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in a bright vision； bittersweet； she saw Lisen of the Wood meet Amairgen Whitebranch in the grove and bind herself to him； first source to the first mage； and she saw her die by the sea tower； fairest child of all the turning worlds。
Grieving still for that loss； she was taken by Eilathen to see the war…the Great War against Rakoth。 Conary she saw； and knew； and Colan his son； the Beloved。 She saw the bright； fierce array of the lios； and the shining figure of Ra…Termaine； greatest of the Lords of the lios alfar…and she saw that brilliant pany torn apart by wolves and svart alfar； and most terribly of all by the flying creatures older than nightmare unleashed by Maugrim。 Then she watched as； ing too late； Conary and Colan were cut off and trapped in their turn by Sennett； and as a red sun went down on a night Conary would die； she saw； and her heart exploded within her to see the curved ranks of the Dalrei ride singing out of Daniloth； out of the mist behind Revor into the sunset。 She did not know； though Ysanne did； that she was weeping as the Riders and the warriors of Brennin and Cathal； terrible in their fury and their grief； drove the armies of the Dark back north and east through Andarien to Starkadh； where the Lion of Eridu came to join them； and where the blood and smoke cleared at last to show Rakoth beaten to his knees in surrender。
Then she was shown the binding； and knew the Mountain again for the prison it had bee； and she watched Ginserat make the stones。 Faster then； the images began to fly； and to Ysanne's eyes the speed of Eilathen's turning became as a maelstrom of power； and she knew that she was losing him。 The joy of his release she tasted； even amid her own deep ache of loss。
Faster he spun； and faster； the water white beneath his feet； and the Seer watched as the one beside her who was no longer a girl learned what it was to dream true。 To be a dreamer of the dream。
And there came a time when Eilathen slowed and stopped。
Kimberly lay sprawled on the rock； drained of all color； utterly unconscious。 The water spirit and the Seer gazed at each other a long time； unspeaking。
At length； Eilathen's voice was heard； high and cold in the moonlight。 〃I have done。 She knows what she is able to know。 A great power is in her； but I do not know if she can bear the burden。 She is young。〃
〃Not anymore；〃 Ysanne whispered。 She found it hard to speak。
〃Perhaps not。 But it is no care of mine。 I have spun for you； Dreamer。 Release me from the fire。〃 He was very close； the ice…crystal eyes gleaming with an inhuman light。
The Seer nodded。 〃I did promise。 It was past time。 You know why I needed you？〃 There was an appeal in her voice。
〃I do not forgive。〃
〃But you know why？〃
Another long silence。 Then； 〃Yes；〃 said Eilathen； and one listening for it might have imagined gentleness in his tone。 〃I know why you bound me。〃
Ysanne was crying again； the tears glinting on her lined face。 Her back was straight； though； her head high； and the mand； when it came； rang clear。 〃Then go free of me； free of guardianship。 Be free of flowerfire； now and evermore。 Laith derendel； sed bannion。 Echorth！〃
And on the last word a sound burst from Eilathen； a high； keening sound beyond joy or release； almost beyond hearing； and the red…stoned ring slid from his finger and fell on the rock at the Seer's feet。
She knelt to gather it and； when she rose； saw through still…falling tears that he had already spun back out over the lake。
〃Eilathen！〃 she cried。 〃Forgive me if you can。 Farewell！〃
For reply； his motion only grew faster； wilder somehow than before； untamed； chaotic； and then Eilathen reached the middle of the lake and dived。
But one listening for it…wanting； praying even； to catch it…might have heard； or imagined she heard； just before he disappeared； the sound of her name called out in farewell in a voice cold and free forever。
She sank to her knees cradling Kim； and rocked her upon her lap as one rocks a child。 Holding the girl； gazing out through almost blinded eyes at the empty lake； she did not see the dark…haired； dark…bearded figure that rose from the cover of a sheltering rock behind them。 The figure watched long enough to see her take the ring Eilathen had guarded and slip it carefully upon Kimberly's right hand； where it fit her ring finger as perfectly as the Seer had dreamt it would。
After seeing this； the watching figure turned； still unseen； and walked away from them； and there was no trace of a limp in his stride。
She was seventeen that spring； not yet accustomed to men calling her beautiful。 A pretty child she had been； but adolescence had found her long…limbed and coltish； prone to skinned knees and bruises from rough play in the gardens at Larai Rigal…activities ultimately deemed unfitting for a Princess of the realm。 The more so when Marlen died hunting and she became heir to the Ivory Throne in a ceremony she scarcely remembered； so dazed was she by the speed of it and the death of her brother。 Her knee was hurting； from a fall the day before； and her father's face had frightened her。 There were no falls after that； for the play in the gardens and on the lake of the summer palace came to an end。 She learned to school herself in the ways of a decadent court and； in time； to deal not unkindly with the suitors who began to e in such numbers； and she did grow beautiful； the Dark Rose of Cathal； and her name was Sharra； daughter of Shalhassan。
Proud she remained； as were all of her blood； and strong…willed； a quality rare in dissolute Cathal； though not unexpected in her father's daughter。 Within her； too； there flickered yet a secret flame of rebelliousness against the demands of position and ritual that trammelled her days and nights。
Even now the flame burned； within beloved Larai Rigal； where the scent of calath and myrrh； of elphinel and alder enveloped her with memories。 Memories that fired her with brighter longing than had any of the men who had knelt before her father's throne seeking her hand； with the ritual phrase： 〃The sun rises in your daughter's eyes。〃 She was young yet； for all her pride。
And it would have been for all of these reasons； the last perhaps more than any of the others； that when the letters had begun to appear in her room…how； she knew not…she kept them secret unto herself； deeply secret； too； she kept the suspicion； burning like a liena in the gardens at night； of who had sent them。
Of desire they spoke； and called her fair in words more strung with fire than any she had ever heard。 A longing was in the lines that sang to her； and it awoke within her breast； prisoner that she was in the place she would one day rule； longings of her own： most often she yearned for the simplicity of mornings that were gone； leaving this strangeness in their place； but sometimes； when she was alone at night； for other things。 For the letters grew more bold as time went by； and descriptions of desire became promises of what hands and lips might do。
Still； they were unsigned。 Finely phrased； elegantly penned； they bespoke nobility； but there never was a name signed at the close。 Until the last o