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            "Would you please be so kind as to explain what's going on?" Numair said irritably. He didn't mean to be rude to his king, but he could hardly be cheerful, due to the quality of his birthday so far.

            The man behind the desk grinned, looking rather like some kind of wild animal. Maybe a bear, Numair thought, in that big furry cloak. "I think His Majesty would be more than happy to explain.

            Jon looked at Numair, showing guilt, regret, and pity in the same expression. "These, um, gentlemen from Galla have somehow become aware of the research you're doing into advanced simulacra." The king gave his mage a meaningful look, and it was clear to Numair that Jon was saying "just like the one you're doing for me." Obviously, and thankfully, that fact was still unknown to the Gallans.

            Numair nodded. "I see they've discovered that particular secret. What does that have to do with why you're tied?"

            "Numair," the king said, though it seemed to be difficult for him, "they would like you to stay with them for a little while, just until you tell them what you know…"

            "Tell them?" Numair said, outraged. "How can I do that? It's classified information, and you know that it's for the safety of the royal family that it remain that way."

            The king closed his eyes. If I didn't know him better, Numair thought, I'd think he was distressed.

            "The rest of the royal family is in the private library," the bear-like man said with another disconcerting grin. "More of my guard are there, and a mage who is listening to every word said in this room."

            Jon picked up the thread of the story. "If I refuse to send you to Galla, or if you refuse to go…"

            "They won't be alive when His Majesty sees them next!" the man said triumphantly. "So, what will it be, Master Salmalín?"

            Numair sighed. "I'll go to Galla," he said, "but you'll regret it every step of the way, believe me."

            The man chuckled. "I doubt that," he said. "Now, allow me to draw up a document of arrest." Seeing the furious looks of the two Tortallans, he added, "It's only a necessary formality. It wouldn't do to have the King's Own rescuing you on the Great Road North. We must pretend that you are under arrest, and to be tried in Galla."

            Numair had resigned himself to his fate, and was trying to take it as casually as possible. While the bear-like man filled out official-looking paperwork, Jon leaned forward and whispered, "I'll see if we can somehow get you some dry clothes—"

            The guard to Numair's right cuffed him sharply on his ear. He quickly pressed his hand to the spreading bruise and glared up at the guard. Oddly enough, Jon and Numair, both well-educated men, were thinking of the same quote from one of Tortall's greatest playwrights. Evil is doubt with the hope drained out. More specifically, they were thinking, this is not a good sign.

~~~~~~~~~~

[A/N: Yes, I made that up, yes, it took me ten minutes, yes, it's stupid (unless you really, really, think about it hard enough), no, I did not rhyme it on purpose. And the Galia quote that I could have used if I had succeeded in making it sound Shakespearian was as follows: "This morning, a moth chased me out of my shower. I have a feeling the rest of my day is going to be kind of like that."]

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            The first hint of something being seriously wrong was when the guards and the cloaked leader led Numair south towards Corus, not north through the Royal Forest on the fastest route to Galla. By the time they shoved him into an abandoned warehouse, he was beginning to feel rather stupid.

            The bearded bear ordered the two guards to do their job at the door, and joined Numair in the warehouse, where he had attempted to make himself comfortable by sitting against a wall. The man walked up to him with a scowl and aimed a bruising kick at his side.

            Numair clutched his side with a moan. "What do you want?" he asked. "Can't I just be done with this?"

            The man laughed. "I suppose by now you realize that you've been deceived?" he said in a voice that grated Numair's nerves. The mage glared a response, which only made the man laugh harder. He bowed his head and wrapped his fur cloak around himself. "See your mistake, lapdog of my cousin!" he said.

            The man raised his head and Numair gasped. It was a face that he had never seen in person up until that point, but he had seen countless portraits and drawings of the former Duke Roger of Conté.

            "You!" Numair gasped, and suddenly felt red-hot pain sear his entire body. He curled tightly into a ball and screamed, as his bones seemed to splinter into a thousand pieces. Just as he thought he would die, Roger removed the spell, still laughing, and Numair was left with only the natural pain of his ankle.

            "Improvements on the creation of simulacra," Roger stated as if reading from a scroll. "Tell me."

            "When the Black God claims his own daughter!" Numair spat. Quicker than light, Roger crouched down to the other man's level and pressed a dagger to the side of his throat. A thin line of blood began to trickle down his neck, but Numair still glared defiantly at Roger.

            "Curse you, Salmalín!" Roger growled. "Tell me before the Black God claims you!"

            "I can die with or without telling you," Numair said. "I'll keep it a secret, but thanks." His brave words collapsed into gasps of pain as Roger pressed the dagger into his neck.

            "I'm warning you!" the former duke said. "Tell me before you regret it."

            He slid the dagger down slightly, away from vital nerves so that bleeding to death would be more slow and painful. Numair's vision filled with red splotches. He couldn't think…tell me, damn you! The pain was incredible…why don't I just tell him? It could all be over…I could die so quickly…I don't have to let him play with me…

            It was a blessing when he lost consciousness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

            "Mithros, Mynoss, and Shakith!" was the first thing out of Numair's mouth before he realized how inappropriate it was to leave the rest of the deities out of his oath when they were all seated around him. "How many mortals get this chance?"

            Mithros laughed. "Very few. And knowing you, you'll be sure to publish a paper on the subject. If I might ask you to refrain from doing so?"

            Numair got to his feet and bowed deeply, first to Mithros and the Goddess, then in a circle to all the other gods and goddesses. "Of course, your…um, your godliness? Your Majesty?"

            The God of the Sun shook his head, a slight smile playing at his lips. "When you get back, the first thing you need to do is go to a healer for your burns, and make sure you get some rest once that's finished."

            "My burns, sir? Forgive me, but burns are one of the few things that haven't happened to me today."

            "They will," the Goddess spoke up. "We're arranging for the warehouse to burn down. You, of course will escape, but Roger of Conté's body will be reduced to ashes."

            "He is contemptuous of my laws," said a deep voice that could only come from the hooded Black God behind Numair. "I must find a way to keep him for eternity."

            Once he had gotten over the initial shock of appearing in the midst of all the gods and goddesses, Numair began to feel uneasy. This was, without a doubt, the strangest, and even the most frightening, thing that had happened to him all horrible day.

            Somebody, at least, sensed it. A small hand took his own and looked down to see Sarra, Daine's mother and a minor goddess. She smiles up encouragingly at him, and Weiryn, standing beside her, nodded. Numair turned around at a tap on his other shoulder and looked up into the unfathomable but strangely comforting eyes of Gainel the Dreamaster, a god with whom he somehow felt a special connection. This god smiled serenely, and Numair suddenly felt peaceful and somehow in control of the situation. He looked back up at Mithros, filled with a new courage.

            "Sir," he began, "if I may ask you a question?" The god nodded. "Why did you do this to me? I mean, I know that not every day can be perfect and filled with sunshine, but it seems odd that almost as many bad things as could possibly happen to one person have happened to me in the space of one day, like some kind of a twisted tragedy. But why?"

            "Why?" echoed Mneumona, the Goddess of Literature and Learning—naturally, Numair's favorite goddess. "Why indeed? Why does any tragedy take place, my son? Or didn't you learn this?"

            "The hero of a tragedy must have a fatal flaw that brings about his downfall," Numair said. "I'm flattered to be the subject of my own tragedy—well, no—but I'd like to know which one of my flaws was the fatal one."

            "Well, hopefully you noticed that your birthday, strictly speaking, didn't really fall into the structure of tragedy in any of a thousand ways. And don't plan on your downfall occurring anytime soon—or ever. I like you, my son, but you like me, don't you?"

            "I suppose…of course, why not?" No sooner had the words left Numair's mouth than a bright flash of fire shot out from Mneumona's hand and struck Numair's nose squarely, leaving a sharp pain and probably a nasty burn. He clutched his nose and yelped. "What was that for?"

            "Your flaw," the Goddess said. "You're so trusting…did you ever think a goddess would hurt you, let alone one who has chosen you?"

            "Chosen me?" Numair repeated, stunned. The Mother Goddess sighed.

            "It's not as important as if I had chosen something, or Mithros. Mneumona is a minor goddess and chooses many, in comparison. But don't lose yourself in details. The point is, you trust everyone. You can't go around doing that!"

            "If I may be allowed to speak plainly?" Mneumona asked. Mithros nodded. "How many times have you been screwed over, Numair? It started with Ozorne…dozens of times, your first years in Tortall…your friend Tristan Staghorn at Fief Dunlath…oh! Ozorne again…various immortal creatures, and Jon unintentionally sending you to near-certain death at the hands of an enemy mage…and now Daine's leading you on but refusing to marry you. And you would still pick up an armed stranger on a roadside!"

            Numair glared at her. "I think the best of people, and you call it a fatal flaw?" Mneumona nodded. "And you orchestrate an ordeal of a birthday to try to teach me? Half of the lessons had nothing to do with trust!"

            "I admit it," Mneumona said. "We didn't really plan most of the events. I figured we'd strand you out in the woods and I'd show up, and we'd have this lovely chat with minimal pain to you. But instead, you obstinate ass, you had to hobble your way out of the forest plus get yourself all the way back to Corus. Haven't you ever heard of acting helpless? What are we supposed to do with someone like you?"

            "You mean to tell me," Numair said, "that you brought Roger of Conté back?"

            "Of course not," said the Black God with anger. "But it was lucky that we can help you and get rid of him at the same time."

            "Help me?" Numair shouted, outraged. "You think it's helpful for me to be told to be as inconsiderate as—as you all? You gave me my personality, and I'm sticking to it, thanks. Now, if you could show me the way out?"

            Mneumona glared at him, and all he saw was darkness. Once he was safely between the Divine and Mortal realms, she grinned.

            "I always loved that boy," she said. Mithros smiled regally, and Sarra chuckled, shaking her head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            "Numair!" a female voice called, and something grabbed him firmly around his shoulders.

            Once whatever had been holding him had let go, he gradually got his bearings. The gods were gone, and when he sat up, he could see a crowd of his worried friends including Daine (the one who had been hugging him), Alanna, Jon, Onua, and several others who were farther away and too blurry to distinguish.

            Duke Barid came over with a bottle of burn salve and several clean cloths. To Numair, this seemed to indicate that he was in the healer's wing, but just in case, he asked, "Where am I?"

            "You're in the healers' wing," Jon clarified. Numair nodded.

            "And what happened?"

            Daine looked very worried. "There was a big fire in the city. A shopkeeper found you on the street outside. You've been out for only an hour or so."

            "Gods curse the gods," Numair muttered to no one in particular.

            "Are you feeling all right?" Jon asked solicitously. "Maybe you should go back to sleep." Numair ignored him and painfully got off the bed. Duke Barid, who knew from experience with the mage that he once he decided to go, he was gone, gave the burn salve to Daine.

            "Put it on when he's asleep, if you have to," he whispered. Daine nodded and led Numair from the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

            Daine and Numair were safely back in their quarters. Numair nearly fell into bed, not even bothering to remove his boots. Daine didn't have the heart to scold him. Instead, she climbed under the covers next to him and hugged him tightly.

            "Daine?" he said suddenly after a few minutes. "Will you marry me? Today I realized that the unexpected often happens, and I don't want to loose you before I've had a chance to love you."

            "Oh, Numair!" she cried and hugged him tighter. He joyfully took this for assent until she said, in a choked-up voice, "I can't, I just can't, I'm sorry. Can we wait a few more years? Please?"

            Numair sighed as his heart crumbled, again, into microscopic pieces. "Of course."

            "Thank you," Daine said gratefully, and a little guiltily. She sat up to blow out the candle, and his back was turned when she lay back down.

            "This hasn't been a perfect birthday by any stretch of the imagination," he mumbled before drifting off to sleep. Daine started; she had completely forgotten the date. She placed a gentle hand on his back, looking worried, but he was already asleep.

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A/N: Poor Numair! This is the end, guys. What do you think? Please review! I thrive on feedback. Oh, and I hope I put a disclaimer because if I didn't, I'm not in the mood to get sued.

Personal Note: I just saw Vanilla Sky and it was amazing! There's no way to summarize it, because it's the kind of movie where you're not sure where the plot is and then it suddenly all becomes clear. It's a total must-see, and I NEVER say that. Why are you still sitting there? Review me and then go to the movies!