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indeed for the state of her heart.

    Miach walked along with his brother, dressed very simply in unremarkable black, his crownless head still bowed and his hands still clasped behind his back. Only a fool, though, would have mistaken him for a common man. Even she could sense his power.

    “Something wrong?” he asked, dropping back suddenly to walk next to her.

    She had assumed that there would come a time where she would look at him and no longer be surprised by the flawless perfection of his face, but perhaps that was a vain hope. It certainly wasn’t going to be possible today. “I’m not sure where to begin in answering that,” she managed.

    “Were you thinking kind thoughts about me?” he asked politely.

    “I might be, but since I’m to be a bit short on conversation today, you’ll never know.”

    He smiled, then reached out and tugged her hood up closer around her face. “ ’Tis best you not tell me, I imagine, lest I blush. I will tell you, though, that you’re far too lovely for anyone to believe you’re a mere serving lad. You should keep your face covered, if you can.”

    “I’ll try.” She took a deep breath. “Aren’t you anxious about this?”

    He shrugged negligently. “For all they know, I’ve just come to town and am making a social call with my brother, my newly made allies the king of Tòrr Dòrainn and his son, and, of course, my obeisant servant.”

    She looked at him narrowly. “I wouldn’t enjoy this overmuch, were I you.”

    “Oh, I fully intend to,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I imagine it may be the only time in our lives that you’re this deferential.”

    What she imagined wasn’t worth saying. She scowled at him and had a laugh for her trouble. “I think you shouldn’t accustom yourself to my deference. I also think we’re daft to go back inside these gates. Aren’t you worried about Droch?”

    “He might think he knows quite a few things, but he’ll have a difficult time proving any of them. All will be well.”

    “Are you trying to reassure me, my lord Archmage, or yourself?”

    He smiled. “You know, you’re awfully cheeky for being the mute servant of a powerful mage.”

    “As if you would know how such a servant should behave,” she said with a snort.

    “I could learn, if you were that lass—”

    “Oh, for pity’s sake, Miach,” Turah said with an exasperated laugh, “cease with that. You’re being watched from the battlements, which I’m sure you know.” He shot Morgan a brief look. “I apologize in advance, Morgan, for the way I’m going to treat you. And so does my brother. You can take him to task later. I’ll keep him from escaping the field in fear as you do so.” He dropped back and slung an arm around Miach’s shoulders. “Come, brother, and leave the wench to her meditation on that happy confrontation.”

    Morgan slowed enough to allow them to walk on in front of her. Miach didn’t look at her again, but he gave her a brief wave from behind his back. She sighed, bowed her head, and gave herself over to the contemplation of his freshly shined black boots. He might not have been nervous, but she most certainly was. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d gone back inside a keep she’d recently escaped from, but it was certainly the first time magic had been involved.

    She slipped her hands into her sleeves and fingered the reassuring chill of steel.

    Her second entry into Buidseachd was, unsurprisingly, no less unpleasant than her first. Though her magic was dulled and her senses should have been as well, she still felt suffocated the moment she walked under the barbican gate. She clasped her hands together and concentrated on breathing as she walked into the main courtyard.

    From the look of things, this wasn’t going to be a discreet, unobtrusive visit. There was an entire gaggle of wizards there to greet them, all dressed in their finest robes, all wearing very tall, pointed hats and attempting to