Her blue cowl was tall above her brow. The blue and white of her eyes had gone flat. A swelling in the center of her face was a memorial to a once patrician nose. Her mouth was lipless, the corners nearly reaching the hinges of her jaws. The lissome movements of her arms within her loose sleeves suggested that the structure of her elbows and wrists had changed. The High Council could have forgiven the changes in her physiognomy. But they could not forgive the power that thrummed through her voice when she uttered the slightest word. Rebeke made certain they did not forget it.

She let the silence vibrate. 'Yoleth,' she said at last, 'would certainly take pleasure in refusing to meet with me. But Cerie and Kadra and Dorin; were they even informed of my request?' Shiela stiffened. 'It is not the place of a Windmistress to question the High Council. Nor do we have to account to you for our whereabouts. You wished to speak to us. We have a quorum. Speak.'

'I shall, but not because you command it. I will speak because I have no time for your petty intrigues. I have other things to attend to. Yet well I know that if I do not speak now, you will later plead ignorance, and make me out to be the unreasonable one. So I will speak swiftly now, and you will listen. Listen and remember.'

Rebeke stared slowly around at the semicircle of hostile faces. 'At least I need not wonder if I have your attention,' she said mirthlessly. She lifted her right hand abruptly and took a perverse pleasure in the flinching of the two Council members nearest her. 'The wind has brought me rumors. Do not think I jest or exaggerate when I say the breezes bring me news ...'

'Superior abilities are never an excuse for the misuse of power!' Shiela cut in angrily.