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For the first time in many weeks, Tressalara mounted the steps to her tower chamber. Lector ordered the door unbarred, and she started to pass through. He took her arm and entered with her.

“I do not put all my faith in Rill’s spells, Tressalara. You escaped me once. You shall not do so again.”

She looked up at him with her wide, amethyst eyes. “As you will, my lord.”

Elani gasped when she recognized her princess and got up from the divan, where she and Lady Grette had been sitting over a game board.

“Your highness!” She started toward Tressalara, then stopped at the blank expression on the princess’s face and turned to Lector fearfully.

“She is spellbound! Oh, what have you done to her?”

“Watch your tongue, wench! I bring you your royal mistress. Prepare her for a feast.”

The two women dropped deep curtsies to Tressalara, pointedly ignoring Lector.

His face darkened at the slight. “Tomorrow when I hold the Andun Crystal in my hand as I accept the crown, you will bend your knees to me, or you will keep your appointment on the scaffold. Now array the princess as befits my future bride.”

Lady Grette gave him a look of disdain. “When you have left the chamber.”

He laughed harshly. “There is nothing of the princess that I will not see when she shares my bed this night. If it offends your womanly modesty, however, she may dress behind that copper screen. While I await here.”

Tressalara walked slowly toward the hammered-metal screen. “The sapphire silk gown with the dragon belt and collar will be appropriate,” she told Grette in a high, flat voice. “The matching cape as well.”

She and Elani disappeared behind the screen while Lady Grette opened the wardrobe containing the princess’s special robes of state.

Her soft hand smoothed out the brilliant blue silk, fluffed out the bodice and sleeves smocked with hundreds of rosy pearls.

The long cape was lined with rose satin and bordered with ermine. They had never been worn before.

Tears misted Lady Grette’s eyes. This was the gown she had sewn with her own hands, for the day when Tressalara reached her majority.

At next year’s summer solstice, King Varro was to have handed his daughter the Andun Crystal and named her his official successor to the throne.

The noblewoman held back a sob. She would rather see it rent to pieces than used on such a sorry occasion.

Grette opened and shut chests, removing garments of the finest embroidered linen and a silk undergown so delicately spun that it could be drawn through a lady’s signet ring. There was a delay when the right slippers could not be found.

Lector grew impatient. “If the princess is not ready, she may accompany me in her shift, for all I care.”

“One moment,” Grette said, lifting a golden chain from a jeweled coffer. She selected a collar as well, and disappeared behind the screen, chattering nervously about whether pearl or sapphire earrings would be more suitable.

At last Tressalara stepped out, resplendent in yards of shimmery blue, embroidered with gold thread and pearls.

She looked magnificent with the queen’s gold and sapphire dragon collar at her throat and the matching queen’s coronet upon her brow.

The light from the fireplace gilded her skin and her long, shining hair, rippling to her waist.

Even jaded Lector was struck dumb by her beauty. He felt a tightening in his loins. All this, and a kingdom to go with it! Truly this was his destiny. He held out his hand. “Come, Tressalara. Our guests are waiting.”

She lifted her chin. “My ladies must accompany me to give dignity to the occasion, my lord.”

He was too pleased with events to argue, and it would look better to the visiting dignitaries. “Very well.”

They traversed the upper corridors and descended the wide, curving stone staircase, past the darkened stained-glass windows and the bright banners of Amelonia’s previous rulers.

Already Lector had added his scorpion insignia to their ranks.

Light from the blazing torches turned the silver threads to the color of fresh blood.

As they paused at the head of the stairs, the trumpeter sounded a fanfare.

Taking Tressalara by the hand, Lector led her through the stunned assemblage to the dais.

Tressalara felt curiously numb and distanced from her surroundings, yet her heart turned over when she saw the simple wooden box upon the table. Rill was very thorough.

Lector stood and raised her hand. His words were like a distant, mocking echo of Cador’s earlier ones in the rebel camp: “Behold the crown princess of Amelonia, soon to be my wife.”

A gasp went up from the crowd. Those who had put their faith in her were dismayed. If she had thrown her lot in with Lord Lector, then hope for the brewing rebellion was lost.

Lector took the ruler’s chair, its high back surmounted by a huge carved dragon’s head, and seated Tressalara in the smaller consort’s chair.

Then he opened the top and front of a small chest that lay on the table before them.

The blaze of a hundred candles and torches fell upon the magnificent crystal inside.

Its clear form glimmered with fleeting opalescent colors of purple and green, blue and gold.

A hush fell over the room. All had heard of the magical Andun Crystal, but few had seen it.

Its shape did indeed suggest the dragon that was emblem of the ruling house; yet after all the legends of its powers, there was general disappointment among the crowd.

They had expected to see and feel a special presence, an aura of potent magic.

A new heaviness came over those who had hoped to overthrow the tyrant. Once he learned to harness the crystal’s energy, Lector would be able to destroy any who opposed him with no more than a thought. The House of Varro was dead and vanquished, and hope was dead with it.

Now the House of Lector would reign supreme.

Two rodents huddled beneath the tapestry in the minstrel’s gallery, watching the scene below. Servants scurried to and fro with salvers of succulent food. Illusius twitched his tail from side to side. “I don’t see what Myrriden expects us to do. I…I’ve tried to run a few spells. They didn’t work.”

Niniane rubbed her pink paws together. “I know,” she said gloomily. “Mine don’t work, either. There was a time when I just wanted to pass my sorcerer’s examination. Now I just wish we could save our poor mortals. Tressalara and Cador have never been in more danger.”

Illusius sat up and sniffed the air. “I have an idea. A marvelous idea.”

“You do?” she squeaked hopefully.

“Yes.” Sniff, sniff. His furry body quivered with excitement. “Let’s sneak down there and get some of that cheese, before they eat it all up.”

“Cheese? Cheese ?” Niniane sat up and nipped him on the nose.

Lector signaled for the musicians to begin playing.

Beneath the song of harp and flute there was much mumbling and whispering during the feast. Although the princess seemed cool and remote, a strange light shone in her dark-fringed amethyst eyes.

She looked vaguely out at the assembled company and gestured oddly in the vicinity of her wine cup.

“See how strangely the princess moves,” a thin woman in a spangled headpiece said to her spouse. “Has she drunk too deeply of the wine?”

“Nay, ‘tis foul witchcraft,” an elderly knight said with more passion than wisdom. “It is plain to see that Lector and his evil sorcerer have put a spell upon her. The day he took power was a black day for Amelonia!”

A pool of silence surrounded the man, and his neighbors pulled away. Others stared fixedly at their plates. A man with drink-reddened cheeks jumped to his feet. “This man speaks treason!”

“Seize him!” Lector pushed back his chair and rose, scattering goblets and spilling wine down the table like ribbons of blood. Instantly several of Lector’s men-at-arms stepped in with drawn swords. The unfortunate who had spoken out was dragged to the dais and thrown on the floor before Lector.

Elani stepped back quickly and collided with a servant carrying a silver charger filled with hot food.

The tray tipped, scattering sliced beef and venison everywhere.

Lector cursed as hot gravy splashed across him in an arc.

Simultaneously, Tressalara jumped up with more alertness than might have been expected, given her earlier dazed appearance.

Her long cape caught on the carved whorls of the other chair, and she grasped at the chiseled dragon’s head to keep from falling.

Lady Grette rushed to help her mistress, while a steward helped Lector wipe away the gravy.

At the same moment the serving woman and Elani tangled and went down in a heap.

Somehow the brocade table runner came with them, pulling trenchers, goblets, and bowls off as well.

Thuds and the tinkle of breaking glass filled the air.

In the confusion that followed, Tressalara’s smaller chair was overturned. Servants scurried to repair the damage, but Lady Grette waved them back. The other guests watched the farce, too afraid of their host even to crack a smile. Chaos reigned for several minutes before order was restored.

Lector examined the man imprisoned by his soldiers. His face became grimmer as he recognized the knight. “Your years will not spare you, Sir Tron. Throw him in the dungeon!” he roared. “He will be executed with the others at dawn—an example of the fate that awaits those who dare to speak treason!”

A silence fell over the assembly. Because of it, the sounds of commotion in the outer ward came clearly to their ears. Lector drew his sword. “What is the disturbance?”

Next, a thunderous rap shook the outer doors of the great hall. Everyone froze in place. “Who dares to disturb my feast?” Lector cried out.

Tressalara, her cloak now off, stepped back and away from the dais.

Cador’s stone, which had protected her against Rill’s spell, nestled warm between her breasts.

No one noticed, nor did they see that the turbaned wizard, the courtier in blue velvet, and two men in Lector’s livery silently followed.

As the princess and the disguised rebels made for the musician’s gallery, two others moved into position behind Lector.

Again that thunderous rap filled the chamber. The sergeant-at-arms stood before the doors and spoke through the grill as two others hurried to slide the bar in place.

“Who seeks admittance?”

“The army of Princess Tressalara, led by Cador of Kildore!”

In the next fraction of a second the doors burst inward, scattering the soldiers like leaves before a violent wind. A troop of horsemen rode into the great hall with a clatter of hooves and a flash of drawn steel blades. “Long Live Tressalara! Death to the tyrant Lector!”

Lector blanched. There was no time for more.

He turned to grab Tressalara and was furious to find her gone.

Meanwhile tables and benches were overturned, as those inside took up sides according to their loyalties.

As more troops poured in behind Cador, another group came on foot from the corridor leading to the kitchens.

Every tunic bore the white dragon insignia of the House of Varro.

The fighting was intense, and the cries of men and shrieks of horses filled the air. Cador had given orders that Lector was to be detained, but not struck down. That was a pleasure he had reserved for himself.

But as he fought his way forward he realized that something had gone awry.

Brand’s troops should have joined the fray by now, but there was no sign of them.

Without them, Lector’s men held the advantage.

The rebels were outnumbered three to one.

Vaulting an overturned table, he fought his way through a phalanx of enemy soldiers toward his adversary.

The best way to kill a snake was to cut off its head.

If he could bring Lector down, the rest would crumble.

His sword rang out like a bell and struck like lightning as he beat the enemy back like a man possessed. He stood before Lector and raised his sword to parry a vicious thrust.

“We finally meet face-to-face, you devil’s spawn! Where is the princess?” he demanded.

A serving woman screamed. Rill waved his crystal and spoke from his hiding place behind Lector’s chair. “Did you not hear her cry out just now? By the time you reach her, Tressalara’s soft white throat will be cut.”

Cador was not aware of the spell of illusion that had been placed upon him.

Realizing that the scream had come from the minstrel’s gallery overhead, he let his glance dart there.

A terrible scene met his eyes. Where there was nothing but a cowering servant and a brocade curtain, he imagined that he saw Tressalara caught in a brawny soldier’s grip, wide-eyed with fear as the man’s sword bit deep into her throat.

Too late! He had come too late to save his love!

The deluge of despair froze him in place for less than an instant, then was replaced by a cold and determined fury. But that split-second was all Lector needed. His blade flashed as he lunged for Cador’s heart.