Daine nearly sighed with relief as she arrived in her apartments. They were close by to Alanna, and the knight was placated that she would have a close eye on the young woman, lest she think of getting into any more trouble. This is nice, chirped Zek, springing from behind Daine's hair to tuck lustily into a fruit bowl sitting on her vanity. Daine smiled, then took advantage of the wash basin while Kitten inspected every corner for whatever it was baby dragons looked for. Soon, Daine felt fresh and new, clad in a whispering gown of twilight blue with silver beads across a modest neckline. Her walk through court had shown that though the women outside the walls of the palace were expected to be covered, inside the palace was another story. The emperor loved his displays, she had overheard Lord Martin saying crossly, so Daine was not going to argue. It was fair hot in this place, and the dresses Thayet had gifted her were nice and light.

You look pretty, Zek said, popping another grape in his mouth. Like a nice piece of fruit. Daine smiled and ruffled his fur. The dresses were gloriously beautiful, that certainly did not hurt either. She gave the room one last look, and then frowned. Since she arrived, there was one sore spot for her, a thick tiger skin rug with the head still attached, jaws stuck in an eternal roar. She had avoided it as much as possible, but it felt wrong, her all dressed up and about to go have fun and such a majestic creature, laid out on her floor like so much refuse.

Daine crouched beside the rug and sighed. "You poor, beautiful thing. Two-leggers are fair stupid sometimes, thinking you look better lying here than out in the jungle somewhere." She reached out a hand to caress the striped cheek, but instead of springy fur, her fingers felt hot, itchy. White light sprang from them, filled the room, and knocked Daine backward with a yelp.

Kitten whistled, a low warning. Daine sat up quickly, rubbing her eyes so her vision would clear, then looked at the rug, and the rug looked at her.

The tiger skin yawned.

"Goddess!" Daine yelled, scrambling backward, but the tiger skin had stopped moving. "Did you see that?" she demanded of Zek and Kitten. Both of them looked as bewildered as she felt. With a hairbrush, Daine gingerly pushed the tiger skin away from her, stuffing it under the bed. As she did, she felt anger rising in her breast. Had the Black Mage cursed her somehow? She couldn't think of another reason a dead tiger's skin would want to move around in her apartment, but it did not make any sense for him to jeopardize the talks for some mage's trick.

"Still…" Daine muttered darkly, climbing to her feet and smoothing the wrinkles in her dress. "I'm in enough trouble, don't you think?" Kitten nodded happily, chirping her agreement, and Daine shook her head, hoping against hope that the rest of the trip would be filled with helping the emperor's birds, and absolutely nothing else.

Daine met Alanna outside their rooms, and grinned to see the knight clad in a gown of deep purple, with her red cropped hair swept back with amethyst pins. Daine sighed, trying not to be envious of the knight. "You look fair wondrous," she said. "Thayet says there's nothing like a good gown to give you confidence." Alanna smiled crookedly, a hint of a blush on her cheeks, and swept her hand by her side, grasping comically for a hilt that was not there. "I'd feel a lot more confident with a sword around my hips, but I suppose one can't have everything."

Daine giggled. "No, I suppose not."

Alanna's eyes narrowed when she noticed Daine's own dress. "One of Thayet's?" she asked. Daine blushed and nodded, and Alanna fought hard to purse her lips in disapproval. She had been Daine's age—younger, even—when she had come into her own knowledge of her femininity. It was not for Alanna to throw a sack on the girl and hide her from male eyes like the Carthaki, but at that moment, it was just what Alanna wanted to do, especially after seeing the way the prince had looked at her.

Daine had no thoughts for her own appearance for the moment, for when the rest of their delegation arrived, her heart swelled to see what dashing figures they all struck. Perhaps Carthak was known for its excessive displays, but none could match Tortall in honest elegance. As they walked toward the hall, Daine remembered for the first time the badger's warning, and his insistence that she share it with the others.

"Alanna, I have something important to tell you," she started, but the knight hissed out of the side of her mouth, then leaned in. Daine tilted her head to hear her whisper.

"Kitten is here so I don't have a care for listening spells, but there are plenty of eyes trained to read lips, and plenty an ear sharp enough to catch a passing conversation. If it's important, it will have to wait until we are in a safer place." Daine nodded, and shivered. She may walk among her people right now, but this was not Tortall. They were not free to say or do what they would. Unbidden, the face of Master Numair came to mind, his fierce black eyes, dancing with humor one moment and darkening into thunder the next, telling her she was far from home. He's not wrong, Daine thought sadly. Gods, let me just stay with the birds for the rest of the trip!

The Black Mage himself was getting ready to meet the Tortallan delegation, but his mind was only on meeting the girl again. He stood in front of the long glass, studying his reflection, dwelling on the events of the day. Though he was due in the throne room shortly, he had managed only to don the northern style breeches that he preferred to the Carthaki tunic. Instead of selecting a shirt, he fastened the black opal around his neck, running a finger across its smooth surface idly. He wondered whether black opals could amplify wild magic, as they did the Gift. A true wild mage had not been seen in Carthak for hundreds of years, and he disliked that most of his knowledge of them was purely academic. There were the Beast People, but they were an anomaly, and only footnotes in his books. But someone like this girl, now there was a power to be studied!

He pulled his jet hair back in a leather thong, thinking back to their encounter earlier. Mithros, she was young, but her loveliness could not be denied. Numair reasoned that it was her power that drew him. Her power, he thought, and not her waist that he could span with both hands, not her small upthrust breasts that had been taunting him through that ridiculously sheer material. The sharp heat of desire lanced through him, and Numair scowled, taking a deep breath to steel himself against it. There was no denying that he wanted her. To study, he reminded himself fiercely. She was a prickly one, and he would need her trust to fully plumb the depths of her power. He did not mind his reputation as a rake—encouraged it, in fact, for he knew it was a sore point for the emperor—but he imagined that Daine would have been warned against him already. Not to mention their first meeting, where he had not exactly been chivalrous.

Numair frowned. He prided himself on his ability to always be in control, but she had goaded him into threats, with her defiance, blue grey eyes flashing disdain. He admitted it thrilled him, at first, to be spoken to in such a way. There were few these days who would dare even look in his eyes, let alone truly try to thwart him. But she had pushed too far, and his temper, so evenly maintained, had somehow snapped. He had not lost his temper in an age, and yet this slip of a girl had managed it in two minutes. His frown deepened as his thoughts cast back to her in that moment, dripping on the banks of the River Zekoi, her cheeks suffused with a blush, the soft skin of her wrist held in his palm, her breath coming faster as she realized who he was, that here was a man who would not yield to her demands.

He rolled his eyes at his reflection and turned away. The very thought of the girl, and he was hard as a rock. Not yield, indeed. So much for the Black Mage's famed self-control, he thought sourly.

"Talu!" he called, and the door to Numair's chambers opened, admitting an older man with a shaved head. He was smaller than the Black Mage, with the easy demeanor of one who is secure in his place in the world. Talu could tell his master was in a mood, but it did not bother him. His master was always in a mood, and Talu had learned to bear these moods easily. He had known the master since Numair had been the young Arram Draper, fresh from university and green in the ways of politics, best friend to the heir apparent. Talu had helped Arram navigate palace life, and the master had intervened when Talu should have aged out of palace duty, claiming Talu to be the personal valet of the vizier Numair Salmalin, as he had taken to calling himself by then. The role was largely ceremonial. A mage of Master Numair's caliber needed no help dressing and looking presentable. If Talu was being called in to help him prepare, it meant the master had something on his mind.

"Dawdling about again, Black Mage?" Talu asked, taking stock of his master with a paternal pride. Numair stalked about the room like a restless jungle cat, and clad only his breeches Talu was pleased to see that while the mage's Gift grew, he continued to listen to Talu's advice that strong magic should exist only in a strong body. Talu had no Gift himself, but he had seen much in his years, not the least of which was a sorceror drained of magic, fallen to a knife or a sword. Even if Master Numair did not possess the strongest Gift in the world, it would be a brave man indeed who would challenge him to a fight.

"I'd hate to gain a reputation as a punctual man," Numair drawled. "People might come to expect things of me." Talu snorted, heading to the bureau to select a suitable garment for a royal audience.

"Perish the thought, master." It was no difficulty picking a fine black tunic stitched with silver thread. "Stand by the glass, if you please." Numair did as he was bid, and waited patiently as Talu dressed him. "Is the master nervous to meet with the Tortallan delegation?" the slave asked.

Numair snorted. "I have fought every black mage in the world and defeated them single handed. I hardly think a foreign delegation of politicians would have me anywhere near nervous."

"And yet the master fidgets like a schoolboy." Numair glared at Talu through the mirror, but the slave ignored him, returning to the bureau to procure the black robe that would complete his dress. He helped Numair shrug into it, and surveyed the final result.

"Ozorne plays a game that is beginning to bore me. I tire of the politics, as you well know."

"So the schoolboy prefers to leave his real studies for some wild pursuits," Talu replied mildly. This time, his remark prompted Numair to turn so the men were face to face.

His voice low and dark, he said, "What have you heard?"

"Only the idle palace gossip, of course." The slave took a small brush and dusted his master's shoulders off, not the least worried about Numair's tone. "That a lovely young maid rides with the delegation, and that a certain Black Mage met her on the banks of the River Zekoi, and she in a shocking state of undress. But I assume you will tell me your interest is purely academic?" Numair turned back toward the mirror, his mouth set in a thin line.

"You'd know me for a liar if I did," he responded. Talu nodded, straightening the sleeves on the robe.

"Of course, if this girl has captured your interest, then you may be certain she's caught the interest of the emperor as well. And you know how well he loves his toys. Ah, there, you see? The picture of elegance." Talu stepped back from the mirror while Numair surveyed the dark figure he struck. The picture of forbidding doom, more like, he thought, and just the way he preferred it.

"Ozorne can't have her," he said. The moment the words left his lips, he knew he meant them. Ozorne would have no idea what to do with such raw and primal power, no idea how to elicit its secrets, tease out its nuances. The emperor was a ham-fisted novice with his Gift, more prone to punching through silk with an awl, while Numair knew when to use a fine needle. The man would probably lock her up in the university, demanding she tell him all she knew, rather than gain her trust and discover it with her willingness.

Or he'd rather keep her in his menagerie, among the animals, a small voice said.

No.

Daine was his mystery to explore, Numair decided. She was his, no matter what.

The thought of Daine, standing on the river bank in her dripping blue dress, filled him with lust once more. He rubbed his face, knowing this problem would not solve itself. He needed a woman under his hands. "Talu," Numair said, "please send for the Lady Varice. Tell her I do not care what she is doing." They would certainly be late to the proceedings now, but the thought of making Ozorne wait did nothing to dampen Numair's ardor. Talu pursed his lips, but said nothing. He knew a dismissal when he heard one, much as he knew his master had made up his mind on something he did not wish to share. The slave turned on his heel and left at a trot. No doubt the lady would screech his ear off about how she could not possibly be pulled away on such short notice, but Talu knew she would come along. Women like her did not usually ignore a summons from Master Numair Salmalin, especially not when it was a summons to his private chambers.