Torin twisted the rose free with a practiced gesture and inhaled its fragrance deeply before handing it to Serimet with a gentle flourish. The girl giggled and sniffed it herself, and Torin smiled at her. He was rather fond of Serimet, though not in the way she thought; she was foolish and simple and if it weren't for her slave she'd have no frequent companionship at all, but she was thrilled enough at attention of any kind that she required very little of Torin. He could walk with her in the garden or sit with her in the courtyard and say almost nothing and she was content.

He did not spend much time with Serimet, but he was careful to see her at least once a week. He paid similar attention to several others, all daughters of the lower nobility and all without hope of a title. Between those visits he kept himself in the swiftly rotating orbit that surrounded his cousins and his uncles and played at hunting and swordplay and archery. They tolerated him well enough for his mother's sake, and he tolerated them for similar reasons. When their mutual tolerance had been temporarily exhausted he joined the rest of the common courtiers and competed to flatter the each of the visiting noblettes without offending the others. He saw his mother one hour every evening, and if he had no prior engagements they dined together, but they had little common ground to discuss. Imaret was interested in finding him a wife and Torin was interested in avoiding one, and lately their meals had been silent.

"Isn't it pretty?" Serimet's voice was soft and uncertain, as if she expected contradiction. They had just rounded the curve of the garden and the sprawling lawn that led to the west side of the palace was now visible. Torin had seen it many times, and now he only noticed if something was out of place.

"Not as pretty as you," he said with a warmth he did not feel, and she blushed lightly and held out her hand. Torin took it tenderly and brought it to his lips; inwardly he sighed. Serimet was growing bolder with age. Soon she would be like all the others here, or as like them as her slow wit would allow, and he would have to exert himself a little to maintain her favor.

"Hey, Garell!"

He looked away from Serimet, annoyed, and released her hand. A group of three horses approached from the stables, and Torin recognized his young cousin Liem. The second rider was another boy of the same age whom Torin didn't know. The third horse carried a slave, and as they arrived Liem grabbed the slave's bridle. "Come on, Garell, let's go hunting," he said plaintively. "All my brothers are busy with mother and I want to try this horse my uncle bought for me."

Most of the court called him Torin, but never his cousins. They all shared variations of the sandy brown hair and fair skin their mothers had given them, but his cousins never let him forget that their father was a noble, that they were noble and that he was just a commoner. Most of them were older than he, but this boy was no more than nine years and it made him angry to hear it and angrier because he knew he had to accept. His mother encouraged him to spend time with them and was uninterested in his explanations of why they might not want to spend time with him; if word reached her that he had declined an open offer he would not hear the end of it.

He turned to Serimet and gave her a rueful smile. "It appears I must leave you to play nursemaid to my cousin," he said too quietly for the boys to hear. "Will you have dinner with me tonight? I will do my best to make amends."

Bold or not, Serimet blushed and nodded without looking up, and Torin resigned himself to a dull evening and walked toward the horses. Liem made an imperious gesture with his small hand and the slave dismounted and scrambled out of the way to await his master's return on foot. Torin took the bridle from Liem and swung himself into the saddle. Liem turned his horse, impatient to be gone, and Torin gave Serimet a small salute and rode after him.

The forest nearest the palace had been carefully thinned out to allow for easy hunting, and the main path was no trouble to follow. Liem and his friend rode ahead, whooping and hollering like idiots, and Torin followed them closely enough to make sure they kept to the trail. It took a while for the boys to tire of hearing themselves echo through the trees, and when they went quiet and began to whisper to one another Torin decided he wasn't close enough. He'd just begun to close the distance when Liem's friend shouted what passed for a war cry in a young boy and kicked his horse into gallop down one of the side paths. Liem laughed and made a face at Torin before bolting after his friend, and Torin cursed silently and gave chase.

This path was hardly a path at all, full of twists and turns and almost completely grown over in places. They were shouting again, taunting him to catch them, and Torin tried not to think of what Para would do to him if he lost her youngest son in the forest. The boy would come home muddy and disheveled hours after he'd stopped searching, his new horse limping from some jump Liem had forced her to take, and Torin would be the one to pay.

One of the horses screamed somewhere up ahead, and Torin cursed out loud and kicked his horse faster. The boyish laughter had stopped as abruptly, and as he made a sharp curve he burst into a small clearing and found Liem. The boy was just picking himself up off the ground a little painfully. There was no sign of Liem's young friend, but Torin's first priority was his cousin. The boy was moving stiffly but seemed intact, and Torin breathed a sigh of relief and looked to Liem's new hunter.

The horse tried to lurch to her feet again and neighed in pain and sank back. Liem started toward the animal and Torin caught his arm. "Don't," he said sharply. "Let me look." He tried to put some compassion into his voice for the boy's sake, but he was not looking forward to explaining this to the boy's uncle.

He circled the horse, expecting to see a broken leg. Instead he saw blood that was soaking into the grey hide just under her shoulder and rapidly pooling under the animal. Bright metal gleamed in the wound, a sharp crescent half sunk into the great muscle of the horse's upper leg. A chain ran from the base of the blade and circled the horse's leg to connect to the base of its twin buried somewhere under the mare's body.

There was a gasp from behind him as Liem saw the wound, and Torin snapped out of his shock. He grabbed the boy and put him on his horse before he saw that they were no longer alone. Two figures now stood at the other end of the clearing, dressed in armor too fine for mercenaries. Both wore swords. One had his hands free, and the other held the chain of another double crescent casually in his hand. They looked young to Torin, sixteen or seventeen at most, but they carried their weapons with too much confidence for their age to lessen his concern.

Torin let his hand slip from the edge of the saddle. They could not be on the horse and away before the crescent caster could take it down, and without a horse there would be no escape for them at all.

"..Torin?" Liem's voice was tearful and afraid, and Torin struck the horse on the flank. It bolted back down the path carrying his cousin, and the men made no effort to stop it. Liem and the horse vanished around the corner.

"Garell," said the one with empty hands. "Torin Garell."

It wasn't a question, and Torin said nothing. His eyes searched the clearing and spotted what could be a path away from the clearing ten feet to his right. He tried to guess how long it would take the caster to throw his weapon. Torin was a good runner. If he could make it into the brush he could outrun them. They had their armor to carry.

The fading hoofbeats stopped and the began again, growing louder. Torin turned quickly and saw Liem rein in the horse like any experienced hunter and level his little hunting crossbow at the surprised men. He let the small bolt fly and it hit the unarmed man in the shoulder. Torin didn't even think it had gone through the leather, but the man screeched and Torin darted for the horse while the caster's attention was diverted. He hauled himself into the saddle behind Liem who was struggling to load another bolt and kicked the horse. There was a whirring from behind and his leg went numb. The sound of the metal cutting into his leg reached his ear a moment later and he grunted, but then they were around the bend and the twisting path and the wild horse kept his attention and he didn't have time to wonder why it didn't hurt.

By the time they made the main path it hurt, and he drew breaths through clenched teeth, steeled himself and looked down.

One of the crescents had bitten into the flesh of his calf and the other was at an angle just under his kneecap. Looking at it made him want to vomit, and he pulled his eyes away and kept them on the road.

The horse was winded but not totally spent when they reached the place where he'd parted with Serimet only two hours before. Torin was dizzy and cold, but he saw the body of Liem's slave on the ground and did not let the horse slow. There was no way the guards could have failed to notice such a thing so close to the palace itself, but Torin saw no guards at their posts or anywhere else as they circled the grounds and headed for the highway. He was barely keeping his seat, and eventually he gave the reins to Liem and clung to the edge of the saddle instead. The boy was far more capable now than Torin was to direct the tired animal, and it let him focus his dwindling energy on holding himself upright.

The pain in his leg woke him up, and he cried out and tried to sit up. Heavy hands held him down and his eyes flew open. Menacing dark shapes hovered over him, and the dim stars of early evening were visible in patches as he struggled, but there were too many and he could not move. A second jolt came and he screamed, and a hand covered his mouth to muffle him.

"Damn you, Torin, be quiet!" a deep man's voice hissed in his ear. Torin recognized his cousin Selic's voice and tried to swallow his pain. There was a clink of metal and a pair of gloved hands to his left brought the bloody crescents into view and then set them down out of sight. His panic receded, and Selic nodded to the man on his right. An icy tingle started in his spine and flowed through him, and he shivered. His whole body went cold by stages, and last was his injured leg. It stung in strange patterns and his breath came faster, but he didn't make any more noise.

"It's clean enough." Reito's voice, casual and laconic as ever. These were Liem's brothers, all four of them.

"Close it," said Selic grimly.

Helad was two years older than Torin, but his voice was small next to Selic's. "I'll do what I can. He's awake?" Selic stared down into Torin's face and nodded. Torin could make out Reito on his right now and Yedoro on his left, and each gripped one of his hands tightly in theirs. Selic put one hand over Torin's mouth and the other on his chest and then nodded to Helad.

The burning started off small, a tiny fire near his ankle that quickly spread, sending whitehot tendrils through the ruin of his leg. Torin's breath grew rapid and shallow and his knuckles turned white against his cousins' gloves. There was a sickening twisting of flesh that followed in the flame's wake, and when the searing heat touched the wound under his knee he cried out despite himself. The brothers held him down and when it was finished he was nearly senseless. Selic hauled him to his feet anyway. "We can't stay here."

"He can't ride like that," Reito pointed out helpfully.

"Get to your own horse," Selic growled in response, and Torin was aware enough to grasp the saddle when he was thrown into it. Selic mounted behind him and brought the horse up to a gallop, and Torin lost his meager hold on consciousness.

He woke up when Selic put him on the ground again, and Yedoro was there to steady him. They were outside an old decrepit inn that daringly declared itself The Emperor's Consort, and the sky was beginning to shade from grey to pink. The world spun as Selic effortlessly hung Torin over his big shoulder. Torin wanted to protest this treatment and to tell them he was awake, but he hadn't the strength.

Yedoro hammered on the door, and after a minute or two of constant hammering the latches were unfastened and the door opened. Torin could not see the innkeeper from his undignified position, but the man's voice sounded wizened and scared.

"What..what d'ye want?"

"A room for myself and my brothers and a stable for our animals." Selic's deep voice resonated even through the armor. The innkeeper must have made some sign of assent, because then Selic was moving again, taking him inside and up a tiny flight of stairs that groaned under his big cousin's boots. Then there was a room and a bed, and Torin was dumped onto it relatively gently. He blinked his eyes, and the moment he moved he was dying of thirst.

"Water?" he croaked as clearly as he could, and Liem appeared with a cup and helped him hold it. The water was sweetened with something and made him cough. His little cousin was grinning at him, and when Torin had taken a few mouthfuls he saw that the rest of the brothers had filed in. In the small room Selic looked even bigger, and even after he and the rest of them had settled to the floor the room seemed tightly crowded. Torin was too tired to care, and when he'd finished the cup of water he had barely handed it back to Liem before he fell asleep.

When he woke up the room's dingy-paned window was lit with sunlight and Liem was the only one there, looking bored. When he saw that Torin was awake, however, he grinned at him again and brought him another cup of the healer's tonic. Torin sat up to take it this time and drank it all.

"Thank you," he said awkwardly and handed it back. Liem put it aside and headed for the door. "Wait," Torin said quickly, and Liem paused. "What happened? Where did your brothers come from?"

"You fell off," he said with a wider grin, and then grew more sober. "My brothers found us not long after. I thought you were dead, but Selic said you weren't. I told them what happened, and they took the thing out of your leg." The boy made disgusted face that was quickly replaced by interest. "Hey, let's see it, anyway." Torin smiled wryly, but his stomach quivered. His leg had looked like a half-slaughtered animal the last time he'd seen it. He tried to brace himself for the worst and pushed the thin blanket back so he and his cousin could look at it together.

There were large patches of purplish scar tissue but there was no blood, at least. It hurt to move it but it was bearable. There were two sharp valleys where the crescents had dug in, and when he tried to stand he found it more painful yet. Helad had only stayed at the enclave long enough to complete the basic training, and it had been a bad wound; still, he was alive and did not feel feverish. There was much to be thankful for, and Torin decided he would be thankful for it later when he felt more inclined.

Liem stared at the scars in awed fascination. "Does it hurt?"

"Not so much as it did," said Torin with a tired grin. "If it weren't for your brothers I'd be dead. Where are they?"

"Downstairs. Selic wants to talk to you, so I better tell him you're awake." Liem pulled the door open and Torin heard him all the way down the rickety stairs, yelling to his eldest brother. Torin leaned back against the wall and brought his injured leg in toward his body so he could feel the smooth, unfamiliar scar tissue. It didn't look like a part of him, but he could feel his fingertips.

Selic ducked his head to come into the room and Torin sat up a little straighter. Helad and Yedoro were older than Torin too, but Selic was the only one who seemed older. There was never any question that Selic ruled his brothers, and that despite their widely differing personalities his brothers followed him out of love and respect. Torin respected him too, and Selic's greeting was not lost on him.

"Good evening, Torin," said Selic politely and settled himself into the old chair that comprised the only other furniture in the room. "How's the leg?"

Now they call me Torin.

"Better than I've any right to expect, thanks to you," he answered gratefully.

Selic shook his head. "We're the ones who owe you thanks. For Liem," he clarified at Torin's confused look. "The boy told me what happened. The little idiot should have kept riding, but if he had he might have ridden right up to the castle and we'd have lost him anyway. The Emperor is dead, Torin. Your mother is dead." Selic's face had gone grey and cold. "So is mine."

Torin sat unmoving with his eyes locked on his cousin's face while Selic told him what had happened. Para had gotten word that Emperor Avinosuna was near the end, and she had gathered her older sons to take with her to bear witness to the passing of the crown. Halfway to the royal chamber Para had suddenly collapsed. She wasn't breathing, and Selic sent Reito for a mender while Helad tried to find what was wrong. By the time Reito returned with a mender in tow Para was dead. Selic had her taken back to her chamber and gone himself with Yedoro to seek Torin's mother Imaret. The door to her suite had been locked from the inside and she did not answer it. Yedoro had melted the lock to allow Selic to break in and they found her sprawled on the floor, her body already growing stiff. He carried Imaret to Para's chamber, but nothing the mender did could call life back to either of the sisters. When Selic emerged the palace guards were gone, and he called his brothers to him and they made for the stables.

"We went to find you and Liem and found the body of my brother's slave and blood from your wound. You were easy enough to track from there, though Liem left the road a few times when he saw we were following him." A weak smile pushed through the desolate look on Selic's face. "He was my mother's treasure, Torin, and I am in your debt. From now you are my brother as much as he is, and if I could I would make you welcome in my father's house. The palace is no longer safe for the children of Valesuna, even the untitled ones like us. We are well south of the capitol now, but we dare not stay here any longer. We will leave tonight."

It was clear that we did not include Torin, and he found his voice. "And you want me to go to the Enclave and collect my sister," he said softly, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. "She's only a girl, Selic, not even as old as Reito. You want me to bring her to the palace so she can die like her mother?"

"Of course not," said Selic uncomfortably. "Bring her to my father's house. We will protect her until she is old enough to challenge Edelosuna."

Torin stared at his cousin. "No one will follow her, Selic, not even your father."

"My father will do what is wise and just," retorted Selic angrily, "and she is the last of the Valesuna line. Shidon died without issue, and that snake Tilume can't claim it. It has to be Raspeth."

Torin kept his face carefully blank as he analyzed the older man. There was grief there for his mother and anger, a desire for revenge, but something else. If Valesuna fell, so would Selic's father, and Selic. Then Selic would be like Torin, a common child with noble blood.

How awful for them.

"I will bring her when she is ready," he said at last, and Selic nodded slowly, his thoughts easy for Torin to read on his face. A few years of ignominy could be withstood if it meant a rise to greater glory afterward, and what greater glory could there be than putting the rightful ruler on the throne?

They passed under the first of the two slim white stone towers that stood chained at either edge of the cleft, and he focused on the steadily moving guide so he wouldn't see the gentle motion of the world around them. That worked until they were halfway to the second tower and he could see how widely they were swinging in relation to it. Vertigo made him shut his eyes, and when he opened them he could not resist looking over the round metal rail and down into nothingness. The depths below the bridge had no mist or haze, nothing to conceal the darkness. Somewhere down there lay the Astis river, coiled like a snake around the base of the enclave. It had been an underground tributary thousands of years ago until the wizards had diverted a section of it for their purpose, and under their guidance the Astis had formed the gorge and polished its sides to lethally sheer cliffs.

He closed his eyes again and let the horse find its own way until he heard the guide's mount step off the walkway and onto the far anchor. The path on this side was paved with stone tiles and lined with giant trees that blotted out any starlight that might have filtered through the rain. The lantern that his guide carried did little to push back the shadows, and she coaxed her tired horse into a gentle gallop. Torin did the same, and a short time later they arrived at the city gates.

Torin had lived most of his life in the capital city of Sunan, a city invested with the vanity of hundreds of emperors, but he had never seen architecture so seamless. Giant yellow lamps too bright for the rain to dim were imbedded in white stone walls four stories high and cast illumination well beyond the city perimeter, and Torin shielded his eyes as they came closer. The thick trees on either side of the path grew right up to the walls and then stopped, the living wood twisted away from the ramparts as if caught permanently in a violent wind. The gates themselves were made of the same white stone and showed only the barest of outlines against the surrounding surface.

The lights did not permit Torin to see who or what stood atop the walls, but as he and the guide approached the wicket he experienced an unnatural shiver. His right leg ached, and he pulled his cloak more tightly around him and wished it could shield him from more than the elements.

His guide answered no hail, but the small door opened when they drew near, releasing a brief warm breath that was quickly lost to the storm. A man with the demeanor and dress of a servant emerged and took his bridle, and Torin pulled the cane free from the saddle and dismounted. The guide did not, and Torin was barely on the ground before she turned her horse toward the distant bridge and rode back into the night.

The servant gestured toward the door and then led his horse away, and Torin moved as quickly as he could for the small door. It had only been two months since he'd been injured, and the cane still felt clumsy, but it was far easier and less painful than walking without one and so remained an unpleasant necessity.

Through the door was a small room that contained a round wooden table and two chairs, and there was another door in the opposite wall. Wall lanterns lit the room and Torin blinked as his eyes adjusted. At the table sat an ordinary-looking older man in a simple brown shirt and trousers, sipping something from a small steaming cup and reading from a piece of parchment. Uncertain of protocol, Torin pushed his damp hood away from his face and waited.

The man looked up and passed his eyes over Torin disinterestedly. "Your name, please," he asked in Suna.

"Torin Garell," he answered, and the man looked back down at the parchment. Seconds dragged by as the man continued to scan the document and Torin shifted uncomfortably, water dripping from his cloak and forming puddles on the hard stone floor.

"You're not on the list," the man said at last, his tone disapproving. He looked up at Torin as if expecting an explanation, and Torin tightened his hand around the small spherical head of his cane in annoyance. His sister's location was no secret; it was imperative that this business be concluded quickly.

"As I explained to your guide, I do not need access to Asticar or the university," he said as patiently as possible. "I am only interested in arranging for my sister's departure. I did not have time to submit the request through the Order before I left Sunan."

The man stood up, unimpressed. "You Suna nobles never seem to have the time," he said in an exasperated tone as he crossed the room to the far door. "You'll have to speak to the Guardsmaster. Wait here." The man unlocked the other door, passed through it and pulled it shut behind him. A key scraped in the lock, and Torin frowned and tried the handle to the door he'd entered through. It was also locked, and after fiddling with it for a few moments he gave up and sat down in one of the chairs.

The room gradually grew warm, though there was no fireplace, and Torin stood up long enough to peel off his wet cloak and lay it over the other chair. His clothing was dry underneath, a heavy grey jacket lined with fur and thick black trousers and boots. The western approach to the enclave required a three week trek through the featureless steppes of northeastern Sunan, and if Selic Mahala's gold had not purchased the clothing and supplies he had needed it would have been a dangerous passage. The area immediately surrounding Asticar was not nearly so cold, but it would have been pointless to buy new clothing when they would have to travel the same path to get back through Sunan to the port.

At length the far door opened, and Torin reached for his cane and prepared to rise. A woman entered, wearing a strange approximation of armor that looked too flimsy to deflect even the weakest of blows. She carried no sword and her short, faded blonde hair was barely longer than Torin's. Her face was gently lined but she did not move with any of the infirmities of age. Her eyes were blue and active, and she took him in with a single impatient glance as he stood up.

"What do you want?" she demanded in his native tongue.

"I was told to wait for the Guardsmaster."

"I am the Guardsmaster," she replied testily. "And you are here without an invitation. Why didn't you file with the Order for a pass?"

Torin overcame his surprise and rallied. "I had neither the time nor the luxury of waiting a week for the palace of the Order to receive me," he replied sarcastically. "My mother is dead, and I am here to inform my sister and take her back with me."

The woman looked at him suspiciously. "What's your sister's name? We have no students in the register under Garell."

"Kaleni," he said, relieved at last to be getting somewhere. "Raspeth Kaleni."

She looked at him silently and then nodded once. "Come with me, then."

He gathered his cloak, now dry, and followed her through the inner door. It opened out into a corridor and she led him through several junctions until they reached a series of doors. Guards in the same light armor stood next to these doors, and the woman unlocked one of them and gestured for him to enter. "Visiting quarters," she said when he hesitated. "We keep our charges safe here. You know the rules." She eyed his cane. "Leave that out here, and the knife in your belt. I'll fetch your sister."

Wordlessly, Torin handed over the small hunting knife and his cane. The woman took them and he turned and limped into the cell. She locked the door after him.

It was comfortably appointed, though by no definition lavish. There was a bed here with blankets and a small wooden desk with two chairs. He settled into one of them and propped his right leg on the other with his cloak as a cushion and waited for the Guardsmaster to return with Raspeth.

There were rules about Asticar, and everyone knew them. Asticar housed the university where children from every country on the continent came to learn how to wield the power of atacre, and as such there were certain measures in place to ensure that no harm came to those children during their stay. Sunan and Brindia both had great numbers of young nobles residing in Asticar at any given time, and strict discipline was maintained to keep them safe. Once they returned to their homes they could set about killing one another if they wished, but the enclave was sacrosanct.

Torin had considered leaving Raspeth here, but the longer they delayed the more pressure the Edelosuna family would place on their pet mages who stood resident at the university to have her expelled into the waiting arms of an execution squad. It would be better to have her out now and someplace safe than to risk letting her stay where everyone knew she was.

Time passed and Torin grew weary. He'd been riding half the day and many days before that, and he was just beginning to doze when the door jostled and woke him. It opened inward to reveal an old bald man in dark blue robes with two of the guards behind him. He looked like he'd been rudely awakened and was ready to take it out on someone; he was thin and sere and slightly hunched, but his dark eyes fastened on Torin's face without hesitation or confusion.

"Torin Garell," muttered the man in a surprisingly deep voice, "brother of Raspeth. You look different than when you were last here, Torin." The man seemed to be talking to himself more than to Torin. He and the guards entered the room and the door shut behind them. Torin tried to get up but one of the guards lay a heavy hand on his right shoulder and pushed him down again, not ungently.

The old man came within a few inches of him and stared down at him speculatively. Torin could see the deep creases age and study had carved into the man's forehead, every stray whisker that adorned his sallow cheeks, the large nose and the thin lips drawn back like a rodent's from teeth unnaturally large and white in the withered face.

"Not the same," the old man murmured to himself. "Another, not the same, but the same eyes as the girl now, same blood." He made a slow circuit around Torin's chair making little thoughtful noises, and when he came back into view he was nodding to himself.

"You are Raspeth's brother?" he asked sharply, his voice now leaving no doubt that Torin was being addressed, and Torin looked at the guard and stood up slowly. "Yes," he replied shortly. "Where is she?"

The old man scowled at Torin's question. "She's not here. Left more than a month ago, just before that other Suna came looking for her." The old man looked smug. "He claimed to be you, but I knew he wasn't related to that girl. It's easy to see on you. Same eyes, same blood, same stupid expression when people say things you don't understand."

Torin closed his mouth. So the Edelosuna had sent someone ahead of him to try to snatch his sister before he could get to her. It explained why they'd bothered to try to kill him as well as his mother. By himself Torin was absolutely unimportant, but standing next to his younger sister he looked extremely useful. His leg throbbed and he favored it a little more.

Just another thing to thank you for, Raspeth.

"She left with a servant of your mother's," continued the old man inexorably. "Some woman. The girl knew her, so I let her go. She was nothing but trouble, you know," the man continued more affably, as if all the important topics had been covered and all that remained was to make conversation. "Always asking questions, always in the way, never a moment's peace. Mark my words and marry her off to a patient man, that one."

Devona.

Devona was Imaret's most trusted slave. She'd been with his mother since before Torin was born, and he had ceased to notice Devona so long ago that he had not taken note of her absence. For Devona to have arrived before the Edelosuna agent Imaret must have sent her in advance, weeks before she died. Imaret had known something of what was going to happen, and she'd sent Devona to protect her precious daughter and hadn't bothered to whisper a single word of warning to her son.