5.5

When Dirk Blackpool returned to his chambers, he wrapped his hand around the monocle at his neck and willed the image of her chambers to appear. She had been correct in surmising that the angel was a scrying device prepared by the Wizard. Vector had created it at the prince's direction, and it broadcast directly into the monocle.

As he watched, it appeared from the dizzying motion that the enchanted figurine must be moving. It finally settled somewhere inside her sleeping chamber. Odd that they would be moving it around, he thought.

Portia spoke. "I knew you guys would take that thing into your bedroom. You are such twisted little boys." The red-haired woman lounged on Zyrdicia's bed in her sleeping clothes. She looked as though she had just emerged from a bath. Her hair was wet. Zyrdicia's man-servants joined her on the bed, sprawling along the bed's foot. Zyrdicia walked into the monocle's image from the left. She had changed into a dressing gown of black gossamer. She curled up on the bed next to Portia, reclining on a pile of pillows.

"How was your date with Cai?" she inquired of her servant.

Portia smiled smugly. "Amazing. Fantastic. Superb."

"You always have complaints about men after your adventures. He was that good?"

"Actually, yes. For a change, we found a world that isn't inhabited by sexual imbeciles. Cai's young, and frankly a bit repressed. OK, maybe that's a complaint. I can work with that, though. In terms of natural talent, I have no complaints whatsoever."

"He'll be madly in love with you by the time we leave."

"Probably. I think there's a weird social and moral dynamic surrounding sex here, though. We've seen that before in places dominated by chivalrous nonsense. Repression of desire is somehow a moral virtue. It's kind of sick."

"You could have stayed the night with him. You shouldn't have rushed back if you were enjoying him that much."

Portia squeezed Zyrdicia's hand. "You know I wouldn't leave you to sleep alone. I didn't know whether the boys would be back among the living. I know how much you hate the dreams. I would never forgive myself if Azriok got to you while I was off with a man."

Anthony interrupted, "Where were you all night, girlfriend? We saw the secret door opened and figured you'd gone looking for trouble. Did you find it?"

"Always!" Zyrdicia laughed. "I mapped most of the main castle and a good bit of the secret passageways in this area. There's far more here than I would have expected."

"And?" Portia prodded.

"Zyr's up to something. I can feel it. Capturing Tronin is only a pretext for something else. Phillip will have fun trying to unravel whatever cosmic scheme I'm wrapped up in this time."

Charles tapped her leg. "Speaking of Phillip. I ran into that old guy on the street right before we left. He said to tell you that he's got a draft of the second volume of the biography done. He wants to go over it with you as soon as possible. He's annoyed that you aren't keeping your weekly lunch dates with him. By the way, you didn't tell us where you were all night. You came in through the front door, not the tunnels."

"While I was exploring the secret passages, I ran into the prince."

"Well we know for damn sure what you weren't doing," Anthony mocked.

"Oh, go to hell!" his mistress sneered playfully. "We talked all night."

"Get out!" Anthony laughed. "You must be fucking with the man's mind then. It sure as hell wouldn't have been for the scintillating conversation."

"No shit." Charles agreed. "He's too much of a irritable asshole for you to be talking to him because you enjoy his company. What's going on?"

"He wasn't grumpy tonight. He was actually quite charming."

"Are you on crack?!" Anthony asked, incredulous.

"On what?"

"She didn't try that one, doofus. We didn't give her ghetto drugs in LA, remember?" Charles hit the man next to him over the head with a small pillow. "Seriously, are you on any substances at all, 'Dicia?"

"No. Why?"

"HELLO?! You are the one who's been calling him The Grumpy Ogre the whole time we've been here," Charles' replied. "And you almost busted a gut laughing when Anthony slipped and referred to him as 'Dick Blackfool.' Now he's suddenly Prince Charming?"

"Not at all. When he isn't being pissy, he's very personable. That's all."

"Was he on drugs then?"

Portia cut in, "Oh, please. For all you know, he's probably been an asshole around you guys because you irritate the shit out of him. It's not that hard to comprehend."

"He beat the crap out of Geoffie!" Charles stared at Portia as though she were completely crazy.

"Which, again, had to do with you guys. At least with Anthony," Portia responded reasonably.

"Like you weren't involved, troublemaker!" Anthony countered.

"I admit nothing," Portia grinned. "Seriously, though, dear, how did it go?"

"I think we'll become friends eventually. He does actually have a sense of humor, contrary to our first impression of him. He's quite intelligent and surprisingly amusing. He's...a rare breed."

"He's also devastatingly handsome," Portia added.

"For a mortal."

Portia's smile faded. She looked at Zyrdicia for a moment and seemed to understand something more, which remained unspoken. She frowned a slightly and looked concerned. "I'm sorry."

A brief hint of shadow crept into the beautiful visitor's countenance. Her eyes became distant, as though focussing on something in another world. Her servants nuzzled around her adoringly.

Dirk noted as she fell asleep that she looked profoundly angelic. Since their first meeting, his sleep continued to be plagued with strange, recurring dreams of her. For the first time, he actually looked forward to her erotic visit in his slumber.

Aside from a foray into the castle library to hunt for any history of the use of the hated unicorn as a heraldic emblem in Aparans, Zyrdicia remained in her chambers all day. She prowled through book after book there, hunting for the elusive quarry. There was no historical evidence of the symbol she had seen in the portrait.

She gave up her research in the late afternoon, frustrated. Flying with the dragon would be a delicious diversion. She dressed herself in the protection of thick leather to ward off the chill in the upper air currents.

"I'm going to get Roshor. I feel like dancing!" she announced to her attendants.

"Over land?!" Portia asked, shocked.

"Yes. It will make for an interesting change."

"I hope to Zyr you are casting a flying spell on yourself first!"

"What fun would that be?" Zyrdicia laughed. "See you later!" She then disappeared in a purple magical gate.

"Well, don't just stand there!" Anthony prodded. "Let's go scout out a place to watch."

The trio headed out to the inner courtyard, only to find the view of the sky blocked by the castle's numerous towers.

"Fuck! I hate this place. You can't see shit. We're going to miss it. How do we get up on the walls?" Anthony wondered.

"They've got guards all over the walls. See the boys in the short little uniforms?" Charles observed. "Portia, can't your new friend get us up there?"

"Probably. He runs the whole damned castle. I have no idea where he is though."

Sir Cai and Prince Blackpool listened to the exchange silently from an open doorway leading from the courtyard into the prince's study. They had just been discussing the information the seneschal had obtained for the prince during the previous night's conquest.

"She seems very impressed with your duties, my vassal," the prince observed, amused.

"I wonder what it is that they are trying to see," the knight remarked.

"Their mistress and the dragon, I suspect. You relayed my orders to the soldiers manning the balistas?"

"Of course, my lord."

A dragon cry pierced the late afternoon sky. Cai looked out the doorway, scanning the air above. "There it is. It looks like she's flying south of the castle, over the Plains of Death. Do you want to leave her servants out there or shall we take them with us up to the battlements?"

"Leave the two imbeciles. You may decide for yourself whether you wish to bring your plaything."

"Damn it," Portia breathed. "I can't believe she's doing this over land."

"Problem?" Dirk wondered.

"She normally does this over the ocean. The dragon can drop her into the water that way."

"Drop her?" the prince's eyes widened.

"Notice that there is no saddle or bridle?" Portia pointed out as the dragon's figure drew closer. "She isn't planning to stay on top of him very long. They're just testing the air right now. They're trying to figure out how to deal with the wind."

"Whatever are you talking about?"

"They're going to dance. It's breathtaking to watch. The fact that they're doing it over land is just a bit loopy."

The dragon halted his steep descent a few dozen feet above the ground. Zyrdicia knelt on its back, holding the scales on his neck as it twisted its body to ascend again. Reaching a considerable altitude, the beast leveled itself to fly in a slow circle. Its rider then stood up. She backed up towards its tail and jumped backwards, pulling her knees up over her head. She straightened into a perfect free-fall dive. As her body hurtled toward the ground, her laughter echoed with the dragon's call. After a few seconds, the dragon contorted itself to dive after her. It caught her feet in its teeth and jerked its massive head upward. As its jaw released its grip, her lean body bent with the force of the throw, arcing upward. As the arc leveled, she straightened her arms above her head to allow the waiting dragon to catch her in its talons.

The dragon leveled into a slow circle again and bent its head down toward the woman dangling in the air below it.

"Does she want to die?" the prince asked Portia..

"Of course not. With her, flirting with Death is a sport. She believes that Death is so in love with her that He can't bear to take her. Now she teases and mocks Him for his impotence."

"Delightful," Dirk observed, his tone clearly conveying that he found the behavior to be anything but. Noting a pause in the spectacle as the dragon circled, he asked, "Are they finished with this madness now?"

"No, they're talking. See the dragon's mouth moving? Those were practice throws."

"I assume that she has some sort of magic to permit her to fly if the dragon chooses to stop playing."

"Absolutely not. She laughed when I suggested it. Besides, the dragon adores her." Portia cast a sidelong glance at the prince. "All of her friends adore her utterly. She tends to have that effect on those she permits to get close to her."

Dirk ignored her. The dragon's talons opened at that moment, sending Zyrdicia hurtling toward the ground once more. When the dragon caught her feet in his teeth the second time, his head whipped much harder. She flew with lightning speed toward the heavens. The dragon let her reach the top of the throw's arc and then dive back downward. She picked up speed as she descended ever closer to the ground. Roshor caught her much nearer the earth than he had previously and repeated the process. The creature tossed her now with fluid elegance. As she rose and fell, the pair established a perfect, graceful rhythm. Sometimes he caught her feet in his jaws, others her arms in his talons. Occasionally she caught dragon's tail as he descended along side her, only to be flicked back up into the firmament. Her body was taut and nimble in the air. Each movement up and down was a perfectly choreographed turn which melted into the next.

"How long do they do this?" the prince asked, annoyed.

"Awhile. It's a workout for her body. She'll go until her muscles and reflexes are exhausted. Then she'll push it a little further."

"Why?"

"Fun."

The rhythm picked up speed gradually. As the sun slowly descended, the dance took on a heart-pounding quickness. An hour passed. Zyrdicia's audience watched the dizzying, acrobatic momentum in silence.

"She's getting tired," Portia observed, breaking the stillness.

"How can you tell?" the prince wondered.

"I've seen her do this a thousand times. If you watch closely, she isn't extending as far, and her body is turning more slowly in the air."

The pace remained intense for another quarter hour. The dragon spiraled, tossing her as it dove, then matching her trajectory. As she descended, it moved its wings to pass by her slowly. She reached for its tail as it passed and missed. The dragon hovered in the air, surprised. It watched her fall for a moment that seemed to drag on forever.

"Shit," Portia whispered to herself. "And now they figure out why doing this over land was a really bad idea." Her eyes widened as she watched her mistress move perilously close to the ground. The dragon finally crouched into a dive after her, beating its wings forcefully to catch up to the falling body.

The sound of Zyrdicia's laughter filled the air as she neared the ground. When the dragon finally caught her feet and pitched her up, she was less than two yards above the earth. So near were they to the ground that the dragon's belly appeared to skim the surface of the steppe as he twisted out of the dive. The beast stirred up a huge cloud of dust on the Plains of Death.

Back in her chambers, Zyrdicia soaked her tired body in a tub of nearly scalding water, happily replaying the dance in her head.

"You almost gave me a fucking heart attack this time," Portia scolded.

"Roshor too!" her mistress laughed. "Did you see the last drop? Unbelievable! That was the best ever. Absolutely amazing. I can't believe we didn't do this over land sooner."

"You let Death get a little too close this time."

"Too close? That's the entire thrill of it. Today I let Death kiss me. The titillation terrified Him, as usual!" Zyrdicia declared triumphantly.

"If that was a kiss, Death's tongue was down your throat," Portia mocked.

"Betters his than yours!" Zyrdicia giggled. A knock at the door in the next room interrupted them. "Go get that. I don't trust the boys to deal with visitors. Tell whoever it is to leave me alone."

Portia exited toward the antechamber and returned a moment later. "A messenger from Blackpool. He expects you to dine with him privately in half an hour. I held the messenger in case you want to decline."

"Of course I want to decline. I'm exhausted. I don't feel like dealing with him. Tell the messenger to relay my sincere regret."

While Portia dealt with the messenger, Zyrdicia dried off, wrapping herself in soft, black towels. Portia returned a moment later laughing. "The messenger didn't want to take that answer to him. He begged me to change your mind. Apparently the prince has a habit of abusing messengers who relay disappointing news."

"That's his problem, not mine."

"That's what I told him." The women moved to the adjoining room where a warm fire raged in the fireplace. Charles and Anthony sat on a sofa, still complaining to one another about how outraged they were that they didn't get to see the dance.

Portia had already set up a massage table in front of the fire. Her mistress lounged upon it blissfully while Portia went to work working the aches out of her tired muscles. Zyrdicia's mind drifted into a silent nirvana, tuning out the chatter from her babbling companions.

A second knock on the chamber's door jarred her out of her mind's bliss. She whispered, "Don't answer it. I'm in no mood to argue with messengers. Whoever it is will go away eventually." Portia nodded silently in agreement, and continued massaging Zyrdicia's calf muscles and ankles, noting the usual stiffness from the dragon's grip.

The room was perfectly silent as they all listened for the sound of retreating footsteps in the hallway. Instead they heard the sound of the latch opening.

Without moving, Zyrdicia called her dagger back from the ether and waited for the door to open. She silently cursed the fact that she had not trapped the latch this time. The instant she saw the portal move, she sent the dagger flying toward the intruder.

The prince's reflexes were faster than the dagger. He dodged it easily, then turned and pulled it out of the doorframe. "Hi." He seemed amused. "I believe you misplaced this."

"Missed, not misplaced," Zyrdicia countered, annoyed at the intrusion. She noticed his eyes move along her towel-draped body. She knew he was imagining her without the towels. Such attention was neither offensive nor uncomfortable to her. Lying on her stomach, she propped herself up on her elbows. She glanced behind her at Portia and ordered, "Continue!" Directing her attention back to her visitor she asked, "Why is it that you think you can complain about me appearing unbidden by magic when you do precisely the same thing by conventional means?"

"I did knock, after all."

"And you weren't invited in."

"I was afraid you might not be well. When I heard you had declined my summons, I wondered whether your insane flight with the dragon might have left you injured."

"Bullshit. You were annoyed that I chose not to dine with you. Do people usually find you persuasive when you lie, or are you always this transparent?"

"You wound me," he mocked. "It would seem I'm not the only one with a propensity for foul moods. At some point we really do need to have a discussion about language appropriate for addressing royalty."

"I'm not in a foul mood. I'm tired." She paused. "No that wasn't right. Make that, I'm very fucking tired, your Royal Highness. What do you want?"

"There are a few things I must discuss with you." Assuming a commanding air, he addressed her servants. "You are dismissed."

Anthony looked at Zyrdicia and visibly bit back a laugh. She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Whatever. Get the fuck out, all of you."

As they stood up to leave, Charles remarked to Anthony, "Yeah, fuck this shit."

"You boys are such taunting little assholes," Portia enjoined, closing the door behind them.

The prince's eyes narrowed. "Are you encouraging them to mock me?"

"Obviously. What do you expect? 'You are dismissed.' It sounds pompous. The way you said it begs to be mocked."

"You are goading me again," he observed irritably. "You may learn the hard way that my patience has its limits."

"I promised that I would put extra effort into provoking you today. I've hardly gotten started. While we argue, you can pick up where Portia left off."

"We can start with your language issue," she continued.

He bent her bare legs at the knee and leaned her shins back against his studded armor. His hands were warm. He caressed her calves before beginning to massage her feet. "Certain language is inappropriate to the dignity of a royal court. It belongs in peasants fields."

"Your peasants are probably more amusing than their anal retentive lord. So, such words really offend your delicate sensibilities?"

"Not even hardened soldiers would dare to speak so in my presence. It's disrespectful. It demeans you. It suggests an impoverished vocabulary."

"Human speech has no inherent positive or negative qualities. You empower the words with your reaction to them. Thank you for telling me they offend you. I'll make a special effort now."

"To express yourself appropriately?"

"No, to piss you off," she laughed.

"I do not tolerate insubordination from those who serve me."

"Serve you? Ha! In case you hadn't noticed, you are the one massaging my feet. And you are doing a very admirable job of it, I should hasten to add."

"The human foot is quite fascinating. Did you know it has thousands of pain receptors?" He illustrated his point by firmly pressing his thumb into a delicate nerve. She said nothing. He could not see her face. A short intake of breath was her only visible reaction.

His voice became icy. "Now that I have your attention, I think we can proceed more reasonably. Listen carefully. I warn you, do not interrupt me or distract me with infantile prattle. I came here to impress three very important points upon you. First, when I send a messenger advising that I expect you to dine with me, declining is not an option. Such behavior makes me very nasty."

"If you want to complain about my failure to keep dinner dates, you'll have to get in line. I already have a well-established reputation for breaking them in more worlds than I can count," she giggled.

"Such a disobedient creature--I told you not to interrupt," he admonished. He tightened his grip on her foot. His thumb moved from the nerve to a tiny, exquisitely sensitive bone in her foot and pressed it cruelly. Pain raced down her leg and up her spine. He expected her to writhe in discomfort, but she disappointed him. Her toes curled slightly. She turned her head and lowered it to rest in her arms. Other than those small movements, she was completely still.

As her head turned, her raven hair slid off her back, revealing a faint pattern of scarification there. The large image depicted feathered angel's wings, extending from her shoulder blades down the entire length of her back before disappearing under a towel. So fine was the workmanship in the design that as she breathed, the wings appeared almost to flutter. Each tiny feather seemed to have been carved into her skin perfect harmony with the rest of her anatomy, encompassing each muscle and bone within the image to create a strange, sinuous optical illusion. The prince watched the movement for a moment, fascinated, before forcing himself to resist the distraction. He continued the painful pressure on her foot.

"Second, until Tronin is mine, you will not pursue suicidal forms of recreation. I don't care what you do to entertain yourself on your own time, but while you work for me, I will not permit you to endanger the success of our plan with idiotic games. Once I possess Tronin, I will applaud you if you choose to smash your skull against rocks, but until that point..."

"I scared you, didn't I?"

Dirk responded to her query by angrily pressing the bone in her foot until it was a hairsbreadth from breaking. He knew the pain was enough to make anyone scream in agony. She did not move. He saw her eyelids droop slightly and focus on something far away. She moaned softly as a contented smile graced her lovely face.

He looked carefully at her foot to make sure he had chosen the correct location. He was certain he had. She was trying to deceive him, perhaps. "Admit that it hurts and I'll stop," he offered.

"Why would I do that?" she whispered.

"Stop playing games. I know very well that you are in agony. I confess that I'm impressed by your self-discipline, but you can't keep up the act forever." He released the pressure momentarily and caressed her foot. In the next instant his hand returned to its relentless assault, pressing viciously until he could feel the bone starting to give way. He noticed her breath came somewhat faster and her eyes looked glazed. Her cheeks were flushed. "Why won't you admit it?" he whispered.

"Because I'm afraid you'll stop," she gasped. "Please don't."

He stared at her in disbelief when he saw in her eyes that she was very serious. She was actually enjoying the sensation. That knowledge robbed him of some of his own pleasure in the activity, though her response aroused his interest. He had tortured hundreds of people in his life and never seen anyone react to pain in this way. His hands moved to her other foot and expertly explored point after excruciating point, looking for any trace of negative reaction. Her eyes only seemed to retreat deeper into her sensory bliss.

He stopped work on her feet and wrapped his arms around her calves, shins still resting against his armor.

She sighed, "Mm, you have such strong hands. That was truly wonderful."

"You are a torturer's nightmare, my dear," he observed, a hint of laughter escaping. "At least I know if my enemies capture you, you'll never be tempted to reveal the invasion plan. You'll be too busy enjoying their care. If there were more people in the world like you, Vector and I would be completely out of business."

"Stop laughing. It isn't funny," she glared at him. "I hate it that you've discovered this."

"But you are wrong. It is actually very amusing. And if you can't trust me with such secrets, whom can you trust?"

"Fuck you."

"Someday, perhaps. We'll see what happens after Tronin falls."

"I don't think your fiancée would be pleased."

"My what?!"

"The witch."

"Bethel's services are occasionally useful to me, but she is certainly not my fiancée. What I do and with whom is none of her concern."

"That doesn't sound very loving or very loyal."

"Neither love nor loyalty has anything to do with the witch's utility to me."

"She's certainly protective of that utility, then."

"Yes, she mentioned going to see you when you arrived, to welcome you."

"Is that what she told you?"

"Among other things."

"Did she tell you about seeing me kiss Portia?"

"Of course."

"Doesn't the fact that I sleep with women bother you?"

"Oh, but you underestimate me, my dear. Your games may deceive my witch, but you'll have to be more clever if you intend to play them with me."

"You mean the kiss wasn't convincing?" she asked, sounding disappointed.

"I wouldn't know. I certainly didn't see it. I didn't have to. Portia explained the nature of your relationship to my seneschal last night."

"She lies shamelessly."

"As do you, it would seem. Using him to seduce her was quite effective in putting the rumor of your preference for women to rest."

Zyrdicia was glad he could not see her face. The absurdity of anyone trying to seduce Portia almost made her laugh. In her former life, Portia once ran the largest brothel in the material plane. The woman's business sense and insight into men had proven to be an invaluable asset to Zyrdicia over the years. Portia had done well with Cai.

"I suppose I'll have to speak to her about excessive pillow talk, then. I'm disappointed, of course," Zyrdicia remarked, trying hard to sound sincere. She thought a moment and changed the subject. "Have you ever been in love, Dirk? If not with the witch, perhaps with someone else."

"Surely you aren't given to such idealistic nonsense."

"You didn't answer the question."

"Of course not. It's a foolish question. Have you?"

"Absolutely."

"With your demon friend, I would guess."

"Azriok. Yes. I was a child and didn't know any better."

"You are, of course, aware of the perversity of being in love with a creature that for all intents and purposes probably acted like a father to you. I noticed the fondness in your voice when you spoke of him. He seduced you?"

"Not really. It was more a natural progression of the affection between us. We were lovers for a few years. Eventually I stabbed him in the heart one night during sex and killed his form in this world." She related the intimate story casually, as though she were talking about the weather.

"Why?"

"Because I loved him. There were other reasons, but that was the main one."

"That makes no sense."

"Of course it does. He taught me that love is a form of mortal weakness, of pathetic dependence. To rid myself of it, I killed him."

"You are enemies now?"

"Not in a conventional sense. Over the years I've summoned him in other worlds and killed him there too. He would never use lethal force against me. It's just the nature of our relationship now. He sends nightmares from time to time to let me know he's still thinking of me. Never more than that."

"I suppose you are going to tell me you wounded a demon's heart and he still pines for you."

She laughed. "In the popular imagination in Lyr, that's the common perception. In truth, though, Sephiroth feel no love. The emotion was a curse upon humanity by the Seraphim, timeless enemies of beings like Azriok and my father. No, Azriok is not in love. He needs to keep me alive for some game he's playing with Zyr. You really aren't going to tell me whether you were ever in love?"

"No."

"She must have broken your heart, then."

"You are plainly grasping at straws."

"Am I right?"

"No."

"I don't believe you."

"I don't particularly care. Where did the scars on your back come from?"

"You changed the subject. For you to be so stubborn about it, it must be quite a story. The wings were a gift for my fifteenth birthday. Azriok gave them to me to remind me of where I come from."

"May I?" Dirk asked politely, touching the towel that partially hid the image.

"Certainly. I'm not shy about my body."

"I gather that," the prince remarked dryly. He set her legs down and walked to the side of table. He moved the towel carefully down several inches to bare her lower back and traced the some of the lines on her skin with his fingers. "The artistry is exquisite. It must have taken a rather long time."

"Twenty hours. Not so long, really."

"How did he get you to stay still enough to cut smoothly?"

"A combination of drugs and magic."

"Did you feel the knife?"

"Yes. It was wonderful."

"Fascinating."

"The girl you once loved wouldn't let you decorate her body?"

"I would have never thought to ask."

"So she does exist. Or at least did once."

His hand did not move from her back, but his eyes moved back to her face. He looked at her squarely and said, "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Liar."

"It's very unwise to call a prince a liar to his face. Particularly when that prince is me."

"You already know that I'm impervious to torture and get a thrill from flirting with Death. At what point will you give up on the threats?" she smiled.

"You flirt with more than just Death."

"I admit nothing. You are the one who is apparently incapable of keeping his hands off of my flesh. Oh, incidentally, I won."

"Won what?"

"You said there were three things you came to discuss and insisted that you weren't to be interrupted or distracted as you ranted about them. You only got through two out of the three before you lost your grumpy composure and submitted to distraction." Her purple eyes danced mischievously.

He frowned in irritation, realizing she was right. "Well, no matter. Sacrificing insignificant battles is occasionally necessary to ensure final victory in the war - - and I will win the war."

"With me or your little southern playmates?"

"Both, of course."

"So what was the third item on your agenda?"

"We are riding to Grogan tomorrow. I've garrisoned the troops in my Citadel, near there. We should be able to strike the valley in just a few days. We're leaving at dawn."

"Fine." Laughing, she added, "See, getting that out wasn't so hard. I don't know what your problem with focus was. Maybe you just need practice in expressing yourself appropriately."

He scowled, pretending to take offense at the jibe at his earlier lecture, finally removing his hand from where it rested against the skin of the small of her back. Seeing the mirth in her eyes made the angry expression difficult to maintain. "I sincerely hope the results in Tronin are worth putting up with you a few weeks until Midsummer. You are easily the most irksome creature I've ever known."

"And that's why you are having trouble keeping from laughing now?"

"I am a conquering monarch. People tremble before me. I do not laugh at such foolishness."

She burst out laughing again. He watched the wings on her back move as she giggled.

When she looked up at him, she was overcome by another wave of the infectious laughter. He felt suddenly self-conscious. "What ever do you find so funny?"

"You. I'm trembling-- before the conquering monarch!" she answered between peels of laughter.

"Stop it!" he responded, fighting the urge to be sucked in by her laughter. She saw the corner of his lips curl momentarily before he managed to repress the hint of smile that threatened to escape. He was trying very hard to maintain his serious composure behind a smirk. That only caused her to laugh more. "You are supposed to be a terrifying she-devil sent by a demon king to crush my enemies. No one warned me you are actually a childish, giggling imp bent on annoying me to death. Is it too late to send you to back to Hell marked 'Refused--Return to Sender'?"

"Much too late," she said. She took a deep breath, trying to keep the laughter at bay. She looked up at him again, meeting his eyes and holding his gaze as she had so many times before. "Besides, after you take Tronin and I disappear forever, you'll miss me."

"Oh, how I do look forward to that time!"

"You'll beg me to stay then."

"Do these delusions you suffer from arise out of simple vanity or out of your obvious mental exhaustion from your near-death experience earlier today?"

She answered only with a knowing smile.

"In any case, my lovely little irritant, you should get some rest since we'll be leaving early. It will be a long day."