Gossamer looked over the tavern; many patrons were sitting apart from others, identifying themselves as non-locals. He was getting closer to the tales of the Answer. Rolic had been correct, Kelton was louder than any could have imagined. Gossamer had begun to sense the changing winds and the King's men's concern over some stories. A teller, far to the north, had been dragged off the stage for speaking of Kelton. None had heard of him since. It was double the risk to tell such a tale now that it had become real.

"It is his symbol," one of the patrons said to another. Gossamer turned to set his gear aside and straighten the platform to suit his needs. His ears were not so encumbered.

"A complex thing." The response was broken by indulgence. After a sip of ale, the man continued. "The Answer is addled if he sees it spreading." Another sip.

"It is everywhere now," the patron said with a shrug. "It is said, it is his name in Goddess' symbols." Gossamer hid his smile by turning his back to the conversation again. He had seen the symbols, and they had little to do with the Goddess. It screamed learned, not addle minded. It would be a pleasure to see the face of the Brethren when they come upon it. The Answer knew more than they would desire. Of course, he feared for any who owned the structure on which it was displayed.

"It matters not," the man said between gulps. "It is but a short dream. We will soon hear of his end. If the King does not find him, the Brethren will."

"It is said he fought four Brothers," the patron argued. Gossamer had heard the same, and it came from more than one source. "Three were ended, and one ran in fear." Rolic's missive said Kelton swung two swords, and the words impressed the ex-brother. Kelton, as a warrior, did not sit well with Gossamer yet filled him with pride at the same time.

"Bah, nothing but tales," the man said, dismissing the words. "What say you, teller?"

Gossamer turned, he forced his eyes to fill with confusion. "Say about what?"

"Many think the Answer is among us," the original speaker said. "You have traveled. Is it not a known thing?"

"I hear many tales," Gossamer replied with a smile of indifference. "Most are only that, and nothing more. I am a man of the Goddess and seek to earn without strife. I leave such things to the King and Brethren." The original speaker blanched, fear crossing his face. Gossamer raised his palm in surrender. "I spin tales, not trouble. Words are words, and I'll not use yours against you. I seek only peace in my days."

"You see," the man told his friend. "It is best to let things be and not stir bitter pots."

"I thank you," the patron said to Gossamer. His relief was evident, though suspicion remained in his eyes. The conversation turned away from Gossamer, changing to techniques of tanning hides as if the conversation never dabbled in blasphemy.

Gossamer sighed internally, grateful he could pull himself from the conversation. Since he had read the missive, fear had grown in him. Perhaps irrational, but he envisioned fate catching up to him before he found Kelton. An errant word leading to a confrontation that ended him. There was only one goal now; find Kelton and see the man he had become. It was a greedy desire to prove his life was not wasted. Maybe, he wasn't the failure of a father he thought himself to be.

"It is time, teller," the owner shouted from the other side of the tavern.

Gossamer raised his hand in acknowledgment, then raised the other to attract eyes and end conversations. "Do you wish to laugh, cry, or have your blood boil in excitement?" His question boomed over the crowd. The few who had yet to notice him ended their private words and gave him their attention. It made him glad to be alive. Crowds fed him more than they would ever know.

"The Answer's tale," someone called from the back. It was echoed by others—a popular thing given the rumors that now permeated the land.

Gossamer shook his head. "I leave such things to the Brethren. There are many other tales. Mayhap, The story of..."

"He is the King's man, Laffinger," another voice yelled, directed at the first request. "His skill is wasted on fables." A man rose to identify his voice. "I heard you in Barrington, not three days ago. Still, you do not yet see what is coming."

Gossamer recognized the man by his thin mustache. He had been insistent before, thinking all tellers should speak for the Answer. A worthy cause, if one didn't value their head. He was about to respond when the owner did so for him.

"Sit, Valic," the owner shouted. "We all know your leanings. Risk your head if you will, but do so in silence." Some chuckles grew, though many of the whispers seemed to lean Valic's way.

"Good owner," Gossamer said to end the disruption. "It is your ale and food that loosens my tongue. What tale do you desire?"

"An end to tedium, my good teller," the owner replied, sensing Gossamer's tactic. "I wish to laugh and forget all troubles."

"Then laughter it will be," Gossamer said. He placed his hand on his right hip and thrust out the left in an exaggerated feminine movement. "Mayhap, the story of the fisherman's daughter. A woman of many desirable charms...and a mind equal to those of the fish her father caught." The movement, his high pitch, and bouncing eyebrows did their duty. The crowd forgot the Answer, and smiles began to grow.

King Gregory sat on his throne as he waited for Magna'est. He forced his shoulders to relax and slowed his breathing. The meeting was sure to be difficult, though he was also sure some pleasure could be had. In a short time, Kelton had become something more than a story. The land had awoken and was rife with those who now saw light where only dark reigned before. There were reports of his son's name blazoned on structures, and the tales of the prince's skill with swords was beyond his dreams. Gregory forced his lips to uncurl, undoing his display of joy. Pride was a hard thing to hide.

"You find this a humorous day?" Margarey asked. The tone contained her ever existing chastisement. Gregory glanced to her throne, fixed aside his. At one time, he thought her beautiful, but he could barely remember his previous desires. Now, she was as ugly as a toad, every flaw emphasized by hatred.

"An exercise, nothing more," Gregory replied. "Fond memories to settle the mind and allow it to think clear." He smiled at her, imagining what she would look like with her throat cut. "You should try such a thing. It would lessen the age lines on your face." It was a deep cut to one so vain, a wound he knew would fester. She worried about her age more than most.

"You have become vile over the winters," Margarey said, though it came out with less vehemence than usual. Gregory looked away, his jab giving him a moment's pleasure before his mind returned to the coming meeting.

"His eminence," the page announced. There was fear in his voice as if there were more to his duty than a mere introduction. When Magna'est entered, the King knew why the page trembled. A large contingent of brothers followed their leader. Gregory lost count around thirty. A force of white robes meant to project power and quell any dissent. A small army worth ten times its number. The King had never seen so many in one place outside their temples.

"Your Majesties," Magna'est said, without bowing his head. His entourage formed ranks behind him and granted no form of deference to the crown. There was little question as to who held the power in the room.

"Your Eminence," Margarey said with a smile. "Had I known we would be blessed with so many of the cloth, I would have prepared a banquet."

"Alas, my dear Queen, it is I who have been short-sighted and failed to send warning. We would indeed welcome a meal." Magna'est's eyes narrowed. "Mayhap, you could see to its preparation while I discuss matters with our King."

Margarey looked over the crowd of white robes, presumably gathering a count. Gregory was at a loss of why she did not become inflamed at being sent away. He hated the woman, but she was still the Queen.

"It will be small meat with such short notice," Margarey said as if she were a glorified tavern wench. "But we will do what we can to please the tongue." The King was sure his wife would lick Magna'est's boots if requested. She rose, and to Gregory's surprise, Magna'est bowed at her departure. The room waited until the Queen was gone.

"You bring many," the King said, his hand indicating the gathered brethren. His guards, all four of them, two by each door, were a useless defense against one Brother, much less the ranks gathered. "Do you think such a show strengthens your words?" In truth, it felt like an insult and would weaken all Magna'est could say.

"Nay," Magna'est said, his hands grasped each other behind his back as he walked toward the King. "They are not here for you."

Gregory's eyebrows rose. "Guards?"

"The boy has faced four," Magna'est said, stopping a few paces from the throne. He indicated the Queen's chair. Gregory nodded, and Magna'est sat. That he requested the chair instead of just taking it was a sign Gregory was still needed. "I'll not chance an encounter with him without adequate resources."

"The story is true then," Gregory said with a sigh to hide his pride. "I thought this trouble behind us, and now I hear his numbers grow." He shook his head. "It will upend everything I have done." Magna'est nodded in agreement as a friend might. It was odd having Magna'est talking to him like an equal. He knew it held a purpose, some task he expected done that would make most men cringe.

"I have first word of a battle," the King continued. "He sought arms and gathered them in transit." He pursed his lips to present concern and to hide his smile. "It is said he fought many himself swinging two blades. They meant to run him down by horse, yet he thwarted the attempt and struck one down in the saddle with ease. They did not attempt another charge." Gregory lowered his voice. "There is fear growing in the soldiers. They say the Goddess guides his blades."

"It is a skill, nothing more," Magna'est snapped. Gregory glanced at the gathered Brethren. A skill Magan'est fears. "He is unseen, this, you know. It will take many to end him." Magna'est formed half circles with his hands. "They must surround him and drive forward as one." He brought his hand together, circling an imaginary enemy. "He cannot stop them all."

"He will end many," Gregory said, letting shock enter the words. When Magna'est didn't blink, Gregory leaned forward and whispered. "Four brothers could not stop him, and now you wish me to throw soldiers at him?"

"Aye, many upon many," Magna'est replied. "He will tire, and mistakes will be made."

"You do not intend for the Brethren to be in that count."

Magna'est shook his head. "We can not allow any others to see the Brethren fall. You know this."

Gregory had always thought his men's lives would be demanded, but never did he think it would be without Brethren present. It was evil and rife with stupidity. They thought of the army as a tool to be expended at will—no thought to the men or their families. Gregory smiled inside as he displayed outward disgust. And no thought as to what the armies would do without Brethren present. They feared Kelton more than they would admit, a weakness that could - no, would be exploited.

"He does not travel by road," the King said. "It will be a difficult task to surround him in the trees, and now you ask for blind sacrifice. Mayhap, something other than a sword has become a necessity."

"Never," Magna'est said. The word was spoken in such a way, and so quickly that Gregory knew it would not be retracted. They feared Kelton but were terrified of soldiers with bows. A shame. Perhaps he could get word to his son of the weapon.

"I have seen his name carved in the wall of a stable," Magna'est said, changing the subject. "It will upend more if the symbols become understood. It is hard enough to slow tellers, but at least they grow old and die. Best if this too is ended quickly."

"I have heard of the symbols." Gregory smiled. "A complex choice - foolish of the boy." Too complicated for the commoners, but beyond irritating to the Brethren. Not so foolish if he wished to inflame white robes. It was his flag, and only the enemy need see it.

"Burn any structure that displays such a thing," Magna'est said.

"Do you wish the army hunting the boy or burning structures?" Gregory said, this time allowing his ire to bloom. "And how shall I feed this army if I must burn their substance? And how much army will remain when they are ordered to burn their own towns? These symbols have spread, and not always the fault of the owners of these structures you desire destroyed."

"Calm," Magna'est said. "Mayhap, I have spoken in haste." Gregory let his anger fade and looked at Magna'est in a new light. Never had Magna'est retracted his thoughts so quickly, at least not to Gregory. Magna'est needed the army and thus required its King. The throne was more secure than it had ever been. Ironic, since the throne now meant to help end them.

"Mayhap, a fine for those who do not clean it," Gregory said. "The tithe collectors could be the eyes, and it would cost no more soldiers than already travel with them."

"Wise," Magna'est said. "It will be the duty of the Brethren, and those soldiers who follow. It will be yours to hunt down this demon." Magna'est stood. "Finish him - the promise demands it."

"It will be done, your Eminence," Gregory said. He had never told a more convincing lie. His entire body evoked conviction, though his mind saw a different demon than the one Magna'est imagined. All the Brethren had was the promise, and Gregory had bred his own, no longer caring for theirs.

To Kelton, it was like the first morning of spring when green had begun to win the war against the gray of winter, and the heavenly smell of new life was abundant. Even in the worst of a blizzard, having Juno in his arms would always remind him of the season of birth. She laughed as he steered her arm, and thus, the stick in her hand. Her body felt so comfortable against his, sitting crossed legged between his legs as they awaited their hair to dry. The sun still owned some of the sky, so they decided to enjoy it.

"That is it," Kelton whispered, lifting her hand and stick from the symbols in the dirt.

"My name," Juno said, her eyes large at the wonder.

"Aye," Kelton said. He loved the feeling of her closeness, the smell of her, and the way she leaned into him when he kissed her neck. She smiled as his lips graced the base of her shoulder. She felt what he felt when caressed, an exciting discovery.

"Let go," Juno ordered playfully, freeing her hand from his. She began to duplicate her name below their first attempt. She did not attempt to disengage his lips from her neck as she scribed. "Others would see this as me?"

"Aye, in a way." Kelton reluctantly disengaged from her neck. "The house I told you of..."

"Tarvakian," Juno said, not slowing the strokes of her scribing. She had been listening and remembering, proof she cared for his words. There was much to enjoy about that alone.

"I could scribe a message to them using such symbols, and they would recognize your name. Though it would take many more symbols to describe you." Kelton lowered his voice to a whisper and tickled her ear with it. "But I fear there are not symbols enough to describe such beauty." Juno laughed, messing the last symbol in her name. That earned Kelton a gentle elbow in the side.

"This land knows nothing of such things," Juno said. She corrected the symbol, matching her effort to the one above. "These other lands you speak of are a wonder. It is deserved that they call us the Dark Isle." Her tone changed as she spoke, sorrow leaking in.

"Good and bad dwell in all places," Kelton said. "In most things, it is worse here. In others, it is worse there." He wrapped both arms around Juno. She sighed and molded herself into him. He looked at her scratches in the dirt, the sign of a growing mind. Aragonia's greatest weakness was the stifling of thought. Juno was twice cursed, and it pained him as much as the lash marks on her back. "If you desire it, I will take you from this land and show you all that has been hidden from you."

Juno dropped her stick and unlocked her legs. She turned, pulling her skirts high and laid her thighs over his, locking the two of them together, face to face. Her eyes pulled at him, tying his soul with a knot that could never be undone. He knew then, with certainty, that he would leave this land to its fate if it were her want.

"I desire to run with you," Juno said. She reached up and threaded her fingers into his wet hair. "But this is home." She smiled oddly, a seeming surrender to the fates. "It would be better if what has been hidden is uncloaked here."

"I have only just found you again, and now I fear I will lose you in this," Kelton admitted. The idea of Juno falling in the struggle hurt to think upon as if it were a burn marring the perfection of new wood.

"You are Kushiel's Answer," Juno said. "I must share you before I can claim what my greedy heart desires." She kissed him lightly on the lips, a sinful caress to soften the troubles that surrounded them.

"There will be death," Kelton warned. "It will alter us - it will alter all." The sadness of it darkened his mind.

"It will not alter this," Juno said. She merged her lips with his again, bringing a light that shined on a future full of promise. There was no problem that such a thing could not conquer. She fed him strength, and it was more powerful than a hundred Nagada.

Juno pulled her lips back and cradled Kelton's face. "I wish all to have what we have." She exposed her wrist, marked by the wilted rose. "No curse should stand between such a thing. This land has died slow for more years than any can count. I wish it ended."

"Then we shall end it together, my love," Kelton said. A new resolve replaced his lingering doubts. It mattered not the strange powers that pushed him to and fro. Not even the secrets that enslaved Aragonia were a match for the intimacy that swirled around his soul. His strength was wrapped in his arms - and she was magnificent.