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undersized, his face pale and very serious.
    As Carolin watched, Varzil’s features shifted into those of an older boy, then to a mature man. He was still slender, but held himself with a quiet confidence Carolin had seen in expert swordsmen. Silver glinted in his hair and lines bracketed his eyes and mouth. An expression of compassion touched with sadness lay upon his face. He wore a dark, loosely belted robe, but Carolin could not make out the color, red or brown, as the vision began to fade. Varzil raised one hand in greeting and a gemset ring flashed white.
    The sense of prescience lifted, and Carolin stood with his market basket in hand.
    “Let’s get on with it, Carlo,” Eduin said. He used the familiar nickname, although they didn’t know each other well. Carolin had only been at Arilinn a few months, whereas Eduin had begun his training there four years ago. That had been long enough for Eduin to know his own worth. He had a life in the Towers and would certainly make a skillful matrix mechanic or technician, perhaps even a Keeper if he could accept the discipline.
    Carolin hung back. He had no doubt of what he’d seen. He was no laranzu, but he was of the true Comyn blood. The powers of the mind were every bit as real as what he could lift and handle. And he himself could not go on with the mundane tasks of the morning, as if nothing had happened.
    “Go on,” he said absently. “I’ll be along shortly.”
    “But, Carlo, we’re already late—the best sweet-gourds will be gone—”
    “Not if we get them first!”
    Eduin sauntered off, the kyrri scurrying in his wake. A few minutes later, Carolin strode down the corridor to the Keeper’s chambers. Two of the senior technicians were just about to enter. One was Gavin Elhalyn, second only to Auster in position in the Tower. He was also Carolin’s distant kinsman.
    “I must speak with Auster,” Carolin said. “It’s important.”
    Gavin frowned, clearly torn between his responsibility and his blood relationship to Carolin. He was Comyn and laranzu, but Carolin would someday be King.
    Lerrys moved into the breach. “Whatever it is can wait, lad. Auster himself summoned us.”
    Carolin held back a retort, realizing too late how useless that was. This was, after all, a Tower, where people spoke with their minds as freely as they did with their mouths. He was coming to understand why he had been sent here to Arilinn. It was not just to cultivate his modest laran, but to groom him for the exacting demands of kingship. At home, he had learned to speak with care; here in the Tower, he would learn to guard his very thoughts.
    “It’s all right.” Auster swung the door open. His face looked drained, but not the light in his eyes. “Carlo will only pester us until he has his say. It’s a family trait. The Hasturs have never backed down easily. Come in, all of you, and in a moment I’ll hear the boy out.”
    Auster returned to his usual place, a padded armchair. The two other men took up positions inside the door, as if awaiting orders.
    As long as he’d thought of Auster as the second cousin of his aunt Ramona Castamir, Carolin had no doubts of success. But now, Auster’s formal crimson robes glowed in the reflected firelight, the remains of a small blaze laid in against the autumn night chill. Carolin remembered this was one of the most powerful men on Darkover, and within these walls, his word was absolute.
    There is more than one kind of power, Carolin told himself, just as there is more than one kind of truth.
    A fourth man waited inside the chambers, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. Carolin did not recognize him, only the subtle richness of his garb, a padded velvet jacket edged with fur, thick woolen breeches above boots of buttery-soft leather, the fine lace at his cuffs and throat, the chain of gold-and-copper links about his neck. Carolin instantly recognized his air of authority.
    In a blink, the man’s gaze took him in. Something