Sabr bared her teeth in a noiseless snarl as her belly tightened once again, labor pains rippling up and down the swollen bulk. So, she thought, this is what it means to suffer in silence. She bit her lip until it bled, to keep from crying out. The midwife, Alenka, mistook her expression for one of distress, and grasped her hand to reassure her.

"How brave you are, lady!" she murmured. "Not even a harsh word from you—just keep your courage up, and we'll have the child out in no time."

The queen of Avaric turned her head away, cursing the foolish woman in her mind. Her silence was not one of pride, as Alenka thought, but of penitence. How cleverly she had contrived her own undoing four years past! How eagerly she had sought this misery, mistaking it for something fair and pleasing! So it had come to pass that she, who had once been the Bandit Queen, the chieftess of Avaric-in-Exile, was shut up in a corner of Irrylath's tour, sprawled gracelessly on a pallet of straw. At first, she had blamed the green-eyed sorceress for her unhappiness, thinking that Aeriel was still bent on claiming Irrylath as her own, cursing her rival from afar. Now she regretted that uncharitable thought.

Just let me live through this, she prayed, and I will atone for the wrongs I did. Please, just let me live. Let me live that I may walk away from this place. She did not even know to whom she prayed; the last of the Unknown-Nameless ones had passed away at the start of the war. She clutched a handful of stiff straw, trying to remember that time before she had given up her freedom for Irrylath's dubious love. She'd been proud and haughty then, ruling her band of thieves and exiled plainsdwellers as a man would—what had ever tempted her to give up her that existence for the prison of Tour-of-the-Kings? How had her tenderness for the shipwrecked Irrylath grown into an intense jealously and hatred for Aeriel, his unlovely and unloved wife? She had once railed against the green-eyed girl for wanting to possess the prince—ironic words from one had since become a possession herself. I wonder if Aeriel realizes what a favor she did herself, she thought with a snort. I wonder if she knows what she escaped. Sabr had always thought herself a shrewd businesswoman—it was only now that she could see how sorely she'd cheated herself.

It wasn't that Irrylath was abusive or violent—it would have been easier if he was, for then Sabr would have grounds for leaving him. The trouble between them was far subtler than that. She knew that when they lay together, it was not her face he gazed upon. Sometimes he saw his own face, without five long scars on the cheek, without the terror and despair lurking in the blue eyes; sometimes he saw the lorelei again, white as salt and smiling with malice; sometimes he saw a fair-skinned girl with hair the color of pale electrum and eyes like beryl stones. He didn't speak of these things, but Sabr knew—it was never her own true face he saw, or wished to see. She'd promised once to love him as mortal woman would, without conditions, without reservation—sugared words, uttered in ignorance and intended to win his vulnerable heart. In four years, he had not come to terms with his parting with Aeriel, but brooded upon it still. He did not share his thoughts with Sabr, for he remembered her covetous rivalry with his one-time wife. In the end, it came down to one thing: Sabr had wanted Irrylath, not the responsibilities and sorrows that came with him. Now that he no longer held any attraction for her, life in his home was all but unbearable. She must escape from him if she wanted any semblance of the life she had once had—he was beyond her power to help.

Another pang made her gasp and clutch Alenka's hand. That was what she had thought before her birth pangs began, anyway. It only now occurred to her that a child changed everything. If she wanted to be free from Irrylath forever, she would have to leave the child behind—he would hunt her down, otherwise. She felt a sob rising in her throat, and ran a tight hand over her belly. Get out! she fumed at it. Get out of me, let me be clean and empty again! Get out of me, so I can go! She felt something warm and damp running down her face. She would leave the child behind, go and start a new life and bring nothing with her. She didn't care what they might call her—a betrayer, a bad wife, a bad mother—for she would be far away from Avaric.

Sabr twisted around suddenly, painfully, as the pain across her abdomen and down her legs became unbearable. Almost as if her thoughts had been overheard, she felt the volume within her decrease as something slid out into Alenka's waiting hands. Showing a quickness and skill Sabr had not guessed of her, the midwife snipped the cord, used a hollow reed to clean the newborn's nostrils, then brought her hand down sharply on its—his, Sabr amended with a short glance—backside. The infant let out roar and took in breath. Satisfied, Alenka handed the boy over to one of the serving-women to wash and swaddle, while she crouched once more between Sabr's legs.

"Isn't that it?" the queen of Avaric growled, wiping away a trickle of sweat.

"Mercy, no!" the midwife answered kindly. "There's one more still in there that we've got to get free, then the afterbirth."

"One more," Sabr whispered, turning her head to one side. She would not be abandoning one child, but two. So be it, she thought. She pulled herself up a little, and pushed with all the strength she had. Her chest tightened as she held her breath and strained. Then, with a great heave, she expelled the second infant. Alenka snatched the baby—a girl, this time—up out of the straw, and attended to her as she had the first child. Sabr lay numbed on the pallet, looking over at the creatures that had come out of her—little pieces of Irrylath that had taken root, growing at her expense. She was free of them now, and soon she would be free of her husband as well.

A few days later, Sabr was waiting on the highest tower of Tour-of-the-Kings, waiting as she watched the Solstarset. She had managed to escape the anxious and attentive serving-women with the excuse that she needed to rest. Irrylath was away in Terrain, consulting with his brother Lern on some occult matter—there was no better time to make her escape. Assuming, of course, that the great Starhorse had even heard her prayer. Confined in the Tour, she'd had no sure way of conveying her message to him—only the faint hope that the silver lon would answer the prayer of the least of his citizens.

As the last ruby-colored rays of Solstar winked on the far horizon, a faint shadow caught her eye in the distance—something flying high and fast. Her breath caught in her throat. He has heard, she thought, he has heard me!

The winged shape drew closer and closer, and soon she could feel his great wing-strokes buffeting the air about her head. He folded his wings, and set down on the tower with the metallic chime of his hooves striking stone.

"Daughter," he said, arching his neck, "I have heard you—I am here."

"I did not think you were built to feel mercy," Sabr said with a bitter laugh.

"Ravenna put justice in our hearts, not compassion," the Starhorse said, stamping his hoof. "But Aeriel gave us new hearts to replace the ones the Witch ate up. She fed my brother and sister lons the seeds of the apricok tree, and restored their shapes; later she fed one to me as well. Peace, daughter—I am not here to judge you, but to bear you away from your unhappiness. You understand the full import of what you are about to do?"

"Yes," she said.

"And this is truly what you wish?"

"Yes."

The Equustel turned one great eye upon her, contemplating.

"Then I shall ask no further, he said. "Climb up." She sprang up onto his bare back, mindful of the great silver wings on each shoulder. The great lon cantered a short distance over the rough stones, then flung himself aloft, bearing her up toward the fiery swirl of starry heaven. Sabr felt her heart pounding in her chest as she looked down at the plain of Avaric passing beneath her; she felt a sensation returning to her body that she had not felt in many daymonths—the feeling of life. This must have been how Irrylath felt, riding the Starhorse into battle, she thought, alive—clean and new.

She did not know how long they flew thus—eventually she stopped watching the land below and turned her gaze heavenward. A faintly luminescent haze seemed to cloud the sky before them—the Avarclon was flying straight toward it.

"What is that, ahead?" she asked.

"A wisp of Ravenna's lost magic," the Starhorse replied, canting his wings slightly as he dropped down. "It was all scattered to the winds when Oriencor crushed the pearl, and must be regathered. I look for it and bring it back to Aeriel, when and if I am able."

"Oh..." Sabr breathed. As they flew into the mist full of sparks, a faint inkling came to her of the sheer enormity of Aeriel's task. Regret filled her heart for the many times she had belittled and despised the green-eyed maiden. She remembered that Aeriel had been filled with a quiet strength, but always looked uncomfortable when people showered grand titles and honors upon her—she must have qualities Sabr had never imagined, if Ravenna had appointed this last task to her. Few people had heard any news of Aeriel over the last four years, except Lady Syllva and her sons who were rebuilding Westernesse, and they were always very tight-lipped around Irrylath.

All of a sudden, a faint red spark caught her attention. The Avarclon seemed to be diving towards it, chasing it as it rolled on the wind. As they pulled near it, Sabr leaned forward to see what it was; it looked almost like an ember caught up in the cloud, impossibly small and yet radiating with heat and power.

"That is a firebead," the Equustel said, as though sensing the direction of his rider's thoughts, "one of the seeds of the magic of the ancients." Suddenly he snapped at it with his teeth; the spark disappeared from Sabr's view, and the felt the Starhorse's powerful throat swallowing it down.

"There," he said, "that will keep it safe for Aeriel while I bear you to Orm."

The silvery lon stopped in his flight as the Terrain border came within sight, the lights of the city of the Sfinx gleaming with a brightness to rival that of the stars. Sabr buried her face in the Equustel's streaming mane—what kind of life was waiting for her down there? True to her word, she had brought nothing of her past with her, nothing to even begin a new life. I've already built myself up from nothing once, she thought, remembering her early years in Talis. I'll do it again if I must.

The ground was growing nearer and nearer; the Avarclon furled his wings, and dropped neatly down to the earth without a hitch or stumble. Sabr slid off his broad back awkwardly—the pains in her legs were returning—and stood before him. He put his face close to hers, and she felt his warm breath, smelling of sweet grass and starlight.

"You'll be alright on your own daughter?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes, I'll be fine. Don't tell Irrylath where I've gone."

"That is not his affair," the Starhorse rumbled, shaking his mane. "Good luck, warrior-daughter. I wish you more happiness than you've had."

Sabr cupped her hands about his face in gratitude. "Thank you, Avarclon," she said. "And please thank Aeriel for the loan of her lon—I am surely the last person who deserves her kindness."

The Starhorse blew a last breath against her palm, then turned and plunged upward again. She watched his dark form dwindle until she could no longer see him. Free she thought. I am free under the stars.

Lady Syllva watched in perfect silence as the stars wheeled and gyred in the heavens above her. It seemed like an entire lifetime had passed since she had last walked the halls of Tour-of-the-Kings. She was not sure that she liked returning to her old home, knowing what all had passed in the Tour since she had lived there: her husband had brought home a new wife to replace her; then both had died, made childless by the Witch's evil; then Irrylath had returned in his twisted icarus-form, remembering the way home despite his lead-gilded heart, his mutilated body, his polluted memories. He had done the Lorelei's evil within the Tour's walls, murdering thirteen wives, all unwitting. Then he'd snatched up Aeriel—his bane, and his salvation.

The Lady of Isternes drummed her fingers on the stone parapet—her son had whispered the whole story of his rescue to his mother more than four years ago, at the start of he war. While she wept for Irrylath's suffering, she wept more for Aeriel's. For Syllva too had once been an unloved and unthanked wife. After Irrylath had been drowned in the Witch's Mere, and Syllva had returned to Westernesse without her fertility restored, Imrahil had been forced to put her aside for the good of all Avaric.

"My only son lies dead in the desert because of you!" she remembered him yelling, a few rooms away from where she now stood. Hot tears ran from his fierce blue eyes, and his beautiful face was twisted with grief. Syllva remembered the touch of his rough and angry hands cupping her face. He will surely kill me, she had thought.

"Husband, take your hands away from my face," she'd said in a low voice. "Let me go."

The blue fire of his eyes blazed for a moment, then dimmed.

"Forgive me," he wept. "He was your son, too." His slender, graceful hands ran down her neck to embrace her around the shoulders, this time with love and not anger. She clung tightly to him.

"Syllva," he whispered into hair. "The chieftains of Avaric came to me today; they say that if I do not put you aside and take another wife, they will rescind their oaths of allegiance."

She felt her heart cry out, and pushed her husband roughly away. Imrahil caught her hand and held it tight.

"Can't you see?" he begged. "I need an heir! My brother I cannot trust, for he consorts with thieves and bandits—and they say that winged monsters are abroad in the world, darkangels! They say that Bernalon has disappeared, that she has forsaken her land and an icarus rules in her place." He breathed deeply. "Syllva, I must have a son. I cannot forsake my country, even for love of you."

Shoving the memories away, the Lady of Isternes turned her gaze again to the stars. That had been a lifetime ago—Aeriel and Irrylath had stepped into those role in their turn, and had parted as bitterly. Syllva had forgiven her husband long ago, and moved on—she knew that Aeriel too find forgiveness in her heart. But Imrahil had died a wretched and unhappy death—Syllva was here now to try and save her son from that fate. A daymonth ago, she had received a message from her second-born son Lern, who ruled in neighboring Terrain, that all was not well in Avaric. Sabr had disappeared without a trace; Irrylath shut himself up in his quarters, brooding; only the serving-women of the Tour remained to do what was needed for the twin children the Bandit Queen had left behind, nameless and motherless.

Steeling herself, Syllva turned away from the window, and went down the silent hallway to the rooms where the king of Avaric had locked himself away. As she approached the heavy, dark door, a shock went through her body—she recognized it as the apartment Irrylath had lived in as a child. Surely he did not live there still?

"Irrylath!" she cried, trying the handle of the door. It was locked, barred against her. "Irrylath!" she called again. "Open the door!"

"I left orders that no one should disturb me!" came an hard voice from within. "Who are you, that you call me by my name?"

"Your mother."

Silence answered her. After what seemed like a small eternity, she heard the bolt sliding back and the creak of the hinges. Her son, pale beneath his golden complexion and worn with weeping, appeared before her.

"Oh, my son," she whispered, and folded him in her arms. "What is wrong with you? What are you doing in this room?"

He looked over his shoulder and sighed.

"This is the room where Aeriel and I drank our wedding toast, where she killed me—and saved me. I came back to think upon whether she did me a great good or a great evil."

Syllva ran a hand over his haggard face.

"Good," she answered, "and you know it."

He dropped his gaze. "Yes," he whispered. "I know. But she left me." He pulled away from her. "And now Sabr has left me as well. I have nothing left."

She took his hand. "Don't say that you have nothing left," she reproached him. "You have two children left who need their names and their father."

Irrylath looked up sharply, as though he had been roused suddenly out of a dream.

"Take them back to Isternes with you," he said sadly. "I am not fit to raise them."

"Irrylath," she warned, "don't throw this chance away. No, they can't replace what you've lost—I did not bear your six brothers that they might replace you. But my children sweetened my life after I was put aside and turned out of Avaric. You can be a good father to your children, and they will bless and enrich your life. You don't believe me, I know, but it is true." Pulling his hand gently, she led him out of the room. Irrylath walked like a dazed man, unsure of every step, but went of his own accord.

Syllva led her eldest son through the halls, away from the room where he'd slept as a child, silently praying that his torment would never take him back there again. They went down to the humble kitchen that the serving-women had put to use. The women looked up anxiously as they came in, fearful that Irrylath was still in a state and would do some harm to the infants. The women who had taken charge of the twins after Sabr's disappearance, a servant named Avda who had come with Syllva from Isternes a generation earlier, rose solemnly to her feet to greet them. She nodded toward a pair of rough-hewn cradles that sat near the fireplace. The Lady of Isternes released her son's hand. With tentative steps, Irrylath went toward the hearth, knelt down, and pulled back one of the children's blankets.

An expression Syllva had never seen before crossed the king's face, but she knew instantly what it was. It was the look she knew he must have worn every time he thought of Aeriel—regret tempered with a deep and abiding love.