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arrival might bring to her orderly way of life. Kayl stared at the kitchen wall for a long moment, appalled. When she had begun to cling to the somewhat dubious security of life as an innkeeper in a small Mindaran village? She had wanted more, Kevran had wanted more, once. And how had she not noticed what was happening to her?
    Her mind ran quickly through her years here, pointing out the little changes in attitude that had summed to such a terribly unwelcome total. The difficulty of being accepted by the villagers when they first arrived; the comfort of having a place that was theirs; working side by side with the villagers the time the river had threatened to flood; Dara’s birth, and the nameless child who had died, and Mark; Kevran’s death of the summer sickness; the struggle to be both mother and father to two small children; the growing acceptance by the village in the wake of Kevran’s death; the wanderers who didn’t pay their bills or tried to intimidate her into lowering her prices; the rising taxes Islorran demanded. So many things, and so small.
    And there was nothing she could do about it now. She was what she was; the years had shaped her as surely as a smith shaped steel.
    The rear door banged. Kayl snatched up a cleaver and an onion, and began to chop. Mark knew that her eyes always watered when she chopped onions; even if he noticed, he would not ask his mother why she was crying over the kitchen pots.

CHAPTER
TWO
    T HE EVENING MEAL WAS normally the busiest time of day at Kayl’s inn, and this evening was even busier than usual. Far from frightening Kayl’s customers away, Corrana’s dramatic arrival was a magnet. Nearly everyone in Copeham had found some excuse to stop in, and, once in, they stayed.
    Just as the sun was setting, Corrana descended the stairs at last. She had changed her loose black robe for a clinging one of deep forest green. Her dark hair hung loose around her shoulders, hiding whatever clasp held the sweep of the robe’s neckline. She had put off her rings, and Kayl saw no sign of the silver skull necklace. She seemed to float down the stairs, oblivious to the sudden silence below.
    Kayl greeted her appearance with a relieved sigh. Perhaps now some of the merely curious would leave, and she would have a chance to relax a little. She moved forward, no faster or slower than she would have gone to greet any other guest. “My lady,” she said, inclining her head slightly.
    Corrana’s lips curved. “Greetings, innkeeper.” There was the briefest hesitation between the two words, just long enough for Kayl to take note of it. Her eyes were fixed on Kayl, as if no one else in the room was of any importance. Kayl nodded again, with as much respect as she could muster, and turned to lead the way between the tables.
    The villagers drew back almost imperceptibly as the two women came among them. Kayl caught the eyes of Holum, the metal worker, and quirked a corner of her mouth at him. Holum’s eyes narrowed; then, reluctantly, he smiled back and hoisted his beer mug. The movement, small as it was, broke the atmosphere of tension. A murmur went through the crowd, and then the hum of conversation rose once more. Kayl felt some of the tightness leave the muscles in her shoulders and back.
    She reached the head of one of the long tables and arranged a place for Corrana, close enough to the window to have the benefit of the night breeze. The woman seated herself gracefully as though unaware of the fascinated eyes of the villagers. Kayl signaled Mark. “A bowl of the stew,” she told him.
    “You’re sure you want her to have that?” Mark said.
    “Why not?”
    “It has too many onions in it.”
    “You think stew has too many onions in it if I wave one at the pot while it’s cooking,” Kayl said without irritation. “Go along and get it.”
    Mark shrugged and left, threading his way rapidly among the benches and tables. Kayl turned back to find Corrana watching her with speculative