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understand each other.”
    “I think I understand you.”
    “What is that supposed to mean?”
    “We speak the same language. I mean exactly what I said.”
    She met his stony, topaz gaze, irritated at the flush creeping up her cheeks. He was Svistra, for the Trickster’s sake. A child killer. Then why did you rescue and nurse him back to health? Anger replaced the shame. That was it. Why had she? Through her mind flashed the glimpse of gentleness she’d seen in the Svistra’s eyes. Gentle? Like a Svistra worried about a momma cat?
    “Oren. We’re done here. It’s time to lock up.” She turned and left the barn.
     
    Standing inside the flap of his tent, Keldar waited for the horse carrying the human messenger to enter the camp. The acrid stench of fear assailed his nostrils even before the man slumped from his mount and walked slowly toward him, a sealed missive in his outstretched hand. Keldar stepped into the sunlight, knowing he looked impressive in his full body armor. The smaller human seemed to shrink further.
    “A message?” Keldar held out his hand just short of the letter. A brief surge of nerves twisted his stomach. What if the king didn’t cooperate? He fought it down.
    “Yes, your…um, er, Commander.” The man must have realized he’d have to take a step closer to Keldar to deliver the message because he visibly swallowed before approaching. His hand shook so badly, he almost dropped the letter before Keldar snatched it away.
    Curiosity won out over irritation. He would let the human’s clumsiness go unpunished in the spirit of cooperation. Of course, he could reconsider his decision depending on what the message contained.
    He waved his hand to two of his men. “Make sure the king’s messenger is fed and rested before he returns.”
    The messenger trundled off between the two taller Svistra, looking more like he was on his way to the gallows instead of a tent filled with food and wine.
    Stepping back into his tent, Keldar broke the seal and read the words with growing exaltation.
    After the usual greetings, consolation for the loss of his father and assurances that the treaty would continue, King Josiam of Darmis conceded that a meeting was necessary to renew the bonds of friendship. Friendship? Keldar snorted. He felt nothing but contempt for the southern king who would so easily turn on his brethren. Traitors deserved to die the seven deaths in every layer of hell. But he would use this man to his advantage, just as Tinlor had.
    A moment of regret soured his thoughts. Keldar had admired his father and longed for his acceptance all his life. Tinlor’s one great weakness, his love for his traitorous elder-born son, had been his downfall.
    Even after Jaden abandoned them again, Keldar knew Tinlor would take him back without hesitation. That’s why Keldar ordered his men to track Jaden and kill him. Obviously, they’d failed. How the attention and patience Tinlor had shown Jaden had chafed. His elder half-brother excelled in the fighting arts—so, what of it? He’d had the best tutors and the best weapons. He had been forced to practice with those things Jaden had outgrown or no longer wanted. But when it came down to it, Jaden had refused to lead an army against the humans. Not once, but twice. He’d betrayed the hope and love Tinlor had showered upon him for years.
    Keldar unsheathed his sword and held it to the light, the day his father bestowed it upon him with the title of second so vivid in his memory. He also remembered the sadness in Tinlor’s eyes and the bitter gall in his own throat, knowing he was not the one his father had wished to name. Second choice.
    The image in his mind’s eye changed from his naming day to the evening he’d discovered Tinlor wounded and raving about Jaden. He shut the image out. Tinlor had grown sentimental in his old age. He was no longer effectual. No one but Keldar’s closest men knew he had sped Tinlor into the land beyond the sun. Of course, a