The Heart of the mirage

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

will convince you; do you feel anything but happiness there?' I knew he would be able to detect nothing suspicious. Not even Temellin had noticed the slightest sign of disloyalty within me, although he had often held my hand; I was a Brotherhood Compeer, and the masking of emotion was a Brotherhood skill as much as it was a Magor one. I was confident I could hide myself even better than they did.

But Korden wasn't convinced, and his 'Welcome to the Magoroth, Magoria-derya', was as welcoming as the stare of a guard dog.

Temellin laid a hand on Korden's arm. 'My turn, I think,' he said, and then drew me aside. He held my hand and I was shot with his delight. He was transformed.

I stared at him, wondering what I was missing.

He laughed at me, whispering in my ear as he drew me into a congratulatory hug. 'Don't you know what this means, Derya? You can be Miragerin-consort! I do not have to turn to Pinar.'

My heart leapt, absurdly, then cracked. What was I thinking of? I was not going to stay long. I was an agent of Tyrans. I was going to betray them all, put down this damned insurgency of theirs. Bring back peace to their land. Marry a Kardi barbarian? The idea was ludicrous.

Marry Temellin7. I gazed at him, and those eyes of his were full of humour, of anticipation. His delight washed over me in waves. Goddess, I thought, the idiot is in love with me. And then: This is what love ought to he. And then: But not for me. I'm a compeer.

I thought of Favonius, remembered all that his emotions had said. Favonius had lusted after me. He'd been proud of his possession of a general's daughter. He'd loved me as much as he was capable of loving

anyone, but there had been nothing like this in him. The memories of all the time we had spent together withered like sun-seared leaves.

I remembered the way Brand had felt when he had – oh, so briefly – allowed me to touch his emotions. He loved me the way Temellin did, too.

My thoughts, unbidden, took another leap. I remembered the time Temellin and I had spent together. I remembered his body, his tenderness. The way he laughed. His intelligence. The way his voice softened when he spoke of things he loved. The way his language became poetry. I remembered how the children of the freed slaves adored him. Sweet Elysium, I thought, stop me from being so – so witless. Just because no one has ever loved me before is no reason to fall apart like – like a broken amphora spilling its contents. I cannot crack simply because I find a man attractive and his love flattering.

'Derya -?' Temellin asked. 'Are you all right?' His concern was palpable. I was far too aware of his unconcealed emotions.

My eyes searched for Pinar. The older Magoria was staring at me, hatred-filled, but with her emotions under tight control. 'Pinar will kill me,' I said involuntarily.

'Don't be silly! She and I don't love one another, not that way. It was to be a marriage of – of friendship. For children. She will be glad for me.'

I blinked at this extraordinary self-deception, but before I could comment, Korden was there again, saying, 'Temellin, shouldn't we continue with what we intended? We wanted to find out who Derya is; let's do so.'

'How?' I asked. 'Is it possible that I – that I have

family here? That -?' I couldn't give voice to the words,

mm: ' °

but my mind was suddenly filled with my childhood memory of a woman with a mane of russet hair, a woman bathed in gold light and splattered with scarlet. Perhaps I had been loved before this, once. I felt I was choking on memories and emotion and sentiment.

Goddess, Rathrox would never believe his eyes if he saw me like this.

Temellin slid an arm around my shoulders. 'Illusa-zerise,' he said, indicating the woman who had kissed my cabochon, 'was the Magor in charge of the palace nursery in Madrinya at the time of the invasion. She knew all the children. Including, therefore, you. She was one of the few people who survived the massacre of the Shimmer Festival.' He led me across the room to the Illusa.

My immediate thought was that if I had indeed been one of Zerise's charges, she would have scared me out of my swaddling clothes. She was all sharp edges: face, body, hands, all honed to acute peaks and ridges with no softening flesh. One cheek was badly scarred by two deeply gouged holes and two flanking lesser marks, all in a straight line. Her eyes had a sharply focused intensity and she held her body as if it were a poised axe. She was aged about fifty, not quite as old as I had first thought; the sparseness of her iron-grey hair and the angular thinness of her body were deceptive.

'Zerise,' Temellin was saying, 'who can Derya be?'

The woman looked at me with those sharp eyes, searching my face as if to find the imprint of the child there. 'What do you know about yourself?' she asked finally. 'Your real name perhaps? There was no child called Derya. Anything at all might be helpful.'

Her voice was soft, at complete variance with her looks, but I was breathless with the tension of that moment; truth was suspended somewhere in the

minutes ahead and I longed for it to be plucked and given to me. Yet when I spoke, my voice was calm; that, too, was a Brotherhood skill.

'I can't remember my real name. General Gayed renamed me.' True enough, although the name had been a good Tyranian one: Ligea. 'He found me and took me to Tyr when I was just a little less than three. That was in the tenth year of Senna Timonius's Exaltarchy, in the fourth month, I think. Before that – I remember the woman I think was my mother. A Magoria, I guess. She had a sword and there was gold light streaming out of her. There were people shouting and screaming. There were curtains. I wanted to look through the curtains, but someone wouldn't let me. Another woman. And then she disappeared too and I was horribly afraid and surrounded by strangers. There was a lot of fighting. And blood.' My left hand had curled up into a fist and it was an effort to relax it again. T can't remember much else.'

Zerise bit her lip, considering.

I stared at her face and thought, I've seen that kind of scar somewhere before… Then I remembered. It had been on the cheek of a man held in the Cages in Tyr, a rebel. I'd been told that a legionnaires? weapon, a circular piece of metal with jagged edges hurled from a whirlsling, left just such a mark. A rip-disc, the legions called it.

'Almost three in the fourth month of the tenth year of the previous Exaltarchy,' Zerise was saying. 'Let me see, that would mean you were born around the fifth or sixth month of the Kardi year Veshol-twenty-three. There were two Magorias born about then -'

'Mirageless soul!' The exclamation was Temellin's.

Zerise nodded. 'Yes. Shirin. Magoria-shirin was born in the fifth month. It's got to be her.'

'And the other?' Korden prompted.

She addressed Temellin. 'Your cousin Sarana, Mirager-temellin. Magoria-sarana was just a month younger than Magoria-shirin.'

The silence in the room developed an intensity so widely shared it could almost be touched. I darted glances from one person to another, not understanding why everyone was so tense, knowing something significant was not being said, hating my ignorance, but not sure I wanted to dispel it. They were all horrified – no, more than that – they were devastated by the idea I might be Sarana. Emotion skipped around the room in flurries.

Even Garis was aghast. 'Are you sure she is Shirin?' he asked.

'Oh, she couldn't be Sarana,' Zerise said. She dispensed a comforting calm in liberal waves that said even more than her words. 'The Mirager-solad himself brought Magoria-sarana's body back for burial. We all went to the burial griefs.'

'There can't be any doubt? A misidentification?' It was Temellin who asked, and his voice was unfamiliar to my ears; it was harsh and almost cruel.

'Oh no. Utterly impossible. The Mirager-solad himself identified her. And he was her father, after all. She was unmutilated, killed by an arrow through the heart. He was the one who found her shortly after the ambush. He'd ridden out to persuade her mother to come back, you see… He shroud-wrapped her, and her mother Wendia, and rode back to Madrinya with them both in his howdah. I saw them arrive. He was shattered. He worshipped that child. And he loved Wendia too. The tears were streaming down his cheeks. Do you think if there had been the slightest doubt the bodies he carried were not those of Sarana

and Wendia, he'would not have seized on it? I have rarely seen a man as broken as he was by the death of his daughter. He fought like a whirlwind during the Shimmer Feast attack, though.' She looked at me and explained. 'I was there, you understand, one of the few to survive. I saw Solad kill more Tyranians than anyone else that day, even though he was stuck through with arrows like a roast on a spit. It was sheer burning rage that kept him alive long enough to kill so many.' She wiped away tears with the back of a hand and turned to Temellin. 'No, the Magoria here cannot possibly be Sarana.'

'Are you sure the only other possibility is Shirin?' J Once again the question came from Temellin. This time he was smiling, his eyes sparkling with a partially suppressed joy.

'Yes, if the Magoria is right about how old she is. And even if she's not -' Zerise thought for a while. 'No. Reneta was about a year younger and I saw her body myself. The other girls were little more than babies and they were all accounted for, murdered in their cradles. But Shirin's body was never found. And she was the only Magoria missing. The part of the palace she was in was devastated by fire; there was little left to find. We thought she'd burned. I suppose it is possible she was saved by a Tyranian soldier.' She touched her scar and added bitterly, 'There were enough of them about.'

But Temellin was already reaching for me, whirling me in his arms, holding me tightly, hurting me in his joy. 'Shirin… Shirin, my Shirin – don't you remember me? I gave you my wooden shleth when you cried after I broke your toy sword. Don't you remember?'

I shook my head, laughing. 'Temellin, put me down -! Who am I? Tell me, who is this Shirin?'

You are Shirin, my love! 1 thought you were dead! 1 remember crying when they told me -'

Over Temellin's shoulder I caught a glimpse of Garis's face. He wasn't rejoicing. He was filled with consternation, as though he were waiting for a calamity he knew was inevitable. I thought, He realises something Temellin doesn't. I pushed Temellin away. 'Garis,' I asked, 'who is Shirin?'

He blurted out the answer, knowing how I would feel, remembering as apparently Temellin did not. 'Shirin was – is – you are Temellin's little sister,' he said. 'You had the same parents.'

My world died in a crashing roar in my ears. I saw people opening and closing their mouths, speaking to me, but I could not hear them. I saw their joy become uncertainty as my shock registered with them. My revulsion spilled out all over the room. I saw Temellin's grin become a horrified mouthing. I destroyed his happiness with my unbridled reaction, with the warding-off gesture of my hands. I turned from him to Brand, walking into his arms, clutching at him, burying my face in his chest. I couldn't speak. I was choking on the bile and vomit rising in me.

Oh, Goddess, I thought. / have bedded my own brother.

Oh, Goddess, forgive me.

Oh, Goddess, now I knew- I loved this man. Ligea Gayed gave her heart without even knowing it. The Brotherhood Compeer fell in love with the enemy.

Goddess forgive me. I did not know. Bedded my brother. Fitting punishment for thinking myself immune to sentiment.

You stupid fool, Ligea.

Brand knew. He swung me away from Temellin's imploring hands, herded me out of that room,

somehow found his way through the labyrinth to the quietness of my own bedroom. When I lay down on my pallet, he chafed the coldness of my fingers, covered my shivering body with a blanket, gently stroked my face and hair. There was no triumph in him, no satisfaction. When I could not cry, when I shrivelled and froze inside, it was Brand who had tears in his eyes.

'Don't let him near me,' I whispered. 'I don't want to see him.'

'He won't come in here,' he promised, and he was as good as his word. Temellin came and was turned away.

When my trembling died, it was Brand who tried to offer consolation. 'It's not so bad, Ligea. You've never been one to worship the Goddess and her rules, so you can't think you have sinned -'

'Sinned? No. It's just – just the thought of doing such a thing,' I said finally. 'It's unnatural. And they think it so normal. Oh, Goddess, Brand. I wanted him so much. Just to look at him was enough to start the ache. And do you think I will feel any different now? I will always remember that; there will be part of me that will want him still… And yet the thought of his touch now – makes me sick. Physically ill.'

He looked at me, and heard what I didn't say. I had loved Temellin. He read it in my pain. 'Then let's go away from here,' he said at last. 'Back to Madrinya, if you must. Bring the legions here, raze the place to the ground, kill them all if that's the only way you can lay your ghosts.' He was pointing out what I couldn't do, of course, forcing me to clarity of thought.

I said, 'Damn you, Brand, you know I can't. Maybe that compeer bitch, Ligea of Tyr, could have done it, but she doesn't exist any more. He is my brother. My flesh and blood.' I turned my face to the wall. It was

¦BH-'

difficult to say the next words, to tell him what I had refused to think about since I had learned the truth of it under the Shiver Barrens. 'He is the father of my son.'

He was stilled with shock. 'You can't know that you -' he said after a long pause. 'You've known him only a matter of what, ten days? How could you know that you are -?'

'I know. Just as I know when people lie. I have a life growing in me, his son. His nephew.' I gave a bitter laugh. 'I shall be mother and aunt all in one.' I rolled off the pallet and went to stand at the window. I had known my pregnancy in one split second when I was inside the Shiver Barrens. The knowledge had suddenly been there in my body, in my mind. And more than just that, I'd known his gender. A boy, conceived the first day when I had been so overwhelmed by the attraction of a Magoria to a Magori that I had cast all sense and precautions away in exchange for pleasure. The Goddess Melete – or fate, or whatever you like to call it – had made me pay for that moment of fervid passion.

Doubtless the knowledge of the child, my son, should have been the source of joy, of wonderment. But what joy could there be when I learned of him just moments after I was shown a vile vision of death? A vision of a nameless baby ripped from his nameless mother's womb, to cause her demise – and for what? Some sick purpose of the Mirage Makers? What conclusion was I to derive from that, except the most obvious? And that was another thing I had spent days trying not to think about: I was being primed as a sacrifice, to supply an unborn child.

Yet now I wondered. Perhaps I had mistaken the meaning of the vision. Perhaps the Mirage Makers had

been telling me something slightly different: that the child was an abomination, seeded by a man who was his uncle as well as his father. That he had to be destroyed, even if it meant my death. Perhaps they didn't like sibling pairing any more than I did. Yet if that was the case, why my child and not, say, Jahan and Jessah's? They had children, I knew. Several of them. Why mine? Why me?

I covered my face with my hands, to hide my horror from Brand.

'Let's go back to Tyr, then,' he said. For once, his calm had deserted him. His face was ashen with shock. 'Tell Rathrox you failed. Resign. Live your own life.'

T cannot return to Tyrans. I would be accused of treason. No one leaves the Brotherhood without Rathrox's consent. No one walks away from an assignment without being punished for their dereliction of duty.'

He was disbelieving. 'Punished? Treason? You think they'd burn you?'

'Oh no. Burning is for non-citizens. Citizen traitors are crucified.'

'They wouldn't dare! You are Gayed's daughter. You are being melodramatic'

Goddess, I wished I were. I could already feel the nails being driven into my hands, see the blood dribbling down my arms, hear the coarse mockery of men like Hargen Bivius. I said, 'But there are other factors involved here, aren't there?'

We stared at one another while he considered what I meant. 'They set you up,' he said softly. 'The three of them. Korbus, Rathrox and Gayed. Your whole life was aimed at this moment. The moment you would be in a position to be an instrument of their revenge on Kardiastan.'

I nodded, nausea seeping through me like poison. Gayed. I'd thought he loved me… I forced myself to sound rational, reasoned, calm. 'If I fail here, and go home with the task unfinished, their revenge will extend to my downfall. There would be some trumped-up charge, to make my dereliction seem truly traitorous. Would they stop short of crucifixion, do you think? I don't think so. Anyway, at the very least, they will strip me of all I own, including my reputation and my respectability. My life wouldn't be worth ten sestus.' Tyr, I thought. I had loved that city once.

"Vortexdamn them.' His next words were said with an urgent passion. 'We can go somewhere else, then. Leave them all behind: Kardis, Tyranians, the Brotherhood, escape all of them. Build a life for yourself somewhere else. In Altan perhaps. Or even outside the boundaries of the Exaltarchy.'

'Yes. No. I don't know.'

'There's nothing here to hold you back.'

I was silent a long while, looking out of the window at the conglomeration of crazy buildings, now just curious shapes in the darkness. I said finally, 'It is his son too. He has a father's rights…'

I heard the faint expelling of his breath: a sigh, acknowledging his acceptance that there was no gain for him in my loss.

'Don't tell Temellin about this pregnancy, Brand. I'll tell him in my own way, in my own time.'

'I won't say anything to anyone. This is between the two of you.'

Oh, Goddess, I thought. If only it was. But there were the Mirage Makers… Did they want the child in order to destroy an abomination? Or for some other reason? Did they need a child to bring them new blood, to rejuvenate whatever it was they were? A new Mirage

Maker to become one with them? I had never heard of a mother surviving the trauma of having a child and womb lifted from her body. The Magor had healing powers, I knew that, but I doubted they included the skill needed to save a woman from such a mutilation. What was it Garis had said? They were healers, not miracle workers.

And then there were the Magor. When it became known I was pregnant, and if it were true Solad had gained a sanctuary within the Mirage in exchange for a future unborn Magor child, then they might consider my life to be forfeit.

I wondered how many people knew about the required sacrifice. Temellin, certainly. I'd seen his face when he spoke of Solad's bargain and his own responsibility to fulfil it. What was it he had said? J believe we must pay, whatever the suffering it causes. He was probably the only one the Mirage Makers had told, although he could well have passed on the knowledge to others. To Korden. To Pinar? After all, she had a right to know. She was going to marry Temellin, and the logical sacrifice would be a child of the Mirager. And the woman who carried it.

I shuddered. I was the outsider, the expendable one. Who would care? Temellin, when he believed the sacrifice was necessary and others called for my death, as they most certainly would? Pinar would actively pursue my murder, I had no doubt of that. Quite apart from the prompting of her jealousy, sacrificing me and my child might save her own hide if ever she conceived Temellin's child.

J won't do it, I thought. No one is going to kill me. I won't let them. And I am not going to run away, either.

You are the Miragerin… Words whispered in the sand. 'There's something that doesn't quite -' I

began, and then stopped. Could the Magoroth be wrong? Could I not be the other woman they had mentioned – Sarana? 'I want to talk to – to Zerise would be best, I think. Can you get her for me, Brand?'

'Certainly. If I don't get lost, that is. Damn place has more passageways than a fish has scales.'

I continued to stand at the window after he had gone, but I wasn't seeing the view. I was back in the Shiver Barrens, hearing the song of the Mirage Makers, trying to fan a spark of hope. Anything was better than the alternative.

An hour later, Brand entered with a heartfelt look at me indicating he had indeed managed to lose himself. He ushered Zerise in and then left us. The Illusa moved through the dimness of the room to the table and lit the candle there. I didn't see what she did, but she used her cabochon to do it. When she spoke, her voice was gentle. 'We didn't understand at first,' she said. 'We all thought you would be glad. To be the sister of the Mirager -'

'You knew he was also my lover?'

'We do now. We do not feel your revulsion. Such unions are usually blessed with a lasting love. The children of sibling unions are also much blessed. You and Temellin are the children of such a union -'

'Oh, sweet Melete help me! My parents?' I wanted to be sick. I warred with my body to halt the reflex, to keep the food in my stomach. Inbred! And my son… the grandchild of siblings, the child of siblings, inbred to a point of insanity.

'Temellin is the strongest Magori we have,' Zerise said. 'His powers are strong within him, as yours will be when you are taught how to use them. There is nothing wrong with such a union, Magoria-shirin. A marriage between you would be cause for great

happiness, and your children would be very, very special. Perhaps the greatest Magoroth ever born. Healthy, intelligent and Magor-strong.'

But I didn't want to hear. I said, 'This other Magoria, this Sarana -'

'If she had lived she would be Miragerin, and Mirager-temellin would not hold the sword of the Mirager. She was your cousin, the only child of your oldest uncle, Mirager-solad. There were five siblings, you know: Solad who was the eldest, then a brother and a sister, Ebelar and Niloufar, who were Sarana's and Temellin's parents, then another brother who was Korden's father, and finally another sister, who was Pinar's mother. Sarana was the heir, but she died before the Madrinya Shimmer Festival massacre. The massacre was not the first attack on our people; it was just the worst.'

I was stilled, remembering the expression on Temellin's face when he had thought I might be Sarana; remembering the emotion that had twisted his voice. He had almost hated me then. Wryly, I thought to myself that here was something else we shared besides a love of power: a marked reluctance to relinquish the power we had. I asked, 'There is no possibility -?'

'None.' She shook her head sadly. 'It was a terrible time, Magoria. The Mirager worshipped his daughter from the moment of her birth. Some said she was his obsession. Her mother, Magoria-wendia, thought so. She thought the Mirager was ruining their daughter to the point of idiocy, and I must say I agreed with her. Sarana was fast becoming an unpleasant little brat. Wendia decided to take the child and leave Madrinya. She wasn't the Miragerin-consort – Solad wasn't married – so it wasn't all mat hard for her to go. Unfortunately her howdah was ambushed and

everyone in her party was killed. I thought the Mirager might die with grief when he realised Sarana had died.'

I interrupted. 'But if Wendia and Solad weren't married, how could Sarana be the heir?'

'The first-born child of the ruler is the heir, no matter who the other parent is, as long as the child is a Magoroth and as long as the ruling Mirager or Miragerin acknowledges the child as theirs. That is Magor law. We put no store by a child's legitimacy as Tyranian law does.' She snorted. 'They try to tell us their laws are better, but we will never acknowledge their ways. Why should a child be robbed of his birthright because his parents did not marry?'

'So if Sarana had lived, she would have become Miragerin. Is there anyone else who might use that tide?'

'Well, the official consort of the ruling Mirager. If you were to marry Mirager-temellin, you would be Miragerin-shirin, the Miragerin-consort. And then there is the mother of the heir. Even if she is not the consort, she is honoured with the title of Miragerin. And then finally there's the mother of the Mirager. Your mother, yours and Temellin's, would have been termed Miragerin-niloufar, had she lived.'

The mother of the heir. Oh, Acheron's hells, I thought. My son will be Mirager in this land. I wasn't Sarana, but I truly was Miragerin anyway, just as the Mirage Makers said. I was the mother to the heir, the unborn heir. They had known that… Then a new thought blasted me. Until the baby was born, / was Temellin's heir. I was his younger sister, and the Kardis made no distinctions between the sexes where their ruler was concerned.

If Temellin died, Ligea Gayed, Legata Compeer of the Brotherhood, would be regarded by the Kardis as

their rightful ruler. I gave an ironic laugh that hiccupped into a sob. I should kill him. Then, as the Miragerin-ruler, I could bring the Magor down in ways they could never have dreamed of… and reap such glory in Tyr there would be statues of me built in the Forum Publicum. My success would be a legend handed down to the next generations. Was this the triumph Rathrox and Bator Korbus had schemed to achieve? They'd wanted me to kill or capture the Mirager. And then perhaps they'd planned to tell me who I was – and plant me, obedient and loyal Ligea, on the Kardis as their rightful ruler. A grateful vassal, to do as I was told by Tyr.

Goddessdamn. The Oracle. Of course. They'd aimed to give my future an apparent spiritual dimension, to seed me with a sense of destiny by sending me to the Oracle. How had the poem run?

'All power in her wide embrace,

None will again deny

Ligea Gayed her rightful place.'

My rightful place. Miragerin of Kardiastan. Goddessdamn.

Zerise was watching me, mystified. 'My child -. why do you cause yourself so much grief? Your love for the Mirager is blessed. Accept it. Go gladly to his arms. Bear his children. Why cling to the laws of a land that was never really yours? You are Kardi; you are Magor; rejoice in it!' Her voice had an edge to it now, an intensity matching the rest of her. She shot out a bony hand to grip my arm. 'You have a duty to the Magor. We all have! Look at me, Magoria – I was a nurse, a children's nurse – can you see that when you look at me now? I doubt it. I haven't been a nurse

since I had to wade through children's blood, carrying the only two babies I could save, both Theuros children, my own face smashed beyond repair. Now I fight. My cabochon will burn a legionnaire to ashes one day – I, who only wanted to care for my babies. Your duty comes before your wishes, Magoria.'

I swallowed bile and said, 'Ask Brand to come in, will you, Illusa-zerise?'

She heard the dismissal and the fire damped down. Yet, just as she was on her way out, she turned back. She wanted to say something, started to say it, but changed her mind. A most extraordinary expression skittered across her face. It was so fleeting I wasn't sure I'd seen it, yet I was left with the feeling I had glimpsed a dismay so profound it bordered on panic. Then she was gone.

I thought: If I go back to the Brotherhood, I can rule this land. I can have whatever I want. Power. Wealth. Respect. The things I've always wanted. The Oracle's predictions, all come true. Goddessdamn.

Once that knowledge would have set me dreaming. Once that would have brought a sparkle of triumph into my eyes. Instead, all I heard were questions. Nasty, provocative little questions demanding answers, refusing to go away. The power to do what? The respect of whom? Why would you want more wealth than you already have? And would the puppeteer be any different this time around?

When Brand returned, I said softly, 'I have decided. I will stay here. I will learn the ways of the Magor and be Kardi. If you are wise, you will leave. Make a life for yourself somewhere else. Go to Tyr, claim the money awaiting you from my estate, then go back to Altan. Lead your own people to freedom.'

– ¦-¦¦ ' i~«Ј. – ¦-¦"¦¦:

' ' 'Just like that, eh?' He gave an unbelieving, sardonic chuckle. 'And am I still a brother to you, Ligea-Derya-Shirin?'

'No – no. That was a stupidity. Now I have felt the real thing, now I know the revulsion of real… incest. You are a friend, Brand. The best friend I have ever had, or ever will have. That is why I ask you to leave. There is nothing I can offer you. You are better away from me, building your own life.'

'My answer is the same as always. I stay, at least for now. You need a friend, Ligea. Derya. Shirin. Whoever. Perhaps now more than ever. Have you given a thought to what Temellin and the others will do when you tell them you are the Legata Ligea Gayed?'

'What will that matter? It is past. I will tell them when the time is right.' I hardened myself. 'For the past week or so I have been thinking with my loins. You were right, Brand: it was insanity. But I'm back to my senses now. Power, that's what it's all about. That was why the Brotherhood fascinated me: it gave me the power of life and death over my fellow citizens, it made me feared, even to those who had money and position and political power. As compeer I used that power – yes, and sometimes misused that power, on Tyrans' behalf.' I added, surprised at its truth, 'I couldn't do that any more. But I don't love power any less. It's what I am. And I will wield it.' And no one's going to kill me for my child, either.

I wandered over to the window again and looked down on the dark cobbled street below without really seeing it. 'I feel as if I used to walk around with my head under a pail. Why couldn't I see, long before this, that there are better ways to use power? Why couldn't I see the iniquity of slavery? The inherent injustice of Exaltarchy rule?' The shards of past possibilities scored

furrows of sadness deep into my spirit. The Exaltarchy has many fine things to offer its tribute states, but the price is too high. Kardiastan would be – will be – better without Tyrans.'

'You're too hard on yourself,' Brand said. He came to stand by me, and the gentle touch of his hand on my arm told me more about his concern than his shrouded feelings did. 'Firstly, you were brought up to be Tyranian. You were supposed to believe those things. Secondly, there was always a part of you that fought the iniquities anyway. You tried to use your power to ensure that there was no injustice. That the innocent went free. That torture was not used.'

T can't absolve myself of guilt so easily. You are too generous, my friend.'

T don't happen to think I am,' he said and his certainty was comforting. 'And so, what next, Magoria?'

I took a deep breath. T am sister to the Mirager and mother of the heir. Pinar can be his wife and consort, but it is I who will have the greater power. Perhaps this time I'll use it better. We will make something of this Goddessforsaken land.' I straightened and turned to face him. T am ready to see Temellin.' '

He shook his head, his dismay tinged with reluctant admiration. 'I might have known. You are rock-strong, Ligea.'

I was still standing by the window when Temellin entered and I didn't feel rock-strong. I felt empty, an outer shell of fragility that could be shattered by the wrong word, the wrong touch.

He entered and began to cross the room towards me.

'Don't touch me, Temellin,' I said. 'Not ever again.'

, r-. _….,-,..,… ›•-*:¦

He stopped, his body rigid. 'Der- Shirin, don't think of it as wrong. How could anything so beautiful be wrong?'

'It wasn't wrong then. It is now. I'm sorry, Temellin, but it's over. I can't bed my brother, nor ever will be able to. Any desire I felt for you has vanished.' Liar. Vortex take you, Ligea, even now your loins crawl with longing – and yet the touch of him would have you heaving up your stomach. 'Forgive me.'

His hands hung loose at his sides as though he feared what they would do if he moved them. 'I love you, Derya.'

'Just lust, Temellin. Just lust.'

He shook his head. 'No. Don't tell me how I felt. Feel. It was more than that. Is more than that. Certainly I want you on my pallet, but I also want you by my side as my partner – my consort – my wife.'

'You will have me as your sister.'

'I don't feel brotherly. It takes a lifetime to feel brotherly. We haven't had a lifetime of growing up together; we've had a week of lying in each other's arms, of talking about things that matter -'

I cut him off brutally. 'We will be siblings or nothing, Tern. I'd leave Kardiastan rather than come back to your arms. / can't. Can you understand that? I can't love you that way any more. Just as something would have died in you, had I proved to be Sarana and usurped your position.'

He opened his mouth to deny it, but his inherent honesty wouldn't allow him to give voice to the words. He was human enough not to like having it pointed out to him, though. He said, his timing a petty cruelty I knew he would later regret, 'I shall have to marry Pinar.'

'Yes, I know.' And I shall hate her.

mm

'Ravage hells, you really mean it, don't you?'

'I mean it.' I saw the slump of his shoulders and had to curb that treacherous desire to go to him. I opened my mouth to tell him about his son, and then changed my mind. It wasn't the time. It could wait. No point in adding another burden to him right then.

His eyes fell away from mine, and saw the sword I had put on the table. Confused, he touched the blade as if to identify it. He must have felt its power through his fingers because his head jerked up. 'Yours? How -?'

'I walked beneath the Shiver Barrens.'

As I had suspected he would, he accepted this as being within the bounds of possibility, but surprise flitted across his face nonetheless. His conclusion was not quite the one I had expected. 'Then you knew all along you were a Magoria?'

'No. Why should I know -?'

'Only the Magoroth have Magor swords.'

'No one told me that! I thought it must be something that happened to all Magor.' Only now did it occur to me I'd never seen an Illusos or Theuros wearing a Magor sword. I chided myself for missing the significance. Ligea the compeer was indeed slipping.

'Why didn't you tell me at the time?' He sounded more puzzled than suspicious.

'I -' There was no rational answer I could give him. I settled for a vague: 'It seemed such a private thing.'

He explained, talking for the sake of talking, because it was better than thinking, remembering. 'It happens to all Magoroth, usually around puberty. It has always been so, even before we came to live in the Mirage. We have walked the Shiver Barrens, just at the edge, for generations – long before we knew how to cross them.

It is usually the only time any of us meet with the Mirage Makers. Except for the Mirager: he walks the Barrens a second time, when he inherits. There are certain things he has to be told -' He paused before adding, 'Not me, though. I inherited the job when I was five years old, long before I had my sword. I walked the Barrens only once, when I was ten. I was given my weapon and told what I had to know then.'

I nodded at the sword. 'I want to learn how to use it.'

'Yes, you should.' His voice was carefully neutral. 'Garis will teach you the elementary things.' He took a breath, grew taller, more in command. 'This ought to be the happiest day of my life – the day my sister is returned to me. I can remember you, you know. I can remember loving you. Grieving for you. I should be happy. It is wonderful to have you back, Shirin.'

'Thank you.' My voice was small, the thanks ridiculous. If there had ever been anything wonderful in my homecoming, it had all been lost.