He had not quite drifted off to sleep when he became aware that someone was trying to get into the tent. The front flap was jerking steadily, as if someone were fumbling at the cords. Blade lay still and waited. Whoever or whatever it was, the guards were paying no attention. A quick look through the holes on either side showed their booted feet and trousered legs exactly where they'd been before. Blade doubted if Duke Boros and his son were planning open, crude treachery, but he was quite sure he would have been happier with a weapon more formidable than his knife.

The jerking suddenly stopped. The tent flap swung open and a small figure appeared silhouetted against the glow of the fire. Blade shifted his grip on the knife for a throw but something made him hesitate. Then the figure moved forward, to take on a definite shape and recognizable features. It was the girl who'd danced and served the wine.

She went down on her hands and knees and crawled closer. Her small, neatly molded face seemed to be lit up by a joyful, almost ecstatic grin that bared two rows of perfect teeth. Even her eyes seemed to be part of the grin.

She still wore the blue robe belted around her, but the linen had grown heavy in the night dampness. It clung to her slender body, molding her graceful curves, and flowed down off her, rippling as she moved toward Blade.

As the girl's head came level with his feet, Blade sat up, keeping his hand on the knife but keeping it well out of sight under the blanket. The girl jumped, but seemingly more in delight than in fear. Her grin widened.

«Ah, Prince Blade,» she said. Her voice was low, with a slight sing-song intonation but nonetheless extremely clear. «Ah, Prince Blade,» she repeated. «You wake and welcome me.»