Crooked Ero, the Skalans called their ancient capital. Built on a rise overlooking the Inner Sea, the streets spread like poorly woven lace down to the quays and shipyards. Poor and wealthy wards alike were jumbles of cheek-by-jowl houses and shops. Even the nobles on their hill lived tight as mud swallows in the rambling Palace and the great houses attached to its outer walls.

Every house had at least one window facing the bay, as if the city itself kept watch for striped enemy sails among the islands that dotted the horizon. Few generations had been spared the sight of Plenimaran warships bearing down on their shores.

With a usurper king on the throne and the land weakened with years of hardship, such vigilance was again warranted.

The priests claim Death comes in the west door, Arkoniel thought miserably as he rode through the western gate with Iya and the witch.

The full red autumn moon cast the sleeping city into a crazy mosaic of black and silver, studded with warmer tones where candlelight showed through windows.

Iya had been silent for miles, her face hidden by the deep hood of her cloak. Heartsick at the task that lay before them, Arkoniel willed her to speak, change her mind, turn aside, but she said nothing. For eleven years she'd been his teacher, mentor, second mother, but since that day in Afra, she'd become a house full of closed doors.

Their companion was another matter. The hill witch, Lhel, had been in fine spirits for days, chattering away in a broken patois of Skalan and her native tongue. The sight of the city had subdued her at last; her kind had been unwelcome here for generations.

Wrinkling her nose, she gestured disdainfully. "Your great village? Ho! Too many."

"Not so loud!" Arkoniel warned, looking around nervously. Wandering wizards were not as welcome here as they had been, either. It would go hard with them to be found in the company of a witch.

"Smells like tok," Lhel muttered.

Iya pushed back her hood and surprised Arkoniel a thin smile. "She says it smells like shit here, and so it does."

She's one to talk, Arkoniel thought. He'd kept upwind of the hill woman from the start.

After Afra, he and Iya had come here, to make certain of her vision. They'd spent the remaining hot months searching for a witch to aid them.

The hill people kept to their remote valleys and did not welcome strangers. All but Lhel. She'd acted as if she'd been expecting them and welcomed them into her smoky hut.

The three-week journey from there to the capital had been a long and awkward one, at least for Arkoniel. His vow of celibacy clearly either offended or amused Lhel, and she lost no opportunity to flaunt herself. Vows or not, Arkoniel couldn't help but notice.

Tiny and dark-skinned, Lhel was in her prime. Her thick black hair hung in a tangled, curling mass to her waist, and her loose woolen dress couldn't hide the curve of hip and breast as she sauntered about their camp each night, plucking frost burnt herbs with her stained, knobby fingers.

No, it was the reek of her magic, so unlike his own, that had kept him at arm's length. Yet it was for this very difference that they'd sought her out. No Orëska wizard could do what was needed.

As they rode across a market square, Lhel pointed up at the red moon and clucked her tongue. "Baby caller, that moon is, all fat and bloody. We hurry. No shaimari."

She brought two fingers toward her nostrils in a graceful flourish, mimicking the intake of breath. Arkoniel shuddered at the woman's matter-of-fact manner.

Iya pressed one hand over her eyes and Arkoniel felt a moment's hope. Perhaps she would relent at last? But Iya was merely sending another seeking spell out ahead of them. After a moment she winced, then shook her head. "There's time."

A chill salt breeze tugged at their cloaks as the trio reached the windward side of the citadel and headed for the Palace Ward. Arkoniel inhaled deeply, trying to ease the growing tightness in his chest. A party of revelers passed them, and by the light of their lanterns Arkoniel stole another look at Iya. Framed in a wind-blown mass of silver hair, the wizard's pale, square face betrayed nothing.

Long before he and Iya had made the trip to Afra, the girls of close royal blood began to die. No one dared speak it aloud, but in too many cases, it was not plague or hunger that carried them down to Bilairy's gate.

An aunt of the king's took ill after a banquet in town and did not awaken the next morning. Another somehow managed to fall from her tower window. Two dashing young cousins were lost on a hunt in the hills, never to be found. Babies, all girls, were found dead in their cradles and their nurses whispered of night spirits. One by one, the potential female rivals to the throne had dropped away and the people of Ero turned nervous eyes towards the king's sister, now married and great with her first child. Iya and Arkoniel had taken note as well, for Ariani's husband, Lord Rhius, was their patron.

It was to this house that they guided the hill witch tonight. Rhius was expecting them.

#

As they entered the small courtyard that fronted Princess Ariani's wing of the rambling palace, Arkoniel looked around nervously around for signs of the King's Bodyguard. The yard was empty except for the stable boy who came to lead their horses away.

The baying of hounds greeted Iya's knock. A moment later the door opened and several shaggy grey hounds bounded out, tails whipping enthusiastically as they sniffed the visitors' hands.

Rhius's steward, Mynir, beckoned them in to the darkened hall. A fire burned on the hearth across the large chamber, but no lamps were lit. "Thank the Maker!" he murmured. "He's half out of his mind, Lady-"

Mynir broke off as he caught sight of Lhel, and his fingers twitched into a warding sign.

Arkoniel could guess the man's thought's: witch, unclean handler of the dead, a necromancer who called up demons and ghosts. In truth, her powers were stranger than any legend.

"Is that you, Iya?" a man called out.

Lord Rhius hurried down the stone staircase and strode to meet them. Even in the dim light, Arkoniel saw how haggard the man was; his face was pale beneath his black beard, and streaming with sweat. He stank of it beneath his embroidered tunic, and of fear.

Reaching them, he gazed a moment at Lhel, but made no sign against her. Instead, he seemed to sag, to shrink before their eyes. "You've brought her, then."

Iya handed her cloak to Mynir. "Of course, my lord."

A woman's ragged scream rang out overhead and Rhius clutched one fist over his heart. "There was no need for the herbs. Her waters broke as the moon rose yesterday. She's been like this since midnight. We must have a midwife! "

"And I've brought you one. Has the child crowned yet?"

"No. Nari keeps claiming all is well, but—"

Upstairs, Ariani screamed again, and Arkoniel's stomach lurched. The poor woman had no idea who was in her house this night. Iya had given both the couple and the Afran Oracle her solemn pledge to protect any daughter born to the royal house; she had not revealed to the child's mother the means the Lightbearer had given her to do so.

"Come, it's time. You have the bags, Arkoniel?" Iya started for the stairs, but Rhius caught her by the arm. "This will kill her."

Iya regarded him coldly. "You want your child to rule, Rhius. This is the cost. The favor of Illior is with us, I promise."

Rhius's face went paler still, but he released her and led the way upstairs. "Come then, and let's be done with it," Arkoniel heard him whisper. "There will be other babes."

The princess's bedchamber was stifling. The smells of beeswax, sweat, and woman filled Arkoniel's nose as he hung back by the door.

Under different circumstances, he'd have thought it a pretty chamber. The walls were hung with bright tapestries, and the white marble mantle was carved with mermaids and dolphins. On a chair by the shuttered window sat a familiar workbasket; from beneath the half open lid protruded a cloth head and arm—one of the princess's famous lady dolls. He'd always admired her handiwork, but the sight sent a chill through him tonight.

At last, he forced himself to look into the shadowed recesses of the curtained bed. He'd harbored a secret admiration for the princess, ever since her marriage to Lord Rhius had brought him into her sphere. She was only a few years younger than he, and as beautiful as girl he'd ever seen. She had always treated him graciously, and made the wizards welcome in her home.

All he could make out of her now was a bulging swell of belly and thrashing thighs. Nari, a plump, sweet-faced countrywoman Iya had found for a wet nurse, leaned over her, holding her hand and murmuring as Ariani wailed through gritted teeth. Lips pressed in a grim line, Arkoniel stayed as far from the bed as he could, not wanting her to see him here, to remember that he had been a part of what was to come.

Lhel took charge, issuing calm orders for Iya to interpret. Nari and Arkoniel moved into position, holding Ariani's legs still as the witch made her examination. Arkoniel kept his face turned away, staring at the wall until she'd finished. Retreating to his place by the door, he fought down a rush of nausea.

"Is good, lady," Lhel assured Ariani, patting the young woman's tear-streaked cheek.

"There are two, aren't there, Midwife? " Ariani gasped weakly.

Arkoniel shot Iya a concerned look, but the other wizard only shrugged. "I suppose she would know, by now. She could feel them moving."

Nari brewed a tea from some of the witch's herbs and gently fed it to the laboring woman. After a few moments, the princess's breathing slowed and she grew calmer. Climbing onto the bed, Lhel massaged her belly, all the while talking to her in a soothing, singsong voice.

"The first child must be turned into position to enter the world, so that the other may follow," Iya translated for Lord Rhius, who stood now by the head of the bed, hands clenched in his belt.

After a few moments the witch let out a soft cry of triumph. Watching from the corner of his eye, Arkoniel saw her lift a little head into view with one hand as she held the nostrils shut with two fingers of the other.

"Girl!" she announced as the rest of the slippery little body slide free.

"Thank Illior!" Rhius exclaimed, leaning down to kiss his wife's brow. "A first born girl, just as the Oracle promised!"

Releasing the child's nose, Lhel cleaned the child's mouth out with one finger and patted her back until the infant hiccuped and drew its first breath.

This was the shaimari, the "soul's breath" the witch had been so concerned with, thought Arkoniel, his heart pounding.

The child was strong and well formed, with a thick shock of black hair. Her eyes were blue, like all newborn's; no doubt they would darken to match like her parents' in time.

Giving the child to Nari to bathe, Lhel massaged Ariani's belly again, coaxing forth the second child. Ariani's head lolled with the motion, her eyes glassy from the witch's herbs. Rhius hovered a moment longer, then moved away toward the fireplace, mouth set in a grim line.

Tears stung Arkoniel's eyes. Ariana had always been kind to him. Forgive us, my sweet lady.

The second child came wrong way around, a footling breach. Muttering softly under her breath, Lhel worked the other leg free and the little body slid slowly free up to the neck—a boy child.

Arkoniel tensed. Lhel's hand was poised to cover the child's face as it emerged, ready to prevent that all-important breath. Suddenly, however, they were all startled by the clatter of horsemen in the courtyard outside, and the cry, "Open in the name of the King!"

In that instant, the child's head slipped free and he sucked a breath, strong and clear.

"By the Light!" Iya hissed, whirling on the witch. Lhel shook her head and bent over the squirming child. Arkoniel turned quickly away, unable to watch what must follow.

But he could not escape the sound of the child's loud, healthy cry, or the way it suddenly choked off.

Arkoniel shut his eyes so tightly he saw flashes of light behind the lids, but he could not escape the sounds: Lhel chanting as she wove her spells, Rhius weeping, the soft whimpering of the infant girl, already at Nari's breast. Yet the silence left by that abbreviated cry seemed to surround him. It rang in his ears, making him dizzy and sick to his stomach.

Then Iya was at his side, propelling him out into the coolness of the corridor. "Go downstairs and stall the king. Hold him as long as you can! I'll send word when it's safe."

"But how--?"

The door swung shut in his face and he heard the key turn. Arkoniel hastily wiped his face and ran his hands back through his lank, sweat-soaked hair. He was not a religious man, but at the head of the staircase he paused and turned his face toward the unseen moon, sending up a silent prayer to Illior. Aid my faltering tongue, Lightbearer, or cloud their eyes. Or both, if it's not asking too much.

Mynir had lit all the lamps in the great hall. King Erius stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by Rhius's hounds and a daunting entourage: Pulus, the king's wizard; a red-bearded priest of Sakor, several lords of high degree, and a score of soldiers wearing the red and gold badge of the Bodyguard on the breasts of their scarlet tunics. Arkoniel forced a respectful smile, even as he wondered bitterly who had alerted Erius. Clearly the king had been prepared for this visit, despite the hour. Erius's greying beard and curly black hair were neatly combed, his velvet tunic as fresh as if he were on his way to the audience hall.

"My king." Arkoniel bowing as gracefully as he could manage. "Your honored sister is still in the midst of her pains. She sent me to sit with you until she is presentable."

"What are you doing here?" Erius raised a heavy eyebrow in surprise. "Last I knew, neither you nor Iya practiced midwifery."

Several of the king's companions chuckled appreciatively, but Arkoniel sensed the hint of a challenge in the king's black eyes.

"No, my king. I happened to be guesting here tonight, and have been making myself useful. Your sister's labor is a difficult one, I fear, but she will be delivered soon."

He paused, a twinge of dread lancing through him as he suddenly recalled that the king had attended the births of his own children. Barely past his apprentice levels, Arkoniel commanded no authority with anyone, and certainly not with the king. If Erius decided to go upstairs, there was nothing he could do, short of magic, to prevent it. And with Paulus there, able to smell out any Orëska magic, even that risky avenue was closed to him.

Perhaps Illior had heeded his prayer after all, for Erius shrugged agreeably and took a seat at the gaming table near the hearth. "How's your skill with the stones?" he asked, waving Arkoniel to the chair opposite. "I've been down this road a time or two myself; these birthings can take longer than you think. We may as well pass the time pleasantly."

Hoping his relief was not too obvious, Arkoniel sent Mynir for wine and sweets, then settled down to losing as best he could.

They were in the midst of their third game of Geese and Squares when Nari appeared on the staircase.

"My lord and lady send their regards, my liege," she said, curtsying low. "They ask if you would like your new nephew brought down to view?"

"Nonsense!" Erius replied. "Tell your lady her brother is happy to come to her."

Again Arkoniel sensed an underlying challenge.

The king's wizard and the priest accompanied the king. Nari caught Arkoniel's eye as he followed, giving him a tight-lipped nod that he hoped was meant to be reassuring.

Iya and Lhel were gone—safely out of the house, he hoped--and Arkoniel could not detect the faintest trace of magic in the room.

Rhius stood on the far side of the bed, sponging his wife's forehead. The princess was still blessedly groggy, so much so that Arkoniel suspected she'd been drugged again. With her black hair combed back smoothly and a hectic spot of color high on each cheek, she looked like one of her own dolls.

Lifting the swaddled child from the crook of his wife's arm, Rhius brought it to the king. The young lord's eyes were red, but he'd recovered enough to act his part with suitable dignity.

"May I present your new nephew, my liege," he said, placing the infant in Erius's arms. "With your leave, he shall be named Tobin Erius Akandor, in honor of your father's line."

"A son, Rhius!" Erius undid the swaddling with a practiced hand and looked the child over. Arkoniel held his breath and blanked his mind as Paulus and the priest both extended a hand over the child. Neither appeared to find anything amiss. The witch's magic had covered all trace of the abomination she'd wrought on the little body. And who would think to look for witch's magic in the chamber of the king's sister?

"A fine boy, Rhius, to bear such a fine name!" Erius exclaimed. "You have my leave, brother, and my blessing. By the Flame, he'll make a great playfellow for Methius in a few years' time. Just think of the two of them, hunting and learning the sword together. But there was a twin, too, I believe?"

Yes, Erius's spies had been quite thorough, as usual. Or perhaps his sister had confided in him?

Nari bent down behind the bed and lifted up a tiny bundle. Keeping her back to the princess, she brought it around to the king. "Poor little girl never drew breath, my king."

Erius and his ministers examined the dead child just as closely, moving its limp arms and legs about, verifying the sex, and feeling its chest and neck for signs of life. Satisfied, the king handed the body back to Nari, then clasped Rhius by the shoulders. "It's a hard thing, losing a child. Sakor knows I still grieve for my boys and their dear mother. It's cold comfort for you now, I know, but it's best this way, before you both got too attached."

His young kinsman's sudden tears excited no surprise, under the circumstances. Giving Rhius a last brotherly thump on the shoulder, Erius went to the bed and kissed his sister gently on the forehead.

The sight of it made the blood pound in Arkoniel's head. Perhaps the Usurper, this killer of girls and women, loved his little sister enough to spare her life, so long as she produced only sons.

As the door closed behind the visitors, Ariani moaned and opened her eyes, looking directly at Nari. There was no time to turn away.

Pulling herself up against the bolsters, the princess held out her arms for the lifeless bundle. "Thank the Light! I knew I heard a second cry, but I had the most awful dream—"

The nurse exchanged a look with Rhius and Ariani's smile faltered. "What is it? Give me my child."

Rhius brought little Tobin to her, but she ignored him, staring instead at the child the nurse held. "Give her to me, woman! I command it!"

There was no dissuading her. Ignoring the soft cry of the living child her husband still held, she took the dead one in her arm and her face went whiter still.

Hovering beside the bed, Arkoniel knew without being told that Lhel's magic could not deceive the child's own mother the way it had the others. Twisting his mind to see through her eyes, Arkoniel glimpsed the strip of skin—it's twin's skin-- sewn with spider-fine stitches to the dead boy child's breast, just over the heart. The same stitching had sewn a traded slip of flesh into his living womb mate's breast. With this, the transformation had been sealed. The girl child would retain the semblance of male form for as long as Iya deemed necessary.

"What have you done?" Ariani wailed, staring up at Rhius.

"Later, my love, when you're rested— Give that one back to Nari and take your son. See how strong he is? He looks so much like you—"

But Ariani cut him off with a venomous glare, clutching the dead child to her breast. No amount of reasoning prevailed and when Rhius tried to take the infant from her, she lurched from the bed and took refuge in a corner of the room, clutching the limp body against her stained nightdress.

Kneeling by the frantic woman, Arkoniel touched her brow, clouding her mind and sending her once more into a deep sleep.

"Forgive me, lady." He reached for the little body, then froze, his hand inches away.

The dead child's eyes were open, and fixed on him. Birth blue as a kitten's one moment, the irises turned to the same deep brown as his mother's as Arkoniel watched, and seemed to stare accusingly at him. An unnatural chill radiated out from the little body, slowly spreading to envelop the wizard. The stifling room was suddenly winter cold.

This was the cost of that first breath. The spirit of the murdered child had been drawn into its body just long enough to take hold and become a ghost, or worse.

"By the Four, what's happening?" Rhius whispered.

"I don't know, exactly," Arkoniel lied.

Then Nari was at his side. "The witch said to take it away quickly," she whispered. "She said you must put it in the ground under the oak in the rear courtyard. The roots will hold the demon spirit down. Hurry! The longer it stays here, the stronger it will grow!"

Trembling, Arkoniel picked up the dead child and covered its accusing eyes with a corner of the wrappings. Nari was right; the waves of icy coldness pouring from the lifeless body grew stronger by the moment. It made his joints ache as he bore it from the room, away from its living twin, and the mother they'd destroyed.

The moon peeked like an accusing eye over the courtyard wall as he placed his cursed burden at the foot of the bare-limbed oak.

"Forgive me," he whispered again, though he expected no forgiveness for this night's work. He wove a spell and watched as the little body sank from sight into the hard earth.

The faint wail of an infant came to him on the cold night air and he shuddered, not knowing if it came from the living child or the dead one.