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streets, surging against the palace itself, and still rising. She had seen her mother Usharna struggling against the waters, the weight of her clothes and the Keys of Power dragging her down relentlessly, and then her half-brother Berayma had appeared, holding out his hand to the queen, their fingers locking. For a moment it had seemed that Berayma would drag her free of the flood, but the pull of the sea was too great and his grip weakened. Areava saw the strain on her brother’s face as he tried to hold on to the queen’s hand, and then her fingers, and then the tearing sleeve of her gown…
    “Oh, God.” Areava wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging herself tightly. A sob broke from her and she could not help the tears that came. She felt ashamed of her weakness, but the dream had been so terrible, so frightening.
    She steadied her breathing, made herself stop crying, then slipped out of bed. She stirred the dying embers in the hearth, added a few small logs. Slowly the fire restarted; with the increasing warmth the last shreds of the dream seemed to evaporate from her mind, leaving behind nothing but a vague disquiet about the future. But Princess Areava of Kendra did not believe in premonitions or prophecies. Putting aside the uneasiness, she started dressing, wondering what had woken her. She remembered the sound of riders cantering into the forecourt. Had it been part of the dream? She went to the narrow door that led to her balcony and opened it. She looked over the railing to the forecourt below and saw several horses being led to the stables. So that part was real. A thought, unbidden, came to her that perhaps all of it had been real, and a shiver went down her spine.
    The sun was already well above the horizon when Lynan was roused by Pirem. His servant gave no greeting, simply held out his clothes for him as he dressed and helped put on his belt with its small dress knife.
    Lynan checked himself in the mirror. He liked what he saw. If not as tall as his siblings, he was as wide, and he did not object to a face which, if not handsome, was not so bad it would scare the ghosts out of children. His focus shifted and he smiled at the reflection of Pirem, whose face would scare the ghost out of a seasoned warrior. He was as short as Lynan, thin as a fencing blade, with a head made up of more sharp points than a knife box. Pirem’s lips were sealed tight.
    “Not talking this morning, Pirem?”
    “No.”
    “Did you have a particularly heavy night on the drink?”
    “Not as heavy as you, your Highness,” Pirem said pointedly.
    “Ah. I see. You are angry with me.”
    “Angry with you, your Highness? Me? What right has a lowly servant to be angry with the boy he has raised almost singlehandedly when that boy goes off an‘ almost gets hisself skewered by the likes of street thugs? I ask you, Your Highness, what right do I have?”
    “You’ve been talking with Kumul.”
    “Someone had to carry fresh water and sheets up to the room where that poor man who got hisself skewered on your behalf now lies on his deathbed.”
    “Don’t exaggerate, Pirem. Ager is not on his deathbed.”
    “Pirem, is it?” He cocked his head as if listening to the sound of his own name. “I thought that was a moniker used by a certain lad who’s got not enough sense to do as he’s told when what he’s told is for his own health and happiness.”
    “Oh, for God’s sake, Pirem, give your tongue a rest.”
    “An‘ here I was thinkin’ you were concerned ‘cause I wasn’t sayin’ enough. Silly me.”
    Lynan turned away from the mirror and confronted the servant. “All right, Pirem, have it out. Give me your lecture.”
    “Oh, far be it from me to lecture your Highness, who knows so much already about the ways of the world he doesn’t bother listenin‘ to the advice of his seniors…”
    “Forget it!” Lynan said abruptly, his irritation turning to anger. “I’ve had enough, Pirem. I had all the lectures I needed