LYRA WAITED IN THE GARDEN OF heptagon house of Viously, her mother had dressed her. Her gown was a bizarre mixture of chastity and seduction, modest from neck to floor, with just a touch of lace at her throat and wrists. But the fabric was translucent, so that whenever she was backlit her voluptuous shape was perfectly silhouetted.

"Oh, Patience, I was so glad when Father said I could have you interpret for me. I begged him for days, and he finally relented."

Could it be that her presence here was only the result of Lyra's pleading? Impossible-Oruc was too strong a man to let his daughters endanger his throne on a whim.

"I'm glad he did," said Patience. "I'll be sorry if you have to leave Heptam, but at least I can tell you whether I approve."

This was obviously a joke, spoken by a thirteen-year- old slave to the daughter of the Heptareh, but Lyra was so tense she didn't notice the impropriety of the remark.

"I hope you do. And oh, if you see something in him that I don't see, please let me know. I want so very much to please Father by marrying this prince, but if he's really awful, I can't possibly go through with it."

Patience showed nothing of the contempt she felt.

Imagine-a daughter of the Starship Captain's blood even thinking of refusing a marriage, not for reasons of state, but because she found the suitor unattractive. To put one's personal pleasure ahead of the good of the King's House was proof of unfitness. You should be out in a country house, said Patience silently, the daughter of a country lord, going to country dances and giggling with your girlfriends about which of the country boys had the fewest pimples and the least repulsive breath.