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with her shoe. “I hate you,” she said to the Sweet Sisters.
    Now Palicrovol’s army held even the city of Hart’s Hope itself. Word was that Palicrovol had changed the city’s name. Now he would call it Inwit, and he was causing half his soldiers to work on building a great temple to his God. He forbade anyone to offer blood at the shrine of the Hart.
    This gave Asineth hope. Even though the Hart was a strange god to her, as to all women, she was sure that the Hart would listen to her. Weren’t they allies now? Wasn’t Palicrovol an enemy to both of them? She prayed to the Hart, then, to be a shield around the Castle walls. There was no chance of treachery now—only a few guards remained, and King Nasilee himself held the only keys that would open the rooms where the gate could be lifted or the postern door unblocked. But Palicrovol had Sleeve, the greatest wizard in the world, and what no man could do, Sleeve might do. So Asineth prayed to the Hart to protect them.
    And in the night, at the very moment she was pleading with the Hart to preserve her father and herself, she heard a great cracking noise like a thousand trees breaking in a storm and knew at once what it meant. The huge gate of the castle had been broken by Sleeve’s magic, and there was no more thwarting Palicrovol now.
    Asineth ran searching for her father through the labyrinth of the Palace. She looked in every hiding place; she did not know her father as well as she thought. He was not in a hiding place. So she did not find him until the soldiers did, in the Chamber of Questions.
    â€œFather!” she cried.
    â€œFool!” he shouted. “Run.”
    But the soldiers knew her at once, and caught her, and held her until Palicrovol came.
    I hate you, Hart, said Asineth silently.
    They came into the Chamber of Questions within the hour: Palicrovol, tall and strong, with the light of God in his face, or at least the light of triumph. Zymas, the traitor, with arms and legs like the limbs of an ox, and the look of battle black in his eyes. Sleeve, gaunt and ghostlike with his white skin and white hair and pink eyes, drifting like a fog over the floor.
    â€œHe should die as so many thousands of his people died,” cried Zymas. “Sit him naked on a stake, and let the people spit on him as he screams in agony.”
    â€œHe should be burned,” said Sleeve, “so that the power of his blood is returned into the world.”
    â€œHe is King,” said Palicrovol. “He will die like a King.” Palicrovol drew his sword. “Give him your sword, Zymas.”
    â€œPalicrovol,” said Zymas, “you should not take this risk yourself.”
    â€œPalicrovol,” said Sleeve, “you should not dirty your hands with his blood.”
    â€œWhen the singers say that I vanquished Nasilee,” said Palicrovol, “it will be true.”
    So Asineth watched as her father raised the sword they gave him. He did not attempt to fight—that would have been undignified. Instead he stood with the point of the sword upraised. Palicrovol beat twice upon the sword, trying to force it back, but Nasilee did not flinch. Then Palicrovol thrust his sword under the King’s arms, beneath the breastbone, upward into the heart. Asineth watched her father’s blood rush gladly down Palicrovol’s blade and wash over his hands, and she heard the soldiers cheer.
    Then she stepped forward. “I am the daughter of the King,” she said in a voice that was all the more powerful because it was so feeble and childish.
    They all fell silent and listened to her.
    â€œThe King my father is dead. I am Queen as of this moment, by all the laws of Burland. And the King will be the man I marry.”
    â€œThe King,” said Zymas, “is the man that the armies obey.”
    â€œThe King,” said Sleeve, “is the man clearly favored by the gods.”
    â€œThe King,” said