gives me credit beyond my due. I am yet an inexperienced girl, praying she stumbles correctly so as not to betray her ignorance."

The Prince arched a brow in feigned disbelief. "I believe it not. You dance the courtier's game with words and walk the Queen's path with natural grace. You would have us all think you were naught but a country maid but I will not be victim to this facade, Tressalyn."

"I... You... Oh!" Tressalyn's mere sixteen years chose this moment to command her tongue. At a complete loss and very unnerved by the Prince's heated gaze, Tressalyn abruptly stood, knocking the Prince off balance and setting him on his backside. More out of surprise than true pain, the Prince yelped, his eyes growing wide.

With the awkward atmosphere broken, Tressalyn felt control coming back and she stood over her Prince, arms akimbo. "You are a beast, sir Prince," she said carefully and stalked from the room, her head high and step firm. Bet a Queen wouldn't have done that!, she thought with fierce satisfaction.

A few night's later, Tressalyn decided it was time she learn what a Queen's responsibilities really were. Unlike her Sisters, she had had no formal training. Why this was, she had yet to learn; that was only one of the mysteries Crysalyn had had no explanation for. Another was how she had come to live with the man and woman she had come to know as her parents. All Crysalyn could tell her was that her true parents and she had left their kingdom in the far north for some reason and never arrived at their destination; her parent's bodies nor the Queen's chat'ka had ever been found. This was a hole in her past that she never hoped to fill, for who could she possibly ask?

Then an idea began to form and she called to her chat'ka.

Zenora? Tressalyn had discovered that if she sent her thought a certain way, she could 'speak' to her chat'ka in words in place of the vague feelings they'd communicated in before.

Rider? From the sleepy overtones, Tressalyn could tell she'd awakened Zenora from a light sleep.

Sorry, sweetling but I wanted to know something. The girl-Queen paused to collect her thoughts before continuing. Do you know how I came to be separated from my kin?

Disappointment weighed down Zenora's thoughts. Sister, I fear I cannot. You see, we are born at the same time as our Riders, born for each other. The only reason I was not with you when you left with your blood kin was I was still too young to leave my own mother.

Tressalyn felt the small flame of hope she had nourished die, leaving only the ashes in her spirit. Is there no one who could tell me of my past? she cried in mental anguish.

Zenora's thoughts enveloped the girl's mind with sympathy and shared pain. For she, too, had grown in conditions unfitting her station. When she should have been with her Rider, learning at Silver Wing with the other Winged Ones, instead she had been searching for the one thing that would make her life complete. The chat'ka had spent her entire youth trying to find the girl who was born to be her companion and sister-in-spirit, only to be captured upon finding her and suffering innumerable hurts at the hands of her captor. Yes, the chat'ka, too, knew the pain of a past lost.

Tressalyn returned the love and wordlessly sent her friend back to the sleep she had disturbed. With a deep sigh, she turned back to the books strewn about the table before her. Books on the Marked Ones, books delineating royal conduct and a Queen's duties, books on the land and its people, books, books, and more books! Overwhelmed, she covered her face in her hands and tried to pretend she was just a simple hold slave again.

"Whyfor the heavy shoulders, my Queen?"

Startled, Tressalyn sat up and in her surprise, she clipped both elbows sharply on the edge of the table. "Ow!" she exclaimed, tears springing to her eyes before she could stop them. Blinking furiously, she rubbed the soon-to-be bruises and glared at the Prince.

He just grinned wolfishly and sat down across from her. "Could I say that we're even?"

At the reminder of their earlier encounter, Tressalyn glanced down, her cheeks burning once again. "If you must---"

"Well, if you would like I could say that you are still in my debt-" Tressalyn gave one savage shake of her head. "But I thought not." His grin grew broader while Tressalyn's face threatened to crumple once more into tears.

"Come now, dear one, I meant not to bring pain, physical or other, upon you. What has you in such a state?" His genuine concern triggered something in her and weakly restrained tears spilled over her lids. In a breath the Prince was at her side, cradling her head against his chest, one hand running soothingly over her hair. When her frustration had run its course, he used a corner of his tunic to wipe the tears from her face and smoothed her hair back from her forehead.

"Better?" At her hesitant nod, his eyes clouded. "Is it something I might be able to aid you in?"

Tressalyn almost said no but his face held such care she could not turn it away. After the briefest of hesitations, she found her fears and frustrations, confusions and doubts pouring forth from her treacherous throat. Her voice grew more ragged as tears once more shone in her eyes and when she finally found herself devoid of words, her chest was heaving as though she had just run a race.

Through her venting, the Prince had continued to kneel at her side, one hand resting lightly upon her knee while the other worked gentle fingers through her hair. Tressalyn looked now upon his face, thinking to find disgust or pity or shame in his eyes for her frazzled state but when his brown met her red-rimmed green she found only understanding.

In a voice small with fear, she asked, "Do you think me weak? To cry like a babe at what cannot be changed?" Her tone said he surely must but her gaze stayed fixed to his, wanting - needing - to glean the truth.

His half hearted smile caught her off guard. "Weak, my Queen? I've heard my father in his chambers many a night cursing his fate and, yes, ofttimes his curses are punctuated with tears. If you were to query your loyal maids, they would assure you my lady-mother was no different." His eyes softened with compassion. "Ruling is not what they claim it to be, Tressy. Aye, there is the power, but you are often as not chained by it as freed by it. This is what so many do not understand, those who play for such power..." The Prince turned his face away, but not before Tressalyn saw his eyes cloud with his own fears.

The girl-Queen swallowed down the tears still in her throat and, with a trembling hand brought the Prince's cheek against her own, pressing her tear-damp one to his warmth. She felt the muscle tighten beneath her skin and pulled back to find his lips curled in a sad smile.

"So easy to forget your few years, my little Queen," he murmured, his lips barely moving enough to form the words. His eyes roved over her face, lingering over her lips. "Only sixteen and already bent to the crown. Most Riders are still at Silver Wing right now, barely learning the reason for the trade much less how to ply it. And here you are, first time to the heart of Lyndrahan and finding yourself its beat and blood."

Their faces were so close, each's heat melding with the other. The distance was quickly remedied as the Prince leaned forward ever so slightly to lay a soft kiss on Tressalyn's tear-salted lips. She tensed for the briefest moment before leaning forward herself, tasting her tears on his lips. They parted, he sitting back on his heels, she still leaning forward, eyes half-lidded. When she fully opened her eyes, the green glowed with unrivaled fury, the emotion behind them, a tempest.

Reading the look for what it was, the Prince took a breath. And then another. She was still upset and did not realize what she was asking.

"My Queen, perhaps a walk in the fresh night air will soothe your spirits. Join me?" He rose slowly to his feet, easing knees frozen from kneeling. Ignoring the thoroughly confused look quickly replacing the heat in Tressalyn's eyes, he lifted more than guided her from her seat and with an arm looped around her waist, led her through the ravaged glass doors into the night.

It was cool without being cold but even still the young Queen shivered lightly upon meeting the evening air with bare arms. Bidding her to stay where she was, the Prince quickly brought her cloak from her chambers, draping it around her shoulders with the utmost care. They slowly walked the perimeter of her small private field, the night's shapes becoming clearer to their eyes as the moments passed. Here a baybush, there the red-faced anthas. To the right the chirping of the ever-present but never seen moonbards, little creatures who played their songs long into the night, serenading any who would listen in the dark side of the day. And to the left... it took a breath for the Prince to realize what the hulking light hill positioned near the edge of the pond was. Then Zenora lifted her head and her eyes shone through the darkness, silvery orbs against a velvety plane. He saw her blink once and then pull her head back under her wing after seeing all was well.

Looking down at the slight young woman at his side, he followed her adoring gaze back to the chat'ka, where it seemed as though the silvered creature glowed a bit brighter than before. The love between the rider and chat'ka was nearly a palpable force, yet when he looked back to her face, it was shadowed and by more than the moonless heavens.

"Would you let me hear your thoughts, my Tressy? Heart-pain shared is that much less you needs suffer."

Tressalyn let her eyes rest upon her soul's companion a moment longer before turning them to the man at her side. She drew a quivering breath. "I don't see how I could possibly learn all I need to in the time I have. I hadn't half a notion how expansive this kingdom was! From the Gelthen Sea to the Lithyan range and from Eponit to southern Neso..." She shook her head in wonderment. "How can any one person - or even two," she quickly added in concession to her Prince, "hope to care for such expanse. Why, I read that among Lyndrahan's people twenty different deities are followed and prayed to. My Prince, I know only of Metrah and Lichfyr, she the bearer of life and he of death and darkness. How can I rule those I don't even understand?" She was quickly becoming distraught again and before she could work herself into another panic, the Prince brought his hand up to her hair, once again trying to smooth away her fears even as his fingers smoothed the soft strands.

Feeling the unbalance in herself, Tressalyn paused to take a deep breath, holding it until she could no longer, and trying to let her worries leave her when she exhaled. When she felt calm again, if not content, she continued.

"There are laws I never knew existed, lands I'd never learned of, expectations I was not raised to meet. I have a chat'ka who knows no more than myself, though by no fault of her own and a position I haven't the faintest idea of how to fill." Again she shook her head, a few auburn locks slipping into her eyes. Shaking the hair out of her eyes, she went on. "I should have learned all of this at Silver Wing, should be there even now. I have these powers and not a hint of how to use them or even what they are! And as if all of that were not enough, I have no way of ever finding out where I come from." Her voice cracked over the last and her carefully wrought composure cracked just enough for her eyes to fill again with tears.

The Prince had heard her out in silence and was silent still, trying to think of how to calm his Queen. Finally, he said, "I know not why you worry of time so. For twenty years we have gone without a Queen, and not to be thought that we don't need you now, but should you want time to go to Silver Wing and take up your studies, the throne will still be here when you return. Once a Queen, always a Queen. "

"It's not that easy, love. Winged Ones enter schooling there once they reach their sixth summer. They remain until their twentieth when they are deemed knowledgeable enough to run a country. Even should I leave tomorrow, I would not return until nearly my thirty-second summer... I could not leave you to this on your own for so long."

"Tressy, in case you forgot, my father King has ruled for twenty years without a Queen. You think I would begrudge you fifteen?"

A bemused smile lit her eyes. "And a king he was for twice that many years before it. Besides, there are... other reasons for not wanting to stay absent for so long." She felt her cheeks warm with her blushing and silently thanked the night for its censure. The Prince's faint confusion was clear even without seeing his face but when Tressalyn made no move to clarify her cryptic comment, he gave a slight shrug and let it go.

"Perhaps, then, if you cannot go to Silver Wing, Silver Wing can come to you," he said slowly, thinking outloud. "Would they not send someone to tutor you, perhaps?"

Furrowing her brows, the young woman tried to think of an objection. "Why would they send me one of their own? Why, when she would surely be needed by many more than one back at Silver Wing? I can't see them sending private instructors out to every Winged One who might need one."

"But you told me yourself, all Winged Ones are sent there at their fifth summer, so they would need private tutors not. You are a rather special case, I would think. I can't imagine many First Born escape the eye of Silver Wing's council, if any. You were only lost because of misfortune." He shrugged again. "It was just a thought but I don't believe that it could hurt to ask."

Slowly shaking her head, she said, "No, no, I guess it wouldn't. Although, how I would love to see Silver Wing. Zenora has said it's magnificent, built upon a wide table-top of land, fields to the east, forest to the south..." Her voice trailed off as visions of her once-destiny danced before her mind's eye.

"And why can't you? Silver Wing is just a little over two eight-days from here but a-back Zenora you could surely make it in fraction of that. And what better way to inquire after instruction than with your own voice?"

Her voice was wistful and almost childlike in its undisguised hope. "Do you really think so? Perhaps... Maybe..." Her breath caught but the Prince didn't let her stop.

"Maybe what, Tressy?"

"Maybe they'll know who my real parents were and what happened to us..."

"Zenora doesn't know?"

She shook her head and then realized he might not have seen it for the dark of night. "No, I already asked her of it. The chat'ka's are born even as their riders are and so know no more than we do, really. She would have been with us that day had she been ready to leave her mother. I don't know yet whether it was curse or blessing she was absent."

The Prince paused before speaking, not sure how his young Queen would take the next. "Tressy, I guess I don't understand why it means so much. Didn't you love your parents?" At Tressalyn's vehement nod he continued. "Then does it really matter? You loved them and to you they were your parents. What else is there?"

How could he possibly understand?, she thought. There's never been a question as to who he is or where he comes from. His history is as public as the sun and as well known. He could never understand...

"I can't explain it. It's a feeling; I just need to know. I want to know. It's no slight against my parents - for those who raised me those five years were my parents in heart if not in blood - but a part of myself that is still missing. It was the one thing Crysalyn could not impart, nor Zenora's shared memories and the one thing I still hunger for. I have to know why they were taken from me!"

Pursing his lips, the Prince turned his head away, resting his gaze upon the shifting surface of the lake. Silence descended as the hidden moonbard took a moment's respite a silence only broken by the couple's footsteps through the evening-moist grass. With the silence, the Prince's mind took him back many years.

*~*in progress*~*

*~*last update 3/5/01*~*

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