Zaranda held her hands up. "Wait!" she cried. "QUIET!"
The crowd subsided. "Didn't anybody listen to what I told the city council when I was being tried by them? You don't need kings or queens. You need to learn to look out for yourselves and one another. If you don't do that, nothing else means anything."
The Zazesspurians looked at each other. The chant began again, slowly at first, rapidly swelling: "Za-RAN-da! Za-RAN-da! Za-RAN-da!"
She shook her head in disgust. Hembreon tapped her on the elbow. She inclined her head toward him.
"If you are not ready to be crowned," he said, "there is no need to rush into anything. But like it or not, you have just been acclaimed ruler of Tethyr." He smiled gravely. "Would it not be wisest to accept your fate with grace?"
"Well, several times today I've met kicking and screaming what I thought was going to be my fate. I guess it can't hurt to try something new." She turned to the crowd and held both hands clasped above her head-an idiot gesture, she thought, as if she had just won a footrace.
"All right!" she cried as the chant subsided. "I'll do it! Ill be your chief executive, or whatever."
The mob cheered rapturously. And then hundreds of hands were pointing skyward, and voices were crying, "Look!" in tones of mingled fear and wonder.
Zaranda looked up. Selune hung overhead, in a state even the most confirmed pessimist would have to acknowledge was past half-full, with her Tears a glowing trail behind her. Against the moon's face a great shape wheeled, winged and dark.
"Don't worry," she called to the crowd. "She's with me."
She turned to Hembreon. "If you'll excuse me, I have some personal business to attend to." He frowned. "If you could find it in you to say a few words-"
Brightening visibly, the old man stepped forward, raising his arms. "Friends, fellow Zazesspurians, countrymen and -women-" he began. The mob booed lustily.
As she reached the top floor, a young man in black police armor called out to her. In a burlap sack, he was carrying something large and round.
"Countess? I'm Constable Watrous. We were sent in a few hours ago to secure the building from looters. We searched the quarters of the false priest Armenides-" His handsome young face went a shade paler. "You wouldn't believe what we found there."
"Oh, yes I would," Zaranda said. "Now, what's on your mind?"
"Well, we found this there." He reached into the sack and lifted up the brazen head. "It, ah, it's been demanding to be brought to you."
"And so I have, and I must say you took your own sweet time about it, boy."
Zaranda sighed. "Hello, Head. It's been a while."
"Well, now that you've dispatched L'yafv-Afvonn back to the depths of hell-my personal thanks, by the way; you can't imagine how trying it was being compelled to speak for that horror-but now that you've established yourself as one of the foremost heroes of the age-of this or any age, and should I say heroine? be that as it may- unquestionably you'll want to learn the secrets I have to offer-"
Zaranda took the head from the youth, putting a hand over its mouth in the process. "Thank you, Constable Watrous. You did a good job." The youngster saluted, looked as if he wanted to say something, then turned and marched briskly away.
"Rmmph!" the head said, so emphatically Zaranda shifted her hand. "That young man clearly admired you. However, if you have a taste for more mature companionship, I can certainly provide-"
"Shut up," Zaranda said, "or I'll march you back down to the catacombs and chuck you in the lava."
The palace roof was flat. It was dotted with low cement blocks of varying sizes, to what purpose Zaranda couldn't imagine. Maybe they were meant to serve as pedestals for statues. They might just as well have been meant to serve some otherworldly evil aims of Armenides' or L'yafv-Afvonn's.
From the noises drifting up off the plaza, a general celebration had broken out below. A familiar slight figure sat on one of the blocks, her back to the stairs. She didn't stir as Zaranda approached.
Chenowyn whipped around when Zaranda laid a hand on her shoulder. She made as if to knock it away, then covered her face.
"Thank you for saving us today," Zaranda said.
"That wasn't me," the girl sobbed. "That was some monster. Some freak."
"That was you. You chose to help us. You found a way. I'm glad, anyway."
"I hate myself."
Zaranda shook her head. "Don't talk that way about my friend."
"I'm nobody's friend. I'm not even real. I'm just a construct."
"No," Zaranda said, hunkering beside her. "You're Chenowyn. You're a young girl; you're my apprentice; you're somebody I love and don't want to see hurt. And that's all that matters."
Vast wings boomed. Zaranda looked up to see a great draconian shape settling toward them, scales glinting purple in the light of moon above and city below.
The dragon touched down, and then a woman was walking toward them. Zaranda straightened.
"An amethyst dragon? How come you're so obsessed with sapphires?"
"I like sapphires," Nyadnar said. Her perfect features showed the first expression Zaranda had ever seen on them: puzzlement. "Why would I not like sapphires?"
"Well, I'd figure an amethyst dragon would like amethysts, whereas a taste for sapphires would indicate-never mind."
She walked back to where she had discreetly left the brazen head before approaching Chen.
"Here," she said, tossing the artifact to the sorceress. Nyadnar caught the heavy object as if it were a child's rag ball. "Item delivered. You can arrange payment at your convenience; 111 be around. For a while, anyway."
"So you're Nyadnar," the head said. "I've heard a lot about you. And, I must say, now that I get a look at you-"
The sorceress gestured. The head went inert in mid-indelicacy. "That's a good trick," Zaranda said. "Wish I'd known how to do that."
"You will of course be paid," the sorceress said. "But you understand, my commissioning you to bring me the head was merely a pretext, all along, for-"
Zaranda shot a meaningful side-glance at Chen. "Maybe we should save that?"
"Oh," said the sorceress, who was also a dragon.
She held out her hands to the girl. "Come with me, Daughter," she said. "Fly with me. You have proven yourself worthy, and more than worthy, to assume your legacy. Now I will teach you who you are, and what you are; I will awaken in you power unimaginable to lesser beings."
Chenowyn stood. "I know who I am, and what I am: Chenowyn, apprentice to Zaranda Star. I chose to awaken my own power, thank you very much. If I have more, I expect to work it out on my own. Now, goodbye."
Nyadnar stared, aghast. "But I'm your mother."
Chenowyn frowned; for an instant her eyes gleamed red. "A mother doesn't demand proof of her child!" she cried. She grabbed Zaranda's hand. "There's only one person in the world entitled to call herself my mother: Zaranda. I'm staying with her. You do what you choose."
She started walking toward the stairwell, tugging on Zaranda's hand. "Can we go? I'm hungry."
"Sure, honey. We can do that."
Zaranda looked back at Nyadnar. The sorceress slowly raised her head. To Zaranda's amazement, a perfectly formed amethyst was sliding down one cheek.
"Yes," Nyadnar said, "even dragons cry. And our tears are gemstones."