"I can't wait until you do," she told him pertly. "You're getting awfully hard to handle."

He laughed at that. I'm going to miss you when you return to Winding Circle," he remarked, going to the door. "You're the only one who is completely frank with me.

As he left the: room, Sandry put the papers she had taken on, his desk. For a moment she stayed there, staring blindly at the curtained, windows. As much as she wanted to return home, she worried about him.. Over and over she had, heard tales of the way he lived, skipping meals and going without sleep to complete some piece of work, His household was in awe of Duke Vedris, and feared to balk him. Without her there to keep an, eye on things, he would probably return to his; old bad habits.

She didn't like that thought. Emelan's best healer-mages had warned her that while they had done all they could to strengthen his heart and veins, he was vulnerable to another attack, A second one might well kill him; a third definitely would.

He managed, without a meddling fourteen-year-old for years, one voice said in her mind.

He was younger then, argued a second.

Sandry growled with impatience—she had been, listening to this internal argument for weeks—and flung her hands wide. The heavy draperies on the windows flew apart to bare expensive glass panes. The thick gold ropes that held the curtains open wrapped around the lengths of cloth and tied themselves, then let their tasseled ends dangle neatly.

Getting her worries under control, Sandry followed her uncle to the main door. It was open already, offering a view of the stone courtyard, a score of burning torches, and a squad of the Duke's Guardsmen and their horses.

Duke Vedris waited for her to reach him and offered his arm. His dark eyes searched her face intently. "Did I say anything to distress you, my dear?" he asked quietly.