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ridiculous,” Gudon interrupted, “is that neither of you have tried to see to the very end. Whether or not Areava is guilty of conspiracy is meaningless.
She
is Lynan’s enemy now, not Berayma’s murderers, however just it might be to want to reveal their wrongdoing.”
    “Lynan will never be safe in Grenda Lear until he is crowned himself,” Korigan added. “And as for cause? He has the blood, he has the goodwill of the Chetts and—from what Gudon has told me—the goodwill of the ruler and people of Chandra as well. Lynan has one of the Keys of Power, the Key of Union, the Key that represents all the provinces in the kingdom outside of Kendra itself.”
    “We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Kumul said. Ager thought he looked suddenly gray, and his voice sounded uncertain. “We still have to decide what to do
now,
not years ahead.”
    “Then shouldn’t Lynan be here?” Korigan asked.
    “Ager and I have been advising him. When we have all made a decision as to our best course of action, we will present it to him.”
    Korigan’s eyes widened. “Is that how it works in Grenda Lear?”
    “Lynan is still young,” Kumul explained patiently. “He was never expected to succeed to the throne, so he was never taught how to rule or how to lead. He must learn these things under our tutelage.”
    “Truly, it is better to learn by doing,” Gudon said.
    “In the proper time and in the proper way,” Kumul said shortly.
    As the discussion returned again to whether the clan should move west to spend winter at the High Sooq or stay where it was, Ager found himself no longer listening to the words. He stood up, excused himself and drifted into the night, his crouching walk making him look like a giant spider in the dim light.
    Korigan and Gudon’s words had shocked him because the idea of Lynan becoming king himself had never occurred to him, but the more he thought about it the more logical the Chetts’ conclusion seemed to be. He did not agree with it—his whole upbringing and training as a soldier loyal to Grenda Lear rebelled against it—but he could see the sense behind the argument.
    He turned back to the others. The fire flickered dimly in the darkness, the giant silhouette of Kumul casting an eerie shadow across the camp.

    Lynan forced himself to turn back.
    What was I doing ? I am a prince of the realm, not a beast in the night.
    He laughed wryly at his own pride. Some prince of the realm: exiled to the Oceans of Grass, with a future only the greatest optimist would find any hope in, and now plagued by desires that were inhuman. Areava would not be surprised, of course, she always thought of him as almost less than human. He could remember vividly their last conversation on the palace’s south gallery only hours before Be-rayma was murdered; he had seen in her eyes then how she truly thought of him.
    With that memory came a very human anger, and the emotion threw out the last vestige of his unnatural hunger.
This is how I control it,
he thought with surprise.
By never forgetting the first cause of my exile and transformation.
    His confidence renewed if not wholly restored, Lynan walked back past the sentry and into the camp. He reached his tent and looked east, back toward civilization, back toward his enemies. He imagined Areava in her throne room, thinking he was dead and celebrating the fact, Berayma’s murderers by her side.
    If only she knew what had truly become of him.
    He was about to enter his tent when he caught sight of Ager standing alone. With his bent body he seemed almost to hover over the ground. Lynan went to him and put a hand on his warped shoulder.
    “I thought you would be asleep by now,” he said to the crookback. “You were as excited as a child on the hunt today.”
    Ager grinned self-consciously. “It has been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure. Since before the Slaver War.”
    He nodded at his back. “And I have always found it easier to ride than walk.”
    “Are