I shall don these clothes the serving boy left.
They shame my maidenhood, source of my woes,
But will keep me quick when cold would kill me…"
The next instant she found herself staring into a diminishing tunnel of light, the torches and the overcast sky all swirling together as the blackness rushed in from the sides. She swayed, then managed to get her feet under her, and although the world still sparkled queerly, as though fireflies sur¬rounded her, she managed to finish her speech.
"… But warmer though I be, still lost am I, And without food, then-cold or warm, — will die."
A few moments later, when she should have gently sunk to her knees, she found herself instead doing what Finn had asked of Dowan Birch, crashing to the stage with a thump. Again the world darkened. She could hear nothing, not even the spinning, burlap-covered drum that made the noise of wind, could feel nothing but an overwhelming sensation of being
close to Barrick- an awareness more alive than any mere scent or sound, a sense of actually being inside her brother's frightened, confused thoughts.
Out of the darkness crept a terrible shape, a starvation-thin shadow with a gray, corpselike face. At first, in her frightened bafflement, she thought that it was death itself coming for her. Then she realized she must be see¬ing something through her twin brother's eyes-an emotionless mask with glowing moonstone gaze, gliding nearer and nearer. It was not Death, but she knew it was something just as final and much less merciful.
She tried to scream her brother's name, but as in a hundred nightmares she could not make any real sound. The ghastly gray face came closer, so terrifying that the blackness collapsed on her again.
"Zoria!" said a loud voice in her ear. "Here she lies, my virtuous cousin! Are you dead, sweet daughter of the Skyfather? Who has done this terrible thing to you?"
It was Feival, she realized, standing over her and improvising lines, try¬ing to give her time to get up. She opened her eyes to see the young player's concerned features. What had happened to her? That deathly, nightmare face…!
"Can you walk, Cousin?" Feival asked, trying to get an arm beneath her so he could lift her. "Shall I help you?" With his mouth close to her ear, he whispered, "What are you playing at, girl?"
She shook off his hand and clambered unsteadily to her feet. She could feel the tension that had fallen over the company and audience alike; the latter were not certain yet that something was wrong, but they were be¬ginning to suspect. She couldn't think about Barrick. Not right now. This was like her life back at home, something she knew: she must put on her mask.
"Well, noble…" She swayed, took an uneven breath. "Well, noble cousin, kind Zosim," she began again. "I can walk now that… that you are here to guide me out from these unfriendly winds."
She could hear Finn Teodoros sigh with relief at the back of the stage, half a dozen yards away.
The last few bystanders were milling about in the tavern yard, finishing their food and drink. A handful of drunken prentices talked in overloud voices about which goddess they would father kiss. Estir and Pedder Makewell had gone inside with Bedoyas the tavern keeper to sort out the afternoon's take, while Teodoros, Hewney, and the rest celebrated the success
of the afternoon's production with a few pitchers of ale. Briony still fell shaky. She sat by herself on the edge of the stage, holding a mug without drinking and staring at her shoes. What had happened to her? It had been like nothing she had ever felt before-not even like seeing Barrick in the mirror that time, but like being Barrick. And who or what was that ghastly gray… thing?
She felt bile climb into her throat. What could she do about it, in any case? Nothing! She didn't even know where he was. It was like a curse-she could do nothing to help her own brother! Nothing, nothing, nothing…
"Well, my lady, I see you took my advice after all."
For an instant she only stared-the voice was familiar, but although she knew the dark-skinned face, she could not at first recall…
"Dawet!" She slid off the stage, almost spilling her ale. For a moment it was such a surprise to see someone she knew that she nearly threw her arms around him. Then she remembered that they had met because Dawet dan-Faar had come as an envoy from Ludis, to negotiate on behalf of her father's kidnapper.
He smiled, perhaps at her visible confusion. "So you remember me. Then you may also remember that I suggested you see something of the world, my lady. I did not think you would take my advice quite so much to heart. You have become a stage-player now?"
She suddenly realized others were watching, not all of them from her troupe. "Quiet," she whispered. "I am not supposed to be a girl, let alone a princess."
"Passing as a boy?" he murmured. "Oh, I hardly think anyone would be¬lieve that. But what are you doing here in such unlikely guise and company?"
She stared at him, suddenly mistrustful. "I will ask the same of you. Why are you not in Hierosol? Have you left Ludis Drakava's service?"
He shook his head. "No, my lady, although many wiser than me have al¬ready done so…" He looked up and past her, his eyes narrowing. "But what is this?"
The tavern keeper Bedoyas and both Makewells were coming across the tavern yard toward the company, but it was their escort-a dozen guardsmen wearing the crests of city reeves-that had caught Dawet's eye. For a moment Briony only stared, then realized that she of all of them had the most to lose if captured or arrested for some reason. She eyed the nearest ways out of the yard but it was hopeless: the guards had already surrounded them.
A heavy-faced soldier wearing an officer's sash across his tunic stepped forward. "You of the players' company known as Makewell's Men, you are remanded in arrest to His Majesty the king's custody." The captain saw Dawet and scowled. "Ah. You, too, fellow. I was told to look for a southern darkling, and here you are."
"You would be wise to watch your tongue, sir," said Dawet with smooth venom, but he made no move to resist.
"Arrested?" Finn Teodoros' voice had an anxious squeak to it. "Under what charge?"
"Spying, as you well know," said the captain. "Now you will be intro¬duced to His Majesty's hospitality, which I think will be a little less to your liking than that of Master Bedoyas. And entertain no thoughts of daring es¬cape, you players-this is no play. I have half a pentecount more of soldiers waiting outside."
"Spying?" Briony turned to Dawet. "What are they talking about?" she whispered.
"Say nothing," he told her under his breath."No matter what happens or what they tell you. They will try to trick you."
She put her head down and let herself be herded with the others. Estir Makewell and young Pilney were both weeping. Others might have been, but it was hard to tell, because rain had started to fall.
"I'm afraid I cannot go with you," Dawet said loudly.
Briony turned, thinking he spoke to her. He had drawn himself back against a wall of the courtyard, a knife suddenly twinkling in his gloved fin¬gers. "What are you doing?" she demanded, but Dawet did not even look at her.
"Enough of your nonsense, black," said the captain. "Were you Hil-iometes himself you could not overcome so many."
"I swear on the fiery head of Zosim Salamandros that you have the wrong man," said Dawet. One of the guards stepped toward him, but the Tuani man had the blade up and cocked for throwing so quickly the sol¬dier froze as if snake-addled.
The captain sighed. "Swear by the Salamander, do you?" He stared at Dawet dan-Faar like a householder trying to decide whether to buy a lump of expensive meat that was only going in the stew, anyway. "You two, you heard him," he said, gesturing to a pair of guards standing nearby, short spears at the ready. "Deal with him. I have better things to do than waste any more time here."