Uachi stared across the snapping camp fire, watching the two shadowcats curled up on the other side. Uarria had rested her head on Farra's foreleg, and the larger cat was grooming her ears, her purr rumbling through the camp. Had Uachi not known that the smoky gray creature was a human child in disguise, he would never have believed it. They looked like mother and daughter of a species.

"I'll have another cup," Uachi said, extending his small wooden cup to Diarmán, who had just poured tea for Ealin.

Diarmán cast him a glance. "There isn't enough left."

He passed the cup to Ealin. She turned her head. "He can have mine."

"You're the lady," Diarmán said. "I insist."

Mute, Ealin took the cup and raised it to her lips. Uachi reached for the water skin instead and took a pull. When Diarmán sat cross-legged at his left, he passed the skin over, asking under his breath, "What is your plan for keeping her in line while we go to see your queen?"

"She isn't my queen," Diarmán muttered. He took the skin. When he had drunk, he lowered it again and toyed with the stopper, nodding toward Ealin. She was gazing down into her cup, looking sleepy. "Don't worry, Uachi. We'll reason with her. I don't think she'll give us trouble. And if she does, well, at least we'll have had an adventure."

"I don't fancy the idea of being thrown into a dungeon down here in the wilderness."

Diarmán laughed. "You think so highly of your neighbors to the south, my friend. Don't worry. You'll find that Aólane is the heights of civilization—probably comparable to your so-called—" and here he changed his tone, going up a pitch and rolling his head to emphasize the words— "Holy City. As if there's anything holy about courtiers kissing an emperor's toes."

Uachi stared into the coals of the campfire. "You aren't wrong. I've no love for Karelin, Diarmán."

"No?"

"No."

After a moment's silence, Diarmán asked, "Tell me, if you're his confidante. What is the emperor of Penrua like?"

"Nothing like the last."

"Is he truly a bastard, like they say?"

"Who says so?"

Diarmán shrugged. "The high queen, I suppose. I'm not often invited to gatherings of nobility. But my grandfather is, now and then, and we've friends among our nearest neighbors. They talk."

"Well. I do not know how much stock you put in the line of the Blessed Sovereigns down here in Narr, but it's true. He isn't Korvan's son, but there are many who think his lineage is greater."

Diarmán's soft exhalation sounded like a laugh. "Gods below," he murmured.

"What?"

"That a bastard sits the throne of Penrua, the greatest realm on Arc." He shook his head in wonder.

Searching Diarmán's face, Uachi said, "Do you truly think this high queen will cast you and your brothers out?"

"She puts much stock in bloodlines. As much as I imagine your last emperor did."

"He was as much my emperor as yours. We called him the Corpsemaker among the rebels."

Again, Diarmán softly laughed. "I had wondered whether you numbered among the rebels. You don't seem to be a man to sit idle while others fight."

Uachi didn't respond; Diarmán had his measure. He didn't need to confirm it. A burning log shifted and slipped, sending a dancing swirl of sparks up into the darkness.

"And what will you go back to, Uachi? After we confer with Coratse, after you stand at my side—and you can still change your mind—what will you go back to? Surely you're dragging that woman to her death for what she's done."

Again, Uachi was silent. This very thought plagued him, night and day. Ealin had betrayed him. He'd loved her, and she had broken his trust and his heart. But could he stand by and watch as she walked to the sword?

At length, Diarmán shifted and sighed. Uachi looked at him, his mouth twisting into a wry smile. "Not one for silence, are you?" he asked.

Diarmán frowned. "You did not give me much of an answer. Tell me what he's really like."

"The emperor?"

"Aye."

"If he were sitting right next to you, you'd never know it," said Uachi. "They called him the Rebel King, but he always thought it was foolish of them to honor him like that. Still, if there were ever a man in the history of Arc who was kingly, it's him. He took up the crown out of love for his people and nothing else. There is not a scrap of personal ambition in the man."

"No ambition?" Diarmán scoffed. "I may be from a hole in the dirt compared to you and yours, but I don't believe that for a second."

"I said he had no personal ambition. Ambitions for his people? Certainly. He dreamed of a day the Arcborn would be free, and now we are—at least, in law. Were he to hear of your lot, Diarmán, he'd be your first and most fervent ally. He does not hold to judging men by their bloodlines, and he does not look down upon bastards."

"That's hardly high praise. If he did, he would be the world's biggest hypocrite."

Uachi plucked up a few blades of grass and tugged them taut between his fingers. "He does not hold himself above others. Of that you can be sure. If this high queen knew him, could assess the man rather than the rumors, I cannot help but wonder if she would change her mind about his fitness to rule. He's no tyrant."

"He sounds like an easy man to love."

Casting a sharp glance at Diarmán, Uachi noticed his gaze, intent on his face, and he looked away at once. "He is."

"Tell me something, Uachi."

"What?"

"Were your heart not wrapped up in her..." He nodded toward Ealin, who lay now with her back to them, her wheat-colored hair spilling over her blanket, and he trailed off.

Uachi tugged the blades of grass taut again, then tugged harder, tearing them. Skirting around a point irritated him; he had ever been a man fond of directness. He had known this question was coming since the conversation at House Eldran. Had he been a more forthcoming person, he might have volunteered the information, just to satisfy an itch he could see Diarmán squirming to scratch without touching. Maybe it would make a difference to him, knowing he wasn't alone, although an ant could piss the difference it made to Uachi.

"If you're asking whether I'm a man like you, Diarmán," he said, "the answer is yes." He brushed his fingers off, sprinkling the pieces of grass back to the earth.

When Uachi turned his gaze toward Diarmán, the Faelán man was already looking at him, his expression serious indeed. "You could love a man."

Their gazes locked for an instant, and then Diarmán's flickered down to Uachi's lips. A spike of something like fear lanced through Uachi's vitals. He rocked back, planting his feet underneath himself.

"Uachi—"

"I'll take the first watch," Uachi said, rising. "You should turn in, Diarmán. It's late."

Now, Diarmán. Why are you asking that question?