The scribe struggled with the door and it opened a crack, but a slight glance from Esrahaddon slammed it shut again. Orrin beat on the wood and pulled at the latch. "Your Highness, I'll get help."

"You don't really hate me, Arista. It's guilt that's eating you. It's knowing you had as much to do with your father's death as Saldur, Braga, or even myself. Your father wanted to make you a prisoner of your station, but your hunger for the power of the Art drove you to me. Amrath was going to sentence you to life in a forced marriage, but instead he died and you got what you wanted."

"GET OUT!" she screamed. With a wave of her hand, the office door burst open, nearly coming free from the hinges.

"You need to forgive yourself, Arista," Esrahaddon continued, even as Orrin and two armed men entered. "You didn't kill Amrath any more than I did. The Patriarch is responsible. He used both of us in his search for the heir."

"Remove him!" Arista ordered, and the guards grabbed Esrahaddon.

"You have to help me, Arista, or all is lost," he urged as they pulled him from the room.

Arista slammed the door, and kicked it for good measure.

She wanted to scream, It wasn't my fault! Even though she knew that was a lie. In all the years since her father's death, she never faced the reality. Arista blamed Braga, Saldur, and Esrahaddon, but the real pain came from realizing her own part. Too horrible to face, she hid from the truth. Her father, who returned with hairbrushes from every trip just to see the smile on his daughter's face died, because she wanted more.

Esrahaddon exited City Hall into the darkness of Ratibor's Central Square. The clouded thin moon left just enough light to see the outlines of buildings. He looked back and sighed. He genuinely liked Arista. He wished he could tell her everything, but the risk was too great. In her present state, she might do something foolish with that knowledge. And while he was free of Gutaria Prison, he feared the church still listened to his conversations-not every word as when he was incarcerated, but Mawyndule had the power to hear from vast distances and Esrahaddon could never be certain when he might use that particular skill. This forced the wizard to assume all conversations were suspect. A single slip-the casual mention of a name-and he could ruin everything.