"Yet you need me, Volna. You need the strength of my arm--and my army.
What a pair we'll make!"

Volna stepped into the embrace of his big arms and allowed herself to
be kissed. Retoc burned for her. He had said so. All men burned for
her, she knew that. And, before she was finished, every man of Tarth
would kneel at her feet and call her Queen.

Retoc drew back finally, breathing hard. Volna had for him only a
cool, mocking smile.

* * * * *

At last he said, "There are some who might say Retoc of Abaria killed
the royal prince."

"Dolt! Were you seen?"

Retoc shrugged as if it were not important. "A band of wayfarers on
the Ofridian Plain. They were so frightened, they fled at once. After
I had wounded the white giant."

Volna's eyes flashed suddenly. "There was someone else? You did not
kill him?"

"I tried to. He escaped, Princess."

"Then you are more a fool than I thought."

"But I--"

"Begone! We can't be seen together too much. Take quarters in Nadia
City, and let me know where you are. You understand?"

"Yes, Princess."

She allowed him to kiss her hand, then he withdrew. A few moments
later, at her summons, the seneschal appeared. Subtly her face had
changed. No longer was she the desiring and desirous princess.
Instead, she was a grieving sister, whose brother's body still lay in
state in the royal palace.

The seneschal, whose name was Prokliam, bowed obsequiously. He knew
that by custom the body of a royal Nadian floated down the River of
Ice in the company of two living servants--one man and one woman--who
would perish with him in the Place of the Dead. He knew also that he
had been Jlomec's favorite and now lived in constant fear that the
Princess Volna would decree that he, Prokliam, must accompany his dead
master on the Journey of No Return, to serve him in death as he had
served him in life.

"Yes, lady?" the frightened Prokliam asked.

"Bontarc, our king, grieves mightily for the dead prince," Volna said.

"All Nadia grieves for Jlomec, lady," Prokliam said, and added
hastily: "Although I must admit I do not grieve more than the next
man. No, no, it is a mistake to think I was Jlomec's favorite."

"Be that as it may Bontarc grieves so that for a while at least some
of the affairs of state will be in my hands."

"I hear and understand lady."

"Good. If anyone comes--anyone at all, whether wayfarers from Ofrid or
others--with news of how Jlomec