Mikal's eyes grew cold then, and he spoke in measured voice, which sounded dissonant and awkward after the music of Nniv's speech. I could have come here in power, Songmaster Nniv. I could have landed huge armies and weapons that would hold the Songhouse itself for ransom to work my will. If I intended to coerce you or frighten . you or abuse you in any way, I would not have come alone, open to assassins, to ask for what I want. I have come to you with respect, and I will be treated with respect.

Nniv's only answer was to glance at the woman and say, Esste. She fell silent. Her humming had been so pervasive that the walls fairly rang with the sudden quiet.

Nniv waited.

I want a Songbird, Mikal said.

Nniv said nothing.

Songmaster Nniv, I conquered a planet called Rain, and on that planet was a man of great wealth, and he had a Songbird. He invited me to hear the child sing.

And at the memory, Mikal could not contain himself. He wept.

* * *

His weeping took Esste and Nniv by surprise. This was not Mikal the Terrible. Could not be. For Songbirds, while they impressed everyone, could only be fully appreciated by certain people, people whose deepest places resonated with that most powerful of musics. It was known throughout the galaxy that a Songbird could never go to a person who killed, to a person of greed or gluttony, to a person who loved power. Such people could not really hear a Songbird's music. But there could be no doubt that Mikal had understood the Songbird. Both Nniv and Esste could hear his inadvertent songs too easily to be mistaken.

You have damaged us, Nniv said, his voice full of regret.

Mikal composed himself as best he could. I, damaged you? Even the memory of your Songbird destroys me.

Uplifts you.

Wrecks my self-composure, which is the key to my survival. How have I damaged you?