“Because I’m of the Nearga Nor? I won’t be bound by them, janja. I hold the Norim here.” He closed one shapely hand into a fist. “None of them can touch me, singly or in concert. I wield more power than most men dream of, but…” He waved his hand at the valley. “When I stand here, knowing what lies behind that, I know how small a triumph I can boast. I need more room, janja.” He wheeled, bent with liquid ease and took the top card from the deck she held, straightened and stood tapping the card’s frayed edge against his thumbnail. “Match me, janja.”

Raiki frowned. “A game? Absurd.”

“Play the game, janja.” He smiled once more, a wide charming smile that warmed his cold face. “Why not?”

She slipped the next card from the deck, held it a moment face down. “I shouldn’t warn you, my beautiful wrongheaded Noris, but I’ve got fond of you a little. Don’t do this. The game will destroy you.”

His smile turned wry. “I don’t think so. Consider this, janja, even if you’re right, what choice have I? I can rot alive or live while I live, however short that be. If you were I, what would you choose?”

“So be it. Play your card, Ser Death.”

“Order, janja. Control, not death.” He placed the card on the hide in front of her knees.

IMAGE: head and torso of a girl child, green blotches spattered across her fair rosy face. A darker green oval in the center of her forehead just above her nose was half concealed by tumbling red-brown curls. The four-year-old gazed from the card with desperate defiance, her orange-amber eyes opened wide.

Raiki smiled down at the image, affection and sorrow mixed on her face. “A misborn of the windrunners.” She looked up. “Poor child. Must you?”

Ser Noris waited without speaking, his dark eyes fixed on the card in her hand.

“If you must.” Sighing, Raiki laid her card beside his.