Kara began her descent slowly, savoring the last vestiges of darkness at the top of the stairs, keeping her eyes straight ahead.

Here she is, the Royal Princess, Kara. She heard the murmuring begin as she stepped. The music began a traditional 'welcome Princess' march. She scowled. It wouldn't be happening if it wasn't an 'occasion', if her Father were not in attendance, or if Galantyne had not forced her to be there.

At the foot of the stairs, with their blaze of comfortable red carpet, Kara noted Korlon not facing her, waiting.

He would be waiting for me, she thought angrily. He can run off and leave me, but he can also follow protocol.

Kara did not look down. Her training in all things ceremonial left her no choice but to keep her chin up, her eyes forward, and her back rigid. There would be no reason for her Father to complain of her tonight.

When she was halfway down the stairs, she stopped to survey the crowd. The room had been decorated to celebrate the holiday, and servers dressed as sea creatures flitted in and out with trays bearing exotic beverages.

Tonight, her dress was cream colored, its edges burnt lavender, and a long purple sash trailed from her waist to the floor. The back of the gown shimmered with stones sewn into the fabric to give it shine. It was high-necked and cut to the waist in the back, and soft air caressed the unfamiliarly exposed skin.

Jerrika had chosen it a week ago for this event. They were to have complimented each other. Jerrika's dress was the same style, but the opposite colors. Jerrika would have done her hair for her, but since she wasn't there, Kara wore it up in a tail, wrapped around itself several times so that it fell away from her shoulders. There were jewels in her hair reminiscent of her mother. She was told she resembled her mother.

Kara glanced down the stairs, feeling the agony of putting on a false face. Her heart ached with separation like she'd never experienced in her life.

Jerrika!

The weight of grief threatened to crush her. Kara's hand rose to ward off the persistent feeling of panic that occasionally overwhelmed her the last two days.

Her eyes clouded, and she stopped walking, staring sightlessly. Regret and dismay filled her and she turned to go back to her rooms.

Suddenly, a feeling of peace descended over her. It came from outside herself as if Jerrika gave her strength to endure the coming moments. She sensed an inner light that shared itself with her on such a deep level she couldn't quite pinpoint it, but nevertheless was grateful for it.

Jerrika was alive! She knew it!

The feeling persisted. Kara forced herself to breathe, to savor the moment. Her inner core seemed on fire with the warmth of confidence and comfort afforded her. She would have thought Jerrika the giver... would have thought it, except it felt wondrously like something else, something even stronger than her bond with Jerrika. She allowed it to sustain her as she forced herself to continue the silent march down the royal steps.

Now she could attend the Festival of the Harvest Moons.

*******

Cursing his ceremonial robes, Quildor strode through the halls in determination.

He entered Adara's chamber in silence, and walked purposefully past her, to the viewing window. The scene there was ridiculously peaceful. The girl was laying on the elegant comforter, looking every inch the pampered princess that she was.

For a second, his eyes narrowed. In his mind he saw honey curls flying past his face as he and Ondrea rode his horse on the practice fields of Etrusia, her lithe body pressed to him. He felt her laughter at something he said. The way her breasts rested on his forearm around her ribs, delicate and firm. All the attending memories flooded him in searing anguish. With deep longing, he once again eyed the girl in fascination.

Why would he allow the bloodline child, to be warrior trained and sent to Galantyne, the hot-headed rebel son? How dare he allow her to be placed at risk? He must have known she'd fall into Adara's hands. He would have known. Had Taan lost his mind?

Answer: it wasn't the Princess.

He turned to Adara, who glowed with anticipation. Quildor ran a hand over his bald pate and then tapped his forefingers against his chin. "She cannot be Kara."

"She is, my lord! She is of Royal blood, and she has the powers." Adara's hands fluttered in giddy exhilaration.

He stared at the girl. Her eyes were closed, but golden lashes lay against fair skin, the honey colored hair wrapped around her face, her slim fingers tangled in it. She wore the tunic and leggings of Galantyne's forces. Too many memories. He flung an arm out and pushed past Adara's eager face.

Without looking at her, as if a plan had suddenly occurred to him, which it hadn't, he ground out the words. "Send me Rion and Crevan."

He knew her response would be to send a mental call to them. Adara's telepathic skills were unparalleled in the realm. She had perfected her assimilations of the indigenous creatures on the planet to give her just the right combination to allow her access to all of Quildor's top men. He knew if he chanced a look at her features right now, he would find her eyes rolled back as she made that call.

He shivered in revulsion. This was why he'd left the assimilations to her.

In seconds his top two captains were knocking discreetly on the outer chamber doors. First Crevan entered, his rank and stars showing on his shoulder as if he'd just come from a formal function of some sort.

Rion, on the other hand, remained in tunic and leggings, muscles standing out in mocking capability as if he had just exited the training field. Crevan stood at attention, his eyes not meeting any in the room.

Quildor stood just enough behind them both to be in the shadows and observe them. Rion had walked to the window and was staring at the prisoner on the elegant bed. His expression was unreadable. Quildor watched him carefully, with a tightening in his chest, as he recognized the keen awareness that captured interest in everything around him. Rion had that fearlessness Quildor needed and admired.

Needed it because he himself could not go back to Etrusia. His kai had been revoked in the exile. And he had no assimilations. But this man, his son-- had that ability in abundance.

"When you captured her, why didn't you assimilate her immediately as you would have any other Searcher girl?" Quildor demanded.

Without looking at him, Crevan took a breath. "Sir, she was in the water when we captured her and her Kai powers enabled her to fight with toxic stings."

"Where exactly was she? And how did you capture her then?"

Crevan's eyes darted to Rion who was still staring at the girl intently, no clue on his face as to his thoughts on the matter.

"Sir, we-- Rion and I-- were on a routine mission, ascertaining another squad's performance, and we sensed the Searcher girl, and decided to lure her into one of the lotica flowered rooms inside the mountain through a waterfall that entered from above. We planted the image of her Talisman in her mind and she responded."

"I repeat why didn't you assimilate her immediately?" The answer that her Kai was unusual wasn't enough,  they were trained to assimilate immediately, regardless.

Rion turned from his perusal and casually shrugged. "She's unusually beautiful. We planned to subdue her, and make sport of her before assimilation. It's a common enough practice in the Mountain."

Quildor eyed Rion's unconcerned stance, as he casually let his hand trail over Adara's private rock collection on a side table. Was he hiding something? The fact that Crevan seemed embarrassed that he and Rion had decided to break a rule of conduct about making sport with prisoners was trivial to him, but did explain why Crevan was nervous.

"Did you accomplish this, Crevan?" Quildor turned from his thoughtful perusal of Rion's cavalier behavior.

Crevan's eyes darted to Rion's, who never acknowledged him as far as Quildor could see. He finally relaxed and wrote it off as masculine animosity. Perhaps they had fought over the girl. It was of no incident then.

As Crevan took a breath to answer, Rion's voice overrode him. "We did not. As the girl fought we witnessed her royal markings, therefore we brought her to Adara, and left her here for your recommendation. If you decide upon assimilation, it will be accomplished without further delay. If you have no other need for us, I am running a training exercise." He gave Quildor one fathomless stare. "Sir."

"You witnessed the royal markings?" Adara screeched. "I knew it! I knew it!"

"Shut up, witch." Quildor flung her offending arm off his shoulder.

"What did this marking look like?" He had turned to Crevan for an answer, ignoring Rion's stride toward the door.

Rion stopped at the closed portal and turned slightly, his shoulders stiff and unyielding. Crevan swallowed audibly. The Witch reached him and grabbed his wrist in her slim fingers. "Tell us what you saw, Warrior."

The touch would have prevented any outside influence from giving Crevan any answer except the truth. Quildor watched Rion's reaction for concern, and found none.

"Her eyes turned purple, the lashes turned black and around her eyes the skin became purple and black in a pattern or design." Crevan said mechanically and the witch dropped his arm, which he shook off momentarily and turned to the door.

"Is this what you saw Rion?" He frowned, for the first time wondering if his son also had the markings, and if he had truly known what mark he was looking for.

Rion nodded and stepped through the exit without a backward glance, his unconcern obvious to everyone. Quildor's eyes narrowed as they both departed.

As the door closed Adara turned to him in shock. "You let him hold you in disregard."

Quildor brought his hand down on a table. "He is young and full of himself. I need him strong in his power. He will not challenge me in the long run; small shows of bravado are for the subordinate warrior. Make no mistake, I watch him, but he is no threat to me. He thinks he hates me for leaving him with foster parents, but he will thank me someday. He has everything he needs. What did you make of them?"

"They told the truth. There was no way Crevan could have lied, or been influenced while I touched him."

"Eyes turned purple? What balderdash is this? That is not the sign of a royal marking."

"But that is what stopped them from assimilating her instantly. It must have been unique enough to be worthy of your attention."

"And have absolutely nothing to do with a royal marking!" Quildor thundered and then snapped his mouth shut, fingering his beard in deep thought.

He glanced back at the girl laying on the bed in the other room, the window as opaque as a wall to her. If she woke right now she would see nothing. She sighed in her sleep, and his eyes fell to her slender white hand cupped slightly near her faintly flushed cheek.

How he remembered a time when fingers like those had cupped his own cheek, and amber eyes had shown brightly in what he thought was love, but what in reality had been betrayal.

He flung himself away from the window  and slammed out of the room.

*****