"Thank you, then, for your time," Leoff said.

The leic left in a fuss of relief, and Leoff reentered the house. Mery still was sitting where he had left her.

"I'm sorry if I frighten you," the girl said in a small voice.

"Do you know what happened to you, Mery?" he asked.

She nodded. "I was at the well. I thought I might see my mother again, but I didn't. There was an angel there instead."

"An angel." It was an old word, one that people didn't hear much outside of Virgenya. It was a sort of keeper of the dead, a servant of Saint Dun or Under.

"Mery, what did it look like?

"I didn't see anything. I felt him all around me, though, and he talked to me. He told me I was on my way over anyway, that if I crossed to where the singing was, I could hear it better and even sing with them. He said I would be able to help you better, too."

"Help me?"

"Write your music. To heal the law of death."

"And then?"

"It hurt at first, when I first breathed in, but then it was all right. And then I went to sleep and woke up in my room."

That she spoke so matter-of-factly about the whole thing was the most awful part, the thing that was hardest for him to accept.

Was she like Robert, then? But the queen said that Robert had no heartbeat, that when stabbed he didn't bleed. How many varieties of the walking dead were there?

But the leic had said that Mery wasn't dead. She just wasn't fully alive, whatever that meant.

He was a composer. All he had wanted to do was write music, hear it played, live a decent life. His hiring by the court at Eslen had been a proud moment, the opportunity of a lifetime. But he had walked straight into a Black Mary of terror and death, and now this. Why had the saints put this on him?

But then Areana laid her hand on his, saying nothing, and he remembered that if he hadn't come to Eslen, he wouldn't have met her. And although he had written the most hideous thing of his life, he also had written the most sublime.

And he had befriended Mery and come to love her. Mending the law of death was an awfully big thing, too big for him to comprehend. The angel-whether it was real or Mery's own genius coming out again-knew that. The saints had given him something smaller to do, something real to him. They had suggested a way to save Mery or at least to make a start at it.

"Mery," he said. "Go find your thaurnharp. You and I are going to play."

And for the first time in a long while, she smiled at him.

CHAPTER THREE

ANNE STOOD on the battlements, gazing across the Great Canal down on the fires of the enemy camps. They went to the horizon, it seemed, a bloody mirror of the clear, starry sky above.

The wind had a lot of autumn in it. The unseasonably long summer had relinquished its hold on the world in a nineday, and now winter was looking for a home.

Winter that might freeze flooded poelen and let armies walk across them. Had the Hellrune foreseen an early hard freeze? Was that what the Hansans were waiting for?

She had been out of bed in a nineday; the wound was completely healed, and she was feeling fine. For another ten days she had been watching the army growing below her. Artwair had it numbered at fifty thousand, with more marching from the north every day.

Her own forces were swelling, too, as the landwaerden sent her the cream of their men and the knights from the Midenlands arrived.

A glance around showed her she was alone.

I shouldn't feel bad about this, she thought. They'll only kill my men, invade my kingdom. And I need the practice.

Still, it felt odd. It was one thing when someone had a lance pointed at you; it was another- No, she thought. No, it isn't. It's the same.

So she reached through the night and spread her senses out, feeling the flow of the twin rivers and the terrible beauty of the moon, concentrating, breathing deeply, holding herself together as the poles of the world sought to pull her apart and past and future melted into a single unmoving moment.

Then she was done, her heart faltering in her chest. She was drenched in sweat despite the chill in the air.

"There," she whispered. "Only forty-nine thousand of you now. Did you foresee that, Hellrune?"

Then she went down to her chambers and had Emily fetch her some wine.

Duke Artwair spread butter and soft cheese on a slab of brown bread and took a healthy bite of it. Anne dolloped clotted cream on a spongy slice of sweet mulklaif and nibbled at it. With the morning sun peeking in through the eastern window and a pleasant coolness in the air, Anne was enjoying breakfast for the first time in a long while.

"Your Majesty looks well," Artwair commented. "You must have slept better last night."

"I slept all night," she said. "I can't remember the last time that happened."

"And the nightmares?"

"None."

He nodded. "I'm glad to hear that."

"Thank you for your concern," she replied.

She tried one of the rather large blackberries on her plate and was surprised at the tart, sweet flavor. Had it been so long since she had had a blackberry?

"Something happened in the Hansan camp last night," Artwair said.

She thought it rather abrupt. "I'm sure a great many somethings happened," she said.

"A particular something happened to a great many people," Artwair said. "About a thousand men died."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?"

"Your Majesty-" He stopped and looked uncomfortable.

Anne reached for another berry. "If you had a siege engine that could reach them across the Dew, would you use it? Would you be bombarding them even now?"

"Yes."

"Well, then," she said, and popped the fruit in her mouth.

His frown was small but obvious. "Why not just kill them all in their sleep, then?"

"I can't yet. It takes too much out of me. But I think I can kill another thousand tonight. I'll try for more, in fact."

"Majesty, the Hansans claim their cause is a holy one and say you are a shinecrafter and all manner of things. This sort of thing only gives that weight."

"My power comes from the saints," Anne said. "That is why the Church fears me, and that is why they spread these lies about me. Was Virgenya Dare a shinecrafter? She was not, and neither am I. My people know that. The Hansans choose not to believe it, but so what? They made this war long before they had me as an excuse, and you know that as well as anyone else."

"I do, but it's our allies I'm thinking of."

"Allies? You mean Virgenya. Everyone else is pretty much off the fence by now, I think."

He tilted his head in agreement.

"You're a warrior, Artwair. Killing for you comes from a sword or spear. It seems natural to you. What I do does not, and that bothers you. But the dead, in the end, are still dead. Do you think I want to kill anyone? I hate the idea. But I don't intend to lose this war. Hansa may have started off with the upper hand, but that's not going to last. If a thousand or more of them die every day before the first arrow of this siege is even loosed, how long will they remain squatting on our property?"

"It may incite them to attack sooner."

"Before they're ready."

"Madame, they are ready."

"No. They have a flotilla coming down the Warlock. It's about three days away. Forty barges, maybe ten thousand men, and a lot of supplies. They will disembark at Bloen and cut us off from Eslen. Or at least that is their plan."

"Why didn't you tell me this?"

"I just saw it this morning."

"I thought you said you didn't dream last night."

"I didn't," Anne said. "I don't dream my visions anymore. I'm in better control of them."

"So, then these new forces played no role in your decision to exterminate a thousand men."