"Very well," he said at last. "If you're not going to leave me alone, you have to swear not to tell."

"Me? Swear? You pig! I never told on you for anything!" And that was true. They had each suffered several punishments for things the other twin had done without ever breaking faith. It was a pact between them so deep and natural that it had never been spoken of before now.

But the boy was adamant. He waited out his sister's gust of anger, his pale little face set in an unhappy smirk. She surrendered at last: principle could only stretch so far, and now she was painfully curious. "So, then, pig. What do you want me to do? What shall I swear to?"

"A blood oath. It has to be a blood oath."

"By the heads of the gods, are you mad?" She blushed at her own strong language and could not help looking around, although of course they were alone in the pantry. "Blood? What blood?"

Barrick drew a poniard from the vent of his sleeve. He extended his fin¬ger and, with only the smallest wince, made a cut on the tip. Briony stared in sickened fascination.

"You're not supposed to carry a knife except for public ceremonies," she said. Shaso, the master of arms, had forbidden it, fearing that Briony's angry, headstrong brother might hurt himself or someone else.

"Oh? And what am I supposed to do if someone tries to kill me and there are no guards around? I'm a prince, after all. Should I just slap them with my glove and tell them to go away?"

"Nobody wants to kill you." She watched the blood form a droplet, then run down into the crease of his finger. "Why would anyone want to kill you?"

He shook his head and sighed at her innocence. "Are you just going to sit there while I bleed to death?"

She stared. "You want me to do that, too? Just so you'll tell me some stu¬pid secret?"

"So, then." He sucked off the blood, wiped his finger on his sleeve. "I won't tell you. Go away and leave me alone."