that my father was supplying weapons to the Movement. I told
you a street magician took me in shortly after and that is how I
learned my trade.”
She took a deep breath and shook her head slowly. “What I
told you was not entirely true. My father didn’t die in the fire.
He escaped. With me. It was my father who raised me, not an
aunt, not a street magician. I grew up with street magicians and
that is how I learned my trade, but it was my father who looked
after me. It is my father who looks after me still.”
Her voice shook. “My father is Padishar Creel.”
Par stared in wonderment. “Padishar Creel is your father?”
Her eyes never left him. “No one knows but you. It is safer
that way. If the Federation found out who I was, they would use
me to get to him. Par, what you needed to know that night when
I told you about my childhood was that I could never betray
anyone after the way my family was betrayed to the Federation.
That much was true. That is why my father, Padishar Creel, is
so furious that there might be a traitor among his own men. He
can never forget what happened to my mother, brother, and
sister. The possibility of losing anyone close to him again be-
cause of someone’s treachery terrifies him.”
She paused, studying him intently. “I promised never to tell
anyone who I really was, but I am breaking that promise for
you. I want you to know. It is something I can give you that will
belong only to you.”
She smiled then, and some of the tension drained out of him.
“Damson,” he said, and he found himself smiling back at her.
“Nothing had better happen to you. If it does, it will be my
fault for talking you into bringing me down here. How will I
face Padishar, then?” His voice was a soft whisper of laughter.
“I wouldn’t be able to go within a hundred miles of him!”
She started laughing as well, shaking soundlessly at the
thought, and she shoved him as if they were children at play.
Then she reached over and hugged herself against him. He let
her hold him without responding for a moment, his eyes straying
to where Coil sat, a vague shadow at the other end of the hall.
But his brother wasn’t looking. There had been friends and trai-
tors mixed up in this enterprise from the beginning, and it had
been all but impossible to tell which was which. Except for Coll.
And now Damson.
He put his arms around her and hugged her back.
Moments later, the Mole returned. He came upon them so
quietly that they didn’t even know he was there until the door
began to open against them. Par released Damson and jumped
to his feet, the blade of his long knife flashing free. The Mole
peeked through the door and then ducked hurriedly out of sight
again. Damson grabbed Par’s arm. “Mole!” she whispered.
“It’s all right!”
The Mole’s roundish face eased back into view. Upon seeing
that the weapon had been put away, he came all the way through.
Coil was already hastening down the corridor. When he joined
them, the Mole said, calm again,’ ‘The catwalk is clear and will
stay that way if we hurry. But be very quiet, now.”
They slipped from the corridor and found themselves on a
balcony that encircled a vast, empty rotunda. They moved
quickly along it, passing scores of closed, latched doors and
shadowed alcoves. Halfway around, the Mole led them into a
hall and down its length to a set of iron-barred doors that opened
out over the main courtyard of the palace. A catwalk ran across
the drop to a massive wall. The courtyard had once been a maze
of gardens and winding pathways; now there were only crum-
bling flagstones and bare earth. Beyond the wall lay me dark
smudge of the Pit.
The Mole beckoned anxiously. They stepped onto the cat-
walk, feeling it sway slightly beneath their combined weight,
hearing it creak in protest. The wind 6lew in quick gusts, and