The Heart of the mirage

"What sort of things?'

The hesitation before he spoke was telling. 'I am a Magori. After the invasion, there were only ten of the Magoroth left – all children, of whom Korden was the oldest. It is imperative more such are born, but the only way we can be sure that will happen is for a Magoria to have children by a Magori. In any combination of ranks, the children are more likely to be of the lesser rank. But we need the golds, the Magoroth. We need them desperately, Derya, because they are the ones who have the real power.'

'And you think I am not a Magoria? How can you know that?'

'I don't think it's possible. There weren't all that many Magoroth children even at the time of the invasion. We know who they were, and how they died, if they did indeed die. As for those who lived, well, we know where they are, too.'

I was flooded with disappointment; it would have been advantageous to have as much power as they did. Then I woke up to the significance of what he'd said, and almost laughed. The man was worried about me forming an attachment to him. Me – a Compeer of the Brotherhood! The idea of losing my heart to him, to any of them, was ludicrous. I kept a straight face. 'So what you are saying is that our, um, union has no future. That sooner or later you will choose a life-mate from the Magorias.' As if I cared.

His lips twisted. 'There's not all that much choice. There's only one unmarried Magoria who's more than twenty years old.' He bent to pick up a stone and then flipped it away across the water, where it bounced several times before disappearing into the darkness. 'We – those of the Ten – we lead these people, Derya. One day we will lead this country.

None of us get to have that many choices.' He turned towards me, his face shadowed and emotions concealed.

In spite of my amusement, I felt an unexpected lurch of regret at the loss of what might have been. What I had felt in his arms had been physically wondrous, and I was sorry I might never know it again. Still, I hardly knew this man, certainly wasn't contemplating a lifetime commitment, was even intending to betray all he held dear: so why did what he was telling me matter? 'Never mind. I can live for the present and face the future when it comes.' I looked down at my palm. 'We're not born with these things implanted, are we? You said something about mine having been in my palm since just after I was born.' Tell me I am not a god, or an immortal. Tell me this is something done to me, by ordinary men.

'Yes. Our powers are usually latent or hard to access; it is the implanting of the cabochon, the sooner the better, that allows the powers to reach their potential. Children are later trained to use those powers. I'm not going to tell you right now about how the cabochons are implanted, or how the colour of the cabochon is decided upon. The cabochons are what make the Magor what we are; without them, we would be mere shadows of what is possible.'

'At death, what happens to the cabochon?'

'It falls to powder. It can never be used again. And if it is removed while you live, your death follows. If it is accidentally cracked, then your powers leak away.'

I changed the subject. 'Korden doesn't like me. But you said he would be delighted to see me -'

He was puzzled. 'No, I don't remember saying that. «»* Whatever gave you that idea?'

'You said the Mirager would -'

'The – oh!' He laughed. 'Korden is not the Mirager, Derya.'

'He's not? Then who is?' But I knew already. 'Oh, sweet Melete – you7. You're the -?' The one they couldn't torture, the one they couldn't burn. He was the man I was sent to capture. I was so shocked at my error, my knees buckled and he had to put out a hand to hold me. How could I have made such an elementary mistake? Stupidity like that could cost me my life. I felt a numbing shame. Where in all the mists had I laid my commonsense? Between my legs, for me to have been so easily overwhelmed by my physical response to a handsome man?

'Derya, what's wrong? Does it matter that much?'

T – No, I don't suppose so.' It was hard to speak, to put the coherent deception together without uttering a lie. 'It's – just that – yesterday I was just me. And now I find I've lain in a – a ruler's arms -' I gave a weak laugh. 'I'm such a fool.' You could say that again.

He took me in his arms once more and held me, brushing my hair with kisses, crooning to me as though I were a child. I felt like a child. Where was the compeer of the Brotherhood now? Where was my strength, my objectivity, my wits? Not so long ago, I had been one of the most powerful women in the Exaltarchy, now I was just a stupid female so caught up in the net cast by an attractive man that I was no longer in command of my senses.

'Was it you they tried to burn in Sandmurram?' I asked finally. Is it possible?

He nodded briefly, dismissing the incident as unimportant. 'Don't blame Korden for his mistrust of you,' he said. 'Or Pinar, either. They are both old enough to remember the invasion, the parents they

lost, the world that was destroyed. Korden is the oldest of the Magoroth, another nephew of the last Mirager, just as I am, yet I was the heir, not him, simply because my father was older than his. He finds that hard to remember sometimes. He thinks he could do a better job than me, you see. It is a situation that has made him more than my friend: he is my conscience. He feels it is his duty to keep me from making mistakes. And it is hard for him – for Pinar too – to trust you because they look at you and see Tyrans.'

I nodded. 'I think – I think I'll go back to the fire. I need to think things over.'

'Good idea. I, um, wasn't thinking of coming to you tonight, Derya. There are, er, complications.'

'You mean Pinar, of course.' The only unattached Magoria over twenty; I knew it with certainty. I'd seen the way she looked at him.

'We are not lovers, not yet, and for the time being we go our own ways, but she will be Miragerin-consort one day, and I would not insult her by lying in the arms of a lover so publicly. Perhaps elsewhere, if you accept or want a – a – temporary relationship. If that reeks of hypocrisy, well, I'm not in a position to be honest. I'm the Mirager. I'm sorry if that hurts you, but it is the way things are.'

It should have been amusing. Here was someone apologising for not taking me to bed, apologising because he was afraid he was about to hurt my feelings. How Rathrox Ligatan would have laughed. He trained his compeers to have no feelings, to use their bodies without compunction to further the interest of the task in hand. But I was more intrigued than amused. I thought, How he hates himself for this! Temellin was trapped in an impossible situation, and

no matter which way he twisted he would not like what he did.

I shrugged my indifference. 'Who am I to object? I have no claims on you. You did not speak to me of permanence. I have known you for a little over a day. I found something special in your arms. I would like to find it again. I can wait.' They were the words of a compeer intending to use this man and wrench out the heart of the Kardi insurgents and their terrorism – but there was truth in them too. I wanted to feel his arms about me again; I wanted to know the secret of the way I had felt when I had lain in his arms. I had found something then that most people never know, and it was hard to turn my back on it deliberately.

He touched my face with gentle fingers. 'Don't talk to Brand about the cabochons or such matters. It is better he does not know too much of what we are.' He bent to kiss me, but the brush of his lips meant a return of the memory of what his lovemaking had wrought the day before. It was far too easy to be seduced by that recollection. I felt like a moth, blinded by the allure of the torch, risking the scorch of its heat. I strove to tear myself free of the attraction.

'Goodnight, Temellin,' I said, hoping I sounded coolly collected.

I walked away from him back towards the campfires, pulling my cloak tight about me, feeling I'd just been spat out of a whirlwind. For the first time, my private life and my mission on behalf of the Brotherhood were at war and I didn't know what I was going to do. I was disgusted with myself, with my lack of control over my emotions. Damn them all to Acheron – how could I feel this way?