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at the lower price all without breaking stride. *I'm curious about why the Bardic Captain herself came down to meet us.*
    Vree glanced up at the stone towers of the Citadel rising from the center of Elbasan like a crown. Although the steepness of the hill made an estimate difficult, it looked like they had some distance to cover and, with the captain's age slowing them down, they were going to take a while to cover it. *Seems like we'll have plenty of time to find out.*
    *Remember you've got to…*
    *… make a good impression with the bards.* She sighed. *I know. But I can't be something I'm not.*
    *Be yourself.*
    *Yeah. Right.*
    The bitterness took him by surprise.
    The noise of the market became a background growl as the two women turned onto a narrow avenue and started the long climb up the hill.
    "Cotton Street," Liene explained, following Vree's gaze to where thick skeins of thread dyed all the colors of the rainbow hung twisting in the breeze between the open shutters of a shopfront. "Use to be West Wharf Street, but about fifteen years ago every-one started calling it Cotton Street and about five years ago the city council finally changed it. They buy bales of the stuff raw off the ships from the South, spin it, dye it, weave it, and sell it all around here. Don't sell a lot of it, mind, as the price is one unenclosed amount higher than the linen coming locally out of Vidor. The cloth doesn't last as long either." Then her voice changed, and it suddenly became impossible not to pay attention to what she had to say. "Lower Dock Street, then Hill Street to the Citadel would've been more direct, but at this time of day there'd be people all around and we need to talk without being interrupted. What do you want from us, Vree?"
    "Karlene…" Vree began defensively.
    The Bardic Captain shook her head. "No. I've heard her version, now I want yours."
    "Gyhard…"
    "Forget Gyhard," the older woman commanded. "Or if you can't forget him, disregard him for the moment. What do you want from us?"
    I want everything to be like it was before . Except she didn't. Not really. Or she'd have let Gyhard disappear into oblivion.
    "I want Gyhard to have a body for his own." Ignoring Gyhard's soft, *Of his own,* Vree clutched the hilt of her dagger with her left hand, fingers opening and closing convulsively, and added, "But no one can die for it."
    "Why not?"
    She saw the face of Edite i'Oceania, a crimson line of death across her throat; Commander Neegan's face, her father's face, finding his only possible peace as her blade found his heart; Avor's face, a friend's face, as he realized he was going to die; too many faces to remember the names or the reasons. Her own face, reflected in a polished shield.
    *What do you think you're going to see?*
    *Who I am.*
    *Who I am…*
    "Vree?"
    She blinked and realized that she'd stopped walking. The captain had moved a few paces ahead, had turned, and was watching her. She couldn't read the expression on the older woman's face and had no better idea of the expression on her own. Her arms were folded tightly over her stomach, as though she'd been slashed in the belly and had to hold in her guts. Slowly, she released the white-knuckled embrace she had on each elbow and held out her hands. "There has been enough death. I don't want to see death when I look at him."
    To her surprise, the Bardic Captain took a step forward and enclosed her fingers in a gentle grip. Vree found herself looking into a dark gaze that reached past all the years of blood and all the training that had come before to find a seven-year-old who was suddenly no longer a child. It hurt more than any wound she'd ever taken. Somehow, she found the strength to drag her eyes away.
    Liene released the girl's icy fingers and began walking toward the Citadel once again, her only outward reaction to the pain she'd seen a spasming of the hand that held her cane. Never good with emotions unconfined by chord and chorus, this was far more than