Disclaimer: I don't own most of the characters, places or magical realities in the story. I just borrowed them from Tamora Pierce for a while.

A/N: Thanks to Twilight Shades, Purple Eyed Cat, BlackandWhiteRoses, KnightbyDay and Kit49 for immediately reviewing this new story. It keeps me motivated. Yes, Elyra appears in this chapter. For all of you wondering how any sister of hers could be the right age to be betrothed to Roald in another year, you're about to find out. I can't tell you yet the nature of Cearl. I'll let you try to figure him out.

This is a whopper of a story and you'll start to see it in this chapter. Though I am true to the nature of the characters, you will start to see a little out-of-character behavior. Don't worry. There are reasons for everything and you can't always blame the one who looks guilty.

Chapter 2 – Confusion

The sun had streaked the eastern sky with golds, pinks and purples. It was a beautiful sunrise that Jonathan of Conte observed out his study window. But it was one of many he had seen in recent months. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he had not risen before sunrise. Invariably, when the sky turned colors to greet the dawn, Jon could be found exactly where he was now – at his desk in his study buried in paperwork. He thought with a chuckle of stories he had heard the children singing in the streets glorifying the roles of king and queen and building them up to be soft-palmed nobles who ate and slept more than they did anything else. If only that were true, he thought

He had just finished a letter to Baron Piers of Mindelan. The Baron had been serving as an ambassador in the Yamani Islands for years now. The man had worked and worked toward a peace accord. Ultimately, it was the Yamani Monarch's daughter, Elyra Kelton, who had made the treaty possible. Still Baron Piers' contribution had been essential. He had taught the Yamanis the language of Tortall and worked effortlessly to smooth the way. When all was said and done, the work of Baron Piers proved to be the deciding factor for the Yamanis. And the general public, who were to know nothing of Elyra's relationship to Mathhew D'nau, were to believe that the Mindelans had pushed it through. He had been trying to draft this letter for days. It had to be worded correctly so that the Baron would know how much he was valued and so that he would not feel undermined by the final outcome of the accord. Jon had originally dictated the letter, but eventually decided to produce it in his own hand.

An unexpected knock at the door carried Jon into the nightmare. A sentry stood outside the door with three battered looking King's Own Soldiers and Sir Raoul in chains. The large man who had been a boyhood friend and one of his most trusted knights spat at Jon's feet and said, "Lord Sinthya sends his regards." Then he collapsed.

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Numair was exhausted. He had been up most of the night working on translations. Now he sat reviewing the results trying to find a mistake somewhere. It had to be wrong. Four years ago, mages in Carthak had found the spells that had been used to devise the magical barrier that locked the immortals into the Realms of the Gods. The mages had opened gate after gate along the barrier, releasing monsters such as spidrens, stormwings, trolls, and hurroks, to weaken the countries they wished to dominate. Mages in Tortall had stretched the barrier to seal the gates wherever they could. But the barrier had been weakened. It seemed most reasonable to make a new one and before Numair was the spell to do it. However, the translation showed that the mages of 400 years earlier had magic at their disposal which Numair did not. An Elemental had helped them. Elementals were no longer part of their world. Numair did not know how to break this news to his king or the mages he was assisting.

Numair sat back against his chair and ran a hand through his shoulder length, raven hair. He had pulled the tie free hours ago and he was sure he looked scruffy. Running a hand over his chin, he could feel the beginning of a beard. He tried to remember the last time he had shaved. For that matter, he wasn't sure he could remember the last time he had eaten. He could picture Daine shaking her head at him and telling him he couldn't bury himself in books. If they weren't miles apart, she would more than likely have brought him food and shooed him outside for a walk. She was always looking out for him. He realized he was smiling at the very thought of her. He chastised himself heavily.

Part of the reason for the separation was to help him get over this. He had a growing affection for his fifteen-year-old student that could not be allowed to continue. At some point he realized the feeling, although he had hoped that it would blow over. She was too young for him -- too young to hold any permanent fascination. Alanna had told him that she had originally had that kind of relationship with Jon. They once believed themselves so in love that Jon had proposed. Alanna had said, "No." It was a good thing; Numair could not imagine Alanna as queen. She would detest that life. He also couldn't picture Jon and Alanna together. That was over before he knew either of them. And clearly, George and Alanna belonged together.

So Numair kept trying to put distance between himself and Daine. The problem was he couldn't maintain it. He wrote to her a little every day. Although he sent his letters once a week, he was incapable of pushing her from his thoughts for even one 24-hour period. Part of that had to do with Kit, the dragonet that Daine had sent with him. Kit loved to read and learn. It seemed natural enough that she would prefer his company to Daine's at this particular time. Numair was spending his days in one of the oldest libraries in the known world. Daine was riding through country that she had seen enough to know blindfolded. Numair felt obligated to tell Daine of Kit's welfare, and Kit was a constant reminder of Daine.

Ignoring his own exhaustion, Numair stood and headed to the sleeping chamber where he could hear Kit stirring. Sure enough, the light-blue creature was awake and that meant she would be hungry. "Good morning, Kit. Did you sleep well?"

She trilled in answer. It was strange how she made her thoughts known despite an inability to speak in the same way humans did. Since her body changed color with her emotions and her various clicks, purrs, trills and whistles conveyed a lot of feeling, he usually caught her drift. It did not matter that the precise words were unattainable. He patted her head affectionately. "I have bad news for the others. I suppose I shouldn't put it off. But I need to clean up first. Can you wait that long? We can go to breakfast just as soon as I'm done." Kit's eyes glowed silver and she made a soft cooing sound. Numair felt his hair straightening into a horsetail and watched the wrinkles in his clothes fall away. He lifted a hand to his chin to feel cleanly shaven skin. "No waiting, huh?" he asked chuckling. "I do believe you're getting better at that."

He led Skysong down to the dining area. Lindhall Reed and Harailt were sitting there having a deep discussion. When they noticed Numair, they smiled a greeting. Lindhall studied Numair's face, "Mythros! You look exhausted. Did you sleep at all?"

Numair chuckled as he took a seat. "You know me too well. I got caught up in translating. When I looked up the sun had risen. And Kit here was far too hungry to let me even clean up on my own. She did her 'neatening up trick'. Apparently it even removes a beard now." He shrugged and yawned. "I figured I'd get a bite and head up for a bath and a nap after I delivered the bad news."

"Bad news?" Harailt asked, eyes full of concern.

As the two other men focused on him, Numair explained what he had discovered. At their crestfallen expressions, he said, "I think we can try to reinforce it with basic barrier spells. I know some good ones. But as you know those have limits. There might be something in the Power Codex but I need to do some more translating there. Without elemental magic, I think we are forced to continue the patch jobs we have been doing. My concern is that the magic is being stretched too thin. It could rupture. If it does, we will be inundated in immortals."

Lindhall patted his shoulder. "You have done a lot already, my boy. We thought we would be translating that scroll for a week more at least. You have earned a rest."

"Maybe I'll dream up an answer," Numair said with a smile, "Although lately my dreams are extremely unhelpful."

Harailt smiled wickedly and asked, "Full of women and the wrong kind of magic?"

"Something like that," Numair said with a smirk.

"If you push yourself too hard it makes sense you'd do something more relaxing in your dreams," Lindhall said, sharing the joke.

While the other two men sniggered, Numair was trying not to reveal how he really felt about all this. He allowed a yawn to cover up any show of emotion. His dreams had been full of one young woman and he was not supposed to be dreaming about her. Sometimes it was innocent. In those dreams he would replay events of the past over and over in his sleep. Occasionally, however, Daine appeared in the manner which Harailt had implied. Those dreams left Numair feeling a most uncomfortable mixture of aroused, nervous and ashamed. It was not the sort of thing he cared to discuss with anyone, no matter how comfortable he was with them. He was far too confused to look at it logically anyway.

Numair decided to skip breakfast. "Lindhall, can I impose upon you to look after Kit for a short time?"

"Of course," Lindhall said and beamed at the little dragon. "It would be my immense pleasure."

Kit's color intensified and she trilled with pleasure. Numair wondered idly if that was her version of blushing.

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Elyra Kelton knelt beside her father's bed. She and her children had enjoyed a month of his company. She had renewed a love for her father that she had never known could exist. Now the man lay dying after suffering a severe coronary. The irony of the situation was not missed on her. Though she was grateful for having had some time to get to know him, she felt that once again, there was too much death around her.

Her brother-in-law was waiting like a vulture for his turn at the throne. Emperor Matthew D'nau had sired only daughters. Her eldest sister's husband was next in line for the throne. He had not welcomed Elyra, Meesha or Michael. He was a hard man and she loathed to imagine what kind of emperor he would be.

She hoped he wouldn't change much. Elyra had found that in her absence the Yamani Islands had become a country to be proud of. Like Tortall, it was now the fashion to train women as fighters. In the twelve years since she had lived there, masters trained children of both sexes from the age of six. Her father had explained it as something he needed to do to atone for what had happened to Elyra as a child. He had thought that if her mother had been able to defend her, Elyra might not have been kidnapped. She would not have been injured and would not have faced the life that she did. The changes had actually begun before she left, but they had been introduced slowly. She had not paid attention to politics or the changing traditions when she was a child. So she never imagined the world that she now found. In some ways, the Yamanis were ahead of Tortall. Still, her mind kept drawing her back to that country and the mage that held her fascination.

With a last gasp, her father left the mortal realm. She kissed his cold cheek and promised to honor his memory until her last breath. Now she was left to try to figure out where she belonged in the world.

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