In the morning she awoke before he did, and she wondered if perhaps these feelings of protectiveness toward her husband, and the yearning she had for his touch, were not perhaps the beginnings of that so human emotion known as love. She was not all faerie, after all, and if she had hardened her heart against love was it possible she had done it in order to survive what she must, in order that she reach her destiny? She was weary, she realized, of the knowledge she carried. She suddenly had a great yearning to be just a simple woman. To carry her husband’s child within her body. To birth that child, and care for it.

Stirring, Vartan drew her into his arms, and she laid her head against his heart. “What are you thinking?” he asked her softly.

“Woman’s thoughts, husband. Thoughts best kept to myself for now,” Lara told him. She wanted to spend the rest of the day in his arms, and not be bothered by anyone, but they had a long ride ahead of them.

“Give me a child, my life,” he said softly to her, and he kissed the hand on his chest. “A beautiful little girl like her mother.”

“In time I will give you a child, Vartan, I promise you. But now we must meet with the Coastal Kings, and settle this matter between the Outlands and Hetar,” Lara said.

He groaned. “Today I am not of a mind to be diplomatic,” he said.

“Neither am I,” she agreed, “but we must do our duty. And when we have made this fragile peace we will go back to Camdene, and settle in for the long winter. And on the dark mornings we shall not get up at all, but lie in each other’s arms and make love the whole day long.”

“And you will give me a child,” he repeated.

“I will give you a son, husband, who will one day lead the Fiacre as you now lead it,” Lara told him.

“And a daughter,” he reminded her.

“First a son,” she said, and then she climbed from the bed to wash the excess of their night’s passion from her skin. She would not meet the Hetarians with the scent of lust on her body. After she had bathed she donned a simple gown. It was white, and the skirt was fashioned in tiny pleats from her waist to her ankle. There was a golden cord twisted about the waist that had tassels at each of the two ends. The bodice was draped from its soft rounded neckline, and the sleeves were full and floated to just below her elbow. About her neck the golden chain with the crystal glittered. She brushed her hair out so that it sat like a mantle about her.

He watched her dress, fascinated. “I have never seen that gown before,” he said. “How were you able to carry it with us?”

Lara smiled at him. “Kaliq gave it to me. It is magic, and made to fit within this small coffer,” she said holding out her hand to him. In it lay a round wooden peach, perfectly represented, and polished so that the wood glowed with its natural beauty. “The gown can be anything I wish it to be. In this instance the Coastal Kings wish to see the woman who was so beautiful that the Head Mistress of the Guild of Pleasure Women would not allow her to be purchased. The Taubyl Trader who took me from the City meant me for one of the Coastal Kings. I am sure that Rolf Fairplay told them the story.”

“Now I am indeed jealous,” Vartan said as he arose from the bed, and began to wash himself. “But having a wife whose wardrobe can be carried in a hollow wooden fruit is indeed a great advantage.”

Lara laughed. “Our love play has improved your mood,” she told him.

He grinned back as he began to pull on his clothing. “It has,” he agreed.

The inhabitants of Rendor’s hall could not help but gaze in wonder at the halfling wife of Vartan of the Fiacre. But they were also a bit afraid. She had not looked so beautiful the night before, it seemed to them. Her magic was now quite obvious. When they had refreshed themselves at Rendor’s board they prepared to depart. The horses were brought from the stables.

As Rendor approached his own mount, Lara’s stallion, Dasras, put a leg forward and bowed his head politely. “Your hospitality was exceptional, my lord of the Felan,” the stallion said. “I offer you my thanks.”

Rendor bowed in return. “I am grateful it met with your approval,” he replied. Then he said to Lara as he helped her into her saddle, “I do not think I shall ever get used to hearing that beast of yours speak with a man’s tongue, lady.”

Lara laughed. “His speech is a comfort to me,” she said, adjusting her skirt, which was hiked to her thigh. She patted Dasras lovingly. “We are friends, you know.”

Shaking his head, Rendor mounted his own horse. “It is a short ride to the sea, and then we shall ride along the beach until we reach the Coastal Kings. Have you ever seen the sea, lady? I know Vartan has not, for he has never before enjoyed the hospitality of my house. I think it will amaze you with its vastness and its beauty.”

Though it was winter the air was very mild, and the sun warmed their shoulders as they rode. They rode first through grassy meadows filled with sheep, shepherds and dogs who loped along with them for short distances, some barking. One irritating animal kept snapping at Dasras’s heels until the great beast stopped dead in its tracks.

The stallion turned his head, and looked down at the yapping dog. “Go home!” he said in a firm voice, and stamped a single hoof. The dog stood stock-still for a moment, and then turning, ran yelping back to his master. “Dogs,” Dasras said scornfully, “are more trouble than they are worth. Give me an elegant feline to keep me company in my stall. Cats are far better companions, I assure you.”

They laughed at the incident and moved on, finally reaching the grassy bluffs overlooking a wide sandy beach that seemed to stretch for miles in both directions. The horses slowly picked their way down the narrow path, Rendor leading, Lara behind him and Vartan bringing up the rear. There was no need for men-at-arms to ride with them here in the Outlands.

Gaining the beach, Lara brought Dasras to a brief halt and stared in amazement. The waters seemed to go on forever. Where did they end, she wondered? Frothy white waves rolled in from the blue sea, racing up the sand and then withdrawing. The sound never ceased, but it was pleasant, and soon she did not notice it at all. Screeching birds hung in the air above both beach and sea. “What are they?” she asked Rendor. “They are beautiful. Look how they soar and dive!”

“They are called Seabirds, nothing more,” he told her.

They rode on down the beach which seemed to go on forever, stopping when the sun reached the highest point in the heavens to rest the horses, eat and drink, pouring water from their own water bags into shallow pans they carried for their animals.

“Why can they not drink from the sea?” Lara asked Rendor.

“Taste it,” he told her, and she bent down to dip her fingers in the wave that came up to brush her bare feet.

“It’s salty!” she exclaimed.

“It is,” he agreed. “The sea is where the Outlands obtains its salt. The Coastal Kings supply Hetar with it as well. They collect sea water in great vats, and dry it until only the salt remains.”

After their short respite, they rode on, for the winter’s day was short. As the sun began to sink toward the horizon Rendor pointed ahead, and said, “Look! We have almost reached the palace of King Archeron, my friends.”

“It is that close to your borders?” Vartan asked.

“We came over the border over two hours ago,” Rendor said.

“But there was no border station,” Lara remarked.

“We do not need it,” Rendor responded. “We know where the border is. The Coastal Kings keep to their side of it, and we to ours. It is easier that way. We keep to the same standards as in the Outlands,” he explained. “The rest of Hetar may have border stations and guards, but here along the coastland we think it unnecessary.”

They heard music, and looking ahead they saw a small procession coming out to meet them. It was made up of young men and women wearing draped fabrics and flowers. They danced, and played upon lyre, flute, cymbals and drums as they came forward to meet their guests and lead them to the king’s palace. The travelers rode up from the beach, their escort dancing and making music as they came, and there upon a great marble terrace Archeron waited to greet them. On a lower terrace they dismounted, and their horses were led away. Together Vartan, Rendor and Lara walked to meet the greatest of the Coastal Kings who stood with his son Arcas by his side.

Archeron came forward and took Vartan’s hands in his own. “Thank you for coming,” he said as their gazes met.

“It would not have been possible to refuse your gracious invitation,” Vartan answered. “I have a responsibility to the clan families of the Outlands.”

“Then you will accept a restoration of the old treaty?” Archeron said.

“If Hetar accepts a restoration of our original borders,” Vartan replied with a small smile.

“It does!” Archeron replied. “I shall notify the High Council immediately.” Then he drew his companion forth, “This is my son, Arcas. Our family will be his responsibility one day, and if he lives to be as old as I am he will find himself with the responsibility of all the Coastal Province.”

“My lord.” Arcas bowed to Vartan, but his eyes were fixed on Lara.

“You admire my wife?” Vartan said in a deceptively bland tone.

“I have never seen anyone so beautiful,” Arcas replied candidly.

“My lords, you embarrass me with your words,” Lara told them. Then, ignoring them both, she turned to Archeron. “You are a man of peace, King Archeron, and I am glad for it. One day Hetar will realize it as well, and be grateful.”

He took her small hand and tucked it into his arm. “Come, Lara, wife of Vartan, and I will show you my palace. We have prepared a banquet in your honor.” Together they walked across the terrace toward the white marble building. Its gold-leafed domes, and its slender soaring towers were now both bathed in the blazing colors of the sunset.