"Where's the border?" Korlav asked as they rode on after a scant breakfast.

"Somewhere around here," Kiyra responded, glancing about the woods as if a sign saying "Entering Looria" would appear. "Maybe we're there already."

Korlav's head swiveled around to face hers. "Pardon?" he choked. "Wouldn't you know?"

Kiyra shook her head, flushing slightly. "I told you, we never go into Looria - just the Border Entertainers do. It's all woods here - I don't actually know how far the border is from Shaelin. I think it's around five miles. Besides, we don't know how far we've gone today."

"Wonderful," the prince groaned. He pulled his horse to a stop. "We should put on the Loorian clothes, then."

"Oh, delights," Kiyra muttered, sliding off her mount. "At least we're in a clearing."

It was true; the trees had stopped for a circle of barely ten feet, and Kiyra recognized a clump of edible roots to the side. It would be much easier to change in this grassy pocket rather then in the thick of the woods with brambles all around and little light.

"Here," Korlav said, handing her a bundle he'd taken from her pack. He read the note the Spymistress had attached. "Ladies' traveling clothes.' Perfect. And there's a little picture of how to wear them too." He laughed. "I'm glad I won't be tortured so."

With the horses between them, they changed into their respective clothing. Kiyra's consisted of several layers that wrapped around her completely. At least these were pantaloons rather then a skirt, Kiyra thought wryly. She wore a cloak as well that covered all her body, though no veil as most of the conservative countries did.

The prince wore long sleeved shirt that was split into two long, triangular pieces in the front and wrapped around his torso, tucking into itself. The riding trousers were loose, allowing for the most flexibility, tying halfway down his calf so not to get in the way. Kiyra watched as he shrugged into a jacket that hooked together down the middle. Both their clothes were made in dull earth tones.

"Apparently," Korlav said as they remounted, not looking phased one bit in their change of appearance, "the nobles don't dress like this at all in their courts and homes, just while traveling. Here." He handed her some brightly colored sketches illustrating the clothing tucked into their saddlebags. "They seem to be much for flamboyant when relaxing." Neither of them brought up the one set of Loorian clothes every Tielarian was accustomed to - their soldier's uniform.

Kiyra hesitated, unsure whether to speak or not. Her mother could sometimes be begged into telling Kiyra and her brother of her homeland, and so Kiyra was in possession of more information then was healthy. Still . . .

"In Looria," she said quietly, barely loud enough to hear over the horses' hooves, "most things are like the clothing. While things are presented one way to outsiders, they often turn out to be another way. Like the women - smothered in clothing, defined by ridiculous rules - but in some ways they have more freedom then they do in Tielar." She risked a glance at Korlav, who was watching her avidly, if a little puzzled. "They have control over many politics, including the marriages. For the nobles, the marriages are just business, deals, with no relation to love - in just doesn't enter the picture. Love is sought outside the marriage bond, which is why so many nobles have one constant lover. They believe it important, just not concerning marriage."

"And how were you . . . appraised of this knowledge? Border Entertainers?"

"I told you there are a few Loorians in my fief," Kiyra said, avoiding his face. If she had been standing, she would be shifting guiltily at this moment.

"And the Loorians - two foresters and a priest, if I recall - are so learned about noble customs?"

Kiyra resisted the urge to look away. "You'd be surprised how much commoners know. Besides," she tossed out rather recklessly, "you should just be glad you have the information, no matter where it comes from."

The prince's lips quirked upward. "Tough I hate to ruin your visions, peasant gossip is not always the most believable thing."

"And you'd know. . ?"

"Because I listen to it," he said blandly, as if he hadn't realized she was suggesting that in an insulting way. "I didn't say their words weren't informative. Just not believable."

Kiyra rolled her eyes and muttered about the general impossibility of princes under her breath.

He raised one eyebrow, then looked back at the woods in front of him. "We should solidify our story," he said as if talking about the weather rather than potentially risking their lives. "Our parents names - how many siblings we have - when we're to be married -"

"Better make that later rather than sooner," Kiyra jumped in quickly. "We don't know how long we'll stay there."

He grinned openly. "I think I've been insulted."

She smiled a little in return. "Hardly, your highness. But would you truly like to come home and tell your father and kingdom that you were married to a landless, penniless courtier from a backward fife who had lost all her possessions because the gods did not favor her? Who hasn't the slightest idea how to manage a kingdom? I think it would be more an insult if I did marry you."

"But aren't your bloodlines higher than my own? The Golden Book of Names, tracing to the Kalarin Epoch, on your father's side?"

"Just because you're a young upstart that doesn't mean the kingdom would approve," she said with a quick smile, and was unexpectedly gratified to see him return it.

"Who was your mother?" he asked curiously. "You never mentioned."

And I don't intend to, Kiyra thought. She smiled lightly. "You would remember, though. You seem to remember everything," she said, sidestepping the question.

"Which is precisely why I will be such an excellent informant. Ah, and I think I know where we should start looking for the Kal'ait."

Kiyra tensed, knowing he would have remembered about Halshea and the fire. She wished he hadn't, for though she wanted to find the dragon's heart as badly as he did, she didn't want any chance of speaking to her grandmother's family - possibly her grandmother herself.

"The minstrel mentioned that Halshea married into one of the Fourteen Clans - and that she had an affinity for fire. As do dragons. It must have been a Loorian clan, or he would have told us which -"

"He said he didn't know," Kiyra said a little desperately.

Korlav waved that off. "And I believe he didn't, but he must have known it was a Loorian - and that the Kal'ait has something to do with them. I don't know how he's connected into this, but he was obviously pushing us to meet with this girl's Clan, elsewise he wouldn't have brought up the dragons. I doubt he was trying to lay a trap - there are far easier ways to do that. So all we need to do is discover the Clan she was from - mention the story in an inn on the way to the capital one night, and casually mention we've forgotten what Clan she married into."

"How do you propose we'll actually be able to speak with any from the Clan?" Kiyra asked skeptically. "The Great Clans won't exactly chat up strangers."

He shrugged. "We'll just have to integrate ourselves at Court. Become friends with the right people, and all that."

Kiyra resisted rolling her eyes. "There will be hundreds of hopefuls trying to do the exact same thing. What's going to make us different?"

"Our charm," he replied with an offhand grin, not seeming the least bit worried about it. His grin widened. "Or, I suppose we could paint Clanmarks on the back of our lower earlobes and pretend to be part of the Clans."

Kiyra's head swiveled to stare at him in horror, then almost burst out laughing. "Don't say things like that," she managed. "Someday, someone's going to think you're serious and your crown will be taken from you - for the safety of the realm."

He raised an eyebrow. "What, don't you think I could pass as a Clanlord?"

"Do you know the least bit about them?"

"Not at all," he said cheerfully. "That is, I know exactly what everyone else in the two kingdoms know - that they're of the highest rank, basically inbred, arrogant, superior, and have no qualms with giving orders to kill thousands."

"Amazing," Kiyra quipped, "that sounds remarkably like you. Perhaps it's all high nobility?"

Korlav smirked. "Perhaps it is. Though I could picture you as a Clanlady very well, so then again, perhaps it isn't."

"That's an insult!"

"Your astuteness continues to astound."

They grinned at each other for a moment, until both of them looked away. "Besides," Kiyra said lightly, trying to defuse the intensity of the moment, "there's no possible way a Clan would let two of their members out of their sight."

He heaved a great sigh. "I suppose you're right . . . Well," he continued, perking up, "We'll just have to flirt like mad so everyone spills all their secrets to us."

Kiyra laughed. "Shouldn't you have qualms about flirting with a Loorian? Aren't they suppose to be to lowly for any use?"

"Not any use," he said with a teasing grin, causing Kiyra to snort most unladylikely in disgust.

"Stop," he said a moment later, all laughter gone from his voice as he pulled on the reins. "Someone's close."

He was right; a second passed, and Kiyra could hear the hoovebeats as well. They crossed from left to right somewhere in front of them, a steady clopping of feet.

"A road," she suggested. "Otherwise the horses wouldn't be moving so surely and quickly in dense woods like these."

Korlav nodded tersely, but didn't answer. They waited for ten minutes before he nudged his horse forward again. Sure enough, they found a path wide enough for four horses abreast. "Do you know where this leads?" the prince asked Kiyra.

She rolled her eyes. "How would I? You know I've never been here, and no one's ever made a map of this part of the woods. I would suppose it lead to a settlement, some Border Lord's home."

He nodded tersely, and Kiyra realize that he was going to be much more uncomfortable then he let on in the enemy's land. They rode on in silence, each deep in their own thoughts for three hours or so, when the trees suddenly opened up.

"Looks like we've arrived," Korlav said, surveying the land. It looked very much like Kiyra's fief, with a village and a keep a little ways off, and farmlands with the familiar animals standing about. They urged their horses forward, and were quickly approached by a man - a farmer, by his clothes.

"Dyatt chavilasus?" he said, and it took Kiyra a moment to switch her mind's mode into the other language.

"We are travelers looking for a place to sleep for the night," Korlav responded in the Loorian language. "Lead us to your lord."

The farmer nodded warily, and led the two Tielarians towards the keep. The dirt road was wide, the farms and village well kept. All in all, Kiyra decided, it looked very much like Shaelin.

They were greeted at the door of the keep by one of the manservants. At the castle and most other nobles' manors, there were servants specifically designated to man the door. At the border fiefs, however, any servant would do.

He led them into the great hall, where the entire keep was eating. About fifty people sat at the four long tables against the walls. Everyone was facing inward to see whatever entertainment was occurring in the middle. One of the tables, meant for the lord, his family and his guests, was sitting on a raised dais. It was up these three wide stairs that the servant brought them. The people glanced curiously about them, then went back to their food, whispering about the newcomers.

"Welcome," the fief's lord said, nodding his head and reaching out one hand to Korlav, palm upwards. The prince's hand went palm towards the floor, and each of them wrapped their hands across the other's wrist in welcome. Kiyra warranted a brief nod from the lord, and then she was led to the other end of the table where the women sat.

"Say For your sorrow's mercy,' and burn the incense on your plate in the candle in front of you," Kiyra whispered into Korlav's ear as she passed him. He grabbed her elbow, a look of panic in his eyes. Inwardly, Kiyra smirked. He obviously felt completely displaced.

"What for?" he asked.

"It's a mourning ritual. His wife died within the last month."

"How do you know?" the prince all but wailed. Taking a deep breath, he controlled his voice. "What if you're wrong?"

She smiled. "But I'm not," she whispered, slipping her arm from his grasp and trailing the servant to her seat. The lord's daughter greeted her; a girl of about thirteen and the reason Kiyra had known the lady of the fief was dead. Had she been alive, she would have been at the table to great them. If she had been too sick to come, her place would be empty, but instead her daughter filled it. As soon as a Loorian woman died, one of the lord's kinswomen was sent for to play host for him and mother to his children. It would have taken at most a month for the message to be sent and for the women to come, for the families of the Border Lords were all intertwined. As it was, the daughter filled the headwoman's seat.

Greeting the girl with her hands placed on top of the girl's palms, Kiyra took her seat, smiling at the twins sitting near her, about ten years old. She took her incense stick and placed it in the flame. "For your sorrow's mercy," she said, breathing in deeply the lilac scent that was there more a quick moment, then dissipated. The three girls nodded, having expected her to know the ritual.

Kiyra snuck a glance up the table at Korlav, who had just finished smothering his own incense stick. She swallowed a giggle as his eyes met hers, pure relief etched in them.

"I am Meteronne Yullshona Ta'sian Ellwenyi," she offered timidly.

"Kitelleve Yullane Ta'dose Vashu," Kiyra responded. "My betrothed and I are going to the capital for the king's blessing."

Instantly the child's eyes sparked to life. "I have always wanted to visit Seekail. Papa promised I would when I turn fourteen to find a proper husband for me and the fief - but lately . . . I don't think he'll remember," she said sadly. Kiyra glanced at the lord, where he was sitting with two other adults, the prince and two boys whose hair marked them as foster sons.

"It is hard," Kiyra said softly. "My mother died when I was twelve."

"For your sorrow's mercy," Lady Meteronne said. She blinked twice, staring fixedly across the hall. "I would do anything to see her again."

No words of wisdom jumped into Kiyra's head, so she was just as glad when the doors opened and a band of Entertainers entered.

"For my guests," the lord said, standing and raising his glass of wine. "Korlav Yarshon Sa'giive Malise, and his bride to be."

He sat again and the room cheered, eyes focusing first on Korlav then on Kiyra, who demurely lowered her eyes to her lap like a proper Loorian woman would in a house she did not know. Had it been her home . . . But it was not, and she was not Loorian, and so she could not act as a Loorian lady comfortable in her surroundings usually would.

When she raised her eyes they were caught by one of the Entertainers; a girl about her own age, when glossy brown hair that fell to her shoulders. Kiyra felt a chill go through her at the same time recognition did. The girl had passed through Shaelin enough times with her band that the two knew each other on site; they had even spoken a few words in passing, and had always gotten along. And yet Kiyra sat up straighter. If the girl lutist mentioned she was Tielarian . . .

Kiyra saw the brunette turn and say something to her friends. She turned back and found Kiyra's eyes again. Nodding once, the girl closed her eyes and led her quintet into a merry folk tune.

Kiyra also closed her eyes - but in relief. Though the singer sang the Loorians words to the tune, the melody crossed many cultures, having words in other languages as well. In Looria, this song was about good wishes and good health. In Tielar, the words were of friendship and secret keeping.

"Do you know her?" Mereronne asked curiously, looking at the older girl.

Kiyra nodded. "I spoke with her a week ago. She sang at my cousin's birthday."

Meteronne nodded, satisfied with this answer, and the girls finished dinner in silence.

"I am now fully qualified to write a book on "One thousand ways to plant corn," Korlav said dryly as they left the great hall, arms linked. "And we both know that's vital to my future success."

Kiyra grinned. "I take it you survived?"

He made a face. "Barely. Before corn, we talked of Court - they wanted to know what relatives we were staying with and whom we knew. I only avoided that by pretending to be an utter country bumpkin, so don't go giving me away by saying anything over three syllables and sounding like you expect an answer. My mouth was hanging open for half the conversation. And the dialect -" he shuddered. "My Loorian obviously pales in face of yours. I can only hope the Loorians at court actually speak court Loorian or everything will have to be repeated." He slid her a sidelong glance. "How did you know the Loorian mourning customs?"

Kiyra rolled her eyes, gave an exaggerated sigh, and prayed he would stop asking these types of questions. "Do you have to know where I pick up every Loorian tidbit?" she said sarcastically.

"Yes, actually," the prince responded, grinning at her, and she growled and hit his shoulder.

They spent the rest of the evening with the lord's family and other guests in the solar: there were the three daughters, two foster sons, and a visiting lord and his brother. Kiyra and the other girls talked softly, but freely contributed to the men's conversation, which surprised Korlav and pleased Kiyra. She watched the prince, and despite his claim of acting like a country bumpkin, his nobility was apparent, and the other men listened to him when he spoke, though most of the time he was deflecting questions - something he was surprisingly good at.

Their rooms were in different parts of the keep, though both were too tired to care. Kiyra stumbled into her room, glad to have a bed at last after spending the last few nights in the forest. She pulled the pins out and let her red hair slide to her waist. Shrugging out of the traveling clothes, she pulled out a nightgown, with the same cut as her familiar ones at home. She moved in front of the mirror for a moment as she dragged a brush through her hair. She looked down as it caught on a snag, sighing in frustration as she untangled it. When she looked up, there was someone else in the mirror.

Kiyra didn't start - for some reason she had expected her visitor. Instead she finished her hair then turned around, smiling at the lutist. "You can sit," she offered.

The brunette shook her head, instead leaning against the door as she shut it and looking intently at Kiyra. "My father used to tell me stories of why he came to the Border" she started. "He was hired by one of the Clans to find one of their daughters who had run away. The family was distraught - they had made the perfect match for her." She smiled wryly. "By the time my father found her, she was happily married to a Tielarian lord. He still could have dragged her back, but he didn't; instead, he fell in love with a flutist and joined a group of Border Entertainers.

"I don't know why you're going into Looria with a Tielarian lord, but if you're going to reclaim your birthright, you should know - you'll be welcomed with open arms. He won't be. The A'shavion Clan had the throne in the last century, and with one political marriage an A'shavion girl could be queen.

"But if you're not going in openly as an A'shavion - be careful. There's a story that if you eat the food in either Paradise or Hell, you won't be able to leave." Her eyes held Kiyra's. "Don't eat in either." She turned to leave.

"Wait," Kiyra called, and she hesitated. "Are those names for anywhere in particular."

The girl shook her head. "Just something I've picked up several times. No one thinks that a musician has ears. If they're code names for anything, I don't know what they are. Oh," she said, turning around again. "If you need to curry favor without anyone knowing who you are - a Lady Evytora dropped this three months ago. She's not of the Clan's but she dressed as well as one. She'll be glad to have it back." She dropped a lady's purse on a chair, heavy with something.

"Why are you doing this?" Kiyra asked as the lutist opened the door.

She turned back with a fleeting smile. "Because the Tielarian my father married lived in your father's fief, and he signed a document to say she was legally missing, so she could marry my father - a Loorian, without anyone knowing; without my mother going down in the records as a traitor to Tielar." She reached out her hands quickly, just long enough for Kiyra to rest her own palms on them. "Luck go with you," she said, and disappeared.

Kiyra picked up the purse, weighing it in her hand. It was a drawstring velvet pouch, and heavy. When she dumped it on the bed, four stones lay staring up at her: a ruby with the rune for power; a emerald engraved with good health's sign; a sapphire for knowledge, and a diamond carved for fortune. Runestones. They were passed down in families and usually arranged on one's bed table every night. Kiyra had a set in her mother's jewelry box. These must have cost a fortune.

She smiled. Korlav and she wouldn't just be another pair trying to ingrain themselves in court. Returning these would gain them favor, and favors would lead them to the Kal'ait.