And, if he were honest with himself, he didn't want to object. He'd never had a best friend before, only lesser ranked followers, and he now knew what he'd been missing. Carrie had had Martin bring his own horse this time, and he and Bryan rode every inch of Greenhollow in perfect (or nearly so) harmony. Moreover, Martin about the place was a delight to his eyes and, even if a torment to his heart, he was convincing himself that half a loaf was indeed better than none. More importantly, Martin and Carrie enjoyed each other's company very much. When, as a threesome, they listened to music or some other boringly cultural entertainment gotten up to amuse them, Bryan was able to pull back and watch the other two. It was obvious to him, if not to them, that Carrie's acknowledged position as a betrothed woman enabled the two of them to go beyond what either would have done if she'd been free, and he realized that they were falling love.

Hah, he thought sometimes, what a bardic tragedy this should be, my woman and my best friend. In fact, he had the notion that he'd heard the tale, or seen it acted, at least once...he wasn't literary enough to be sure, but he thought Gryphon Michael came into it, hadn't he...no. No, of course not. Michael Lionard hadn't been betrayed by what's-his-name, they'd been troika-married to her, because Michael served Peter the Usurper and feared for his wife if he died, so they married whosis... it was Gahern the Golden he was thinking of, Gahern whose best friend Aidan had run off with his wife Erica. And Gahern had killed Aidan and Erica had killed Gahern. And somebody had killed her, was it Alaric who'd succeeded Gahern as King in Lionred? or was it somebody else? Bryan had a hazy notion of history, but he rather thought it might have been some other relation, maybe a brother or son or something. At any rate, the entire story had quite disgusted him when his tutor had told it to him, desperately trying (poor man) to interest the mark's heir in his schooling. Such blood and slop, had been Bryan's reaction, and these people kings, too!

But if he couldn't remember the details of an historical tragedy, he did know what was happening in his own life, and how he ought to be reacting to it. Every once in a while, he even thought his Uncle Rick looked at him sideways, wondering maybe if he were blind or just trusting. The problem was, of course, that Bryan was madly hoping that Martin and Carrie would betray him, would run off with each other. He sometimes wondered about hinting to them that if they did, he wouldn't pursue, would nobly and sadly return to Daystar and live out his blighted life, leaving the title to young Nicky and his bride... tripe, worse tripe than the other his common sense said. And Martin and Carrie were too honorable to do anything like that, letting alone that it would be such a political stink.

But sometimes, watching them or late at night alone in the huge room he'd been honored with, sometimes it crossed his mind: he'd been praying for something. Maybe Martin was it.

The inestimable Rafi Fairchild, butler at Dawnfires and object of envy to all of Lady Armstrong's friends, entered her study in the early afternoon of a brisk Rowan afternoon. "The Ambassador from the Kingdom of Darien, Lord Kyllan Dorren, presents his compliments to your ladyship and begs for a few moments of your time, if it is convienent."

The Darya ambassador? This could be awkward, reflected Kirsten, looking up from her correspondence. "Of course, Rafi," she said, "where have you put him?"

"In the Ivory Parlor, my lady," said Fairchild, who had long since despaired of teaching Kirsten not to first-name him; it was one of her few flaws. Her children knew better, though, and he was content with that.

Lord Kyllan Dorren was a very presentable forty-year-old, a blond Darya with green eyes and a calm manner. Usually calm, anyway. He greeted Kirsten, and then said, "I'll come right to the point, Lady Armstrong. I've been asked by a, well, a friend, to find out, discreetly, if Taleavlad has ..."

He paused, uncertain. Kirsten smiled at him, radiating goodwill but offering no help.

"Well, Lady Armstrong, to be blunt: Lady Rick Traven wants to know if Taleavlad has the concept of alienation of affections. In a legal sense, I mean. I know Taleavlad has betrothals."

"Alienation of affections?" said Kirsten, thinking that Martin was impressing somebody, anyway, though not perhaps the right person. "And what exactly is that, legally?"

Lord Kyllan gestured vaguely. "Ah, well. Like this, Lady Armstrong: if person A is to marry person B, and then person C comes along and ... suddenly person A doesn't want to marry person B any more. In Darien, person B, or person B's family, can take person C to court..."

"Really?" Kirsten was astonished. "But how could anyone prove that person C had anything to do with it? I mean, alienation of affections ... that rather presumes affections exist?"

"True. I myself think that breach of contract is rather closer to what we're talking about."

"Just what are we talking about, your lordship?" Kirsten decided to be sharp.

The ambassador had the grace to retire from the conversation, saying only, "I'm not really certain. I only know that Lady Rick Traven asked me to ask you. I have her answer: no, Taleavlad doesn't."

After he had gone, Kirsten called Martin. Her grandson sounded fretful, and irritated.

Oh, Gammy. No, nothing's happening. Nothing at all.

That's not what Lady Rick apparently thinks.

Yeah, well, it's not what Lord Rick thinks, either, Gammy. But Bryan is just... oh... I don't know what to do.

Do you want me to come out there, sweetheart?: Kirsten asked.

No. No, there's no point....Oh, Gammy.: Martin sounded sad and young, and Kirsten's heart went out to him. :I just want... never mind. I'll come up with something.

What is it, Martin?: Kirsten asked, gently. :What do you want?:

Oh, Gammy.:He paused, hesitant, and then said in a rush, :I want my father.:

"Me? He wants me?" Merritt stared incredulously at his mother, his dark green eyes wide.

"Merritt, it's not so surprising, is it?" Kirsten stared back at him. "You're his father. He's in trouble. He wants you. You're going."

"Well, yes, of course I'm going," said Merritt, faintly aggrieved. "That's not the issue. Are you sure he wants me? Why?"

Kirsten regarded her changeling son. "Merritt, you're really very good at this sort of thing, even if you don't enjoy it. And you love him, and want what's best for him, and Martin knows that. Why shouldn't he want you? Just because you and Melissa ran him off when he exhausted you doesn't mean that you don't all love each other, and know that you love each other."

Merritt shook his dark head, still puzzled by the odd, exuberant child he'd fathered. "Does he sound all right?"

"Not really. I think this is harder than he thought. And there's not much time left. You should go to him, Merritt."

"I will," he repeated. "First thing in the morning. I just don't know what he expects me to do."

"Maybe just be there for him, sweetheart," said Kirsten gently. "Maybe just be his father."

Merritt gave that Morgan shoulder-shrug, the one that said well, if that's all, sure, and said, "I can do that, anyway."

"Don't underestimate yourself, Merritt. Dmitri wouldn't put up with you if you didn't have a few talents."

He smiled. "Anyway, if nothing else, I can lend a little aura of respectability to him, mention my sister the queen a few times, calm everyone down."

"That's truer than you may think," Kirsten said seriously. "You are very respectable."

So Merritt, too, went to Darien.